“Mucianus was the mastermind who put the Flavians and Dovilins together,” Cerberus said. “Domitian’s father Vespasian had been given a special command in Judea by Nero with orders to put down the Great Jewish Revolt almost thirty years ago, and Mucianus supported him with arms and troops and passage across the Anatolian plains. After Nero died and there was civil war for control of Rome, Mucianus marched on Rome on behalf of Vespasian with an army drawn from the Judean and Syrian legions — and Dovilin mercenaries and assassins. Meanwhile, Mucianus had Vespasian travel to Alexandria, where he was proclaimed emperor, and secure control of the vital grain supplies from Egypt. Vespasian’s son Titus remained in Judea to deal with the Jewish rebellion.”
“Where was Domitian in all of this?” Athanasius asked. “He had to have been 17 or so during the Year of Four Emperors.”
“Under Mucianus’s protection in Rome while Vespasian was in Egypt,” Cerberus said. “Domitian was the nominal head of Rome in the months before his father finally arrived to claim the throne. But for all practical purposes Mucianus was the de facto emperor of Rome.”
“What happened to Mucianus later on? He seems to have disappeared from Roman life entirely, leaving only his travelogue of Asia Minor.”
“That is a very good question, Athanasius, and you must find the answer, because the Dei has evolved considerably from Mucianus’s original three-fold purpose,” Cerberus explained. “The first purpose of the Dei was to establish a secret Praetorian to ensure the continuity of the Flavian dynasty. Until Vespasian, the Praetorian had been known to select rather than protect their Caesars, and dispose of them at will.
“The second purpose was to reverse the supply lines that Vespasian and Mucianus had established for the military during the Judean War and bring the spoils of the provinces back to Rome. Commerce, as you may have detected, is the heart of the organization, and the Dovilins were given a free hand with land in Cappadocia so long as they could also provide bodies.
“The third purpose, and most sinister, was to create a vast counter-insurgency to pacify the Church.”
Athanasius wasn’t sure he understood. “Pacify the Church?”
“The horrors of the Judean War and the fanaticism of the Jews at Masada frightened Vespasian,” Cerberus said. “He knew that wars fought with ideas are different than wars fought with spears. He worried that the Christian faith had become a virus after the destruction of the temple, leaping from Jews to Gentiles like some plague that could engulf the empire now that it was no longer ethno-centric. So he wanted to encourage a civil war within the Church between Jew and Gentile to further isolate Jews in Asia Minor. Then he wanted to use the Dei within the Praetorian in Rome to infiltrate the disciples of the apostle Paul who had taken root under Nero.”
Athanasius nodded. “So for thirty years the Dei was an imperial network to spy out and pacify the Church from within,” he said. “Until Domitian changed the game by using the Dei to assassinate Roman officials — his enemies — and publicly blame the Christians, pitting the Church against the State. Why?”
“The stars, of course,” Cerberus said. “Domitian’s birth chart proclaimed the date of his death. His father, brother and the rest of the Dei believe the stars are destiny, and therefore Domitian had none. I suspect he killed his father and then killed his brother, and has been killing anybody else who believes the prophecies.”
Back in Rome, Domitian was listening to his replacement for Caelus drone on about this moon and that sign. His name was Ascletario, and Ludlumus had dug him up from somewhere in Germania. He was fairly well-known around Rome and had moved up in prominence after Caelus’s demise. His specialty was interpreting signs and dreams, and already Domitian didn’t like what he was hearing inside the basilica at the Palace of the Flavians.
“I must stand by my previous assessments,” Ascletario concluded.
Domitian had summoned the astrologer after yet another spate of lightning strikes across Rome and the rest of the empire. So much so that he awakened from his sleep just the other night and cried out for all to hear, “Let him now strike whom he will!” That very night the capitol was struck by lightning, as was the temple of the Flavian family, and even the palace itself. Come morning the Praetorian had discovered that the tablet inscribed upon the base of his triumphal statue had been carried away by the violence of the storm.
As if that were not enough, the next night he dreamt that Minerva whom he worshipped above all else had declared to him that she could no longer protect him, because Jupiter had disarmed her, and that now he would have no sanctuary from the wrath of heaven.
Thus Domitian had hastily convened this audience with Ascletario to interpret these events and his own subsequent fate, especially in light of the impending date of September 18, which was little more than a month away.
“Tell me again what you think it all means, Ascletario,” Domitian demanded. “And where this all ends.”
“What it means is a change of government is coming soon to Rome,” Ascletario said. “Where it ends with you, Your Excellency, is in the beginning.”
The astrologer then produced Domitian’s own natal chart, as if Domitian hadn’t had it burned into his nighmares since childhood.
“As everyone, including your father Vespasian, has known, the moon and sun are in dangerous positions relative to Saturn and Mars. This has been fixed forever and cannot be changed.”
“Even by Caesar of Rome, the Lord and God of the universe?” Domitian demanded.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Tell me, then, you who claims to know the future,” Domitian said. “To what end do you think you should come yourself?”
Ascletario calmly replied, “I shall in a short time be torn to pieces by dogs.”
Domitian laughed. “No, Ascletario, you won’t be torn to pieces by dogs, because I will prevent that. But you will die today.” He nodded, and his Praetorian took position on either side of the astrologer. “Kill him, and then burn his corpse.”
* * *
Athanasius listened intently to everything Cerberus told him about the Dei, its origins with Vespasian, Dovilin and Mucianus, and its changing nature under Domitian. All of which made him consider the scions of Dovilin and Mucianus.
“Dovilin’s son, Vibius, is dead,” Athanasius told him, waiting for a reaction from Cerberus but seeing none. “So I don’t know where Dovilin goes from here.”
“I do,” said Cerberus, and removed a letter from beneath one of the blankets upon which he lay and handed it to him. He almost knocked his small oil lamp over in the process, which seemed to be an accident waiting to happen.
The letter was an elaborate invitation, the kind Athanasius used to receive back in Rome, hand-delivered by messengers in crisp white tunics and metal-studded belts.
You are invited to the Harvest Banquet at the Dovilin Vineyards on August 18 to celebrate the Harvest of wines and the work of the Lord’s Vineyard. You will not want to miss it.
Of the hundreds of Christian leaders the Lord’s Vineyard has discovered in its first 30 years, only a few are receiving this invitation. The most successful, experienced and highly placed believers in trade, military and government are invited to attend the tenth annual Harvest Banquet.
This invitation-only event is one of the most significant of its kind. Your life will change forever. So please mark your calendar and clear your itinerary for August 18.
The Dovilin Family Vineyard is one of the most beautiful locales in all of Asia. Outstanding musicians will lift your spirits to the stars. You will experience unforgettable fellowship in safe, secure surroundings with committed Christians.
You will meet God as never before.
The invitation listed what it called famous Christians who had attended previous Harvests, but Athanasius didn’t recognize any names and was unimpressed. Where was the name of strapping Narcissus on the list? Indeed, elitist nonsense of this sort was rare even in Rome.
“Domitian’s rule is
more a meritocracy than the Church’s,” he told Cerberus, handing the invitation back.
But Cerberus refused it. “You’ll need it to get into the banquet.”
“I can’t go back there. She can’t go back there. We’re going to Rome, where the Dei will least expect us, and where Domitian is.”
“But you don’t know who the Dei is today,” Cerberus said. “Dovilin is the only one of the three still around, but he now takes orders from Vespasian’s son Domitian, and Domitian may still be taking orders from Mucianus’s son or successor the way he did when he was nominal Caesar in Rome thirty years ago. You must find out what has happened to the third line in the Dei trinity. That is key, Athanasius.”
Cerberus pressed his arm for emphasis.
“If you find the successor to Mucianus in the Dei or his heir, Athanasius, you will find the man who truly rules the Dei today — or will tomorrow. The true Chiron. The linchpin of the Dei. If he is removed, the Dei falls apart. If he is not removed, you can remove Domitian but the Dei will continue, perhaps stronger than ever.”
“And you really think I might find him at this Harvest party Dovilin is throwing?”
“I think you might recognize a face from Rome that neither I nor Gabrielle nor anybody in the churches of Asia Minor would,” Cerberus said.
Athanasius immediately thought of Senator Celsus, who was his strongest link to this Mucianus successor. He could have been the one who gave the order to kill Caelus, although Athanasius could not reason why.
Cerberus said, “Getting into this banquet will be a lot easier than circumventing the Praetorian at the Palace of the Flavians.”
“It’s getting out I’m worried about,” Athanasius said. “I still don’t know how.”
Cerberus said nothing as Athanasius watched Gabrielle walk around the far perimeter of the cavern, listening.
“Who is Gabrielle, Cerberus?” Athanasius said in a low voice, leaning toward the old man. “What is she to you?”
“Gabrielle’s grandmother was a maidservant spoil of war for Vespasian during the Judean War. When she became pregnant, she hid her condition for as long as possible but was found out and killed. But the baby, Gabrielle’s mother, was delivered. I took care of her until she married. Her husband died, however, and then she died giving birth to Gabrielle. I have watched her ever since, but lost her for a year when the Minotaur men took her and sent her off to work the temples and pleasure barges. She jumped a ship and came back to help me and those who would stand firm in the spirit of the Lord and not by might or power.”
Athanasius felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at this revelation, and a chill ran down his spine. Then he remembered Cleo’s story aboard the Sea Nymph: Gabrielle was the girl who got away.
“She’s a Flavian!” he told Cerberus, who nodded. “And she doesn’t even know it, does she?”
“No.”
“But the Dovilins do, don’t they? And hate her for it.”
Cerberus didn’t answer him, cocking his head. “They’re coming. “
“Who is coming?”
“Dovilin’s men. And they’ll want blood.”
“Cerberus!” shouted Gabrielle, running toward them. “Two groups from two separate tunnels!”
“Go out the tunnel behind me, Gabrielle. You must take the Angel’s Pass if you are to escape.”
“The Angel’s Pass?” she repeated. “We are better off fighting here.”
“Take her,” Cerberus told Athanasius. “I will fight.”
“You’ll die!” Gabrielle said as men in Minotaur masks burst into the cavern aiming crossbows.
Athanasius nodded at Cerberus, who lifted a blanket to reveal his own unusual crossbow with arrows dipped in mud. Athanasius understood and grabbed Gabrielle. “You’ll see him on the other side of life soon enough. Let’s go!”
He pushed her into the mouth of the tunnel and looked back to see the lame old man calmly take his oil lamp and touch it to the floor. Walls of flame suddenly rose along lines of the flammable mud drawn across the floor.
“Cerberus!” Gabrielle cried, reaching toward the cavern while Athanasius pulled her back.
Then the old man raised his crossbow and released an arrow that struck the ceiling. Even from the tunnel Athanasius could hear the dome of the cavern crackle, and suddenly the whole thing caved, burying Cerberus and the Minotaur men and sending plumes of dust into the tunnel.
“Hold your breath!” he shouted, pushing her down the tunnel, running as fast they could as flaming rocks fell behind them like stars from the sky.
* * *
Leaving the collapsed cavern of death behind them, Athanasius and Gabrielle raced across a rock bridge spanning a wide abyss and arrived at two passageways. One was tall and narrow, the other short and wide.
“Which way to this Angel’s Pass?” he asked her.
Her face looked vacant, confused, as if she couldn’t accept that Cerberus was gone, her life at the vineyard gone, everything gone.
“Gabrielle!”
She came to life again and looked at the passageways. Then she put her hand to the rock, feeling it. “The short one. I feel a breeze. The Angel’s Breath. It leads to Angel’s Pass. We have to follow it all the way out. If we stray, we’re lost.”
They crawled through the tight passage, and Athanasius felt like he was back in the lagar with Vibius putting the screw press to him. The tunnel began to twist and turn, narrowing further as the breeze turned into a loud whistle.
“What is it?” Athanasius asked her.
“I hear water. We’re close.”
Moments later they crawled out into in the light of day, collapsing onto the rocks outside and allowing the cool water of the babbling brook to sooth their scratched and bruised legs.
Gabrielle was shaking in tears.
Athanasius put his arms around her and held her tight, hiding his horror at the touch of her back, where he could feel the deep gashes and welts from her days in the ships and cities. She had come back to this place, but there was no place for her here anymore.
“I need your help, Gabrielle.”
She turned on him, her dark eyes flashing passion, and pounded him on his chest. “Haven’t you done enough? Vibius is dead! Cerberus is dead! You were supposed to expose the Dei to the Church, not expose the Church to the Dei!”
“I need you to help me get into the Harvest Banquet in two days.”
She stared at him through her tear-stained eyes. “So you can kill more?”
“So I can find the Dei’s true link to Rome, this Mucianus successor. I know he or one of his representatives will be there. Until we know who runs the Dei in Rome, the church there and all the churches here in Asia Minor are in danger. The apostle John knows this, Polycarp in Ephesus knows it too, and so did Cerberus. The church here can’t go back to living in holes and pretending that this is not so.”
“I’ll help you,” she said through streaks of tears, “for the sake of the Church. But if you ask me, I think you’re the third head of the Dei.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But the way death surrounds you, it might as well be.”
V
Once again Helena had been summoned to join Caesar for dinner at the palace. She feared the worst, expecting to find the head of her beloved Athanasius served up for them on a silver platter. When she arrived at the private dining room, however, she discovered the death they were to celebrate was that of Caesar’s latest astrologer, Ascletario. And Domitian was nowhere to greet her, only an ashen Latinus.
“What happened?” she asked the comic.
“The emperor ordered Ascletario to be burned alive today,” Latinus told her. “As he was not feeling well, he sent me over to enjoy the entertainment for myself. Everything was in order for the performance. There was a small crowd, the body was bound and laid upon the pyre, and the fire kindled. It was all hugely predictable, I thought, when suddenly there arose a dread storm of wind a
nd rain, which drove all the spectators away and extinguished the fire.”
A bad omen, to be sure, Helena thought, but to ruin dinner for Domitian? “So that was it?”
“No!” said Latinus. “His body was still on the pyre when a pack of passing dogs ran out and tore it to pieces! It was just as Ascletario had predicted!”
Helena covered her mouth. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Latinus nodded. “I know! It was something out of one of Athanasius’s plays.”
It was! she thought. It was a sign!
She suddenly felt dizzy, however, like she would vomit.
“Dear Helena, I am so sorry,” Latinus said. “I didn’t mean to bring up…”
She shook her head. “I’m not well. Excuse me.”
She ran past a column and down a marble corridor to a guest bath and promptly threw up into a basin. She breathed heavily, trying to steady herself, then vomited again. Oh, how the acid burned the back of her throat. She spat out what was left from her mouth, and then washed her face in a fresh bowl of water.
A dread now replaced the explosion of joy she had experienced only a moment ago. Even if Athanasius were still alive, she thought, and even if he were to return triumphant to Rome by some miracle, how can I ever face him in my condition?
A storm of anguish and grief churned inside her as the belief sank in that no matter what her beloved’s fate, her own hopes for a brighter future were nothing now but an illusion.
Several times she poured the cool, clean water over her face, and then looked up into the brass mirror to see the distorted reflection of Ludlumus and froze.
“So the goddess is with child,” he told her in the mirror. “It’s Domitian’s, isn’t it?”
She said nothing.
“Poor Athanasius really did leave nothing behind, did he?”
“Stop it, Ludlumus,” she said and turned to face him, still feeling flush. “I know he’s still alive. If he were dead, Domitian would have shown me his head. He’s alive.”
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