Caesar's Lord, page 31
“My beloved children, I greet you in the Lord,” Sylvester began. “We are gathered today for a most holy purpose: the reconciliation of penitent sinners, whom we welcome with open arms, as does our God, whose mercies are everlasting.”
“Amen,” the people said in unison. And the most emphatic of all were the five penitents standing at the front of the church.
After some opening remarks from the scriptures, the bishop asked his five lost sheep—now found again—to come stand beside him. Each of them offered a simple word of public confession. “I joined the sect of the Manichaeans,” they admitted. “I denied my Savior, whose ways are blasphemed in that cult.”
“And is your repentance genuine?” Sylvester probed.
“Yes, Holy Father,” each of them affirmed.
“And have you made an outward sign of your inward repentance through a season of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving?”
“Yes, Holy Father,” the penitents repeated.
“Then hear this word of scripture: ‘In our Lord Jesus Christ, we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he lavished upon us.”
“Amen!” exclaimed the five penitents, signing themselves with the cross.
Now it was time for the laying on of hands. Sylvester approached each of the penitents—two women and three men—and placed his palm upon their heads. Then he touched their ears and their mouths, signifying that what goes in and what comes out of them was cleansed by God. All five of the restored Christians had tears in their eyes when they received the bishop’s healing touch after having so grievously sinned.
Sylvester then raised his hands over the congregation. “My people, come forward and embrace your brethren! In Christ, their sins are forgiven, like yours and mine as well. I pronounce these brethren clean!”
The congregants surged forward at these welcoming words. They surrounded their beloved fellow Christians with warmth and acceptance. Tears were flowing freely now—tears of exultation at the sweet release from bondage. Sylvester noticed one woman in particular whose eyes glistened and whose face was marked by radiant joy. She was the godly woman Lucretia, whom Sylvester had seen at the Great Friday service upon the Aventine Hill. Lucretia was being held close in the embrace of her forgiven husband, Justin. When Sylvester had last seen that man, he was vomiting on the pavement in a drunken stupor. Now here he was, restored to his wife . . . to the church . . . to God himself. No longer would Justin gorge himself on the delicacies and wine with which the local Manichaeans bribed the people. From now on, Justin would feast beside Lucretia upon the body and blood of Christ.
After the reconciliation service was over, Sylvester didn’t get a chance to sit down until the last congregant was greeted and the Hall of the Church fell silent. It was a good church—not as beautiful as the newer ones, yet tastefully decorated and spacious enough for meeting since the building had once been a granary. Sylvester sat on a little wooden bench to quiet his spirit and reflect on God’s powerful work in this place. Centuries ago, the apostle Paul was kept under house arrest not far from here. A Christian congregation of converted pagans and Jews sprung up in Trans Tiberim. Even today, this was a vibrant and historic meeting place of Rome’s Christians.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” asked a speaker whom Sylvester could not see. He turned his head to find that Quintus had entered by a side door.
“Indeed! Come and sit beside me, brother.”
When Quintus had taken a seat, Sylvester discerned that he was troubled. Sylvester was about to inquire about his friend’s distress when the archdeacon spoke up. “I am leaving the catholic church,” he declared.
For a long moment—very long, in fact—neither man spoke. Finally, Sylvester said, “How come?”
“It is complicated. But the simple answer is, I am joining the Manichaeans. I will be leading a congregation that meets in the old Pantheon.”
Sylvester found himself in one of those pastoral moments when many opposing reactions were possible. What response was needed here? Sharp rebuke? Skillful rebuttal? Prudent silence? Earnest pleading? Though all of these had their place, Sylvester chose none of them. Instead, moved by what could only be the Holy Spirit, he said, “I reject those doctrines. They imperil your soul. But, my brother, I will never reject you.”
The words seemed to bring immense relief to the archdeacon. “That wasn’t what I expected you to say.”
“You have served God’s church for many years. You are my friend. I cannot reject you. Yet I fear to see your soul lost to perdition. Is your mind made up in this matter?”
“Yes, firmly so. It is the next step in my intellectual journey. I can no longer remain in the simplicity of the catholic faith. The Manichaeans appeal to my mind in a way that the church does not.”
“They only seem to be intellectual, Quintus. It is an illusion that will evaporate under closer scrutiny. And our own faith has a rich tradition of thinkers. Men like Justin the Martyr, Irenaeus, Tertullian, Origen. Brilliant minds, all of them.”
“You omit ones like Valentinus and Basilides.”
“Those men were not orthodox. They denied the true humanity of our Lord. He only ‘seemed’ to be human, they said.”
“I have read their secret books. They contain a deep wisdom not found in your congregations.”
“It is pseudo-wisdom. Not the real thing. Not truth.”
“What is truth, Sylvester?”
The two men glanced at each other, communicating with their eyes instead of using words. Both of them knew the scriptures well enough to recognize who had first uttered those words: Pontius Pilate, the executioner of the Lord.
Another long silence lingered between the two men. At last, Sylvester rose to his feet. “The Christian faith is freely entered into, so it can be freely left as well. Whether God will let you leave is another matter altogether.”
Quintus stood up too. “I must find out. There is no other path for me but this one.”
“If this is the path you must take, so be it.”
Sylvester left Quintus’s side and walked to the altar in the Hall of the Church. However, he didn’t remain facing it. Instead, he turned and beckoned to the somber yet resolute archdeacon who was still beside the bench. “Come close, my friend,” Sylvester said.
When Quintus had drawn near, Sylvester threw wide his arms. Quintus accepted the gesture and let his longtime bishop clasp him tight. For a while, the two men were locked in a sad and silent embrace. Finally, they separated.
“I thank you for that,” Quintus said with tears in his eyes. “Will I ever see you again?”
“I pray it shall be so,” Sylvester replied, “right here, at the altar of God’s church, when the Good Shepherd recovers you to himself.”
JANUARY 326
Flavia’s autumn in Nicomedia had seemed more like a holiday than real life. It had not, however, been a time with nothing to do. Though Constantine didn’t depart for the west immediately after the Nicene council was over, his entourage did make a few circuits through Asia and Thracia as preliminaries to his grand victory tour. Rex and Flavia participated in those trips, not only providing counsel to the emperor but serving as goodwill ambassadors to church leaders in every city. The job was invigorating, encouraging, and exhausting all at the same time. Flavia felt honored to be meeting so many bishops, along with their wives or other prominent Christian women. Yet the emperor’s trips always circled back to Nicomedia. It wasn’t until late January that Constantine finally departed from his palace with his eyes set on Rome.
The entourage went first to New Rome—or the “City of Constantine” as the locals preferred to call it. Flavia could sense the city’s high energy because the emperor was making it his new, eastern capital. The heightened prestige and influx of imperial funds had set everyone abuzz.
“They seem like bees making a new hive,” Flavia told her mother on the day they left New Rome after a three-week stay.
Sophronia, who was sitting in the carriage across from Flavia, nodded her agreement. “This is God’s beehive,” she replied, then quoted a proverb. “‘Gracious words are honeycombs, and their sweetness is healing to the soul.’ Let us pray that New Rome will be such a city.”
From his seat beside Sophronia, Bishop Ossius offered another biblical proverb that served as a warning: “‘It is not good to eat much honey, nor glorious to seek one’s own glory.’ I hope this city remembers that as well.” The somber words made the travelers fall silent as they contemplated two possible futures for Constantine’s grand capital.
The calendar had just turned to March when the entourage reached Thessalonica. Constantine was planning a lengthy stay here, for this city had deep Christian roots going back to the missionary journeys of Saint Paul. Rex and Flavia were assigned a modest room in the imperial palace, with Sophronia in an adjacent room. Ossius, of course, stayed in an entirely different wing of the palace.
After a formal dinner on the night of their arrival, hosted jointly by Constantine and the city’s current bishop, Flavia joined Rex for a nighttime stroll. Both of them were in a reflective mood, for their memories of this place were a mixture of good and bad. The former bishop, Basil, had welcomed them warmly the first time they had come here. He had even shown them Saint Paul’s original letters to the Thessalonians, written by the apostle himself. Yet evil men had destroyed those letters and cut off Basil’s hand, leading to his eventual death. Rex had also been imprisoned in a waterfront jail. Flavia couldn’t help but feel that Thessalonica was a city of contradictions.
Though she and Rex had only planned to wander the streets tonight with no destination in mind, somehow—perhaps by subtle intent—they came to a large mansion that both of them knew. It was the house of Cato and Marcia, where Flavia was once cruelly enslaved as a handmaiden to the mistress. Lady Marcia eventually emancipated Flavia, and even seemed willing to profess Christ at that time. But Flavia lost touch with her mistress after she left Thessalonica.
“Should we stop in?” she asked Rex.
“Let’s speak with the doorkeeper and see what kind of man he is.”
Flavia followed her husband as he approached the husky guard at the house’s entrance. The overhead door lamp cast a flickering glow on his swarthy face. “Hail, friend,” Rex said. “I greet you in the name of the Lord.”
“Christ’s peace be upon you, brother.”
“Aha! You’re a Christian, then?”
“For many years. I was baptized by Bishop Basil.”
“He was a fine man! Is this a Christian house?”
“Aye, for that is the only kind of servant the mistress wants in her home.”
“She is a believer too?”
“Lady Marcia is a woman of our faith. Her husband has yet to believe. We pray for this often. All the servants pray together every night before extinguishing the lamps. Master Cato seems to be softening to the things of God.”
“Are they home?” Rex asked. “We used to know them.”
“The master is away because he’s being transferred to a distant port to the east. They shall move there this summer. The mistress has gone to the countryside in the meantime.”
Now Flavia approached the friendly Christian doorkeeper. “You must give the mistress an important message from me. It is a word of encouragement from someone who helped her along the path toward Christ.”
“What is your message, sister? I won’t forget.”
“Tell Lady Marcia that Flavia, her former ornatrix, gives her a warm greeting. Tell her that I wear this”—she put her hand to her throat, touching a gold pendant bejeweled with a ruby—“with the honor of a fellow sister in the Lord. Tell her I think of her with love.”
“I will be sure to pass on these things,” the doorkeeper said.
After a few more pleasantries, Rex and Flavia turned to go. Flavia was only a few steps away when she turned back around. “Is Marcia a cruel mistress or a tender one?” she asked.
“She’s tender,” the guard said, “though it doesn’t always come easy for her.”
Thank you, Father. You are a worker of mighty deeds! Flavia crossed herself in a spirit of holy awe, then bid the guard goodnight.
Several weeks passed in Thessalonica, full of banquets and ecclesial celebrations. But by early April, Flavia could tell the emperor was growing restless again.
“Do we have to leave so soon?” Empress Fausta complained one Sun Day morning after church.
“We have stayed too long already,” Constantine countered. “The road beckons.”
“I hate the road,” Fausta muttered.
Constantine gestured toward Flavia. “You shall ride with my wife. Encourage her in the Lord as you go along. Speak of theological things.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Flavia answered with a bow of her head.
Fausta simply shrugged. “Better than crusty old bishops, I guess.”
The road from Thessalonica headed north through the mountains toward the regional capital of Sirmium. Now the travel became noticeably rougher, and the carriage jostled on its iron-rimmed wheels. Though Flavia tried to chat with Fausta as they rode along, she could tell the empress was getting more irritable by the hour.
Instead of bothering the queen further, Flavia made lighthearted conversation with the three princes: Constantine Secundus, Constantius, and bright-eyed little Constans. They were sweet boys, and Fausta doted on them. Yet even maternal love couldn’t overcome her frustrations with the rigors of travel.
When the entourage reached the outskirts of Heraclea, located deep in the Macedonian mountains, Fausta reached her boiling point. Her complaints in Constantine’s ear could be heard by the whole camp through the fabric walls of the imperial tent. Though her harping infuriated Constantine—never a good idea, Flavia thought—she kept pressing him with gripe after gripe. Finally, she made the ultimate demand.
“I want to go home!” she shouted.
“You can’t leave the tour!” Constantine shot back. “A queen is needed at my side!”
“No more of this accursed road,” Fausta insisted. “I can go back to Nicomedia and await your return.”
“Impossible!”
Though Flavia wouldn’t normally have intervened in the emperor’s affairs, her months of closeness to the royal couple had given her more confidence in such matters. She approached the tent, and the bodyguard recognized her and waved her close. Peeking his head inside the door flap, he said, “Your counselor to see you, m’lady.”
“Send her in!” answered a voice—and surprisingly, it was Constantine’s.
Flavia slipped past the tent flap and found the husband and wife facing each other in a fierce staredown. Rather than continue to let the anger simmer, Flavia said, “I have a possible solution.”
“Spit it out,” Constantine replied irritably. “Maybe you can talk some sense into this bothersome woman.”
“I suggest a solution that balances both of your desires. We have arrived at a fork in the road. The highway to Sirmium is rough as it continues north. And the journey to Rome is far beyond that. But the Egnatian Way goes straight to Dyrrachium and reaches the coast on the fourth day.”
Constantine shook his head. “That isn’t on our route. I have to visit Sirmium. And Mediolanum too. They’re important cities.” Rolling his eyes, he added, “This is your great solution, Flavia?”
“Hear me out, Your Majesty. From Dyrrachium, one can sail to Rome. Surely there will be ships departing now that the seas are open. You could send the empress ahead, and she would be waiting for you in the capital. Isn’t that where you need her presence most? Perhaps she isn’t needed in all these lesser towns.”
“I’m for that!” Fausta exclaimed. “Just four more days of bumping along. Then a pleasant sail. Then luxury again.”
Unlike before, Constantine now seemed interested. “That sea voyage would take only ten days,” he mused. “Two weeks, and you could be in Rome. And you could bring some instructions for Sylvester.”
“Send me to Rome,” Fausta urged. “There is no better solution.”
“So be it,” Constantine replied.
Two days later, Fausta and her three boys were on the Egnatian Way. A detachment of soldiers was sent with them, and Rex was put in charge of those guards. Flavia’s job was to keep the empress in a pious state of mind as she rolled along. Some cooks, teamsters, and maidservants rounded out the entourage. Everyone else would stay with Constantine—including Sophronia and Ossius.
Now that Fausta was separated from her husband and all the accompanying demands of being a royal wife, her mood improved and she even became lighthearted. She chatted more freely, not only with Flavia but with the servants as well. Her bodyguard, Pantera, an Aethiops with skin the color of ebony, had a quick wit that seemed to amuse the queen. “You are clever like the raven!” she exclaimed.
“And fierce like the panther,” he answered with a wink.
When the travelers reached the port of Dyrrachium, the teamsters and most of the cooks were paid off and dismissed since they were no longer needed. Even some of the bodyguards were sent away because the rest of the trip would be by ship with a naval escort, so piracy wasn’t a threat like highway robbery could be. Yet when Rex was deciding which guards would be retained and which let go, Fausta intervened. “Keep the funny Aethiops,” she commanded, “the man they call Pantera.”
“I don’t recommend it,” Rex told her. “He isn’t trustworthy.”
“He has served me well, guardsman. Do as I say.”
Rex shrugged. “As you wish.” Flavia was glad he didn’t protest further, for the empress’s mind seemed made up. And the fact that she had called Rex “guardsman” indicated she was in no mood to be contradicted.
The sea voyage Constantine had predicted would take ten days ended up taking only nine. The travelers took passage on a Dalmatian freighter with a light and easy cargo of honey, high-end wines, and fine Greek pottery. By day five, the ship had cleared the dangerous strait between Italy and Sicilia. On day seven, the skillful captain reached Neapolis and called for a day of rest for his crew. Rex was also given a day off from his bodyguard duties while Pantera was made to work instead. Flavia was glad for the extra time with Rex. They spent the day at the seaside village of Puteoli, where a small chapel commemorated the long-ago visit of Saint Paul.
