Read Online The Chiron Confession (Dominium Dei) by Thomas Greanias - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas Greanias
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Christian. You are Athanasius of Athens.”
“That is correct.”
“Yet isn’t it true you are actually from Corinth?” He glanced down at a paper. “From a family of… potters.” He looked up. “Wait, that’s only half the story. Your mother’s side of the family are… tanners. They own a large tannery outside Corinth.”
“That’s right. So what?”
“So why lie?”
Athanasius refused to be humiliated before Roman high society for the proud work of his ancestors back in Greece, even if he had in fact hidden it from most when he went to university in Athens and then onto Rome as a playwright. Great playwrights came from Athens, according to Rome, not Corinth.
“I wanted to make good in Rome,” Athanasius said. “Is that a crime? So I became Athanasius of Athens. So what? End of story.”
“Or not,” Regulus accused. “Your family’s tannery turns sheepskin and hides into leather coats, boots, pouches and the like?”
“Yes.”
“Are the hides skinned from animals at the tannery?”
“Some. I don’t know the percentages. I was a child.”
“As a child, did you ever hunt down any of these animals? Say, with a bow and arrow? You are, I’m told, a champion archer. You’ve even hunted with Caesar at his Alban country estate?”
“Yes, and I let Caesar win. What is your point?”
“My point,” Regulus said loudly, as if drums were rolling in the background, “is that you’re not a playwright.” He paused for final effect. “You’re a butcher! A butcher like Chiron and the Dei who have been chopping up Roman officials like so much meat.”
“I am not!” Athanasius shouted, breaking character of the cool wit and lunging for the prosecutor in his chains. Maximus pulled him back.
Caesar looked down from his seat of judgment at Regulus, who wandered over to his voluminous stack of scrolls and tablets and removed the tiniest little sheet of paper. It was so slight he held it delicately like a feather, lest a sudden breeze should blow it away.
“Oh, really?” Regulus intoned. “Then how do you explain this?”
Regulus held up for all to see and said, “Behold the sign of Chiron! See it on his note to Caesar! The note that came with the severed finger of Caesar’s astrologer!”
At the bottom was a large
Chi-Ro
symbol as signature.
There were moans and murmurs as Regulus walked a circle to show the Chiron note in one hand and marked-up Book of Revelation in the other.
Maximus shrank back, as if this note were the final nail in a coffin for Athanasius of Athens, a coffin that had his name engraved on it long before this trial.
“We have the confession of Flavius Clemens,” Regulus reminded Domitian and all assembled, summing up the state’s case. “We have the testimony of the accused’s slave, the Book of Revelation in the accused’s possession, and the accused’s use of the symbol of Chiron. Above all, we have the confession of the accused that he is indeed not who he has pretended to be all these years—a playwright with hands free of callouses or any sign of a common laborer—but rather a butcher with blood-stained hands.”
More deadly silence, itself a verdict.
At that point, Maximus did the only thing possible.
“The state makes its case on two rather flimsy pieces of circumstantial evidence,” Maximus began, taking a last stab at casting doubt on the state’s case. “First, the so-called confession of Flavius Clemens could have been coerced while he was in custody, or the former consul may well have pointed the finger at Athanasius merely to divert Caesar’s attention from the real Chiron.”
Athanasius nodded. He liked this tactic.
“As for the second piece of evidence, mere possession of the Book of Revelation doesn’t make Athanasius a Christian any more than the chief prosecutor’s possession of Cicero’s book
Consolation
makes him an orator and philosopher.”
Even Domitian smiled at the dig, giving Athanasius a flicker of hope.
“So it is
“That is correct.”
“Yet isn’t it true you are actually from Corinth?” He glanced down at a paper. “From a family of… potters.” He looked up. “Wait, that’s only half the story. Your mother’s side of the family are… tanners. They own a large tannery outside Corinth.”
“That’s right. So what?”
“So why lie?”
Athanasius refused to be humiliated before Roman high society for the proud work of his ancestors back in Greece, even if he had in fact hidden it from most when he went to university in Athens and then onto Rome as a playwright. Great playwrights came from Athens, according to Rome, not Corinth.
“I wanted to make good in Rome,” Athanasius said. “Is that a crime? So I became Athanasius of Athens. So what? End of story.”
“Or not,” Regulus accused. “Your family’s tannery turns sheepskin and hides into leather coats, boots, pouches and the like?”
“Yes.”
“Are the hides skinned from animals at the tannery?”
“Some. I don’t know the percentages. I was a child.”
“As a child, did you ever hunt down any of these animals? Say, with a bow and arrow? You are, I’m told, a champion archer. You’ve even hunted with Caesar at his Alban country estate?”
“Yes, and I let Caesar win. What is your point?”
“My point,” Regulus said loudly, as if drums were rolling in the background, “is that you’re not a playwright.” He paused for final effect. “You’re a butcher! A butcher like Chiron and the Dei who have been chopping up Roman officials like so much meat.”
“I am not!” Athanasius shouted, breaking character of the cool wit and lunging for the prosecutor in his chains. Maximus pulled him back.
Caesar looked down from his seat of judgment at Regulus, who wandered over to his voluminous stack of scrolls and tablets and removed the tiniest little sheet of paper. It was so slight he held it delicately like a feather, lest a sudden breeze should blow it away.
“Oh, really?” Regulus intoned. “Then how do you explain this?”
Regulus held up for all to see and said, “Behold the sign of Chiron! See it on his note to Caesar! The note that came with the severed finger of Caesar’s astrologer!”
At the bottom was a large
Chi-Ro
symbol as signature.
There were moans and murmurs as Regulus walked a circle to show the Chiron note in one hand and marked-up Book of Revelation in the other.
Maximus shrank back, as if this note were the final nail in a coffin for Athanasius of Athens, a coffin that had his name engraved on it long before this trial.
“We have the confession of Flavius Clemens,” Regulus reminded Domitian and all assembled, summing up the state’s case. “We have the testimony of the accused’s slave, the Book of Revelation in the accused’s possession, and the accused’s use of the symbol of Chiron. Above all, we have the confession of the accused that he is indeed not who he has pretended to be all these years—a playwright with hands free of callouses or any sign of a common laborer—but rather a butcher with blood-stained hands.”
More deadly silence, itself a verdict.
At that point, Maximus did the only thing possible.
“The state makes its case on two rather flimsy pieces of circumstantial evidence,” Maximus began, taking a last stab at casting doubt on the state’s case. “First, the so-called confession of Flavius Clemens could have been coerced while he was in custody, or the former consul may well have pointed the finger at Athanasius merely to divert Caesar’s attention from the real Chiron.”
Athanasius nodded. He liked this tactic.
“As for the second piece of evidence, mere possession of the Book of Revelation doesn’t make Athanasius a Christian any more than the chief prosecutor’s possession of Cicero’s book
Consolation
makes him an orator and philosopher.”
Even Domitian smiled at the dig, giving Athanasius a flicker of hope.
“So it is
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