Wrath of Rome (Book Two of the Dominium Dei Trilogy)

by Thomas Greanias

  Athanasius peered into the dark. “How far down?”

  “Far enough.”

  Athanasius could hear the shouts, “The alley!”

  They threw themselves into the open sewer and held onto the stone rim with their fingers. The Roman had just enough time to reach out with a free hand to pull the grating back over them before a legion of troops crashed out the back door of the rug shop into the alley and fanned out.

  Hanging onto the grating by his fingertips, Athanasius looked over at the Roman and suddenly saw something between his breastplate and shoulder straps—the tattoo of the Dei stamped under his right arm.

  “Who are you?” he said as the rumble of chariots came barreling down the alley above.

  “My name is Virtus,” the Dei man said as his legs swung up and kicked Athanasius in the stomach, causing him to lose his grip and plunge into the darkness below until he hit the bottom and blacked out.

  VIII

  When Athanasius opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a dank cell. Hunched over him was the man who had knocked him out. He remembered the attack on the streets above: the confrontation with the man with the stained hands, the rain of arrows from Roman snipers on the rooftops, the escape with the help of this man into these tunnels, and the Dei tattoo under his arm.

  “Where am I?” Athanasius asked, sitting up.

  “Where I was only weeks ago, in the tunnels beneath Ephesus,” the man who called himself Virtus said.

  “You,” Athanasius said, touching the lump on his head. “You’re Dei.”

  “Maybe,” the man said.

  “So Rome wants me dead, but the Dei wants me alive?” Athanasius said. “Why?”

  “That is a mystery to me too. I simply follow orders, Athanasius.”

  “So you know who I am?”

  “I’ve seen your plays in Rome,” Virtus told him. “But I missed the one here before it was shut down after Caelus died.”

  That’s right, Athanasius thought. In one way he had already arrived at the source of the recent troubles. “You know how he died exactly?”

  “I killed him.”

  “You?”

  “Not exactly. I was his bodyguard, and I failed to protect him from the Dei.”

  “I thought you were Dei.”

  “Now I am. I wasn’t before. I was Praetorian. Third Cohort. Then Caelus and I were captured down here.”

  “Why didn’t they kill you too?”

  “I was of better use to them alive,” Virtus said. “They knew I was a dead man if I showed my face to Rome after losing Caesar’s chief astrologer. So they set me up here as a Watchman in the city. When the local governor and legions got secret communications that you had escaped Rome and killed the garrison commander on Patmos, they were ordered to drag you in, kill you without question and send your head to Caesar. Nobody was to know you were alive. The Dei intercepted the orders and sent me to protect you.”

  “Protect me, Virtus?” Athanasius asked. “Or to intercept me before I made contact with local church authorities?”

  Virtus’s face clouded. “What are you talking about? We are the local church authorities. The man who died, I knew him from The Way here. He was a good man. You should not have involved him.”

  Athanasius was confused by what Virtus was saying, or rather by Virtus’s confusion. He actually still believed the Dei and the Church were on the same side against Rome.

  “Me involve him?” Athanasius said. “Listen here, Dei Praetorian. I’m the one who never should have been involved. And from what you are telling me, neither should you.”

  “Then why have you brought your troubles to Ephesus, Athanasius?”

  “I have a vital revelation from Rome for the bishop Timothy here and all the churches in Asia Minor.”

  “A revelation you say, Clement of Rome?” Virtus said in a mocking tone. He had read the name Athanasius was using in Ephesus from the papers in his pouch, which was in the corner with his belt and daggers. “And what revelation is that?”

  Athanasius told him. “The Dei is an imperial organization, run by Domitian in order to play Rome and the Church against each other in a forever war while he eliminates enemies on both sides and consolidates power.”

  “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us!” Virtus cried out, making some movements with his hand that looked like the cross sign of the letter Chi.

  Perhaps that was a signal between the lower ranks of the Dei to each other, Athanasius thought, and he was stunned to see that Virtus had become a true believer and yet had failed to distinguish the Church from the Dei. If so, the Dei were more deeply intertwined with the churches of Asia Minor than even Cleo intimated.

  “Well, at least you believe me. So you must have had your suspicions.”

  “Perhaps, but I could never get over the death of Caelus and why Domitian would want his own astrologer dead.”

  “He didn’t want Caelus dead, Virtus. That’s the problem. There is something else going on in the Dei. It seems to have a mind of its own. This is why Domitian is terrified and lashing out everywhere. You tell me you had orders to protect me from Rome. I can only assume such an order is counter to the will of Caesar. Who in the Dei gave you the order?”

  “I don’t know,” Virtus said. “My orders are left to me every morning in a wooden cylinder that looks like a twig, behind the statue of Domitian at the new temple that Caesar erected for himself.”

  “And that didn’t offer you a clue as to the Dei’s high command?”

  Virtus seemed genuinely embarrassed. “I thought it was the Dei’s way of tweaking the nose of the empire by carrying out its business right under its nose.”

  “And you never thought to lie in wait in advance and watch to see who it was who left your orders for you?”

  Now Virtus got defensive. “You have a natural inclination to think like a spy, Athanasius. But I am a soldier by training. A soldier who follows orders and doesn’t question his commanders.”

  “Well, now you know too much to do that anymore,” Athanasius said. “Were you going to take me somewhere, or was someone going to come by for me?”

  Virtus nodded, seeming to sense whatever kind of existence he had managed to eke out down here had now turned upside down once again. “To a warehouse on the docks.”

  “Which warehouse?” Athanasius asked, instantly sensing he might be getting closer to the man Cleo told him was called “Poseidon” by the Dei. “Whose warehouse?”

  Virtus seemed reluctant to divulge the information. It was clearly the biggest secret he had been entrusted with by the local Dei.

  “They wouldn’t happen to be associated with the Club Urania or brothel boats like the Sea Nymph, would they?”

  Virtus’s eyes widened. “You know more than I do, Athanasius. Surely we are not long for this world.” He paused. “I was to take you to Celsus Shipping and leave you in their protection.”

  Celsus! Athanasius felt like he had been struck by lightning.

  Of course, he thought. The former consul and senator Julius Celsus Polemaenus, the local “Greek done good” here, was probably the key link between the Dei in Rome and Ephesus, the gateway to the churches in Asia. Now it all made sense: the opium, flesh and blood that trickled to Ephesus from the rest of Asia Minor was transported by Celsus Shipping to Rome to feed the insatiable Games. And Celsus, the once and future governor of the capital of Asia Minor, was going to honor himself with his own library here for his work!

  “Who runs Celsus Shipping here for Senator Celsus, Virtus?” Athanasius demanded. “Is it his son Aquila?”

  “No,” Virtus said. “His cousin Croesus from Sardis and his sons.”

  Athanasius nodded. He knew that side of the Celsus clan. The original family name of Croesus was allegedly derived from the ancestors of the legendary King Croesus of Sardis, who like his modern progeny Celsus was famous for his wealth. “We have to let the leader Timothy know. You can set up a meeting for me?”

  “Yes, but I’ll h
ave to leave and come back. And you’ll have to be here when I get back.”

  “So we trust each other.” Athanasius pulled out the letter from John. “Recognize the seal?”

  Virtus looked at it. “I do. And I find it hard to believe the last apostle entrusted you with it.”

  “Well, blessed are those who believe without seeing. You’ll take me to this person? You know who John’s man in Ephesus is?”

  “I know. I’ll take it to him.”

  “No, the letter and I are inseparable,” Athanasius insisted. “One thing we can both agree on is that the Dei did not want this letter to get to your friend. Will you take me to him?”

  Virtus sighed. “I will leave and arrange a meeting at a safe house with the contact and come back for you.”

  “Can I trust him?” Athanasius asked.

  “Yes,” said Virtus. “But that’s exactly what he’s going to ask me about you, and I still don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  Whatever Virtus said, it worked. The safe house was a villa beyond the town’s Magnesia Gate at the top of the hill, in that section of terraced houses where the richest citizens of Ephesus lived. Virtus told him the story after arranging the meeting and walking Athanasius up the hill. The villa had belonged to one of the local church’s most generous members and was his gift to the ministry of Bishop Timothy. It was a place where the church’s leaders could meet in safety away from the bustle of the town below.

  The villa reminded Athanasius very much of the hillside home he and Helena shared—or once did—back in Rome, and this depressed him. It had running water, heating systems, private inner courtyards, and a rich décor of mosaics and frescoes. It represented all the refinements of his former life, symbols of what he most likely would never enjoy again.

  They were greeted by young, well-groomed members of the church who lived in the house as staff, and ushered into the largest room, where another young man was waiting for them. He was certainly no Timothy, who may have been a young disciple of Paul’s when he had written his letters to the churches but was now about 70. This man was about his own age, Athanasius guessed, certainly no older than 30.

  “My name is Polycarp,” the young man said. “I’m the apprentice bishop to Timothy here in Ephesus. Please, come in.”

  They sat around a table with a burning candle in the center, Athanasius opposite Polycarp, Virtus standing by. “Polycarp, you say?”

  Polycarp nodded without betraying any emotion. “I believe you have something you wanted to give me?”

  “Yes,” said Athanasius, handing over John’s letter.

  Polycarp opened it and began to read. Athanasius watched his eyes carefully, noting them darting back a couple of times to a particular line, working out the cipher in his head. He eyes grew wide in alarm the longer he scanned, despite no other change on his face. He swallowed, folded the letter and slipped it into his toga.

  Athanasius could see the bishop trying to make sense of whatever it was John said, starting with whether or not to share it with him. What he said first he said to a servant. “Wine, please.”

  The servant nodded and departed, and Polycarp cleared his throat. “So you are Athanasius of Athens, successor to Chiron. I never did believe that when I heard it. You say the Dei is an imperial organization, and John, the man who discipled me, is inclined to agree. He wants me to consider sending you on to meet Cerberus.”

  “Cerberus?”

  “Our most vital contact with the church in Cappadocia.”

  “The ‘eighth church’ John told me about?”

  Polycarp nodded. “His identity is a closely guarded secret. Even I don’t know who he is.”

  “Well, where is he then? How soon can I meet him?”

  Polycarp shook his head. “You don’t meet with Cerberus, Athanasius. He meets with you. And I’m not going to send you to him, because John cautions that you could yet be a spy from Rome sent to destroy the Church.”

  Athanasius glanced at Virtus, who looked equally surprised. They said nothing as the servant returned with the wine Polycarp requested. Polycarp handed cups to him and Virtus, and took a sip of his own. Then another. He was obviously unnerved by what John had written.

  Virtus said, “Bishop Polycarp, I think Athanasius’s theory about the source of the Dei being here in Asia Minor is correct. I’m not sure I grasp all of it. But I am certain that the Dei is not Christian.”

  Polycarp looked aghast. “You think it is apart from both Rome and the Church?”

  “It certainly operates in Rome and clearly here in Ephesus,” said Athanasius, trying his wine and finding it quite good. “But it’s not imperial, as I originally thought. And it’s not Christian, if we are referring to the apostles Peter, Paul and John. Its origins come from elsewhere. And I think our best lead to where is a local shipping operation.”

  “Yes?” asked Polycarp, hanging on everything that Athanasius was saying.

  Athanasius was about to continue, but as he tasted the full effect of his wine, he lost his train of thought. He took another sip, pausing, swirling it in his mouth, actually enjoying it. “This wine is excellent, Bishop Polycarp. Surely you don’t serve this during those mass communion services of yours?”

  Perplexed at the sudden shift in the conversation, Polycarp shrugged. “I’m not an expert, really. It’s not the wine we serve for communion, but it’s from the same vineyard. There’s nothing special about it, really. I mean, of course it is special, as a symbol of our Lord’s blood spilled for the remission of our sins. But in itself I’m afraid it’s quite common.”

  “There’s nothing common about this,” Athanasius said, putting down his cup. “I’ve tasted it before. In the Palace of the Flavians. This is Caesar Domitian’s favorite brand. Where did you get it?”

  “Caesar’s wine!” Polycarp exclaimed. “I don’t believe it. The blood of Christ and the wine of Caesar are the same? This is a cruel thought even in jest, Athanasius.”

  “I’m not jesting. Where does this wine come from? Somewhere in Cappadocia, yes?”

  Athanasius saw Polycarp and Virtus stare at each other.

  “Yes,” Polycarp said quietly. “From the Lord’s Vineyard.”

  “The Lord’s Vineyard?”

  “I mean the Dovilin Vineyards,” Polycarp said. “They sponsor a ministry they call the Lord’s Vineyard. It’s an organization of Christians who trade with each other, apart from the prying eyes of the empire.”

  “And what does it take to join the Lord’s Vineyard?” Athanasius pressed.

  “You must be invited into the fellowship by a member. Man to man. They keep no lists or membership rolls. It’s all very loose and not very sinister, if that is what you’re getting at.”

  “Then why are you reluctant to talk about it?”

  “I’m simply honoring the group’s request that members not speak about it or its activities.”

  “So you are a member?”

  “No, but some of my church members are,” Polycarp said, getting testy. “The Lord’s Vineyard operates under many guises in the empire. These groups are intended to draw attention away from the main organization, precisely because it has become a target of misunderstanding, even among Christians.”

  “I understand perfectly, Polycarp. The Lord’s Vineyard is the primary front for the Dei within the churches in Asia Minor.”

  “Preposterous!” Polycarp cried out, as if personally offended.

  “How does your church get this wine, Polycarp?”

  He paused. “The man who gave us this house is the distributor for Dovlin wines here in Ephesus. He is a pillar in the church.”

  “Tell me about this pillar.”

  “His family used to make idols in Sardis, but when they became Christians they gave up their trade and suffered much hardship. The Lord blessed them with new business here in Ephesus and a fleet of ships. They trade foodstuffs and wine with Rome and have bountifully blessed the church. We have all thanked God for the Croesus family.”


  Athanasius dropped the cup and stood upright as three armed legionnaires burst into the room, followed by an older man in a fine toga with golden trim in the pattern of the Greek key.

  “Well, Athanasius,” said Croesus. “My cousin the senator always believed Greeks should stick together, don’t you?”

  IX

  Croesus looked older than Athanasius had imagined, and more frail-looking. Hardly the swarthy pirate he had expected, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought he had made a mistake. The three legionnaires more than made up for it, however. One had his javelin to Virtus, another his sword to Athanasius’s back, and a third was relieving a stunned Polycarp of John’s letter.

  “This is a private meeting,” Polycarp objected in a manner that in any other circumstance Athanasius would have found laughable.

  “Nothing of yours is private, Bishop,” Croesus quipped. “Including your precious church.”

  “Surely what this man has told me isn’t true, Croesus?” Polycarp pleaded. “The Lord’s Vineyard is not in league with the Dei. It grows grapes.”

  “It grows assassins, you holy fool.” Croesus turned to Athanasius. “And you’ve become quite the new recruit from what I hear. Senator Maximus. Commander Barbatio on Patmos. You could learn from this one, Virtus.”

  “Does the Dei want me dead or alive, Croesus?” Athanasius demanded. “Because right now I’m terribly confused.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Croesus and looked over John’s letter and made a face at Polycarp. “This Caesar code is unreadable without the key word. What is it?”

  “Poseidon,” Athanasius blurted out. “The key word is Poseidon. Ironic, yes? That is your code name in the Dei, is it not?”

  Croesus wasn’t amused.

  “Let me show you,” Athanasius said, and jumped forward to grab Croesus, spinning him round as a shield to face the point of the legionnaire’s sword that had been at his own back. He then pulled out his dagger and put it to Croesus’s throat. “Back away,” he told the legionnaires. “Back away or Poseidon is dead.”

  “You really are a fool in the end, aren’t you?” said Croesus, raising his own hand to his lips to kiss his ring.