Devil's Island (38 page)

“The medical officer, however, was not in the camp that afternoon, and no one knew where he was. I went to the hospital; John and Rebecca were not there, but perhaps one or both of them had been injured previously. Why else would Brutus refer me to the medical officer? I was unable to find out anything else before our ship sailed. We were not allowed to dock overnight, so we had to leave Patmos by sundown.

“I was very disappointed not to learn anything more about your daughter or the Apostle. I keep telling myself that they're all right, and I pray for them daily. Brutus must have hoped I would find something out, but he wanted the medical officer to be the one who told me. I feel I have let you down . . .”

Far from letting him down, Abraham thought, Quintus had done everything he could possibly do—more than anyone could be expected to do. And Peter . . . Abraham was so grateful that Quintus had shown such concern for Peter, and that his shy, withdrawn son had demonstrated some initiative both in the shipping business and for his family's welfare . . .”

Abraham rolled the letter back up and fought the urge to give in to despair. He couldn't stand not knowing how Rebecca was, but he stubbornly refused to think she was dead. At least he knew Jacob was all right, even though his sentence had shifted from one kind of hard labor to another.

Like Quintus, Abraham felt he had failed in his mission. He thought about sailing back to Ephesus and even trying to go to Patmos himself. But that wouldn't win Rebecca's release, even if he did manage to get more information out of Brutus or the medical officer. Kaeso had told him recently that the repairs were finished on the
Mercury
;
they could leave at any time.

Should he stay and keep trying to make an appeal? Or should he give up and go home?

Early the next morning, at a meeting with other Christians in Rome, Abraham poured out his discouragement and asked for prayer. He had reconnected with a number of believers there and had told them all about the persecution in Ephesus and his concern for his children. The group had been praying regularly for a successful appeal; now they decided to fast as well as pray.

Ten days later, Abraham had a sponsor in the Senate. A member he had contacted before, Aulus Virius Horatius, came to see him.

“Several months ago,” Horatius said, “I wasn't willing to risk taking up your case. Now I am.”

“What changed your mind?” Abraham asked.

“My health is failing. I'll be retiring from the Senate soon, so I have nothing to lose politically. It occurs to me now that one of my last official acts could be to repay an old friend for his help over the years.”

Something didn't ring quite true with the offer. Horatius had always been thin and pale; he didn't look any more sickly now than he had a few months ago when Abraham had solicited his aid. And Abraham had helped Horatius only once or twice over the years; the senator had not been a regular recipient of Abraham's largesse. But it was the only opportunity he'd been given, so Abraham seized it.

On the third Tuesday in June, Abraham entered the Curia with a mixture of hope and anxiety. He had spent many hours on his knees preparing for the one hour he would spend making his case before the Senate and the emperor. Abraham was about to plead for mercy from a ruler who was not known for showing mercy, but the ultimate outcome, he knew, would be a matter of divine justice.

The voices of the assembled senators echoed over the intricately patterned marble floor as Abraham walked toward the carved stone balustrade in front of the speakers' podium. The Curia Julia, the building where the Senate met to deliberate, had been commissioned 140 years earlier by Julius Caesar, but the massive fire that swept Rome during Nero's reign also damaged the Curia. Just two years ago, some thirty years after the fire, Domitian had completed its restoration to Julius's original design. Roughly sixty feet wide and ninety feet long, the Curia would seat some two hundred senators on the rows of benches lining the long sides of the chamber. Although it only took seventy senators to constitute an assembly, the hall was overflowing the day Abraham's case was heard.

The senators took their positions according to rank, with the most important members seated close to the podium and the junior members standing in back. Abraham saw Senator Mallus at the front, and he automatically clenched his fist; he still felt like hitting the man. Only Senator Nerva, a longtime power player at the palace, was seated closer to the podium than Mallus. None of the senators Abraham had contacted over the last few months acknowledged his presence, and even Horatius, who was responsible for getting his case heard, merely gave a perfunctory nod in his direction.

Arrayed in their purple-striped togas, the senators were an impressive-looking group, and during the period of the Republic, the Senate had indeed been a powerful institution. Beginning with the dictatorship of Gaius Julius Caesar, however, and throughout the succession of nearly a dozen emperors, the Senate's influence had been radically curtailed. While the senators would deliberate the case, their votes would be a mere reflection of the will of the emperor.

Abraham understood, therefore, that one man would determine the outcome of his appeal, and that man was already at the rostrum, dressed in full military costume. Domitian was popular with the troops—he had given them large pay increases to secure their support— and often wore a military uniform; it was a tacit admission that he could not stay in power without the full backing of the army.

After the assembly was called to order, Horatius presented an overview of the case and introduced Abraham. It was a bright, sunny day and the Curia was packed. When he mounted the podium, Abraham suddenly appreciated the airiness afforded by the sixty-foot-high ceiling; it would keep the room cooler, and he was already beginning to feel warm.

Almost as soon as Abraham began his carefully prepared speech, the members began to bombard Abraham with questions. He noted that the first questions, which dealt mostly with the facts of the case, came from allies of Senator Mallus.

Then one of the senators asked, “When your son and daughter refused to sacrifice to Lord Domitian, did they make the right choice?”

It had been decades—a lifetime ago, it seemed—since Abraham had practiced law, but he recognized the lawyer's skill behind the question.

“My children have no political quarrel with Rome,” he said carefully. “They were simply following their conscience, and they meant no disrespect to Caesar by it.”

Senator Mallus fired the next question himself. “I understand you were present when your son and daughter refused the mandatory sacrifice, and even though you also profess to be a Christian, you went ahead and offered the sacrifice to Caesar. Did
you
make the right choice?”

Abraham tried to hedge. “I did what I thought was best at that moment.”

He didn't like where this line of questioning was leading. He also didn't like the fact that Horatius would not look him in the eye, even though his sponsor was in his direct line of vision.

A thought struck Abraham with the force and clarity of a flash of lightning that illuminates a stormy night: Horatius had been bought. As long as Mallus had opposed his efforts, Abraham could not get a single senator to sponsor his cause. It was Mallus who had had the change of heart; he had wanted Abraham's case to come before the Senate so he could set a trap, and he had paid Horatius to make it happen. And it must have been Abraham's own daughter who provided the information used to bait the trap.

The commanding silver-haired senator who had become Abraham's son-in-law paced in front of the podium; when Mallus stopped and placed a hand on the balustrade, the other senators leaned forward expectantly. “I also understand you later recanted your loyalty to Caesar,” he said, “and you apologized to a group of Christians for making the sacrifice, which you described as ‘a sin.'”

Mallus paused to look at the hushed crowd, then turned to Abraham and asked, “If you had it to do over again, would you worship Emperor Domitian as Lord and God?”

The emperor rose from his seat and walked toward Abraham. “Now, that's an intriguing question, and I want to hear the answer. Would you make the same choice today?”

It's all over,
Abraham thought.
All these months, and it's finally over.

Yet rather than despair at having fought a hopeless cause for so long, Abraham felt relief, and an unusual peace. He stared briefly at his malicious son-in-law and the despotic emperor, then he addressed the Senate.

“I came before this august body today to make an appeal to reason and justice on behalf of my son and daughter. But somehow I have been placed on trial—not for anything I have done or failed to do, but for what I believe. Rome has enjoyed a long history of religious tolerance, yet now it is unlawful for a man to follow his conscience in matters of religion. No matter how upstanding a man may be, he faces the loss of his liberty and his property simply for the crime of being a Christian.

“As followers of Jesus Christ, we are peaceable people who love one another and strive to help our fellowman. We are law-abiding citizens, we pay our taxes, we support and defend the Empire. The one thing we cannot do is offer our worship to anyone other than Jesus Christ.”

A low murmur rumbled through the crowd, and Abraham raised his voice. “You ask if I would make the same choice today that I made eight months ago, and the answer is no. My loyalty is to the Lord Jesus Christ, who was crucified by Rome, resurrected by the power of Almighty God, then ascended into heaven. That same Jesus is coming again to rule and reign on the earth, and at His name every knee will bow in worship.”

Abraham pointed at his chief accuser and then at the emperor. “You will bow, Senator Mallus, and you, Caesar Domitian. And every man in this room will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

Chaos erupted in the Curia. Senators shouted and gestured, and Domitian signaled for the Praetorian Guard.

Abraham kept his head high as Caesar's soldiers arrested him and marched him down the long hall lined by the most powerful citizens in the Roman Empire. He had submitted his life to a power far greater than Rome's, and in that decisive moment, he knew no fear.

32

“WHICH NECKLACE? The gold-mesh choker or the emerald pendant?” Naomi held the two costly baubles in front of her husband.

Lucius sighed, then pointed to the choker. “We're going to the games, Naomi, not a gala.”

“But we're sitting in the emperor's box this time.” She turned around so he could fasten the clasp of the necklace. “And he's planned a special event for today, something that affects me personally. So I want to look my best.”

He watched her primp for a minute, then said, “It happened exactly as you said it would, Naomi. Your father recanted his loyalty to Caesar, right there on the floor of the Senate.”

“I wish I could have seen you question him. I'll bet you were wonderful.”

“An inspired performance, if I do say so.” Lucius's face relaxed in a self-congratulatory smile that quickly faded. “I thought the emperor would execute him immediately, quietly. Instead, Domitian waited for his next grandiose public spectacle. Are you sure it doesn't bother you? If you'd rather not watch . . .”

Naomi looked into the bronze hand mirror, gave her mass of lustrous auburn curls a final pat, then shrugged. “It's been a month. I've gotten used to the idea.” She set the mirror down and turned to face her husband. “Besides, it's his time. He's cheated death before, but he won't now. And once he's gone, you can help me claim his fortune.”

“You don't think he has disinherited you in his will?”

“If he has, then we'll get it invalidated. You have the power.” Naomi walked over to Lucius and tilted her head up for a kiss. When he dutifully obliged, she added, “And then, with my wealth combined with yours, we'll be as rich as Croesus.”

“What will be left to consume your attention then, my dear wife?”

“I've been thinking about that.”

“And what new idea has entered your pretty head?”

Her eyes sparkling with mischief, Naomi walked her index and middle fingers up his chest, then clasped her arms around his neck.

“We're going to kill Caesar, so you can be emperor.”

For one month Abraham had received free accommodations courtesy of the emperor. That's how he had come to think of his imprisonment.

His host had provided no amenities. The room was small and dark, and there was no bed; he slept chained to the stone wall. Yet in all of his fifty-one years Abraham had not felt such freedom.

And joy. He actually felt an unspeakable joy, and on occasion, he had even laughed out loud. The guards had called him a madman, but the truth was that Abraham was living in the presence of God.

The joy came from knowing he was truly forgiven. Like the apostle Peter, he had briefly denied Christ; but Abraham had genuinely repented and then boldly professed his faith before Caesar. Now, in the same way he had heard an inner voice warning him not to make the sacrifice—a voice he had ignored—Abraham heard the voice of the Spirit encouraging him:
Whoever confesses Me before men,
him I will also confess before My Father who is in heaven.

Abraham passed his days praying and thinking about his life. He thanked God for the twenty-five years he'd had with his precious wife and prayed he would be with Elizabeth soon. Almost hourly he petitioned heaven for Rebecca and Jacob, always saying, “Father, I commit my children into Your hands.”

Sometimes he wished he could get another letter to Ephesus, to let Peter know he was in prison. Several weeks earlier he had written Quintus to thank him for looking out for Peter and the business, and he'd also written a letter to his son. Abraham also hoped the believers in Ephesus would someday learn that he had belatedly taken the bold stand for Christ he should have taken that momentous day at Domitian's temple.