The Celtic Conspiracy

by Hansen, Thore D.

  “Almost no one,” Deborah added.

  Thomas nodded to his friend. “Yes, almost no one.”

  Just then Shane sensed someone approaching them from behind, and he turned around. In a long loden coat, wearing a hat, MacClary came up to them. Shane’s mouth hung open when the judge greeted him first.

  “Good evening, Mr. Shane. I’m sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances, but perhaps they are exactly the right circumstances. Come, I think we’ve all earned a good whiskey.”

  MacClary hailed a taxi and directed the driver to Arbour Hill. Shane sat in the back seat between Deborah and Thomas and could only see MacClary’s eyes occasionally through the crooked rearview mirror. He didn’t seem crazy. Maybe he was as much of an expert as Thomas and Deborah said he was.

  It was a good fifteen minutes before they arrived at MacClary’s Georgian-style house. During the drive no one said a word. Even Shane, who had a thousand burning questions, waited until they could speak in private.

  * * *

  MacClary turned on the light in his office. “Make yourselves comfortable or help yourselves to something from the bar over there.”

  “What really happened earlier?” Shane asked pointedly.

  MacClary smiled, his earlier anger diffused. “Let’s just say that the Vatican’s contributions to the college have grown very dear to the heart of the director.”

  “But why did they need to cut you off? You hadn’t said anything that people didn’t already know.”

  “People in the field, Mr. Shane. You’re right, unfortunately. I was planning to take them places they hadn’t been before, but I didn’t get the chance. Ryan said you had many questions about the role of Christians in the obliteration of Celtic culture. In this illustrious company—and without any outside interference—I can give you some answers. Does the name Porphyry mean anything to you?”

  Shane shook his head. “To be honest, no.”

  “Porphyry was a broadly educated polymath and pagan who was far ahead of his time. He lived before the beginning of the fourth century in Rome as a student of Plotinus, and he wrote a fifteen-book treatise with the title Against the Christians that, with impressive logic, decisively denied the divinity of Jesus. Unfortunately, we have only a few excerpts and quotes from it, since the Roman Emperors Theodosius and Valentinian destroyed it less than a century later.”

  “Porphyry crushed Petrus and Paulus with his intellect,” Ryan said. “He’s still the bogeyman of the Vatican. No anti-Church treatise before or after him was as detailed, and even modern researchers, if they know nothing else, have to endorse his work.”

  Shane seemed impressed with this new information, but his face showed confusion. “But what does that have to do with the fall of the Celts? From what I understand, Julius Caesar had already taken care of them two centuries earlier.”

  MacClary nodded. “Caesar had beaten them from a military perspective, not a cultural one, and he had no intention of doing so. In fact, the Celts in Gaul and Brittany were in the process of regrouping. Remember too that the Celts were not a people, as we understand it today, but rather a culture made up of hundreds of tribes, all bound together by shamans, priests, and the Druids. As Porphyry and the somewhat less knowledgeable Celsus said, Jesus was, compared to Heracles or Asclepius or any other historical religious philosopher, nothing unusual.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Please don’t interrupt, Adam. Like the old philosophers, many lesser-known pagans, including the Celtic shamans and Druids, had recognized that the Christians were in the process of creating a god remote from creation and cut off from the laws of nature. Celsus asked very simple questions, the kind every child asks today. Why would God come to the people on earth? And if he were going to do that, why did he wait so long? How can a body that has been destroyed rise up again renewed? The Christians’ ludicrous answer was that for God, anything is possible.”

  Shane sat forward in his chair. “OK, so everyone but the Christians themselves recognized that a fairy tale was used to—”

  Ryan stepped in. “To trap the uneducated masses looking for spiritual sustenance with one of the deities uprooted from the laws of nature. God, or better, the divine, the creation, had always been symbolically or metaphorically worshiped in the pagan religions. This is still true today for indigenous peoples. They worship the elements, the sun and the planets, plants and animals, but as a symbol. For example, the Celts didn’t pray to the oak; they worshiped it, because the divine was expressed through its strength and beauty.”

  Ronald raised a finger in the air. “Correct, but that’s exactly the core of the problem. As long as the Christians were themselves an oppressed minority, they were ridiculed and underestimated. Until the point when Emperor Constantine recognized, around 314, that his own power could only be stabilized through the stabilization of faith. He tried out every emerging religion—like we would try out cheese at a supermarket—to see which one would allow him to accomplish this. Unfortunately for the oldest cultures, he settled on the Christians, who had up to that time been underestimated. From that point on, he began what we might call ‘Operation One God.’ That was the origin of the alliance between the throne and the altar.”

  MacClary paused to look down at his hands for a moment. “You understand now why the lights go out on occasion when this topic comes up.”

  It was obvious that Shane was trying to process a great deal very quickly. “Yes, that explains it to some extent, but I’m still missing something from this story. What you describe can’t be the only reason for the disappearance of the Celts and the Druids, of all the indigenous European peoples.”

  “No, you’re completely right. Constantine and the bishops shared a common fear. The bishops knew that they were lacking the might needed for their religion to make a breakthrough. So the Church became powerful, but with that power came a loss of freedom, as the Church became part of the Roman Empire. In return they had free hand to destroy everything that stood in their way. The masters of the old world...”

  Suddenly Ronald paused, struck by a memory that the evening’s events had caused him to forget. “Gentlemen, you’ll need to excuse me for a minute. I forgot about a woman, and she’ll kill me if I stand her up!”

  Ronald grabbed his cell phone and left the room to call Jennifer.

  * * *

  As the night drew on, there was still a light shining from one window in the government buildings of Vatican City. Thomas Lambert was reading a last appeal for assistance from an Irish bishop who wanted to step down from his position in the face of public pressure. That would be the sixth resignation because of the problems over there. There would be more. Lambert would advise the pope to accept the resignation. He preferred to handle these matters quickly rather than go through tedious debates about the whys and wherefores.

  A knock on the door made Lambert jump. He wasn’t accustomed to being disturbed at this hour.

  “Come in!”

  A young priest with a narrow face entered timidly. “Cardinal, I thought this would interest you. I just found it on the Internet.” The young man slowly advanced into the room and gave Lambert a computer printout.

  After reading it, Lambert only barely managed to keep his composure. “Thank you. Sleep well,” he said quietly.

  “You’re welcome, Cardinal. Good night.”

  The door had barely closed when Lambert slammed his fist on the desk and grabbed the telephone.

  “Salvoni,” was the answer on the other end of the line.

  “What in God’s name possessed you? I ordered you not to do anything that would attract any unnecessary attention.”

  “I just made sure that, at the right moment, this blasphemer would lose his voice.”

  “But he didn’t lose it. Quite the opposite. I just received a headline from the online edition of the Austrian Standard that reads, ‘Trinity College Cuts Off Lecture Critical of Vatican.’”

  “That’s still better than allowing
MacClary to spread his baseless allegations. We can no longer afford that.”

  “What we cannot afford, dear Salvoni, is something that I still determine. MacClary’s facts come mostly from critics whom we have long since discredited. That’s exactly what we are going to do with him now. Do you understand?”

  There was a soft sigh on the line. “What do you recommend then?”

  “I am going to use my contacts in Washington. The time has come for us to show the judge his limits. Meanwhile, you are going to continue to take care of Ronald MacClary—but with no more incidents.”

  “Cardinal, everything I do, I do only for the Church, and I pray that God’s knowing hand will guide me. We should set aside our little conflicts and place greater trust in our common work, which is so important for our common future.”

  Those were unusual words, especially coming from Salvoni. “It’s not up to me. You’re right, the clearer we can be in this confusing time, the better, and—”

  “Cardinal, let’s not deceive ourselves. We are the ones holding this Church together, and we are the ones who must protect it from further harm. I play only one part in the process whose success has never been more uncertain than it is today.”

  Apprehension scratched at Lambert. “Salvoni, are you not telling me something?”

  “Nothing that has to do with us. Only a feeling, Cardinal, only a feeling. It’s better if I work that out between myself and God.”

  “You have doubts about what you’re doing?”

  Salvoni was quiet for a moment. “I can’t really afford doubts, Cardinal. But questions, yes.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. We’re both masters of our craft, but are we really aware of our responsibility? Don’t worry, I’m probably just a bit overtired from the events of recent weeks.”

  Lambert believed Salvoni. The massive media attacks about the abuse scandals and the implication of the Vatican Bank in Mafia money laundering had taken a great deal out of him as well. “This Church has survived other crises, and it will withstand this one.”

  “I know, Cardinal. I’ll set everything in motion and will report immediately if MacClary represents any kind of danger.”

  “Thank you, Salvoni. And thank you for your frankness. It helps all of us. God bless you.”

  * * *

  “Is everything OK, Ronald?” asked Ryan.

  “Yes, now it is. In case you don’t know this already, you shouldn’t aggravate beautiful women. I’ll be leaving to meet her for dinner in a short while.”

  MacClary paused and pulled his thoughts together. “Where were we? Right: the emerging Church and the emperor were both afraid of a return of the powerful Celtic scholars, the Druids. They had supposedly gone into seclusion around 100 AD. In actuality, there are now numerous suggestions that they were building up secret schools, working their way into the court as Romanized scholars, intervening in the affairs of the imperial court to protect the pagans. That couldn’t remain completely unnoticed, of course, and it went too far for Constantine when he recognized the threat to his power.”

  “You mean that the Druids survived Caesar?” said Shane. “We only know about one single Druid by name from Cicero, Diviciacus. Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?”

  “Not at all. Can you explain to me how the leaders of a culture that spanned Europe can disappear just like that without leaving the slightest trace?”

  “Rome had spies all over and at least two hundred years to get it done. The Christians doubtless killed the rest.”

  Ryan joined the conversation now. “OK, Adam, maybe we should take a step back. Let’s assume there was a time when people lived in a state of complete self-determination, responsibility, and freedom. Let’s also assume that an educated and power-hungry minority invented a wonderful story intended to keep people from living according to this all-encompassing source of knowledge. The story makes people dependent on a faith, a dependence that results in the slavery that continues today. What would this power-hungry minority have to do to make this happen?”

  “They would have to obliterate the source of knowledge,” Shane said.

  “Correct. And the Druids were, for thousands of years, the Source and the Guide, like the medicine men for Native Americans, the shamans for the Bedouins, and others all over the world. Then, bam! A culture comes along with supposedly biblical instruction, severs our link with the divine, and stamps us practically from birth on as guilty sinners.”

  Ryan managed to steer the conversation into the middle of the fourth century. He described a day when a small group of scholars had to make crucial decisions. The description was so vivid that Adam felt as if he were actually there—just as he had experienced in his dream.

  * * *

  ROME – APRIL 28, 330 AD

  The columns of the palace of the Emperor Constantine were splattered with blood that morning. Those who had survived the angry mob were herded to the Circus Maximus, where, in front of several thousand whipped-up spectators, they would be sent to meet their maker.

  Gasping, Datanos ran through the narrow streets of Rome. He had been lucky. Only a twist of fate had allowed him to escape the sudden attack on Sopatros’s school: he had been lying hidden under three dead bodies, and it had been quite a job to free himself.

  He didn’t dare turn around, and when two men suddenly appeared from an alley barring his way, he thought it was all over for him. But they pulled him to the side, yanked him to the ground, and threw a cloth, some wooden boards, and debris on top of him. Seconds later he heard the sound of horses’ hooves and screaming. They had hidden him. Through a small hole he could see the hordes riding by.

  “Come along, Datanos, we don’t have much time,” one of the men said as he pulled him up. They ran past a few houses and disappeared into a cellar. Datanos could feel his whole body trembling. He didn’t know which was worse—the impenetrable darkness and the molding stench of the cellar room or his fear of what was happening out in the streets. After a while a door opened, and he could see Aregetorix with several other Druids and a dozen of the philosophers from Sopatros’s school.

  The room was quite large. In the middle of it was a massive wooden table where a dozen men were seated. The walls were covered with shelves filled with chalices, tools, and storage vessels. Some sun was streaming through the openings in the foundation of the house, allowing him to see his surroundings in the bright bands of light.

  “By Jupiter, you’re alive!”

  “Yes, Mercanus. I can’t quite believe it myself. But I have no good news to report. They have killed Sopatros.”

  A murmur ran through the room, followed by a ghostly silence. Finally one of the Druids started to speak. “Aside from this youth, no one has survived, and more attacks will follow, I tell you. The emperor has answered the intrigues of Ablabius with action.”

  Datanos looked into the terrified faces of the men. Even the Druids, whose emotions were not normally so easily read, clearly understood the implications of the events of the past hour.

  “We have to flee!” one old man said. “They are destroying all the symbols of our gods. The Christians are insisting that every last trace of our presence be wiped out, here and throughout the empire. Twenty years ago, I could already see where things were headed, how much power and influence the Christians were gaining under Emperor Constantine.”

  “They want to completely annihilate us,” one of the young philosophers said in despair. “What kind of god is it that cannot tolerate any other god, that blinds his followers, that incites them to such actions?”

  “But it’s obvious. They fear our knowledge,” Datanos said. “Since Constantine chose to favor the Christians, they have betrayed their own teachings. Everything their apostles have passed down to them has either been destroyed or distorted.”

  “We have to warn all the scholars,” one of the youngest Druids said. “But we can’t just leave! Don’t you see what’s happening here? They are a
nnihilating our world, its entire history of creation and its masters—forever.”

  “No, my young friend.” A soft, deep voice rang through the cellar room. All heads turned to Rodanicas, the astronomer who was said to have a comprehensive understanding of time and space. He was a legend, a man who had had contact with many foreign cultures—no one would dare to contradict him. “No knowledge can remain hidden forever. A lie like this, and a crime like this, against the law of the gods, will be made known. It is not for us to determine the time for this, but it will come, you may be certain of it.” Rodanicas looked around at all the men who listened to him. They were transfixed. “At the end of the fourth sun, our spirit will return. There is nothing more here, nothing worth saving. Everything has been desecrated.”

  Datanos was wringing his hands in despair. “And will we find a way to protect our knowledge?”

  “No. Listen to me. Rodanicas is right,” Aregetorix said. Almost seventy years old, he was the oldest and highest-ranking Druid in Rome. Like most of the Druids, he no longer revealed his identity. Instead, he served as a teacher at the imperial court, instructing children in philosophy, mathematics, and Latin. Like his father before him, he was a secret scout, acting as eyes and ears for the few remaining Druids in the rest of the empire. “Our time here has passed. If our bodies should survive, we must assimilate and take on their faith. If our spirit, our culture, and our knowledge are to survive, we must choose exile and leave. Everyone must make this decision for himself. For we Druids, the path is already laid out and determined. We shall return to the promised land. We’ll set out tonight. What is the consensus? Who will follow us?”

  “Datanos, come with us!” one of the younger philosophers urged. “You have to see that they’re not just hunting the Druids anymore, but all scholars who are not prepared to subject themselves to Constantine’s insanity.”