Avenger of Blood

by John Hagee

  “Perhaps so,” he replied. “I suppose I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  He sounded a bit defensive and Rebecca was sorry that her words had implied disapproval. She hadn’t intended to correct him; she spoke without thinking because she was firmly convinced that God— not some impersonal force or mere good fortune—had helped them rescue Victor.

  Rebecca had been surrounded by believers for so long, she didn’t really know how to interact with a man like Antony. How could she feel free to speak her mind and share her faith without sounding condescending? In the future she would have to be more considerate, she decided. She didn’t want to offend him, for Helena’s sake.

  That was the only reason for being more friendly, Rebecca told herself. It had nothing to do with the way she felt inside when she caught Antony looking at her.

  And the bumps in the road—that must explain why her pulse had quickened. That’s all it was.

  After they had sung a hymn, Polycarp stood and addressed the believers who had gathered for worship early on Sunday morning. The young bishop introduced the elderly apostle and explained the purpose of John’s visit. Then John began to tell the group about being a prisoner on Patmos, and how he had been “in the spirit on the Lord’s Day” when he had received a vision.

  Jacob listened halfheartedly. His head still throbbed from the blow he had received two days earlier. But his vision had cleared and he wasn’t dizzy; he was grateful for that—grateful to be alive, actually.

  He looked around at the people crammed into the dining room. Word had spread that the Apostle had returned with a special message for the church, and even though they met in one of the larger homes in the city, the place could not hold the crowd that had assembled for the occasion. The women and children sat on the floor, while the men lined up against the walls. Some stood in the doorway, and a few listened from the next room. Even the youngsters seemed to be spellbound as the Apostle recounted the story of his vision.

  Having heard the account several times, Jacob let his mind wander. He felt oddly detached from his surroundings, as if he didn’t belong. It wasn’t just that he didn’t know most of the people in the Smyrna church. Ever since he’d returned from exile he’d had a similar feeling whenever the church in Ephesus gathered at his family’s villa for worship. Jacob knew the songs and knew the sermons—he had even preached some of them—yet he felt like an outsider now, and he wasn’t sure why.

  After a few minutes, John began to read from the lengthy scroll Rebecca had copied on Devil’s Island. “To the angel of the church in Smyrna write: These are the words of him who is the First and the Last, who died and came to life again. I know your afflictions and your poverty—yet you are rich! I know the slander of those who say they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer persecution for ten days. Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life.”

  Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. Jacob had heard the words before; they sounded hollow to him now. He wanted to stand up and contradict John. Go ahead and be afraid, Jacob imagined himself saying to the congregation, because you can’t even conceive just how bad things could turn out.

  He had been through the persecution, been imprisoned—and for a lot longer than ten days. Jacob knew that was a figurative number, but he could no longer suppress his resentment that things had turned out so horrendously and gone on for so long. For weeks he had been avoiding the thought, but now he admitted it to himself: Jacob felt as if God had turned His back on Abraham and Elizabeth and their entire family.

  When they had arrived on Devil’s Island, John had encouraged Jacob to be patient in suffering. Patience had never been a word in Jacob’s vocabulary, but he had made a valiant attempt. Recently, John had even said that Jacob’s patient endurance of life aboard the Jupiter was the reason God had sent someone to rescue him. Jacob didn’t see it that way. He had saved the life of the highest-ranking admiral in the imperial navy; that was why Jacob had been given his freedom.

  It wasn’t that he wanted to reverse time and bring his parents back. That was impossible, and Jacob accepted it. And it wasn’t that he expected God to undo all the damage that had been done. He did expect the suffering to come to an end, however, and it hadn’t. Damian was still persecuting them.

  Jacob was not convinced that it was God’s will for Damian to torment them endlessly, and now more than ever, Jacob believed it was up to him to make the terror stop. If he killed Damian, there would be an end to his family’s torment.

  In Jacob’s mind, it was that simple: no Damian, no terror.

  Only one man was the source of their tribulation. The official persecution had ended, and politically things were settling down to the previous state of affairs—a sort of grudging toleration of those who denied the gods of Rome and worshiped only Christ. There was still hostility from certain quarters; in Smyrna it came especially from the Jewish population. “The synagogue of Satan,” John had called them.

  John was no racist. He was Jewish himself, and he loved the people through whom God had chosen to reveal Himself. John’s accusation against them stemmed from their instigation of the persecution, in many cases. Jacob knew from Polycarp that even before Damian’s troops had arrived in Smyrna, some of the Jews had been bringing charges against Christians to harass them. When the Tenth Legion had arrived, the harassers readily cooperated, helping the imperial troops target believers for the mandatory sacrifice.

  John cleared his throat and Jacob looked up. The Apostle’s voice— a voice Jacob had heard all his life—was not as strong as it once had been, but it was still as authoritative. John continued reading: “Then I saw in the right hand of him who sat on the throne a scroll with writing on both sides and sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll?’”

  Polycarp, who was seated to John’s right on one of the few chairs in the room, leaned forward, a rapt expression on his face as the Apostle spoke. Jacob thought back to the time, just a year earlier, when he had sat at the front of the congregation with John and Polycarp. How proud he had been to be included in the inner circle, the young protégé of the last surviving member of the Twelve, the disciples who had left all to follow Jesus of Nazareth. The white-haired, wizened man with the raspy voice who now enthralled the listening throng with his revelation had been an eyewitness to the pivotal point of history: the crucifixion and resurrection. And not long ago Jacob had been an important part of John’s ministry, with aspirations for a ministry of his own.

  How could it be, Jacob wondered, that he now felt so alienated from it all? And why did that alienation not bother him more than it did?

  John had confronted him about it the previous night. “You’ve left your first love,” John had accused. “You’ve lost your zeal.”

  No, what I’ve lost, Jacob thought now, is my family. And all of it had happened at Damian’s hand.

  There was one other thing Jacob had lost, or was in danger of losing: his self-respect. He keenly felt that he was responsible for taking care of the family now, and part of that responsibility included stopping Damian from harming them further. Once Jacob had made sure of that, he could turn his attention back to the ministry, or whatever else he decided to do. Jacob wasn’t sure now exactly what that would be; he simply knew that whatever it was, it couldn’t start until Damian was out of the picture.

  Jacob also knew John would be even more upset with him. The Apostle wanted Jacob to accompany him as he delivered the letters to the other churches. “We can finish the ministry tour we started last year,” John had said. “You’ll have more opportunities to preach.”

  But Marcellus would be traveling with John, so the Apostle would be in good hands. And Jacob could not see himself preaching again anytime soon. He had nothing to say to
a congregation and didn’t know if he ever would.

  Jacob rubbed his throbbing temples, then turned his attention back to John. “When he opened the fifth seal,” the Apostle read, “I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, ‘How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?’”

  Avenge our blood. The phrase startled Jacob. Avenger of blood was the thought he kept coming back to.

  It was the only way Damian would ever be brought to justice. The authorities would never bring charges against him. Damian was from a very prominent, very wealthy family; he could buy his own justice. As for the charge that he had raped Rebecca, there were no witnesses, so Damian would never be prosecuted. And on the charge that he had murdered Elizabeth, Damian could claim it was an unfortunate consequence of performing his duty: he was under imperial orders to enforce the mandatory sacrifice, and she had interfered.

  The same thing could be said about his beating John with the whip: John was a prisoner who had not obeyed a direct order to carry a load of rocks. Damian had oversight of the prison camp, so he was acting within his responsibilities. Never mind the injustice of expecting an eighty-four-year-old man to lift a load of rocks that weighed almost as much as he did—and to do it over and over and over again.

  Jacob wished he had killed Damian with the rock he’d thrown in the quarry that day. Of course, if he had, Jacob would have been executed on the spot, but he almost thought it would have been worth it. At least Rebecca would not have had to suffer as she had.

  I won’t miss another opportunity to take you down, Jacob silently vowed to his adversary. I’m the closest male relative to my mother and my sister. I will be the avenger of blood, as the law of Moses decrees.

  When John finally concluded his reading, Polycarp led the congregation in prayer, then the attendees began to disperse. Plautius and Sergius, who had helped rescue Victor, spoke to Jacob as they donned their work aprons, then they left to open their blacksmith shop. Verus, who had helped Marcellus discover Jacob’s would-be grave, also exchanged greetings with him, then quickly departed.

  It was the first day of another week, and people had businesses to tend, jobs to perform. Everyone had someplace to go, something to do. Everyone else, that is.

  Jacob watched the worshipers leave, feeling at loose ends, then he thought of Damian again. I have something to do too, Jacob told himself. And the sooner I do it, the better.

  15

  AT MIDDAY JACOB STOOD IN THE COURTYARD of Polycarp’s house, debating whether to tell anyone that he was leaving. Once he had defined his mission, Jacob had seen no reason to linger at Polycarp’s, and he’d had no lengthy preparations to make for his departure other than fetching his cloak and saddling his horse.

  It would be rude to leave without saying good-bye to the bishop and thanking him, but Polycarp was not at home. He was off somewhere attending to church business, no doubt. Jacob also wanted to say good-bye to John, because it might be a long time before he saw the Apostle again. But after speaking in church that morning, John had been tired, and he was resting now. Jacob did not want to disturb him, and besides, Jacob did not want to hear any more arguments about vengeance. He was not out to seek revenge, he told himself; only justice. And justice had already been delayed too long.

  No time for good-byes, he decided. Anyway, he might not be gone very long. In fact, it could all be over this afternoon, depending on how quickly he found Damian. It was possible that Damian had left Smyrna, yet Jacob had a feeling the murdering, raping, kidnapping brute was still in town. But if Damian had left, he had probably not returned to Ephesus; having been unable to complete their extortion attempt, he would not want to face Naomi anytime soon.

  When Jacob walked outside, Marcellus was standing by the sorrel Jacob had ridden to Smyrna. The medical officer looked at the animal, which had been saddled and tied just outside the entrance, and then at Jacob. “Are you going back to Ephesus?” Marcellus asked.

  Jacob met his gaze and knew there was something more behind the simple question. He didn’t want to lie, but wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Marcellus what he was about to do. Instead, he asked Marcellus to tell John good-bye. “Take good care of the crotchety old man,” Jacob added with a smile. “I may not get to see him for a while.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Marcellus was unsmiling and resolute. “Are you going home?”

  Again Jacob hedged. “Not right away,” he said. “I have some business to take care of first.”

  Marcellus didn’t say anything for a moment. “You don’t need me giving you advice; you’ve had plenty of it.” His voice had a gruff note in it, perhaps a fatherly note, Jacob thought. Two days ago the man had dug him out of a premature grave, and Jacob didn’t know which of them had been more relieved. The austere military man had almost wept as he brushed the dirt off Jacob’s face and helped him breathe normally.

  “I suppose this is something you feel you have to do,” Marcellus added.

  Jacob knew that the other man had guessed the reason for his sudden departure. He offered no explanations or arguments but simply said, “I can’t get on with my life until I deal with this.”

  After another long moment, Marcellus extended his hand. “Be careful, then. Your family needs you.”

  Jacob clasped the offered hand and nodded, a lump rising in his throat. He was grateful that at least one other person understood and accepted—or at least didn’t try to restrain—his need to go after Damian.

  His good-byes said, Jacob mounted his horse and rode to the center of the city. In the marketplace he bought a sword and a dagger. He also bought two tunics. The one he’d been wearing when Damian buried him had later been washed and mended, but it still looked ready for the rag pile, which is where it was now destined. Jacob changed into one of the new tunics and left his old clothes with the shopkeeper.

  Because he had left Ephesus in such a hurry, Jacob had arrived in Smyrna without provisions, and he’d used what coins he’d had on him that first night at the inn. But Antony had arrived with quite a bit of money for Jacob to use in finding Victor, so now Jacob was well funded.

  When he left the marketplace, Jacob headed for the southern edge of the city. There were only two places he knew where he might find information on Damian’s whereabouts: Tullia’s house or the inn her brother, Tarquinius, owned. The thought of going back to the witch’s place was daunting, so Jacob decided to make a few inquiries at the inn first. Then he remembered Antony telling about the abandoned mill where they’d found Victor. So he rode past the inn and past the entrance to Tullia’s, and kept following the road when it narrowed, just as Antony had described it.

  At the mill Jacob found the coach and only one horse, which meant Damian was probably at Tullia’s, or at least that he wasn’t too far away. It also meant that he would be coming back. All Jacob had to do was wait. Eventually Damian would show up.

  Jacob let the horse amble back to the spot where the road narrowed. If Damian were in town, he would have to come down this road to reach Tullia’s house or the mill. Or if he happened to be at Tullia’s now, he would have to come this way when he left. Jacob purposed to be lying in wait whenever that happened.

  He dismounted and walked his horse into the brush at the side of the road. It wasn’t as wooded here as the thicket behind Tullia’s house, but he could still watch the road from this vantage point without being too visible.

  As the hours passed, Jacob had plenty of time to think about what had happened the last few days. He didn’t want to go back to the witch’s house. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid, even though what had happened to him there had been frightening beyond his experience. But Jacob wanted to face Damian alone, in a place where his enemy could not call on anyone—or any power—for assistance.

  Jacob had encountered evil in the forest behind Tullia’s hou
se. She had tapped into some kind of supernatural force, and it had momentarily paralyzed Jacob, keeping him immobile just long enough for Damian to reach him and deliver the blow that felled him. Thinking about the attack now, Jacob touched the spot at the base of his skull where Damian had struck him. The knot had gone down, but the place was still painful.

  Afterward, when Jacob had told the others about his experience, Rebecca had been distraught. “She put a curse on the whole family?” his sister had asked. “Does that mean we’re doomed?” Her voice wavered and her eyes grew large.

  John had dismissed her worries emphatically. “Absolutely not,” he said. “The witch’s curse will not have any effect on a true child of God.”

  “But look what happened to Jacob,” Rebecca had protested.

  “Yes, look what happened,” John replied. “Jacob is alive because God sent Marcellus and Verus to find him at the appointed moment. Tullia’s curse could not kill Jacob—God didn’t allow it.”

  To prove his point, the apostle quoted one of the proverbs of Solomon: “Like a fluttering sparrow or a darting swallow, an undeserved curse does not come to rest.” Then he had launched into an impromptu sermon on Balaam, whom the ancient Moabites had hired to pronounce a curse on the new nation of Israel. “The Lord would not listen to Balaam,” John said, “and He turned the curse into a blessing.”

  A witch might manage to harness a measure of demonic power, John had gone on to explain, but whatever power she possessed was subject to the sovereignty of God. As the Lord had demonstrated through the life of Job, Tullia could not harm a hair on their heads without God’s permission.

  The conversation had calmed any lingering fears Jacob had had. Still, he now thought it prudent to avoid Tullia’s house, if possible. No sense in giving her any opportunity to invoke her spirit companions.

  Jacob waited so long, he began to think he might have to spend the night by the roadside. Colder weather had arrived the day he’d ridden into Smyrna, and sitting on the ground, his back against a tree, Jacob was getting chilled and damp. He removed his cloak, took the other new tunic from his saddlebag, and put it on over the first one. The extra layer would give him added warmth if he had to sleep outdoors.