04/03/2023 Column: Death of the Son, Episode Two: In Via

Death of the Son, Episode Two: In Via

[This continues my earlier post beginning a serial-style detective story about the death of Constantine's son Crispus in 326 AD. See here for episode one.]

They boarded the carriage at the Imperial cursus post at the outskirts of the City, a few stadia from the Imperial palace and near but not precisely in the army camp. Eustathius had by this time dressed himself in the white-and-gold assembly of the bishop of Antioch, surmounted by a small, black and gold pileus of the sort worn by minor Imperial officials and, increasingly, by lower clerics.

Theodotus wondered at that, a little: It is not like him to follow court fashion. He glanced around him once again, at the other clerics accompanying them, and after a second nodded quietly to himself. When it had assembled, he had thought it merely the typical public retinue that always accompanied the bishop while walking the streets of the city: a handful of priests from the chancery, perhaps a suffragan bishop visiting the capital, and (most importantly) the half-dozen or so deacons in black that for most bishops acted in the same role for which wealthier citizens used their slaves and clients: to remind them of names, faces, accounts, situations, make note of their decisions and requests, and serve as bodyguards against the dangers of the Great City. 

Yet, as he examined the faces surrounding him again, he saw the small, but important, differences. There were no bishops, not even Euphronius, who had been staying in the episcopal residence for the past week; and the priests who accompanied Eustathius, dressed in tunics of any and every color, were not senior chancery officials, but members of that small, informal party, spread throughout the City, who had helped bring Eustathius to power, faces he had seen only rarely, coming and going from the episcopal residence or deep in private conversation with the bishop. Then, perhaps most significantly, the number of deacons had all but doubled, and Theodotus noted with amusement the mixed expressions of his fellow deacons of the episcopal court. Martinus' grizzled face looked positively furious to have been dragged out of bed and made to frog-march through the City like a common cleric; but young Deodatus was positively glowing with the excitement of the journey and presence of the bishop in his splendor. 

Theodotus smiled to himself, more pleased than disturbed by Eustathius' cheek. He does not have permission to use the Imperial cursus, and hopes to overawe the soldiers into putting me onto the carriage regardless. With recent developments at court, it would probably work, too. His smile faded. To live in days when soldiers feel compelled to respect bishops... 

"Theodotus." Eustathius had touched him on the shoulder with one gloved hand. It was still early morning, and the light spreading throughout the city barely illuminated his face. "I am sure you have many questions." As a matter of fact, he had not felt such abstract curiosity for nearly a decade. "You will be accompanied by Apollon; he will explain everything on the way." There was a pause. "He will also provide you with clothing appropriate for court." 

Theodotus barely suppressed a smile. He was dressed, as usual, in the straight black tunic he had inherited from the old man. Compared to that worn by many of his colleagues, it was old-fashioned, roughly woven, and somewhat threadbare. The twinge in Eustathius' voice indicated his own respect for that small austerity, which the bishop would naturally interpret in terms of his own ascetic tendencies. Yet Eustathius had been bishop of Antioch for several years now, and had already learned as a matter of course to set aside such things when duty demanded. It was this asceticism of office, deeper than the asceticism of preference, that Theodotus had truly learned from the old man.

When he had questioned him about the threadbare quality of his garb, the old man had all but snorted with sarcasm. "So you want me to show up to slaves' and widows' houses covered in rubies? I'm afraid they'd mistake me for a prostitute." Like Theodotus, the old man had kept softer clothes for use at home; but when acting as deacon, as he had said, "in the name of the Church," he had no patience for anything that might impede him.

Again, Theodotus smiled to himself; I wonder how he would have reacted if  his bishop had told him to dress in gold thread and board an Imperial coach headed for court. Such things had not fallen within the old man's furthest conceptions of the duties of a deacon. Those were simpler times, for simpler clerics. Theodotus crossed himself, as the old deacon had taught him to do at every perplexity, and prayed to the martyrs for guidance. And to you, old man...

They had reached the stables and sleeping-quarters where the Imperial couriers and their animals waited for commands. A brusque-looking soldier in a pileus pannonicus was seated by the gate; even he looked momentarily taken-aback at the crowd of ecclesiastical dignitaries approaching him. He stood up rapidly, taking no account of the bread and dried meat he had been balancing on his knee.

Eustathius drew himself up to his full height, which was decently impressive, and spoke in the booming voice he usually reserved for sermons in the Cathedral: "I am the bishop of Antioch. I have an urgent message for the Emperor."

The soldier looked if anything more confused. Eustathius had paused for a moment, as if drawing up his powers. Here is the tricky part...

"This message is urgent and important. I thus require use of the Imperial cursus. Here is the personal diploma I was issued last year by the Emperor. You are to transport this man (he pointed to a well-dressed older priest Theodotus had not noticed before, with a well-trimmed beard and a rather blank smile) and this man (he pointed to Theodotus, who felt a sudden stab of fear in the pit of his stomach) to the Imperial Court immediately." He paused a moment, as if waiting to see whether his performance had worked, and then made to turn away.

"Now wait a moment..." the soldier recovered his voice at just the wrong moment, a shrill voice with a broad Pannonian accent. A very familiar voice. "Your Fearfulness, or Excellency, or...I think you misunderstood--"

"Are you questioning the bishop's orders?" A young deacon with a scar on his lip had piped up at Eustathius' elbow, and was running rapidly toward the soldier. "This is the God-beloved bishop of Great Antioch! He has personally advised the Emperor, and--"

But this was precisely the wrong move. The shouting had roused the whole surrounding mess of sleeping and watching soldiers, and in a moment the whole area was a hubbub of shouting, arguing soldiers and deacons. It was only when a grizzled Chiliarch appeared and crossed the area to confer directly, and in hushed tones, with the bishop himself that things began to quiet down again. After another five minutes, both men raised their hands simultaneously, reducing their subordinates to silence. Then the Chiliarch gestured to Apollon and Theodotus; Theodotus immediately followed, but the priest hesitated a few moments before doing likewise, looking around at the soldiers with something approaching terror. Old habits in both cases.

As they made their way into the enclosed stables, Theodotus looked back and saw the bishop one last time, standing and watching them depart with his pale face drawn and his jaw twisted with worry. This sight would stay with him for the days of his journey, recurring in his dreams at each stopping-place.

Once the order had been given, the commotion melted away as if it had never been, and the well-oiled machine of the Imperial cursus took over. Within thirty minutes, the two clerics, two soldiers, and a driver were aboard the carriage and setting out at the main road west, away from the sunrise slowly painting the hills and rooftiles of the city with their accustomed colors.

It was several hours before anyone in the carriage spoke. The old priest had his knees clutched to his chest and was clearly trying hard not to either vomit or scream with the jolting of the carriage and the soldiers around him. Poor man, he had not anticipated how much the Imperial cursus must feel like Imperial custody. The two soldiers, both Pannonian, had positioned the cleric between them, and were alternating looking sidelong at him and laughing to each other in Latin. The timbre and taste of military Latin stung in Theodotus' ears, but he was surprised how easily the words formed themselves into meanings in his mind. Especially the obscenities...

He stood up in the carriage, moving expertly as he had learned long ago, and crossed to sit next to Apollon. "Don't worry," he said to Apollon in Greek. "No one will hurt you this time." Then, turning to the closest soldier, in Latin: "This man is a martyr of the Most High God. If you mock him again, you will suffer God's curse."

He noted with pleasure the surprise and anger on the soldier's face, and for a moment thought he would strike him. Then the soldier gestured to his companion, and the two retreated to the other side of the carriage to confer, though not without occasional glances thrown in his direction. For the rest of that day, there was silence, as Theodotus kept his hand on the old priest's shoulder and tried his best to draw him up out of the hole his memories had put him in. 

By the time they finally reached the mansio, Apollon had mostly recovered his composure, and with it his appetite. The mansio one day's ride out of Antioch on the Romeward road was naturally a much-traveled one; the stables and carriage yard practically shone, and the inn-parlor was as large or larger than any public taberna. It was run by a large, bald innkeeper, a Syrian, who supervised the slaves and his wife and children with an imperious eye, but was obsequious to the point of comedy with his guests, all of whom he seemed to assume were personal acquaintances of the Emperor. The food was brought--sausage with fennel, hard cheese, good bread, and wine--by his young daughter, who, doubtless under instruction, did her best to show off her body to the guests from as many angles as possible while keeping a fixed smile on her face and balancing the platters.

The soldiers, of course, laughed bawdily at this performance, while the old priest pointedly ignored it in favor of his returning appetite. I wonder if she has any idea that she is performing for Christian clerics, or if she even knows what a Christian cleric is, or how much more difficult it is for us to take mistresses. 

As he continued his meal, however, Theodotus began to feel that thrill of understanding which had become his chief pleasure; he had never traveled the public cursus before, but like many others had heard stories of how the innkeeper's daughter Helena had charmed her way first into Constantius' bed, and then into a semi-permanent military connubium and finally to the status of revered queen mother of a ruling Emperor. Now, though, he understood. That was neither random chance, then, nor a romantic escapade, as I've heard it told; no doubt every innkeeper's daughter is taught to perform for the powerful men who pass through the cursus, in hopes of winning a permanent status as mistress and favors for her family. Helena was no different. It was a small and obvious thing; but through understanding it he felt he had come to understand far, far more about the woman who now, so it was said, was honored and obeyed by Constantine like no other, the son striving to make belated repayment for the unfaithful, ambitious father who had sent his mother away for a more political match. A performer at heart, and a desperate one. And then he remembered, with a start, that in little more than a month he would be seeing this Helena, and her son, in person--and the bread caught in his throat.

The food was filling, the beds surprisingly comfortable, the sleep somewhat short, but perfectly comfortable for either a soldier or a deacon; and after a short breakfast, served this time by a bored slave, they were back in the carriage again. Apollon seemed largely recovered, though, and after a few hours he turned toward Theodotus with a new, confident expression on his face: "Well, I suppose I should do some of the explaining you were promised." He glanced over at the soldiers for a second, obviously none too pleased by their presence, but just as obviously unwilling to deny the duty put on him by Eustathius. The first sentence had been spoken in an undertone; but by the next one, it was obvious the old priest had realized how futile that was, and he went on in his normal, rather loud one. "I imagine you've been wondering what has happened with the Emperor and his son, and why Eustathius is so interested, and what he intends for you to do about it."

Theodotus did not react. He had of course been wondering this ever since Eustathius had woken him up, but he had also deliberately forced himself not to consider the question, a question about which he had no real evidence and which would be answered for him in due time. This was to him a sort of ascesis, as some of the younger priests called it, by which he kept his intellect, so troublesome at the best of times, in check; it was also a practical help the old deacon had taught him for the carrying-out of his duties. "If you can ask a question, ask it; if not, put it out of your head straightaways, and focus on your duties."

Apollon looked away from Theodotus, clearly somewhat unnerved by the deacon's impassive face, as well, most likely, by what Eustathius had doubtlessly told him about Theodotus' past life. "Crispus...well, as you and all people know, he is, or was until...the Emperor's designated heir. A brilliant man, excellent commander, and quite...capable in all respects." He paused for a moment. "I...met him on a number of occasions." Theodotus looked at the old priest with interest; that implied a great deal. Apollon did not meet his eyes.

"We know...very little at this point about what has happened. Naturally, Crispus accompanied his father to Rome for the festivities...then, a matter of a month ago, the bishop received...word...that the Caesar had been suddenly dismissed from court and sent to Pola, in Istria. Crispus...did not say why. Then, tonight, Eustathius received an...unusual courier, who said...that the Emperor had sent personal orders from Rome, and that Crispus had been seized by his own guard, that they had read to him, in private, a decree from his father, and that they had then taken him into the main courtyard of the palace and...gave him poison."

"...his own guard?" Theodotus spoke slowly, attempting even now to restrain his curiosity. "That implies...and none of the soldiers there helped the Caesar?"

Apollon shook his head solemnly, clearly pleased at Theodotus' understanding. "None. After it was done, it was said that some of the common soldiers in the camp nearby were unhappy, and threatened their commanders with violence; but by then it was too late and things quieted down quickly. But by all accounts the guard moved extremely smoothly, and without any internal dissension."

Theodotus nodded. "And Crispus?"

Apollon seemed somewhat taken aback. "How did...? Yes, that was the oddest part of the courier's account to me...that Crispus does not appear to have even tried to resist. He said that after the decree was read from his father, he came out completely composed, not even manacled, and was led to a shed. Neither weeping or begging for his life, or even speaking."

Theodotus saw the scene vividly in his mind's eye; the determined, somewhat frightened guardsmen; the confused slaves and soldiers; and above all the central figure of a pale, dark-haired young man (though he had only seen his images on coins, he could imagine it perfectly, with a long nose and a sharp jaw) walking erect and tearless to his death. Like so many others...

Apollon shrugged. "That is all we know for certain. That the Emperor gave the order, and how Crispus died. What Eustathius wants from us is to determine why the order was given, whether the Emperor gave it himself or if it was somehow forged or...who at court may have instigated it and...what the Emperor's intentions are now towards Eustathius and...others...and..." He paused, clearly somewhat embarrassed. "And...and if possible to help bring the Emperor to repentance for his sin." This last, was, of course, Eustathius' own chief priority, one doubted, to say the least, by the old priest. No doubt for him, as for many older clerics, people guilty of such crimes are by definition beyond salvation.

Apollon had stopped speaking, and was looking at him silently, as if expecting a question. Theodotus sighed. "And just how close, exactly, was Eustathius with Crispus?"

Apollon did not seem surprised. "Since the Council last year, or...well, a bit before then...Hosius, you see, was very fond of the boy, and Crispus himself was...somewhat involved with the process that made Eustathius bishop of Antioch. The Emperor at the time had some...doubts about Eustathius and...his friends. Crispus helped smooth that over, and enabled Eusthatius to preside over the Council, as ecclesiastical order demanded, and give the opening panegyric, and...well, the Emperor was duly impressed, of course, and has communicated with the bishop a number of times since then...but Crispus has been in much closer and more frequent contact. He has done much for us in the past year, and has kept Eustathius well-informed about the Emperor's actions and intentions. As well as...his own plans." He paused, as if wondering whether to continue. "Eusthatius...thought well of Crispus. He expected him to be a good Emperor, and a good friend to us. So he is naturally upset by his death. And...he fears what affect it might have on his own relationship...and those of others...with the Emperor. And what role...certain other bishops may have played in the event. That is what he wishes you to uncover, as closely as possible."

He paused again, clearly waiting for Theodotus to say something. Theodotus understood it all too well. It's just like the clients in the episcopal court. He wants me to show him that I understood and have begun the investigation.

"Yes." Theodotus said. "It is clear that this was not an unpremeditated move...buying off Crispus' guard that thoroughly would not have been easy even for the Emperor. Nor would it have been a quick and easy matter...winning over a guard company from their commander without his knowledge would take time, and money. Of course, Constantine may have done it some time ago, merely as insurance...but certainly not with a son he trusted fully. Or...the guard could have been paid off by someone else, in anticipation of the decree. And why send him to Pola, of all places? Istria is too close to the frontier to make a good place to exile a popular commander like Crispus. Why Pola, then? Because...it's close enough to the borders and armies to make it plausible, but remote enough to make it difficult for Crispus' allies in Rome and the the cities to protect him. Crispus himself either didn't see it coming at all, and so didn't prepare...or he saw it coming, but trusted his own guard to protect him...or he had some reason to not want to resist. Either way, that means that the move had been contemplated seriously at least for weeks, if not months, before the order was given. If it had happened at Rome...no, this wasn't just a crime of passion. Or at least...not for everyone involved. The Emperor had a reason, at least in his own mind. And someone wanted to ensure Crispus' death."

He turned his head to look back at Apollon. He had expected the old priest to look impressed and gratified, but instead he looked shaken to his core. This is serious, then.

Apollon bowed his head. "If Constantine made such a decision in cold blood, and if bishops instigated him..." He covered his face with his hands.

"And one more thing." Theodotus turned his head away, towards the soldiers. He knew they were listening intently, like Apollon, to his every word. And they were looking at him with respect... "If this was planned for weeks in advance...Crispus has been the Emperor's designated heir and commander for more than ten years...it is unlikely this will be the last death." They spent the rest of the day's ride in silence. 

The month of travel went more quickly, however, than Theodotus had expected. After a few days, the rhythm of days and nights, mansiones and carriage rides, became simply his life. The old priest quickly moved from the case at hand to briefing him on the personalities and figures of the court, especially the clerics. The network of rivalries, conflicts, and alliances spread before his eyes like a spider's web, and he found with surprise that he found it genuinely interesting, and had no trouble remembering it. Explanations of persons and relationships gave way to discussions of court rituals and rhetoric, and that in turn to a detailed exploration of Constantine's family and history. When that topic in turn was all but exhausted, the two men began talking about their respective lives and backgrounds--with the gaping exception of the Persecution. Whether moving backward or forward in time, both men would reach that threshold and trail off...and begin again from another angle. 

The soldiers, so contemptuous the first day, listened with interest to everything, especially to Theodotus' description of his early career in the Roman army. After the first week, they began speaking in tones of respect to both Theodotus and the old priest, fetching their baggage without being asked, and occasionally giving unsolicited pointers about how to navigate a particular mansio or warning them about a rough patch in the road.

The last day before Rome, by mutual agreement, the carriage fell completely silent, the old priest trembling with anxiety and anticipation and Theodotus quietly going over the information in his head. When they reached the mansio, after a brief consultation, they decided to push on through the night and reach Rome as soon as possible, and so it was at the very break of a red dawn that they swept through the gates of Rome and arrived at the Imperial residence on the Palatine.

They disembarked to find a short, friendly-looking Antiochene priest waiting for them, quite fat but now trembling with the early morning cold. Apollon, trembling as well, made to greet him, but the priest held up his hand, and Theodotus realized suddenly that it was not, in fact, the cold that was causing him to tremble.

"I will take you to rest," he said. "But before I do...you should know...the Emperor's wife is dead."

Apollon turned around and fixed Theodotus with a intense gaze--but there was neither fear nor surprise in it now, but only recognition, and anger. Then he turned back around, and they moved together into the palace.