Caesar's Lord, page 46
“It’s a house,” Rex said as he examined what Macarius was trying to reveal. “Israelite homes always had a yard enclosed by walls.”
Macarius’s face lit up at Rex’s confirmation of his point. “That’s right! And they kept their animals within the walls for safety and warmth. Here, the cave would have served as the stable for the residence, no question.”
“What is inside it?” Helena asked.
“Come see, my sister,” Macarius replied.
The empress went to the cave’s opening and peered inside, though she didn’t stoop low enough to enter. The others each took turns looking into the stable. When Flavia’s turn came, she saw that the snug little space would have served well as a place to house a donkey or a few sheep and goats. A wooden feeding trough filled with fresh hay was in the middle of the room. Some oil lamps and a small brazier for incense had been set on the floor.
“The local Christians maintain this place for spiritual devotion,” Macarius said. “Many pilgrims come here for the festival in January.”
“Soon to be December,” Helena corrected.
Macarius dipped his chin politely. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” And again, Flavia saw him exchange a quick glance with Eusebius.
Since there wasn’t much else to see at the cave of Christ’s birth, the empress left with her advisers to draw up plans for the Church of the Nativity. That evening, after everyone had retired to their rooms in Bethlehem’s brand-new hostel for pilgrims, Rex opened his box of relics and spread them on the bed. He had thirty or forty items in the collection, each with a plausible connection to a biblical site, and some even with a connection to Jesus himself. Rex’s newest acquisition was wrapped in a piece of sackcloth: a few strands of hay and a splinter of wood from the feeding trough in the stable that had once sheltered Iosef and the Virgin.
“Surely that isn’t the same trough Jesus was laid in,” Flavia remarked. “Why would anyone still have the original? Who would have kept it for all those years?”
“It’s a lookalike,” Rex agreed. “It’s only there as a reminder. The original is long gone. And that hay was freshly cut.”
“So why bring all these relics back to Rome if they’re not real?”
“Define real,” Rex countered.
Flavia had to take some time to consider her husband’s inquiry. Though she believed in the quest for relics just as much as Rex did, thinking about his question helped to clarify the reasons behind her beliefs. Finally, she offered her answer: “I think ‘real’ means anything that actually happened in history.”
“Like Jesus coming to earth? God in the flesh?”
“Yes, exactly. That actually happened, so it’s real.”
“But it happened three hundred years ago. How do you know it was real?”
“The scriptures say so.”
“What scriptures? Show me.”
A little exasperated, Flavia went to her traveling bag and withdrew the Gospel of Luke. Turning the pages of the codex, she found the passage she wanted and read it aloud: “And she brought forth her firstborn son, and swaddled him, and laid him in a trough because there was no place for them in the lodging.”
Rex gently took hold of Flavia’s index finger and traced its tip along the smooth page of her book. “Do you feel that?”
“Of course.”
“Although truth is always truth,” Rex said, “how do you receive the truth? Ideas come to you by physical means—words on a page, for example. A book . . . a voice . . . a sight that you witness. Your mind was created to gain truth through your body. Touching. Seeing. Hearing. Even tasting.”
“Almost everything I know comes through my senses,” Flavia admitted.
“That’s true for everyone. We are embodied people.” Rex handed Flavia the rough splinter of wood he had taken from the feeding trough, then once again traced her fingertip along its length. “This fragment confirms what you already know. Does it matter that it isn’t the actual wood? Not really. It’s still tied to this place, so it has the power to remind you of your beliefs. Objects can convey messages about what happened in history. They strengthen our faith.”
Flavia stared at the splinter in her palm. “I guess that’s what faith is—to live in the present and hope in the future because we are confident in the past.”
A big grin came to Rex’s face. “That’s right! And it’s hard to have faith. We can all use a little reminder of our story from time to time.”
After a little more silent contemplation, Rex rose from the edge of the bed and held open the piece of sackcloth. Flavia placed the wooden splinter into the cloth next to the strands of hay. Rex folded it, put it in his lockbox, and stowed the relics under the bed.
“Tomorrow is the twenty-fifth of December,” Flavia said. “The day when God sent his Son into the world, only a few steps from here.”
Instead of answering, Rex scooped Flavia into an embrace. She responded by encircling his body with her arms and resting her head on his chest. For a long while they stood like that, tranquil and content on this silent, holy night.
“What a mystery the Incarnation is,” Flavia finally whispered as her husband held her close.
“Glory to God in the highest,” Rex replied.
MARCH 327
The Apostle Felix stood at an upstairs window in the House of Mani and gazed across the street at decrepit old Santa Sabina. Felix found it hard to believe he was once the priest of that church, back when Lady Sabina Sophronia and her daughter, Junia Flavia, were its leading patrons. That seemed like a different world to Felix, an era long gone and happily forgotten. Back then, the catholics were the strongest Christians in Rome. But now the true Manichaean church was on the rise and the catholic congregations were dwindling. “Good riddance, you blind fools,” Felix said, then turned away from the window and went downstairs to await the arrival of his guest.
He didn’t have long to wait, for the Apostle Quintus was a well-organized and punctual man. Those were the exact traits that made him so valuable when he served Pope Sylvester as an archdeacon in the papal residence. Now, however, Quintus had seen the light. He had become a follower of the truly divine prophet: not Jesus Christ, but Mani of Persia, who had revealed the Heavenly Way more clearly than the physical and earthbound doctrines of the catholics. That deluded form of Christianity emphasized the disgusting idea that God had taken on flesh as a man. “Good riddance,” Felix muttered again, though not loud enough for Quintus to hear as he entered the house.
“Let us go to the rear garden,” Felix said after he had exchanged greetings with his guest. He led Quintus to a courtyard whose walls dribbled with piped-in water that trickled through bright, green moss. The water made a pleasant, natural sound as it landed in a pool that ran around the base of the walls. In the middle of the room, which was open to the sky, was a flagstone area with two chairs in it. The garden was like a moist grotto a spiritual seeker might find in the faraway east. Here in Rome, it was a suitable place for Manichaeans to meet, for it symbolized Light, Life, and Paradise—three things that could be found only by separating oneself from anything belonging to the human body.
“Tell me about your conventicle in the Pantheon,” Felix said when the men were seated. “I hear it is thriving and growing beyond all expectations.”
“That is true,” Quintus acknowledged. “And conversely, the catholic churches are shrinking. Few pagans are joining us, but many former catholics are coming over. They can see that our way is more intellectual and enlightened.”
“And our banquets are more lavish too!”
Felix’s quip didn’t bring a smile to Quintus’s face. Instead, he said sternly, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You ought not be serving meat and strong drink to the Hearers. That is not the teaching of our religion.”
“Nothing forbids those things for the Hearers,” Felix countered. “Only the Elect. And even if it is a sin for the common folk, we can easily forgive them afterward. But we can’t give up those banquets, Apostle Quintus. It keeps the people coming through our doors.”
“That is another thing! We shouldn’t be calling ourselves ‘apostles.’ That title is reserved only for those sent out by Mani.”
Felix waved his hand dismissively. “There are some who follow our Seven Books strictly and others who give them a looser interpretation. I am one of those, my brother, because it gets the results we want.”
Though Quintus frowned at this remark, he let the subject drop. Felix went on to give a report of his own conventicle on the Aventine Hill. It was growing rapidly, adding more people each week at the expense of Santa Sabina across the street. Some Sun Days, fewer than ten people showed up at that false church.
“One time,” Felix exulted, “no one came at all! Father Vincentius presided over a Eucharist in an empty church. Ha! I was sure to let him know that the House of Mani was overflowing the same day. The Hibernian’s face grew as red as his hair!”
“A great victory for us,” Quintus said as he fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve.
“Not yet, my brother. Victory is close, but not yet in hand. There is one more secret deed we must accomplish. Then total victory will be ours.”
The cryptic remark made Quintus raise his eyes to meet Felix’s gaze. “What secret deed?”
Instead of revealing his plans right away, Felix probed for a little more information from his guest. “What was the name of our man inside the Lateran Palace? That slave with the purple stain on his face?”
“Primus, he is called. He sides with us, or anyone who rewards him with money or sweets.”
“Yes, that’s him—Primus. I have dealt with him before. He’s a spiritual mercenary. Grovels before whoever offers him a trinket. That makes him useful, of course.”
Since Quintus made no reply, Felix kept probing for more information. “Is the Lateran Basilica secure?”
“Secure? You mean like against thieves?”
“Or anyone who would wish to enter.”
“I suppose it is secure at night. By day, many people visit it.”
“We must gain control of it,” Felix declared.
The shocking statement brought a look of surprise to Quintus’s face. “It is the foremost catholic church! What would that gain us?”
“You said it yourself! It’s the foremost church in this city. It’s visible to everyone as a center of religious power. The same goes for the shrine of Peter out on the Vatican, though I tried my hardest to stop that.”
“I remember the affair with the relics,” Quintus said quietly. “Your snaky friend was killed.”
Felix put his fist to his chest. “The spark of the Aegyptian Asp lives on right here.” After a moment of sober reflection, Felix returned to his main point. “We must take over the Lateran Basilica and the palace. That is the head of the body—the source that feeds the rest. If the Manichaeans controlled that church, we would control the shape of Christianity throughout the city. Picture it, Quintus! We could bend everyone to Manichaeism and destroy those crude myths about saving crucifixion. The faith of Mani would shine forth in Rome. And as Rome goes, so goes the whole world.”
“Your plans are expansive,” Quintus admitted. “But you have one problem. The bishop would never let it happen. Sylvester is too strong for you.”
“That is why he must be removed.”
At those words, Quintus immediately recoiled. His former look of surprise now turned to suspicion, maybe even disgust. “What do you mean, ‘removed’?”
“I mean, judged by the hand of God. That is what the Father of Greatness does. Wherever there is a servant of darkness, he shines down his burning light until it’s gone. He obliterates the wicked by the brilliance of his cleansing fire. And he uses people like us to accomplish such holy deeds.”
“So that is your secret plan? To obliterate Sylvester by fire?”
“An inner fire,” Felix said. “A burning from within. A consuming pain that eliminates and destroys him.”
The narrowing of Quintus’s eyes revealed that anger had finally come to him. “Speak plainly! What do you intend?”
Before answering, Felix offered a prayer in his heart. O Light Above, help this man understand that your purifying and cleansing ways must sometimes be painful! The quick prayer gave Felix the courage he needed to state his full intent. Quintus’s cooperation was essential for the plan to succeed, since only the former archdeacon had the necessary contacts inside the Lateran Palace.
“I intend to poison the false bishop Sylvester,” Felix announced. “When he is gone, his church will be ours. Then, one by one, the catholic congregations of Rome will die out as Mani becomes all in all.”
Quintus leapt to his feet and stared down at Felix in his chair. “I tolerated your feasts of meat and wine,” he said, his eyes blazing with righteous indignation. “I even tolerated your twisting of our scriptures and doctrines. But this I will not tolerate! Manichaeism is nonviolent! And Sylvester was—” Quintus broke off for a moment, then corrected his wording as he finished his thought. “Sylvester is my friend, and I will do him no harm.”
Now Felix stood up too. Though he was a tall man, Quintus was even taller, so Felix didn’t try to engage him in a staredown. Instead, he simply said, “Your courage fails you, brother. It seems you aren’t able to do what is required to cleanse the earth of darkness.”
“Poisoning the bishop of Rome is no part of Manichaeism,” Quintus declared, then turned abruptly and marched out of the room.
Perhaps not, Felix thought as he watched the man leave. But it should be.
MAY 327
Flavia stepped from the dock and into the fishing boat with a helping hand from Rex since the morning was breezy and the Sea of Galilee was choppy today. Though the faint light of dawn was visible in the eastern sky, the orb of the sun hadn’t yet risen above the mountains. That mattered little, of course, to the fishermen who owned the boat. They could sail by the full light of the sun, or by the moon, or by no light at all. Catching fish at night was how they made their living. Today, however, they had a much easier way to earn income: simply transport Empress Helena and her attendants up to Capernaum.
The past four months of Flavia’s life had been the most peaceful she had ever experienced. After spending the Nativity season at Bethlehem, the empress had decided to take up residence beside the Sea of Galilee until the coolness of winter gave way to the pleasant warmth of spring. The town of Tiberias had been her official base, yet she also spent time in a villa on the sea’s opposite shore. Wherever she went, Rex and a few other bodyguards accompanied her. Flavia had found the Galilean pace of life to be slow and relaxed, a welcome change from constant travel and the bustle of big cities. Flavia’s spring had been spent walking along the waterfront with Rex, writing in her diary, and visiting quaint villages nearby. Life was indeed sweet. Her only regret was that her mother, who was back in Rome, hadn’t been able to experience the tranquility as well.
Since today was the Sabbath, the queen’s retinue was planning to attend the ancient church in Capernaum. Unlike the area around Hierusalem, where the Jews were evicted by Hadrian long ago, the Christians of Galilee still came from a Jewish background. That meant they met on the seventh day of the week instead of the first. The pastor of the church—or the “rabbi,” as his followers still called him—was named Isaac ben Yehudah. Jewish Christianity fascinated Empress Helena, so she visited the church in Capernaum often to experience its unique flavor.
“Did you remember to bring the letter?” Rex asked Flavia as he took a seat next to her in the boat’s stern.
“Right here,” she replied, patting the satchel at her side. Though mail couldn’t be sent from the villa where the empress was staying, Capernaum had a postal station connected with the tax office, so letters could be dispatched from there. Last night, Flavia wrote to her friend Athanasius in Alexandria. She and Rex had decided not to go back and live in that city, so they were bequeathing all their possessions to the local church.
“I’m sure the bishop will understand,” Rex said as he gestured toward Flavia’s satchel. “Our things will provide a lot of charity for the poor. I wonder what they’ll do with the apartment?”
“Maybe some monastic brothers will live in it,” Flavia suggested. “It’s near the Serapeum, so some scholars of the church could live there and make use of the library.”
Rex nodded. “Good idea.”
“Does it make you sad to send the letter?”
“To give away all our possessions? Not really. We didn’t have much. Nothing that can’t be replaced.”
“But it’s also the end of a season for us. A phase of our lives that’s over.”
Rex slipped his arm around Flavia’s shoulder as they sat side by side. “We did have some good years in Aegyptus.”
“And some hardships,” Flavia added, then felt her husband draw her a little closer. They lapsed into silence as they sifted their thoughts. Now their future was wide open. All they could do was let the wind and the waves take them where they would.
After about two hours of northward sailing on the Sea of Galilee, the boat drew near to Capernaum. The empress was met at the dock by Rabbi Isaac. Though he spoke Greek with her, his language was interspersed with Aramaic words. “Shalom to you in the name of Yeshua HaMashiach,” he said with a deep bow. Helena greeted him warmly, referring to him by his Aramaic name, “Yitzhak.” Then everyone proceeded to the House of Peter.
The residential compound where Peter once lived was constructed of black basalt stones like every other house in the area. There wasn’t much to it. A few nondescript buildings faced a courtyard, adjoined by a second residence that had belonged to his brother, Andrew. Soon after Peter’s martyrdom in Rome, the local Christians had turned the main room of his house into a church. The walls were covered in plaster to give it greater beauty, and oil lamps now made the place bright and cheerful. A large stone jar in the corner contained wine, while a table next to it held cakes of unleavened bread. Also on the table were some wooden cups and a silver ladle.
