Avenger of Blood

by John Hagee

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Antony said. He allowed the innkeeper a moment of silent grief before asking, “Where were you when the fire started?”

  Tarquinius cleared his throat. “There’s a mangy old dog that hung around here. Severa was always chasing him off with a broom, but I felt sorry for the mutt. Sometimes after supper I would sneak scraps out to him. That’s what I did that night. I went outside and whistled for the dog, but he didn’t come. So I walked away from the tavern a bit, and then I found him . . .”

  The innkeeper swore again. “Someone had cut the animal’s throat. The blood was still fresh. It turned my stomach to smell it, but all of a sudden I noticed another smell. Smoke. I knew the cooking fire had been extinguished, and the smoke was not coming from the tavern anyway. It was on the other side. I ran around to the front of the property, and by the time I got to the courtyard, the whole downstairs of the inn was in flames.

  “I pushed down the door, but I couldn’t find Severa. We didn’t have guests that night, and she was doing some cleaning. I didn’t know what room she had been in. I called and searched, but within a few minutes the blaze became too intense to keep looking. I was nearly overcome by the smoke, but I made it out alive. My wife didn’t.”

  Trembling with emotion, Tarquinius paused in his narration. “I know that fire was deliberately set,” he concluded. “If it had been a lamp that tipped over and broke, the flames would not have spread that fast. Sergius told me about seeing a man throw a torch into the blacksmith shop the night it burned down. I think the same thing happened to me, but I don’t know how to prove it.”

  Antony quizzed Tarquinius about why the authorities thought he might have set the fire himself.

  “People in the tavern often heard me arguing with Severa, but that was just our way. We didn’t mean anything by it, and I always gave up and let her win after a few minutes. Now they’re saying that I carried a grudge against her all these years. It’s not true, but even if it was, I wouldn’t burn down my own business to get back at my wife.

  “But what if they don’t believe me?” Tarquinius asked. “I . . . I could be in a lot of trouble.”

  “I can help you,” Antony said.

  Tarquinius looked skeptical. “I don’t have any way to pay a lawyer.”

  “I don’t want your money. If the authorities charge you with murder, I’ll defend you for free.”

  “Nothing is ever free.” Tarquinius shook his head. “If you don’t want money, you want something else.”

  The astute observation pleased Antony. The man may have been uneducated, but he was smart enough, and that could come in handy. “I want your help to pin the crime on the real culprit,” Antony said. “Help me catch Damian.”

  For a moment the innkeeper simply stared, then he extended a meaty hand toward Antony. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  So will I, Antony thought as they shook hands. So will I.

  32

  October, A.D. 97

  LIVIA AND GREGORY STOOD TO ONE SIDE and watched in amusement as Jacob negotiated a price for the necklace with a chirpy-voiced woman wearing a green tunic with a blue stola. Her cheeks and lips were stained deep red, and the combination of the colorful cosmetics and apparel reminded Livia of a parrot. The woman would never get lost among the crowd conducting business in the marketplace in the center of Pisidian Antioch.

  The necklace was the last remaining piece of the dozens of jewelry items Livia had made over the summer. She’d worn it several times and had thought about keeping it for herself, simply because Jacob had said he loved the way it looked on her, and Livia thrived on his attention. He actually thought she was beautiful, and just knowing that had made her start to feel beautiful. But the necklace was not one of her favorites, so she was not that sad about parting with it.

  “Not every woman can wear this type of necklace,” Jacob told his customer. “But you have—if you’ll forgive me for saying something so personal—a very thin, elegant neck that sets off a fine piece of jewelry like this.”

  A scrawny neck was more like it, Livia thought as Jacob handed the woman a bronze mirror. She checked her reflection and fiddled with the long beaded strands dangling from the choker.

  “I don’t know . . .” The woman turned her head back and forth. “Do you have anything else?”

  “I wish you had been here earlier,” Jacob said with a sigh. “This is our last item. My wife is a very talented designer and her jewelry is in much demand.” With a conspiratorial wink he added, “We’re going to sell her work in Rome next year, you know.”

  “Shameless,” Gregory whispered with a jerk of his head toward Jacob.

  “Yes,” Livia replied, suppressing a chuckle, “he is. Shameless but successful.” She was proud of her husband. And even though she’d been married for over six months now, it still thrilled Livia to hear Jacob refer to her as “my wife.”

  It hadn’t taken very long for Gregory to convince Livia that moving to Ephesus was the right thing to do. “You belong with Jacob,” her uncle had said repeatedly, “and Jacob belongs in Ephesus.” Jacob had said he would be perfectly content to stay in Cappadocia if that’s what Livia wanted. But the more she had thought about it, the more she realized Gregory was right—not only about Jacob belonging in Ephesus but that there really was nothing to hold them in Caesarea.

  They hadn’t wanted to travel during the worst months of the heat, so they’d waited until early September before leaving. A month later they were over halfway there, yet it was still another two hundred miles to Ephesus, and in spite of the fact that she was having the time of her life, Livia was road weary. They had indeed talked about going to Rome, as Jacob was telling his customer, but right now all Livia wanted to do was to meet Jacob’s family and then stay put for a while.

  Jacob concluded the sale with the parrotlike lady, who reached a decision to buy as soon as he mentioned that this particular style of necklace was favored by Roman women of note. After he bid her farewell and deposited the coins in the leather wallet on his belt, Jacob rejoined the others.

  “So, what shall we do for the rest of this fine fall day?” he asked. Energized by the transaction, Jacob walked with a bounce in his step. “We should celebrate Livia’s success. We’ve sold every last bit of merchandise.”

  “And at higher prices than we’ve ever gotten before,” Gregory said.

  “I have to hand it to you, Jacob. You’re far better at this than I ever was.”

  “You always did fine by me,” Livia said in defense of her uncle.

  “Aye, we did all right.” Gregory picked up his hat from the cart and positioned it atop his silver-streaked hair. “But your young man here has a real flair for it.”

  Jacob winked at Livia. “That’s because my wife produces the best handcrafted jewelry in the world. Quality commands the highest price. I couldn’t sell inferior baubles with this much enthusiasm.”

  While Gregory reattached the small cart to the harness of the donkey they’d bought for the trip, they discussed their plans.

  Jacob said, “We could go back to the inn and spend another night in Antioch, if you like.”

  “It’s barely noon. I’d rather start traveling again.” Livia looked at her uncle. “Unless you’re too tired.” Even though Gregory had been well the entire time they had been traveling, Livia still fretted that it was too much for him. Once or twice she had heard him cough during the night, but the cough wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been last winter.

  “Me? I’m fine,” Gregory said. “As far as I’m concerned, we might as well get on the road.”

  They’d sold the last of the inventory, so there was little to load in the cart—just the mirror and the display cloths. Livia’s tools and supplies and the few household items they’d brought with them were stashed in the bottom of the cart. Jacob put the other things on top, then saddled the donkey for Gregory.

  This will be our last market. It was a poignant thought for Livia. She had never traveled s
o far from home before, and she had enjoyed the experience of seeing so many new places and the excitement of the public marketplaces. From Cappadocia they had traveled south through Lycaonia, stopping for days at a time to sell her jewelry and housewares at the markets in Derbe, Lystra, and Iconium.

  Gregory had eagerly pointed out that they were following the route taken by the apostle Paul on his second missionary journey.

  Her uncle had sought out Christians in every city, and it amazed Livia, the way he managed to encounter fellow believers wherever they went. It wasn’t as if they wore unique clothing or special signs that identified them, but somehow Gregory’s instincts always led him to start a conversation with a person who turned out to be a believer. And before long Gregory, Livia, and Jacob would be sharing a meal or even accommodations with a new Christian friend.

  After Jacob mounted the chestnut, he reached down and helped Livia climb on behind him. They both were wearing trousers, but Livia wore them for comfort in riding, now, not for a disguise. They left Antioch and headed southwest, toward Phrygia. When she asked, Jacob said it would take another ten days before they reached Ephesus.

  Ten more days to worry about what his family would think of her. “They’ll love you,” Jacob always said when she brought it up. Livia wished she could truly believe that. She didn’t know how they would react to Jacob being married, let alone married to someone who wasn’t at all like them. She had started letting her hair grow out—over Jacob’s objection; he had said he liked it short. In a month it would grow out enough to pin up and then she wouldn’t look quite so odd; they would be in Ephesus long before then, however.

  At twilight they stopped and made camp. Gregory cooked some flat bread in a skillet over an open fire and threw some fresh vegetables he’d bought at the market into a pot with some of his dried herbs. Jacob usually tried to stop for the evening at a town, where they would find an inn, but when the weather was nice, Livia actually preferred sleeping outdoors. Lying next to Jacob and gazing up at the stars was a great way to fall asleep.

  As they ate their meal, she studied Jacob’s face across the firelight. His square jaw still had that stubborn set to it, but there were no harsh lines around his mouth. He was quicker to laugh, and there was a lightness about him that Livia had glimpsed only briefly during the first months she had known him.

  The amber she had given Jacob adorned his hand; she admired its gleam in the glow of the fire. She had set the stone in a ring for him, and he never took it off. The lock of her hair and the copper engraving from the Song of Songs still resided in the keepsake box. It pleased her that it was Jacob’s most treasured possession.

  The evening was clear and a bit cool, as it was now October, but a far cry from the cold to which Livia was accustomed. She wondered what winter would be like in a warmer climate. When they were snuggled together under their blanket, she said to Jacob, “Tell me about the ocean.”

  “You’re forever wanting to know about the ocean,” he said. Livia couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was smiling. He always smiled when he talked about the water. That was one of the reasons she loved to ask him about it.

  “I’ve never seen the ocean,” she said, “and I’m glad that when I see it for the first time it will be with you.”

  Jacob talked about sailing over rough water and smooth seas. He talked about his father’s ships and the cargoes they carried to the far reaches of the Empire. Livia had heard it all before, but it still fascinated her. After a few minutes, Jacob fell quiet and she thought for a moment that he’d fallen asleep. Then he said quietly, “I don’t know what’s waiting for me at home, Livia.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know if my family will be glad to see me or not. It’s been almost a year, and I left without even saying good-bye. Except for Marcellus,” he added.

  Livia remembered that he was the medical officer Jacob had met on Patmos and that he had come to Ephesus to live with the family. She knew about Jacob’s twin brother, Peter, and their sister, Rebecca. Livia had been concerned about how they would receive her and Gregory; she hadn’t even considered that Jacob’s family might not be overjoyed at his return.

  “I feel a bit like the prodigal son returning home after a long sojourn in the far country,” Jacob said.

  Livia shoved her own worries to the back of her mind. “They’ll welcome you with open arms and kill the fatted calf, so to speak. I certainly hope so, anyway. It would be a welcome addition to one of Gregory’s stews.”

  Jacob laughed. “At least we haven’t gone hungry, and we haven’t had to spend too much of the money we’ve earned. Or you’ve earned, I should say.”

  She noted the subtle change in his voice. “Does it bother you, Jacob? My working, I mean?”

  “No,” he said after a moment. “I’m proud of your ability and your independence. It was one of the things that attracted me to you. I suppose I’m chagrined by the fact that I haven’t contributed anything to our expenses lately.”

  “But you have,” she protested. “You’ve done almost all the selling, and before we left Caesarea, you used the last of your finances to buy the donkey for Gregory.”

  “I should be taking better care of you,” he insisted. “And I will, when we get to Ephesus. Assuming I still have an inheritance waiting for me, I will build you a huge house in the hills, complete with a workshop. It will overlook the ocean, so you can see it from your window every day. And if I don’t get my inheritance for some reason, then I’ll work my fingers to the bone and build that house for you anyway.”

  “Oh, Jacob.” Livia rolled to her side and draped her arm across his chest. “You already take better care of me than you could ever imagine. I don’t need a big house. Your love is all the shelter I need.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely so.”

  “Well, if it turns cloudy and rains tonight,” he said, “I don’t want to hear a word of complaint.”

  Livia rejoiced in his embrace, thinking she would not complain if the skies opened up and drenched them to the skin. She was happier sleeping outside on the hard ground with Jacob than she had ever been in her life.

  “‘Many waters cannot quench love,’” she whispered into the night, then finished with a yawn, “‘Rivers cannot wash it away.’”

  Rebecca paced the floor of the library. She was supposed to be writing a letter to Antony but didn’t know what to say. After a few minutes of walking back and forth, she returned to the desk and picked up the most recent note from him. Barely more than a half dozen lines, it most certainly could not be called a letter. She quickly scanned it, then tossed it aside angrily and continued pacing.

  Evidently Antony was no better at writing his mother. Rebecca had talked to Helena about it, and both women commiserated at his lack of communication. Helena had, of course, come to her son’s defense. She had told Rebecca, “He’s engrossed in his work, dear. That’s all.”

  Well, Antony had been engrossed in his work for over six months now, and Rebecca was out of patience. At first she had written him three or four letters a week, and while his letters had never been as numerous, they had been long and overflowing with love. They had also been full of news about what was happening in Smyrna. But lately he had written only one letter a week, and it was always vague and short. So short, she pictured Antony dashing it off while the courier waited.

  “I love you . . . I miss you . . . I’ll be home as soon as I can.” As brief as they were, Antony’s letters always said the right things. But there was a distance there, and Rebecca couldn’t seem to break through it. It puzzled her, saddened her, and angered her.

  The courier would be there first thing in the morning to pick up her letter. It would take him all day to travel to Smyrna. He would spend the night at Polycarp’s house, then return to Ephesus the following day with Antony’s letter to her. Rebecca was weary of the routine, and weary of waiting for Antony.
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  She sat down at the desk, picked up the quill, and dipped it into the ink. But before she placed the pen to the parchment, she put it back down. What she had to say could not be put in a letter. And even if she managed to express her feelings in writing, what kind of a reply would she get from her fiancé? Three or four lines that said nothing meaningful?

  With a sigh, Rebecca abandoned the attempt to write a letter and went upstairs to bed.

  “No letter?” Incredulous, Antony stared at the courier, who had just arrived from Ephesus.

  “No, sir,” the young man with the illustrious name of Cato replied. “No letter.”

  “But Rebecca always writes a letter.”

  “Not this time, sir.” Cato shifted nervously from foot to foot.

  “Did you speak with her this morning?”

  “Yes, and when I asked her about it, she said, ‘Just tell him there is no letter this week.’”

  Antony was speechless.

  “I offered to wait while she wrote something,” Cato added, “like I always do for you, I said.”

  “And what did she say to that?”

  Cato looked uneasy, but he did not avoid the question. “It seemed to make her mad. She sent me on my way.”

  Antony dismissed Cato, so the courier could enjoy a meal and get some rest before making the round trip the next morning.

  Alone in his bedroom, Antony pondered the significance of Rebecca’s refusal to write. Was she simply too busy? Had she been sick? he wondered. Cato had not said anything about that, and from what he had said, Antony could only conclude that Rebecca was very, very angry with him.

  But not to write at all . . . that was uncalled for. Antony knew he should have been better at communicating with his fiancée, but the work he was doing was vitally important—it was God’s work—and it consumed his waking hours, and sometimes invaded his sleep.