Devil's Island (15 page)

“Let me tell you what it's like in Rome.” Abraham pushed his plate back and wiped his mouth. “Betrothals are broken all the time; getting engaged and then unengaged is almost a sport among the upper classes. Marriages are dissolved on a whim, and it's not uncommon for a man, especially a prosperous, powerful man such as a senator—or a senator's son—to divorce and remarry three or four times.”

“Even when there's a marriage contract? You can do that?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “A lawyer isn't worth his salt if he can't come up with a way out of a seemingly ironclad contract. And marriage contracts are not that difficult to get around. I've done it before.”

She gasped in surprise.

“Not for me,” he quickly amended. “For a client.”

“Oh, I see.” She was buoyed by his words—she'd prayed for a way out of this marriage from the beginning. But she was also disturbed by the casual attitude toward marriage he had described. “I thought marriage was supposed to last a lifetime,” she said.

“It
is
supposed to last a lifetime—and it will with the right person.” His voice rang with conviction. “Damian is
not
the right person for you, Elizabeth. I'm persuaded of that beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“And I suppose you're going to tell me that you're the right person?” “I know it as surely as I know my name.”

Her smile was fleeting, as she thought how happy she would be married to Abraham, then quickly dismissed the idea. “I've never broken a promise before, Abraham. My father—”

“I ordinarily wouldn't recommend going back on your word. It's not something I take lightly. But this is . . . Damian is . . . It's just . . .” He scowled again, so upset that he had trouble finding the right words.

“Let me talk to your father,” he finally managed. “If I can persuade him that Damian is all wrong for you, if I get him to agree to set aside the marriage contract, then will you marry me?”

By that time she could have forced the sun to rise in the west more easily than she could have refused Abraham. “Yes,” she said eagerly. “Oh, yes.”

Over the next three days Abraham was closeted with her father for hour after hour. They also conferred with John. She never knew exactly what transpired in their lengthy discussions, but two weeks later she and Abraham were standing before John to solemnize their wedding covenant. She wore the dress Justina had made four years earlier and was never happier than the moment Abraham slipped a gold band on the third finger of her left hand.

12

THE SWEETNESS OF THE MEMORY was palpable, but it was tinged with bitterness now. Elizabeth had just watched her husband make the sacrifice to Caesar, and she couldn't help thinking she was the reason he had committed the horrendous sin.

Now she faced the same choice: sacrifice or exile. Damian was standing in front of her, and Elizabeth forced herself to listen to what he was saying. Something about Rebecca . . .
No!

Elizabeth blanched. She saw the way Damian was looking at her daughter. It was the same lustful way he had looked at her when he'd arrived in Ephesus that spring, a few months after she'd married Abraham. Just now he had touched Rebecca with the same evil intent . . .

Elizabeth slammed the door of her mind shut on that frightful memory.

It will all be over today,
she told herself. One way or another, Damian would get his revenge—the retribution he'd waited twenty-five years to accomplish—and there was nothing they could do about it. Elizabeth no longer worried what Damian could or would do to her; her only thought was for her daughter.

Somehow she had to protect Rebecca.

Abraham instantly knew he had made the wrong choice. He'd felt it the moment he dropped the incense into the fire, felt an indefinable loss, and he knew the presence of God had departed from him. In its place a dense cloud of darkness had descended.

He caught Jacob's eye, and the look of deep disappointment on his son's face pierced Abraham's soul. Nevertheless he shoved his conscience aside and focused on Damian, who now turned from Elizabeth and offered the incense to Rebecca.

He's saving Elizabeth for last,
Abraham realized with a chill.

“It's your turn, pretty one,” Damian informed Rebecca. “I wonder if you have the same mettle as your spirited sister,” he said with a smile. “I suggest you follow her example and avoid the consequences of breaking the law.”

Rebecca made no move to take the incense he offered. Abraham did not know if she was paralyzed by shock and incapable of movement or if she intended to defy the emperor's order.

“I'm sure you have your father's permission, since he just made the sacrifice himself.” When Rebecca still did not move, Damian grabbed her hand and led her forward. “Time's wasting, Rebecca.”

Elizabeth reached toward Damian, begging for mercy. “Please, don't do this. Why should her life be ruined because of your hatred for me?”

“Whatever feelings I might have for you, Elizabeth, have nothing to do with this. I'm simply upholding the law. Your daughter must make the sacrifice or pay the consequences, just like everybody else.”

Damian escorted Rebecca the few remaining steps to the altar. Still, she hesitated, her gaze drawn to the carvings around the base of the huge limestone block. Figures from Roman mythology, she guessed. Symbolic representations of the glory of the Empire. She had walked across the large open pavilion outside the Temple of Domitian before but had never approached close enough to see the altar's intricate artwork.

As she stared at the softly glowing coals on the surface of the altar, Damian taunted her. “You won't fare well on Patmos, you know. You've led a spoiled, pampered life, secure in your father's mansion. I doubt you'll find the accommodations on Devil's Island to your liking. And the work in the quarries is backbreaking, lifting heavy rocks and carrying them in a basket strapped to your back. You haul the rocks to the harbor, and then go back to the quarry and start all over again. Lift, carry, haul, lift, carry, haul—from sunrise to sunset. Then you return to the cold dark cave you'll call home.

“Is that the kind of life you want, Rebecca? The sweat and pain of hard labor? The terror of being an innocent young woman in a camp full of soldiers? You'll never recline at a sumptuous meal again. Never marry or have children. Everything you've known before will be gone in an instant, unless you make the sacrifice to Caesar—now!”

Rebecca took a pinch of the incense and held it over the altar. She turned and looked at her father.

Abraham had never been more anguished in his life. He did not want Rebecca to make the same mistake he had, and yet he couldn't bear the thought of her punishment. Couldn't stand to think about the danger and the deprivation she would face on Devil's Island. Couldn't bring himself to wonder whether she would be tempted to commit suicide as so many prisoners there did.

Rebecca closed her eyes and opened her hand. The incense sizzled on the coals.

“Say the words,” Damian ordered in a guttural tone. “Say it, Rebecca!”

“Jesus is Lord!” Rebecca shouted the words, then she turned and stared at Damian. “I know no other lord,” she said firmly.

Damian erupted in rage. “Seize her!” he screamed. “Get her out of my sight!”

Everything spun out of control for Abraham. Instantly two soldiers grabbed Rebecca and clamped circles of iron around her hands and her delicate ankles. Before he could form a word of protest, before his brain could tell his feet to move, Abraham saw his wife react. Exploding with the fury of a mother whose young was being devoured by a wild beast, Elizabeth ran toward the soldiers restraining her daughter.

One of the centurions intercepted Elizabeth and blocked her way.

“Get your hands off her, you animals!” Elizabeth cried as she tried to sidestep the centurion. “She's a child, not a criminal!”

Elizabeth's fists pounded frantically against the centurion's armor, but he did not budge.

Abraham's heart lurched in terror. It was a crime to attack a Roman centurion; Elizabeth could be put to death for it. He screamed, “Stop, Elizabeth! No!” and then began running toward her. He had taken only a few steps when one of the numerous soldiers patrolling the temple area knocked Abraham in the head with the blunt end of his spear.

The blow sent him reeling, but he stayed on his feet, still yelling for Elizabeth to stop. Another legionnaire rushed to strike Abraham with a club, and he sank to the ground.

Abraham's vision blurred and dimmed. He continued to hear the voices around him, but they were distorted, as if the speakers were in a well. As he faded in and out of consciousness, chaotic scenes from the past merged with the present in his jumbled mind . . .

“Stop it, Elizabeth!” Abraham sounded stern as he grabbed his bride's arm. Elizabeth shrieked in delight and tried to twist away from him. The little minx had tormented him ever since she had discovered he was ticklish.

She slipped out of his grasp and stood at a safe distance, leaning forward with her hands resting on her knees. They were both out of breath from climbing the hillside and from their silly games. With her joyous laughter ringing in the wildflower-scented air, there was no way Abraham could stay peeved at her. As far as he was concerned, Elizabeth could tickle him whenever she wanted; the sheer pleasure of her touch far outweighed the irritation.

When she had caught her breath, Elizabeth removed a light woolen blanket from the large basket and spread it in the clearing at the top of the hill. They had chosen the scenic spot, which overlooked the harbor, for their first picnic.

“What a glorious day,” she said as she sat down. “Spring is my favorite season. Emerging beauty. The promise of new life. A season filled with hope.” She smiled and patted the blanket beside her, inviting Abraham to join her. “What's your favorite time of year?”

“Any time I'm with you,” Abraham quipped. He sat down behind Elizabeth and put his arms around her. She leaned back against him, and for a minute they silently watched the clouds billow across the sky like moving mountains of cotton.

“Remember the first time you came to my house?” Elizabeth asked.

He grunted, and she took that for a yes. “I don't know what you said to my father that day,” she continued, “but I'm awfully glad you persuaded him to let me marry you. These last six months have been the happiest of my life.”

She turned around to face him. “Are you happy too, Abraham?”

“I didn't know it was possible to be this happy.” He brushed a loose curl away from her forehead and traced the curve of her cheek with a finger.

Abraham certainly recalled the conversations he had had with her father that day, and for several days afterward. Rufus had not been receptive when he first approached him.

“I suspect you have an ulterior motive for telling me Elizabeth shouldn't marry young Mallus,” Rufus had said.

“It's true. I admit I want to marry Elizabeth myself,” Abraham had replied. “But please hear me out. I have some information about this man you should know—information that will change your mind about the suitability of this marriage.”

Abraham had told Rufus then about seeing Damian murder another tribune in Jerusalem. Rufus, who was nervous by nature, wrung his hands in despair at the startling revelation. “Elizabeth is my only child. I can't let her marry a murderer, but what can I do? The Mallus family is very powerful—the senator could make life miserable for me.”

“And his son could make life miserable for Elizabeth,” Abraham responded.

After several days of strategizing, Rufus had written a letter to Mallus, breaking the marriage contract. He had sought legal counsel, he told the senator—not telling him, of course, that his lawyer would be the man Elizabeth was going to marry instead of the senator's son. Rufus also said that his lawyer was holding a signed affidavit from an eyewitness who had seen Damian murder a fellow officer. “Should it be necessary,” Rufus wrote, “we will turn this information over to the authorities. But because of your status in the Empire, and in regard for our longtime association, I would rather keep this matter private and let you handle it with military officials in Rome as you see fit.”

It was blackmail, pure and simple: “Cancel the marriage contract, and I won't brand your son as a murderer.”

Abraham—who was both the legal counsel and the eyewitness— knew that proving a case against Damian would be difficult, if not impossible. But he had assured Rufus that the senator would want to avoid any hint of a scandal. It was a calculated risk, but one worth taking. And one that had paid off.

Senator Mallus had responded with a short but gracious letter, thanking Rufus for his discretion. By the time his letter had arrived, Elizabeth and Abraham were newlyweds.

Sitting here now, with Elizabeth in his arms, enjoying the sunshine and the solitude and the spectacular view of the mountains and the harbor, he was indeed a happy man.

“Abraham, are you listening to me?” Elizabeth interrupted his train of thought.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I was distracted by thoughts of marital bliss.” He smiled broadly at his lovely wife. “What were you saying?”

“I said, I have something important to tell you. You've been so busy, we haven't had much time together, and I've been waiting for just the right time.”

“I apologize, sweetheart. I know I've neglected my beautiful bride, but there's so much to do with getting a new enterprise off the ground.” Rufus had made a wedding present of a small shipping business that had been unable to navigate some choppy financial waters. The inexperienced owners had not repaid their loans and had walked away from the business, leaving Rufus's bank holding the notes. With good management, he'd told Abraham, it could be a very profitable venture. Abraham was determined to turn the business around and expand the fledgling company's trade route.