Perhaps that was a signal between the lower ranks of the Dei to each other, Athanasius thought, and he was stunned to see that Virtus had become a true believer and yet had failed to distinguish the Church from the Dei. If so, the Dei were more deeply intertwined with the churches of Asia Minor than even Cleo intimated.
“Well, at least you believe me. So you must have had your suspicions.”
“Perhaps, but I could never get over the death of Caelus and why Domitian would want his own astrologer dead.”
“He didn’t want Caelus dead, Virtus. That’s the problem. There is something else going on in the Dei. It seems to have a mind of its own. This is why Domitian is terrified and lashing out everywhere. You tell me you had orders to protect me from Rome. I can only assume such an order is counter to the will of Caesar. Who in the Dei gave you the order?”
“I don’t know,” Virtus said. “My orders are left to me every morning in a wooden cylinder that looks like a twig, behind the statue of Domitian at the new temple that Caesar erected for himself.”
“And that didn’t offer you a clue as to the Dei’s high command?”
Virtus seemed genuinely embarrassed. “I thought it was the Dei’s way of tweaking the nose of the empire by carrying out its business right under its nose.”
“And you never thought to lie in wait in advance and watch to see who it was who left your orders for you?”
Now Virtus got defensive. “You have a natural inclination to think like a spy, Athanasius. But I am a soldier by training. A soldier who follows orders and doesn’t question his commanders.”
“Well, now you know too much to do that anymore,” Athanasius said. “Were you going to take me somewhere, or was someone going to come by for me?”
Virtus nodded, seeming to sense whatever kind of existence he had managed to eke out down here had now turned upside down once again. “To a warehouse on the docks.”
“Which warehouse?” Athanasius asked, instantly sensing he might be getting closer to the man Cleo told him was called “Poseidon” by the Dei. “Whose warehouse?”
Virtus seemed reluctant to divulge the information. It was clearly the biggest secret he had been entrusted with by the local Dei.
“They wouldn’t happen to be associated with the Club Urania or brothel boats like the Sea Nymph, would they?”
Virtus’s eyes widened. “You know more than I do, Athanasius. Surely we are not long for this world.” He paused. “I was to take you to Celsus Shipping and leave you in their protection.”
Celsus! Athanasius felt like he had been struck by lightning.
Of course, he thought. The former consul and senator Julius Celsus Polemaenus, the local “Greek done good” here, was probably the key link between the Dei in Rome and Ephesus, the gateway to the churches in Asia. Now it all made sense: the opium, flesh and blood that trickled to Ephesus from the rest of Asia Minor was transported by Celsus Shipping to Rome to feed the insatiable Games. And Celsus, the once and future governor of the capital of Asia Minor, was going to honor himself with his own library here for his work!
“Who runs Celsus Shipping here for Senator Celsus, Virtus?” Athanasius demanded. “Is it his son Aquila?”
“No,” Virtus said. “His cousin Croesus from Sardis and his sons.”
Athanasius nodded. He knew that side of the Celsus clan. The original family name of Croesus was allegedly derived from the ancestors of the legendary King Croesus of Sardis, who like his modern progeny Celsus was famous for his wealth. “We have to let the leader Timothy know. You can set up a meeting for me?”
“Yes, but I’ll have to leave and come back. And you’ll have to be here when I get back.”
“So we trust each other.” Athanasius pulled out the letter from John. “Recognize the seal?”
Virtus looked at it. “I do. And I find it hard to believe the last apostle entrusted you with it.”
“Well, blessed are those who believe without seeing. You’ll take me to this person? You know who John’s man in Ephesus is?”
“I know. I’ll take it to him.”
“No, the letter and I are inseparable,” Athanasius insisted. “One thing we can both agree on is that the Dei did not want this letter to get to your friend. Will you take me to him?”
Virtus sighed. “I will leave and arrange a meeting at a safe house with the contact and come back for you.”
“Can I trust him?” Athanasius asked.
“Yes,” said Virtus. “But that’s exactly what he’s going to ask me about you, and I still don’t know what I’m going to say.”
Whatever Virtus said, it worked. The safe house was a villa beyond the town’s Magnesia Gate at the top of the hill, in that section of terraced houses where the richest citizens of Ephesus lived. Virtus told him the story after arranging the meeting and walking Athanasius up the hill. The villa had belonged to one of the local church’s most generous members and was his gift to the ministry of Bishop Timothy. It was a place where the church’s leaders could meet in safety away from the bustle of the town below.
The villa reminded Athanasius very much of the hillside home he and Helena shared—or once did—back in Rome, and this depressed him. It had running water, heating systems, private inner courtyards, and a rich décor of mosaics and frescoes. It represented all the refinements of his former life, symbols of what he most likely would never enjoy again.
They were greeted by young, well-groomed members of the church who lived in the house as staff, and ushered into the largest room, where another young man was waiting for them. He was certainly no Timothy, who may have been a young disciple of Paul’s when he had written his letters to the churches but was now about 70. This man was about his own age, Athanasius guessed, certainly no older than 30.
“My name is Polycarp,” the young man said. “I’m the apprentice bishop to Timothy here in Ephesus. Please, come in.”
They sat around a table with a burning candle in the center, Athanasius opposite Polycarp, Virtus standing by. “Polycarp, you say?”
Polycarp nodded without betraying any emotion. “I believe you have something you wanted to give me?”
“Yes,” said Athanasius, handing over John’s letter.
Polycarp opened it and began to read. Athanasius watched his eyes carefully, noting them darting back a couple of times to a particular line, working out the cipher in his head. He eyes grew wide in alarm the longer he scanned, despite no other change on his face. He swallowed, folded the letter and slipped it into his toga.
Athanasius could see the bishop trying to make sense of whatever it was John said, starting with whether or not to share it with him. What he said first he said to a servant. “Wine, please.”
The servant nodded and departed, and Polycarp cleared his throat. “So you are Athanasius of Athens, successor to Chiron. I never did believe that when I heard it. You say the Dei is an imperial organization, and John, the man who discipled me, is inclined to agree. He wants me to consider sending you on to meet Cerberus.”
“Cerberus?”
“Our most vital contact with the church in Cappadocia.”
“The ‘eighth church’ John told me about?”
Polycarp nodded. “His identity is a closely guarded secret. Even I don’t know who he is.”
“Well, where is he then? How soon can I meet him?”
Polycarp shook his head. “You don’t meet with Cerberus, Athanasius. He meets with you. And I’m not going to send you to him, because John cautions that you could yet be a spy from Rome sent to destroy the Church.”
Athanasius glanced at Virtus, who looked equally surprised. They said nothing as the servant returned with the wine Polycarp requested. Polycarp handed cups to him and Virtus, and took a sip of his own. Then another. He was obviously unnerved by what John had written.