by John Hagee
Jacob gazed at her with affection. “What do you wonder, my sweet philosopher?”
“I wonder if that’s the way we appear to God. Not insignificant; we’re made in His image. But all the things that worry us and loom so large in our minds—do they seem inconsequential from heaven’s perspective?”
“I imagine they do,” Jacob said. “The ocean is not exactly like heaven, though. Close,” he added with a broad smile, “but not the same. When you’re sailing, you eventually come back to shore, and you find that all the problems you left behind are still there waiting for you, still just as big.”
“But maybe you can bring a bit of that perspective back with you, so the worries don’t overwhelm you when you’re back on dry land.”
Jacob reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her face, tucking it securely behind her ear. “You’re not still worried about what my family thinks, are you?”
“No, in just a couple of days they’ve managed to make me feel very welcome. I really like your family, Jacob.”
“Then what’s worrying you now?”
“It’s not worry, really. I’m just trying to get over being very, very mad at Gregory for keeping the truth from me all those years. I know I should be mad at my mother, but she’s not here to yell at. So I did a lot of yelling at Gregory yesterday. I don’t want to let go of that anger—what they did was wrong, pretending that Marcellus didn’t exist, as if he had never been a part of my life.
“But it’s hard to stay mad at my uncle. I’m worried that he’s getting sick again. And he’s the only family I have . . . except for Marcellus. Maybe he’ll seem like family too someday, but not yet.”
“It will take time, but it will happen. He wants to be a part of your life now.”
Livia nodded. “I’m angry at him too, though. I can’t help thinking, if he really loved me, why did he leave me?”
“Apparently Marcellus didn’t have much choice. I’m sure he’ll tell you about it if you ask him.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
Jacob paused a moment, then said, “You’ll have plenty of time to talk to him the next couple of days, actually. I have to go to Smyrna—”
“We’ve only been here two days and you’re leaving already? How far is Smyrna? Why can’t I go with you?”
“One question at a time,” Jacob said, holding his hands toward her, palms out. “Smyrna is only a day’s journey away, and I’m just going there and coming right back, so I wouldn’t have any time to spend with you.”
“But I’d be with you on the way.” While Livia felt more comfortable with Jacob’s family, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be left alone with them just yet.
“There are a couple of reasons for the trip,” he said, ignoring Livia’s whining. “One is to do something for my sister. I’ve barely seen Rebecca in the last two years, and she’s having a hard time of it right now. Her fiancé has been gone for months, and she’s not sure what’s going on. I intend to find out. But the main reason I need to go to Smyrna is to apologize to Polycarp for the way I left.”
Jacob shook his head sadly and reached for her hand. “It seems I have a lot of relationships to restore. And I need to do that before we can truly start our life together here.”
“You won’t be gone long?” Livia hated the idea of being separated from Jacob for even one night; they hadn’t been apart since they’d been married. But she understood that his sudden departure last year had created a rift not only within his family but within the church.
“One night,” he promised, “two at the most. Then I’ll be home. You’ll barely know I’ve been gone.”
On Monday Antony decided to stay close to the house. Ever since he’d had the run-in with Damian on Friday, Antony had had the feeling that he was being followed. Yesterday Damian hadn’t even bothered to be subtle about it; he’d trailed Antony through the public square and had even nodded and smiled.
Antony wasn’t up to dealing with Damian’s intimidation tactics today, and for once Antony had no appointments, no business that required his presence in town. So far Tarquinius had not been charged with a crime. And outside of that possibility, Antony had only one other case pending. A trial date had finally been set for the church member who had been falsely accused of theft. Just ten more days; Antony would be ready with his defense.
He was still concerned about Tullia interfering with the witnesses. It occurred to him that she might also try to bribe or threaten some of the approximately forty appointed judices who would hear the case and render judgment. There was little Antony could do about that except to be well prepared, argue the case brilliantly, and pray that he could persuade more of the judices than Tullia could sway.
The upcoming trial was easily crowded out of Antony’s mind as he worried about Damian and Tullia’s plot against Polycarp. Much as Antony had expected, the bishop had refused to leave town. Several of the church leaders were volunteering as watchmen, with one or more of them standing guard over Polycarp’s house every night. Whether that would be enough to thwart a deranged arsonist, Antony didn’t know. But as he was learning, with God all things were possible.
As had become his custom, Tarquinius arrived at an early hour, just as Antony was finishing breakfast. Today the innkeeper carried a large ax over his left shoulder and a short-handled hatchet in his right hand. He looked completely out of place as he stood there in the dining room, loaded down with cutting tools.
Bemused, Antony asked, “Are you planning to tear the house down before Damian can burn it?”
“No, sir,” Tarquinius replied stiffly, then realized Antony was joking with him. He grinned as he propped the implements against the wall of the dining room. “I thought I’d chop some firewood later.”
Tarquinius looked around, making sure no one could overhear him. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I’ve noticed that the . . . uh . . .” He paused, searching for the right word and looking pleased when he remembered it. “The bishop and his followers don’t pay much attention to practical things. Too busy with their religious duties, I guess. Not that that’s a bad thing,” he added quickly. “I just don’t understand much about it.”
“Until recently, I didn’t either,” Antony said. “But I suppose that’s why God sends people like you and me to help them take care of the practicalities of life.” He motioned for Tarquinius to have a seat. “So they can concentrate on spiritual matters.”
Tarquinius carefully sat on the edge of the sofa but did not recline. “Running an inn for all those years, well, all you have time to do is take care of details like supplies and cooking and cleaning. I couldn’t help noticing this household won’t have enough firewood to last through the winter if somebody doesn’t take care of it now.” He paused and looked at Antony. His voice was quite serious as he asked, “Do you really think your God sent me to help Polycarp?”
Antony’s reply was thoughtful as well. “Yes, I do. I can’t explain it fully, but I believe you’re supposed to be here—just as I am. And that it’s part of God’s plan, not just to help the bishop with mundane things like firewood and legal advice, but to protect his life so God can continue to use Polycarp to bless this city—and the world beyond.”
Tarquinius reflected on that while Antony finished his breakfast.
When Antony rose from the table, Tarquinius quickly stood and said, “So, what should I do today? Stick with you, or stay here and watch out for the bishop?”
“I’m staying around here myself today,” Antony told him. “Laying in a supply of firewood is an excellent idea, but let’s go for a walk first. I want to see what we can do to better protect the house.”
For the next hour, Antony and Tarquinius walked through the neighborhood, noting ways Damian might come in and out. The suburbs were not as crowded as the city proper, and the houses here were spaced a good distance apart. They were still close enough, however, that a major fire could be catastrophic for the whole neighborhood. Something else that concerned Antony was the hous
e diagonally across from Polycarp—it was now vacant; the elderly man who lived there had died a few months ago. The empty house would make a good hiding place for someone who wanted to keep an eye on Polycarp.
Antony and Tarquinius were discussing whether to explore the other house when two men walked down the street. The men were dressed in hunting costumes, shorter-than-usual tunics with knee-length boots. As they approached, Antony recognized one of them.
“It’s Damian,” he said softly. “Do you know the other man?”
“Never saw him before,” Tarquinius replied.
Antony wasn’t surprised by Damian’s appearance in the neighborhood, but the object Damian carried did come as a surprise. It was a military bow—the same weapon used by the archers of Rome’s legions. The other man was similarly armed.
When Damian passed by, he raised his bow in a salute and called out, “Great day for target practice. The best season for hunting is just ahead.” Damian’s voice was loud and cheerful, and it was the kind of greeting one neighbor might call to another. Nothing threatening, nothing illegal, but disturbing nonetheless.
“Something tells me he’s not stalking white-tailed deer,” Tarquinius muttered when the pair had rounded the curve in the road.
“Be extra careful when you go out to chop wood later,” Antony advised.
They walked around the perimeter of Polycarp’s house. Like the other dwellings in the neighborhood, the modest one-story house was set back from the road. The only entrance to the home was through a walled, rectangular courtyard that opened to the street on one side and the atrium, or central room of the house, on the other side.
The rooms along each side of the house had windows with wooden shutters. There was barely room to walk behind the house; it backed up to a fairly steep ravine.
“No one is likely to approach the house this way,” Tarquinius said. “Those brambles would cut you pretty bad.”
Antony agreed. “I’ll make sure all the windows stay closed, so it’s mainly the front entrance we have to worry about.”
They went back inside, and after fetching his tools, Tarquinius left. All afternoon Antony puzzled over when and how Damian would strike. He might watch the house for days, Antony realized, waiting for them to let down their guard, before trying anything. Damian wanted to instill fear, so he would play a waiting game.
When Tarquinius returned later with a cart filled with his labors, Antony helped stack the firewood behind the house. The physical exertion worked his muscles but allowed his mind to relax.
By the time they finished, Antony was feeling much calmer, and he enjoyed an early dinner with Polycarp and two of his students. Tarquinius joined them, and although he didn’t say much, he appeared to enjoy their conversation, which was mostly a discussion of Scripture.
Afterward, Tarquinius told the bishop that he had brought a bedroll and planned on spending the next few nights in the front courtyard, if that was all right.
“You’d be a welcome guest,” Polycarp said, “but there’s no need to sleep outside. We’ll make a place for you in one of the back rooms.”
Over the years the house had been enlarged by tacking additional rooms onto the back, so the house was much larger than it looked from the front. The extra rooms were used as classrooms and bedrooms for the frequent guests—mostly pastors or deacons from other churches, who came seeking counsel, or young apprentices whose parents wanted them to receive doctrinal instruction from the respected young bishop.
“No, that’s all right,” Tarquinius said. “I prefer to sleep out front . . . to help keep watch, I mean.”
“I see. In that case,” Polycarp said, extending his hand, “consider the courtyard your bedroom.” He shook hands with Tarquinius. “Antony told me about the firewood. Thank you for that. I appreciate your help—you’re a godsend.”
Tarquinius looked surprised and pleased. “That’s what Antony said.”
When Polycarp retired, Antony went to the courtyard with Tarquinius. They unlatched the wide door to the street and walked outside. It was just now dusk, and the neighborhood was quiet. Antony hoped it stayed that way all night.
He looked over at the vacant house. “When it gets dark,” he said, “look to see if there are any lamps inside.”
Tarquinius nodded. “Or anybody out on the street with a lantern.”
“Verus should be here anytime,” Antony said. “He’s the church member who is on watch duty tonight.”
“We can work together, one of us inside the courtyard, watching the entrance to the house, and one of us patrolling the outside. We’d be in shouting distance of each other if something happened.”
“A good idea,” Antony said. He’d feel more comfortable if there were several men watching the outside of the house, but at least Verus wouldn’t be alone tonight.
Antony wondered how many more nights they would have to watch and wait before Damian tried to burn the place down. About to close the door and go inside, Antony stopped when he heard a horse trotting around the curve in the road.
“You expecting visitors?” Tarquinius asked.
“No.” Antony watched the rider slow and pull off the road. He felt uneasy about the arrival, but told himself that it couldn’t be Damian. An arsonist would not ride up to the front door.
The driver reined in the horse and dismounted. The man must have traveled a great distance; he wore some kind of foreign clothing Antony didn’t recognize. But when the rider turned toward them, he greeted Antony by name.
Antony turned white as a bedsheet when he recognized the man. “Jacob!” he cried. “Jacob, is it really you?”
Jacob laughed, threw his arms around Antony, and clapped him on the back. “In the flesh, friend. In the flesh.”
Antony took a step back and Jacob turned around to pick up the horse’s reins.
Tarquinius suddenly screamed, “Get down!” He ran toward Jacob and shoved him. Gravel flew as the men hit the ground, facedown, in a hard landing. An arrow whizzed over their heads, barely missing them before impaling the open door to the courtyard.
The horse reared and Antony grabbed for the reins so the animal wouldn’t trample its owner. By the time he’d gotten control of the horse, Jacob and Tarquinius had gotten to their feet, and they all made a run for the courtyard as more arrows rained overhead.
Tarquinius latched the door to the street behind them, and Antony opened the door to the atrium.
“Easy, girl.” Jacob soothed the animal as he tied it to an iron ring on the wall. Before he could make it in the house with the others, yet another arrow lobbed over the courtyard wall and landed nearby.
The arrows had come from the direction of the vacant house, Antony realized. Whoever was firing at them—and Antony had no doubt who it was—was standing on the roof of the empty house across the street.
Inside the atrium, Tarquinius asked Jacob, “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he said, brushing gravel off his face and arms.
“Awful sorry I had to knock you down like that, but I’m glad I saw that arrow coming when I did.”
“I am too,” Jacob said. “I’m very grateful to you.” He turned to Antony. “I wasn’t sure what kind of welcome I’d receive, but I certainly did not expect to be shot on my arrival. What’s going on?”
Antony stared at Jacob. He couldn’t get over the fact that Jacob was here, in Smyrna, and he’d almost been killed.
“Antony?” Jacob repeated.
“Sorry,” Antony said, running a frazzled hand through his hair. “For months I’ve thought you were dead.”
“For months I was dead, in a manner of speaking,” Jacob said.
Antony introduced the innkeeper, who had indeed been a godsend today, risking his life to save Jacob.
“We’ve met before,” the beefy man said, as he shook Jacob’s hand. “Last time I saw you, I was worried you were going to kill a man on my property. Now I wish you had. Things wouldn’t be in such an uproar around here.”
Startled into recognition, Jacob said, “The inn . . . Damian?”
“He’s back,” was all Antony said. “He’s back.”
“And the man we saw with him this morning, as well,” Tarquinius added. “Too many arrows coming too fast to be a single archer—”
Tarquinius stopped and cocked his ear toward the door. “Did you hear that?”
They listened to the sound of someone knocking on the outside door at the street.
“Verus—” Antony suddenly remembered they’d been waiting for Verus when everything happened.
“You stay here,” Tarquinius said to Antony. “I’ll let him in.”
Tarquinius returned with Verus, who was holding a broken arrow. “I found this stuck in the door,” he said. “What happened? Hunters?”
“No,” Antony said. “It appears we’re under siege.”
“Damian?” Verus asked grimly. Antony nodded.
“If it’s just Damian and the other man,” Tarquinius said, “we have them outnumbered. The four of us could overpower them—”
“But we don’t know for sure,” Antony said. “We could be walking into an ambush. On top of that, we don’t have the kind of weapons they do, and it’s dark now.”
“You’re right,” Tarquinius agreed reluctantly. “We’ll have to wait until morning.”
Verus said, “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Jacob was too stunned to say anything.
Verus took up his watch in the courtyard while the others left the atrium and went to find Polycarp—who, much to Jacob’s relief, was overjoyed to see him again.
Jacob had felt physically ill ever since he heard the news that Damian was behind the attack, and his stomach felt no better after the hastily prepared meal Linus and Polycarp’s other young pupil arranged. Over dinner, Jacob shared the sketchiest of details about his sojourn in Cappadocia and recent return, while Antony brought him up to date on what had been happening in Smyrna.
“When Damian showed up several months ago,” Antony said, “but no one had heard from you—well, I thought he must have killed you.”
“He’s been back for several months and you never said anything to Rebecca about it?” His sister was right. Antony really hadn’t been telling Rebecca much about what was happening in Smyrna if he’d left out that important detail.
