Death of the Son, Episode Five:
Imperatrix, Dominus, Episcopus
[Episode One; Episode Two; Episode Three; Episode Four]
When his vision cleared, he found himself outside, standing on the brow of a low hill, looking down into what he recognized as a chariot-racing course, surrounded by gleaming white marble stands larger than any he had ever seen. The stone glistened in the sunlight, nearly blinding him.
Forcing himself to tear his eyes away, he looked around. Hosius was by his side, watching him with an expressionless face.
"I..." Theodotus was momentarily taken aback. "I did not know we would be leaving the Palace."
"You thought Helena stayed in the Palace?" Hosius seemed to consider that for a moment. His voice, when he spoke, was slower than before. "No, no...not the mother of Constantine. Her son built her a palace of her own, to the Southeast, in the gardens." He paused, seemingly lost in thought: but his eyes did not leave Theodotus' face.
"You are from the East; you know that Emperors have not stayed in Rome for centuries. Even Constantine has been here only...twice? Three times in ten years? But he has given Rome to his mother as her own." His lip twisted, seemingly involuntarily, but his face did not change otherwise. "Many have wondered at this: that Constantine, who loves his mother so deeply and so publicly, should keep her so far him--that he should wander like a soldier, from Trier to Arles, Nicomedia to Seleucia, and leave Rome, the Mother of the Empire, only to his mother."
Theodotus was finding it harder to regain his composure than he had expected, with his eyes still adjusting to the light and the grandeur of Rome before him. Also I have eaten nothing since rising, and it must be nearly noon.
Is this a test?
But he had little time to reflect on this possibility, for Hosius was still speaking, slowly and reflectively and with the subtle intonation of an orator, a preacher: and still with his eyes fixed on Theodotus' face, ignoring the splendors of the City.
"Some say it is because of Helena's piety, because of the tombs of the Apostles and the holy virgins and martyrs. Others that it is for Helena's pride, to pay her wounded dignity back for the years of suffering and shame his father caused her. Or perhaps for her fear, to keep her far from the son who reminds her so much of that father--above all in his anger. And finally there are those who say that it is the son who is afraid, and keeps away from the mother, for what reason only those who know his heart can say. I once thought myself one of these, but now...?" He sighed suddenly, a forceful release of air, and for a moment lowered his eyes before raising them again to Theodotus.
But Theodotus' own eyes and mind had begun to adjust; and he realized abruptly that these words were not just a test: they were also a confession, like the confessions he had received from so many criminals in court. Eustathius told him I am sent by God to discover guilt; and so he is revealing his guilt to me.
"But if the son is an enigma, so too is the mother. Who can say anything about Helena that is true?" Hosius' lip twisted again, and for the first time he chuckled humorlessly. "I cannot even say where she is from. An innkeeper's daughter, they say: but from Asia? Greece? Illyria, like his father? Savage Britain? I have heard all these, but never a word from Helena herself. Even her name is a mask: 'the Greek woman,' of whom there are hundreds in every city in the Empire. Even in Spain...and yet her statues are everywhere, in all the splendors of the first Helena, and the number of cities named after her rises with each day."
He sighed again, but this time more slowly, and sadly, not taking his eyes off the deacon at his side.
"But now her home is Rome, and she stays here, mostly, in her palace, in her gardens with the holy virgins and the priests and bishops and ascetics who visit her and pray with her. I myself have visited many times, and thought myself in a house of prayer. But now...I doubt myself...I doubt everything. Was it a house of prayer, of ascesis that I visited, or only a house of luxury in disguise? Or perhaps a refuge, for a hunted woman? Or a prison?"
Hosius' face now was no longer a neutral mask; it was openly anguished.
"It is strange, is it not? In all the times I have seen her, in all our conversations on holy things, I never thought to ask her these questions." He shook his head with decision, and his face cleared. "Eustathius is right. We bishops of these dwindling times, coddled by luxury, are so easily swayed by talk of God, cosmos and ousia, theoria and ascent. When men speak such words to us, we believe them, we think they have seen the very face of God, and we remain ignorant of all else they do, ignorant of their hearts. The Holy Martyrs of the great times knew better; they knew that in the final balance, the heart of man is a ravening wolf, and our task is to draw its teeth."
Finally, Hosius tore his eyes away, and for the first time looked down at the circus. His face, abruptly, broke into a smile.
"The circus maximus. Where they killed Peter, and where Nero burned Christians alive to light his games. This is a holy city, and in it sins will not remain buried long."
