She looked down at the rippling water of the Tiber from the stone wall of the bridge. A few boats passed through, but not as many as at night. She could hear the shuffling of feet behind her, mostly the Jews from District 14 feeling safe to cross over into District 8 and the Forum now that Caesar was dead. Would they feel so happy to learn Young Vespasian would make Christianity the official state religion?
She put her hand on her belly and stepped up onto the bridge ledge. She heard somebody shouting in Aramaic, probably to get the attention of the crossing guards at either end of the bridge. They began to run toward her, but she made sure they would not catch her. She looked up at the flock of birds in the sky for one last sign, and their formation flying south only confirmed everything she feared. She lifted up her arms, as if to fly away with them, and fell into space, the rush of wind swallowing her up in everlasting darkness.
The new Caesar, Nerva, was seated in the throne room when Athanasius was brought before him by Secundus. Somehow the adoption certificate of Ludlumus had made its way back into his hands, and Athanasius watched Nerva touch it to a fire. The papyrus burned up, along with any possibility that Young Vespasian would see the throne of Rome.
“Bravo, Athanasius. You have indeed killed a god. The Senate has approved of your actions by eternally condemning Domitian. There will never be a temple, altar, monument or so much as an inscription erected in his honor. Those that exist will be erased.”
“Along with your involvement with the Dei, Senator.”
“Contrary to what you believe, I did not engineer all this. You did. The Senate wants Rome rid of the Flavians forever, which unfortunately includes Young Vespasian, however worthy he might or might not be.”
“Domitian was no god, Nerva. Neither are you.”
“No, I suppose not. But then I never pretended to be, and nobody has mistaken me for one, least of all my peers in the Senate. Why do you think they made me Caesar, and I accepted? You think it was some machination of the Dei? No, Athanasius. I am an old man, a caretaker of this office at best for no more than a few years. And I have no heirs, no ambitions to further my family politically or financially. I believe there can be good emperors as well as bad. Don’t you?”
“So you are a good Caesar?”
Nerva smiled at the intended sarcasm. “You think that’s an oxymoron? That no such thing can exist?”
“I think the intentions can exist, but that the power corrupts.”
“Ah, yes. Socrates said only those who are willing to lay down their power are fit to have it. Like Jesus of Nazareth, I suppose. But then the Jews nailed him to a cross. Or do you think we did it?”
“I did,” Athanasius answered him. “We all did.”
Nerva nodded. “Your new faith has sharpened your wit. Do you wish to convert us all now?”
“That I cannot do. I cannot change myself, I cannot change the world.”
Nerva stepped down from his throne and put an arm around him. “Let’s talk about that, Athanasius.”
They walked to the basilica together, as if they were partners, not Caesar and the assassin of his predecessor, and no Praetorian or any other followed them. Inside the basilica were additional statues and idols, but these in the form of Jesus and the disciples. One was of John, as if Ludlumus wished to use the last apostle after death. Then Mary the mother of Jesus, holding a baby. It was Helena, and the baby looked like a smaller version of Helena.
Nerva gestured toward the statues. “We picked up some things here from Ludlumus’s doma that might interest you.”
“Religion doesn’t interest me,” Athanasius said flatly. “It won’t interest the Christians.”
“We can make something of this tragedy,” Nerva said. “The timing may be off, but Christianity will become the official state religion of the empire and extend the rule of Rome another thousand years. You can be part of this Roman Church for the ages, Athanasius. I won’t even make you renounce Jesus. Simply bow to Jesus and to Rome, and you won’t have to die.”
Athanasius said nothing.
“Come now, Athanasius,” Nerva said angrily. “I was there that night in this very palace when you kissed the feet of Rome and cursed the name of Jesus. You did it then, and I know you can do it now.”
He had done that. Nerva was right, Athanasius thought, and he himself so wrong about everything else. And yet, as he searched his soul, or whatever the hole in his heart was called, he realized for the first time and to his utter astonishment that this he could not do.
“My citizenship,” he told Caesar, “is in heaven.”
EPILOGUE
Now you know my history, Gabrielle, and my role in the Dei and in the assassination of Domitian. I am only grateful that the wrath of Rome’s angels has not come to pass, and I pray that with the shift in caesars you will escape judgment.
As for me, I have indeed come to the end of my life, but I have failed to finish my race. I have fought the wrong fight and done more evil in the name of good and of God than I ever imagined in my former life as the hedonist and playwright Athanasius of Athens.
This is my confession as Chiron, general of the infernal order that calls itself Dominium Dei.
But even if few remember the past, and the future should be forgotten by those who come after it, I take comfort in this revelation: from generation to generation, God has granted a place of repentance to all who would listen.
There was Noah who repented and was saved with the animals. There was Jonah who repented and preached repentance to the Ninevites, and they repented and were spared. Rahab, the harlot of Jericho, signaled her repentance by hiding the Israelite spies and hanging a scarlet cord in her window, saving her family from the city’s destruction. This cord was a sign of the redemption that would flow through the blood of Jesus to all those who believe and hope in God.
You were that place of repentance for me.
You taught me how nature continually proves that there shall be a future resurrection. Day and night declare to us a resurrection, as light gives way to darkness and darkness gives way to light. The fruits of the earth also declare the resurrection, as the seed dies in the ground only to rise up again as a vine bearing many grapes.
I may not be long for this world, Gabrielle, but thanks to you I now live for the next.
May you continue to bring forth your fruit in your season and provide shade and comfort to others. To God our savior be all glory, dominion and power, both now and forever.
Clement of Rome
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Many readers will be surprised to learn that the essential events of the Dominium Dei trilogy are, in fact, historical. Even the attack on the corpse of the astrologer Ascletario by wild dogs was for real and recorded by the Roman historian Suetonius (c. 69—c.122 AD) in his book The Life of Domitian.
The Emperor Domitian of Rome died at exactly 9 o’clock on the morning of September 18th in the year 96 AD, just as the astrologers predicted at his birth and in the manner depicted in the pages of this novel. Immediately afterward, the Roman Senate condemned his memory to eternal damnation. Domitian’s name was erased from public monuments, and senators who had survived his Reign of Terror took up pens to condemn him in their histories of the era, from which much of Dominium Dei is derived.
The last apostle John was released from the island prison of Patmos under Domitian’s successor Nerva and lived out his remaining days in Ephesus, where the former “son of thunder” told anyone who would listen to love one another. Nerva, meanwhile, barely lasted as long as John, dying only two years after his reign began.
The true identity of Clement of Rome, the Church’s reputed fourth bishop after the apostle Peter, is far less certain. Jesuit scholars such as William Fulco, professor of Ancient Mediterranean Studies at Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles, won’t even delve into speculation. Fulco is the historian of invaluable assistance to the author in the proper Latin translation and pronunciation of the title Dominiu
m Dei, or “Rule of God.”
All the same, some historians dare speculate that Clement was actually the slain consul Flavius Clemens, and that the names became confused over the centuries. Other historians postulate that Clement was a freedman of Flavius Clemens, and still others another person entirely.
An unknown in history, perhaps, like the fictional playwright Athanasius of Athens.
Some accounts put the death of Clement close to or shortly after that of Domitian’s. But there is another account, favored by this author, that depicts Clement living a good bit longer than that.
In this account, Nerva’s successor Trajan banished Clement from Rome, and Clement went to Asia Minor, helping the churches there and performing several miracles worthy of Mucianus’s memoirs of the land. Later on, more than a decade after the events of Dominium Dei, Clement stood trial before his old friend, a very conflicted Pliny the Younger, who was now governor of Bithynia in Asia Minor. After a futile appeal on Pliny’s part to Caesar, Clement was martyred by being tied to an anchor and thrown from a boat into the Black Sea.
As for the centuries-old global conspiracy known as Dominium Dei, it doesn’t exist today in the 21st century. Never has, never will.
It’s all fiction…
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to express my deepest, heartfelt appreciation to the following individuals for their enormous encouragement and support during the extended preparation of the Dominium Dei Trilogy, beginning with my amazing wife and love of my life, Laura.
Thank you, John and Sandy Stonhouse, Stacey and Eric Wallen, Sarah and Firat Taydas, Craig and Jennifer Notari, Flint and Terrie Dille, Doug and Bonnie Lagerstrom, Jim Blew and Carole Randolph, Soon and Esther Chung, Claudia Pettit, Jimmy and Sonya Hodson, Mary Soler, and so many more.
You made the sun stand still so that I could finish this work.
PRAISE FOR THOMAS GREANIAS
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Rule of God (Book Three of the Dominium Dei Trilogy) Page 9