Caesar's Lord, page 5
Sylvester sighed and shook his head. “So you think you have found the true way, Felix?”
“I know I have. The path of enlightenment runs through Manichaeism, not your catholic faith, with all its physical, material concerns.”
“You’re just teaching Gnosticism under a new name. It’s the same seductive promises as before—the pride of enlightenment, easy morality for the congregation, and a heavenly hope that never has to count the cost of discipleship.”
“I have discovered many hidden secrets,” Felix said cryptically.
“That is because you ask unclean spirits to lead you along,” Vincentius accused. “It’s just what Saint Paul predicted. In later times, people will abandon the true faith and follow deceptive spirits and the doctrines of demons.”
Felix scoffed at this. “Our spirits are heavenly beings, angels of divine light.”
“Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light,” the pope declared. “Come now, Father Vincentius, let us leave this unwholesome threshold and cross over to the holy place of Christ. We must not have fellowship with darkness, as both Paul and John have instructed us.”
The two men left Felix on the sidewalk and entered Santa Sabina. Though it was once a residential building, its interior had been remodeled for its new use. Now there was a beautiful central hall with columns on either side. Crystal-paned windows gave light from high above, and an attractive mosaic decorated the floor. Though Vincentius was its pastor now, Sylvester had come to join him for the evening’s Great Friday service. It wasn’t often that the bishop of Rome came all the way up to the Aventine Hill for a visit. The congregation had been looking forward to it for weeks. The liturgy would begin in about an hour, and Sylvester expected the service to be packed.
When the time arrived, however, his hopes were dashed. Only a smattering of worshipers stood in the aisles when he led the entrance procession down the center of the nave. The bishop and priest stood side by side at the altar and celebrated the Eucharistic service with all the dignity it deserved. Numerous oil lamps gave the hall a reverential glow, while the God-honoring aroma of incense permeated the air. The lector read the gospel account of the crucifixion, Sylvester gave a homily on it, then all the worshipers partook of the bread and wine with befitting reverence. There was only one problem: hardly anyone was in attendance.
After the service, Sylvester hailed a middle-aged woman whom he knew. “Lucretia, come speak with me.” She was the wife of a poor shopkeeper who often received the church’s charity. When the woman drew near, Sylvester asked, “Where is your husband tonight?”
At this inquiry, Lucretia’s face became distraught. “Holy Father, I am embarrassed to tell you, Justin refused to attend.”
“He refused? Justin has always been a faithful Christian! Why did he stay home?”
Lucretia stared at her feet, reluctant to answer. Finally, she said with shame in her voice, “He . . . he is across the street.”
“With the Manichaeans?” The revelation was shocking to Sylvester. “Why, Lucretia?”
Though she didn’t lift her eyes from the floor, her pent-up frustration came bursting out. “It is that feast they offer! They set up an idol of Mani on a throne, and he forgives all their sins of the past year. Then he presides over a lavish banquet. Justin says he’s never tasted such sweet pastries. And there’s so much meat, Holy Father! For the poor like us, it is almost irresistible.”
“They are just bribing your husband with food. Instead of using the tithes for charity, they throw lavish parties.”
“I know. But it works! Justin says he can indulge all he wants because his real self is just a spark inside his body. The deeds of his outward body are meaningless. And their salvation is so easy! Their leaders just declare forgiveness. To them, Jesus didn’t have to go to the cross. His body wasn’t even real, just an illusion so he could talk to us.”
“That is the heresy of Docetism, which the Gnostics started and the Manichaeans are continuing.”
“Whatever you call it, Justin loves this religion. Felix tells him, ‘Stick with me. The hard life is for those losers across the street.’”
Though Sylvester kept his peace, inside he seethed at the blasphemous words spewing from the false prophet’s mouth. Such devious doctrines were leading astray good men like Justin. “May God repay Felix for what he has done. Wide is the road that heads into error. Although the way of Christ is narrow and difficult, it leads to eternal life.”
“I believe it,” Lucretia whispered as tears welled up. “That is why I am here—all alone.”
Sylvester gently cupped Lucretia’s chin. Tentatively, she lifted her eyes and looked at her pastor. He gazed back at her, infusing her with courage. “I will pray earnestly that Justin returns.”
With a sudden cry, Lucretia fell to her knees and began to weep. She clutched the fabric of Sylvester’s robe, repeating the words, “Thank you, bishop . . . thank you.”
Sylvester stroked the woman’s hair until she had calmed enough to stand again. After wiping her eyes, she kissed the bishop’s hand, thanked him once more, and hurried away.
When all the worshipers had finally left the building, Sylvester stepped outside with Father Vincentius. The cool night air felt refreshing as the two spiritual brothers examined the ups and downs of the holy day. Sylvester was about to go back inside and retire to a guest bedroom when he heard a loud belch nearby. He turned to see a man staggering toward them. As he approached, Sylvester realized it was Justin.
“Cheers, you old scoundrel!” Justin cried, too drunk to realize how socially improper his greeting was.
“Hello, dear friend. It grieves me to see you like this.”
Justin swatted his hand, which almost made him lose his balance. “Bah! I’m happier now than I ever have been. I get to fill my belly in this life and come back better in the next!”
“There is more to life than full bellies, Justin. There is the upward call of God. I urge you, my brother: return to the Christian church. Join Lucretia again, like before. Return to Jesus Christ, the true Light of the world.”
“Jesus Christ?” Justin scoffed as he swayed on his feet. His inebriation gave him a boldness he never would have had otherwise. “That Jewish prophet from long ago? Was he really crucified? Who can even say that he lived? Maybe he was just a vision of God!”
“He was a true man, with a body like yours and mine. He was crucified by a Roman governor in real history.”
“But Felix told me . . .” Justin paused and scrunched his face, clearly trying hard to recall what Felix told him.
“I know what that heretic teaches. Jesus had no real body. He only seemed to be a man so he could convey wisdom. But that is wrong, Justin. The Lord suffered upon a cross for your sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God. He was put to death in the body but made alive in the Spirit.”
Whether Justin understood these words, Sylvester did not know. The drunken man’s only response was to bend over, vomit on the pavement, then straighten up and try to wipe his mouth. He stood there with meaty flecks in his beard, unsure of where he was.
Turning to the front entrance of Santa Sabina, the bishop called over the husky doorkeeper who guarded it. “Escort this man to the house of Lucretia,” he ordered. “It wouldn’t be safe for him to wander the streets in this stupor.” The doorkeeper nodded his assent. “And give this to his wife,” Sylvester added, pressing a coin into the servant’s hand. “It will buy them food for a month.”
Once the doorkeeper had departed with Justin, the pope blew out a long breath. He shook his head to clear his mind, then glanced at Father Vincentius. “Only prayer will help that man now.”
“Look at what Felix is doing—breaking up families, ruining lives. I wish the city prefect would arrest him. He shouldn’t be allowed to do these things!”
“And then what, Vincentius? Should we reverse the persecutions that have just ended for us? No, my son, that is not the way. We must live into our times, and be faithful each day, and proclaim the truth with power and humility.”
“You are right, Holy Father,” Vincentius replied with an affirming nod. “I just want our empire to know the truth of the Lord!”
“Jesus Christ is surely coming to the Roman Empire. The only question is, whose Christ will it be? The old gods and the new heresies are going to fight tooth and claw against the Savior.”
Vincentius made the sign of the cross by touching his forehead, his chest, and both shoulders. “Maranatha,” he whispered under his breath. “Come quickly, Lord Jesus.”
APRIL 324
It wasn’t often that the bishop of Aegyptus summoned one of his congregants to a personal meeting, especially not at the second hour of the day. But Rex had received such an invitation from Alexander, so he thought he had better get up early and look his best before heading over to the Church of Theonas.
Holding a bronze mirror near his bedroom window, Rex inspected his face by the early morning twilight. Though he no longer wore his hair down below his shoulders like in Germania, it was still longer than the Aegyptian style, which was short for men unless a wig was used. Rex had no intention of adopting that local fashion so popular among the Alexandrian aristocrats. His blond hair was notably Germanic, and his beard made him even more distinctive in the clean-shaven Aegyptian culture. He smoothed back his locks with a comb and a little oil, just to make sure he didn’t look like he had come straight from his bed when he met the bishop. After setting the mirror on the washstand, he quietly exited the apartment and left Flavia asleep in the stillness.
Rarely did Rex walk through the streets of Alexandria without marveling at the city’s unique features. Its shape was oblong, being much wider than it was deep. This was because of the strategic location chosen by its founder, Alexander the Great. The famous conqueror’s namesake city possessed a long stretch of coastline in a spot tucked behind Lighthouse Island, which created a sheltered harbor. Yet urban expansion inland was limited by a freshwater lake not far from the coast. That lake was linked to the Nilus by canals; and the Nilus was, of course, the backbone of Aegyptus. The ancient pharaohs had even dug canals to connect the river with the Red Sea, providing access to the exotic seaports of the Orient.
All this meant that Alexandria was located at the juncture where the trade artery of the Nilus River met the maritime commerce of the Mediterranean Sea. In the city’s many shops, you could buy silk that had just arrived from Persia or woolen cloth that had just come down from Britannia. Pungent Indian spices might sit beside Spanish lead or tin. But this morning, Rex didn’t want anything imported from the farthest reaches of the west or east. He wanted only a little breakfast to quiet his rumbling stomach before he met with the bishop.
Most of the shopping in Alexandria took place on the market street called Canopus Avenue. This grand boulevard bisected the city, running its entire width from the Moon Gate in the west to the Sun Gate in the east. Rex reached the street and glanced down its colonnaded length toward the rising sun. Far in the distance, bright light was visible in the sky, though the sun itself had not yet risen high enough to be seen above the city walls.
“Hey, handsome, I got what you need over here,” called a she-wolf hoping to snag one last customer for the night. Prostitution was rampant in Alexandria.
“I’m happily married, miss,” Rex replied with a friendly smile, then headed toward the Moon Gate with a different bodily urge in mind.
Although most shops along the colonnade were closed at this early hour, Rex finally found a bakery whose door was cracked. Delicious aromas wafted from within. A few bronze nummi bought him warm bread and a thick breakfast beer.
He had just finished the loaf and discarded the cheap cup when he reached the Moon Gate. The episcopal church of Alexandria stood adjacent to it. Named for the martyred bishop Theonas, who founded the church in his home, the building was now—like so many going up across the empire—a newly built basilica that Bishop Alexander had dedicated to his godly and courageous predecessor. The church’s main entrance faced directly onto Canopus Avenue, making it the first building travelers encountered when entering through the Moon Gate. The location was good for Christianity’s increasingly public presence in the empire’s cities.
A deacon welcomed Rex and ushered him to an interior courtyard. Since Rex had been summoned by episcopal command, his visit clearly was expected.
It wasn’t long before the bishop emerged from his private chambers to welcome his guest. Though Alexander normally wore a wig like the aristocrats from whose ranks he came, this morning he was without it. Rex thought the bishop looked almost unrecognizable with his head shaved smooth. Yet it was a sign of his humility that he wasn’t too proud to be seen in this way.
“Peace to you in Christ,” the bishop said, kissing Rex on the cheek. Not all churches still practiced the holy kiss, but Alexander believed it was important because it was commanded five times in the scriptures.
“I honor you, Reverend Bishop,” Rex replied with a dip of his chin. The two men took seats on benches beneath a potted palm.
For a few moments, Alexander appeared to gather his thoughts. Finally, he said, “We are facing grave times in our empire, Brandulf Vitus Rex. Grave times indeed.”
“I can always tell the times are bad when someone uses my full name,” Rex replied with a gentle smile. The wry remark elicited a chuckle from Alexander, who seemed to appreciate the momentary alleviation of the strain so clearly etched on his face. Yet the relief quickly faded, and the bishop’s heaviness returned.
“The future hangs in the balance,” he declared. “I don’t just mean politically, though a civil war will probably start this summer. But I mean theologically—or you might say, spiritually. The Christian church faces a fork in the road. The choices made now will lead to very different outcomes.”
Rex nodded. “If Licinius wins, the persecutions will start again. The churches will close, and Christian blood will flow.”
“Ah, Rex, have you ever seen it?”
“Bloodshed? I was a soldier, you recall.”
“I mean the blood of the martyrs. Truly, it is the seed of the church. Truly, it is a heroic moment of steadfast courage. Yet I tell you now, martyrdom is nothing to glamorize with pious stories! When you see that redness in the sand, when you hear the screams of hideous pain, when you see your wife . . . your son . . . the youngsters you converted and baptized . . .”
The bishop’s words drifted off as he gazed into space. Rex knew it was because horrific images were rushing into his mind. To be pastoring in Aegyptus today was to have seen things that no eye should ever have to witness. Rex waited quietly for the bishop to collect his thoughts.
At last, Alexander shook himself from his terrible reverie. He looked straight at Rex and said, “You must go to Rome, my son. Right away. First ship tomorrow.”
Now it was Rex’s turn to be taken aback. He stared at the tiled floor of the courtyard as jumbled thoughts rushed through his mind. Go to Rome? It was the last thing he had expected to hear. For almost seven years now, Aegyptus had been his home. He and Flavia had arrived here as newlyweds, so Alexandria was all they had known as a married couple. In all that time, they had not once been back to Italy.
“Holy Father, you know I will obey you,” Rex finally said when too much silence had elapsed. “But it was Pope Sylvester of Rome who sent me here to Alexandria. He told me to support you in any way I could. This I have done—as a deacon, a teacher of youth, and a carrier of the stretchers.”
“And also a kind of bodyguard, Rex. Your former military training has made you valuable to me on many occasions. Your skills are unique among the Christians here. That is why I have selected you for this mission. The stakes are high, and treacherous enemies are involved. To thwart them will take a resourceful and experienced man.”
Rex waited only a moment longer with his eyes cast down. Then he let out a deep breath, looked up, and nodded in a way that signaled his firm resolve. When a commanding officer issued an order, a good soldier didn’t waver or delay. He strapped on his sword and did his job. Rex had always taken orders like that from his military superiors. How much more should he do so from his bishop?
“I will go gladly to Rome,” he said, looking Alexander in the eye, “and I will carry out your commands in every detail. What is my mission?”
Alexander turned around and beckoned through the doorway to the deacon. The man brought a stiff leather tube on a strap. Alexander received the capsa and held it in both hands. “This scroll case contains a letter I have written to my brother in the Lord, the esteemed Pope Sylvester of Rome. It is a request for unity, a locking of arms against our common foes. It is time for the Alexandrians and the Romans to put rivalries aside and cooperate. We are the bishops of the empire’s two greatest cities. Only by fraternal unity can we defeat the many forces that stand against our Lord. Sitting still while the threat grows simply isn’t an option.”
“Emperor Licinius must go down,” Rex agreed. “He has reverted to paganism with vengeance on his mind. He will spread that ancient poison across the empire, rolling back all the church’s gains.”
“The pagan gods are but one of our enemies, Brandulf Vitus Rex. You were present when Arius gave his presentation. You saw how many people follow him. But I ask you: Can his Christ save us—this creature whom God supposedly made to be our example? ‘Imitate the life of this great moral teacher and you will be saved.’ No, Rex! Christ must be fully divine to bring us back to the Father God.”
“Indeed, eternal souls hang in the balance.”
“We face two great enemies: the polytheists who deny the uniqueness of Christ and the Arians who deny his divinity. I cannot face these threats alone. I need the fellowship of Rome, the strengthening support of my brother Sylvester.” The bishop tied down the lid of the capsa with thongs and handed it to Rex. “You must convey my invitation to him. There may be those who seek to stop you! I send you alone on this mission, though not without the support of the Paraclete who always attends the ways of the believer.”
