by John Hagee
The more Antony thought about it, the more his vague sense of guilt turned to righteous indignation. When he finally sat down at the desk, he wrote well into the night.
Rebecca unrolled the parchment for the hundredth time since Cato had delivered it a few hours earlier. She knew she should just go to bed and worry about answering Antony’s letter in the morning. But she was too stirred up to sleep, so she sat at her father’s desk in the library and poured out her frustration in a letter.
In her agitation, she dripped ink on the parchment. It didn’t matter. She could copy the letter over at her leisure; Cato wouldn’t deliver it until next week.
Much as she imagined Antony would approach a legal case, Rebecca set out to rebut each point in his lengthy letter. “I thought you would be more understanding,” he had written, “and a little more patient.”
She replied . . .
I have been understanding. I know the work you’re doing is important, very important, but so am I. Our future is important; at least it is to me.
And I have been patient—for seven long months. When you first went to Smyrna, you promised you would come home as often as possible. You have been home once, Antony. One short visit. You originally said that by the time our house was built, your work there would be done, and then we would be married. Now the house is ready, sitting here empty, and you have not even seen it. You left the entire construction project up to my brother. Peter did not mind doing it, but he shouldn’t have had to; it was your responsibility.
Rebecca consulted Antony’s letter again. For the first time in several months, he had written in detail about the kinds of cases he was working on. As angry as she was, she couldn’t help feeling proud of him. The Christians in Smyrna had been hit from every angle, and the legal assistance Antony provided was, without a doubt, crucial.
Still, he could not stay there forever. Some other lawyer would have to take over the work, that’s all there was to it. Antony’s place was here, with her, with his family.
What was it with the men in her life? Rebecca wondered. Why couldn’t they seem to stay around? Galen had run away from her emotionally. Jacob had gone chasing after Damian and had not been heard from since. And now Antony had abandoned her in favor of his own personal ministry. She was sick of it.
Rebecca continued writing . . .
I know you have a trial coming up, and that you can’t leave until it’s finished. But as soon as the trial is over, I want you home. I’m tired of our future being suspended indefinitely. I want to get married. I want to move into our house. I want to have a life.
Over the next few days she read her letter over several times. Rebecca knew it sounded selfish and at times whining, but she didn’t change a word of it. She didn’t even copy it over; she sent the letter as it was, ink stains and all.
Antony stared at Rebecca’s letter in disbelief. An ultimatum. She’d written him an ultimatum! There was no “or else” spelled out, but it was certainly implied.
He had even gotten a letter from his mother, who had let him know, in her peculiarly roundabout way, just how upset his fiancée was—as if he couldn’t figure that out from Rebecca’s letter. Helena had written a rambling non sequitur, jumping from topic to topic, yet she managed to clearly establish her point: Rebecca was terribly unhappy with his prolonged absence, and so was his mother.
Putting the two letters aside, Antony stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. What was he going to do? He was not worried about the upcoming trial; he was well prepared. What had him worried was the one thing he had not told Rebecca about: Damian. Even if the trial were over tomorrow, Antony couldn’t just pick up and leave. Not with Damian out there waging a campaign of hate and destruction.
Antony had wanted to catch Damian and turn him over to the authorities before saying anything to Rebecca or her family. And Antony had not gone to the authorities because he knew they wouldn’t do anything unless he could present solid proof that Damian was the arsonist.
As he did every night, Antony lay in bed and prayed that God would deliver Damian into his hand. He also prayed for the safety of his fellow believers in Smyrna and in Ephesus, and particularly for his loved ones. He prayed that he could somehow make things right with Rebecca. Antony would have wearied God all night with his petitions, but fatigue overcame him. Soon he was asleep.
Early the next morning Linus roused him from bed. “You have a visitor,” the young disciple told Antony. “His name is Tarquinius and he says it’s very urgent.”
Antony groaned and sat up. It must be important if Tarquinius had arrived at this hour. “Show him to my room,” Antony said.
He got out of bed, then quickly washed his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He seldom got a full night’s sleep, and as usual his stomach felt uneasy. But the thought of food did not appeal to him this early in the morning.
Tarquinius was red faced and slightly out of breath when he entered the bedroom. He did not apologize for waking Antony. “I found out something important,” he said, “and I had to come tell you before you got off somewhere today.”
Antony pulled out a chair for Tarquinius, then unshuttered the window and perched on the sill. The sun was just coming up, but he was too tired to enjoy the beautiful sight.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on Tullia,” Tarquinius said, “just like we talked about, and checking up on Damian too. I’ve been to her house several times, and she seemed grateful for the visits. She’s lonely, you know, just her and the baby. She thinks he’s a special child, by the way. Sebastian, she named him. Says he’s a . . . a ‘spiritual being’ and has some great destiny. Started naming off a list of her goddesses . . .”
Tarquinius grinned and shook his head. “I never know what Tullia is talking about half the time. I just let her ramble, hoping she’ll say something we need to know about Damian. Anyway, she finally did. She said she had made him leave because he was drinking too much and she was scared to let him stay around the baby. She is terribly afraid something is going to happen to her special child.”
“So where is Damian?” Antony hoped Tarquinius would get to the point soon.
“Tullia said she didn’t know where he’d been staying, and she didn’t care. But I’d seen tracks leaving her place. There’s an abandoned mill down the road—”
“I know where it is,” Antony interrupted.
Tarquinius looked surprised, but he continued his narrative. “So when I left Tullia’s late yesterday afternoon, I decided to snoop around the old mill. Before I even got there, though, I saw Damian coming from that direction. I followed him, and he went to Tullia’s. That surprised me, because she said she had kicked him out.
“Evidently it surprised Tullia too, because I heard them yelling when I got close to the house. I crouched under the window and listened.”
Wide awake now, Antony leaned forward. “What did they argue about?”
“Damian begged her to let him come back and promised to behave himself. She didn’t believe him. Then he said he loved her and wanted to prove it to her. I nearly guffawed when I heard that. He wanted a decent roof over his head, that’s what he wanted—and he would’ve said just about anything to get it.
“They went round and round for a while, until Tullia finally said he could prove his love for her and for his son by getting rid of the enemies that would hinder Sebastian from reaching his destiny. I figured out that the enemies she was talking about were you Christians.
“‘You want me to kill them or just destroy their property?’ Damian asked her.
“She told him the fires weren’t working. ‘I want you to kill them,’ she said, ‘but just one. Get rid of their leader, Polycarp, and the rest of them will be powerless.’”
Tarquinius paused while Antony absorbed the news. Tullia had been behind the persecution, as they had suspected all along, and Damian was definitely the arsonist. Now they were plotting murder, and the bishop was their target.
Antony stood and gra
bbed Tarquinius by the arm. “We have to stop them. Will you go to the authorities with me?”
The innkeeper straightened, a sober look on his square face, then he nodded. “I said I’d do whatever it takes to catch Damian. I won’t back down now.”
33
WALKING THROUGH THE HILLS WITH MARCELLUS, Rebecca paid scant attention to the fact that it was a beautiful, sunny day or that the fall foliage was spectacular. She was too preoccupied with thoughts of Antony to enjoy the time outdoors. It would be almost a week before she had Antony’s reply to her letter, and Rebecca didn’t think she could wait that long.
Marcellus, always sensitive to her moods, let her walk a while in silence, then said, “You have that little line around your mouth that means something is on your mind today. Do you want to talk about it?”
They reached the spot along the path where the city of Ephesus came into view below them and Rebecca stopped. “You know me too well,” she said. “Something is troubling me.”
She told him about her letter to Antony. “I was just wishing I could go to Smyrna to see him, since he doesn’t seem inclined to come home to see me. I’ve made the trip before . . . but it’s just not practical.”
“It would be very taxing with a fourteen-month-old.”
“Yes, and I couldn’t leave Victor here; I’d be away too long.” She started up the path again. “At times like these, I really wish Jacob were here. I’d ask him to go to Smyrna and find out what’s going on with Antony. That would be a good job for a brother. I can’t ask Peter, though; a trip like that would be more than he could manage.
“And I’m not asking you to go,” she added. “I know you’ll offer, but you can’t leave John for something as trivial as finding out why my fiancé can’t find the time to write.”
Marcellus smiled. “You know me well too. I was going to say that I could try to find someone to stay with John.”
“You wouldn’t be able to find anyone who could take care of him the way you do.”
Why couldn’t Antony be more like Marcellus? Rebecca wondered as they neared the new house. There was a man who understood commitment. Even though the doctor had important things he wanted to do, taking care of John was his number-one priority. The venerable apostle was declining, and he had missed a Sunday service recently— something Rebecca could never remember happening before.
“It’s such a nice location for a house,” Marcellus said when they arrived. “You’ll love living here.”
“If I ever get to,” Rebecca complained.
“You will. Just be patient.”
“That’s what Antony said.” It didn’t rankle her quite so much, however, when it came from Marcellus.
They spent a pleasant half-hour walking through the new house, making plans for what would go where. They had visited the construction site almost daily, and Rebecca had loved watching the spacious stone house go up.
It was really three separate buildings joined by a common area, a large two-story atrium with a louvered skylight that could be opened to let in the sunshine or closed to keep out the rain. The atrium was so lofty and airy, it gave the impression of being a much larger space than it actually was.
The rooms off the atrium to the left, the side that overlooked the city, would be for Antony and Rebecca. There was one large bedroom downstairs, plus a study for Antony, with smaller bedrooms upstairs for Victor and their future children. The kitchen and dining room were in the building at the back of the atrium, directly across from the courtyard entrance. And to the right of atrium was a small one-story dwelling for Helena and Priscilla. A stairway led from the atrium up to what would have been the second story of this section. For now, it would be a long balcony overlooking the hills, but the area could be walled off and converted to rooms later on, if needed.
Peter had hired a double crew of masons in order to get the project completed by the end of summer. The tile workers had spent another six weeks laying the flagstone floors. There were no intricate mosaics or expensive patterned marble, so the installation had gone quickly. The trimmers were still there, finishing a few details on the inside, but the supervisor came up to Rebecca and told her she could move in whenever she was ready.
She was more than ready. The home was by no means fancy, but it suited her tastes, and Rebecca couldn’t wait to make it truly hers.
When they returned to the villa, Marcellus went off to the library and Rebecca went to find Agatha and the children. Agatha visited frequently, and she often helped out with the relief work, which Helena was once again taking an active part in, freeing Rebecca to spend some time at the new house. Since her healing, Helena especially loved to visit the sick and pray for them. Rebecca and Agatha took care of distributing food and clothing.
Agatha had looked downcast when she’d arrived that morning, and as Rebecca went upstairs now, she thought about what Quintus had once said, that Agatha had had a lot of pain in her life. She and Quintus seemed very happy together, but every now and then Rebecca noticed that Agatha would slip back into—not sadness, exactly, but a kind of mild melancholy. And Rebecca still didn’t know where they went or what they did in the predawn hours, but several times she’d seen Quintus and Agatha walking home across the hills just after sunup. As she’d promised, Rebecca had never said anything. But now she resolved to ask Quintus about it. Perhaps those early-morning sojourns had something to do with Agatha’s melancholy moods.
Rebecca grinned at the sight of Victor and Aurora toddling all over her bedroom, chasing and reaching for each other, then falling down on their little bottoms, jabbering happily the whole time. She was not as happy to see Agatha with a dust cloth in her hand.
“How many times do I have to remind you that you are no longer a servant?” Rebecca asked gently.
“I was just sprucing up the room a bit,” Agatha said, blushing at being caught working again.
“You’re a friend, not an employee, and I don’t want you ever to feel obligated to work when you’re here.”
“I don’t,” Agatha said quickly, “I don’t. It’s just that your family has been very good to me, and I love to do things for you. Besides, I never was one for sitting around. I always have to be up doing something. You know that.”
Rebecca smiled. “And you couldn’t help noticing that the new housemaid is not up to your standards.”
“Well, it’s a huge house. I remember how I never could seem to stay on top of it at first, even though I was only responsible for the upstairs rooms.”
Slightly tired after the long walk, Rebecca sat down on the long chaise in front of the window and invited Agatha to join her. The two women talked for a few minutes while their babies laughed and squealed.
“They’re so precious,” Rebecca said as she watched the children play. “And growing so fast. It makes me want to have another baby soon.”
Agatha observed her with a miserable expression, but quickly turned away when Rebecca looked up.
“Why are you so downhearted sometimes?” Rebecca leaned forward and appealed to her friend. “I shouldn’t pry, I suppose, but I can’t help noticing and wondering what’s wrong.”
“It’s . . . it’s nothing,” Agatha said, trying to smile but failing.
“You mean it’s none of my concern?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. I just . . .” Agatha closed her eyes momentarily and bit her lip, then looked down at her lap.
Rebecca waited, silently praying that the other woman would speak again. When the time is right, she’ll tell you, Quintus had said, but Agatha didn’t respond.
Finally, acting on an internal prompting, Rebecca asked, “Are you wanting to have another baby too?”
Agatha looked up, lines of grief etched in her face. “It’s been almost two years,” she said softly. “Two years.”
Rebecca thought for a moment. “Since you had Aurora?” she asked. Agatha’s little girl would be two in a couple of months, Rebecca calculated.
“I really wanted another baby
before Aurora was weaned. I’ve searched and prayed so hard,” Agatha said. “Almost two years . . .”
Rebecca was puzzled. Why was it so important for Agatha to have another child before Aurora was weaned? And why had she been praying for two years? She and Quintus had only been married seven months.
“You can still have a baby,” Rebecca said. “It will happen—just give it time.”
Agatha continued as if she hadn’t heard Rebecca. “Aurora still nurses, but it won’t be much longer before she’s fully weaned. And then what will I do if there’s not another baby?” The distress was evident in her voice, and she was on the verge of tears.
Rebecca reached out a hand to offer comfort. Before she could think of something to say, the new housemaid came scurrying into the room. The girl was so flighty, it drove Rebecca to distraction, and her timing was completely inappropriate; she was always interrupting conversations. Rebecca had spoken to the steward about it. Evidently he had said something to the housemaid because she suddenly slowed down and with a slight bow said, “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but we have visitors.”
“Who is it?” Rebecca asked. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and whoever it was couldn’t have come at a worse time—just when Agatha was about to open up and talk about what was troubling her.
“Foreigners,” the girl said, “wearing strange-looking clothes. One of them says he’s your brother.”
“My brother?”
Rebecca jumped to her feet and Agatha shooed her out with a wave of her hand. “I’ll bring the babies,” she said. She swooped Victor up, grabbed Aurora by the hand, and followed Rebecca, who was already flying down the stairs.
Rebecca would hardly have recognized Jacob if she hadn’t heard that her brother had arrived. He was indeed wearing foreign clothes— some kind of long coat with trousers, and a funny-looking hat. An older man with streaks of silver in his dark hair wore the same kind of outfit as Jacob, and with them was a very tall, very exotic-looking woman with short black hair and beautiful olive skin.
