Devil's Island (27 page)

“Forgive me,” Marcellus said, “but I'm not sure I can believe you.” He looked uncomfortable, but he was not antagonistic.

John smiled. “We had a little trouble believing it ourselves at first. Then we began to remember things Jesus had said, prophecies that He would be raised after three days. We hadn't understood what He'd meant earlier.

“And then we saw Him again. And again. He was with us for forty days—hundreds of people saw Him during that time. After that, He ascended into heaven—disappeared into the clouds. I was an eyewitness to that too.”

In spite of his desire to keep witnessing, the conversation had drained John, and Marcellus noticed it. “You should lie down now,” he said. He helped John get comfortable on the cot, then covered him with the blanket. “Perhaps we can talk more later.”

“You can count on it.” John nodded and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, it was twilight. Marcellus was standing nearby, placing a lamp on the table near John's cot. “I thought I would check on you one last time before I retire. I brought some water,” he said, indicating the cup in his hand. “You haven't had much to drink today.”

John drank the water in a few quick gulps and thanked Marcellus, who then began to put more ointment on his wounds.

“I see you have some old scars in addition to your recent injury.”

“This was not my first run-in with the law,” John said matter-of-factly. “But Caesar hasn't been able to kill me yet.” He laughed softly, then groaned as Marcellus probed his tender flesh.

“Actually, your wounds look very good so far. I'll discharge you in a day or two.” Marcellus paused, as if weighing a decision. “But I'll put you on medical leave. Indefinitely.”

“What does that mean?”

“You won't have to report for work until I say so. I have a certain amount of discretion in this area, and I'm careful not to abuse it. But there are times when a prisoner simply is not able to work. And you weren't physically capable of this kind of work even before you were beaten.”

John saw Marcellus's scowl in the flickering lamplight and was touched by his concern. “God bless you,” he said.

“Well, good night.” Marcellus started to leave and then hesitated. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes, actually, there is. Two young people arrived from Ephesus with me: Jacob and Rebecca. Is there any way you can get a message to them, to let them know I'm all right?”

Marcellus didn't answer right away, and John began to feel uneasy. “Is something wrong?”

“Jacob is no longer here,” Marcellus finally said. “Brutus shipped him out today.”

“What? He was released?”

“No,” Marcellus said quickly. “He was sentenced to the oar on a warship. They transferred him out of here early this morning.”

John's heart sank. “But why?”

“After Damian whipped—after you were injured,” Marcellus corrected himself carefully, “Jacob threw a stone at Commander Damian. It hit him in the head with such force that it knocked him off his horse. He was only knocked unconscious, so Jacob's life was spared. But now, instead of working in the quarry, he'll be rowing on a warship.”

John remembered having to stop Jacob from retaliating against one of the overseers their first day in the quarry. No one had stopped Jacob the second time—and it had been Damian he had gone after. John understood all too well the struggle to control an outburst of temper, especially in the face of such injustice; his own volatile emotions had once earned him the nickname “Son of Thunder.”

“What about Rebecca?” John's dismay at Jacob's fate was suddenly outweighed by a gnawing concern for her safety. Without Jacob, she would have been all alone in their cave last night.

“I saw her late yesterday,” Marcellus said. “Right here. You were still unconscious. She was attempting to see her brother before he sailed. I tried to discourage her, but she was determined. I don't know if she managed to get permission to see him, though. It's not likely.”

Both of them were silent for a moment. John thought of Rebecca working in the quarry without Jacob, who had lifted her basket each time, just as he had done for John. How would she manage? He thought of her walking up the mountain after work—alone, unprotected. Rebecca had probably never been alone in her life; she was used to being surrounded by family and friends who doted on her.

“I have to find her,” he told Marcellus suddenly. John braced both hands on the wooden bar of the cot and slowly stood to his feet. “Where's my tunic?”

“You can't leave—”

“Not dressed only in this undergarment, I can't.” John felt stronger as he stood and took a few steps around the room. “What happened to my clothes?”

“I sent them to be washed—but that's beside the point. You're not well enough to go looking for anybody.”

“And
that's
beside the point.
Somebody
has to find her. She can't be left all by herself in this place!” John's voice rose tremulously.

Marcellus was looking at John as if he were crazy.
And maybe I
am,
the old Apostle thought. But he suddenly knew that Rebecca was not only frightened, she was facing grave danger.

“I'll try to find her,” Marcellus finally said. “Maybe she's still in the mess hall,” he said doubtfully, looking out the window at the fading light. He turned around and motioned for John to get back on his cot. “Stay put. I'll be right back.”

John sat down on the side of the cot and held his head in his hands. He prayed earnestly while Marcellus was gone, but the overwhelming sense of dread did not dissipate.

A few minutes later, Marcellus returned, a solemn expression on his face. John looked up at him questioningly.

“The mess hall was empty except for a few workers. All the inmates had left.” Marcellus leaned back against the table, scooting the bowl-shaped lamp to the far edge. “No one remembered seeing the new woman prisoner.”

John shook his head sadly. “I'm afraid something's happened to her.” He shivered, but he didn't know whether it was from fear or the fact that he'd been sitting close to an open window in a state of undress.

“You'll catch cold in this night air,” Marcellus said gently. He helped John back to bed and then shuttered the window. “I'm worried about her too,” he admitted. “But it's too dark now to go looking for her. I'll check the dining room in the morning, and if Rebecca doesn't report for work, I'll see what I can find out.”

Marcellus went to a cabinet and brought back an extra blanket for John. “Maybe she's with some of the other prisoners who came from Ephesus,” he suggested. “Didn't she know some of them?”

“Yes.” John brightened at the thought. “She knew the other Christians arrested with us—a number of them were household servants for her family.”

But as Marcellus left and John tried to fall asleep, his darkest fears returned. He was not ordinarily a worrier, so the apprehension he felt now must be for a good reason. He believed Rebecca was alone and needed help—and he was powerless to do anything for her at the moment.

“Heavenly Father, I place her in Your loving care,” he prayed. “Keep Your hand upon Rebecca, wherever she is.”

22

R
OME
. E
XCITEMENT
. A
DVENTURE
.
Naomi tilted her head back and let the sea mist spray her face. The wind blew her long auburn hair behind her back as the
Mercury
skimmed over the water. They had sailed at sunrise, so she had not taken the time to pin her abundant tresses in the elaborate style she usually wore. For the moment she didn't care about her appearance; there was no one to impress except her father and the crew, and they weren't worth the effort.

She opened her mouth in an exhilarated laugh. The gay sound was muffled by the roar of the sea and the wind. Nothing else mattered to Naomi now that she was headed to the destiny that awaited her in Rome.

Her only regret was that they hadn't departed two days ago, as she had planned. She had been to see Kaeso on Friday, and the obstinate old sea captain had insisted on getting her father's approval before making any arrangements to sail. That evening, when her father had confronted her, Naomi had been prepared with her arguments. Most of them, it turned out, were unnecessary. He had already decided to make an appeal to Caesar, as she had guessed, and even though her father seemed none too happy at the prospect of having her along, he had agreed she could travel to Rome with him.

“And you can marry a senator, if that's what will make you happy,” he had said with a frown.

“Oh, it will!” Naomi glowed with anticipation.

“I still have a few acquaintances within the senatorial ranks, and I'll make some contacts for you while I'm there.”

“Thank you, Father,” Naomi had said rather demurely.
But that
won't be necessary,
she thought. She didn't trust her father to find a suitable husband, and she especially did not want the taint of her family's religious convictions to hurt her chances for marriage. Naomi was confident she could take Rome by storm and meet a wealthy, marriage-minded senator within days of her arrival; then it was only a matter of using her considerable charm to get him to put a ring on her finger.

“I know you'll be busy with the appeal,” she told her father. “I wouldn't want to take your attention away from that.”

Abraham had looked at her in disbelief, as if he had read her mind. She didn't care what he thought, as long as he allowed her to go to Rome.

The appeal made sense, she supposed. While she was not in the least motivated to win the release of her fanatical brother and sister from Devil's Island, her father certainly was; it seemed to be his only reason for living at the moment. Caesar had the power to rescind their sentence, so it was natural that a man of her father's status would seek a personal audience with the emperor.

Once she was married again, Naomi decided, she would have little contact with her family. She would try to maintain a cordial relationship with her father, but from a distance. Naomi didn't want to alienate him completely; she was the oldest child and stood to receive a vast inheritance. She guessed that her father would not leave the shipping empire to her, but with Jacob out of the picture, and with Peter incapable of running the business, Naomi was the logical choice to succeed her father—and she was determined to make that happen as well.

After her father had announced his intention to go to Rome, Naomi spent the next two days packing and planning for the trip. On Saturday, while Abraham paid a visit to his banker and Kaeso bought provisions, Naomi had gone to a slave auction. With Julia's help she had bought a pair of slaves, a brother and sister originally from Egypt. The two were young, attractive, healthy, strong—and strong-willed, evidently. Lepidus and Fulvia had lived in Rome most of their lives. When their owner decided to sell them, they had run away rather than be separated. Eventually captured, they had been bought and sold twice before winding up in Ephesus. Naomi had paid a premium for the pair, but she was drawn to their sullen good looks and thought their having grown up in Rome might be an advantage to her.

On Sunday morning, Naomi had been annoyed to encounter church members arriving at the villa. She pulled her father to one side. “I thought we were leaving today. What are these people doing here?” she asked, obviously provoked.

“We'll sail in the morning,” Abraham had replied. “This is the Lord's Day, and we're going to have church.” He calmly removed her hand from his forearm and went to greet their guests.

Naomi was not only irritated at the delay, she was perplexed. So in a few minutes, she followed the group out to the peristyle. She leaned against an archway, remaining at a distance from the worshipers seated in the garden. About fifteen people had shown up— a much smaller crowd than normal. But that was understandable, seeing that quite a few of the regular attendees had been shipped to Devil's Island. She noted that Galen was there, looking disconsolate without Rebecca by his side.

Her father stood to address the assembly. “Yesterday,” he said, “I asked Quintus to gather what was left of the church here today, as usual—although the circumstances are far from usual right now.” He paused to clear his throat. “I want to thank you for coming.”

“I wasn't sure we should,” someone said, “after what happened. We didn't know what to think, but Quintus said you'd had a change of heart.”

Abraham nodded. “I have.”

A few people murmured their approval, but one older man stood and confronted Abraham. “Because of your bad example,” he said harshly, “some of the weaker brothers also made the sacrifice to Caesar—and they'll burn in hell for it! What good is your change of heart now?”

Quintus rose and put his hand on the man's shoulder, quietly urging him to sit back down.

Naomi watched as her father bowed his head, clearly in turmoil. “I deeply regret,” he said after a moment, “that my sin caused others to go astray. I will carry that shame to my grave.” Raising his head, he looked out at the congregation and spoke earnestly. “I wanted to confess my sin to you today and tell you that I have repented. I have asked God's forgiveness, and I want to ask yours, as well.”

Tears rolled down Abraham's face as he continued. “I also want to ask for your prayers as I go to Rome on behalf of my children, Jacob and Rebecca, and our beloved Apostle. We should pray for all the believers who have been sent to Patmos. I've heard that the same thing is happening in other cities nearby, and that more Christians have been sentenced for refusing to make the mandatory sacrifice.”

Naomi was disgusted at her father's show of emotion—a grown man standing there, crying like a schoolboy. She was also disturbed at his change of heart, and worried that he would get the family in trouble with the authorities if it became known that he had recanted his loyalty to Caesar. As soon as her father sat down, Naomi slipped out of the service and returned to her room. She did not want to be around when they started singing hymns; it always set her teeth on edge.