by John Hagee
Jacob frowned when he looked up from the dock to see one man pushing a heavy barrel up the loading ramp, followed in close proximity by another man. His father would never have allowed more than one stevedore on the loading plank at once, not when they were loading 250-pound barrels. Safety required that a man rolling a large barrel up the ramp reach the top and hand off his load to the workers on the deck of the ship before another man started rolling his barrel upward.
The prefect of the fleet was standing close by, talking to another officer on the dock, and Jacob was debating whether to point out the safety hazard when he heard a startled cry from the ramp. He looked up to see that the top man had lost his grip as he was hauling the barrel over the railing, and it came crashing back down on the ramp and slammed into the other man’s barrel. The impact knocked the second man off the plank and left both barrels careening toward the dock . . . and the two officers.
Without stopping to think, Jacob made a flying dive toward the men, knocking the prefect to the ground and pushing the officer into the water. Jacob continued to slide on his stomach for a few feet, the rough wooden pier ripping his tunic and filling his chest with splinters. As he came to a stop, Jacob heard the runaway barrels crash on the dock behind him. Both containers burst open, drenching him with sixty gallons of fine wine.
For a moment there was pandemonium on the dock around him, with workers scrambling and shouting. The prefect stood up as two men fished the other officer out of the water and pulled him back up on the pier.
Hurrying over to the dripping man, the prefect called out, “Admiral! Are you all right?”
Jacob closed his eyes in dismay. He’d just tackled the prefect of the fleet—the highest-ranking official at his home port—and nearly drowned an admiral to boot. What next?
“I hadn’t intended on going for a swim today,” the admiral said. He shook water off his arms and then tried to wring out his tunic. “But I’m none the worse for it.”
The prefect proceeded to upbraid the marines responsible for the mishap. “The admiral is scheduled to leave on this transport as soon as it’s loaded, and there had better not be any further delays.”
While the prefect issued dire threats to the crew, the admiral turned his attention to Jacob and the wreckage on the dock.
“Help that man up,” he instructed a nearby sailor.
Jacob took the hand extended to him, and stood to his feet.
“You saved my life—I would have been crushed,” the admiral said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” Jacob stood rigidly at attention, even though his chest burned from the scrapes. He knew he must look ridiculous in the shredded tunic—the only one he owned—and he smelled like a distillery after the accidental wine bath.
“What’s your name, young man?”
“Jacob of Ephesus, serving on the Jupiter.”
“Why aren’t you in uniform?”
“I’m not a regular marine, sir.” Jacob hesitated a fraction of a second, then explained. “I was transferred to the Jupiter from the penal colony at Patmos.”
“I detest the practice of using criminals to fill the ranks of the navy,” the admiral burst out, a scowl darkening his face. He bent down to shake the water out of his hair and then straightened up, studying Jacob closely. “You’re not the usual sort that winds up at Devil’s Island. An upper-class bearing . . . you speak well . . .”
“I’m fluent in four languages, and I come from a well-to-do family in Asia.”
“What did you do that landed you on Devil’s Island?”
“I seem to have made an enemy of the emperor, sir”—Jacob took a deep breath—“by refusing to make a mandatory sacrifice confessing Caesar as Lord.”
The admiral kept his expression blank, but his eyes opened wider. “I want to hear more about this,” he informed Jacob, “as soon as I dry off.”
Moments later Jacob was following the admiral and his staff on board the transport. One of them directed Jacob to a small office adjacent to the captain’s quarters, and in a few minutes a marine brought a basin of water so Jacob could wash off, plus a uniform and a pair of sandals.
“You can put these on after the doctor takes a look at you,” the young sailor told Jacob.
“Doctor?”
“The admiral’s personal physician always travels with him.”
Jacob sat silently in the one chair in the room while the doctor removed the splinters and treated his scrapes. When he left, Jacob put on the uniform. He’d never worn a uniform before, and the knee-length tunic felt strange. But with his own tunic ruined, he had nothing else to wear.
About the time Jacob finished dressing, the admiral walked in and Jacob scrambled to stand at attention.
The admiral motioned for Jacob to sit, then he perched on the edge of the desk. “Did you know who I was when you tackled me and saved my life?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“I’m the ranking admiral in the imperial navy,” he said. “My name is Flavius Juvenalis.”
Jacob’s eyebrows rose at the name and his stomach knotted up suddenly. The admiral was a member of the Flavian family? The imperial family?
“Yes,” he replied in answer to Jacob’s unspoken question, “a distant relation of Domitian. I despised him—”
The admiral started to say more, then apparently thought better of it. Jacob was stunned that he was sitting across from a man who was not only the highest-ranking official in the navy but a relative of the emperor. The emperor whose worship Jacob had preached against on the streets of Ephesus. The emperor who had sent his henchmen to persecute the followers of Christ. The emperor who had stripped Jacob of his freedom and devastated his family.
“I want to hear your story,” Juvenalis said. “You were telling me that you’re a prisoner of conscience.”
“Yes, sir.” Jacob didn’t know what or how much to tell Juvenalis, but instead of fear he began to feel optimistic about this chance meeting with the admiral. In fact, he began to think it wasn’t a chance meeting at all; perhaps it had been ordained.
“My family is Christian,” Jacob began. He explained who his father was, then Jacob told the story of John preaching outside the Temple of Domitian, and how he had chased off a group of teenagers who were throwing stones at the Apostle. He told about the report of the incident that went from the local concilium to Rome. He told about Damian being sent by the emperor to enforce the mandatory sacrifice, and how Damian had killed Elizabeth and sent Jacob and his young sister to Devil’s Island, along with other Christians from Ephesus. He told how Damian had beaten the elderly Apostle in the quarry and then he’d thrown the stone that hit Damian. Jacob told it all, and Juvenalis listened intently, stopping him now and then to ask a question.
“I’m traveling to Rome,” the admiral finally said, “and you’re sailing with me. I’ll notify the captain of the Jupiter that I’m transferring you into my custody.”
Jacob jumped to his feet, his heart leaping at the realization that God had given him favor again. He didn’t know in what capacity Juvenalis would use him, but it had to be far better than being an oarsman on a warship.
“Whatever assignment you give me,” Jacob said, “I’ll give it my best, sir.”
“Your assignment is to get your sister off that godforsaken island.” The admiral’s voice was gruff, and he didn’t speak for a moment.
Jacob’s mind was whirling. He couldn’t believe what the admiral was saying. Go to Devil’s Island and take Rebecca? “But how?” he finally stuttered.
“I’ll have to leave the how up to you, son. What I can do is get the emperor to issue an edict of liberation for you and your sister.”
“But Domitian is the one who sent us there . . .”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t make that clear.” He shook his head wearily and waved Jacob back to the chair. “Sit down, and I’ll explain.”
Juvenalis relayed the information that Domitian had been assassinated three days earlier. “
That’s why I’m going to Rome,” he said, “to meet with the new emperor and his military advisers.”
“And you think the new emperor will grant a pardon for us?”
“I think he’ll be willing to do a personal favor for the ranking admiral in order to solidify the support of the imperial navy for his new regime.”
Jacob was overjoyed at the possibility, and bold enough to ask that John be included in the favor. The admiral agreed.
“Domitian was widely hated,” Juvenalis said, “and his memory will be vilified now that he’s gone. Eventually, all the senators and nobles he exiled will be recalled, perhaps the prisoners of conscience as well. I intend to speed up the process in your case, to repay you for saving my life.”
A marine came in to report that the transport was ready to get under way.
“I need to get a message to the prefect first. And the captain of the Jupiter,” the admiral said on his way out the door.
When they left, Jacob dropped to his knees and put his head in his hands. Tears stung his eyes as he breathed a quiet prayer of thanksgiving and then petitioned heaven for favor with the new emperor, whoever he was.
Jacob was on his way to Rome, and—he dared to believe— freedom.
34
DOMITIAN WAS DEAD, Nerva was emperor, and Naomi was livid.
“You mean it was decided—just like that?” She snapped her fingers as she spoke, then resumed pacing in front of the dining table.
“I’m sure it was decided before he was killed,” Lucius said, “otherwise it wouldn’t have happened all at once. As soon as he was dead, the praetors presented Nerva as their choice for successor, and the Senate ratified him immediately.”
“Nerva must have been behind it, then.”
“I doubt he played an active part in the conspiracy, although he may have known about it in advance.” Lucius looked up with a frown, his eyes following Naomi as she walked back and forth in front of him. “Sit down, Naomi. Your angry little parade is getting on my nerves.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, then walked around the table to the triclinium and stretched out beside him. Lucius seldom spoke harshly to her, and she didn’t like it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve had a very long, exhausting day.”
Mollified by his quick apology, she prompted him to continue. “So, tell me everything that happened.”
“As best I can reconstruct it, the emperor’s wife enlisted Norbanus and Petronius Secundus, the new prefects of the Praetorian Guard, to help plan it. The man who actually stabbed Domitian was a former family slave; he was killed in the struggle.”
“When I first suggested the idea, you said it was bound to happen sooner or later. I thought it might as well be us. Instead, someone else got to him first.” Naomi wrinkled her mouth in a pout. Six weeks of scheming to come up with a plan that would work—and for nothing, she thought. Lucius had said it would be risky and that it would take a while to coordinate; they simply hadn’t had enough time. She could have kicked herself for not coming up with the idea months ago.
“Domitian used to complain about assassination plots,” Lucius said. “He often said it was an emperor’s unfortunate lot that no one would believe the rumors about a plot against him until it had been successfully executed.”
“Maybe if he had rereleased the coins with Domitia’s image on them, she might not have had him killed.”
Lucius laughed so hard at the droll remark, he nearly spilled his wine. “I don’t think that was the reason, but it might not have hurt.”
“Why did she do it?” Naomi couldn’t conceive of an emperor’s wife wanting to assassinate her husband. With her husband dead, she would no longer be empress—out of power—and why would she want that?
“He’d become extremely paranoid,” Lucius said, “and he suspected everyone, including his wife, of disloyalty. I think Domitia worried that he would have her killed in order to prevent her from killing him, so to keep Domitian from killing her, she had him killed first. See how convoluted palace politics can become?”
“Do emperors always have so many enemies?”
“The bad ones do. Domitian had angered a lot of people in fifteen years, especially the last few years. He took over complete control of the membership of the Senate, and he had a penchant for getting rid of people he didn’t like. He had executed or exiled a number of senators recently.”
“I’m glad Domitian didn’t get rid of you.” What a dreadful thought that was; she pushed it aside quickly. “But I’m still mad that they picked Nerva to be emperor, and not you. Why him?”
Lucius shrugged. “Several reasons, I suppose. Nerva’s popular, and very stable—he’s been around a long time. And he’ll provide a counterbalance to some of Domitian’s more drastic measures.”
“In other words, he won’t make waves.”
“No, we don’t like waves in the Senate.” Lucius smiled and set his plate aside, then laid his head on the slope of the sofa. “Also, Nerva has no heirs, so he can’t start a dynasty. I’m sure that was part of their consideration.”
“You’re taking this very well. Didn’t you want to be emperor?”
“It was more your dream than mine, actually.” He repositioned himself so he could see her face. “Are you really disappointed, darling?”
“Only for you. I thought you deserved to be Caesar.”
To be honest, she was very disappointed. And dissatisfied with her life. But how could she explain it? Naomi wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore, just that she wanted to be somebody. Somebody important in her own right. Not because she was her father’s daughter. And not because she was a senator’s wife, although she loved the status it brought, and she had grown rather fond of Lucius.
Being Caesar’s wife had seemed like the next logical step toward an uncertain destination. Naomi would outlive Lucius by many years, and she had figured that someday, as the widow of an emperor, she would have the clout to do whatever she wanted— when she finally figured out what that was.
“I learned something else today.” Lucius paused and then smiled when she quickly gestured for him to continue. “Domitian had ordered Damian home. He wanted him for another special assignment.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know. The emperor had signed the documents for his recall, and I suppose he would have told Damian upon his arrival.”
Naomi didn’t want to think about Damian. Based on the one time she’d seen him, she didn’t like him. And she certainly didn’t trust him, although she had admitted he might be useful in their abortive plot against Domitian. She and Lucius had talked about enlisting Damian to help them carry it out—he certainly would not have had any qualms about it. But they had not arrived at a way to get Damian back to Rome without making Domitian suspicious.
As she thought about it now, Naomi decided that her first plan—the plan to take control of her father’s business—was what she should have concentrated on. She hadn’t abandoned the idea; she had simply gotten unexpectedly sidetracked with the notion of her husband becoming emperor.
“Lucius, I think we should go to Ephesus.”
“Now?”
“Yes. After my father died, you managed to get a declaration that I’m the sole heir to the family fortune, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Domitian signed it several weeks ago. But it will probably have to be approved by a court—if your brother Peter produces the original will and challenges us. Not that we couldn’t win; it would simply mean a legal battle.”
“All the more reason we should start right away. I want to get that finalized, then I want to move the headquarters of the shipping business to Rome. That way I can run it from here.”
“My wife, the beautiful entrepreneur.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, then said, “But I can’t leave right away, Naomi. With the change in rulership, I have to be here to protect my interests. I don’t think Nerva has a quibble with me, but I need to make sure the status quo holds in
the Senate before I leave on an extended trip.”
“But what about my interests? We have to protect them too.” She knew Lucius was right, and she certainly didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his position. But Naomi was impatient, now that she had decided it was time to quit talking about taking control of her father’s fortune and actually do it.
“You could go ahead without me,” he suggested. “And I can join you later.”
She brightened at the thought. The Mercury had been restored, and if the weather cooperated, she could be in Ephesus in ten days— two weeks at the most.
“I’ll leave as soon as I can,” she said. With Fulvia’s help, it wouldn’t take her more than a day or two to get ready.
“I’ll see that you have the document that names you sole heir, and plenty of money to tide you over until I can arrive in the spring.”
“Spring? You can’t come until then?”
“I might not be able to leave before the seas close in November.”
Naomi frowned darkly. Spring was six months away; anything could happen between now and then. “But what if—”
“I know,” Lucius said suddenly. “When Damian arrives, I’ll send him to you in Ephesus. With Domitian dead, he won’t have a new assignment, and perhaps he could be of assistance to you until I can get there.”
She didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t resist it. No woman had ever run a worldwide shipping operation before, and Naomi decided she’d deal with the devil himself if it meant being the first one.
“All right,” she agreed. “But promise you’ll hurry, darling.”
Jacob wanted to run down the street shouting, “I’m free! I’m free!” But he slowed to a walk, telling himself he couldn’t afford to lose the precious document clutched tightly in his hand—the document that had put an end to almost a year of torment.
When the admiral had left early yesterday morning to meet with the emperor, he’d told Jacob to wait on board the ship, which had docked overnight at the port of Ostia. Juvenalis hadn’t returned for more than twenty-four hours, and Jacob had spent most of that time pacing on the deck and praying. When the admiral finally showed up, he had the edict of liberation he’d promised, and he had generously given Jacob the money to take a carriage from Ostia to Rome.
