Avenger of Blood

by John Hagee

  Rebecca grew quiet again when she finished her story, and Marcellus knew she must miss Servius, who had died on Devil’s Island a few months after being sentenced.

  Marcellus gave her a moment to let the memories fade, then he said, “A few minutes ago you were talking about how you had found your purpose on Devil’s Island. I’m sure there’s a purpose for you here, as well. A ministry God has for you—perhaps something only you can do. But you can’t find what that is if you don’t look beyond yourself, Rebecca.”

  She looked doubtful. “What could God possibly have for me to do?”

  “Perhaps the same kind of work your mother did. Peter says she visited the sick and took food and clothing to those who needed it.”

  “Mother always took care of the less fortunate.”

  “Peter also said you used to go with her sometimes and that you were good with people, just like she was. I already know how you took care of John every day for the last year.”

  “The truth is that neither one of us could have survived without you, Marcellus. You’re the one who risked your career, and probably your life, to hide us, bring us food.”

  “All of which simply proves that we need each other. And from what I understand, there are many believers in Ephesus who need help, especially the families of prisoners.”

  “Helena has already talked to me about that.”

  Her voice was flat but a glimmer of interest seemed to light up her eyes, and Marcellus pressed the advantage. “Evidently she could use your assistance. According to Jacob, she has the gift of confusion.”

  Rebecca rewarded him with another fleeting smile. “That sounds like Jacob . . . and Helena.” The baby fussed in his sleep, and Rebecca comforted him until he quieted. “But I can’t traipse all over Ephesus with Victor, and he’s too young for me to leave him.”

  Marcellus was ready for this objection, and he had already thought of a solution. “You could leave for a few hours. Agatha is always saying that she’ll watch Victor for you.” Peter had hired Agatha, a recent convert, as part of the villa’s housekeeping staff. Agatha had a young infant of her own, so she could nurse Victor if need be.

  “I suppose,” Rebecca agreed, yet she looked pained and almost panicked. “But even if I weren’t worried about Victor, I still couldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m afraid. Afraid of what people would say. Or what they wouldn’t say. Some of the other Christians think I’m a bad person. Oh, most of them won’t say it to my face, but they talk about it behind my back. I don’t know who my friends are anymore.” Her face fell as she admitted, “And I’m still too sad to be around people most of the time.”

  Now, there was a problem, Marcellus acknowledged silently. A few people had been upset when Rebecca returned from Devil’s Island with Victor. Instead of rejoicing over a fellow believer surviving the ordeal of a brutal prison camp, they had wagged fingers at an unwed mother. If they only knew the whole story, Marcellus thought. He’d been the one to find Rebecca after she had been sexually assaulted and savagely beaten.

  “I understand,” he said. “But hiding at home all the time won’t quell the gossip. And I’m sure the people who need your help won’t really care that you came back from prison with a baby but no husband.”

  Marcellus stood and offered his hand to Rebecca. The brilliant fireball of sun had faded to a burnished glow that shimmered over the Aegean waves.

  “Let’s go home before it gets dark,” he said as he helped her stand and secure Victor for walking down the hillside. “Just promise me you’ll think about it, all right?”

  Rebecca had thought about their conversation for several days, then she had decided to help Helena, who urgently needed her.

  For the past week Rebecca had risen early each day to help coordinate their efforts to minister to the needy. The first day she’d been so upset about leaving Victor that she’d fretted constantly and had tried to rush Helena out of every home they visited. But when she’d returned to the villa, Victor was fine, sleeping contentedly in the handcarved crib that had once been hers, with Agatha and her baby girl close by.

  After a few days Rebecca was still trying to hurry Helena along, but simply because the woman had no concept of what it meant to keep to a schedule. The needs had indeed multiplied far beyond anything Rebecca’s mother had overseen. In their area of the city alone, some twelve families were in dire economic situations. In households where someone was sick, they tried to visit every day, and at one place Helena had taken several children home with her because their mother was too ill to care for them.

  Rebecca’s worries about people being unkind or thinking she was sinful had also evaporated. In home after home she had been embraced warmly, grateful men and women telling her how much they missed her mother, what a kind person Elizabeth had been, and how glad they were to see Rebecca following in her mother’s footsteps. Rebecca’s spirits had lifted immeasurably, and she was beginning to feel much more hopeful about life.

  One afternoon as they returned to the villa, Helena commented on the changes in Rebecca. “It’s good for you to be with people,” she said.

  “I enjoy your company, Helena.” It was true. In spite of the air of confusion that sometimes surrounded her, Helena brought a lot of joy to people. She was warm-hearted and generous to a fault.

  “I was really talking more about people closer to your own age. In fact, I was thinking you should get to know Antony.”

  Rebecca noted that Helena’s hazel eyes—which were beautifully tinted but too large for her small heart-shaped face—always sparkled when she talked about Antony.

  “My son is a good man,” Helena said, “even though he is not a believer—yet. He will be someday, I know in my heart. And Antony has never opposed my charitable work, though he sometimes complains that I spend so much of my household budget to feed others that my own pantry is empty. But I notice that he’s taken more of an interest in good deeds since you’ve been helping me.”

  Helena chattered on about her oldest son for a moment, and Rebecca frowned when she finally realized that her friend was trying to play matchmaker.

  “Have I said something wrong?” Helena asked, then didn’t give Rebecca a chance to reply. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, and perhaps it’s not the right time to bring this up, but you don’t want to spend the rest of your life alone . . .”

  She would have to think of a way to stop Helena. Antony seemed to be very nice, even though she had only met him a couple of times. An attorney, he was helping Peter and Jacob through the legal morass of getting their father’s will probated. However, nice wasn’t the issue. Rebecca simply was not interested. She would have to find a polite way to tell Helena.

  When they arrived at the villa there was no bustle of activity as they entered the atrium, the large central room of the home. Rebecca was looking forward to a quiet hour or two. Peter and Jacob would not have returned from the harbor yet, and Marcellus was usually visiting John at this time of day. Perhaps she could even take a nap before dinner.

  “We’ll talk about this later, Helena,” Rebecca said firmly as she headed upstairs. “I need to check on Victor right now.”

  “Oh, bring him down if he’s awake,” Helena called after her. “I love that precious boy. It’s been so long since mine were babies, and I do enjoy holding them . . .”

  Helena’s voice trailed off as Rebecca reached the top of the stairs. She was glad to get back home to her son. Until this week Victor had never been out of her sight for more than a few minutes, and she missed him.

  Rebecca tiptoed into the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her, in case the baby was sleeping. She had taken only a few steps into the room when she stumbled and almost lost her balance. She looked down to see what had tripped her and found Agatha lying crumpled on the floor, bound and gagged, a deep gash on the back of her head. Blood had pooled and caked on her face and neck.

  Rebecca knelt down beside the housekeeper. Agatha
was alive but unconscious.

  Instinctively, Rebecca loosened the gag and was starting to untie Agatha’s hands when an icy fear gripped her heart. Victor!

  Stifling a sob, Rebecca stood and looked around frantically. Then she ran to the other end of the room, where Victor’s crib stood next to her bed.

  A long, gleaming sword lay across the empty crib.

  2

  “FOR ALL PRACTICAL PURPOSES, it’s over.” Antony was delighted to deliver the good news to his clients. He sat across from them in their office at the harbor, the sounds of the cargo handlers drifting in from the dock outside as the three of them conferred over the case.

  He marveled once again that the brothers were actually twins. Peter and Jacob were physical opposites—Peter, thin and frail; Jacob as muscular and sturdy as a plow ox. Antony had quickly learned they had opposite temperaments, as well. Peter was cautious and deliberate, while Jacob was impulsive, a man of constant action. He was pacing the floor, in fact, as Antony spoke.

  “There will be an official ruling by the court,” he continued, “but I can assure you that it is just a legal formality.”

  “You’re positive?” Jacob asked. “I don’t want to leave for Rome until I know everything’s settled.”

  “About as positive as I can be. Both the law and public sentiment are on your side. Your father was well respected in this community, while the late emperor was not only despised but has now been officially dishonored by the new government in Rome.”

  The case was certainly unlike anything Antony had ever seen. He had handled fairly complicated wills and estates for a few prominent citizens, but nothing that could compare to this. To begin with, the size of the estate was enormous. Abraham had been one of the wealthiest men in Asia. But politics, not to mention treachery, had complicated the situation.

  Abraham had been caught in the web of Domitian’s religious persecution of Christians and executed in Rome. Abraham’s oldest daughter, Naomi, the wife of a top-ranking senator, had betrayed her father, knowing it would lead to his death. And then, with the help of her powerful husband, no doubt, she had managed to get herself named as sole heir to her father’s estate.

  Antony had seen the decree presented to the court; it had been issued by Domitian shortly before his death. The document stated that because Abraham had died as a traitor to the Empire, all his possessions were to be confiscated by the state and then subsequently awarded to Naomi and her husband, Senator Mallus.

  “The codicil to your father’s will was properly executed, and it clearly disinherits Naomi. Naturally, it was dated prior to Domitian’s decree, which the court will set aside pro forma. The Senate, working with Emperor Nerva, is trying to undo much of the damage Domitian did in the last few years, and the court has signaled it will take notice of that. Even if Naomi appealed to Caesar, he would not uphold Domitian’s ruling; it’s well known that the emperor is behind the move to publicly vilify his predecessor.

  “So your legal worries with your sister are over. We should have a formal ruling in a few days, and then your lives can go back to normal.” “Our legal worries may be over,” Peter said, “but somehow I doubt Naomi will just pack up and leave.”

  “What else can she possibly do?” Jacob asked. “Besides, she doesn’t even need the money. Mallus is ridiculously wealthy in his own right. When Naomi finds out her little scheme has been defeated, she’ll hurry to reclaim her place in Roman society.”

  “You’re probably right.” Peter’s brow wrinkled in obvious concern. “I just can’t shake the feeling I had the last time I saw her.”

  Antony knew that Peter had stood up to her then, vowing to fight Naomi if she tried to claim the estate. She had tried, of course, which was when Antony had gotten involved in the case.

  Now, thankfully, it would soon be over.

  Helena wished her body would move as fast as her mind, but at forty-four her agility was not what it once was. When she heard Rebecca’s bloodcurdling scream, she ignored her usual aches and pains and scrambled upstairs as rapidly as she could.

  What she found astounded her. She didn’t know whether to go to Rebecca, who was holding a heavy saber, a look of sheer terror on her face, or Agatha, who appeared to have been mortally wounded and lay bleeding on the rare Persian carpet.

  “Victor’s gone!” Rebecca trembled as she looked around frantically.

  Helena stood paralyzed for a long moment, then she went in six different directions at once. “Go get help and search the house,” she said to Rebecca while stooping down beside Agatha’s still form.

  Rebecca dropped the sword on the bed and started to run out of the room as Helena cried, “No! Wait!” She left Agatha, retrieved the sword, and clumsily handed the heavy weapon to Rebecca. “Take it with you,” she ordered. “The attacker could still be in the house.”

  Helena knelt beside Agatha again and untied her hands. The woman was breathing but didn’t respond. Realizing there was little she could do for her, Helena ran to the hall. Where was everyone? Why hadn’t there been any servants around when this happened?

  She ran back to Agatha, thought about trying to get her off the floor and onto the bed, but couldn’t do it by herself, so she started downstairs. But when she got to the landing, she saw Rebecca charging upstairs with the chief steward close behind her, wielding the sword over his head.

  After that, everything seemed to happen at once. Rebecca and the steward led a search of all the rooms upstairs while the cook and the kitchen crew searched through the many downstairs rooms. Helena sent one of the servants to the harbor to notify Jacob and Peter, and another one to John’s house to fetch Marcellus. Perhaps there was something he could do for Agatha.

  Helena went up and down the stairs several times to check on the progress of the search, then she finally collapsed in the bedroom where the pandemonium had started. Her legs, unaccustomed to that much exertion, shook with pain and exhaustion; her hands trembled as she placed them on the empty crib and began to pray.

  Antony had never been on the upper floor of the villa, where the bedrooms were located. He ran upstairs behind Jacob, and Peter followed, climbing much more slowly and with great effort.

  When a messenger had interrupted their meeting to deliver the news that Rebecca’s baby was missing and a housekeeper had been attacked, Peter had told the others to leave the waterfront without him. But then Jacob had spied one of the company’s delivery wagons that had just unloaded and was about to leave the pier. He commandeered the vehicle and Antony helped Peter climb in, then they drove the horses at breakneck speed through the city.

  Now about a dozen people, most of them servants, were assembled in what appeared to be Rebecca’s bedroom. Helena had her arm around an ashen-faced Rebecca, and a woman, who must have been the injured housekeeper, lay at an odd angle across the bed. One of the other maids was tending to the bloody wound on her head.

  “What happened?” Jacob demanded.

  “Any sign of Victor?” Peter asked simultaneously.

  Helena shook her head. “No, we’ve searched the house thoroughly. Some of the servants are combing the grounds, but I don’t think they’ll find anything. Many of them were in the garden when it happened, and they didn’t hear any unusual noises.”

  “Why not?” Jacob shouted. “Why wasn’t someone here with Victor? How could this have happened?” He kept firing questions and people kept trying to answer, but with everybody talking at once, nobody could be heard.

  Finally, Antony stepped forward and raised his voice. When he had everyone’s attention, he said, “It would help if we heard the story in an orderly fashion. Jacob, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask some questions. You’re too upset—understandably—to think clearly at the moment.”

  Jacob scowled, but he sat down and listened.

  “Now,” Antony said, “who discovered that Victor was missing? Mother, you seem to have been here the whole time. What do you know?”

  “As soon as we arrived, Rebe
cca came upstairs to get Victor. Almost immediately, I heard her scream, so I came up to see what was wrong.”

  Antony walked over to Rebecca and knelt beside the large chest on which she was seated. “What did you find when you came upstairs?”

  She looked at him with such obvious agony in her dark eyes, luminous with unshed tears, that it tugged at his heart. Rebecca didn’t speak for a moment, and Antony realized he was staring at her. She was a very beautiful woman, no doubt about it. He looked away quickly and cleared his throat. “Can you tell me about it?”

  Her voice was quiet but steady. “When I came into the room, I tripped over Agatha. She had been tied up and it looked like she’d been hit in the head with something heavy.” Rebecca paused to take a deep breath. “Then I looked over at the crib and saw that a sword had been placed across the top.”

  “A sword?” Jacob asked, then he quickly muttered, “Sorry,” in Antony’s direction.

  “Yes, I picked it up. Victor wasn’t in his crib, and we couldn’t find him anywhere.”

  One of the servants held out the sword. “Here it is.”

  Antony exchanged a long look with Jacob; no doubt he also recognized the insignia on the hilt.

  After a few more questions directed to the staff, they learned that the cook and a few workers had been preparing dinner in the kitchen, at the very back of the house, when the child disappeared. The housekeeping staff—except for Agatha, who was watching Victor—had been in the gardens adjoining the main part of the house. The steward said he often allowed them to take a break in the afternoon, after they had finished their cleaning chores and before the family arrived for dinner. An intruder had apparently entered the villa at the quietest time of the workday.