After two weeks he became familiar with the cycle of groups and began to get a better picture of the circles in which the Dei had influence, many of which were diametrically opposed politically and culturally. Others seemed to have strong ties to the wine, oil and commercial shipping industries. He noted no outward forms of identification, and no large group meetings. Only these small group meetings held weekly.
Fairly acclimated to Rome again, Virtus was now ready to make contact with this man Stephanus whom Athanasius had told him about, and to place the servant of Flavius Clemens inside the palace with the help of his Praetorian comrades. Not that any of this would be necessary, of course. Athanasius was the smartest master assassin that Virtus had ever met, and the power of the Lord was with him. No doubt he already had everything in Asia Minor well in hand.
Deep within the bowels of the mountain range, Athanasius and Gabrielle moved through twisting corridors, chased by Dovilin’s men who now wore Minotaur masks to hide their identities among the sleeping Christians now awakening with screams. Gabrielle led the way down a grim shaft, helping them to temporarily lose the Minotaurs.
“Where are you going?” he asked her. “You’re taking us down, not up.”
“I’m taking you to Cerberus,” she told him.
They ran through a narrow, winding passage that ended in a large, circular cavern. They carefully made their way around the edge, then Gabrielle held up her torch to reveal an abyss ready to swallow them whole.
“I can see why the Roman legions don’t come down here,” he breathed.
“Stay close to the wall.”
They followed the ledge to a series of narrow steps that took them down to yet another ledge, which led into a tall tunnel. He could hear the sound of water and they soon entered a terraced cavern with waterfalls all around. He looked up to see water spilling out from two levels up and disappearing into cavern depths below.
“This way,” she said, pushing them through a flooded tunnel.
“Does this ever fill up?”
“Often,” she said, as they slogged through the waist-deep water.
The tunnel opened up and sloped down into a large grotto.
“Slide,” she said, jumping down.
He followed her down the water chute through a series of pools, before they were caught in a power channel at the bottom. He thought they were going to drown as they tumbled toward the bowels of the deep, but then almost as suddenly they broke the surface of a serene underground lake and climbed out.
“We’re close,” she said.
“I should hope so,” Athanasius replied with breathless incredulity, thinking this made his escape through the Great Drain look like bath play in comparison.
They entered a great and solemn cavern, with golden stalactites creating columns from the floor to the ceiling. They almost looked Doric in style, these natural formations, Athanasius thought in wonder.
There in the middle of the columns, lying on blankets and hides next to a natural spring, was a very old man with very dark skin. In his youth he must have been quite strong. But in his old age, his legs had withered somehow and he was lame. This pit seemed to have been his home for years, and the only way he survived, Athanasius guessed, was with the help of Gabrielle.
Gabrielle said, “This is him, Cerberus. Samuel Ben-Deker. But I heard Dovilin’s son call him Athanasius.”
Athanasius stood flat-footed as Cerberus looked him over with ram-like eyes. “Welcome, Athanasius of Athens,” he said, his voice like the rumble of the waters in the cavern. “You have the key to Rome, I have the key to Asia Minor. Let’s see why the Dei never wanted us to meet, but the last apostle did.”
IV
Cerberus seemed all too aware that his time on this earth was quickly drawing to a close, and he wasted no words. “I’m called Cerberus, because like the three-headed dog of Greek mythology who guards the doors to Hades, I guard the three doors to the Dei, the secret of its origins. You, Athanasius, though you do not know it, guard the secret to its destiny.”
Athanasius, sinking down on his knees beside the old man, said, “I want to know everything.”
“The first thing you must know is that the Dei is only thirty years old, but the powers behind it are much, much older,” Cerberus told him. “I come from a family of stargazers and assassins, cousins to the Dovilins. We have been assassins for hire, run out of Cappadocia, since the days of the Hittite kings, and before that Egypt. My side of the family took a different turn when my great-grandfather followed the stars to Bethlehem to assassinate Jesus at his birth on orders from King Herod. But three stargazers from the East convinced him otherwise, and my family ever since has served the Lord.”
Athanasius nodded. “But not the Dei.”
“No. As I told you, the spirit of the Dei goes back centuries, to before the pharaohs of Egypt and the fall of Atlantis, all the way to the creation of the universe. They follow the stars in everything they do, from the founding of Rome to great military campaigns to the planting of crops.”
Athanasius looked at Gabrielle. “Forecasting. You chart the stars to grow grapes.”
“We use the seasons and cycles of recorded history to make better guesses for farming,” Cerberus said. “Not to chart our lives. A man reaps what he sows, regardless of what the stars may say. Which is more than I can say for the Romans, who conscripted my services during the Judean War thirty years ago.”
“Vespasian,” Athanasius said. “The first head.”
“You were right, Gabrielle,” Cerberus said. “He is quick to connect the dots.” Cerberus took a breath. “Yes, Vespasian, and then his son Titus. They wanted to know their enemy’s intricate Jewish calendars and Sabbaths and use the stars against them. Then, after destroying Jerusalem, they brought the treasures of the temple to Rome and erected a vast coliseum, the Flavian Amphitheater. All this you know now. But what you don’t know is that the Dei was forged in the ashes of the Judean War between three men: Vespasian, Dovilin and Mucianus.”
Mucianus! Athanasius thought. Surely it was no coincidence that the last apostle John directed him to the memoirs of the former Syrian governor in the library at Ephesus.
“Mucianus was the mastermind who put the Flavians and Dovilins together,” Cerberus said. “Domitian’s father Vespasian had been given a special command in Judea by Nero with orders to put down the Great Jewish Revolt almost thirty years ago, and Mucianus supported him with arms and troops and passage across the Anatolian plains. After Nero died and there was civil war for control of Rome, Mucianus marched on Rome on behalf of Vespasian with an army drawn from the Judean and Syrian legions — and Dovilin mercenaries and assassins. Meanwhile, Mucianus had Vespasian travel to Alexandria, where he was proclaimed emperor, and secure control of the vital grain supplies from Egypt. Vespasian’s son Titus remained in Judea to deal with the Jewish rebellion.”
“Where was Domitian in all of this?” Athanasius asked. “He had to have been 17 or so during the Year of Four Emperors.”
“Under Mucianus’s protection in Rome while Vespasian was in Egypt,” Cerberus said. “Domitian was the nominal head of Rome in the months before his father finally arrived to claim the throne. But for all practical purposes Mucianus was the de facto emperor of Rome.”