the Arch of Tiberius into the Forum, turned right on Sacred Way and hurried along the portico of the Basilica Julia to the end. There, at the intersection at Titus Street, he heard the sound of running water and found the sewer grating at the base of the courthouse’s marble steps.
Quickly glancing both ways to make sure he hadn’t been seen, he pulled at the heavy grating. It lifted to reveal an iron ladder that led down to a lead door. The air was foul, ranker than the alleys of the slums. He lowered himself down a few steps, slid the grating back into place over his head, and then pushed the door open.
It was dark inside, the damp air wrapping around him like a wet blanket. He heard the lapping of water and took another step forward. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest as a voice said, “Hands up.”
Athanasius squinted in the dark, and a moment later his eyes had adjusted enough for him to barely make out a short but muscular young man in a tunic pointing a crossbow at him. Beyond him a small boat bobbed in the water against the stone ledge inside the great tunnel. “Ferryman, is that you?”
“Chiron?” The Ferryman lowered his crossbow.
Athanasius then saw the bodies of two auxiliary
urbani
on the stone ledge, both with arrows in their chests. “You know where we’re going?”
“Out the drain to the Tiber, then down to Ostia and your ship, the Pegasus. Pier 34.”
Athanasius nodded. This was more than Marcus had told him. “They’re locking down the city topside. Units are moving into position at the Sublicius, where the sewer lets out into the river.”
“Then we’ll have to beat them,” the Ferryman said as he launched them off down the tunnel.
The underground river of filth was a good fifteen feet across under the semicircular arch of the vaulted stone roof. And the current was faster than he expected, powered as it was by the confluence of the city’s eleven great aqueducts flowing into this section at once. It all came together here, this churning cesspool of waste being pushed out to the river.
“Hold on,” the Ferryman said as they picked up speed and shot through the dark.
The tunnel began dropping the closer they got to the outlet, the current churning with such force that they were careening into all kinds of debris and against the stone walls and had to use paddles as bumpers. Several
stadia
ahead Athanasius could see the half-dome light of the end of the tunnel, the moonlit Tiber beyond. They crashed through the open grating gates and were suddenly into the river, paddling frantically to avoid the wakes of the big barges passing under the towering arches of the Sublicius Bridge.
Athanasius looked back in time to see the Urban Cohort units come to a halt atop the bridge. Archers jumped out and began to take their positions, but by then they were long gone down the river and into the night fog.
“The Lord is with you, Athanasius,” said the Ferryman as he maneuvered into the downriver traffic of empty barges to Ostia, doing his best to keep their little boat from getting crushed between them in the dark.
Athanasius reached behind his back and felt for his knife. “So you know who I am?”
“My name is Stephanus. I’m the servant of Flavius Clemens, whose life was cut short by the antichrist Domitian who wants you dead too.”
Athanasius eyed him. “Then you must know I cannot be Chiron, and that Clemens could not possibly have named me in his confession.”
“I know that the Lord has plans for you, Athanasius. Plans for good and not for evil, to give you and all of us a future and a hope.”
Athanasius loosened his hold on his dagger and brought his empty hands forward. “I have no future, Stephanus. I have no hope.”
“You have stood up to the gods of Rome tonight, Athanasius. You are the one who will lead us to topple the empire and create a new Christian world.”
“I thought Jesus is supposed to do that,” Athanasius said.
“We must prepare the
Quickly glancing both ways to make sure he hadn’t been seen, he pulled at the heavy grating. It lifted to reveal an iron ladder that led down to a lead door. The air was foul, ranker than the alleys of the slums. He lowered himself down a few steps, slid the grating back into place over his head, and then pushed the door open.
It was dark inside, the damp air wrapping around him like a wet blanket. He heard the lapping of water and took another step forward. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest as a voice said, “Hands up.”
Athanasius squinted in the dark, and a moment later his eyes had adjusted enough for him to barely make out a short but muscular young man in a tunic pointing a crossbow at him. Beyond him a small boat bobbed in the water against the stone ledge inside the great tunnel. “Ferryman, is that you?”
“Chiron?” The Ferryman lowered his crossbow.
Athanasius then saw the bodies of two auxiliary
urbani
on the stone ledge, both with arrows in their chests. “You know where we’re going?”
“Out the drain to the Tiber, then down to Ostia and your ship, the Pegasus. Pier 34.”
Athanasius nodded. This was more than Marcus had told him. “They’re locking down the city topside. Units are moving into position at the Sublicius, where the sewer lets out into the river.”
“Then we’ll have to beat them,” the Ferryman said as he launched them off down the tunnel.
The underground river of filth was a good fifteen feet across under the semicircular arch of the vaulted stone roof. And the current was faster than he expected, powered as it was by the confluence of the city’s eleven great aqueducts flowing into this section at once. It all came together here, this churning cesspool of waste being pushed out to the river.
“Hold on,” the Ferryman said as they picked up speed and shot through the dark.
The tunnel began dropping the closer they got to the outlet, the current churning with such force that they were careening into all kinds of debris and against the stone walls and had to use paddles as bumpers. Several
stadia
ahead Athanasius could see the half-dome light of the end of the tunnel, the moonlit Tiber beyond. They crashed through the open grating gates and were suddenly into the river, paddling frantically to avoid the wakes of the big barges passing under the towering arches of the Sublicius Bridge.
Athanasius looked back in time to see the Urban Cohort units come to a halt atop the bridge. Archers jumped out and began to take their positions, but by then they were long gone down the river and into the night fog.
“The Lord is with you, Athanasius,” said the Ferryman as he maneuvered into the downriver traffic of empty barges to Ostia, doing his best to keep their little boat from getting crushed between them in the dark.
Athanasius reached behind his back and felt for his knife. “So you know who I am?”
“My name is Stephanus. I’m the servant of Flavius Clemens, whose life was cut short by the antichrist Domitian who wants you dead too.”
Athanasius eyed him. “Then you must know I cannot be Chiron, and that Clemens could not possibly have named me in his confession.”
“I know that the Lord has plans for you, Athanasius. Plans for good and not for evil, to give you and all of us a future and a hope.”
Athanasius loosened his hold on his dagger and brought his empty hands forward. “I have no future, Stephanus. I have no hope.”
“You have stood up to the gods of Rome tonight, Athanasius. You are the one who will lead us to topple the empire and create a new Christian world.”
“I thought Jesus is supposed to do that,” Athanasius said.
“We must prepare the
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