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

“And behold the rider on the white horse,” he said, pointing straight at Athanasius. “The one who has come to save them who shall instead be cast into the pit of fire!”
    Athanasius half expected an eruption of flames to explode from the pit, but Ludlumus probably intended to save that effect until after he had cast them to its bottom, their flesh torn to pieces by the lions and their eyes looking up to him like he was some malevolent god.
    But this god wasn’t omniscient, Athanasius thought, hoping that the thought and care Ludlumus put into this production had made him oblivious to the ground being pulled out from under him at the palace. Once Domitian was gone, Ludlumus would be history too.
    “More games, Ludlumus?”
    “The greatest of all, Athanasius. We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, don’t you see?” He gestured to the ghostly stands under the overcast sky. “You have finished the race and entered the Hall of Faith. Welcome to the afterlife.”
    The sand shifted again, and a gladiator and Praetorian were launched into the arena. The Praetorian was in chains and gagged, the gladiator holding a sword to the soldier’s throat. From the engravings on his breastplate, Athanasius could see the gladiator was one of Domitian’s. Then Athanasius saw the eyes turning wild under the helmet of the Praetorian and recognized Virtus.
    They got him before he could steal Domitian’s dagger.
    In that instant Athanasius knew that his plans had failed. If they had gotten Virtus, then they had gotten Stephanus, and Domitian was alive this very hour.
    “He too was lost,” Ludlumus laughed. “But, like you, now is found.”
    In the basilica at the Palace of the Flavians, surrounded by great statues of his contemporaries the gods, Domitian again picked at the bloody ulcer on his forehead as he listened to testimony on behalf of still another astrologer. This one was an Armenian who dared to agree with his late predecessor Ascletario that the recent rash of lightning in Rome augured a change in government.
    What it really augured, Domitian knew, was the soothsayer’s untimely end.
    It was the only certainty of the hour that Domitian knew he could control.
    Ironically, it was the prosecutor Regulus who was defending the astrologer, or rather his astrology. The poor fool misinterpreted the obvious signs of Jupiter’s displeasure at those who would challenge his son Domitian as Emperor and twist the stars to suit themselves like the infernal Christians and their rising Age of Pieces, the cosmic symbol of their Christ Jesus.
    “This man merely repeated predictions that have long since warned Caesar of what year and day he would die, and even the specific hour and manner,” Regulus said, looking up from a papyrus with lunar tables. “All he added was that the moon is in Aquarius and that today’s fifth hour, beginning at nine o’clock, is especially dangerous and could augur transition. But he also concluded that Caesar would be safe if he lived to the sixth hour.”
    Domitian was tired of this astrological minutia. For years he had known just how unusual were the twin events of Mars setting on the Roman horizon with the moon at its lower culmination, both within minutes of each other. Especially as the moon’s position in Aquarius was exactly the same as Saturn at the time of his birth on October 24 almost 45 years ago. While this happened every month, the connection with Mars setting as the moon passed its lower culmination made it an astrologically noteworthy event.
    He looked down into his empty wine goblet and then to Julius, his food-and-wine-tester, who ceremoniously poured him the last of the proven, poison-free Dovilin wine in the palace. In recent weeks he had half-hoped his former dog walker would turn purple and die after losing his beloved Sirius.
    Domitian turned to Regulus and said, “However he covered his ignorance, it doesn’t negate the fact that he predicted a change in government,