Caesar's Lord, page 25
The woman was accompanied by a large man with arrogance in his stride. His dalmatic was made of expensive silk, and his shoes were studded with gems. He had jet-black hair that Rex thought was probably dyed. Only one flaw marred his middle-aged good looks: he had the cauliflower ears of a boxer or wrestler. The best competitors could make a fortune by racking up victories, and clearly, this man had done so. He lay down on a private couch in a nook at the rear of the room with his beautiful escort reclining across from him. “Falernian!” he demanded, and the waitress jumped to serve him the tavern’s best wine.
Rex returned his attention to his cup, but soon the arrogant wrestler was forcing his way back into everyone’s awareness. He had grown angry with his companion—Persephone, he called her—and his voice became harsh. For her part, Persephone remained dignified even though she was taking a fierce tongue-lashing. The man was calling her crude names and mocking her appearance, despite her having no physical inadequacies that any man could ever discern.
“You sorry whore!” he berated her. “I never should have taken you from the gutter!”
“I was born to noble blood in Germania,” Persephone answered calmly.
“Bah! You’re a slave captured in war, and you’ll never be better than that!” Persephone didn’t reply, which seemed to frustrate the man all the more. He thrust his finger toward the door. “Get out of my sight!”
“I am free now, and not yours to command.”
“You’ll do what I say!” the wrestler shouted. Rising from his couch, he snatched his cup of wine from the table and threw it in Persephone’s face. She scrambled to her feet, shocked and sputtering. A red blotch stained her elegant gown of white wool.
“You scoundrel!” she cried, humiliated in front of everyone. “Do you think you’re more of a man now?”
The accusing words brought a bestial grimace to the wrestler’s face. His gaze was fixed on Persephone, and he growled at her like a wild animal. “You’re going to pay for that,” he vowed through clenched teeth, “in blood.”
The wrestler seized Persephone’s arm with his left hand and balled his right into a fist. She tried to pull away but was unable to break free. The wrestler cocked his fist behind his head with a sadistic grin on his face. Then he leaned into his punch, putting the full force of his weight behind a blow that would surely break Persephone’s jaw.
But it never landed. Rex caught the man’s wrist in an iron grip before the blow could strike the helpless woman. “You don’t want to do that,” Rex said.
Infuriated, the wrestler turned to see who had taken hold of him. For a brief moment, the threesome was locked in a standoff, each held in the grip of another. Then the wrestler realized that to attack Rex, he would have to release his captive. When he turned her loose, Rex let go of the man’s wrist. As the two adversaries squared up, the rage in the wrestler’s eyes told Rex that a fight was unavoidable. It was only a matter of how it would end.
“Do you know who I am?” the wrestler snarled.
“I never even knew who you were, old-timer.”
The insult was more than the prideful wrestler could endure. Gnashing his teeth, he launched himself at Rex. It was the kind of fierce attack that had probably overwhelmed many a wrestler, not to mention whatever rabble the man had taken to bullying at the local bar. What he didn’t know was that this time, he had chosen to attack an elite special forces operative whose training was not for sport but for war.
The wrestler was in good shape for someone of middle age, and his strength was still considerable. Perhaps he could have made a decent fight of it if he hadn’t been so overconfident. After feinting a left jab, he swung a right haymaker that would have knocked another opponent senseless. But Rex saw it coming before the guy’s fist even started moving. Instead of ducking or dodging, Rex leaned into the punch and smashed his left elbow against the attacker’s biceps, a painful and jarring blow. He also threw his right forearm into his attacker’s throat. In the same instant, Rex stepped between the man’s feet and used the pivot to throw the man to the ground. To make sure the fight was over, Rex stomped on the wrestler’s gut, knocking the wind from him. He lay on the tiled floor, gasping and moaning.
Unfortunately, not all the men in Poseidon’s Trident appreciated Rex’s gallant intervention. He was a stranger here, while the wrestler apparently had friends in the room. Several other bulky men rose from their tables and began to approach. They all had the same cocky demeanor of former athletes who were used to pushing people around. “You think you’re some kind of fighter, eh, German?” one of the men sneered as the other three spread out and surrounded Rex. The speaker had a close-cropped haircut and a big gap where a tooth was missing.
Through an open doorway behind the aggressive athletes, four armored soldiers entered the tavern. Having been drawn by the commotion, they had their weapons out. Rex immediately recognized their arrival as his best exit strategy. Raising his two palms toward the whole room, he said loudly, “I’ve got no fight with anyone here. My lady and I are just on our way out.”
“She ain’t your lady!” Gap Tooth cried.
“I am his lady,” Persephone said, catching the eyes of the soldiers as she stepped close to Rex and took his hand. “We’re leaving now, and we don’t want any trouble. There’s a silver piece on the table that will cover a round of drinks for everyone.”
The unexpected generosity brought a cheer from the room and a surge toward the urn of spiced wine at the bar. In the sudden hubbub, Rex and Persephone slipped out the door and left Poseidon’s Trident behind. After rounding a corner, Persephone released Rex’s hand. “I’m in your debt,” she said.
“I don’t think it’s over yet,” Rex replied as he peeked around the corner. The four athletes had emerged from the tavern and were spreading into the streets to take up their pursuit away from the soldiers’ watchful eyes. One of them hailed two nearby friends, who dropped what they were doing and joined the chase. “Guys like this form a tight gang,” Rex explained. “A defeat of one is like a defeat of them all. Until they think they’ve gotten the best of me, they won’t stop trying to regain their honor.”
“They’ll try to get the best of me too—but in a different way. I know how depraved those men can be.”
Rex turned toward Persephone and looked her in the eye. “Don’t be afraid, alright? I know what to do here. I’ll stay with you until you’re safe.”
The reassuring words brought obvious gratitude to the beautiful woman’s face. “What’s your name?” she asked, surprising Rex by switching over to throaty Alemannic German.
He introduced himself in the same language, then beckoned for Persephone to follow him into an alley. “Are you married to that wrestler?”
“No! He bought me from army slave traders after my village lost a battle. I lived with him and kept him happy until he signed the papers for my emancipation. Now I’m free. But I have nowhere to go. The money was all his.”
“We’ll find you a place to stay. I think you can shelter with—”
“There they are!” shouted a voice, followed by the sound of running feet.
Rex grabbed Persephone’s hand. “Stay close. I’ll get you out of this.”
They took a zigzag route through Nicomedia’s narrow alleys behind the waterfront shops, yet the angry athletes kept up their pursuit. Twice Rex had to dodge into a side street because he saw one of the searchers ahead. Finally, he spotted what he needed: a direct route out of the maze. “Stand here,” he told Persephone.
She obeyed, stepping onto a wooden pallet attached by ropes at its four corners to a single hook overhead. The hook dangled from the boom of a crane being used to repair an aqueduct, though no one was at work on it now. Rex climbed into the crane’s treadwheel and began to walk. Persephone uttered a little squeak and grabbed one of the ropes as Rex hauled her up. She was so light that the big machine, designed to lift heavy blocks of stone, easily raised her.
No sooner had Persephone stepped from the pallet onto the top of the aqueduct than one of Rex’s pursuers spotted him in the treadwheel. “Over here!” the man shouted to his comrades, and they began to close in. Rex scrambled out of the wheel’s interior and began to ascend the boom. Its tip was quite a bit higher than the aqueduct, and a gap intervened between the machine and the water conduit where Persephone stood waiting.
“Throw off that pallet!” Rex shouted to her as three pursuers reached the crane and began to climb up after him.
By the time Rex reached the tip of the boom, Persephone had managed to release the loops that supported the pallet, which landed on the pavement below with a loud crash. Now there was only an iron hook dangling at the end of the boom’s line. Rex gauged the distance to the aqueduct’s surface where Persephone stared back at him, wide-eyed at the thought that he might be about to jump. It would be almost impossible to leap so far and remain on the narrow width of the aqueduct. Rex’s momentum would surely cause him to tumble off its edge. Instead, he beckoned to Persephone for the hook. She pitched it to him, and he caught it. Then, just as one of his pursuers made a lunge for his heels, Rex leapt from the crane’s boom.
Swinging at the end of the cable like a pendulum, Rex let his momentum carry him past the aqueduct. After reaching the end of his arc, he spun himself midair and focused on catching the side of the aqueduct with his feet to arrest his motion. He managed to do it, though not without smacking his ankles against the immovable stone edifice. Wincing at the sharp pain, Rex set both feet firmly on top of the aqueduct, then raised his eyes toward his pursuers.
The three of them were squatting on the boom like apes in a tree, with Gap Tooth at the tip. “Looking for this?” Rex asked him, holding up the hook.
Gap Tooth had no response except to snarl in impotent frustration. Rex turned away from the crane and hurled the hook into the branches of a nearby oak. It snagged there with its cable far from the aqueduct, tangled and unable to be drawn back to the boom.
The three pursuers started hurling curses across the unbridgeable gap, but Rex ignored them. Instead, he turned to Persephone and gestured to the wide, smooth top of the aqueduct that stretched away in both directions like a sidewalk in the sky. “Shall we go for a stroll?” he asked her politely.
“Ja, mein Freund,” the beautiful woman replied, then took Rex’s arm and let him lead her away.
The city guards had just opened Alexandria’s Moon Gate for the day when Flavia arrived at the Church of Theonas. Instead of entering the church, whose services wouldn’t begin for another half hour, she walked to the gate and peeked out. “We’ll keep an eye on ya,” a friendly guard said. “Ain’t no one around this early, anyways.” And with that encouragement, Flavia left the city for a few moments of quiet reflection.
Unlike the eastern gate, the Moon Gate didn’t have a suburban village outside of it, only a small necropolis and some garden plots. The coastline was nearby, so Flavia walked over to the sandy beach where the waves lapped against the shore. To her right was the western harbor of Alexandria, the Harbor of Good Return. It was separated from the Great Harbor by a long causeway that ran out to Lighthouse Island. A canal emptied into the sea here, admitting barge traffic from Lake Mareotis and the entire length of the Nilus. Even though so much commerce converged on this one spot, the city hadn’t quite awakened yet on this Sun Day, so Flavia found her seaside location to be lonely and quiet, at least for the moment.
“Rex, what have you got planned for the day?” she wondered aloud, as if her words could be carried across the sea to his listening ears. Though being separated from her husband again was difficult, Flavia was glad that at least he faced no dangers like when he was commissioned into the army by Caesar Crispus. Nevertheless, she missed Rex sorely. The additional absence of her mother made things even more challenging. Yet Flavia had resolved to trust the Lord in this time of separation. Like many military wives, she understood that enduring time apart was just part of life.
The morning sun glittered on the water, and a light wind raised whitecaps out at sea. Though it was late February now, it rarely got cold in Alexandria, so Flavia needed only a light cloak to ward off the chill. She pulled it tight around her shoulders, then extended her hands with her palms upraised in a gesture of prayer. There on the beach, she prayed for Rex’s service to the church, his safety, and his speedy return. At least it isn’t like Sicilia, she reminded herself after her prayers were finished. During those years as a nun, she used to stare at the sea and wonder if she’d ever see Rex again. That uncertainty felt far worse than just being separated from her husband for a few months. Thank you, Lord, she added to her prayer, for giving this man to me!
Returning through the gate into the city, Flavia entered the Church of Theonas and found a place to stand among the other women in the left aisle. Soon, the clergy proceeded down the center of the nave, then the liturgy of the Word began. After the scripture readings and singing, Bishop Alexander gave a sermon on a passage from Isaiah. When he was finished, the liturgy of the Eucharist offered the body and blood of Christ to the people through the symbolic figures of bread and wine. Just before the dismissal, the bishop took a few moments to make some announcements—and one of them caught Flavia by surprise. She moved forward among the women so she could hear a little better.
“Our most excellent and pious emperor has sent us a letter,” Alexander informed the congregation, “and its contents deserve to be heard by all.” The bishop then proceeded to read Constantine’s letter in which he announced the convening of a great council at Nicaea to determine the proper understanding of the Divine Triad. Delegates from far and wide were being summoned to that city in May, with the privilege to use the imperial postal system for their travels. Bishop Ossius would preside over the council’s proceedings. Constantine’s letter to Alexander concluded with the words, “Therefore I urge you to assemble promptly at Nicaea with four attendants of your choosing to assist you in all things. Be diligent to come speedily so that you may be present as a spectator and participant in our various deliberations about holy doctrine. God keep you, my beloved brother.”
The church service ended with a pastoral blessing and the people began to leave, but Flavia lingered in the hall, waiting for a chance to speak privately with the bishop. After he had finished conversing with the last congregant, Flavia approached him. He smiled warmly at her and said, “Beloved Candida, let us step outside where God’s sun shall warm us.” The two of them adjourned to a sunny courtyard adjacent to the church.
After exchanging a few pleasantries with her pastor, Flavia got right to the point. “I wish to attend the council at Nicaea.”
Alexander arched his eyebrows in surprise. “To what purpose, dear one?”
“My reasons are several,” Flavia explained. “For one, I have come to see the doctrines of Arius as dangerous, and I wish to be part of their defeat within the church. I also know my husband and mother will surely be at the council—for wherever Ossius goes, they must follow. So I would like to see them sooner rather than later, if possible.”
“Are those your only reasons?”
“There is another,” Flavia admitted, though she found herself feeling uncertain about voicing it. Gathering her courage, she said, “It is a spiritual reason, coming from a prophetic word spoken to me by Athanasius. He says my life of retirement is ending, and I have a role to play in church affairs again—though what it is, I do not know.”
Alexander turned away from Flavia for a moment, appearing uncertain about his reply. At last, he reached into a pouch at his waist and brought out five clay tokens, each marked with the post office’s insignia. “Do you see these, Candida? Only five of us from Alexandria may attend this council. Consider the duties that are needed. Athanasius must go with me to help address theological matters. There must also be a scribe to take down notes and records. The fourth person must be a brawny man such as Philip, for the overland journey will take two months and the road isn’t safe without a bodyguard. And then, of course, my personal manservant must attend to my daily needs. So as you can see, the five are already accounted for.”
“I do not ask for the use of a token, nor for anyone to pay my way. I am able to cover all my expenses, if you will only let me join you. Please, Holy Father, I ask it of you.”
Now Alexander grew uncomfortable. He rubbed his forehead, then absently brushed a braid of his wig away from his face. “There is a further problem, Candida,” he said. “You are a woman. You cannot come with us men. Such a thing is not done in the church—not for a council like this.”
The bishop’s statement was startling to Flavia, to the point of being offensive. Instead of backing down, she said, “Such a thing is done in the church! Many years ago, I attended the council of Arelate at my bishop’s invitation. Even now, my own mother is offering a woman’s gifts to Ossius in the holiness of their friendship. There’s no reason I couldn’t accompany you to Nicaea.”
Though Bishop Alexander seemed surprised by the strength of Flavia’s protest, he didn’t relent. With a new firmness etched upon his face, he again told her no, then quoted a scripture from First Corinthians. “‘Woman was created for man,’” he intoned. “‘For this reason, a woman ought to have authority over her head.’ So says the apostle Paul. It is the natural order of God’s design.”
Since Flavia knew how that passage concluded, she didn’t hesitate to speak the rest of the words aloud. “‘Nevertheless,’” she added, “‘in the Lord, a woman is not independent of man, nor is a man independent of woman. But everything comes from God.’” And with that scriptural affirmation still hanging in the air, Flavia bowed to her bishop, bid him good day, and left him alone with his thoughts in the church courtyard.
