The Chiron Confession

V

In the days of the old Republic, perhaps he and Helena might have built their home here on Palatine Hill. Or so Athanasius fancied as their carriage curved past towering walls with cascading waterfalls toward the summit. The spectacularly lit Palace of the Flavians on top was the ultimate symbol of imperial excess in Rome, having literally taken over the entire hill and pushed out any and all private residences.

As they pulled up to the columned portico, Athanasius saw the Praetorian security detail in all their splendor: gleaming spears, dress parade black uniforms and capes with purple trim, and shiny sidearm swords. They were patting down guests for hidden weapons before entering. He also saw the black cutouts of snipers against the night sky — archers on the rooftops.

“You were right, Helena. The Pompey could never match the warmth of this reception for my audience.”

“Athanasius, please,” she said, smoothing the folds of her fashionable stola dress. “Remember our company tonight.”

There were indeed plenty of purple stripes on many of the fine togas in the line to get inside — senators and magistrates. Plenty of gold stripes, too, on the military officers, and a rainbow of tunics on proud display from the celebrated charioteers. Fashion-conscious women had their hair dyed honey gold and piled on top with ringlets like Helena’s. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was Helena’s hair on some of them; every time hers was cut it was sold for wigs and extensions. Diamond and sapphire brooches held up shimmering stolas, draped to emphasize heaving bosoms.

“I don’t see old Max yet,” he said, scanning the crowd. “Could he be inside already?”

“You know he hasn’t been well lately, Athanasius, especially after his last visit to the palace.”

“I forgot. But this is my night. He’ll be here. I know it.”

When their turn came, a footman announced their arrival while their names were checked off the guest list on a tablet. Once inside the expansive audience hall, however, the lack of any real reception for Athanasius hit him hard with the crushing reality that nobody was here to see his play. They were here to be seen. That included his lead actor, the comic Latinus, whom Athanasius was able to pick out through the towering Phrygian marble columns. He was standing under the extravagant frieze on the far wall, easy smiles as always, talking to their mutual lawyer, Pliny the Younger.

“Latinus should be backstage in the courtyard getting ready for his performance,” Athanasius complained to Helena.

“This is his real performance, Athanasius.” She sounded frustrated with him already, and the evening had barely begun. “And it’s yours too. We need to play to our audience before and after. Opus Gloria is simply the middle act. You must accept that and let your work speak for itself. Here’s your chance.”

Athanasius turned to see the Empress Domitia floating toward them in a splendid, bejeweled dress. “Our guest of honor has arrived!” Domitia said as she embraced him and then kissed Helena. “You are the image of perfection, Helena, as always.”

Domitia was flanked by two boys. She cheerfully introduced them as Vespasian and Domitian. With a start Athanasius realized that these were the sons of Flavius Clemens, the consul executed just that morning. They had a dazed look about them, understandably, and he could only imagine their terror now that they had to live under the same roof as the monster who had murdered their father.

“Helena, I have several very muscular gladiators and charioteers who wish to meet you in person,” Domitia said with a wink. “You don’t mind, Athanasius?”

“Not at all,” he said as the empress dragged a reluctant Helena off and he waved her away with a smile.

He grabbed a crystal glass of wine from a floating silver tray and headed straight toward Latinus and Pliny. By the time he arrived, however, Latinus had managed to escape before Athanasius could scold him.

“You needn’t worry, Athanasius,” Pliny assured him with a wry smile. “Latinus is already putting on his fake breasts, face paint and costume.”

Pliny was his friend and lawyer. But he was also a government magistrate and liaison for his public art with the Flavian administration. His job, everybody else had apparently agreed, was to even out Athanasius’s complaints with calm explanations and assurances, and make sure the money came in as fast as Athanasius could spend it on Helena.

“I only hope he didn’t have too much of this wine before the show.” Athanasius swirled his wine and noticed the seal of Caesar engraved into the crystal. You could buy or free a few good slaves for the price of a single silver utensil, porcelain plate or crystal wine glass from the official collection at the Palace of the Flavians. You could also get your hands cut off if you stole it. He took another sip. “It’s fabulous.”

Pliny nodded. “Domitian’s favorite. From some vineyard in Cappadocia, I think.”

“Where is the Emperor? I don’t see him.”

“State business. He’ll be down shortly and take his mark like Latinus. We’re all actors tonight at the palace.”

“My feelings exactly. Everybody would be in a better and more relaxed mood at the Pompey. Why the change in venue? You know we had to strip things out that would work on the stage at the Pompey but don’t work here.”

“The Pompey,” said a deep, gravelly voice from behind with disapproval. “The greatest line ever uttered on that stage was ‘Et tu, Brute?’ Nothing you could pen will ever rival that.”

Athanasius knew it was Ludlumus before he turned around to see his smirk.

The tall, silver-haired Ludlumus was a fixture in Rome, the son of prominent senator Lucius Licinius Sura, and a failed actor who had risen to run the Games.

“Pliny, why don’t you tell Athanasius the real reason we’re here instead of his precious, creaking, collapsing Pompey theater.”

Athanasius felt his stomach sink in anticipation of new insult. But the well-mannered Pliny couldn’t bring himself to deliver the bad news.

Ludlumus, on the other hand, was only too happy to be the bearer of bad tidings. “The reality, Athanasius, is that we make more money from tourists who come to see the Games in the summer by opening the Pompey to them at night. They pay to wander the empty stage and seats in hopes of seeing the ghost of Julius Caesar, not one of your ridiculous plays they could catch at any little provincial theater back home.”

Athanasius looked at Pliny, who seemed embarrassed for him, and rightly so. It was probably Pliny’s idea in the first place. He was fascinated with ghosts and always asked Athanasius to put one or two in his plays.

There was the sound of trumpets from the courtyard, informing guests that Caesar had arrived and that the play would begin shortly.

“Don’t worry, Athanasius,” Ludlumus said with a smile and wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulder. “You may be destined for insignificance, your name and plays forgotten, but tonight we honor your art, so-called. I am determined to finally make you interesting. Allow me to introduce you properly before the show.”

They walked outside into the open-air peristyle, joining Helena and Domitia and the rest of the guests under the stars. The darkened stage was set up in the middle of the lit waters of the enormous fountain like an island. Latinus was already on it with his mask. Athanasius could see his silhouette with long hair and comically large bosoms.

Still, no sign of Domitian. Athanasius suddenly wondered if Domitian wished to dishonor him publicly by his absence. Then another trumpet blasted with the tone that cued the arrival of the emperor, and Athanasius was relieved to see the imperial procession of the Praetorian Guard led by the prefect Secundus enter the peristyle.

“And now for the evening’s entertainment!” Ludlumus announced, and gestured to Athanasius as the Praetorian surrounded him. “I present to you Chiron, the mastermind of Dominium Dei!”

At first Athanasius wasn’t quite sure what to think. Did Ludlumus just accuse him of being the head of the supersecret Christian sect Dominium Dei? Was it a nasty joke to steal some thunder from his play? Athanasius had heard all about Domitian’s macabre party for the Senate the month before from old Maximus, who with the other senators was brought into a darkened hall filled with coffins, each engraved with a senator’s name. Suddenly men in black burst out with swords and torches to terrorize them before taking their leave.

Surely this was an 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.