Avenger of Blood

by John Hagee

  “What brought you all the way from Ephesus to Cappadocia?” Gregory asked. “Do you have business here?”

  Jacob paused before answering; he wasn’t sure what to tell them. “I guess you could call it business—the same kind that sent you chasing after that trade caravan. Someone cheated me, and I followed him here. I lost him yesterday, but I think he was heading for the army post at Caesarea.”

  “It’s only a few miles from here,” Livia said. “It was a soldier who cheated you?”

  Jacob nodded. “A tribune. Or, he was. He’s not in favor with the new emperor, and I don’t think he actually has an administrative assignment at the moment.”

  “How did he cheat you?” she asked. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she added when Gregory cleared his throat.

  Jacob shook his head. “I don’t mind,” he said. But he didn’t answer right away.

  Livia’s curiosity got the better of her and she broke the silence. “He must have taken something very valuable from you, if you’ve followed him such a great distance.”

  “The most valuable thing of all. He took my family.”

  The answer confused Livia. “You mean, he actually took your family away somewhere? Or he . . . eliminated them?”

  “Both,” Jacob replied, leaving it at that. He did not want to go into a detailed explanation. Gregory had listened to the exchange without comment, but the stony expression on his face made Jacob uncomfortable. Perhaps it was time to leave.

  “My bedroll and equipment were stolen with my horse,” Jacob said to the older man. “Perhaps you could direct me to a nearby inn where I can spend the night.”

  “You’ll stay with us,” Gregory replied.

  “No, I’ve appreciated your hospitality, but I don’t want to impose—”

  “Please. It’s the least we can do,” Livia said. “You saved me from financial disaster.”

  Jacob did not require much persuading, and when he agreed to stay, Gregory rose and started to clear the table. “Good, then. I’ll prepare a bed for you in my quarters,” he said, his voice cordial, his posture relaxed.

  Then the impassive look returned to Gregory’s face, and he stood completely still, dirty dishes in each hand, looking at Jacob for a long moment. Jacob felt exposed, laid open, and his skin began to crawl.

  Finally Gregory spoke, and although his voice was still normal, there was a different quality to it. Jacob knew that quality, that intangible, authoritative quality, and he knew its source was beyond the natural realm.

  “Your mission will not succeed,” Gregory told him. “If you will let it go, your enemy will destroy himself. But if you continue your pursuit, you will fail. And you will find that the real enemy is inside you.”

  With that, Gregory turned and left the room. Jacob was shaken. He hadn’t said anything about being on a mission, although Gregory could have surmised that from what Jacob had said. Still, the word mission had startled Jacob because it was the way he had justified his pursuit of Damian.

  He looked over at Livia, who was studying his reaction intently. “Is your uncle some kind of prophet?” Jacob asked.

  “Gregory has been known to utter prophecies on occasion,” she said.

  “Accurate prophecies?”

  She nodded yes. “Are you a religious man, Jacob?”

  “I used to be,” he said slowly. “Very religious.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m not so sure.” For some reason, Jacob was comfortable admitting his doubts to this woman he’d just met. A woman whose religious background, if any, was a mystery to him. For all he knew, Livia and her uncle could be worshipers of Cybele, the Mother Goddess. Jacob knew the cult was strong in the eastern part of the Empire.

  “Gregory is a religious man,” she said, “but he doesn’t worship the traditional gods of Rome or Asia. He’s what you would call a Christian, if you know what that is.” She hesitated only a moment, then plunged ahead with her confession. “And so am I.”

  Jacob couldn’t help it. He shook his head and started to laugh, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. Livia looked alarmed, and he tried to get control of himself so he could reassure her that he was laughing at himself, not her. She probably thought he was some sort of deranged maniac.

  But how could he explain the irony? Jacob had left the spiritual naysayers behind—those who had begged him to leave Damian in God’s hands—and traveled several hundred miles, only to land in the home of a Christian prophet who, within two hours of meeting Jacob, had delivered the very same message.

  “Antony!” Rebecca looked up from the sloped couch in the dining room, where she was sitting with Galen. How many surprises did this evening have in store? First Galen had shown up unexpectedly, and now Antony.

  She quickly rose, feeling a bit guilty, although she had no reason to be ashamed. There was ample reason to feel awkward, however, with the two men staring at each other. Galen looked disappointed at the interruption, and Antony appeared grim, as if he had just received some very bad news. She hoped it didn’t concern Helena.

  “Is everything all right?” Rebecca asked Antony.

  He quit staring at Galen and turned his attention to Rebecca. “Fine,” he said. “I didn’t know you were entertaining tonight. I had hoped to talk to you.”

  Rebecca was glad she had an excuse; she had wanted to avoid another conversation with Antony today. “Perhaps another time would be better,” she suggested.

  Antony appeared not to have heard. He walked over to Galen and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  Flustered by her lapse in observing the social proprieties, Rebecca rushed to make a formal introduction. Galen stood to shake Antony’s hand, and she watched as the two men sized each other up.

  Rebecca was at a momentary loss for what to say or do. Galen said, “I should be leaving anyway. I have to be up early tomorrow to finish an order for a client.”

  Antony smiled slightly, as if he’d won a small victory, and Rebecca tried to stifle a surge of irritation at his unannounced appearance as well as apprehension about the reason for his visit. She’d said what she had to say to him earlier—what else was there to discuss? “I’ll just see Galen out,” she told Antony, “and I’ll be right back. If you wouldn’t mind waiting here.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  Rebecca walked with Galen through the atrium to the main entrance, wishing she could erase the look of misery from his face. She had rebuffed his attempt at a reconciliation and she’d known it would leave him feeling dejected, but Antony’s arrival had made things even worse. However, she would let Galen sort out his own feelings and not try to draw him out. Now was not the time for that. Actually, there would never be a time for that again, she realized with a slight twinge of regret mixed with relief.

  When they got to the door, however, Galen surprised her by deciding to say exactly what he felt, and by doing it with an uncharacteristic display of anger. “Just a few minutes ago,” he said, “you told me you had decided to remain unmarried.” A dark lock of hair had fallen over his forehead again, but he did not brush it back absentmindedly this time. Instead, he stood with his arms folded across his chest. Both his tone and his look were accusatory. “Did you mean that?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, wondering where this was going. “I did.”

  “I’ve never known you to be a liar before, Rebecca. It doesn’t suit you.”

  She was so taken aback, she was tongue-tied for a moment, and then she was indignant. “I’m not a liar. Why would you even think that?”

  “Because I saw the way Antony looked at you just now, and I also saw the effect it had on you.”

  Rebecca blushed, and the realization that she was blushing made her even angrier, adding still more color to her cheeks.

  She didn’t respond, so he continued. “The two of you have been keeping company quite a lot, haven’t you?”

  “His mother,” she said defensively, “is quite ill. She’s been staying wit
h us, so Antony has been here a lot as well.”

  “Is that all it is? Nothing more?”

  “Yes. I mean no, there’s nothing more. That’s all it is.” Galen’s sudden jealousy exasperated her. Their engagement was over—had been over for quite a while. His half-hearted attempt to patch things up tonight had been a result of loneliness, not love, and she’d seen it for what it was even if he hadn’t. Galen had a right to be disappointed, even hurt, but not jealous.

  “You don’t have feelings for him?”

  “No,” she insisted. And that, Rebecca finally admitted to herself, was not true. She did have feelings for Antony. Perhaps it had taken seeing him and Galen together to realize that. Yet as strong as those feelings were, she was not going to act on them, so it didn’t make any difference that she hadn’t answered truthfully.

  “I think you should leave now, Galen.”

  He stepped through the door, then turned around. “If you ever change your mind about not getting married—”

  “Please, Galen.”

  “All right, I’ll go.” He reached up and brushed her cheek with his hand in a sad, sentimental gesture. “Good-bye, Rebecca.”

  When he left, she bolted the door and leaned back against it. She had just shut the door—again—on a chapter of her life. She still cared for Galen, but it was not the same love she had once felt for him. That was gone, and even though it had left a void in her life, she would not try to rekindle it.

  And yes, she acknowledged again, I have feelings for Antony now. That’s why she did not want another conversation with him, but since he was waiting inside for her at this very moment, she supposed it was inescapable.

  Steeling herself for the confrontation, Rebecca went back to the dining room. Antony had poured himself a glass of wine, but it did not appear to have lightened his mood.

  “I was about to think you’d left with your fiancé.”

  “He’s not my fiancé.”

  “No?”

  “Not anymore.”

  For a moment Antony contemplated the pattern on the silver wine goblet in his hand, then he placed it on the table and sat down on one of the triclinia. “Let’s talk, Rebecca. Sit.” He patted the sofa beside him. “Please,” he added when she hesitated.

  She thought it was somehow dangerous to be that close to him, but she joined him on the sofa anyway.

  “It’s time to be completely honest,” he said. “Both of us. This afternoon you made a big show of telling me you were never going to marry. Then I came here tonight and found you and your former”—he was careful to emphasize the word—“fiancé in an intimate moment.”

  “That’s not what it was.”

  “That’s what it looked like.” She didn’t respond, so he finally asked her, “Are you still in love with him?”

  “No,” she replied, able to look Antony directly in the eye because it was the truth. “I loved him very much once, but that’s in the past.”

  “Galen is still in love with you, though.”

  Rebecca acknowledged the observation with a nod, then said, “He thinks he is. But he’s really in love with the idea of being in love with me. He’s in love with a woman who doesn’t exist anymore.” It was a little odd, she thought, but she did not feel that uncomfortable talking to Antony about Galen. She had needed to talk to someone about it, and Antony was a good listener, even now, when he was upset with her.

  “And he still wants to marry you.”

  “That’s what he said. But I told Galen the same thing I told you, that I—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “You said, ‘I’m not ever going to marry.’” He smiled at her then, and even though the words and the smile were laced with irony, she couldn’t help smiling back.

  “Do you really believe that, Rebecca? Would your God actually deny you the pleasure of marriage? Or are you using that as an excuse so you don’t have to deal with an area of your life that can be fraught with difficulty as well as happiness?”

  Not knowing how to answer, Rebecca looked down at her hands. He was asking the questions she’d been asking herself.

  Antony let her remain quiet for a moment, then he picked up her hand and placed it in his. “Look at me, Rebecca. I want to tell you something.”

  She wanted to resist, but his gentle voice was like a magnet that drew her head up in spite of her reluctance. When his eyes locked onto hers, she was powerless to look away. And what she saw in his eyes was as riveting as the words he spoke.

  “Rebecca, I’ve never hidden my feelings for you. I haven’t spoken of them directly, but I haven’t hidden the fact that I’ve been attracted to you from the moment we met. And I believe—no, I know—you have feelings for me too, whether you’ll acknowledge them or not.”

  She did not admit her feelings, but she did not deny them either, so he continued. “That’s why it hurt so much when I found out you think I’m not good enough to marry you. Rebecca, does it really make such a difference to you that I’m not wealthy? I have a good law practice with a good income, and I would provide for you and—”

  “You found out what?”His words finally penetrated her emotional fog. “I think you’re ‘not good enough’ because you’re not wealthy?”

  Antony looked puzzled. “Isn’t that what you told my mother?”

  “That’s not what I said.” Rebecca stood and moved away, saddened by the memory of her disagreement with Helena, and saddened by the reason she couldn’t marry Antony even though she cared for him: he was not a believer. It was Helena who had responded to Rebecca’s decision by saying, “You’ll have to be the one to tell my son he’s not good enough for you.” But that wasn’t what Rebecca had meant at all. It wasn’t a matter of money; the issue was faith.

  Antony stood and walked up behind her. She didn’t turn around when he placed his hands on her shoulders, but she didn’t move away. He leaned close and softly asked, “Then what is it? Rebecca, I love you so much. Can’t that be enough for you?”

  She trembled slightly and couldn’t quite catch her breath. He loved her. Until that moment she hadn’t realized how much she had wanted to hear him say that—how much she had needed to hear it. The words sounded so good that she fought back a powerful desire to ask him to repeat them.

  Antony slipped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Marry me, Rebecca,” he whispered. “Marry me.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned against him. It felt . . . right. But it was wrong . . . wasn’t it? Her heart was pounding, and a struggle warred between her emotions and her will.

  Finally she pulled away. “Antony, I can’t.” She had to swallow hard before she could get the words out. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t marry you.”

  “Why not?”

  She couldn’t bear the look in his eyes. This was so cruel, so unfair, both for him and for her. Why did it have to be this way? But it did, even though he loved her, and she loved him. She knew that now; she was in love with him. But she could not be unequally yoked, and that’s what marriage with Antony would be.

  Rebecca took a deep breath. “Because you’re not a Christian,” she said. “So in spite of the fact that I . . . have feelings for you, I can’t marry you . . . Please don’t ask me again, Antony.”

  He stared at her for the longest time, and she watched a silent display of emotional fireworks cross his face: longing, hurt, rejection, anger. Finally, he said, “Very well, I won’t ask again.”

  When he turned and left, she dropped her head to her hands. She’d made the right decision, she reminded herself as the tears started to fall. But wasn’t there supposed to be joy in following God’s will?

  22

  January, A.D. 97

  ON THE FIRST SUNDAY OF THE NEW YEAR, Rebecca sat on a cushion on the dining-room floor while John addressed the church that met at the villa. It was too cold to meet outdoors in the peristyle garden, so they had rearranged the triclinia in the dining room to accommodate the worshipers. Word had spread that the Apostle had returned
to Ephesus, so the service was well attended in spite of the bitter weather and the early-morning hour before the workday began.

  “I bring you greetings from your sister churches in Asia,” John said. “They gladly heard the word of the Lord, which I received on Patmos.” John gestured toward Rebecca. “And thanks to the assistance of my faithful scribe, each congregation now has a scroll containing the full Revelation.”

  It pleased Rebecca to be recognized for her contribution, but she was not pleased to see that John was weaker after the six-week trip. He seemed to be more stooped than ever, and he had developed a tremor. His voice was not as strong as it had been, and sometimes it faded out in midsyllable. She noticed he tried to compensate by speaking more loudly than usual.

  “Each of the churches has suffered during the recent persecution,” John reported, “although none as much as the church here in Ephesus.” One by one, he named the pastors of the other churches, beginning with Polycarp, and said a few words about the struggles of each congregation as well as the victories they had experienced. “The kingdom of God is being advanced through our adversity, and I give praise and glory to Jesus Christ, our risen Lord, with whom I walked the shores of Galilee, and whom I have served with joy and great gladness for close to seven decades.”

  Although spoken in a weakened voice, John’s words still carried the imprint of apostolic authority. He began to describe the office of pastor, “the one who stands as a representative of the Great Shepherd before His sheep,” and then called for Theodorus to come forward. A long-time elder in the church, Theodorus was on the short side but still quite muscular for a man approaching forty. He had the appearance of an athlete, not a scholar, yet he was both. Before becoming a Christian, Theodorus had won prizes for both boxing and Latin poetry when Domitian, early in his reign, had introduced Greek-style games to the Empire. The Roman populace, however, was enthralled with chariot races and the gladiatorial events at the magnificent new Colosseum. The more serious athletic and cultural events of the emperor’s Greek-style games had never managed to rival the blood sport of the arena in popularity.