Devil's Island (19 page)

It was unlike Quintus to carry the burden of conversation by himself; he was rather quiet most of the time. But he must have realized Abraham was unable to talk much and that he would want to know everything that had happened.

“Finally, I remembered something John had once preached: ‘Don't seek martyrdom; if it is God's will, it will find you. But if God provides a way of escape, then take it.'” Quintus paused to take a drink of wine. “So I guess God provided an escape for me, although I don't know why.”

Abraham pushed his plate away, unable to look at any more food, let alone eat it.

Quintus looked reflective for a moment. “I . . . I don't know what I would have done, Abraham, if I'd been forced to choose between Caesar and Christ. I like to think I would have been loyal to Christ, but I don't know. I just don't know.”

“You would have made the right choice, Quintus. You're a man of principle. I thought I was . . .” Abraham stopped, unable to go on. The thought of his failure was more than he could take right now.

Quintus's face grew longer, as if pulled down by a weight. “Abraham, there's something that's been eating away at me for weeks. Ever since Damian arrived.”

Abraham flinched at the name, but Quintus continued. “I can't get it out of my mind that I stopped you from killing him that day in the woods. And maybe if I hadn't, none of this would have happened. Oh, the emperor would have found someone else to carry out his persecution, but it wouldn't have been Damian. And if it weren't Damian, then Elizabeth would still be alive.”

Both men started weeping at that thought. “She was like a sister to me,” Quintus said. “And it will always haunt me that it's my fault she was killed.”

“I've thought the same thing over and over,” Abraham said hoarsely, “that I should have killed Damian when I had the chance. But that would have made me no better than he was—it would have made me a murderer. And Elizabeth would have despised me for it.”

He shook his head sadly, thinking of what Elizabeth had said recently when she had discovered he was carrying a dagger: “I didn't marry a murderer.”
No,
he thought now.
You married a traitor.

“You helped me make the right choice then, Quintus. Today I made the wrong choice all by myself.” Consumed by grief and guilt, Abraham knew that choice would haunt him the rest of his life.

15

THE LEG IRONS CHAFED AND PINCHED as Jacob stretched his long legs. He wanted to stand up and move around, but Rebecca had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder and he didn't want to disturb her. The cargo area was too crowded for him to be able to walk much anyway, and the soldiers weren't about to allow him to go up to the deck for some fresh air; nevertheless he felt a restless urge to pace.

Jacob told himself it was an urge he would have to stifle for the time being. Patmos was only thirty miles from Ephesus. They would reach the prison camp soon, and after a few hours of working in the quarries of Devil's Island, he would probably long to be back in the bowels of this stinking ship with his aching back propped up against a rough wooden barrel.

Closing his eyes, Jacob tried to doze. In spite of his exhaustion, and in spite of the monotony of the gentle pitch and roll of the creaking old boat—it was as smelly as the belly of Jonah's great fish, but it was still seaworthy—he could not relax enough to fall asleep, so he tried to pray. But he could not keep his mind focused. He was still too dumbstruck over his mother's murder, still too angry at his father's betrayal.
How could he have done it?
Jacob wondered for the thousandth time.
My father denied his faith to save his fortune. My own
father!

He knew his father had been a genuine believer—of that he was certain. When Jacob was a child, Abraham had taught him Scripture verses and how to pray. His father had tried to raise his children to honor God and had demonstrated his concern for the body of Christ by hosting the church in their home. Jacob knew his father had always loved and supported the Apostle—he had even financed the trip they had just taken, although, Jacob now reflected, that may have been as much to get him away from Ephesus and Damian as it was to support his ministry.

Jacob remembered the times he had argued with his father about the state religion and emperor worship. But Abraham had been primarily concerned about his son's safety, Jacob recalled; he certainly had never advocated sacrificing to Domitian. His father had agreed that worshiping Caesar was tantamount to treason against God and that such betrayal would involve eternal damnation. So if he knew it was such a cardinal sin, why did he do it? Could he really have been so greedy that he valued his wealth above his salvation? Yet Jacob could not remember a single instance when his father had demonstrated avarice; he had always been a generous man.

Jacob shifted his position slightly to alleviate the scraping of his shoulder blade against the barrel supporting him. Rebecca whimpered as she slept against him, her fear and grief finding expression even in her slumber.

Rebecca. How can I protect her?
he wondered.
She's my responsibility
now.
Jacob felt the weight of that responsibility keenly as he looked down at his sister. Long strands of chestnut hair fell across her face.
She's become a beautiful young woman,
he thought,
and now
she's destined to be a slave for these brutes.

He had seen how the sailors ogled Rebecca as the prisoners boarded the ship. The soldiers had leered at her too—but none so lustfully as Damian. Jacob had wanted to kill Damian when the commander had touched his sister. And then Damian had killed their mother while Jacob watched helplessly. Even now he wanted to avenge his mother's murder, and he knew that if he saw Damian again, he would have to fight the urge to crush his skull like a grape.

As Jacob thought about the perils Rebecca would face on Devil's Island and his desperate desire to protect her, he began to see his father's sin in a new light. It wasn't his fortune that had been his father's downfall; it was his desire to protect his family. Jacob understood that now. It didn't excuse his father's sin, but it explained why he had succumbed to the pressure to make the mandatory sacrifice.

If Father repents, will God forgive him and restore him?
Jacob wondered.
Even for this sacrilege?
He would have to remember to ask John about that. For now, the Apostle had his eyes closed, and Jacob guessed he was either sleeping or praying. John often did that in the afternoons—started praying or meditating and then nodded off. Jacob offered a silent prayer for his father's soul and listened to the sounds of the old ship as it plowed steadily through the rolling sea.

It was late afternoon, Jacob estimated—he couldn't see the sun from the cargo hold—when they approached Patmos. Jacob could tell they were nearing land by the decrease in speed and the increase in activity above. He heard sailors scrambling over the deck and the sound of heavy ropes being readied for mooring.

He nudged Rebecca. “Wake up,” he said. “We're almost there.”

“Where?” she said sleepily. “Oh, Devil's Island,” she added as she yawned and then wrinkled her nose. “At least we'll get off this smelly old barge. I can't believe I fell asleep.”

In a few minutes several soldiers marched down the wooden steps into the hold and ordered the prisoners to disembark. “Single file up the steps,” one of them said. “Assemble in rows of ten on the main deck.”

Jacob stood and stretched, then helped Rebecca and John to their feet. With their legs and wrists shackled, it was awkward getting a sure footing, especially after sitting for hours in a cramped space.

Seeing the sunlight was a welcome relief, Jacob thought as they shuffled down the gangplank. Once they were on land, one of the prison guards unlocked their leg irons and handcuffs. Rebecca sighed with relief as the chains dropped to the ground. With anger, Jacob noticed her swollen ankles and the red streaks flashing up her legs. How could these barbarians expect a delicate young woman to survive such treatment?

“Stay in formation,” a soldier ordered, brandishing his spear to reinforce the instruction.

Two men, whom Jacob later identified as the camp commander and the medical officer, strolled up and down the four rows of prisoners. “You!” the medical officer shouted at Rebecca. “Over here.” He motioned Rebecca to a shallow inlet and told her to stand in the water.

“Why?” she asked, looking at Jacob as if afraid to be separated from her brother.

The officer's face softened momentarily as he leaned toward her. “Because you can't work on infected legs. The salt water will dry up those gashes.” He straightened and then added sternly, “Now, do as you're told.”

Rebecca took off her sandals and stepped into the water. She winced as the salt stung the cuts on her legs. Jacob listened to the camp commander's instructions while he tried to keep an eye on his sister.

“You've arrived too late in the day to work,” the commander said. “So today you'll find a cave, which will serve as your living quarters. Tomorrow at daybreak you will report to the main camp for morning rations. You'll begin work an hour after daybreak. If you don't report for work, you will be flogged. Your work crew will have an overseer, and any violation of his orders will bring swift and severe punishment. An hour before sundown, work will stop and you'll receive your evening rations. Then you'll return promptly to your cave. No loitering around the camp.”

After the commander barked, “You're dismissed,” the soldiers distributed one blanket and a loaf of bread to each prisoner.

Rebecca stepped out of the water and into her sandals. “Thank you,” she said with a tentative smile to the soldier who handed her the evening ration of bread.

“Don't get happy just yet, girl,” he said with a snarl. “This place is not called Devil's Island without reason.”

The prisoners began to disperse and one of the soldiers pointed them in the directions they were likely to find open caves. Jacob noted that most of the group, including Servius and the other household servants who had been banished with them, headed north or west to search out living space.

John made no move to leave, so Jacob prodded him gently. “Not so fast,” the Apostle said. “Let's look around a minute.”

John, Jacob, and Rebecca stood and surveyed the island. Jacob knew from his father's maps that Patmos was a small, rocky island about ten miles long and six miles wide, approximately thirty miles off the coast of Ephesus in the Aegean Sea. Because of its desolate and barren nature, Rome used it as a place to banish criminals.
No
need for shackles here,
Jacob thought wryly. There would be no daring escapes from Devil's Island.

As the trio scanned the arc-shaped island, they noted that a very narrow isthmus divided it into two nearly equal parts, a northern and a southern. On the east side, on a stretch of level ground, were the harbor where they had arrived and the Roman encampment.

“This way, I think,” John said, turning to the south.

“The steepest hills are in that direction,” Jacob protested. He was concerned about the aged Apostle having to walk up and down the mountain every day. But then he didn't know how John could survive even a few days of carrying heavy rocks from the quarries in the hills to the harbor and back, regardless of where their cave was located.

“Humor an old man,” John said. He smiled and clapped Jacob on the shoulder. “I have a feeling the cave we're supposed to have is that way.”

They started up the southern slopes, and John stumbled a time or two over the rocky terrain. Soon Jacob spotted a strong, straight stick about five feet long. He picked it up and brushed it off, then gave it to the Apostle to help him walk across the volcanic wasteland.

About a mile from the harbor the Apostle finally stopped. “See that cave?” He pointed to an opening in the rock a dozen yards away. “Does it look as if anyone is living there?”

“I'll go see,” Jacob said. He walked inside the cave and looked around. “Hello!” he called into the interior. The sound of his voice bounced off the rocks. There was no reply and no sign anyone had ever occupied the cave.

After a few moments Jacob went back outside and waved the others over. “It appears empty.”

As John and Rebecca joined him, he turned to look where they had come from. The harbor and camp lay in the distance below them; the mouth of the cave had a commanding view of the entire island and the sea.
We're facing Ephesus,
Jacob realized.
Home.
Perhaps that was why John had wanted to come in this direction.

The mouth of the cave was wide and shaped like a funnel, gathering the breeze blowing in from the sea, which would be a welcome blessing during the heat of the summer but a burden in the colder weather. Jacob clutched the coarse woolen blanket he'd been issued; two months from now, when winter arrived, one blanket would not be much protection against the damp cold of the cave.

“I take it back,” Jacob said as they walked into the cave and several large rats scurried across their feet and out into the fading sunlight. “It appears the place was occupied after all.”

Rebecca screamed and Jacob couldn't help laughing. He reached for a rock and threw it at the rodents fleeing from their home's invaders.

“Not exactly the mansion you grew up in,” the Apostle said to Rebecca, “but we'll try to make the best of it.”

They walked deeper into the interior. About ten feet from the funneled mouth, the cave turned sharply left, forming a narrow passage wide enough for only one person to walk. The passage emptied into an almost perfectly shaped rectangular room of about 150 square feet.

Jacob was the first to enter the rectangular structure. John followed with a wide-eyed Rebecca, still searching for rats. Standing in the indirect light shining from the mouth of the cave, the Apostle spoke first. “I think we've found the perfect cave. Why other prisoners on this island haven't taken it long ago, I'll never know. Maybe God saved it just for us,” he said thoughtfully. He paused and then said in a strong voice, “I feel something special is going to happen in this room. I feel it in my soul.”