Death of the Son, Episode IX: Dinner with a Murderer

Death of the Son, Episode IX

Dinner with a Murderer

[Episode One; Episode Two; Episode Three; Episode Four; Episode Five; Episode Six; Episode Seven; Episode Eight; Episode Nine] 

[This episode concludes the serial novel 'Death of the Son.' Until the sequel!]

They were back in the cool of the Imperial Palace, walking through the endless marbled corridors: Theodotus, the eunuch of Constantine, and a single soldier. 

The men in front of him showed no concern; the eunuch sauntered slowly, swinging his hips theatrically from side to side, and even the soldier slouched as he walked. Again and again, Theodotus had to abruptly slow his pace to keep from bumping into them; and each time he did, he gripped the dagger stowed at his waist, making sure it did not jostle or fall. He could not fail now through impatience; too much was at stake. 

In a few minutes, he told himself. I am going to have dinner with the Emperor Constantine. Then I will kill him. 

But somehow, none of it seemed real; he was in a dream, sleeplessly wandering the corridors of the haunted palace. Any moment now, the dead Empress would emerge from a doorway and speak to him again. "For my children," she had said, her mouth dripping blood. But where were her children? He shook himself, and nearly stumbled into the eunuch in front of him again; then nearly did so again as the eunuch stopped completely, then turned slowly to face him. 

Theodotus looked around; they were in front of a small door in the corridor. As he watched, the eunuch gestured him, with a complex, flourishing wave, to enter. Steeling himself, he stepped inside.

But he was only in a small storeroom, lit with a single, wavering oil lamp. The eunuch tittered, covering his mouth with one hand. "Did you really think we would take you to see the Emperor looking like that?" His thin hand traced its way across Theodotus' dirty black tunic, stained with blood. "Here's what's going to happen; I'll leave, and you'll put this on. Then we'll go to the Augustus." One hand touched Theodotus in the chest, while the other gestured towards an ornate silver-and-black assemblage set in the corner. "And you should really clean yourself up while you're at it," he added, gesturing to a bowl of water and a brush beside it. "You clerics...no sense of propriety." He shifted his hand to touch Theodotus on the arm, then shut the door, leaving Theodotus to dress in the flickering darkness.

As he reached for the robe, a stray memory flickered to life: the first time he had put on his deacon's robes, in the little sacristy of the cathedral in Antioch, just before his ordination. Those robes had been linen; these were silk, and the crosses were woven of real silver. He put on the heavy tunic, then the chlamys, clasping it with a golden broach. Apart from the crosses and the richness of the fabric, it might have been a military cloak; a reminiscence cemented as he reached down and slid the pugilo into the leather belt, under the chlamys, fastening the clasps just as he remembered.

But which was he, the soldier or the deacon? Or was he somehow both? 

He shook these thoughts away, and stepped out of the room to find the eunuch and soldier lounging against the wall opposite, laughing together. The eunuch looked him up and down, then stepped over and began adjusting small parts of his robes, pulling out a part there, tucking it in here, and clucking gently to himself all the while. As his hand strayed toward the belt, Theodotus grabbed him roughly. "Enough," he said. "Take me to Constantine."

The eunuch tittered again. "Why, deacon..." he said. "I don't know what you've heard about eunuchs, but...I have standards." He withdrew his hand. "And you didn't even touch the brush...well, the Emperor has no one to blame but himself. Very well. Come." His sauntering air gave way to sudden brusqueness, and he was away, walking faster this time, and gesturing impatiently for Theodotus and the soldier to follow. 

The soldier brought up the rear this time, his armor clattering as he walked; Theodotus barely suppressed the urge to seize the dagger at his waist. The corridors were nearly empty now, as bishops and courtiers dined and rested from the effort of the morning's assembly; but here and there slaves moved silently about, cleaning and carrying out small errands. A slave holding a large tray pressed himself against a wall just in time to avoid the eunuch, who was racing forward with small steps and did not slow his pace or look at him. As they passed by, Theodotus glanced at the slave: it was the German, Flavius. Theodotus felt the man's eyes narrow, and for a second saw reflected in them the strange scene he must be: the unkempt appearance, the rich robes, the soldier and the eunuch and the deacon.

Then Flavius had disappeared again, and abruptly they were there, outside the large, ornate door of what was obviously a dining room. The eunuch stopped, and gestured Theodotus forward. "Go on," he said, frowning. "The Emperor's been in a mood all day...I'm not going in there. And if he complains about your appearance..." The eunuch raised his hands in mock frustration. Theodotus, though, needed no reminder; he had already wrenched open the door a small crack and stepped through.

Then he stopped abruptly, and stared around him. His first thought was that he had slipped and fallen into hell. The next moment, he realized that he was merely in a large room with a low ceiling hung with curtains--brilliant, flaming red curtains, surrounding him on three sides. Everywhere he looked, there was a brilliant, glowing, shifting mass of red--like roaring flames, or writhing blood.

There was an awkward cough from beside him; he turned his head to see another eunuch, dressed in purple, staring at him. The eunuch jerked his head; and, turning, Theodotus saw the Emperor.

He was standing in the midst of the red curtains; standing with his arms extended, and his eyes raised upwards. He was dressed, again, all in purple, a purple tunic with a purple robe twined over in complicated draperies, set everywhere with panels of gold thread into which great jewels of red, green, blue, and white had been sewn. There were gold sandals on his feet, and a thin diadem of gold, fashioned into laurel leaves and dotted with rubies, was set over his greying black hair; and on his face was an expression of serene, confident joy that did not change. 

Theodotus stared at him, waiting for him to move or speak; but he did not do so. The Emperor was still as a statue, his hands entirely still, not even a blink or a whisper of breath giving the sense of life.

Theodotus felt a touch on his arm, and turned his head; it was the eunuch, frowning at him and gesturing insistently towards the floor. Only then did he understand what was being asked of him.

Slowly lowering himself onto his knees, Theodotus extended his hands in front of him, then lowered his body down until he was stretched out full length in front of the Emperor, his face pressed against the cold marble floor.

This, too, is what he had done on the day of his ordination, in the Cathedral at Antioch. Then, he had been prostrating himself before the altar, before God. What was he prostrating himself to now? And to what was he being ordained?

Theodotus waited in silence for nearly a minute, his breath fogging the marble, the cool hardness heavy on his forehead. He shifted his head slightly, and the Emperor had moved. Still as before, and still with his eyes raised to heaven, he had extended his right hand towards the prone figure in front of him, and grasped within a fold of purple drapery. 

Theodotus stared in confusion. The Emperor still did not move or look at him; but after another minute he felt the hot breath of the eunuch in his right ear. "Take the purple cloth and kiss it. Then rise." 

Theodotus lifted himself up on one hand, and did as he was instructed. The purple cloth was softer than any he had touched, softer even than the silk of his own robe. It was scented with rose, but as he pressed it to his lips a second, sharper scent came from underneath. It was piercing and rank, like rotting fish, and nearly made him gag. 

He released the purple robe, then rose slowly to his feet. The Emperor did not move or look at him; and before he had fully risen, the eunuch was at his side, grasping his arm and directing him forcefully away from the Emperor, through the curtain to his left. 

Passing through it, he found himself in what he had expected to find at the start; a rich dining area, five ornate couches of red and gold cloth set in a semi-circle around three small silver tables with thin legs. The whole was surrounded on all four sides by red curtains that trembled as he passed through, casting shifting shadows in the light of great, ornate golden lamps hung from the ceiling on silver chains, set with rubies. The other guests were already reclined at their places, drinking wine from goblets as two red-clad slaves stood at attention behind the couches, at opposite ends, holding flagons. As he watched, the guest closest to him held up his goblet, and the slave poured into it with an easy, practiced motion.

Theodotus gasped; the guest was Apollon, richly dressed, like him, in black and silver. He stared at him, but the priest did not look up. As he watched, the old man took another drink of his wine, staring at the curtain across from him. To Apollon's left was a Senator in a purple-striped toga, lying on his left elbow and swirling his wine with a long white hand. Across from him lay a small man in the white pallium of a philosopher, with a neatly-trimmed black beard and curly hair coated with oil; he was gulping down his wine, spilling it onto his face as he did so, and giggling to himself all the while. Theodotus stared. I know him from somewhere...

But the slave across from him had gestured for him to take his place. There were two couches still empty, but the closer slave directed him discreetly towards the seat next to the small philosopher. Turning around Theodotus laid his body down on its side on the cushioned surface, propping himself up on his left elbow and with his right hand accepting the goblet offered by the slave behind him. 

He was directly across from Apollon now; but still the old man avoided his eyes, glancing down instead at the silver table in front of him. Theodotus took a sip of his wine; it was smooth and sweet, sweeter than any wine he had tasted, and there was an odd, resiny aftertaste. He swallowed with difficulty, and turned to stare again at Apollon. 

There was a stir in the air, and abruptly all three men rose to their feet, followed a second later by Theodotus. Then the Emperor passed through the curtain behind Apollon, stepped easily to his couch, and laid himself down across it. 

Then the Emperor waved his hand; and the others laid back down as well. The Emperor was seated to Theodotus' left, in the center of the semi-circle, with Apollon on his own left. As Theodotus watched, he took the goblet easily from the slave and took a large swig from it. He now seemed entirely transformed; the statue was gone, and in its place was a man, a confident, controlled man of large gestures and easy force.

Even as he watched, Constantine turned towards him and smiled thinly. "Shall we eat? You must be hungry." Theodotus nodded, and Constantine handed his empty goblet back to the eunuch, who had now appeared at his elbow. "Dinner, Thespis. Now. And don't bother with that courses nonsense today. Bring everything."

He turned back to Theodotus. "Do you like this wine? Be honest." His large, brown eyes glinted as he stared at the deacon.

Theodotus froze; but after a second shook his head. Constantine nodded confidently, and turned back to the eunuch. "I thought so. Bring the Sabine wine, and take this swill away." He turned his head back to Theodotus and smiled. "What you've been drinking is from Greece, with honey and mastic. Very expensive, beloved of Senators and such people, but...not at all what soldiers like us are used to."

Theodotus tensed again as Constantine snatched another goblet from the slave and filled it himself from a flagon held out by the second slave. Then, smiling more broadly, he held the goblet out to Theodotus. Theodotus took it gingerly, and took a sip. He did indeed find it more to his liking; a rich, strong wine, fruity but not sweet. He smiled back at Constantine. 

Constantine laughed, and took a swig of his own wine. Beside Apollon, the Senator coughed politely; Theodotus glanced at him and recognized the man, Sextus Anicius Paulinus, that Hosius had confronted in the street the day before. He was staying equally still now as then, his goblet held in his thin fingers, and looking towards Constantine. His brows knitted. "Your Patience...perhaps, if it pleases the greatest Augustus, we might begin our discussion by--"

"Was I speaking to you?" Constantine's smile hardened, but did not lessen; he did not so much as glance in the Senator's direction. The two slaves were now passing silently back and forth through the curtain supervised by the eunuch, carrying trays of meat, fresh fruit, and bread, which they carefully arranged on the three silver tables between the couches. As he took another sip Theodotus realized for the first time how little he had eaten and drunk that day; his head swam, and there was a sharp pain in his belly. 

He looked up; Constantine was continuing to stare at him. He gestured to the food in front of Theodotus. "Please, eat." His fingers deftly found a piece of cooked beef, and popped it into his mouth. "I have done very little the past few days; but you have done a great deal." 

Theodotus reached his right unsteadily forward, and found another piece of beef, which he ate carefully. His stomach burned again, and his vision blurred, but he resisted the urge to shut his eyes.

"Tell me," Constantine said. He was deftly eating a spiced chicken leg with his right hand, stripping the meat carefully off the bone with his teeth without letting a single fragment fall onto his robes or the floor, and looking intently at Theodotus all the time. "Why did you change your name? Many clerics bear the names of the false gods...like your friend Apollon here." Theodotus glanced over, but Apollon was eating an apricot with his head lowered. "Surely it was not merely to prevent me from finding out your identity." Constantine set the bare chicken leg down on the platter.

Theodotus considered. Constantine was clearly probing him; but there seemed little point in reticence. Also his head was still swimming. "It was not my decision. The deacon who trained me was old-fashioned, and concerned with such things. Also he bore a special animus for the demons he held responsible for the deaths of the martyrs, including his own daughter. I imagine my name reminded him particularly of Diocletian." Theodotus reached for a piece of chicken, but paused. "No doubt he also thought it would help me leave my old life behind more completely."

Constantine paused with his goblet to his lips. "Yes, I suppose so." He took a careful sip. "But have you left it behind?"

Theodotus shook his head, and Constantine smiled. "Yes, well," he said, picking up a slice of plum and shaking the excess juice off of it, "I confess I find this horror of bloodshed among clerics rather exaggerated. It seems plain to me that the saying of the Lord, 'He who lives by the sword will die by the sword,' is best taken as an admonition against unjust force, and an exhortation to rely on God's help, and not a condemnation of the use of the sword in general. Especially when Christ himself exhorted his followers to sell their tunics and buy swords." He put the slice whole into his mouth and chewed carefully. "And then, of course, there is no question that Moses wielded the sword, both against his own people and against the unbelieving pagans, at the ordinance and command of God. And who would deny that he did so justly, in vengeance against the enemies of truth? 'He does not bear the sword in vain,' the Apostle says. Wouldn't you agree?"

Theodotus shrugged again, and ate another piece of beef. It had been seasoned with spices to which he could place no name, hot and fragrant, and he found it delicious. He could feel his strength returning, and with it the sense of purpose with which he had entered the chamber. Constantine must die. 

Constantine seemed to take his silence as a tacit criticism, and turned his head to Theodotus. "Of course, I know well what lies behind these concerns. We both saw what the tyrants did, the spectacle they made of unjust bloodshed. Bloodshed, and...worse things." He lifted his goblet slowly to his lips, staring off towards the red curtain. Then he took a sip, and set the goblet down. "I was a young man when I first saw it. I had spent many years in Nicomedia. Diocletian, Galerius, Daza...I knew them all. Or thought I did." His face darkened. "I couldn't believe it when I saw...couldn't imagine how men I had looked up to could tolerate such things...let alone command them. The torture of the innocent...abuse of women...children...the mockery of any idea not only of justice but of shame...presented as a public spectacle to the crowds as though for imitation." Theodotus stared at him, and Constantine stared back. "Your deacon was right about one thing. There are demons."

Theodotus nodded. "Tell me," Constantine said abruptly; he had turned his head away, and was picking grapes carefully off the platter in front of him. "What do you think of these theological debates? I confess they fascinate me. Your bishop has written some powerful and persuasive things of late, though...I still do not quite see how with his commitments he can avoid ascribing suffering and emotion to the highest divinity. Surely Plato has provided a better way in which to reconcile divine activity?" 

He popped a grape into his mouth. "That the Emperor of the cosmos should suffer mockery and shame, to demonstrate forbearance and the power of justice over the malice of evil men and demons, is well enough. But such things cannot be in any way associated with Plato's first God, who in the interpretation of Numenius is beyond even substance." Constantine seemed to Theodotus to be eating a prodigious amount, as much or two or more ordinary men, but so elegantly that it did not come off as gluttonous. 

"Even if we say, as I proposed at the Great Council, that God's active will merely used a human body as an instrument--surely it is not fitting for the divine will to be separated from the divine power, even in appearance, so as to endure powerlessness. And when I read Eustathius' latest works against Eusebius, I find him saying quite different things; proposing a unification between the substance of the highest divinity and a complete human substance. But surely such a unification is ruled out by the very nature of the highest divinity?" Constantine was eating and speaking rapidly, swiftly selecting bits of meat and fruit and swallowing them down in between his words, but still so carefully that Theodotus could detect neither crumb nor dropping. His words were equally fluid and confident, pouring out of him without stop or interruption; though he did not look at Theodotus.

"It is true that the Pythagoreans speak of the inhabiting presence of deities within statues and other sacred objects, and even practice theurgic rites to summon them--but that does not seem to me to imply unification as Eustathius means, and does not in any case involve the highest divinity, who both the Pythagoreans and Platonists agree is beyond all association." Constantine took up his goblet once more, and turned to fix Theodotus with a confident smile. "Tell me, did Eustathius say anything to you that might illuminate the point?"

Theodotus shrugged, and wiped his hands on the linen cloth provided by the slave behind him. "I don't know anything at all about theology, I'm afraid."

Constantine looked for the first time taken aback. For a moment, he merely stared at Theodotus in confusion, then forced a laugh. "...indeed? I thought--well, certainly knowledge is not everything." 

Constantine swirled the red wine in his cup, and laughed again. "You should have seen the pagan philosophers at Diocletian's court...little, cringing men who sweated and shook every time the Emperor spoke to them." He laughed again, staring into his wine. "Still, I was fascinated by what they had to say; and did my best to read the books they gave me. " His face darkened. "But as men, they disgusted me; and even more so after they persuaded Diocletian to begin the persecution. Since then, I have seen for myself how much more impressive your bishops are than they. Intellect with courage; men, not eunuchs. I saw very well why the philosophers had been so desperate to destroy the name of Christ. They were afraid to face your bishops in open debate; and they enjoyed seeing your women tortured." 

He turned to Theodotus, and fixed him an even more intent stare, as though trying to look through him. "Then, too, I did not understand how great a prize chastity was; and why it was sought so fervently by your priests and bishops. But when I saw the courage of your martyrs under abuse, and the sweating impotence of those who watched them, I began to understand. And since I began to keep myself pure from women, I have known myself, for the first time, the master of my own body and mind. Was it not the same for you, when you passed from soldier to deacon?" Constantine seemed to remember himself, and took a sip of wine; but he continued to stare.

Theodotus nodded and handed his empty goblet to the slave. He felt his head clearing, and with it his purpose returning. "But none of this is what I came here to discuss, Emperor." 

Anicius made a contemptuous noise in his throat. "Please...deacon. His Justice is not addressed as 'Emperor,' but--"

Constantine brought his hand up forcefully, his jaw clenched. "If I had wished to hear your babble, Senator, I would have asked for it." He did not look at Anicius, but continued to look at Theodotus. "Yes," he said. "I am aware. You were sent here by Eustathius to investigate what you believe are murders." 

Theodotus nodded. He felt his heart beating harder, his hand involuntarily reaching toward the dagger at his waistband. Constantine's eyes narrowed. "Yes, Emperor. And...I believe I have succeeded."

Constantine turned his head away. "Indeed?" he asked. He slowly raised his goblet to his lips. "I have heard remarkable things about your...gift." He quaffed the rest of the wine in his cup, grimaced, and held it up to be refilled again. "To uncover guilt and punish it is, as I'm sure you're aware, first and foremost an operation of divinity. And something that can only be carried out reliably with divine assistance." He smiled to himself, looking down again into the still, red surface of the wine. "Or at least, I have found it to be so."

Theodotus stared at him in surprise. Constantine seemed, for the first time, to be echoing his own thoughts. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, precisely."

Constantine glanced at him and smiled slyly. "Oh yes, I understand. Who could understand better than I?"

Theodotus shook his head, trying to clear it. He felt somehow as if he were being hypnotized. What was Constantine saying to him?

"I have investigated, as God commanded me," he said slowly, looking away towards the red curtains behind Constantine's head. "And I believe I have discovered why you killed your wife Fausta, and your son Crispus."

Theodotus glanced back; Constantine was still looking at him, and still smiling. "Yes," Constantine said, firmly, as if he had not spoken. "Who could understand better than I? I who God himself chose and appointed to be the avenger of the slaughter of his servants and the demolition of his holy house?" His voice had changed; it was louder and deeper, filling the little space and conveying each syllable clearly to Theodotus' ears. His eyes, too, were burning with intensity, staring directly into Theodotus' own; Theodotus avoided them, staring down at his own cup.

"I said I could not believe that men I had known would commit such abominable crimes against innocence; but when I did see them, I knew with certainty that such crimes would not go unpunished by the avenging hand of divinity. I withdrew from keeping company with such men, and prepared for the calamities I knew would follow. And when God himself came to me, in a glorious public vision and a secret appearance by night, whose full understanding no other among men can know, I found that God himself had appointed me to be the avenger of these wrongs, his chosen instrument to judge the sins of men." 

Theodotus glanced back again, and saw that Constantine was still staring at him, his eyes bulging, his jaw set and firm; there was something electric about his gaze, and he felt himself shiver involuntarily.

"So yes, I understand you; I understand the great mission to which God has called you. And I see in your success yet another sign of the favor of God towards me. It is he who has sent you to me; not to oppose me, but to cooperate with me in the work of God. When I first heard of you, I believed you to be a beneficent instrument provided by providence for the fulfillment of my task; and since I have spoken to you I know it with even greater certainty. Surely you know it too? God has called you, is calling you, to aid me in the great work he has given me to do: to unify the world, to uncover the secret sins of men, unchastity and violence and cruelty and oppression of the poor, to vindicate the weak against their oppressors, to bring vengeance upon the strong and the proud, to bring justice upon the earth." Constantine was leaning forward, the muscles of his neck taut, one hand extended towards Theodotus. Theodotus stared at him.

"You know it, don't you?" Constantine said. "Surely God has revealed it to you also? To be a deacon, to serve the poor, is a great calling; but you are called to something higher, something beyond even the divine knowledge of the bishops of the Church. No bishop, no priest, can do such work. They cannot shed blood, wield the sword, bring the unbeliever to faith and the wrongdoer to justice. But we can; God has commanded us to do so, and given us the means. I was a mere soldier at the court of Diocletian; and now I am the ruler of the world. You were a mere soldier; and now, here you are, at my side. We have both seen evil triumphant, the demons and their followers murdering and violating with impunity; and now, we will see them at our feet. This work is reserved for you and me, from all eternity. We can carry out the very work of God himself; not to suffer sins, but to end them. To cast down the mighty from their thrones, and lift up the lowly; to do justice. It is prophesied; it will be done. God will do it!"

Theodotus stared at Constantine's hand; in it was a goblet filled with wine, red and dark like blood. The Emperor was offering it to him eagerly, insistently, with total certainty. Everything he had secretly desired, everything he had sought these last months and years, was being offered to him by the ruler of the world. What could he do but take it?

But even as he gazed at Constantine's taut, eager face, there was another face before his eyes; the woman he had seen in his dream. 

"Your wife," Theodotus said, his voice dull. "And your son." He took a deep breath. "I know why you killed them. Do you wish to hear?"

Constantine looked away, his brow knitting with frustration. "So that is it? You think me a murderer. Another Diocletian, another Daza. I tell you, I have seen your God, your Christ, in my dreams! I have seen unspeakable secrets revealed to me in the most inner chambers of my intellect! Do you deny this?"

"I do not. But you killed your wife and son nonetheless. And I will tell you why--" 

Constantine slammed his fist into the side of the couch. "Yes! I did! But if you truly had the gift you claim to possess, if you truly knew why I had done it, you would not dare accuse me of murder."

There was a silence. 

"I will tell you why," Theodotus repeated. "Even when you ruled in the West, you had many contacts with bishops in the East, under Licinius; you sent them money, and messages, and wrote them letters in secret; and they wrote to you as well." He shifted his gaze to the old priest across from him. Apollon had eaten nothing all through the meal, and his head was bowed in what might have been shame or sorrow. But he did not speak or look up. "Apollon here was one of your envoys; no doubt an important one for the honor you show him now." The old man still did not look at him, but Theodotus saw the skin of his face and arm redden, as though with a blush. For a moment, Theodotus stared at him; then he turned back to Constantine.

"When you decided you would go to war and become Emperor of both East and West, you began to rely on these contacts more and more. Bishops gave you information on Licinius' doings; spied for you; agitated against your colleague and in favor of your rule. They did all this because you asked them to; but also because you wished to provoke Licinius into arresting them, prosecuting them, repressing them in any way, doing anything that would resemble persecution. He fell into your trap; and you were able to go to war with him with a clean conscience, knowing that the Christians of the East would welcome your aggression."

Constantine was still looking away, towards the curtains, his face darkening more and more with each word. "Is that your secret, deacon?" He bit out. "That I am somehow to blame for the tyrant's violence...because I aided the Church of God?" 

"No," Theodotus said. "That is not a secret. It is not widely known, but many could discover or guess it; and many have. The secret is that among your agents in the East, the most important was the bishop of Licinius' court in Nicomedia, Eusebius. He was hated; he supported Arius against his bishop; but Licinius trusted him, and protected him. He did not know that all the while, Eusebius was working for you. But when you conquered, and became ruler of the East, you found, to your surprise, how deeply Eusebius was hated; that all your other episcopal allies, Eustathius and Alexander and even Hosius, wished to see him deposed for heresy, and could not be turned aside by all your efforts at reconciliation. And so you wavered; you allowed the Great Council to be called, knowing it would mean Eusebius' downfall. Before the Council, though, Eusebius came to you; he threatened to reveal what he had done for you against Licinius. He knew that it would hurt your prestige with the other bishops in the East; and that is why you protected Eusebius at the Council."

Constantine was still looking away; but his voice was still and cold. "And that is why you think I killed my son, deacon?" he bit out. "To keep bishops from knowing that Eusebius had tricked me? I was wrong to think that God had given you a gift."

"No," Theodotus said again. He sighed; now, at the moment of truth, he felt no more anger, but only weariness. The dagger at his belt seemed an intolerable burden; and so did the words on his lips. "That is not why you killed Crispus. Crispus was angry that you had protected Eusebius; he had spoken much with the bishops who opposed him, Eustathius and Alexander and Hosius and the rest, and he could not understand why you would have done such a thing. He was so angry, and so insistent, that you were at last persuaded to reverse course, and depose Eusebius after all, months after the council; that, and because you were angered by Eusebius' daring. But still, Crispus did not understand why you had at first aided one who to him was a heretic; he continued to investigate, in his own way, and through his own contacts among the bishops. Finally, he found out; I am not sure how, but most likely from the other Eusebius, from Caesarea, here at court. He is not as discreet as he thinks, and all but told me the same thing. And when he did find out, Crispus came to you, and confronted you angrily; and told you that you had dishonored your position by consorting with heretics, and that it would invite divine punishment."

Constantine was breathing hard, though whether from anger or fear it was difficult to say; one vice-like hand clutched at his goblet, and the other clawed at the cushion at his head. "And you think I flew into a rage and murdered him, like a tyrant, like a Diocletian?" He did not look at Theodotus.

"No," Theodotus said, for the last time. "Crispus only spoke aloud the things you had feared. In confronting you, though, he let slip the degree to which he himself was in contact with bishops throughout the Empire. He was writing letters very often, perhaps even weekly, to Eustathius and Alexander and Marcellus and others in the East, and holding frequent conferences with Hosius at court; and as I know well, they were all impressed by him, and looked forward eagerly to the day when he would be Emperor, and would support them against the heretics--support them better than you. When you realized this, you believed that he would overthrow you; that he was already cultivating his own network of episcopal supporters throughout the Empire and at your court, doing to you what you had done to Licinius. He denied all this, and declared his loyalty again and again; but you condemned him to death, not in a fit of anger, but after what seemed to you a thorough investigation. And he went willingly, to prove his loyalty."

There was a sudden noise. Constantine had risen to his feet; he had dropped the goblet, and was staring at Theodotus, shock and fear and, strangest of all, desire written on his face. "Yes!" he said. "That is it. God has given you a gift." He stepped towards Theodotus, pushing the silver table aside. The food fell with a crash onto the floor, and the little philosopher shrieked in fear and fell backwards off his couch. "And I tell you, God has given me the same gift. I did not merely suspect that my son was planning to overthrow me; I knew it; I saw it. It was revealed to me in the depths of my heart." 

Constantine stopped, breathing hard, and looked around. Apollon, Anicius, and the other man were all staring at him; there was terror written across Anicius' face; Apollon's was crumpled with tears. "It was...it was just the same before," Constantine said, turning back to Theodotus with an odd, pleading expression on his face. "When I was at Diocletian's court, at the end...I knew they were planning to kill me. They said nothing, let slip nothing; but when I looked at their faces, I could see clearly the malice of their hearts. And every night, I dreamed of it, what they had done to the martyrs, what they were planning to do to me."

There was sweat on his brow, and it showered down on Theodotus as he shook his head vigorously but unsteadily. "It was just the same with Crispus. It was no mere suspicion; it was a revelation of God. I tell you, when he stood before me, I looked into his heart, and saw the festering, burning malice there. The same malice that had been in the hearts of Diocletian and Daza, that made them rebel against God. Like them, it was the demons who had instigated Crispus against me, to oppose the work God had given me to do, the work that only I could carry out. And that night, I dreamed of it; his disloyalty, his pride, his rebellion, the sudden betrayal of all the bishops, Hosius, Eustathius, Alexander, the poisoned chalice with which he was planning to take my life, the destruction he would bring on the whole world if he succeeded. The same destruction Diocletian brought. When I awoke, I knew that he must die. God chose me, like Moses, to carry out his just judgments; and like Abraham he required of me the sacrifice of my son. It was not I who condemned Crispus to death; it was God." 

Constantine was sweating still harder, his whole body trembling; the exact opposite of the composed statue he had been less than an hour before. And yet, in his own way, he was more compelling, more majestic than ever.

Theodotus' voice and face shook with suppressed emotion. "And your wife? Did God condemn her to death as well?"

Constantine looked away, consternation in his face. "My wife..." Constantine blinked back sudden tears. He looked for the first time old. "She deserved to die. It was not...it was different." He shook his head angrily. "You must understand, my mother...I grew up with her. She suffered so much when my father cast her aside...I would hear her weeping every night, in the room we shared. Praying to God that he would turn my father's heart to receive her back. And Fausta..." 

Constantine shook his head again; his face crumpled. "I should never have married her. The sister of my father's concubine. It hurt her. I have tried to be a good son to her, but--it is as the bishops say. Unchastity and ambition make us slaves of our passions." He blinked down at his own feet, hanging his head as sweat and tears dripped down; he seemed oddly, now, like a child. "And...and Fausta herself was cruel. I never caught her at it, but...she tormented my mother. I'm sure of it. Degraded her, reminded her of her indignities. My mother is a holy woman, a true believer. When she asked me to kill Fausta, I saw at once that it was just. I did not...it was no passion of mine that was responsible. I have kept myself pure. I have had no mistresses these past  years, even on campaign. I honored Fausta as my wife. But my mother was right. She deserved to die. It was...it, too, was God's judgment. Yes."

As Constantine spoke, Theodotus saw in his mind the clear, still image of the woman from his dream; and with it, the woman he had seen in Helena's palace, the wife of Crispus; and, last of all, Helena herself. Fausta's words echoed in his mind.

"And what," he asked slowly, "of your children?"

Constantine stared at him in confusion. "My children?" The intense emotion on his face a moment before was gone, replaced by puzzlement. "What of them?"

Theodotus took a deep breath. "You killed their mother. And when you die, they will be Emperors, and rule the world. What will become of them?"

Constantine frowned; he seemed for the first time in their interview truly taken aback. "I...well, yes, of course. I suppose...if I were to die, they would rule. But perhaps..." He looked down at his feet and blinked, sweat continuing to drip off his nose. His brow wrinkled with thought. "They were born of an unchaste union. Their mother...she was an evil influence. I see it...I see it in their faces. Surely God would not permit--" He considered for another moment, and abruptly smiled, like a child  "But...yes, I will not marry again; I will keep myself pure. And I will educate her children. I will teach them to govern their passions. And I myself will rule them, and make them my instruments, mirrors of my light, and Emperors indeed. So God has willed it." He nodded sharply.

A moment later, and he had glanced looked up again, fixing Theodotus with the same intense stare. "You know I'm right, don't you?" There was something like triumph in his voice; and this time, Theodotus did not look away. Somehow, he could not. "You saw what the tyrants did to the innocent; and you know what I did to them. You cannot deny that God himself chose me to be his instrument of vengeance. And that he chose you to serve me." All images had vanished from Theodotus' mind; all he saw was the face of the Emperor, his eyes impossibly large, his skin shining with sweat like bronze, a golden diadem glistening like fire on his brow. The Emperor's eyes were on his. "You see it, don't you? Everyone does. Everyone you honor, everyone you fear, everyone you have trusted. Every priest, every bishop, no matter how wise, no matter how skeptical...even your Eustathius, even Hosius. All have known and confessed that it is God who raised me up, who made me Emperor, who worked through me and works through me. Everyone who confesses God truly confesses this. And God has revealed it to you as well." He leaned in closer to Theodotus, his face mere inches away, his eyes unblinking as they bored into Theodotus' own. "When you look at me...you see the God that dwells within me, who judges through me. Do not deny him."

His voice was deep, throbbing; it went through Theodotus like waves. His great eyes caught the light from the oil-lamps; they were wheels of fire. Theodotus trembled. 

For a moment, the Emperor stared down at him, a figure all of purple and gold surrounded by flames. Then, slowly, still trembling, Theodotus rose unsteadily to his feet. 

For a moment, he struggled to open his mouth, to speak. Finally, in a weak whisper: "No," he said.

The Emperor's eyes glared down at Theodotus. "No?"

"No," Theodotus said, louder and firmer. He trembled again, but steadied himself against the side of his couch. "I do not know what God has done in you or through you. But I know that God is just. He did not command you to kill the innocent. He did not condemn Crispus and Faustua. It is you who killed your wife and son. You are a murderer."

In a single moment, the stiff mask of the Emperor's face seemed to melt away; behind it was the petulant face of a child. Constantine took a deep breath, his face twisting with what might have been anger or sorrow, rage or pain. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, only a low, gurgling moan. His whole body seemed to quiver.

Theodotus' hand gripped the dagger concealed at his waist. Now is the moment. 

Once only, he had seen Diocletian, a remote figure all of gold, giving orders to kill and destroy; orders Theodotus had obeyed without question. Now, less than a foot away, the Emperor of Rome quivered and shook, helpless and unarmed before him. I have waited for this moment my whole life; the only moment there will be. The only chance to avenge them all. He tried to picture all the faces of the murdered: Fausta's tear-stained face, Crispus' pale pride, the innumerable martyrs, the dead soldiers, the young woman in the arena, the old man's daughter, whom he had tortured to death with his own hands. I will punish the guilty. I will avenge the innocent. I will atone for my sins. I will die.

But though he stood face to face with the ruler of the whole world, it was not at all as he had imagined it. Constantine was no longer a dominating figure of purple and gold, but a tall, pale child, drenched in sweat and tears; and he himself was not an avenging angel, but a tired old soldier, unsteady from food and wine, his hands shaking and tears flowing from his own eyes. And as he wavered, the face of Sylvester came back to him sudden and clear, and with it the words: "Do not do it. Do not kill again. Do not die."

The deacon dropped his hand from his waist, and turned his back on the Emperor of the world. "You are wrong," he said. "God did not send you or I to punish the guilty. It is he who will judge us both. We are both murderers; but I have repented." 

He took a deep breath. "I thank you for your offer, Emperor. But I have tarried in this city long enough. I must go back to my bishop." He took an unsteady step around the table, towards the door. 

"Your bishop will be deposed." It was Constantine's voice, harsher than he had yet heard it. He stopped, but did not turn around. "Eudoxius here...he has a woman, in Antioch, who will swear that Eustathius fathered her child. I...I will send Eusebius to investigate. He will end Eustathius' reign; and I will send him into exile." 

Theodotus nodded. "Then I will go into exile with him. But I will not remain here, with you." 

He stepped through the curtain, then across the small space to the door. "Wait!" It was the voice of the Emperor, once more deep and smooth and remote, like distant thunder. The deacon waited. 

"I could kill you," said the Emperor. "If I wished."

"Yes," said the deacon.

And he stepped through the door, and began his journey home.