Devil's Island by John Hagee

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.
    â€œLet’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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œBring 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