The Chiron Confession (Dominium Dei) by Thomas Greanias Read Free Book Online Page A

crystal. You could buy or free a few good slaves for the price of a single silver utensil, porcelain plate or crystal wine glass from the official collection at the Palace of the Flavians. You could also get your hands cut off if you stole it. He took another sip. “It’s fabulous.”
    Pliny nodded. “Domitian’s favorite. From some vineyard in Cappadocia, I think.”
    “Where is the Emperor? I don’t see him.”
    “State business. He’ll be down shortly and take his mark like Latinus. We’re all actors tonight at the palace.”
    “My feelings exactly. Everybody would be in a better and more relaxed mood at the Pompey. Why the change in venue? You know we had to strip things out that would work on the stage at the Pompey but don’t work here.”
    “The Pompey,” said a deep, gravelly voice from behind with disapproval. “The greatest line ever uttered on that stage was ‘Et tu, Brute?’ Nothing you could pen will ever rival that.”
    Athanasius knew it was Ludlumus before he turned around to see his smirk.
    The tall, silver-haired Ludlumus was a fixture in Rome, the son of prominent senator Lucius Licinius Sura, and a failed actor who had risen to run the Games.
    “Pliny, why don’t you tell Athanasius the real reason we’re here instead of his precious, creaking, collapsing Pompey theater.”
    Athanasius felt his stomach sink in anticipation of new insult. But the well-mannered Pliny couldn’t bring himself to deliver the bad news.
    Ludlumus, on the other hand, was only too happy to be the bearer of bad tidings. “The reality, Athanasius, is that we make more money from tourists who come to see the Games in the summer by opening the Pompey to them at night. They pay to wander the empty stage and seats in hopes of seeing the ghost of Julius Caesar, not one of your ridiculous plays they could catch at any little provincial theater back home.”
    Athanasius looked at Pliny, who seemed embarrassed for him, and rightly so. It was probably Pliny’s idea in the first place. He was fascinated with ghosts and always asked Athanasius to put one or two in his plays.
    There was the sound of trumpets from the courtyard, informing guests that Caesar had arrived and that the play would begin shortly.
    “Don’t worry, Athanasius,” Ludlumus said with a smile and wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulder. “You may be destined for insignificance, your name and plays forgotten, but tonight we honor your art, so-called. I am determined to finally make you interesting. Allow me to introduce you properly before the show.”
    They walked outside into the open-air peristyle, joining Helena and Domitia and the rest of the guests under the stars. The darkened stage was set up in the middle of the lit waters of the enormous fountain like an island. Latinus was already on it with his mask. Athanasius could see his silhouette with long hair and comically large bosoms.
    Still, no sign of Domitian. Athanasius suddenly wondered if Domitian wished to dishonor him publicly by his absence. Then another trumpet blasted with the tone that cued the arrival of the emperor, and Athanasius was relieved to see the imperial procession of the Praetorian Guard led by the prefect Secundus enter the peristyle.
    “And now for the evening’s entertainment!” Ludlumus announced, and gestured to Athanasius as the Praetorian surrounded him. “I present to you Chiron, the mastermind of Dominium Dei!”
    At first Athanasius wasn’t quite sure what to think. Did Ludlumus just accuse him of being the head of the supersecret Christian sect Dominium Dei? Was it a nasty joke to steal some thunder from his play? Athanasius had heard all about Domitian’s macabre party for the Senate the month before from old Maximus, who with the other senators was brought into a darkened hall filled with coffins, each engraved with a senator’s name. Suddenly men in black burst out with swords and torches to terrorize them before taking their leave.
    Surely this was an