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

encore performance of sorts, Athanasius thought, and began to play the good sport and laugh out loud. “It seems my play has competition for your amusement!” he said. “Me!”
    This prompted other guests to join him, which helped him feel better.
    “Poor Latinus worries I want to replace him!” he called out.
    The laughs kept coming, but then so did the Praetorian Guard with chains and leg irons. And neither Ludlumus, nor a stricken Helena nor even Domitia were smiling.
    Jupiter!
Athanasius thought.
They’re serious!
    Domitia glared at Ludlumus. “What is the meaning of this?”
    “Do something!” Helena ordered him.
    “Out of my hands,” Ludlumus said in what sounded like an earnest tone. “Caesar’s orders. I only carry them out. I am truly sorry, Helena.”
    Helena rushed to embrace Athanasius before being pulled away by the Praetorians, who proceeded to clap him in leg irons and chains. The laughter began to die down as the picture before the party took an ominous visual shape of the playwright in chains.
    Athanasius could no longer deny the sinking reality that his life was on the line now, and that it would take every bit of wit left in him to save it, starting with a simple declaration to all in earshot.
    “I am innocent!” he stated simply and confidently.
    Pliny rushed over to him.
    “Say nothing, Athanasius,” Pliny instructed as the Praetorians began to march him off toward the throne room inside. “Permit Domitian to be merciful to you. It’s not over for you yet.”
    “Over?” Athanasius repeated, his voice rising. “I’m innocent. I’m not this villain Chiron. I’ve never killed a man, or torched a public building, or committed any crime of any kind!”
    “I know, Athanasius. I’ll find you a good lawyer.”
    “But you’re my lawyer!”
    As he was dragged away, Athanasius looked back to see Helena collapse to her knees. She had to be held up by a stricken, disbelieving Latinus, his own lip paint smeared and fake bosoms all disheveled.

VI
    T he journey to the throne room was short and silent. The guards pushed Athanasius forward like a sheep to the slaughter. Dazed and humiliated, Athanasius caught curious glances from party guests, who whispered “conspirator” as they followed the procession.
    How ironic, he thought as he looked around, that his arrest should have a more distinguished audience than any of his plays. If only Helena weren’t here to witness this piece of theater.
    A trumpet blast directed all eyes to the throne, where a resplendent Domitian now sat down in full dress imperial attire. No longer the host of a social gathering, he was the Emperor of Rome and ruler of the world. He looked around sharply at his groveling subjects and raised his right hand solemnly. The murmurs fell, a deathly silence filled the great hall, and a shiver passed over Athanasius.
    The imperial throne room was the grandest of the palace, perhaps the entire empire. At the end of it, seated on his golden throne of judgment, was Domitian. To his right in rapt attention stood his favorite Egyptian Pharaoh Hound Sirius. To his left stood Ludlumus, his Master of the Games. Off to the side, behind a long table, were Caesar’s notorious
delatores
, or informants, and the malicious
accusatores,
or prosecutors. They were mercenaries who papered over Domitian’s executions in the guise of legal proceedings. They cared nothing for justice but only for themselves. Their heartless cruelty greased the wheels of tyranny with the blood of others.
    So the jackals had already assembled, Athanasius thought as the Praetorian Guards brought him before their Lord and God. He looked around the throne room he had heard so much about but had never seen before. There were few pillars, and the ceiling was so long and high that only some miracle of invisible engineering held it up. The effect, intentional no doubt, was to diminish the spirit of any mortal man who had the terrible misfortune to enter this