Devil's Island (37 page)

The thought had terrified her at first. At times, it still did. But John had helped her accept the fact of her pregnancy, if not embrace it.

The dear old Apostle prayed for her daily, and one day he had prophesied over her and the baby. Rebecca recalled his words: “God has a message of comfort for you. The child you are carrying, a son, will become a great servant of the Lord. Satan has tried to destroy you, but God will preserve you, and in His time, He will exalt you.”

Rebecca clung to the words of the prophecy because it gave her a glimmer of hope. And hope was a scarce commodity on Devil's Island.

“There you are, Scribe.” John's familiar, raspy voice called to her from the mouth of the cave.

Rebecca turned and smiled at the use of his new nickname for her. “It's about time you got up from your nap. You're getting lazy on me,” she teased.

John was anything but lazy. He had spent weeks writing down his revelation, agonizing as he put into words the inexpressible things he'd seen, and then revising what he'd written to make sure he had not omitted anything. Originally, the Apostle had worried that he would forget the revelation before he could write it down. But then he reasoned that God had specifically told him to write about the supernatural experience, and God had to know that would take time; therefore, John trusted the Holy Spirit would bring it all back to his mind until he'd finished describing it. And He had.

When John was finally through, Rebecca had neatly written an entire scroll from his notes. Now she was making an additional copy of this important message for the church.

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” John told her. “That was an excellent observation, that the messages to the seven churches each contain both a commendation and a correction.”

Rebecca was pleased that he had complimented her thinking, but she was modest in her reply. “I've copied the seven letters twice now, and I noticed that, each time, Jesus first praised the churches for what they'd done right, then He pointed out something that was wrong.”

“Prophecy often contains a warning or a corrective measure. Also, when God brings a prophetic message to His people, it usually has both an immediate application and a future application. That's what I was thinking about just now.”

“I don't understand,” Rebecca said. “Please elaborate.” They'd had many discussions about Scripture as they'd recorded John's apocalypse for posterity, and Rebecca loved learning from the Apostle.

“Obviously the seven letters are to seven specific churches in Asia. And the letters describe real situations those churches are facing right now—I know that firsthand from visiting some of them.

“But I also believe that the seven churches describe seven time periods, from the present to the end of the age. So that the last letter, to the church at Laodicea, describes the type of church that will exist just prior to Christ's return—lukewarm, neither cold nor hot . . .”

For the next few minutes, John expounded on his interpretation of the revelation while Rebecca listened avidly and asked questions. They were still discussing the topic when Marcellus arrived.

“Have I missed class again?” he asked with a grin. John had been discipling Marcellus, who often commented that he was learning so much, he felt like a schoolboy.

“I'll let you question him for a while,” Rebecca said. “He's wearing me out.”

“Actually, I'm worn out from standing out here so long. Let's go back inside.” John headed for the cave, and the other two followed.

“I have some news,” Marcellus said after John had positioned himself on the stool. “Some sad news, I'm afraid.” Like Rebecca, he sat on the ground at John's feet.

“I'm not sure I can take any more sad news,” Rebecca said.

“What is it, son?”

“One of the men who arrived with you from Ephesus—his name is Servius—died last night.”

Rebecca started crying and John explained, “Servius had been part of Rebecca's household since before she was born.” He reached out to comfort Rebecca as he asked, “What happened?”

“It's been a hard winter,” Marcellus said, “and he was getting up in years. Working outdoors had weakened his body. He got very sick, and by the time they brought him to me, there was nothing I could do.”

“Why does everybody I love have to die or disappear?” Rebecca asked, her breath ragged from weeping. Jacob had been sent away, her mother was dead, and the last time she'd seen her father, he was lying facedown by the altar at Domitian's temple; for all she knew, he was dead. Now Servius.

Rebecca laughed hysterically even as she cried. “For that matter, I'm dead too!” She rocked back and forth, her arms clamped to her chest. “I'll never get off this island. According to the camp records, I don't even exist anymore. I'll grow old and die here, and so will my baby!”

Marcellus took a minute to calm her down, then he said, “I've given that a lot of thought. Reporting you as dead seemed the only thing to do at the time. It kept you safe, but it did create problems.”

“You did what you thought was best,” John said, “and we're very grateful.”

“My twenty-year term is up in late September . . .” Marcellus hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead with his plan. “The baby will be about two months old then, and I could try to smuggle him off the island when I leave. Maybe take the baby to Ephesus, to your family. I've already agreed to carry John's letter with me. I could carry something for you too,” he told Rebecca.

“What if Brutus saw you with the baby?” John asked. “Would he try to stop you? Or Damian? What if he found out?”

“Damian's visits have tapered off, so it's not as likely that he'd be here. As for Brutus—well, to begin with, he would be shocked speechless. Nobody has ever seen a baby in this place. And if I were caught, I . . . I thought I would say the baby is mine—if that's all right with you, Rebecca. Brutus knows you were raped and figures it was Damian. But if I claim the baby is mine, how could he prove otherwise? And if the baby is mine, then Brutus couldn't legally stop me from taking him with me.”

“And then Damian wouldn't be able to claim the child was his,” Rebecca said. “I've been worried that perhaps he would try to take the baby away.” She had no idea what she would do when the baby was born, how she would raise a child while living in a cave, shut off from the rest of the world. Yet she certainly didn't want the child under Damian's influence.

“I doubt he would want a living reminder of what he did to you,” Marcellus said, “although with Damian you never know.”

Rebecca's maternal instincts were aroused for this child she hadn't wanted and hadn't quite grown to love, at least not yet. At the same time, she couldn't bear to think of something terrible happening to her unborn child—a child John had said would be a great servant of the Lord.

“But how could he survive?” Rebecca asked Marcellus. “How would you feed the baby?”

“I couldn't, except perhaps for a little water. But Ephesus is only about six hours away, and I could find a wet nurse as soon as I got there.” He put a hand on Rebecca's shoulder. “I'd try to smuggle you off the island, Rebecca, if I could think of a way to disguise you. That would be a great deal riskier, though.”

“Of course. How
do
you disguise a dead woman?” Rebecca smiled wanly. She was beginning to feel a bit better. The very fact that Marcellus was trying to figure something out encouraged her.

“I haven't told Brutus that you're going to have a baby. Actually, I haven't told him anything about you at all, and he hasn't asked.”

“He doesn't want to be reminded, I'm sure,” John said. “It's more convenient to forget about us.”

Marcellus agreed. “But he's not entirely heartless. And he doesn't want any more trouble in the camp. I could try to appeal to him on that basis, tell him that if I take you and the baby with me, then he's rid of a problem.”

“But that would leave you all alone,” Rebecca said to John, tears suddenly threatening to spill at the thought. “I couldn't leave you here. I couldn't.”

“Well,” Marcellus said quickly, “we've got plenty of time to think about it. No need to make a decision right away.”

“Yes, I have to give birth to this baby first.” Rebecca sighed. She couldn't imagine having a baby without her mother being there to help.

“I'm studying up on that too. I have some medical texts in my office, but none of them discusses childbirth. That's a subject army doctors don't exactly need to know.”

“I don't suppose there are any midwives on the island,” John said.

Marcellus grinned. “Unless one gets sentenced soon, we're on our own . . . But how hard could it be?”

“Easy for you to say,” Rebecca grumbled.

31

DISCOURAGEMENT WEIGHED DOWN ABRAHAM'S SOUL like the leather paperweight anchoring the open scroll on his desk. He picked up the lead-filled object and studied it intently, as if it held the answer to all his problems.

For months he had been trying to get his case before the Senate, but he couldn't find a sponsor to present it. Senators he had helped over the years, men who had courted his friendship and coveted his financial support, were mysteriously unavailable when he called on them now. Or, if he managed to get a meeting with them, they stuttered an excuse for not being able to help. He had worked through the winter and the spring without any progress; now it was June, and he was no closer to his goal than when he'd washed up on the shore after the hurricane.

Abraham guessed that Naomi's husband was using his influence to block the appeal; Senator Mallus was one of the most powerful politicians in Rome. Abraham had not seen his daughter since the night of the reception, when Mallus had thrown him out.

The heavy paperweight Abraham was staring at failed to hold his attention, so he set it to one side and unrolled the scroll it had held open. He'd read the long letter from Quintus at least a hundred times since it had arrived a month ago on the
Aurelia
, one of Abraham's cargo ships.

But because it was the only news he'd had of his family, he read it yet again.

“The business is doing well in your absence,” Quintus wrote, “and we should have a successful season. I will keep you apprised of our operations whenever we have a ship bound for Rome.

“Peter has been helping me. You would be proud of him. The young man who always seemed so timid has matured through this crisis. He comes to the harbor every day, and he has taken over the bookkeeping and inventory so I can do, or try to do, your job.

“I give you this good news about Peter first, because the news about Jacob is not so good. He is no longer on Patmos but was sentenced to serve as an oarsman on a warship . . .”

Abraham quit reading and looked up for a moment. His heart always sank when he read that part and thought about Jacob spending the rest of his life rowing for the Roman navy. The only consolation was that being at sea would keep his son out of the reach of Damian.

“I learned this information,” the letter said, “when I went to Patmos. The trip was Peter's idea. As soon as the seas opened, he said we should send a ship to Patmos with food and clothing for the prisoners. His intent, of course, was to provide for Jacob and Rebecca and the others from Ephesus; however, we assumed that we would not be allowed the privilege of seeing them or sending gifts to them personally, so we decided to send enough for all the prisoners.

“It was probably dangerous for believers to attempt such a thing, but Damian's troops had left Ephesus by then, so Peter approached your old friend Publius with the idea. Publius managed to get authorization for ‘concerned citizens' to do ‘charitable works' for the prisoners on Patmos. Other than Publius, who made a donation to the cause, the only citizens concerned enough to help the prisoners were the Christians remaining in Ephesus. I bought supplies of food and grain, and Peter collected clothing and blankets from the other believers. Then he packed up Jacob's and Rebecca's clothing, and most of Naomi's things as well.”

Abraham smiled at the thought of Naomi's vast, colorful wardrobe being donated to convict laborers. She would never miss a single tunic, but she would despise the thought of the prisoners on Devil's Island wearing the clothes of an important society matron from Rome.

“I accompanied the boat to Patmos,” Quintus wrote, “and showed our letter of authorization to the camp commander, whose name is Brutus. He was quite surprised and, I think, suspicious, even when I said the food and clothing were to be distributed among all the prisoners. He must have guessed I was interested in a specific prisoner.

“‘There is women's clothing too,' I told him. Brutus said they had very few women there, but he would see that they got the clothing. Then I asked if he could give me any information about a young woman named Rebecca, who had been sent there from Ephesus with her brother Jacob, and others, last October.

“He remembered Jacob right away. That's when I found out he had been sentenced to a warship after a rock-throwing incident in the quarry. Evidently Jacob struck an officer and knocked him unconscious. Brutus would not provide any details, but I'm sure Jacob must have been provoked. I cannot imagine him becoming violent for no reason.”

The officer had probably said or done something to Rebecca or John, Abraham guessed; he could easily picture Jacob coming to their defense and the situation getting out of control.

“Brutus refused to answer my inquiries about Rebecca and John. Then I mentioned that I had brought a case of fresh fruit for the officers and several bottles of vintage Italian brandy. He became a bit more cordial, and we discussed winemaking for a while. When I inquired again about Rebecca and John, he reluctantly said I should ask the medical officer about them.