Caesar's Lord, page 18
For a long moment, a stunned silence hung over the crowd. Constantine assumed it was the calm before a storm of thunderous applause—but the applause never came. Instead, the silence turned into a general confusion among the crowd, with only some scattered and half-hearted clapping. Friends turned to one another to ascertain whether they had heard the words correctly. Everyone seemed bewildered. Clearly, the idea of replacing the old capital with a new one didn’t have the appeal Constantine thought it would.
“Behold New Rome!” he repeated with his arms raised. But still, the crowd did not respond.
From somewhere in the stands, a voice shouted two words in Greek: “Konstantinou Polis!” Someone else repeated the two words right away. Soon, the whole area around the imperial box was shouting the same thing and stamping their feet. Like a wave rippling across the sea, the chant spread to the farthest reaches of the hippodrome. The building shook as everyone roared in unison, “City of Constantine! City of Constantine! City of Constantine!”
The surprised emperor let the chant continue for a long time. Eventually, the acclamation melted into general cheering. When the crowd’s energy had finally run its course, Constantine was able to speak. He raised both hands and quieted the last of the boisterous spectators. The crowd fell silent, waiting to hear Constantine’s response.
After holding still until the tension was about to reach its breaking point, Constantine issued his verdict. “Our new capital must be viewed as New Rome,” he insisted, “for I intend to make it even more spectacular than its predecessor in the west. However, the name you have supplied today is good as well, for it comes from the affection of your heart. Therefore I proclaim, O people of former Byzantium, that I accept the name you have chosen!”
The announcement was greeted by a massive wave of adulation. The ovation from the hundred thousand spectators was deafening. Constantine could only step back, cover his ears, and try to take it in. There was nothing else to do; the people had spoken. Although he had intended for them to be New Romans, the people themselves had decided to be the citizens of Constantinople.
As the ruler of a unified Roman Empire with a new capital, Constantine had decided to tour his newly acquired eastern domains—a decision that worked out perfectly for Rex. The emperor’s final destination was going to be Alexandria, so Rex was invited to tag along with the entourage at imperial expense. His old friend Ossius, the emperor’s trusted adviser, had made the request. Yet Constantine had needed no special persuasion. He was happy to reward Rex’s faithful service in war. Now Rex expected to be in Flavia’s arms before the end of November.
A ten-day journey by sea had brought all the travelers to Antiochia, a city Rex had long wanted to visit. He had read much about this ancient metropolis in his studies for the diaconate, especially in the Acts of the Apostles. It was here that the followers of the Way were first called “Christians” almost three hundred years ago. It was also from this city that Saint Paul had been sent on his evangelistic missions. Now, Rex approached the city gates under a political situation those earliest believers could never have imagined: the ruler of the Roman Empire was himself a Christian. The imperial entourage would even be visiting a church dedicated to Saint Peter. Antiochia’s apostolic heritage was rivaled only by Hierusalem’s. Rex looked forward to seeing what such a great Christian city might have in store for him.
Constantine was received into Antiochia with the same boisterous welcome he had received in every city during his tour of the East. The people of these newly conquered lands seemed united in one thing: they were glad to see Licinius go. Or at least, that’s what all the citizens along the route were saying to the emperor who now ruled them. But Rex thought they weren’t faking it. The warm reception felt real. And why not? Licinius had been a tyrant. Anyone would prefer a benevolent emperor like Constantine.
Bishop Ossius rode up next to Rex on horseback as they reached Antiochia’s western bridge and gate. It led to a large island in the Orontes River where the imperial palace was located. “Rex, did you ever think we’d see such a day?” the gallant Spaniard asked with a smile. “What a change! We’ve been through some deep waters to get to a place like this.”
“The first time I met you, you were literally in deep water,” Rex remarked. “And it was on fire too.”
“I remember it! You poured bitumen into the sea and set it ablaze. Ha! Those pirates were so frightened! They jumped overboard like rats on a sinking ship.”
The two men exchanged memories about the day when Rex rescued the bishop from slave traders. After reminiscing about several other events, Ossius asked, “So how is Flavia? And . . . her dear mother?”
“They are both well, or at least, they were when I left them. But that was more than seven months ago. I can only hope the Lord has protected them while I’ve been gone.”
“I’m sure he has, my son. He is the merciful keeper of his children. You must miss them.”
“I do. Very much.”
“Me too,” Ossius said. Then he quickly added, “That is to say, I miss those days when we were traveling on the pope’s mission. It was quite an adventure.”
“Indeed, it was,” Rex agreed, suppressing a smile. He said no more, and the two men parted as Ossius prompted his horse to a slightly faster pace.
The emperor’s reception at Antiochia was even more enthusiastic than it had been in the other cities along the route. It seemed like every citizen had turned out to see their new ruler. They waved flags, many of them emblazoned with the chi-rho. This ancient Christian symbol had come to be firmly identified with Constantine’s reign.
A three-day stay in Antiochia was planned for the imperial entourage. The travelers were glad for a rest after the wearying sea journey. Technically, Rex was still serving as the captain of the scout force for Caesar Crispus. Yet because the war was over and the speculators had been assigned to other duties, Rex had unlimited free time to enjoy the city. He took advantage of it—exploring churches, getting to know the local Christian population, and listening to the old-timers recount their ancient memories. He even met a direct descendant of Ignatius, the famous martyred bishop of Antiochia.
On the morning of the third day, however, Rex was summoned to the palace’s throne room for an official event. An ecclesiastical embassy had arrived from Alexandria with urgent news for Constantine. The visitors were going to be welcomed with a dignified imperial reception, for Constantine now wanted all Christian bishops to be treated with the same honor as government officials.
In the little bedroom Rex had been assigned, he washed his face, combed his hair, and oiled his beard. He put on his best outfit—a long, maroon tunic with decorative emblems on the hem, worn over buff-colored trousers. After lacing up his newly shined boots and belting on an ornate sword, he stepped out of his bedroom and into the hallway. And when he did, he saw something that made his heart lurch, his eyes widen, and his jaw drop.
A woman was there, waiting for him.
Flavia!
He ran to her, and she to him, and they fell into an exuberant embrace, rejoicing at the end of their long separation.
“Oh, Rex!” Flavia exclaimed. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“And I’ve missed you, my beloved!” Rex kissed his wife on the lips—a joyous kiss of reunion more than a passionate one. The dignified halls of the imperial palace weren’t the right place for amorous behavior. Yet Rex wasn’t about to greet Flavia after a seven-month separation without a kiss.
“How come you’re here?” he asked when they finally parted. He held both her hands and gazed into the beautiful face he had pictured every day since he left.
“A mission from Bishop Alexander. He sent Deacon Athanasius with an urgent letter for the emperor. It has to do with the schemes of Arius, back in Aegyptus. We were going to bypass Antiochia until we heard that Constantine was here, so we detoured.”
“I guess you must have funded the trip. Is that why they let you come along?”
“Yes, but it was more than just gratitude for the donation. Athanasius is an insightful man—I would even say prophetic. He believes the time has come for me to reenter church affairs after a season of quiet. So he insisted that I join the men. But I had no idea I would run into you! When Bishop Ossius told me you were here, I rushed to the guards’ quarters to find you.”
“Did Ossius inquire about your mother?”
“He did,” Flavia answered, then exchanged a grin with Rex.
Long ago, Ossius and Sophronia seemed affectionate with each other. Since their spiritual vocation of celibacy prevented anything romantic from developing between them, they settled for chaste friendship. Though life had parted their paths for a time, apparently their warm feelings hadn’t faded. But that was a discussion for another day.
Rex offered his arm to his wife. “We’d better get going. We don’t want to miss the reception.”
Flavia took Rex’s arm with a delighted smile. “Lead the way, handsome. I’m going wherever you are.”
The couple arrived just as the event was starting. Constantine was seated in the apse of the throne room with a royal relative on either side: Caesar Crispus on his right and Lady Constantia on his left. The emperor’s sister had been restored to a place of prominence now that her husband and son were banished to Thessalonica. Constantine had always had a soft spot for Constantia. To his credit, a spirit of mercy was triumphing over his normal tendency toward bitter revenge for any perceived betrayal.
After going through the initial pomp and circumstance that such imperial events required, the participants got down to the heart of the matter. They spoke with the flowery, formal speech always used at these occasions. Deacon Athanasius, representing the bishop of Alexandria, had come with bad news: the Arian faction had done what even Christ’s crucifiers had not dared to do: rend the seamless garment of the Lord in half. The Arians had torn asunder the catholic church, which God intended to be whole. They had split away from their bishop and formed their own faction.
“Your Highness, you have read Alexander’s letter,” the fiery deacon said. “All the charges contained in it are true—the plotting, the greed, the conniving, the blasphemies. But worst among them is this: They say, ‘There was a time when the Son of God did not exist’ and ‘Christ was just like us, able to do evil.’ So they make Christ into a normal man—not truly divine, just a prophet who did righteous deeds. But I ask you, O pious Constantine: Was the Christ who gave you victory against Licinius just a regular man with good morals? Or is he the Lord of the cosmos who decrees all things?”
Rex could tell from the emperor’s contemplative expression that the argument held weight with him. Constantine had a strong attraction to a cosmic Christ who ruled the universe from above. He believed that Christ had chosen him to rule the Roman Empire below, bringing peace and justice to lands where tyranny and persecution once reigned.
Before Constantine could reply, his sister leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Constantine listened to her words and nodded thoughtfully. Then he turned his attention back to Athanasius.
“I rebuke Father Arius,” he announced, “for splitting the church at the very moment when, after forty years, the empire has been reunited under one ruler.” Athanasius seemed gratified by this statement. But then Constantine startled the room with what he said next. “I also rebuke Bishop Alexander for raising inscrutable questions of theology before the sheep whom he should tend in simplicity. This sort of bickering does no service to the people of God! The debate is pointless and ought never have been raised among the common folk. It seems that both these brothers have erred in significant ways.”
Though Athanasius was caught off guard by the unexpected criticism of his mentor, he did not back down. Pointing his finger at Lady Constantia, he said, “Your sister is an aqueduct of befouled water, Your Majesty! She pipes in the contamination of Eusebius of Nicomedia—and through him, the sewage of Arius!”
The bold statement, so shocking in its audacity, made the room fall silent. Though Constantia’s eyes were wide, she held her tongue because her own situation was politically delicate. As for Constantine, he only grimaced and stared at the floor for a moment, then waved his hand and beckoned for Ossius to step forward.
“What is it, Your Highness?” the bishop asked when he was before the emperor.
“Brother Ossius, your reputation for wisdom comes from as far away as my empire stretches, from the land where the sun sets upon the end of the world. Therefore I task you with a job that demands a wise man. Accompany the good deacon back to his home at Alexandria. Make peace between Alexander and Arius, so that my heart will no longer be stricken by this strife and disunity.”
“I will do my best, Your Majesty. Does this mean you shall not be continuing to Aegyptus yourself?”
“I shall not. By ridding the empire of Licinius’s tyranny, I had hoped to bring unity and harmony to all mankind. But now that I see how Africa is rent by divisions, I can no longer continue my happy journey there. This quarreling over meaningless doctrine distresses me! It is back to Nicomedia for me. Yet I shall send you to Alexandria with a letter urging that these disputants forgive one another and restore my peaceful days and tranquil life. Take it hastily, Brother Ossius, so that this trivial squabbling can cease.”
The bishop closed his eyes and dipped his chin to acknowledge his acceptance of the mission. “As you wish.”
Though many in the tense throne room breathed a sigh of relief at these conciliatory words, Rex found himself unsettled. He looked over at Flavia. From her glance, he could see that she was troubled too. “Trivial squabbling?” he whispered to his wife. “I think it’s more important than the emperor wants to believe.”
Flavia nodded. “These doctrines determine who Jesus is. It is no trivial thing to call him a creature and a mere man.”
“If Christ isn’t divine, he can’t forgive the sins of the world.”
“It isn’t the sins of the world I’m worried about,” Flavia replied, “but the sins which are my own.”
DECEMBER 324
The sea journey to Alexandria took only nine days, and that included two days stuck in the port of Paphos on Cyprus while a thunderstorm raged. Flavia was so glad to be with Rex, she didn’t mind the delay. She was also glad that their skipper had more sense than Saint Paul’s captain in the Book of Acts, who foolishly set out in bad weather and shipwrecked his vessel. Though the skipper of Flavia’s ship was a cautious little fellow who feared late-season sailing, he was opportunistic enough to transport high-paying passengers on an imperial mission. So long as he could sit tight whenever a storm blew up, it was a risk he was willing to take.
The route beyond Paphos required open-sea sailing, which meant all the passengers had to sleep aboard. Nighttime privacy was nonexistent, since everyone just wrapped up in woolen blankets on deck wherever they could find space. Yet even on land, the inns were crowded and the lodging was communal. The presence of Athanasius and Ossius made things even more awkward. Although Flavia would have preferred to have her own quarters, the public accommodations at least relieved her of one concern. She hadn’t yet gotten up her courage to tell Rex about her vow of celibacy for a season of prayer. The ship’s lack of privacy would defer that conversation until another day.
On the ninth day of the journey, a column of dark smoke from Alexandria’s lighthouse was sighted off the bow. The ship made a beeline for it, and soon Flavia found herself disembarking in the harbor of her adopted city that now felt like home.
Rex inhaled deeply through his nose, seeming to savor the familiar scents. “I forgot what date palms smell like,” he said with a satisfied smile. “And I can even smell the desert on the wind. It’s good to be in Aegyptus again.”
Bishop Alexander had come to the dock to welcome the Christian travelers. He went first to greet Athanasius and his esteemed guest, Bishop Ossius, who had never been to Aegyptus before. Flavia was much more excited to see her mother than her bishop. She ran to Sophronia, embracing her joyously even though they had been separated for only a few weeks. Sophronia also gave Rex a warm greeting. After commending him for his military service, she admitted that she was relieved to have her son-in-law back to care for her daughter again.
“Greetings to you, my lady,” said a polite voice from behind the reunited trio. Everyone turned to see Ossius standing there with a kind of dashing nonchalance. The sea breeze had tousled his silver hair, leaving a lone strand dangling over his forehead. It would have made most men look disheveled, but somehow it made Ossius seem roguish and jaunty.
“Bishop Ossius, how wonderful to see you!” Sophronia answered smoothly. She leaned toward her friend and turned her cheek away. The bishop did the same and they made a kissing sound. The greeting was no different from the way two Christians of the opposite sex normally exchanged the kiss of peace at church. Even so, Flavia knew that for her mother, it was something more.
After a little chitchat and catching up, Ossius took his leave, but not before inviting everyone to a colloquium at the Catechetical School in two days. Alexander and Arius would present their views in a spirit of charity. It was hoped that common ground between them would be recognized by all. Sophronia promised to be there, which made Ossius smile and nod. “Let us pray for the Lord’s peace,” he said, then went on his way.
On the day of the colloquium, Flavia ascended the hill of the Serapeum behind her apartment building. Sophronia was with her, but Rex had gone ahead to save seats. The designated room was a lecture hall whose windows offered a beautiful view of the city. The seats were travertine benches on which Rex had set some cushions. A low platform made of red marble was at one end of the hall. Upon it stood an elevated pulpit with steps, ready for the disputants to take turns speaking. Ossius would serve as the neutral moderator. A good-sized crowd had already packed the room, so the late arrivals took seats on the floor.
