by John Hagee
The carriage had deposited him at the Capitoline Hill, the heart of the city, and now Jacob was headed for his father’s riverfront office on the Tiber. He hoped by some chance that Abraham might be there or at his villa. The office was closer, so Jacob had decided to go there first. He knew his father would have been trying to get him and Rebecca released, and that would necessitate a trip to Rome, so it was possible his father was in the city even now.
Jacob turned off the street toward the warehouses lining the river. Nothing much had changed since the last time he’d been here. When he got to the wharf, Jacob broke into a sprint, unable to contain himself any longer. And when he neared the part of the dock where his father’s office was located, he recognized the man with salt-and-pepper hair sitting on a post at the water’s edge, idly watching the barges drift by.
“Kaeso!”
The captain jerked his head around and stared. Then he stood, wide-eyed and wondering, as Jacob ran forward.
“Jacob? . . . Jacob!”
“It’s me.” Jacob laughed exuberantly and threw his arms around Kaeso. The old sailor was probably unaccustomed to such demonstrative behavior, but Jacob couldn’t help it.
“The deep tan, the uniform . . . What did you do, boy? Join the navy?”
“No, I—it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got plenty of time to hear it. I’ve got nothing but time—”
“Is my father here? If you’re here, then the Mercury must be here, and I knew Father would be in Rome trying to do something to . . .” Jacob’s words tumbled over themselves in their hurry to escape his mouth, until he finally realized that Kaeso was silent and unsmiling. The news about his father must be bad, whatever it was.
“We’d better go inside and sit down,” Kaeso said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
They found a nearly empty corner of the warehouse and sat down on a couple of bales of cotton.
“Is my father alive?” Jacob asked.
Kaeso shook his head. “No. He died two almost two months ago.”
Jacob doubled over, as if he’d suddenly exhaled all the air in his lungs.
Kaeso put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jacob.”
“Why? Why?” Jacob wanted to break down and sob, but he wanted to hear about his father even more. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded. “All of it.”
Kaeso told him about the catastrophic voyage from Ephesus, how Abraham had survived the hurricane, and how Naomi had gotten married only a couple of weeks after they arrived. “She married some senator,” he said. “And I don’t know how to tell you this . . .”
Kaeso stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Naomi’s husband has a son, and this son is . . . His name is Damian, and he’s the one who killed your mother and sent you—”
Jacob exploded. “She married Damian’s father?” Rage spilled out of him in red-faced volcanic fury, and he shouted, “I could kill her for that!”
“Abraham said she didn’t know the senator was related to Damian before she married him, but she didn’t leave him when she found out, either. It nearly broke your father’s heart. He never saw Naomi again.”
Of all the things Jacob had thought he might encounter in Rome, this was not one of them. His sister married to Damian’s father.
“Anyway,” Kaeso went on, “months later—toward the end of June, I guess—your father finally did get a hearing before the Senate.” He told Jacob about Abraham’s testimony at the Curia, and how he had been arrested.
“I never saw your father afterward,” Kaeso said, “although I found out where they were holding him. I tried to see him, but the guards wouldn’t let me in. I knew he was there, though, because I heard him singing.”
“Singing?”
“Yes, and he sounded happy, strangely enough. Some song I didn’t know—about not being afraid even in the valley of the shadow of death.” Kaeso sat back down on the bale beside Jacob. “Is that one of your Christian songs?” he asked.
Jacob nodded but couldn’t speak until he’d swallowed the lump in his throat. “The Twenty-third Psalm.”
“He used to talk about that kind of thing sometimes, but I never was interested in religion, and he didn’t shove it down my throat. I just liked working for your father because he was a good man. An honest man. And he had the best boats in the business.” He looked at Jacob and smiled briefly, then became reflective again. “Now I wish I’d listened more to what he had to say.”
Jacob was quiet for a minute, trying to absorb everything Kaeso had told him. Then he finally asked, “How did he die?”
“In the arena,” Kaeso said softly.
“He was condemned ad bestias ?” The thought of wild beasts tearing his father’s body apart made Jacob sick.
Kaeso nodded. “I was there that day. At the Colosseum. I didn’t want to see it, and yet I couldn’t stay away. I felt I had to be there for him.” Kaeso told Jacob about the lions, how they had stopped and sat down before Abraham. And then he told him about the part Naomi had played in her father’s death.
“I had spotted her earlier, from up in the stands. She was sitting right there in Caesar’s box like she was some kind of queen. Then when those lions wouldn’t touch Abraham, and all the crowd was yelling and screaming, I looked down and she had her arm straight out and her thumb down. I started screaming myself then, and cursing. Her own father! I couldn’t imagine what kind of person would do that.”
Jacob’s tears fell uncontrollably. His mind was reeling, and he was almost beyond reacting. His sister betraying his father . . . It was too much to bear.
Kaeso finally told him about the gladiators killing Abraham, then he choked up and joined Jacob, weeping unashamedly.
Jacob fell on his knees and leaned over the bale of cotton, sobbing. Then he thought about Naomi, and his anger boiled over again. He pummeled the bale with his fists until his knuckles bled, and Kaeso had to stop him. Some of the workers in the warehouse came over to see what was going on, but Kaeso waved them away.
Later, when Jacob had calmed down, he told Kaeso everything that had happened to him, from Devil’s Island to the Jupiter, and how the admiral had helped him get not only his freedom but a release for Rebecca and John as well.
“I have to get to Patmos right away,” Jacob said when he’d finished the story. “Is the Mercury ready to sail?”
“The Mercury has already sailed.” Kaeso put a steadying hand on Jacob’s arm as he continued. “Naomi left yesterday. I refused to work for her, so she fired me and hired another captain. Had to hire additional sailors too, because most of the crew did the same thing I did. We were loyal to your father and not keen on the idea of his daughter being in charge now, which she seems to think she is.”
It must have been quite a scene, Jacob thought. Kaeso was obviously still worked up about it; his voice had risen as he talked.
“I had already written a letter to Quintus,” the captain continued, “informing him of your father’s death and asking what to do about the business operations in Rome. Everyone here always assumed you would take over after your father was gone, but when he died you were, well . . .”
“What did Quintus say?” Jacob knew his father had wanted him to take over the business someday, but he had no idea if Abraham had made provision for it in his will. They’d been at odds over his career plans when Damian had arrived to enforce the mandatory sacrifice and their family was torn apart.
“There hasn’t been enough time to receive a reply yet.” Kaeso sighed and said, “Anyway, I didn’t see how I could stop Naomi from taking the Mercury. If I’d known you were on your way, though . . .”
“Where was she going?”
“To Ephesus. Said she had business there. And if you ask me, she’s up to no good, whatever her business is.”
Naomi married to Damian’s father. Naomi sailing to Ephesus. Rebecca still on Devil’s Island. Alarm bells rang in Jacob’s head.
“I’ve got to leave right away . . . A cargo ship
. We can take one of Father’s cargo ships. You have to help me, Kaeso. Please—”
“I will, I will. But we won’t have a ship ready to sail for a couple of days. There’s one of ours in the harbor, but it’s still being unloaded.”
“I don’t care if it’s unloaded or not, we have to sail now.”
Kaeso studied Jacob’s face for a moment before clapping him on the back. “Then let’s hurry to Ostia.”
35
DEAD IN THE WATER. Naomi couldn’t believe it.
The first few days at sea had been beautiful and uneventful. The Mercury was making top speed, they were halfway to Ephesus, and then—suddenly—the wind had died and the ship had stopped.
And here they were. Going nowhere.
For two days now, Naomi had been arguing with the captain she’d hired when Kaeso had refused to sail the Mercury. She had thought Kaeso was a stubborn old seaman, but this new captain, Gracchus, topped him.
Gracchus is so bullheaded, his name ought to be Taurus, she thought as she paced the stateroom floor. She didn’t like being in this room, even though it had been rebuilt and refurnished after the hurricane. Too many memories still haunted it.
When Naomi had first realized the ship was stalled, she had ordered Gracchus to put the crew on the oars. He flat-out refused.
“Do you see that giant sheet of canvas?” he had asked, pointing to the main mast. “It’s called a sail. This is a sailing ship,” he’d informed her, as if she’d been an ignorant child.
Infuriated, Naomi had snapped, “It also has oars, and I happen to know they work—if somebody pulls them.” She knew the Mercury was equipped with only a short row of oars port and starboard, and they weren’t that effective. But they did cause the ship to move slowly through the water, and moving slowly would be preferable to this.
Above all, Naomi resented the captain’s refusal to follow her order. And she despised not getting her way; it was simply unthinkable.
So, for the past two days—two full days—she had used every weapon in her arsenal of manipulation. She had demanded, flirted, wheedled, cajoled, threatened, yelled, and even cried—all to no effect. Gracchus wouldn’t budge.
Over and over he’d said, “Like I already told you: the wind will pick up in a day or two, and when it does, we’ll be sailing again.”
But the wind hadn’t picked up, and they weren’t sailing.
Now, sitting in her stateroom, frustrated beyond endurance, Naomi finally decided to do something she never did: swallow her pride. She would go to Gracchus and apologize for her contrariness. She would ask him nicely, calmly, and she would offer a bonus if the crew would row until the wind picked up again.
When she found Gracchus on the main deck, she arranged her face in what she hoped would pass for a contrite smile.
Gracchus took one look at her, folded his arms across his chest, and said, “We’re not rowing.”
It made her so mad, she exploded. “I own this business now— the largest shipping business in the Empire—and I’ll see to it that you never work in the Mediterranean again!”
The captain didn’t even blink. “Try it.”
Naomi turned and marched back to the stateroom. When we finally do get to Ephesus—and we will—I won’t pay that mutinous man a single denarius for this trip.
She closed the door of the room and leaned back against it. Suddenly, Naomi started to laugh. The last time she’d sailed, she had survived the gale-force winds of a hurricane. This time there wasn’t even a wisp of a breeze. The forces of nature were conspiring against her.
Naomi’s laughter quickly died. She couldn’t control nature, and she had finally met a man she couldn’t control.
She wouldn’t be going home. Rebecca had wrestled with the decision for days, but until this moment she hadn’t been fully convinced it was the right choice. Now she knew.
“I can’t leave,” she said to Marcellus, who stood beside her on the rocky crest, looking out over the ocean, his hands clasped behind his back.
“You’re sure?”
“John needs me, and I have to stay.” It was as simple as that. John needed her. The baby would have Marcellus, and after that Peter, and plenty of others in Ephesus. But if she left, John would have no one.
She didn’t know how they would survive, isolated on this mountain, without Marcellus’s help; perhaps they wouldn’t, but they would soon find out. His twenty-year term had been up several days ago, and Marcellus should have been gone by now, but the regular supply ship from Ephesus was overdue. As soon as it arrived, Marcellus would take the baby, and John’s letter, and leave.
Marcellus had talked about her going with them. He had even tried to talk to Brutus about it, but the commander had been so busy coping with the overcrowding in the camp that Marcellus hadn’t been able to find a private moment with him. It was just as well, Rebecca thought now, because she couldn’t leave unless John did. She would not let the Apostle die on Devil’s Island alone.
She would miss Marcellus; he had been like a father to her. And without him, they would never have survived as long as they had— almost a year now. Just as God had provided manna in the wilderness for Moses and the children of Israel, He had provided the medical officer for her and John.
And for Victor. Marcellus had brought the two-month-old baby into the world, and now he was taking him to freedom.
As John had prophesied, Rebecca had given birth to a son. Not that the Apostle had been much help when the baby had arrived.
Rebecca was still embarrassed to think about the delivery. She’d been distraught because instead of her mother, she had two men— men!—to help her through the ordeal of childbirth. Actually, only one man had helped, and the other had merely survived. During the long hours of labor, Marcellus had stayed with her in the inner chamber of the cave, while John had waited in the outer room and prayed. And he had prayed so loudly at times, Rebecca had decided he was not so much petitioning God for help as he was trying to drown out her screams.
She had never experienced anything like it. The pain. The fear. And then the joy. A fuzzy-headed, red-faced, mewling little gift of joy.
“I hear Victor,” Rebecca said suddenly. She’d been lost in her thoughts, yet alert to the baby’s cry; she responded by turning toward the cave.
Marcellus put a hand out to stop her. “I’ll get the baby. I need the practice, don’t you think?” He smiled and patted her arm.
She watched him walk back to the cave, then turned around and stared over the water in the direction of Ephesus, her thoughts returning to what would happen in a few days. The thought of being separated from Victor left a dead spot in Rebecca’s heart. How could she stand it? Yet how could she keep her baby? She couldn’t. It would be impossible to try to raise a child in a cave, hidden away from the world. Victor deserved a life, and he wouldn’t have one on Devil’s Island.
Her brother Peter would look after Victor. He wouldn’t know how to take care of a baby, of course, but he would find someone to help. And Marcellus had said he would make sure Victor was provided for before he left for Smyrna, and Pergamum, and the other churches. He was excited about being the Apostle’s emissary to deliver the revelation to the churches.
Marcellus had also promised to look up Galen, to tell him that she was all right, and that she would understand if he did not wait for her. That was another decision Rebecca had made: she had to release Galen from his promise to marry her. She couldn’t hold him to it, not when she had no reason to think she’d ever get off Devil’s Island.
And she didn’t have a single reason to think she would. Except for John. He was convinced they would be released—said he knew it in his bones, and that his bones had been around long enough to know that kind of thing.
Jacob and Kaeso stood on the deck of the Honoria, studying the sky. When they had left Ostia, the wind was brisk, and the sails had unfurled with a noisy, welcome swoosh.
Now the sails barely flapped, and the powerful waves had turned to
timid ripples. The wind was dying.
Jacob was worried. They were at least a day behind Naomi, and the Mercury was a much faster ship. The Honoria was a massive work-horse of the sea, designed to plow through the water slowly and methodically.
He didn’t think Naomi would sail to Patmos—why would she want to? He couldn’t imagine her wanting to visit Devil’s Island out of concern for Rebecca. But he didn’t trust Naomi. He’d been hit with so many surprises lately, he didn’t think anything could shock him now—but he didn’t want to find out. He wanted to get Rebecca and John safely off the island and back to Ephesus before Naomi had time to do anything. He had no idea what his older sister might be up to, but like Kaeso, he figured her intentions were evil.
“We have to dump the wax,” Jacob told Kaeso. “It’s weighing us down.”
When they had arrived at Ostia, the Honoria had been unloaded, with one exception: a shipment of wax from Corsica. Jacob had insisted on sailing right away, without unloading the remainder of the cargo, and Kaeso had backed him up. The captain of the Honoria, Tiberius Durus, had worked for Abraham almost as long as Kaeso and had a similar regard for his late employer. Durus had agreed to leave port immediately.
“That’s an expensive shipment,” Kaeso pointed out.
“I know it will be a disaster economically, but I’ll just have to make up the losses when I get back to Ephesus. Right now that wax is slowing us down, and we have to catch—”
Kaeso interrupted him. “If the wind isn’t blowing, the Mercury isn’t moving, either.”
“But when the wind picks up,” Jacob said, “we’ll have to make up the time, and we can’t do it loaded. In the meantime, we can toss the cargo overboard . . . and we can row.”
