Wrath of Rome (Book Two of the Dominium Dei Trilogy) (2 page)

You will regard the bearer of this letter, my imperial interrogator, as my right hand, the hand of Rome, and do anything he instructs you without question, even so far as to take your own life.

His Excellency Flavius Titus Domitian

With a start Athanasius recognized the seal of Caesar, the same seal he recalled seeing at the palace only the night before. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Surely this was the key to open doors that Marcus had told him about.

But there was another letter, one written with symbols, the letter Galen had been trying to crack. The first line alone was unintelligible.

•> D• ^^ •| V D• > |•

This must be Chiron’s letter with his “further instructions,” Athanasius thought. Perhaps the real key unlocked this code.

But where?

He looked at his pouch with his knife kit and the elixir. He emptied it. There was nothing else there. Then he saw the tiny holes in the bottom of the pouch that he had first noted curiously back in the prison.

He removed the drawstring and flattened out the pouch on the back of a wax tablet. They created an odd pattern, as indistinguishable as the symbols on the letter from Chiron.

He picked up one of those poisoned little sticks and began to poke it though the holes of the flattened leather into the wax tablet. Then he removed the leather skin and stared. The dots were definitely set apart in groups.

•    •

•    •

•                •

•       •

•    •       •    •

•    •

•       •

Staring at the pattern for a while, a pattern of space between the dots slowly began to appear. He drew a diagonal line between two groups, and then another intersecting line. The Chi symbol. But what of the grouping above? He drew the Ro and stared at the symbol of Chiron. The key.

Within an hour he was able to assign symbols to their counterparts in the Roman alphabet and translate the text. But upon reading it, he wished he hadn’t.

You are to direct the ship to make a stop on the island of Patmos. There you will present yourself with Caesar’s introduction to interrogate John the Apostle and then in private tell him what you know. He will then provide you with instructions and introduction to find sanctuary in the church of Asia Minor.

Athanasius was aghast. Go to Patmos? This was his mission? Escaping one prison in Rome only to march into the Roman garrison on the prison island of Patmos was not his idea of freedom.

Athanasius hoped Chiron’s last letter offered a better alternative. It was made of a flimsy papyrus and appeared to list several recipes and formulas. But they were not for food, Athanasius realized as he deciphered it, but for poisons and explosives.

Below are instructions on the poison and antidote favored by the Dei, assuming you have survived their first attempt on your life. Familiarize yourself with the smell, texture and even taste of these ingredients and compounds, if not for your own use then for your protection.

Athanasius felt light-headed. Surely this would not be his life.

One formula was for the Dei poison Galen had used on him, with various grades to delay the onset upon the victim by minutes or even hours. It appeared to be the standard formula found in Dei rings for suicide and on wooden sticks to quickly prick a target and kill him without a trace. The antidote, too, which Marcus had given him in advance, could be used as a prescription or remedy.

Most curious were the formulas for a flammable mud called maltha, which promised to stick to anything it touched, clinging to anyone who tried to flee, even to water, which merely made it burn more fiercely. Another compound, which combined quicklime, sulphur, naptha and saltpeter, promised to create a material capable of spontaneous combustion that could be thrown at enemies and explode on impact.

Athanasius put the last letter down and looked at the corpse of Galen on the floor and could picture his own face, his own end. He felt like falling to his knees and sobbing, but he was no longer prone to displays of emotion because he hardly had any left. The reality was that he had nothing more in life but these so-called presents from a dead tribune, given to advance him into a future of death. Yet they were all he had to work with, he knew. Somehow he had to put them to good use. Starting now, here on this ship bound for Ephesus.

Obviously, as Maximus and Galen had proven, he could trust no one in Rome or the Dei. If Ludlumus or Domitian figured out that he had in fact escaped and another man was executed in his place in the Coliseum, the Romans would surely go after his family in Corinth, if that order hadn’t been given already. He had to get to them first and warn them to flee.

Several hours later, just after midnight, Athanasius was pacing the deck under the stars and found Captain Andros talking to the helmsman in the tiller house, his face dark and brooding like the Ionian Sea upon which they were crossing.

“That was quite a show you put on for the officers at dinner, Tribune,” the captain said. “I didn’t know a knife could do so many things to a fish.”

Athanasius noticed the helmsman look away from him in fear and get back to his tiller. The Pegasus had a double-oar rudder system, with cables attached to the main tiller to allow the helmsman to turn both oars at the stern simultaneously. The system of levers and cables enabled him to control the Pegasus in strong currents and rough weather, although tonight it was smooth sailing.

Athanasius said, “I didn’t want the troops to think the emissary of Caesar stayed mostly to himself and took his meals in his cabin. And I wanted to get a good look at them all. Has Galen turned up yet?”

“No,” the captain said. “He must have grasped your suspicions and slipped overboard when we passed an island and swam for it.”

Athanasius shrugged. “Small fish,” he said. “I have bigger in Corinth. How much longer until we arrive?”

“Tomorrow morning we reach the Gulf of Corinth. But it will take another day to make our way through to the harbor,” the captain said. “Then it is a full day to cross the isthmus to the Saronic Gulf and begin the second leg of our journey to Ephesus. You will have only ten hours in Corinth if you plan on doing an interrogation.”

“A full day is more than enough time.”

“You know Corinth then?”

“No, not really,” said Athanasius quickly. He didn’t want to give the captain the impression he was overly familiar with his hometown. “Stopped over once before, like now. But the local garrison will have someone waiting to drive me where I need to go.”

“But, of course, Tribune,” the Greek said grimly before leaving him alone to his thoughts beneath the stars.

Athanasius waited until he was gone before heading back inside his cabin to drag out Galen’s corpse. He had wrapped him in a blanket and tied him to a two-handled amphora full of grain. He dropped him over the side, watching the Dei man quickly sink beneath the wake of the Pegasus to the bottom of the sea.

A
fter her beloved’s execution at the Coliseum, Helena was summoned to supper at the Palace of the Flavians. She had no doubt what the performance of her duties to Domitian would entail. She was surprised, however, to find his wife Domitia joining them in Caesar’s private
triclinium
dining room. Now her agony was compounded; not only was Domitian taunting her, he was using her to taunt his wife, which explained the daggers in Domitia’s eyes as Helena washed her hands with a cloth from an attendant and reclined with them both.

“Welcome, Helena, you look lovely,” Domitian said as the staff began serving supper. “The chef has prepared a feast for us tonight. The first course features a delicately seasoned tongue paired with my favorite wine from Cappadocia.”

With horror Helena understood they were to eat the tongue of her beloved, and she immediately felt the acid of her stomach race up her throat. It was all she could do to not vomit, and she doubted she would be able to stop herself for long.

On cue two servants brought in a beautifully decorated amphora. It had an ornate black-and-red design and two handles. With great pomp and ceremony, the servants unsealed the top.

“My wine comes straight from the vine, untouched by human hands, the nectar of the gods,” Domitian told her, and then nodded to one of the servants.

The wine taster dipped a very small imperial cup that resembled a ladle into the amphora, sipped the wine and swallowed. Helena got the distinct impression that this display of approval was in fact intended to signal to Domitian that the amphora had not been tampered with in transit and that his wine was not poisoned.

“To a successful execution,” he toasted after their cups were filled. He greedily gulped down his cup, then held it out for more.

Presently the flaming tongue arrived, delivered by a servant from the private kitchen they called Julius, which was the kind of name rich Romans reserved for their pets. The African servant’s hands were trembling as he delivered the sizzling dish. The sound and smell were too much for Helena, and she quickly covered her mouth with a cloth and gave up her fig appetizer.

“I beg you pardon, Your Excellency.”

Domitian smiled. “Now you have more room for the tongue.”

Even Domitia could see beyond her own suffering to lay a soft hand on her back for comfort.

Domitian did the honors of slicing the tongue in half, one portion for himself and the other half to be divided equally between Domitia and Helena.

I cannot do this, Helena thought as she watched him spear a slice and shove it into his mouth, smacking his cruel lips in satisfaction. I cannot breathe. I must die.

“Really, you must try some,” he said, waving another piece of tongue before her face. “Or must I give your slice of heaven to Sirius?” He motioned to Julius, who looked visibly shaken, and said, “Bring me my Pharaoh Hound. I have a treat for him.”

Julius looked terrified and said nothing, only nodded and walked away.

A minute later it was the Praetorian prefect who returned with a grim expression.

“Wrong dog, Secundus,” Domitian told him. “Where is my Sirius?”

“We seem to have a problem, Your Excellency. It appears the imperial Pharaoh Hound was attacked by an animal of some sort, his body found by a drain this morning outside the Senate.”

Helena could see shock and sadness in Domitian’s eyes for a fleeting second, only to be quickly replaced by rage. “And where was his walker, Julius, when he was attacked?”

The Praetorian, Secundus, paused, glancing at Helena and Domitia. “Yes, perhaps I can explain in a private audience with His Excellency.”

“No,” said Domitian, swallowing another chunk of tongue. “You shall explain it to me right here, right now.”

“It appears there was a bit of a mix-up at the Coliseum today, Your Excellency. Even the Master of the Games was not aware of it. I only found out now, after piecing together several disparate reports.”

Domitian chased his chunk of tongue down with another sip of his Cappadocian wine. “What sort of mix-up?”

Secundus cranked his neck just a bit and said, “The propmasters decided to salvage some of the armor used for the production of Chiron’s execution, so they went into the Gate of Death and began to strip the corpse.”

Helena thought she was going to die. Please, Jupiter, make it end.

“Upon removal of the armor, one of the propmasters noticed a tattoo on the shoulder of the corpse.”

Helena stopped breathing. Athanasius had no tattoo that she knew of, unless they had cruelly branded him for show.

“This tattoo was of the third cohort of the Praetorian. One of our own, sir.”

Domitian’s eyes seemed to pop as the truth began to sink in. “What are you telling me, Secundus?”

“It appears that the man executed was not, in fact, Athanasius of Athens but the imperial interrogator sent to torture him in prison. Somehow the villain overcame him and cut out his tongue.”

Domitian stood up, shaking. “You mean to tell me that Chiron has escaped and I have been feasting on the tongue of one of my own officials?”

Helena was elated inside. Athanasius alive? Escaped?

“No, sir,” Secundus said quickly, and she became subdued again. “I am only the messenger here, Your Excellency, and would never even consider bringing what I am about to tell you unless I knew for certain other parties were aware and that it will not remain a secret for long.”

Domitian spoke in as low and cruel a voice now as Helena had ever heard him. “The Prefect of my Praetorian will tell me this secret immediately or die.”

“Caesar’s personal physicians, who know so clearly your love for the imperial Pharaoh Hound, examined him carefully in hopes of determining what sort of beast could kill such a divine animal, in order that Caesar could hunt the beast himself. It was my hope to have the beast ready for you before having to present this tragedy.” Secundus swallowed hard. “Upon close examination, Your Excellency, your physicians found a half-digested tongue inside the animal’s stomach, and its own cut off cleanly.”

Domitian looked confused. “You are telling me that the monster who cut off my hound’s tongue then forced him to eat it?”