by John Hagee
“Hear me out,” Tarquinius said. “It’s not like they’ve been stockpiling weapons over there for a long time. Yesterday was the first time anybody had seen Damian in the neighborhood. So, how much equipment could two men bring in with them? They were on foot— no horses or wagons.”
“They looked like typical hunters yesterday,” Antony said. “Each one had a quiver of arrows.”
“And even if they’d had two quivers each—”
“I see your point,” Jacob said. “If we could get them to fire all their arrows, it would lower the odds of one of us getting killed if we have to take action against them before the constable gets here.”
“If the constable gets here,” Antony corrected Jacob. “We don’t know for sure Verus can persuade him to do something.”
“Looks like they would have been here by now, if Verus had been successful,” Tarquinius said.
“I just thought of something.” Antony dropped down in the chair across from Jacob and Tarquinius.
“What?” the two of them asked simultaneously.
“Whoever is scheduled to watch the house tonight . . . we have no way to get word to them to tell them not to come. No way to let them know what they’ll be walking into.”
“They’ll be ambushed,” Jacob said. The thought sickened him.
“That settles it.” Tarquinius stood. “I’m going outside to draw their fire.”
“But you could be killed,” Antony protested.
The stocky man regarded them with a resolution that was evident in his expression and his stance. “So? You two have wives—or will have,” he said to Antony. “Mine is gone. Most of my business is gone. What do I have to live for?”
“Plenty,” Jacob said. “You have a new life now, a life in Christ. Your life is not your own to dispose of as you wish.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Tarquinius said, looking flummoxed. “I heard Polycarp say something to his students yesterday. ‘You are not your own,’ he told them, ‘you were bought at a price.’ I didn’t really understand what he meant.” He sat back down on the bench beside Jacob. “I have a lot to learn about this new faith.”
“I’ve been a Christian all my life,” Jacob said, “and I’m still learning. Some of us are a little denser than the rest.”
The three of them remained silent for a few minutes, then Jacob said, “Your idea has merit, Tarquinius. But rather than you walking out the front door and drawing Damian’s fire, let’s give him three targets at once—limited targets.”
Jacob detailed his idea for them. “There are windows along the sides of the house. The ones close to the front should be visible to Damian from across the street. One of us can take a window on the east side, one on the west side, and the third can work from the front door. If we all stick our heads out at once, they’ll have several targets.”
They discussed the idea and agreed on a way to execute it. Tarquinius insisted on being the one stationed at the front door. “It’s the riskiest position,” he said. “And I really do have the least to lose.”
Jacob offered to take the east side, the one closest to the house across the street. Antony would go to his bedroom, which was on the west side.
“I’ll stick my head out and yell to get Damian’s attention,” Jacob said. “When you hear me, you’ll know it’s time to pop out. Don’t stay visible too long, though. And wait for my signal.”
As they moved to take their places, Jacob felt his pulse quicken. A bit of fear was healthy, he thought. At least it was a feeling other than the uncertainty and dread they’d been experiencing all day.
He went to the back of the house, where Polycarp and the students were praying. Quickly Jacob informed them of what he was doing, asked them to pray for protection, and warned them not to leave the room. Then he went back to the front of the house and entered the first room on the east side, the room Polycarp used as a library and study. The night before, the two of them had spent many hours in prayer here.
Jacob waited a minute, allowing time for Antony and Tarquinius to get ready. Then he unlatched the shutter, pulled it open, and rested his hands on the windowsill. Leaning forward slightly, he could see about half of the house across the street; he did not see any sign of Damian or his accomplice.
Jacob took a deep breath to calm himself, then stuck his head as far out the window as he could. “Damian!” he yelled in a loud voice.
In reply, he heard the high-pitched sound of an arrow in flight. He ducked as the missile whizzed by his head. Another followed, and Jacob jerked back inside.
He heard Tarquinius and Antony both shout, heard arrows fly in their direction, then leaned out of the window again, drawing more fire. The three of them repeated the tactic several times, but after a few minutes there was no further response.
Jacob waited a while longer, then he latched the shutter and went back to the atrium, hoping the others had fared as well as he had.
They had. Several arrows had come close, but none had hit their target. Comparing accounts of what they’d seen, they agreed that Damian had expended a couple of dozen arrows.
“He could have stopped because he was out of ammunition,” Antony said, “or it could be that he caught on to our scheme and intentionally held his fire.”
They had their answer shortly, when they heard a commotion in the street, then pounding on the outer door of the courtyard, accompanied by shouting. “Help! Somebody, help!”
“That’s my cousin’s voice,” Tarquinius said. “Sergius!” He ran from the atrium through the courtyard and opened the door to the street.
Plautius had been hit; an arrow protruded from his chest, below the right shoulder. Sergius had hold of his brother under the arms and was trying to drag him. Tarquinius grabbed Plautius by the legs and helped Sergius get the wounded man into the house, while Jacob and Antony closed both the outer and inner doors of the courtyard.
“We were attacked,” Sergius said, breathing with difficulty after carrying his brother. “Just walking up to the door when it happened.”
“We had no way to warn you,” Antony said grimly.
“How bad is he hurt?” Tarquinius asked.
“It’s serious,” Jacob said. “If we can get the bleeding stopped, he might make it.” He wanted to hold out hope, for Sergius’s sake.
They carried the unconscious man to one of the back bedrooms and began to tend to his wound.
“Get Polycarp,” Antony said.
Tarquinius left to find the bishop. Jacob and Antony held Plautius on the bed while Sergius gingerly removed the arrow from his brother’s chest. It was a good sign, Jacob thought, that Sergius was able to extract it, but Plautius had lost a lot of blood.
Polycarp brought some old cloths to tear up for bandages. “The important thing is to stop the bleeding,” he said. “We can try to clean the wound later.”
He began to wrap the strips of cloth tightly around Plautius’s chest and shoulder. The first layer soaked through immediately, so Polycarp continued bandaging.
“Get some oil for anointing,” he instructed the wide-eyed Linus. The young man nodded and ran out of the room.
When Linus returned, Polycarp anointed Plautius’s forehead with oil, laid hands on him, and prayed for his recovery. The others stood around the bed and joined the petition.
It’s in God’s hands now, Jacob thought. All our lives are in God’s hands.
Polycarp and the two students stayed with Plautius while the rest of them went to the kitchen. They found some bread and cheese and ate a light snack standing up, not bothering to go to the dining room.
After they told Sergius what had been happening, conversation dwindled. There seemed to be nothing left to say. The small kitchen was crowded with four men standing around, so they returned to the atrium to wait for Verus and, they hoped, the constable.
Jacob brought some bread from the kitchen, and he took it out to the courtyard, where the chestnut remained loosely tied to the far wall. “Here you go
, girl.” The horse nibbled the food out of Jacob’s hand. There was some hay left in the corner, he noticed. Jacob had refilled the water trough earlier; there was still an adequate supply.
But the courtyard was not meant to be a stable, and he felt sorry for the animal, having to be confined to such a small space. “I know how you feel,” he muttered sympathetically. It was a good thing the wall of the courtyard was tall, or the chestnut would probably have been killed by one of the arrows that had made their way over the top.
Jacob had been in Smyrna all of twenty-four hours, and he had no idea when he would be able to leave—if ever.
“A short trip,” he’d told Livia. “One night—two at the most.”
She would be out of her mind with worry if she knew what was going on. Jacob was glad she didn’t. He understood why Antony hadn’t been able to tell Rebecca. It was instinctive to want to protect someone you loved so much.
For a long time Jacob stroked the horse’s mane and thought about Livia. He would have given anything to be with her at that moment. Dear Lord, he prayed, please get us out of here. Please let me go home to my wife.
At twilight Jacob went back inside. “We can’t wait any longer,” he told the men. “In less than an hour, the sun will be completely gone. Damian intends to torch this place, and he’ll do it after nightfall. We can wait and try to stop him then, but if he manages to set the fire . . .”
He didn’t need to describe for them what would happen if a blaze ever got started.
“So what do we do?” Antony asked.
“I’m with you, whatever it is,” Tarquinius said, and Sergius added his agreement.
Jacob experienced a sudden clarity that had been building while he’d spent time thinking in the courtyard. What were they going to do? Stop the torment, that’s what. He wasn’t sure how, but he was sure it was time—God’s time—to put an end to Damian’s persecution.
All Jacob knew for certain was that he was going to face down his enemy—no, God’s enemy. Jacob was meant to do it, had been destined to do it all along, just not in the way he had originally envisioned. This time he would face his adversary not as the self-appointed avenger of blood, but as a simple soldier of Christ, clad in the armor of God.
And Jacob had peace about it, perfect peace.
Within moments, Jacob had the outline of a plan. He would go out front to distract Damian. Antony would wait until Jacob was well out in the street, then ride the chestnut out of the courtyard and go for help. Tarquinius and Sergius would climb out a back window, go through the ravine, and come out on the other side of the nearest neighbor’s house. Then they would cross the street and head for the vacant house where Damian and his accomplice were.
“You two will capture the other man,” Jacob said. “I’ll subdue Damian.”
“But we don’t have any weapons,” Sergius said.
Tarquinius disagreed. “Yes, we do. I’ve got the tools I used to chop wood yesterday.”
Jacob restated the bishop’s earlier admonition. “Don’t use them unless you have to.” Then he added, “But if necessary . . .” He didn’t bother to finish; they understood.
The men shook hands and went their separate ways. Tarquinius retrieved his tools and left for the back of the house with Sergius. Antony and Jacob went to the courtyard and saddled the chestnut.
“I’ll find Verus or the constable—or somebody. I’ll get help,” Antony promised.
Jacob nodded and started to speak but couldn’t find the words for a moment. “It’ll be over soon,” he finally said. “We’ll be going home.” It was not a delusion but a bedrock conviction.
He unlatched the door to the street and swung it open. His palms were sweaty and he could feel the pulse beating in his throat, but his spirit was calm. Jacob felt a stillness deep inside that steadied him.
As he stepped outside, a Scripture passage flooded into his mind:
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.
The day of evil had come, and it was time to stand his ground. Jacob walked through the door of the courtyard toward the street.
Nothing happened. He looked at the house diagonally across the street. It was small, one story, with an outside staircase going up to the roof on the far side. No one was moving about, as far as Jacob could tell.
“Damian!” Jacob called in a booming voice. “Damian!”
A bump on top of the flat-roofed house moved, and a man stood up. He walked toward the front edge of the roof, which was about ten feet off the ground, and stood, fists on his hips.
It was Damian. Jacob noted the defiant stance and it reminded him so much of seeing Damian on Devil’s Island that he could almost hear a whip cracking over his head.
“Looks like you spent too much time in Cappadocia,” Damian yelled. “You picked up their peculiar ways.”
“Better for riding,” Jacob said, guessing the reference was to the trousers he’d worn for the ride from Ephesus.
He slowly took a couple of steps forward. Damian was not holding his bow. Was he out of ammunition?
“I want to talk to you, Damian.”
“You have nothing to say that I want to hear.”
“I have an offer to make.”
Damian didn’t reply. Jacob walked out two more steps and stopped. He wasn’t out quite far enough yet for Antony to make a break for it, but Jacob didn’t want to rush things. He had no idea where Damian’s accomplice was.
“I’m the one you want. Let Polycarp and the others go.”
“I want you all,” Damian shouted. “Especially you—I owe you. But I want the so-called bishop too.”
Jacob took another step forward. “Leave him alone, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
There would be no reasoning with Damian, of course. Jacob couldn’t appeal to his conscience or moral sensibilities; the brute had none. But Jacob thought there was a possibility he could tempt Damian in one area where he was particularly susceptible.
“I’ll give you money,” Jacob said, “and passage to Rome.”
“There’s nothing there for me now.”
“The money, then. Name your price.”
Damian hesistated, and Jacob walked forward again.
“I don’t believe you,” Damian said.
“Ride into town with me, and I’ll make the arrangements.”
Antony picked up on the clue and burst through the open gate. As he spurred the horse into a gallop, Damian scrambled for his bow and fired, but he wasn’t quick enough; the shot went wide.
Jacob ran a few steps toward the other side of the street, then saw an arrow flying toward him. He lunged to the left and hit the gravel. The arrow grazed his right leg, just above the ankle.
Damian had not fired the arrow that hit him, Jacob realized. He’d seen Damian get off a second shot at Antony, which meant that the other man had fired at Jacob. He looked up at the house and saw the accomplice leaning out of the window.
Jacob heard mocking laughter as he stood up and brushed himself off, and he felt a flash of his old anger then, and with it, a flicker of fear. But the emotions vanished as he heard the voice of the Spirit.
Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.
His ankle burned, and a trickle of blood ran onto his sandal, but Jacob stood firm.
“I’m coming over there, Damian. I’m not armed.”
Damian laughed again. “You’re a fool if you think I believe that— and if you really are unarmed, then you’re an even bigger fool.”
Jacob continued speaking as he slowly inched forward. “I could have killed y
ou several times but didn’t, and for a long time I was angry with myself for not doing it.”
“You didn’t kill me because you’re a coward.”
“No, I didn’t kill you because I’m not a murderer.”
Damian was silent as he fit an arrow into his bow. He raised the weapon and aimed it at Jacob.
Jacob stopped where he was, possessed of a calmness he could not have imagined.
“You’re the coward, Damian. You don’t have the courage to face an opponent who’s as strong as you. All you can do is prey on the weak and vulnerable. You’ll beat an elderly preacher. You’ll rape a frightened, defenseless woman. You’ll kidnap a baby and burn down buildings. But you’re afraid of me right now because I have power—real power—of a kind you can’t even conceive. My weakness is my power.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“It makes perfect sense when you know the One who is all-powerful.” “You’re talking in riddles.”
Without turning his head, Jacob cut his eyes to the right. The man who had shot him was no longer visible in the window. Had Tarquinius and Sergius managed to reach the house already?
Jacob looked back at the roof. Damian held the bow pointed directly at Jacob’s chest, but still did not shoot.
“You can’t kill me, Damian.”
“You think not?”
Damian fired then, and although Jacob was less than a hundred feet away, the shot veered to the side and missed him by several inches.
Jacob remembered the earlier discussion with Verus. Maybe Damian wasn’t a very good marksman after all. As a tribune, he had primarily held administrative posts; if Damian had ever seen a day of combat, it would have been many years ago.
“You can’t kill me,” Jacob repeated. “Oh, you can destroy my body—if God allows it. But you cannot kill my soul.”
Keeping his eyes on Jacob, Damian knelt down and felt the rooftop for another arrow. He slowly stood, reloaded his bow, and leveled it at Jacob.
It’s his last arrow. The thought came unbidden to Jacob’s mind, along with a Scripture.
Take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
