Caesar's Lord, page 26
Over the next several weeks, the exchange with Bishop Alexander continued to bother Flavia. The more she thought about it—and the more she listened to the whisperings of her heart—the more convinced she became that Alexander was wrong to deny her the right to attend the council. If God was calling her there, no man should stand in her way, not even a bishop. The insights of God’s daughters would be just as needed at Nicaea as those of his sons.
A plan came together in Flavia’s mind. After several days of careful thought, she resolved to pursue it. She would join the trip as a private passenger, paying her own way in the carriage and asking for nothing in return. If the Christian travelers welcomed her, that would be fine. But if not, she would make her way to Nicaea alone. She would follow God’s will in this matter, not man’s. Flavia packed a traveling bag made of durable cloth, one she could handle by herself, and waited for the day of departure to arrive.
As always in the spring, the large ships of Alexandria were preparing to be loaded with grain for the annual delivery to Rome. Few, if any, were sailing to Nicomedia, the port from which an inland trip to Nicaea could be made. For this reason, and also because the bishop wished to visit some churches along the way, the Christian travelers intended to go by road, which meant they needed to leave plenty of time for a lengthy journey. Their departure in March would put their arrival at Nicaea in May. No doubt they would be joined by many other bishops along the road to create a holy caravan on its way to the city of victory.
Flavia found herself restless and unable to sleep the night before the departure. Finally, she rose from her bed about an hour before dawn. Although she could have waited for the company of Philip, who lived in her building and was serving as the trip’s bodyguard, she decided to head over to the Sun Gate by herself. The Christian expedition would depart through the eastern gate onto the Canopus Way. After leaving the lush Nilus delta at Pelusium, the travelers would take the ancient highway up the coast of Palaestina to Antiochia. From there they would swing into Asia, traversing the treacherous pass called the Cilician Gates and the windswept plateau beyond it, before finally arriving at Nicaea.
A private litter bore Flavia from her apartment to the Sun Gate since she didn’t want to lug her bag across the entire width of Alexandria. Alighting from the litter, she paid the leader of the porters, then walked toward the hostler’s station just inside the gate. The smell of hay and manure was thick in the air. A man stopped her at the entrance to the stable enclosure. “Your token?” he demanded.
“I am traveling with the churchmen, but I must purchase my own token and pay my own way.”
“Wait here,” the hostler said, then stepped inside the office.
The eastern sky had grown lighter now, though the sun still wasn’t above the horizon. Flavia tightened her cloak around herself against the predawn chill. As she waited, an uneasy feeling began to creep into her mind. Technically, she wasn’t part of the official embassy to Nicaea, so for her to use the imperial travel system required a kind of bribe. Though Flavia hadn’t lied to the hostler, she was not a legitimate member of the delegation. It didn’t feel right to start such a holy expedition by skirting the truth.
She glanced to the city wall above the gate. A handsome guard stood there, watching the landscape lest any shady characters approach the city by night. Now the dawn was near, and his duties were almost finished. And then, with the sudden clarity that often comes to prophetic women, a scripture struck Flavia’s heart and melted her resolve to take this ill-considered journey. God spoke to her through the 129th psalm, whose words were so powerful and distinct, it seemed as if a heavenly voice had uttered them aloud: “I wait for the Lord, yes, my soul does wait, and in his word do I hope. My soul waits for the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning.”
I must wait, Flavia realized. I must wait for God to lead me into whatever he wishes to do through me for his church. Not my timing, but his.
Immediately, Flavia left the hostler’s station with her bag upon her shoulder. The porters were lingering near the gate with their litter, hoping for another customer. Flavia beckoned to them, and they were only too happy to receive a double fare by taking her right back to where she had started. They dropped her off at her apartment building on the flanks of the Serapeum hill. The streets of Alexandria were still quiet, and only a few pedestrians were about. Everything was as it should be. It felt good and right to be home.
Flavia was about to trudge upstairs, at peace with her change of plans, when a voice hailed her from behind. She set down her bag and turned around. Bishop Alexander!
He approached slowly. As he drew near, Flavia thought he had a look of contrition upon his face. Reaching out, he took her hand in both of his. “Over these last weeks, the Lord hasn’t released my heart for the way I brushed you aside,” he told her solemnly. “Your words stayed with me, no matter how much I tried to ignore them. And your interpretation of scripture was more correct than mine. Will you forgive me, Candida?”
“Yes, Holy Father, of course! Every Christian needs the Lord’s grace.”
Now a smile returned to the bishop. “I am relieved!” he said with restored energy. “And it brings me to another matter.” Alexander held out his hand. A token of the imperial post lay in his palm. “I believe you’ll be needing this,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “for I have decided that my documents at Nicaea must appear in the beautiful handwriting of a holy daughter of God.”
Though the surface of the aqueduct was smooth and flat, it wasn’t extremely wide. Rex found that he and Persephone could walk two abreast, but there wasn’t much room on either side. Since Persephone seemed nervous about falling off, she nestled close to Rex and clung to his arm, which seemed reasonable given the drop-off. Her perfume smelled of roses and myrrh—a pleasing aroma, Rex decided.
The aqueduct passed through a run-down neighborhood of Nicomedia, whose inhabitants were too downtrodden to care about a couple of pedestrians strolling overhead. As Rex and Persephone walked along, they chatted in the Alemannic dialect of German about inconsequential things like the weather and imperial politics. But soon the conversation turned to more personal topics.
“You’re from the homeland, I take it?” Rex asked.
“Ja! From a village along the Moenus. Not far from where it joins the Rhenus.”
“Me too!” Rex exclaimed. “I lived my first years there. Such great memories of those forests and streams. Then we moved to Britannia, with the legions at Eboracum.”
“An army family, eh? Your father must have served with King Chrocus.”
Rex fell silent for a moment, unsure of how much personal information he wanted to share with this stranger. Yet she seemed like a good person, a woman in need and not one to be feared, so he decided to be honest. “Actually, my father is King Chrocus,” he admitted, then waited for a response.
It was a long time coming, but when it finally came, Persephone’s single word nearly knocked Rex off the aqueduct. “Brandulf?”
Rex’s head swung around. With his mouth agape, he stared at Persephone’s perfectly shaped face. “You know me?”
“I am Gisela.”
Gisela! She was a little tyke a few years younger than Rex from the next village upstream in Alemannia. Rex remembered her as an elfish playmate with whom he used to romp in the woods—the only girl who could keep up with him and didn’t mind getting dirty in the process. She had hair so fair it was almost white, always plaited into two braids that fell upon her shoulders. And she could throw axes better than him, a fact he had never forgotten.
“My old friend!” he exclaimed, still speaking in German. Leaning in, he embraced Gisela, then released her quickly lest she get the wrong idea. He smiled at her and shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s you, after all these years! We used to have so much fun, running around in the wilderness like little barbarians.”
“The old country seems like a different world to me now,” she replied sadly, her gaze falling to her feet. “Much has happened since then.”
“Let’s continue to walk,” Rex suggested, “and we’ll tell our stories, as much as we wish.”
The pair resumed their arm-in-arm walking down the length of the aqueduct. They decided to continue with their current names rather than revert to their childhood ones since Germanic names would signal their outsider status. Gisela had received the Greek name Persephone when she was captured as a teenager and trafficked into the empire. The warriors of her village had staged a raid against a Roman outpost, and in retaliation, the Romans burned the village and enslaved its residents. Her father, the village chief, was executed. Persephone’s beauty had led her into the world of high-class courtesans. Lately, she had been running in Nicomedia’s elite social circles. But now her future was uncertain.
“How about you?” Persephone asked. “I would have guessed an army career, but that sharp tunic makes you look more like a successful businessman than a soldier.”
“I started out in the military. Did a stint in the special forces, attached to the Second Italian Legion. Rowed in the navy too. I picked up the name Rex in cadet school when they found out my father was a king. It was more about mockery than respect, but anyway, the name stuck. Now I’m out of the army. I live in Alexandria with my wife. I’m a catechist for the catholic church, and I also carry the sick on stretchers for medical care.”
“Oh, Rex,” Persephone said with genuine admiration, “it’s so noble what you Christians do. I wish I could believe in your God.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Well . . . until now, I haven’t been allowed to believe what I want. My masters have dictated my religion. Now that I’m free, I guess I could explore other things.”
“Come to church with me,” Rex invited. “You’ll find Jesus to be the opposite of every other lord you’ve ever known. He gives to you instead of taking away.”
“Much has been taken from me by my lords,” Persephone admitted, and Rex understood not to press any further.
The conversation moved on to other topics. Now that it was early afternoon, the walkers found themselves overdressed beneath the direct glare of the sun and removed their cloaks. They came to an access hatch in the aqueduct covered by a stone slab with an iron ring embedded in it.
“Can we drink from it?” Persephone asked. “I’m so thirsty.”
Rex shrugged. “I don’t see why not. The water here is the same that comes out of the faucet.”
Kneeling beside the hatch, he grasped the ring and lifted the heavy slab. Cool air whooshed up from the opening as he set the slab aside. The sound of gurgling water met his ears. Leaning down, he was able to scoop it with his cupped hand and take a drink.
“Is it good?” Persephone asked, kneeling across the hole from Rex.
“It’s great. Try it.”
Smiling mischievously like the little imp Rex remembered from long ago, Persephone reached into the hatch and scooped water of her own. “It’s so pure and sweet!” she said with delight in her eyes. Again and again, she brought up more water, leaning far down and cupping it in both hands. It dribbled down her chin, but she didn’t seem to care. She leaned into the hole again, and Rex noticed a trickle of water run down her slender throat and—
“It sure is sunny today,” he remarked, glancing at the cloudless sky. “I’m glad we found this drink.”
“Me too,” Persephone replied as she guzzled water from her hands like she used to do from the bubbling brooks of Germania.
When their thirst was slaked, Rex replaced the hatch cover and the pair resumed walking. Their destination was Nicomedia’s main bathhouse, the Baths of Antoninus, named in honor of the emperor who restored the grand building after an earthquake.
Arriving at the baths, Rex found that the aqueduct terminated at a holding tank open to the sky. Water poured out of the conduit and into the tank as if a countryside waterfall had been transported to the middle of the city. Pipes sprouted from the sides of the tank, serving the bathhouse or nearby mansions. But on the far side of the pool, Rex spotted the structure he was hoping for: a staircase that allowed maintenance workers to reach the rim of the tank. Its top step was just above the water’s surface, and it descended to the ground outside the tank.
He glanced at Persephone. “Up for a swim?” he asked, gesturing at the pool.
“When have I ever said no to that?”
Before Rex could reply, Persephone dove into the water in a graceful arc. Astonished, and with no little admiration for her plucky spirit, Rex dove in after her.
The pair swam to the stairs, hauled themselves out of the water, and descended to the ground. They were soaking wet in an unknown part of the city, but they didn’t care. It felt good to be on level ground again. Persephone’s white dress, with its wine stain still upon it, clung to her lithe body in a way that made Rex avert his eyes. She shook her hair, spraying droplets everywhere, then smoothed her blonde locks back from her head. Her sandals were in her hand, making her seem like some kind of barefooted water nymph. Rex wrung as much water as he could from his tunic, but he didn’t remove his boots. They were of a military style, open between the lacings and made to shed water.
“Where to?” Persephone asked.
“I’ll get you to a safe place before I take my leave,” Rex told his friend. “I think we can find shelter for you among the Christians. Let’s head to the basilica. I know people there who can help you start a new life.”
Persephone, however, had a different idea. “I might take you up on that later, but I think we should get dry first. I have a friend at a mansion near here. A courtesan like me.” She paused, then corrected herself. “Like I used to be.”
The mansion was only a block away, situated in a row of other fine homes near the city’s grand baths. The master of the house was away on business, and as it turned out, Persephone’s friend was absent too. Yet the household servants obviously knew Persephone and were accustomed to her coming and going. Instead of regarding her as a fellow slave, they deferred to her elite status within the master’s social circle.
A valet showed Rex to a small bedroom off the house’s atrium. He shed his wet clothes and was given a plain garment to wear while his tunic and trousers were dried by the fire in the kitchen. “Keep my boots away from the heat or the leather will dry out,” he told the valet, who nodded obediently as he took away the clothes.
Barefoot and wearing what amounted to a night shirt, Rex returned to the atrium. Persephone was already there, reclining on a divan in a silk wrap tied at the waist with a sash. Her long legs were folded beneath her, and a cup of wine was in her hand. She tipped her head to indicate the decanter on a nearby table. “Have some,” she invited.
Rex poured a cup for himself and tasted the wine—a sweet red with not much water mixed in. “A good vintage,” he acknowledged, then took a seat on a couch opposite Persephone.
For the next several hours, the two friends chatted in Alemannic German, recalling many fond memories and sharing stories as the time slipped by. The language of Rex’s youth came naturally to him, even after so many years of speaking Greek and Latin. It felt good to utter words that started from the throat and had real punch when they came out. The wine put Rex in a relaxed mood, and he found Persephone to be an excellent conversationalist.
Around dusk, the servants came in and lit the lamps in the atrium. The warm glow reflected off Persephone’s smooth skin and seemed to make her hair glitter like gold. She smiled at him shyly yet also coquettishly . . . an unbelievably attractive woman.
But Rex was no fool. He knew himself, he knew how the world worked, and he knew it was time to go. He was relieved when the valet entered the atrium and announced that his clothing was dry. The man held Rex’s folded tunic and trousers in his arms, with the boots on top in a woolen bag.
Rex took his garments from the valet and stepped behind a fine tapestry into the adjacent bedroom. The little room was lit by a single lamp, its dancing flame causing shadows to flicker in the corners. He took off the borrowed shirt and pulled on his trousers, a Germanic form of attire that the Romans had adopted too. When Rex sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his boots, he caught the scent of aloe and cinnamon arising from the linen covers. He had just stood up and was about to tug his maroon tunic over his head when he heard a single word whispered from behind.
“Brandulf.”
He turned. Persephone was there, her hourglass figure backlit by the glow from the atrium. She let the tapestry fall into the doorway behind her, bringing her into clear view. Rex’s heart began to pound in his chest, and his entire being was aroused by the intoxication of the moment.
Persephone reached to the knot of the sash that held her wrap together. “I have always wanted you,” she told him as she began to untie it. “Taste and see.”
“I will,” Rex replied.
8
MAY 325
The road from Nicomedia to Nicaea traversed a rolling landscape dotted with farms, vineyards, and orchards of pears, apples, pistachios, and olives. Although the road trip could be reduced by sailing a short distance from Nicomedia and taking the most direct inland route, Constantine didn’t mind making the entire journey by carriage, even if it would take a bit longer to arrive. The scenery was beautiful, the region lush and verdant. In fact, one of the most highly regarded experts on agriculture, Diophanes by name, was born in Nicaea. His writings on agricultural methods were still read today, four hundred years after his lifetime. The city of Nicaea produces food for the body, Constantine mused as he stared out the carriage window, but will it also provide nourishment for the soul? Only time would tell.
Although the emperor was enjoying his leisurely ride, the weight of anxiety was never far from him. The stakes were high, for much was riding on the outcome of this council. Constantine had summoned bishops from the whole empire—from the Euphrates River to the western ocean at the end of the world. At last count, over three hundred bishops had signaled their intent to attend. Many had already arrived in Nicaea, and others were on their way, mostly from the east, though a few from the Latin-speaking west as well. Such a great investment of time, effort, and resources couldn’t be allowed to go to waste. The doctrine of the Triad—or the Trinity as they called it in Latin—would have to be determined at this council, one way or the other. Constantine intended to make sure everyone got on board with whatever was decided.
