Devil's Island

by John Hagee

  The centurion circled Naomi slowly, eyeing her from head to toe. He lifted her thick mane of hair and held it on top of her head for a moment before letting it fall. “I believe I saw this little vixen at the baths yesterday,” he said.

  “So you did.” Naomi smiled seductively. “I told you I was not one of them,” she repeated. She appeared serenely poised, but her hands were balled into tight fists.

  The soldiers who had searched the downstairs returned with the cook and her helper in tow. “We found these two in the kitchen,” one of them reported to their commander. “The rest of the house is empty.”

  They didn’t find Peter! Elizabeth realized with a burst of gratitude that at least one of her family members might be spared the coming ordeal. He must have hidden in the library, she thought.

  “Let’s go,” the centurion ordered. “Commander Damian will be waiting at the temple.”

  Elizabeth stepped carefully over the shattered door of her home, a Roman spear at her back. The centurion had said his orders were to take them to “the authorities.” Now he had clarified that he was taking them to Damian.

  The calm she had felt earlier evaporated, and Elizabeth’s cheeks went numb with fear. Abraham, where are you? she wondered desperately. What’s going to happen to us?

  After his night in a cold dark prison cell, Abraham savored the sunshine, but his gratitude for its warmth was tempered by the cruelty of his captors. The centurion and four legionnaires who had arrested him returned early that morning. Now they marched him up the steep Marble Street, repeatedly shoving and poking him with the shafts of their spears. His back and ribs were bruised and burning by the time they reached the Temple of Domitian.

  A crowd of spectators, both soldiers and civilians, surrounded the immense stone altar. Abraham looked up at the statue of Domitian with loathing. The monstrosity was more than twenty feet tall, a sculptor’s testament to the emperor’s enormous ego.

  The noise of the crowd increased, and Abraham’s attention was riveted on several dozen soldiers propelling a group of people toward him. Elizabeth! He spied his wife at the front of the prisoners, and cringed to see the spears pointed at her. Anxiously searching the throng, he found Rebecca and Servius and what appeared to be most of his household staff. And Naomi, looking as furious as she did fearful.

  The sound of hoofbeats tore Abraham’s gaze away from his family. A white stallion whinnied and reared on its hind legs as the rider reined it in beside the statue. The officer dismounted in a fluid motion and stood with his hands on his hips as the carriage that had accompanied his dramatic entrance stopped and disgorged its passengers.

  Abraham’s heart stopped as a soldier yanked the apostle John out of the carriage, followed by Jacob. His son’s right eye was black and his face had been scratched as if he had fallen on the gravel. He had not surrendered without a fight, Abraham guessed.

  The officer who had ridden in on the white horse turned and strode toward Abraham. The scrawny legs and bony knees would have been laughable, Abraham thought, if they had not belonged to the most menacing face he had ever seen. He instantly recognized the sinister, hate-filled eyes of Damian. A surge of anger rose up in Abraham, and he clenched his fists.

  “I’m sure you’d like to have a little family reunion,” Damian said sarcastically, “but we have official business to conduct, Abraham. It’s time to find out just how committed you are to this contemptible faith you profess.” His piercing black eyes never left Abraham’s as he extended a hand toward the centurion standing nearby and snapped his fingers.

  “Bring the incense,” Damian growled.

  With a start Abraham realized that he was about to be required to make the mandatory sacrifice to the emperor. He had worried so long about the consequences of his son being forced to sacrifice, knowing Jacob would refuse, had been so concerned about Elizabeth’s well-being and his family’s safety, that he had spent little time thinking of his own response. Now the moment of reckoning had been thrust upon him, and Abraham knew that his actions in the next few moments would determine the course of his life.

  No matter what he did, his life would change irrevocably. If he offered the sacrifice, he would deny the God he loved and served, and face the eternal implication of his betrayal. If he held fast to his Christian beliefs and refused to worship Caesar, Rome would strip him of all his possessions and either execute him or send him into exile. Knowing Damian’s deep animosity toward him, Abraham guessed that his refusal to sacrifice could result only in a death sentence.

  He listened to the shouted commands of the legionnaires, the indistinct murmuring of the crowd, and the sound of feminine weeping. The scene was eerily familiar: armies using weapons to force political and religious beliefs on people who wanted only to live in peace, not be compelled to take sides.

  For an instant Abraham let his gaze wander from Damian’s. He had heard Rebecca crying and now saw Elizabeth cradling Rebecca’s head against her shoulder. His wife’s eyes were clear, and it occurred to Abraham that over the last few weeks she had emptied her reservoir of tears in anticipation of this moment. Now Elizabeth stood straight, facing her ordeal dry-eyed, and Abraham was proud of her resolve.

  The requested bowl of incense in his hand, Damian took a step toward Abraham. “Perhaps you recognize the design,” he said, holding the gold container aloft in admiration. “A souvenir from the miserable time I was stationed in Jerusalem.”

  Abraham looked at the small bowl, beautifully engraved with a pattern of figs, a motif synonymous with the nation of Israel. How like Damian, he thought, to have kept plundered treasure for his personal benefit, and to savor its use for this sacrilege.

  A scene of looting flashed across Abraham’s mind—Roman soldiers scrambling over the bodies of revolutionaries to gather the spoils of war while noncombatants, like himself, fled for their lives. But it was a simple response of nature, caused by not eating for more than twenty-four hours, that sent Abraham on a brief but intensely powerful emotional journey. When his stomach rumbled, it all came back to him . . .

  6

  ABRAHAM HAD ARRIVED IN JERUSALEM in the spring of his twenty-fifth year. His father had suggested the trip as a way of distracting Abraham from his newfound spirituality. “You should rediscover your Jewish roots,” his father had said. “Walk where Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob walked. Celebrate the Passover at the temple of Solomon.”

  Disenchanted with the practice of law, Abraham had embraced the idea enthusiastically. He had always wanted to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, but his motives now were vastly different from his father’s: Abraham wanted to walk where Jesus of Nazareth had walked and to worship in the birthplace of Christianity.

  In the last few years he had defended several Christians in civil lawsuits brought by vindictive Romans. The Christians had become easy prey after Nero’s spate of persecution following the burning of Rome. The emperor had made the “atheists” his scapegoat for the catastrophe—which, it was rumored, he had instigated in order to initiate a grand scheme to rebuild his palace and the heart of the city. Many followers of Christ were burned alive, some as torches to light Nero’s estate; others faced martyrdom in the arena with wild animals. The savage persecution gradually dwindled, and four years after the fire, Nero committed suicide in the face of rebellion and public condemnation. The stigma against the Christians, however, survived, and they remained targets of harassment.

  Abraham had found the Christian believers—most of whom were Jewish, as he was—to be peaceful, gracious, and kind. In short, they were upstanding citizens who had been unfairly maligned. Over the months he had engaged many of them in lengthy spiritual discussions, eventually recognizing for himself that Jesus of Nazareth was, indeed, the Christ, the Son of God and Savior of mankind.

  So Abraham traveled to his ancestral homeland, the origin of so much Jewish and Christian history, arriving just before Passover, and just about the time General Titus and four legions of battle-tested Roman soldiers encamped
around the city.

  Before his trip Abraham had been aware of the ongoing conflict in the area. Jewish nationalists had rebelled against Rome four years earlier and Rome had been trying to smash the revolt ever since. But when Nero had died two years after the outbreak of hostilities, Rome was forced to turn its attention to the ensuing civil war at home. Once Vespasian, who had commanded the forces in Palestine, successfully claimed the throne, he sent his son Titus back to Jerusalem to put an end to the rebellion once and for all. Rome knew how to be brutal.

  When Abraham arrived the greater threat, at least initially, was inside the city walls: the rebel groups were deeply divided and battling for control of the Temple Mount. Ordinary citizens were often caught in the cross fire of the opposing factions.

  Six weeks after his arrival, Abraham came face-to-face with not only the brutality of war but the dehumanizing despair of deprivation. For the first time in his life, he knew what it was to be truly hungry.

  “We have no food again. Nothing.” In the early morning light Rivka’s face appeared more haggard than usual, and she looked worriedly at the young child balanced on her hip. “I’ve been very careful with our supplies, Tobias . . .” Rivka’s words dwindled to a frightened whisper.

  “I know you have. It’s not your fault.” Tobias touched her arm reassuringly and Abraham’s heart went out to the couple. He’d grown very fond of them in the few weeks he had stayed in their beautiful home in the Upper City.

  Tobias was the son of a distant relative, one his father had encouraged him to look up when he arrived in Jerusalem. Of course, his father had not known that Abner was no longer alive or that Abner’s son had become a Christian. Abraham relished the irony of finding that his father, who had intended for Abraham to renew his Jewish faith, had instead placed him in the home of a kinsman who shared his new faith in Christ.

  “We should have left with the others,” Rivka lamented. “But the baby . . . I was scared.”

  “You must stop blaming yourself,” Tobias said. “Staying here, in our home, was the right thing for us.”

  Tobias had already told Abraham how most of the Christians in Jerusalem had relocated to Pella, a city in the province of Perea, east of the Jordan River. They had believed the anticipated Roman siege was the beginning of the troubles prophesied by Jesus, and that the city of Jerusalem would be destroyed. But when their friends departed, Rivka had been pregnant, and having a difficult time, so she and Tobias had stayed. And after the birth of their son, Joel, they had still been hesitant to travel because the child was sickly.

  “Besides,” Tobias added, “if we had left with the others, we would not have been here to welcome Abraham. Just think what we would have missed then.”

  “I’m glad we didn’t miss that,” Rivka said, smiling at last. “You’ve been a dear friend and brother to us.”

  What they would have missed, Abraham thought, is another mouth to feed. A burden no one in Jerusalem, overcrowded by the influx of pilgrims for Passover—pilgrims who were now stranded in the city—had needed. But his cousins, as he referred to them, had not seemed to mind at all. In fact, they had been bolstered by his arrival, and the bond of fellowship with them had become quite close-knit in a matter of days.

  “Abraham, it’s time for another adventure,” Tobias announced, trying to keep a light tone. “Let’s go shopping for food.”

  “We’re getting quite good at this, you know,” Abraham told Rivka, striving to match Tobias’s feigned optimism. It was a charade both men adopted for her sake; they couldn’t bear to tell her the truth about the increasingly desperate conditions in the city.

  “Abraham’s a born trader. You should see him drive a bargain.” Tobias smiled and clapped Abraham on the shoulder as they told Rivka good-bye. “Stay inside,” he warned his wife unnecessarily. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  The instant the two men stepped outside, the smiles faded. Tobias placed the palm of his hand against the closed door. “Keep them safe, Lord,” he said softly.

  “And grant us the favor of Your provision,” Abraham added.

  They left the spacious homes of the wealthy in the Upper City and made their way through the labyrinth of cobblestone streets and crowded houses of the Lower City. Several days earlier the Roman troops had breached the outer walls of Jerusalem and occupied the northern suburbs, shutting off access to most of the commercial area. Shops in the older part of the city had closed as well, their supplies confiscated by the revolutionary forces brutalizing the city from within.

  Acquiring a few morsels of food had become a dangerous enterprise. Recently, when their pantry had been completely exhausted, Tobias and Abraham had purchased grain from their neighbors, paying exorbitant prices for a loaf of bread or a measure of grain. After a few days it had become impossible to find anyone with food to sell.

  “Should we head for the old aqueduct?” Abraham asked. “It could be very risky, trying to sneak outside the city.”

  “Yes, but I think it’s time to try it. We’re not going to find anything here,” Tobias said, studying the surroundings carefully as they walked. “And it’s every bit as dangerous inside the walls.”

  “The stench is worse today too.” Abraham wrinkled his nose and frowned. The smell of death permeated the air even more than usual. “I would gladly risk danger for a few deep breaths of fresh air outside these walls—”

  Abraham tripped and stumbled, and Tobias reached out a hand to steady him. When he looked down at the street to see what had impeded his progress, Abraham nearly retched at the sight. He had lost his footing on the body of an old man. Strands of gray hair flowed over the bloated face, streaked with blood and crusted with flies. Far worse than the frightened stare of his lifeless eyes, however, were the tangled remains of the lower half of his body: the man had been disemboweled. Abraham had not believed the rumors that the revolutionaries committed such atrocities on those they suspected of swallowing gold or jewels to preserve their riches from theft as they tried to flee the city. But now he knew it was true. The cutthroat armies of the Jewish revolution robbed, killed, or tortured their own people for food or valuables and left the bodies in the streets as a warning.

  Shaken by the discovery, the two men walked silently toward the edge of the city. Abraham tried to pay close attention to their route so he could find his way home in the event they got separated. Tobias had spent a lifetime navigating the twisting streets and alleys, but Abraham found the layout confusing.

  On one of their recent outings, Abraham and Tobias had come across a portion of an ancient aqueduct no longer in use. They had carefully explored it, discovering that it led under the city wall a short distance at the city’s eastern edge, opening to a spot just south of where the Tenth Legion was camped on the Mount of Olives. An overgrowth of brush disguised the opening, and if they were careful, they could slip in and out without notice. They had discussed using it as a tunnel to get outside the city walls, where they could gather herbs or grasses on the hillside.

  Today, they decided, it was time to implement their plan. “Perhaps we should split up,” Tobias said as they approached the entrance. “I’ll go through the aqueduct and see what I can find outside. You stay here and look.”

  “No, if we part company, I should be the one to go.” Abraham picked his way over the rubble and followed Tobias underground. He had to stoop a bit as they walked through the tunnel but Tobias, who was short and wiry, stood at full height as he led the way.

  “It’s more dangerous for you than for me,” Abraham continued. “I’m a Roman citizen who got trapped in the city, and Titus has promised us safe passage. So if I’m captured, I would have to return home, which means I couldn’t stay to help you and Rivka, but I wouldn’t be killed.”

  He left unspoken his fear that Tobias, if captured, would be crucified in the daily display of terror the Romans conducted for the Zealots’ benefit. Jews caught outside the city were offered a chance to defect; if they refused—which most of
them did, fearing what would happen to their families in their absence—they were deemed to be revolutionaries and executed by crucifixion. Dozens met a similar fate every day, and Abraham had watched the rebels drag the families of those being crucified to the top of the city walls to watch the spectacle below. “This is what happens to traitors,” the Zealots warned the terrified citizens. It was an effective recruiting tool; some joined the revolutionaries willingly after that, but a few jumped over the walls and took their chances with the Romans.

  Reaching the spot where the aqueduct emptied out under the wall, Abraham and Tobias stood and looked through the overgrowth to the outside. Dismayed by what they saw, neither one spoke for a long time.

  “It’s too late now,” Tobias finally said. “We should have done this last week.”

  “We weren’t as desperate last week. We still had corn to eat.” Abraham gazed forlornly at the bare hillside. The Romans had cleared several acres when they built their camp; now they had deforested the entire area. Every tree had been cut down, and the grass was completely trampled. There was nothing left to forage.

  “This must be where the timber came from to build the new siege towers.”

  Abraham had seen the movable wooden structures Tobias referred to. The siege towers were immense, seventy-five feet tall, and allowed the Roman archers to shoot at the rebels defending the walls at close range.

  “I don’t know how much longer the city can hold out,” Tobias said sadly.

  “The longer it holds out, the more innocent people will die, and the more vengeful the Romans will be when they finally do take it. The rebels have no realistic hope of defeating the Roman legions; they never did.”

  “No, but they will not give up one square inch of the territory they hold—not until the last one of them is dead. And for what purpose? Most of us were content living under Roman rule. It wasn’t always pleasant but it was not usually oppressive. For the most part we paid our taxes and lived in peace.”