Devil's Island (43 page)

“I don't know what's happened to my sister in the last year,” Jacob said, “but I imagine it's been a living hell. If you'll help me get there to rescue her, I'll double your salary for this trip.”

An excited murmur rippled through the crew, and Jacob raised a hand to get their attention. “I also know a thing or two about rowing,” he said, “having spent the last eleven months on a warship. So I'll take the oar with you.”

Jacob turned and nodded at Durus, who dismissed the crew. Minutes later, when the first shift of rowers took their position at the oars, Jacob was with them.

The muscles across his broad back rippled like strands of rope beneath his burnished skin as Jacob pulled back on the oar rhythmically.

I'm coming, Rebecca. I'm coming.

36

WHEN THE FOUR BARREL-CHESTED STEVEDORES lowered the vehicle to the ground, Peter gingerly stepped out and walked toward the shipping office, trying not to limp. He was still not used to being hauled around in a litter, but it was the only way he could make the daily trip from the family villa on Mount Koressos to the harbor.

Quintus had suggested buying a litter several months earlier, and had come up with the idea of using some of the dockhands to carry Peter around in it. The men were accustomed to lifting heavy loads and appreciated the extra income for the job, and hiring them meant Peter would not have to rely on slave labor for transportation. Still, there was something unmanly about the conveyance, Peter thought, and he was embarrassed that he had to use it. He wondered if his father would approve.

All his life Peter had longed for his father's approval, but until recently he had received precious little of it. He understood that it had been much easier for his father to relate to Jacob. His twin brother was physically strong with a personality to match, just like Abraham. Peter had always been different, and that had been harder for his father to accept. It wasn't that his father didn't love him, Peter knew; it's just that his father hadn't quite known what to do with a crippled son. At an early age Peter had realized he could never measure up to his father's expectations, so he never really tried. Instead, he had sought to fade into the background as much as possible.

And then, not quite a year ago, everything changed. His mother was killed, Jacob and Rebecca were exiled, and his father and Naomi left for Rome. Peter was on his own for the first time in his life, and while it intimidated him, it also appealed to him. He had discovered a friend and mentor in Quintus, and now Peter enjoyed the challenge of working and trying to learn the shipping business.

And even if it had come a bit late, he knew that his father was proud of him. That's what Abraham had written in the letter Peter had received six weeks ago. “I'm very proud of what you've tried to do for Jacob and Rebecca,” his father had said, “and I trust that with Quintus's help you will continue to look after the business for me. I'm depending on you, son.”

Peter's heart swelled as he thought of his father's words—a father's final words to his son, it had turned out. Last week another letter had arrived. Kaeso had written to Quintus, informing him of Abraham's death and how Naomi's betrayal had caused it. Peter was still struggling with the news, even though his father had implied in his letter that the future was very uncertain, and had also included a codicil to his will.

Now Peter was the head of the family, or what was left of it, and he prayed every day that he would be able to do something to bring Jacob and Rebecca home. Prayer was another addition to his life. Peter's faith had been reestablished through this ordeal, and while he was still physically weak, he was becoming spiritually strong.

A seagull screeched and flew off as Peter awkwardly clumped down the few steps from the street to the pier. When he arrived on the dock, he found Quintus staring out to sea.

“We got a message from the
Valeria
this morning,” Quintus said.

“The
Valeria
?” Peter looked up and down the wharf in confusion. The ship had been loaded yesterday and scheduled to sail this morning; it wasn't there now.

“She's gone,” Quintus said. “Sailed less than two hours ago.”

“Is there some kind of problem?” The cargo ships always carried messenger pigeons, but they were used sparingly; Peter couldn't imagine what had prompted an important communication so soon after the ship had sailed.

Quintus handed Peter the miniature scroll. It was a message from the captain of the
Valeria
saying that they had just sailed past Abraham's personal cutter, which was heading toward the harbor at Ephesus.

“The
Mercury
?” Peter's voice rose in surprise. “Kaeso's letter didn't say anything about coming to Ephesus. In fact, he asked what he should do with Father's ship, and said he would wait for our instructions.”

“Exactly.”

Peter mulled over the news for a moment, an uneasy sensation making his stomach flutter. The
Valeria
, which had just left port, was carrying Quintus's reply requesting that Kaeso bring the
Mercury
home. Why had the captain sailed without waiting? “Something must have happened to change Kaeso's mind . . .”

“Either that, or someone other than Kaeso is on board.” Quintus kept his voice level, but his face had hardened into set lines.

“But who?”

“I can make a guess,” Quintus said, “but we'll know soon enough. The
Mercury
should arrive any time now.”

Jacob and the crew of the
Honoria
rowed around the clock for two days, then the wind began to pick up. They kept rowing for as many hours as they could each day, and with the combination of wind power and manpower, they reached record speeds for a ship of that size.

When they finally reached Patmos, only two weeks after leaving Rome, Jacob's mood was swinging between anticipation and anxiety. He knew the seamen were working as fast as possible, but they couldn't get the ship tied to the dock fast enough to suit him.

Yet when he set foot on the dock, he almost couldn't move; it was entirely too familiar. Shaking off the sense of dread that had come over him, Jacob headed straight for the camp commander's office.

When he learned that Brutus wasn't in, Jacob was almost relieved. He knew the commander would remember him, and he was glad not to have to deal with that scene. Instead, Jacob spoke with Brutus's aide. He presented the edict of liberation, and the aide studied it for several minutes.

“I've never seen anything like this,” the aide finally said. His wrinkled brow told Jacob that the aide hadn't wanted to see anything like it, either.

“It's signed and sealed by the new emperor, Marcus Cocceius Nerva, and Admiral Flavius Juvenalis. It releases me from the imperial navy, and releases my sister, Rebecca, and my friend, John, from Devil's Island.”

“I suppose it's authentic, but I'll have to get Brutus to take a look at it before anybody leaves here.”

“All right,” Jacob said, not happy with that answer, but willing to admit it was a logical matter for the camp commander to handle. “In the meantime, can you tell me about my sister—about Rebecca?”

“When did she arrive? That's the easiest way to find the records.”

“Last year, October twenty-fourth. So did John, the same day.”

The aide searched the office for the records. When he found the right document, he removed the scroll from its cubbyhole and scanned it. “Here it is,” he said after a minute. “Rebecca. From Ephesus. Arrived, October twenty-four. Died, November one.”

“Died? . . .” Jacob's heart stopped. He'd come all this way— tossed valuable cargo, pushed the crew to the limit—to rescue his sister from this torturous place as quickly as possible, and she had died only a few days after he had been sent to the
Jupiter
. He fought to keep his emotions in check as the aide continued to read.

“From injuries sustained in a rock slide, it says.”

“What about John?” He prayed silently,
Please, God, not him too.

The aide quickly found John's name. “Hmmm. This is very unusual,” he said after double-checking the entry. “Maybe I should verify this with the medical officer . . .”

“What does it say?”

“According to this, your friend has been on medical leave since October twenty-nine, last year—”

Jacob turned and bolted out of the office. “Where are you going?” the aide called.

“I know where to find him,” Jacob replied over his shoulder.

When the
Mercury
sailed into the harbor, Peter and Quintus were waiting on the dock. Peter agreed with Quintus's guess that Naomi would be on board, and he was not looking forward to seeing his sister.

He stood stoically and watched as the crew skillfully moored the stately ship and then lowered the gangplank. In a moment, Naomi emerged from the deckhouse, followed by a man who appeared to be the captain. Naomi turned back to say something to the man— something that obviously displeased him, judging from the scowl on his face. The unknown captain bowed exaggeratedly and gestured for Naomi to precede him.

Naomi's eyes widened as she walked down the ramp. “Peter, what a wonderful surprise. I didn't expect to find you at the harbor.”

His sister looked flummoxed, Peter thought, but she covered it quickly. “I'm surprised to see you as well, Naomi.”

She turned to the captain with an imperious look. “Gracchus, I'll settle with you later, after I've had a chance to visit with my brother.”

Quintus introduced himself to Gracchus, who also shook hands with Peter. Naomi appeared annoyed while the others observed the usual social amenities.

She took Peter's arm. “Let's go home and talk.”

Peter didn't budge. He wasn't about to let her set foot in the villa, not after what Kaeso had written about her. “We'll talk here,” Peter said bluntly. “In my office.” He hoped Naomi noticed that he had referred to Abraham's office as his now; Peter wanted to keep her unsettled.

With a pointed look at Peter, Quintus said, “If you need me, I'll be next door.” He offered to show Gracchus around, and the two of them went into the warehouse.

Peter accompanied Naomi into the large office—he'd called it his, but he actually shared it with Quintus, just as his father had— and motioned for her to sit down. He leaned back against the desk and stared at his sister for a moment. She looked even more beautiful, he thought, but as cold and haughty as ever, and it almost unnerved him. When he thought of what she'd done to destroy their father, however, Peter found his courage.

“What are you doing here, Naomi? Your life is in Rome now.”

“I came home to deal with Father's estate—to help you with things,” she amended. “I know it's too much for you to handle by yourself.”

“It might have been at one time,” he conceded, “but not anymore. Everything's fine. I'm running the business—with Quintus, of course—and I don't need any help from you.”

Her conciliatory tone turned condescending. “Actually, you do need my help. You see, Father made me the sole heir of his estate.”

“Oh, he did?” Peter almost smiled in amusement; he knew better.

“Yes,” she said, “and I have a legal document to prove it.”

“I don't know what kind of legal document you think you have, but it did not come from Father.” Peter leaned forward and enunciated each word carefully. “He disowned you, Naomi, and I have the codicil to his will that proves it.”

Naomi briefly looked as if she had been cornered, then she composed herself and stood up. “All right. Father did not appoint me his sole heir—the emperor did. You know Father committed treason, and that made his estate subject to confiscation by Rome. You should thank me that I used my husband's influence with Domitian to do something about keeping Father's fortune in the family.”

Peter's confidence wavered. He knew he could prove that his father had disowned Naomi, but she had maneuvered the emperor into awarding her the estate. Where did that leave him? But wait a minute. Her legal document was signed by a dead emperor; perhaps there was hope in that fact.

He straightened and looked Naomi in the eye, willing himself to speak boldly. “There's a new emperor now, one who holds little respect for the decisions of the tyrant who preceded him. Your legal document will probably be worthless if I challenge it. And I will.”

“Look, Peter, you and I should stick together. We're family.” Naomi's voice was placating, her expression benign. “We'll devise an equitable distribution of the estate.”

Peter laughed in scorn. “Equitable? Just what would you consider equitable?”

“Don't worry,” Naomi said with a huff. “I'll see that you're well provided for. With Jacob and Rebecca out of the picture, there's only you and me. There will be more than enough for the two of us.”

He might have buckled under Naomi's pressure, but when she casually dismissed their exiled brother and sister, Peter was outraged. “Jacob and Rebecca will not remain out of the picture forever,” he told her. “Not if there's anything I can do about it.”

With a new emperor—an emperor who would be more sympathetic to their case, Peter suddenly realized—perhaps there
was
something he could do. “In fact,” he announced, “I'm going to Rome to try to accomplish what Father couldn't.”

“You? Go to Rome?” Naomi fell back in her chair, convulsed with laughter. “That's preposterous. You get so seasick, you couldn't sail around the harbor, let alone to Rome.”

“I'm finding out I can do things I never thought I could before. And I'd risk puking my guts up all the way to Rome if it meant bringing Jacob and Rebecca home.”

Naomi stopped laughing and appraised her brother coolly. “If Jacob is ever released, which I doubt, he'll take over the business and you'll just fade into the shadows again. But we could work together, Peter. You could run the office here in Ephesus, and I'll run the office in Rome.”