The Second Messiah

Jack held up the lamp. In every direction he looked was the unmistakable herringbone brickwork of ancient Rome, a barrel-vaulted ceiling rising high above them. “Quite a few.”

When they turned the next corner they came to an ornate two-story mausoleum fronted by two huge marble entrance pillars. They stepped through and the lamplight washed over a collection of what looked like tombs.

One was topped by a stone carving of Christ and the Apostles. On another tomb was a figure of Apollo. Yet another showed Bacchus, the Roman god of wine and revelry, surrounded by rampaging, evil-looking satyrs with horns on their heads. “Where are we. . .?” Yasmin asked in horror.

“Part of a Roman burial site called the City of the Dead. It came to light hundreds of years ago when the Basilica was being rebuilt. The necropolis dates from the second to fourth centuries A.D. A strange mix of the pagan and the Christian, from a time when Rome was caught between both camps.”

Jack dangled the lamp as they passed a stream of pagan shrines, some of them defaced with cement or overlaid with Christian memorials of stone or marble. Yasmin asked, “What happened here?”

“Christians made a habit of trying to destroy the symbols of pagan gods, but they still had their followers.”

A chill wind whistled through the passageway, making a haunting noise, and Yasmin rubbed her arms in the cold air. Jack waved the lamp toward the bend up ahead. “Just wait until you see what’s around the next corner.”

78

They rounded the corner into an ancient cobbled road. On both sides lay footpaths and ruined buildings, complete with mosaic floors and faded wall frescoes.

Jack scratched his head and tried to get his bearings. “If my intuition’s right, the Nero marbles are somewhere near the end of this street.”

“Where are we now?”

“Standing in the middle of what was once a sprawling complex of apartment homes, shops, and villas.”

Yasmin looked around her in awe. “This is truly incredible.”

“It’s Rome as it existed more than two thousand years ago. It even had many of the trappings of a modern society. See that metal rod?”

As they passed a huge stone water fountain that had been scalloped out of solid limestone, Jack pointed to the remains of a blackened metal rod that protruded from the basin. Yasmin touched the rod. “What is it?”

“A lead pipe that once formed part of Rome’s plumbing system. Fresh purified water was delivered to every doorstep from aqueducts. Over two hundred and fifty gallons a day per citizen, more than most modern cities provide these days. The problem was the Romans didn’t know that they were slowly killing themselves with lead poisoning.”

Yasmin turned her head and listened. “I can’t hear anyone. Maybe they got lost in this maze.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Do you know of another way out of here?”

Jack nodded. “I think so, unless it’s been blocked up. Better keep moving.”

Farther on they came to the portal of an impressive villa. The floor was littered with pottery shards, the remains of wine jars. One side of the villa’s entrance contained a pagan shrine with the grotesque face of a stone-carved god.

“Mithras,” Jack explained. “An Iranian god of truth and salvation. He was pretty popular, and one of Jesus’ main rivals during the later empire.”

“Rivals?”

“Jesus had hundreds of pagan contenders that the Romans believed were important gods. Under the polished floors of almost every ancient church in Rome, including St. Peter’s, you’ll find shrines to Mithras, because Christian builders wanted to eradicate the sacred places of any competing religions and replace them with their own symbols.”

Beyond lay a courtyard, the cracked stucco walls painted in rich colors clouded by time. Jack swung the lamp to reveal faded murals: images of naked men and women, frolicking and drinking wine. He jerked his thumb at a half-ruined building across the street. “Where we’re standing is what was once a rich pimp’s villa. Right over there is the brothel he once owned.”

“How do you know all this?”

“From the graffiti we found on the villa’s walls. Etched outside the brothel was an à la carte menu of sexual services on offer.”

Yasmin peered into the brothel ruins. A limestone washbasin and toilet area occupied one cubicle. Others were fitted with what looked like concrete-made beds, that would have been once topped with straw-filled mattresses. Frescoes of naked women and men in various sexual positions adorned the walls. Yasmin studied the images and smiled. “An erotic bunch, the Romans.”

“They had no hang-ups about sex, that’s for sure. Pretty much anything went. That’s historical fact. The morality of the average Roman citizen was probably lower than a snake’s belly. See that signpost out in the street? It’s what I’d call down-to-earth advertising.”