Rule of God (Book Three of the Dominium Dei Trilogy) by Thomas Greanias

competing factions to do the right thing in line with the law during times of crisis.”
    “Maybe,” Athanasius said. “What are you hoping the clerk turns up?”
    “If Senator Sura, Ludlumus or any member of the Licinius family had any official business with the Mucianus family, the papers would have been filed here,” Pliny told him.
    “And if their business wasn’t official?”
    “Regardless of the true nature of their arrangement, to conduct any trade in the empire would require paperwork, Athanasius. We can infer quite a bit from it. We’re not an entirely criminal government, you know. There are good men in Rome.”
    Hortus apparently was one of them, returning with a thick stack of documents, which Pliny took to a small table for review.
    “Official state business,” Athanasius authoritatively told the clerk, who had probably seen quite a bit of “state business” in this dungeon and slowly nodded.
    “Thank you, Hortus,” said Pliny, returning the material all too quickly. “We have what we need. Goodbye.”
    Athanasius followed him out of the vault and back down the long tunnel. “What did you find?”
    “Nothing,” Pliny said. “That’s the problem. The business records have been sanitized. But I have another idea.”
    They descended a flight of gloomy stairs into the bowels of the Tabularium, and then yet another flight even further below until they reached a vast suite of interlocking vaults.
    “Birth and death certificates,” Pliny explained. “These are usually missed when commercial records are altered, and we may find something about either the Mucius or Licinius families that will tell us something about what happened to Mucianus.”
    Athanasius, now thinking about Helena alone and bleeding back at the inn in Ostia, said, “Time is running short.”
    “Then we split the work and double our time,” Pliny said before they presented themselves before another pinch-mouthed clerk, who if possible looked to have even less flesh on his bones than the one upstairs.
    They worked through two stacks while the clerk kept a beady eye on them. By the time word of this research reached Domitian or the Dei, it would be too late: Domitian would be dead and Nerva would rally the senate to bless the succession of Young Vespasian to the throne.
    “Jupiter!” remarked Pliny, and then covered his mouth.
    Athanasius leaned over to look at what Pliny had discovered. But it didn’t look like any birth or death certificate Athanasius had ever seen before, although he hadn’t seen many.
    “These are adoption papers,” Pliny whispered. “Adoption papers between the Mucius and Licinius families. It changes the name of Gaius Mucius Mucianus’s son from Lucius Mucius Ludlumus to Lucius Licinius Ludlumus.”
    Athanasius stared. “Ludlumus was Mucianus’s son! But now he’s dead. Who did it, and who might have taken his place?”
    Now it was Pliny who looked like a ghost himself, white as a sheet. He gulped and said, “I’m afraid it could be the lawyer who handled the adoption.”
    Athanasius looked at the signature and seal at the bottom of the certificate. It read Marcus Cocceius Nerva.
    Senator Nerva!
    Athanasius grabbed the official adoption certificate, slipped it under his breastplate, and said, “We’ve got to get out of here.”
    Pliny was only too quick to agree, leaving the papers behind them for the clerk as they rushed out of the Tabularium.
    Athanasius raced back to Ostia on one of Pliny’s horses as the first hint of sunrise began to break across the horizon, his mind racing faster than the horse as he pondered the significance of what he had discovered at the Tabularium. Ludlumus was the son of Mucianus, whose fate was still unclear at this point. Perhaps he had died long ago at the hands of Ludlumus, much like Domitian killed his own father.
    The death of Ludlumus, however, was more problematic. Was it at the hands of Domitian, in which case everything should proceed according to