Devil's Island (2 page)

“Political
disturbance? Some kids threw a few stones at an old preacher. It hardly qualifies as a riot.”

Abraham had heard about the incident from Jacob, who had been with John when they had encountered a group of worshipers leaving the Temple of Domitian. The Apostle had stood at the base of the majestic stone stairway and started preaching. Most of the crowd had ignored the elderly man with the fire of the gospel still in his bones, but a few young rowdies had started throwing stones and yelling curses. Jacob had gotten angry and chased them off.

“And that's what I tried to argue before the
concilium
—that it was strictly a local matter, a bit of religious fervor that subsided quickly. But my argument fell on deaf ears, Abraham. You know how important the Temple of Domitian is to our economy and to our standing in the Empire.” Publius gestured broadly, warming up to his topic.

“If your Apostle had insulted one of the traditional gods, it might have been easily dismissed. But this could not be overlooked— and even today he continues to speak against the emperor.”

“Only against the worship of the emperor. John has no political quarrel with Rome.”

“In the current climate, Abraham,
everything
is political. The refusal to acknowledge the emperor's divinity is not just an offense to religious sensibilities anymore. It's a crime.”

Publius looked around the room to make sure no one else had entered, then he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Did you know that Caesar has executed his cousin, Flavius Clemens? And Clemens's wife—the emperor's own niece—was exiled to some island.”

“For what crime?”

“
Impietas
—atheism. They do not acknowledge the gods of Rome. Most important, they refused to sacrifice to the emperor.”

Abraham sat in stunned silence. He had heard from friends in Rome that several members of the royal family had become followers of Christ. While Domitian had a reputation for eccentric behavior and occasional cruelty, it had been directed primarily toward eliminating political opponents—he had not been known to persecute Christians. At least, not until now.

“Perhaps Caesar saw Clemens as a political rival,” Abraham suggested, wanting desperately to believe there had been a different, less disturbing motivation for the murder.

“I wish that were so. But Clemens and his wife were not the only ones to meet such a fate. Several other wealthy Romans were executed at the same time, and others sent into exile.”

“That is Roman politics, Publius. Surely you don't mean to imply that could happen here.”

“I mean exactly that. You must wake up and realize the danger, Abraham. You are an enemy of Rome if you will not pay homage to the emperor.”

“But I'm Jewish. Our faith has the status of a legal religion under Roman law, so—”

“Just how Jewish are you? You haven't set foot inside a synagogue for years, have you?”

“You know that is not by choice.”

“No, it's because you worship Christ—and not only worship Him, you are a leader of the Christians; they meet in your home. Therefore the Jews won't own you as one of theirs.”

Abraham fell silent again, at a loss to counter the argument. Long before he had arrived in the city, the Jewish leaders had opposed the followers of Christ, no matter how impeccable their Jewish credentials. To this day, Abraham missed observing the Sabbath at the synagogue, even though many of the customs—Scripture reading, prayers, sermons—had been maintained by the Christians who worshiped in his home on the Lord's Day.

“And Rome no longer accepts the idea that Christianity is merely a sect within Judaism . . .”

As Publius continued speaking, Abraham reflected on the fact that the number of Gentile believers now outnumbered the Jewish believers. He could not recall exactly when that had happened, but he realized that the essential character of the church had been altered gradually, although the tenets of faith had remained unchanged.

“. . . Therefore, being Jewish offers you no protection if you incur the wrath of the emperor.”

The phrase “wrath of the emperor” broke into his reverie. “Not since the days of Nero,” Abraham said, “have there been reports of citizens being killed merely because they were Christians. I was a young man then, and I never thought I would live to see that again in my lifetime.”

“It grieves me as well to think that's what is happening, but I fear for your safety now. I've never understood your strange beliefs, yet I have valued our friendship. And I've done what I could to shield you and your family from repercussions, but it's out of my hands now.” Publius extended his palms upward and shrugged, his posture denoting his helplessness.

“I know, and I appreciate everything you've done. It was politically risky to take the position you did.”

“Well, I was a decided minority of one, but what were the other council members going to do—toss me out?” Publius patted his ample sides and smiled wryly.

The image of his hefty friend being bodily ejected from the
con-cilium
brought a fleeting moment of relief to Abraham's mind, but his worries quickly shoved the humorous image aside. He guessed that Publius had still not disclosed the full purpose of his visit.

“Why are you so fearful for my safety now, Publius? Have I personally come to the emperor's attention?”

“I don't know—but your friend John certainly has.” Publius cleared his throat. “You undoubtedly noticed the two military ships that arrived late yesterday . . .”

Abraham nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“The commanding officer paid a visit to the
concilium
this morning. It seems our report to Rome, or at least the section dealing with John and his preaching at the Temple of Domitian, got Caesar's personal attention. Domitian took the unusual action of sending a cohort of soldiers to investigate—and to enforce a mandatory sacrifice to the emperor.”

“So the Apostle has been targeted for this mandatory sacrifice, and if he refuses to offer it, he will meet the same fate as Flavius Clemens?”

“Execution or exile. That is the punishment.”

The two friends stared blankly into space for a moment. Publius appeared quite pained as he continued. “If John is a target, it stands to reason that your son will also come to the commander's attention. Jacob accompanies the old preacher everywhere he goes.”

Abraham's heart sank.
Jacob, oh Jacob,
he thought.
Why do you
have to be so outspoken? Whatever made you want to be a preacher like
John?

“So if Jacob is singled out,” Publius continued, “you're bound to be targeted as well. You know they can confiscate the property of anyone convicted of such a crime, and you're the wealthiest man in Asia. Actually, you wouldn't even have to be convicted of a crime, not in the sense of a trial. Damian has special orders from the emperor that override the local governing auth—”

“Who?” Abraham bolted forward as he snapped out the question.

“The commander,” Publius replied, his eyebrows arching on his malleable face. “Lucius Mallus Damianus . . .”

Abraham did not hear another word Publius said.
Damian!
How could he bear to tell Elizabeth that Damian had returned, and that Jacob was his prey?

2

THE
TRICLINIUM
, WITH ITS THREE SLOPING SOFAS arranged around the large square table, was the most important room in the house, and dinner with her family was the highlight of Elizabeth's day. She slipped off her sandals and left them at the foot of the couch, then stretched out on the plush mattress covered in a rich, crimson-striped brocade.

Although each sofa accommodated three people, the family reclined in pairs when dining alone. Elizabeth and Abraham shared the center couch, the position of honor. Jacob and Peter occupied the couch to their left, and Naomi and Rebecca were to their right. The fourth side of the table was left open for service. While one servant poured wine and another placed dishes of boiled eggs in sauce, salad greens, and oysters on the table to begin the meal, Elizabeth leaned on her elbow and surveyed her family.

Peter appeared to be in pain, although he hadn't complained. In the last few years he seemed to have given in to it more; some days he never left his room. Elizabeth had often thought that if it had been Jacob whose ankle had been badly twisted at birth, he would have tangled with the devil himself rather than give up and spend the day in bed.

Her husband seemed to be distracted. Abraham had not touched his cup of
mulsum
, the warm, honey-sweetened wine he loved.
Probably brooding over a business problem,
she guessed. If it were something she needed to know, he would tell her later; they had no secrets.

Rebecca exhibited her usual sunny disposition. She was sweet and >even-tempered, and remarkably unspoiled.
Unlike her older sister,
Elizabeth thought with a maternal pang. Naomi had always been self-centered, but lately she seemed to be gripped by cynicism. Naomi's attention was wandering now, and she drummed her fingers on the large napkin spread protectively over the curved head of the couch.

The twins presented a contrast, as always. Peter was typically quiet and merely picked at his food, while Jacob ate heartily and conversed with the others. He did seem a bit subdued, however, and Rebecca was quick to pinpoint the cause.

“When are you and the apostle John leaving?” she said to Jacob.

“We're not. At least not right away.” Disappointment was etched in the set of Jacob's square jaw. “It's difficult for him to ride long distances anymore because of his advanced age—”

“Advanced? He's older than Methuselah.” Naomi nibbled at one of the boiled eggs and grimaced. “Too much vinegar in the pine-kernel sauce,” she commented. “Surely we could afford a better cook.”

“I'm surprised you even know who Methuselah is,” Jacob said dryly.

“I know much more than you'd ever give a woman credit for.”

Elizabeth shot Jacob a warning look that stopped him from offering a quick retort.

He contented himself with a frown at his older sister and continued. “Anyway, John was chilled to the bone when I arrived this morning, and too stiff to mount a horse. He said he would write Polycarp and ask him to come to Ephesus, but I suggested we hire a carriage. I think John could make the trip that way.”

“Who is this Polycarp, dear?” Elizabeth did not recall hearing the name.

“He's a disciple of John, someone he wants me to meet—a leader of the church in Smyrna, even though he's only a few years older than I am.”

Two servants began bringing the main course to the table: mackerel smothered in herbs and coarse pepper, pieces of roast duck rolled in honey and poppy seeds, and several vegetable dishes. All of the household servants were Christians, and Jacob spoke freely in their presence.

“John said I could preach in some of the churches,” he said eagerly, “and he feels an urgent need to visit them—‘one last time,' he said—because he feels that something cataclysmic is about to happen.”

For the first time during the meal, Abraham's attention was piqued. “What do you mean, ‘cataclysmic'?”

Jacob shrugged. “I don't know—I don't think John knows, either. Perhaps it's simply that he's nearing the end of his life and knows he may never have another opportunity to minister to the other churches. Or maybe he senses in his spirit that something . . .” Jacob paused to take a sip of wine while he groped for the right words. “Something unusually significant, or disastrous, is about to happen.”

Abraham stared so intently at Jacob that Elizabeth wondered if father and son were about to renew the argument they'd had this morning
.
Dear God, no,
she prayed silently.
Let there be peace.

“If you ask me,” Jacob continued, “it obviously has something to do with Emperor Domitian's declaring himself Lord and God—”

“Oh, please. Spare us another sermon about the perils of emperor worship.” Naomi spoke over her brother while rolling her eyes dramatically.

“—And receiving sacrifices at the grandiose temple our city fathers so thoughtfully built in his honor.” Jacob glared across the table at his sister as he finished speaking.

“Hush, Naomi! As for you, Jacob—” Abraham's stern voice dropped a notch as Elizabeth placed her arm on his sleeve. “Son, your righteous indignation is appropriate, but you have a tendency to express it without thinking. You
must
be careful about speaking so openly in public, as I've warned you.”

“But Father, how will people know the truth unless we preach it? They are lost and dying without God, worshiping idols of gold and silver, and now worshiping a man who dares to call himself Lord and God.”

“And how will the people hear the truth if the preacher gets himself thrown in jail—or killed?”

Elizabeth gasped involuntarily at Abraham's words. She had not heard her husband talk like this before, and it troubled her. His opposition to Jacob's calling to be a preacher had stemmed from his disappointment that his son would not follow him into the business world—or so she had thought. Perhaps Abraham had been more worried for their son's safety than he had let on.

“We have enjoyed a great deal of toleration,” Abraham continued more calmly, “but the political climate is changing. Drastically.” He picked up the cup of
mulsum
and sipped slowly, his glance saying to Elizabeth,
I'll tell you about it later
.

“All I'm saying is, don't go looking for trouble, son; it will find you easily enough. Preach the truth, but be judicious about it.”

Abraham turned and looked at his son for so long that Jacob finally asked, “Do
you
think something terrible is about to happen, Father? Something ‘cataclysmic'?”