by Brian Godawa
CHAPTER 2
Alexandria, Egypt
Flavius Vespasian fought sleepiness as he waited for an answer from the god. This always happened whenever he engaged in religious ritual. He figured it was the boredom of unbelief. He only did what was required or what maintained proper public service. But he personally had a hard time believing in mysticism over good hard earthly power and strength. He was a pragmatic man.
Of course, religion had its practical uses as well. The support of the priestly class assured the support of the masses who followed them with unthinking devotion.
Still, a small part of him wondered if there was something to the spiritual world. He had heard many testimonies of such things. He had even experienced some unexplainable oddities himself. Were all the stories of supernatural omens surrounding his own ascendancy to the throne mere self-delusion of believers, or was there something to them?
The Alexandrians had told him that when he arrived in their Egyptian city, the Nile had overflown, a sure omen. While Vespasian was eating on his country estate, an ox had approached him, knelt down, and placed its head beneath his feet. The general had thought nothing of it. He knew animals sometimes did strange things. But while he was still eating, a dog had come over and dropped a human hand beneath his table. A human hand! Vespasian had never found out where the animal had found the thing.
These oddities were not without confirmation. Many years ago, he’d had a dream of a large cypress tree being uprooted and then the next day standing upright again. Vespasian had thought this represented the fall of Tiberius and rise of Caligula. But an oracle had told the general it was his own imperial future. He’d dismissed such an idea at the time. But then he’d had another strange dream predicting that if Nero lost a tooth, Vespasian would become emperor. The next day, Nero had indeed lost a tooth. While Vespasian kept his dream to himself, Nero did not. He had told Vespasian of his own dream of driving Jupiter’s chariot to Vespasian’s house. To protect himself from Nero’s paranoia, Vespasian had laughed it off with a joke and never revealed his secret to the emperor.13
But that was not all. When Galba had claimed the throne of Rome, reports were that a statue of the deified Julius turned toward the East of its own accord. The East, where Vespasian was in his Judean campaign.
Even his Jewish “court prophet” Josephus had proclaimed that Vespasian would be the Messiah, come from the East as prophesied in the Jews’ own scriptures.14
The general had brushed off such ramblings as self-interested flattery. But so many apparent omens were aligning to persuade him that he was wrong. Maybe the gods were choosing him precisely because he didn’t want it. A bid for impartial justice.15
Then last July after the quick succession of short-lived emperors threatened to collapse the empire, his own soldiers and the military had forced Vespasian at the point of a blade to accept their proclamation of him as emperor. He reluctantly saw the practicality of his military experience in bringing order to the chaos that was collapsing Rome.
Vespasian was currently waiting to receive official approval from the Roman senate to accept his bid for the throne. He had actually disdained such imperial ambitions for years because of his lack of desire for such aristocratic indulgence. He preferred to live out the rest of his life in leisure, drinking wine, eating pig, and making love to his mistress, not political posturing or saving the asses of the entitled ingrates of nobility. He knew he was a boor and was proud of it.
Vespasian glanced around the empty sanctuary of the Serapeum, a temple to Serapis, the hybrid Greco-Egyptian god of the underworld. The architecture was a mixture of Greek and Egyptian style, functioning much like the deity as a diplomatic unity between the two worlds. He stood in a semi-circular Holy Place with Corinthian-style columns and a square stone altar on the proscenium platform up front with Vespasian’s goat sacrifice lying dead upon it. The atrium square outside was lined with red stone obelisks, common in Egyptian occultism.
Vespasian rubbed his eyes and scratched his balding head. Architecture bored him as well. He felt his hefty stomach grumble with hunger. The thought of savoring good meat and wine awakened him more. Then his thoughts drifted to his mistress Caenis, and he began to fantasize other sensual delights.
A movement to his left drew his attention. A priest approached him from the darkness. These temples all seemed to relish darkness in their sanctuaries. It helped manipulate the emotions.
The priest was carrying sacred cakes, garlands, and a bough. When he arrived to hand them to Vespasian as an offering, the legate was shocked to see who it was.
“Basilides?” he said with incredulity. Basilides was the oracle on Mount Carmel in Palestine hundreds of miles away. Vespasian had visited the oracle when he first mustered his forces on the coast of that infernal land.
“Basilides? How on earth did you get here?”
But the oracle would not speak. He simply dissolved back into the darkness. Which was another apparent “miracle” because Basilides had grown old with rheumatism and was unable to walk.
Before he was able to gain his wits, Vespasian noticed someone in the shadows before the altar.
Some thing in the shadows.
It looked like the creature was sucking the blood from the neck of the sacrifice. The thing stopped and looked at Vespasian. Its glowing lapis lazuli eyes sent a chill down the Roman general’s spine.
The creature stood up. It was large, about eight feet tall. And muscular. As a light from a slit window fell across it, Vespasian realized the creature was Serapis, the underworld god. Though the god wore an Egyptian robe and ornaments, he looked Greek with a head of curly hair and Herculean facial structure.16
Vespasian found himself out of breath. He bowed to one knee, groaning with his old age, and whispered, “My Lord Serapis. What is your will?”
The deity remained silent for a moment before speaking. “A new god rules. A new dynasty heals Rome.” Then he dissolved back into the shadows before Vespasian could question him.
Just like these phantom daemons to speak in riddles and mysteries without explaining them! The ambiguity and uncertain nature of religion annoyed Vespasian. Why could they not just speak plainly? Why must everything be shrouded in mysterious and confusing words? What new god was Serapis talking about? Egyptian? Roman? The sheer number of gods was ludicrous.
He was interrupted by the Roman governor Tiberius Julius Alexander entering the room, followed by a group of six priests of Serapis in long flowing red robes.
Tiberius, a formal military general, bowed and handed Vespasian a senatorial dispatch from Rome.
Vespasian read it. It was short, to the point. And life-changing.
“Well,” said Vespasian. “It appears the senate has formally recognized me as emperor.”
Tiberius and the priests immediately bowed their heads and went down on one knee. With hand out and palm down, Tiberius said, “Hail Caesar, lord and savior.”
The priests whispered prayers that sounded like gibberish to Vespasian.
Only then did it strike the general: the cakes brought by Basilides along with the royal bough and garlands—those were a herald of kingship.
The words of Serapis, “A new god rules,” must mean that Vespasian was the new god, since Caesar was a god. And his family would be the “dynasty that heals Rome.”
Perhaps this religious stuff wasn’t so mysterious after all. Perhaps there was something to it.
“Caesar,” said Tiberius, “We must present you to the people of Alexandria.”
Semyaza and Serapis followed their priests as they led the fat, bald vulgarian king and his governor toady out of the temple into the streets. Serapis had allowed Semyaza’s human liege the opportunity to see him for that brief moment at the altar. But now the two gods moved in the unseen realm, invisible to and unheard by the human throngs that filled the busy streets of Alexandria.
The Herculean Serapis announced to Semyaza, “I cannot stay. Apollyon wants me to return for my le
gion in Palestine.”
Semyaza didn’t bother to respond. He was too angry with his misfortune of being stuck in Alexandria with his oaf of a ruler while Azazel got to plunder the holy land.
Serapis left him and continued to follow Vespasian’s escort to their destination in the middle of the city. He heard trumpets of announcement throughout the city calling the populace to a gathering.
Semyaza had been released from the Abyss with his co-general Azazel. The two of them had been allowed to become the geniuses, or patron deities, of the Flavian father and son. Because of their special appointments, they’d avoided confinement in Tartarus with the others.
At first Semyaza had been satisfied with his guardianship, thinking that Vespasian would be the next Caesar, which would make Semyaza more powerful than Azazel, genius of Titus. But when it became apparent that Vespasian would have to leave Palestine and focus his efforts on taking the throne, Semyaza had realized that Azazel had the much greater assignment. For Titus would be the anointed prince to bring desolation on the wing of abominations to Israel. Titus would receive the greater glory and greater legacy than his father. Azazel would once again best Semyaza in his achievements.
And the fact that father and son were now split up, along with their geniuses, meant that Semyaza and Azazel could not be together to achieve the coup they had planned to spring upon Apollyon during Armageddon. Semyaza had not yet figured out a way to ditch his human and make his way secretly to Jerusalem in time for the end of days.
Semyaza followed Vespasian’s entourage into the hippodrome at the center of the city. It was filled with Egyptian citizens awaiting the grand announcement. Semyaza noticed how surprised Vespasian was at the reception. The dull-minded fool. The Roman general knew how to fight a war, but he had no awareness of the civilian world around him.
The Watcher followed the entourage up to a stage in the middle of the stadium, grumbling at the exaltation he was supposed to give the obese old fart of a Caesar.
Vespasian looked out onto the crowds amassed in the hippodrome for his announcement. He was stunned by it all. They had cheered him when he arrived, and he began to feel the excitement of being worshipped like this.
A priest of Serapis leaned near him and said, “My lord, we are bringing you some people with infirmities. Just follow along and extend your hand to heal them.”
Vespasian looked at the priest, shocked. “What do you mean? I am no miracle worker.”
“Today you are, my lord. It is part of your confirmation. Trust me. Play the part, and they will be healed.”
Vespasian sighed. “All right. Get on with it.”
He looked out onto the masses, their gullible excitement pathetic to him. But he knew his responsibility for political pandering was only beginning. It made his stomach turn.
Some priests led two men out onto the stage and up to Vespasian. The first one had a crippled hand, bent up into an excruciating crooked position.
Vespasian heard the crowd cheer. He asked the priest, “Do they know this man?”
“Oh, yes, my lord,” the priest responded. “Both of these men are well known for years as beggars in the city.”
That meant their disabilities were not faked. Unless they had pretended for years? Vespasian shuddered. What had he gotten himself into?
The priest made the crippled man kneel down and place his hand at Vespasian’s foot.
“Step on the hand, my lord.”
The general hesitated. Wouldn’t such an action crush the already crippled hand? Seeing Vespasian’s reluctance, the priest reassured, “Just gently, my lord.”
Vespasian shrugged and stepped lightly on the man’s hand. When he pulled back his foot, the man’s hand was normal!
Vespasian was shocked. What was this? The man at his feet couldn’t possibly have faked the contortion in which those bones had been.
The priest presented the man’s hand to the crowd, and they burst out in massive cheering. That was when Vespasian remembered the dog that had brought a human hand to his table. Was this the meaning of that bizarre omen?
Another priest led a second man up to Vespasian. This man’s eyes were clouded over with blindness. The blind man’s face grinned in excited anticipation. He muttered, “My lord Caesar.”
The priest said to Vespasian, “My lord, if you spit into your hands and moisten this blind man’s eyes, he will be healed.”
This was getting ridiculous! Where would the priest get such a preposterous idea? Spittle on the eyes? It reeked of theater.
But of course theater was what was needed to move the masses. Spitting into his hands, Vespasian wiped the spittle onto the blind man’s eyes. The man opened his eyes. The cloudiness was gone.
“I can see! I can see!” the man yelled loud enough for the crowds to hear him. The crowd burst out into an even stronger applause.
Vespasian couldn’t believe his eyes. He had seen the man was truly blind. And now he was truly seeing. Vespasian looked at his own hands with shock. Am I a god?
The ovation of praise lowered just enough for the priest to stand forward, gesture to Vespasian, and yell, “Behold, the son of Amun-Ra!”
Vespasian would not have thought the crowd could be more out of control. But now they rose to even greater heights of adulation. He’d experienced the feeling of power when destroying an enemy in battle, but this was a different kind of power. It was like nothing Vespasian had ever felt before.
He felt like a god.17
Titus was right! After all this time I fought against him, he was right. I will create a new dynasty of Caesars. The Flavians will rule the world. A family of gods.
The cheering crowd drowned his own thoughts in a whirlpool of worship.
Semyaza sighed with disgust. These humans were such puppets. The cripple and the blind fool had been bound by demons. Semyaza had merely put the demons to sleep for a while, which made it look as though the two men had been healed. But the demons would return once the citizenry had moved back into their normal lives. By then it wouldn’t matter anymore because the public had such a short memory. They were the easiest thing to manipulate with lies.
Now, thought the Watcher, If I can only find some excuse to get out of here and return to Palestine.
CHAPTER 3
Pella
April, AD 70
Cassandra held her year-old infant Samuel in her arms as she watched her adopted son Noah, now ten, sparring swords with Michael, the captain of the Kharabu warriors, in the valley just outside the city. The young boy had become quite the swordsman thanks to the help of Michael, who was training the males of the city in self-defense. The Roman war with the Jews had not yet found them in their refuge, safely tucked away in the Transjordan mountains.
But the war was not over yet.
The Kharabu were an elite fighting force of forty men, mostly ex-legionaries become Christians, who watched over Pella like sentinels. They had been trained in an ancient form of battle allegedly used by the Cherubim to guard Eden. The Pellans joked about the Kharabu being guardian angels because when they fought, they seemed to glide and float like dancers rather than brute soldiers. And they were virtually unbeatable.
But Cassandra no longer joked with the rest. She had seen what others had not, and she now strongly suspected that the seven captains of the Kharabu were in fact angels.
For one, all seven had the names of archangels from Scripture like Michael and Gabriel. Such names weren’t unusual for Jewish males. But that was only one of many strange coincidences that had led Cassandra to conclude Michael and the six others were not from earth.
She had seen Michael brutally beaten by a group of bandits and come out without a scratch or bruise. She had seen the seven fight with effortlessness against other warriors. The skills of those seven far surpassed their other Kharabu comrades. There was something more to these captains than their recruits.
She had also seen Michael engage in long conversations with Moshe and Elihu, the Two Witnesses of the A
pocalypse that were specially protected by God in the midst of this time of “Jacob’s Trouble.” And she knew what the prophet Daniel had foretold regarding Michael the archangel arising to protect God’s people at the end of days.
“At that time shall arise Michael, the great prince who has charge of your people. And there shall be a time of trouble, such as never has been since there was a nation till that time. But at that time your people shall be delivered, everyone whose name shall be found written in the book.”
Daniel 12:1
Christians had escaped Jerusalem and other surrounding cities in obedience to Jesus’s words to flee to the mountains. They had gathered in this hidden city that had been destroyed by civil war and rebuilt. They were the 144,000 Remnant that God had sealed to protect from the judgment coming upon the Jews and their holy city.18
Cassandra believed this. But it bothered her that she was safe and protected out here in the mountains while her beloved Alexander was in Jerusalem sacrificing himself for the sake of the Gospel.
“Mother, you’re not listening to me.”
The voice brought Cassandra out of her thoughts. It was her fifteen-year-old adopted daughter Rachel, sister of Noah. The brother and sister had been among hundreds of orphaned child refugees arriving at Jerusalem a couple years ago from cities destroyed by the Romans. The brother and sister had captured Alexander’s and Cassandra’s hearts, and once she and the children had arrived at Pella, Cassandra had carried out the couple’s plan to adopt the two siblings.
Adoption was a beautiful experience of family that reflected God’s own heart. Unfortunately, the moment of joy had not lasted long as raising a family of three children alone seemed harder to Cassandra than helping Alexander deal with plague, sickness, and war wounds in Jerusalem.
“What do you mean I’m not listening?” Cassandra asked. “What did you say?”
