Rule of God (Book Three of the Dominium Dei Trilogy) (6 page)

“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.”

O
nce 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 and 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.”

“And so is Domitian’s heir in your belly, Helena. I’d keep that to yourself for as long as you can.”

“I’m planning to,” she said, then paused. “Why should you care?”

“I’d hate to see you come to any harm at the hands of the empress Domitia or the widow of Flavius Clemens. After all, if you bear Domitian’s heir, he hardly needs the spare. Young Vespasian and Young Domitian are as good as dead. I should think their mother would do all she could to prevent that, use whatever means at her disposal to save her children.”

Helena said nothing, only watched his long face as he studied her.

“But would you do likewise, I wonder? After all, if your beloved Athanasius ever did show up, would he even want you now? Regardless of whatever happened after September 18, to ask a man to stare at the little face of his enemy the rest of his life is probably asking more than any man could give. Then again, you are the great Helena. For you, Athanasius might do anything.”

She felt her throat tighten and turned to vomit into the bowl of water. Gagging, she looked up into the brass mirror. Ludlumus was gone.

N
o one arriving at the Dovilin villa that night for the Harvest Banquet would have guessed from all the festive lights and music that the host’s only son had just died, thought Athanasius as he emerged from the cover of the grapevines. His face was shaved clean and he was back in his polished tribune’s uniform, with a swagger to match. None of the staff gave him a second look as he rounded the bathhouse and passed by the outdoor kitchen to enter the back of the villa. There he quickly picked up a cup of Dovilin wine from a floating tray and joined the guests swirling about the courtyards, fountains, flautists and harpists.

It was as if Vibius, scion of the great Dei co-founder Dovilin, never existed. Athanasius wondered what that would mean for Cota now, and could only hope he wouldn’t see her this evening, or rather be seen by her. No doubt Dovilin already sent her away or banished her from public display.

Everywhere he looked there were oversized amphorae, some open and some sealed, lined up for effect before they departed with the guests back to wherever they all came from. He was scanning the main courtyard to see if there were any faces from Rome he might recognize when he heard a voice from behind him say, “Tribune!”

Athanasius turned to see the very legate he had served at the dinner only days before in this very house. His uniform, too, bore the rank of tribune. “Tribune,” Athanasius reciprocated with a mild salute of his cup before he drank.

“Do I know you?” the legate asked. “You look familiar.”

Athanasius shrugged. “I first joined up during the Dacian War and served with the Praetorian in Rome, Third Cohort. How about you?”

“I’m with the XVI Flavia legion now. So you served under the Prefect Aeolus with the Praetorian?”

“No,” Athanasius replied as calmly as he could, and quickly decided to lift Virtus’s background. “Third Cohort under the Prefect Secundus.”

The legate, who introduced himself as
Gracchus, seemed satisfied enough. “I thought I knew everybody from the Roman faction here tonight,” he said. “What brings you to the Lord’s Vineyard?”

“This,” said Athanasius and held up his wine in such a way as to display his Dei ring.

Gracchus’s look was priceless. “General, sir. I am sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, Gracchus. We need to be vigilant. You asked me why I’m here. I’m here to observe. I’m here to observe you, Gracchus. I’m here to observe the work of the Lord’s Vineyard. I’m here to observe everything. I miss nothing. Neither should you. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. If there is anything out of the ordinary, report it to me immediately.”

“Yes, General.”

“Now go see if Senator Celsus or his representative from Rome is here. Tell him only that this tribune would like a word with him by that bust of Dovilin over there near the harpist.”

It was all the man could do to keep from saluting as he disappeared.

Athanasius swallowed hard and walked over toward the bust of Dovilin, as if to admire the craggy face, warts and all. He took another sip of wine and casually glanced around in time to see old Dovilin himself take a position before a large tapestry draped dramatically over the columns of the peristyle on the other side of the courtyard. The tapestry displayed a map of the empire, but it was divided along lines Athanasius had never seen before.

There was a gong and the music stopped, as did all the clinking of cups and trays shortly thereafter. All eyes focused on Dovilin as he cleared his throat.

“Welcome to the Harvest!” he announced. “Tonight we celebrate our wines and the work of the Lord’s Vineyard. Of the hundreds of Christian leaders we have discovered throughout the Roman empire in the past 30 years, only a few of you have been invited here tonight. You are the successful, experienced and high-placed believers in trade, the military and government. We are an invisible world army led by Christ, and tonight our ranks grow yet again.”

Several dozen young men and women were brought forward for debut, a fresh crop of new recruits for the Lord’s Vineyard. Athanasius could only wonder how many of them, if any, understood they were enlisting in Dominium Dei, let alone in what capacities.

“These young men and women will be joining you on your journeys back to your God-given stations in Roman society. God does as he wishes with the armies of heaven and the peoples of the earth. We are the new chosen. God has chosen us to do His will on earth as it is in heaven. As above, so below.”

“As above, so below,” the guests responded in unison.

Dovilin said, “Now come lay hands on your new soldiers and pray for them as they help us build Christ’s kingdom.”

Athanasius watched as the guests stepped forward to join their intended foot soldiers for Jesus and place their hands on the young heads and shoulders. As they closed their eyes, Dovilin led the prayer, and Athanasius realized with some satisfaction that the local Bishop Paul, being but a bit player, was nowhere to be found among the august ranks of these super-Christians.

“Lord Jesus Christ, son of God,” Dovilin prayed. “Thy kingdom come and Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Bless your servants gathered here tonight. Protect them in the presence of their enemies. For theirs is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”

With that, smiles and tears broke out all around along with another round of music, food and wine. Athanasius glanced about and then saw none other than that scoundrel of an idolmaker from Ephesus, Supremus, waddling over to him. Surely he was not the link to Senator Celsus’s interests with the Dei in Rome.

Supremus didn’t recognize Athanasius until it was too late and Athanasius had jammed the point of his dagger in the fat man’s stomach.

Athanasius whispered, “Quiet, Supremus, or I’ll gut you like a fish here and now.”

Supremus nodded slowly.

“Now let’s walk over to a more quiet atrium, talking like two old friends, which of course we are, aren’t we?”

Supremus nodded again as Athanasius put his arm holding his wine cup around the idolmaker’s shoulder, while his other hand with the dagger sank deep into the folds of the Dei rep’s tunic. Athanasius led them in a friendly stroll to an empty atrium off the main courtyard that was dimly lit by only a few flickering candles.