The Chiron Confession

PROLOGUE

Few remember the past, and the future will be forgotten by those who follow it. Even so I am writing this confession down on parchment in the hope that you might escape my fate.

I have come to the end of my life, but I have failed to finish my race. I have fought the wrong fight. I have used up my strength and have nothing to show for it. I have done more evil in the name of good than I ever imagined in my former life as Athanasius of Athens, a hedonist and playwright above all others in Rome when cruel Domitian was Caesar.

If I had my choice, I would have picked a different world stage for the performance of my life. But we do not choose the dates of our birth or death. Not even Caesar. On the day Domitian was born, the stars proclaimed the exact date of his death: September 18 of this year, the 96^th since the advent of Christ.

Rightly assuming his astrological birth chart itself was an invitation to his enemies to fulfill the prophecy, Domitian devoted himself from childhood to executing any and all his paranoid mind suspected of less than absolute loyalty. He probably murdered his father, Vespasian, and later his brother, Titus, in his ascension to the throne. Not content with being emperor of the Roman Empire, he proclaimed himself dominus et deus, “Lord and God,” ruler of the universe. As if that were not enough, he also assumed the official mantle of pontifex maximus, merging the rule of Rome with the religion of her gods into a terrible theocracy with a single test: those who bowed before him and proclaimed him Lord and God lived, those who refused died. It was said of Christians, in particular, that they could not or would not bow. This is why they were branded “atheists” and executed.

All but one, it seemed, by the time I arrived on the scene.

The last living apostle of Christ, John, was still rotting away in his island prison of Patmos. But his apocalyptic Book of Revelation had fanned a firestorm of fear across the empire with its horrific visions of the end of the world.

Domitian thought better than to make a martyr of the old man. Instead he saw a historic opportunity to let John die of natural causes — and with him the Church’s superstition and vain hope in a glorious Second Coming of Christ. Outlasting both September 18 and the apostle would be Domitian’s ultimate triumph.

Unfortunately, neither Domitian nor John had foreseen the rise of the supersecret organization that mocked Caesar with its name Dominium Dei, or “Rule of God.” It was said to have started with a small band of disciples inside Nero’s palace, left behind decades ago by the Apostle Paul before he was beheaded. Now it was out in the open, claiming to have infiltrated all levels of Roman government, ready to take over once Domitian was gone and establish a thousand-year “Reign of Christ.” The Dei’s assassination of Domitian’s officials only made the threat more worldly and concrete. Of course, it wasn’t the so-called Dei that the empire feared, nor any return of Christ, so much as Domitian’s response to it and anyone he suspected of being part of it. And the fledgling Christian church, despite the Apostle John’s denunciation of Dominium Dei, bore the brunt of Domitian’s wrath.

Two kingdoms — one in heaven, one on earth — each vying for a single throne in the heart of man. And one day, out of nowhere, I found myself caught in the middle of these two great wheels of history: religion and politics, grinding against each other and turning to dust the lives of innocents unfortunate enough to get in the way.

To all who have ears to hear and eyes to see, this is my apology for the murderous events into which I was swept and later instigated as the steward of the world’s most terrible secret, which I now share with you in the only way I know how.