Eusebius of Vercelli, Letter 2 Ad Populum

Eusebius of Vercelli, Letter 2, to the People (355-361 AD)

[As I have posted periodically on this blog, here is a translation of a historical document, in this case a letter written by Eusebius of Vercelli to the people of his diocese from exile c. 355-361 AD. This document provides an important firsthand account of episcopal exile under the Roman Emperor Constantius II, and I am using it as such for a current academic project.

St. Eusebius of Vercelli is one of the more obscure members of the group of exiled Nicene bishop-ascetics from the mid-4th century of the Arian Controversy, but perhaps one of the most important. A prominent Italian bishop and ally of the bishop of Rome Liberius, he was exiled by the Emperor Constantius II at the Council of Milan in 355 AD after refusing to subscribe to the condemnation of Athanasius of Alexandra and the Creed of Sirmium offered by the Emperor. According to our one contemporary narrative, this happened after Eusebius arrived late to the Council and demanded that everyone present sign the Creed of Nicaea before proceeding with any more business. He remained in exile in the East until the death of Constantius in 361 AD, when he played a key role in the Council of Alexandria chaired by Athanasius upon the Emperor's death and attempted without success to resolve the bitter schism in Antioch. He then returned home and died circa 370. He also played an important role, like his close ally Hilary of Poitiers, in establishing early monastic and ascetic institutions in the West, likely inspired by Athanasius' ally Anthony of Egypt.]

To my most beloved brothers, and very much desired priests, but also to the holy peoples of Vercelli, Novarium, Hippo Regius, and also Dertonium who stand firm in the Faith: Eusebius the bishop in the Lord wishes eternal salvation. 

1. Although our Lord comforts us, separated in body from you, with many good things, and shows your presence to us at least through the arrival and visits of very many brothers; nevertheless we were sorrowful and sad and not without tears; because for a long interval of time we did not receive writings from Your Holinesses. Indeed we were afraid that either some diabolical subtlety had taken hold of you, or human power had subjugated the unfaithful.

Therefore, while we were afflicted with these thoughts, and I was turning all the consolation of brothers who were coming to us from various provinces more to sorrow at your absence than to joy: the Lord thought it right to bestow this, that I was able to learn the very thing about which I was worried, not only by the letters of your sincerity, but also by the presence of our dear ones Syrus the deacon and Victorinus the exorcist.

And so I have come to know, dearest brothers, that you, as I desired, are unharmed. And, as though I was suddenly snatched up through all the breadth of the earth (as happened to Habakkuk, who was carried by an angel all the way to Daniel [cf. Daniel 14:33-36]), I judged that I had come to you, while I was receiving the letters of each person, while I was racing to your holy friends and the love found in your writings. 

2. Tears were mingling for me with joy: and my mind, eager to read, was constrained by being occupied with tears. And both things were necessary, as each of my senses was desiring to anticipate its duties of loving for this fulfillment of desire. Thus each day while occupied with this I was judging that I was spending time with you, and I was forgetting my past labors: in this way truly joys were encompassing me on every side, offering from here stable faith, from here love, from here fruitfulness; so that in so many and so great established goods, suddenly I was judging, as I said above, that I was not in exile, but with you.

I rejoice therefore, dearest brothers, in your faith: I rejoice in your salvation which follows faith: I rejoice in your fruits, because from this they have not only been established, but also have travelled far. As indeed the farmer has grafted on that good tree, which does not suffer the axe, is not given up to flames, for the sake of its fruits; so also we want and desire not only to show to Your Holinesses service according to the flesh, but also to spend our lives for your salvation.

You have extended, as I said, branches strong with fruit, and you have labored to reach through such long spaces of the earth to touch me. I rejoice as a farmer, and gladly pluck the apples of your labor, because you wanted to do so much: not only I, or those very holy priests and deacons or other brothers who are with me, but also all of us who are longing for you.

For you filled up, as the most blessed Apostle says, my heart when you fulfilled the divine commandments which it is right that Christians fulfill towards a bishop or ecclesiastical men who you know labor in exile because of the Faith. You have fulfilled the things which it is right for brothers to do for brothers, and for sons to show for a father.

But when we were wanting you, according to divine commandments, to produce heavenly fruit from earthly things, stable fruit from fleeting things, eternal fruit from fragile things; in suffering by necessity we began to sow seeds daily. The poor were rejoicing at your fruits: not only were the people of the city itself glorifying God, but also everyone: and these people were able to see from the fruits themselves the love you have for me, and in seeing were glorifying God, and naming us with all honor with your blessing. 

3. The devil seeing this, the enemy of innocence, the rival of justice, the opponent of faith, because God was being blessed in this work, inflamed against us his Ariomaniacs, who now for a long time were raging not only over this work, but also over their own infidelity, to which they were not able to persuade us, so that they violently erupted; in this way that he has always used, those whom he was not able to persuade, he terrified with force and power.

And so he gathered the multitude of his own people, who seize and bring us to the factory of their infidelity and mock us: and they say that all this power has been handed over to them by the Emperor. Therefore when they were saying many things and boasting about their power, in this I wanted to show them that the things they were able to do are nothing, while I handed over in silence as though to executioners my body, which the Lord was saying was able to be handed over in persecutions. How free in mind I was, while I am suffering from these things, and am imprisoned, and am preserved through four days, and hear the insults and persuasions of different kinds of people: in this I have shown that I have not spoken even one word.

They wanted to add to their malice, that my brothers would depart from me, that is, priests and deacons: but also they said they were going to prevent the rest of the people from coming to me. I, in order to not accept food from the hands of unbelievers, or rather of transgressors (which is worse) who are unbelievers, as the Apostle says, made a petition to them in this way. 

‘The Servant of God Eusebius with his fellow servants who labor with me for the Faith, to Patrophilus the prison-guard with his people:

With what violence and rage of many people you carried me off, not only dragged across the ground, but at times even prostrate with a naked body, from this guest-house which you gave to me through your people and agentes in rebus, which I have never left except through your violence, both God knows, and the city knows, nor are you able to deny it now and in the future.

Therefore I reserve my case for God, so that, inasmuch as he himself has ordained it, he may be able to undertake the end. Meanwhile, I want you to know that I have decreed this (so that the reason may be able to stand now and in the future, even here), in the guest-house where you are holding me imprisoned, in which after first carrying me and thrusting me inside very cruelly, you dared to carry me from there in the same way, and to throw me into a single cell, that I will not eat bread nor drink water, until each of you have promised, not only by word, but also by hand, that you will not prevent my brothers who are willingly suffering these things with me from offering me necessary food from the guest-house where they are staying–and also others who have thought it worthy to ask for it.

Indeed, it was right to go out from the body, so that I would not be compelled to often tell those who want to know what a great crime you all have committed against divine and public law. But so that no one from among the unbelievers may call you cruel towards us, and think that we are ignorant of the divine commandments and did not want to avoid confusion more than to obey the Lord, for this reason we wanted to presume this: again I say that unless you make a promise by word and in writing, you will be murderers by preventing [food from being brought to me]. 

5. The omnipotent God knows this: also his Only-Begotten Son, indescribably born from him, knows, who as God of eternal virtue for our salvation put on a perfect man, wanted to suffer, triumphed over death and rose on the third day, sits on the right hand of the Father, is going to come to judge the living and the dead: also the Holy Spirit knows: the Catholic Church is witness, which confesses like this: because I will not be liable in myself, but you all, who have wanted to prevent my fellow-servants from ministering necessary things.

And if you have prepared this, you ought to despise yourselves: not as though I fear death, but so that after my departure you may not say that I wanted to depart by a voluntary death and may not find a certain cloud of accusation for us. Know that I am going to communicate with the Churches which I am able to reach with letters that have been for a time locked up; I am going to communicate also with the servants of God, so that the whole world might be able to recognize, through these persons running together, how the complete faith which has been approved by all the Catholic bishops is suffering from the Ariomaniacs, which it condemned before. I, Eusebius the bishop, have subscribed in the same way [i.e. to the Nicene Creed].

I adjure you who read this letter, through the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, that you not suppress it but [allow] it to be be read by others.”

6. Therefore these men, softened on barely the fourth day from this letter [libellus] compelled us, hungry, to return to the guest-house in which we had stayed. They saw from within how the people, returning, received us with joy. They surrounded our guest-house with lights.

We begin, with the Lord approving, to again minister to the poor. Their inhumanity did not endure this, and they destroyed our love for their hatred. They were able to tolerate this for around nearly twenty-five days. They break out anew, and with the destroyed hand of many they come to our guest-house armed with clubs, they break the wall through other people’s doors, and they come to us with violence. Again they grab us, and they lock us up in a narrower guard-house with only our dear priest Tegrinus.
Also our brothers, that is all the priests and deacons, they grab and lock up.

After three days by their own power they send them into exile throughout various places. Other brothers who had come to visit us they send in the public jail and hold them locked up through very many days. Rushing again to the guest-house, they destroy everything which had been prepared either for expenses or for the poor.

But because this their public crime was known by all the citizens, they used this argument, that they were returning some less important things, and were trying to return to us our own property. But they kept the expenses in their own possession: and after so great a crime they were seeking, if it was possible, to deny this, that they had permitted nothing from my property to come to me, I who was trying to bring necessary food to my body. Barely on the sixth day, with people everywhere shouting against them, they permitted one to come. In all that pertained to them, they showed that they had the minds of murderers. At first, they sent away this person, so as not to cease from their malice: afterwards, barely on the sixth day, when we were failing, they allowed him to come once with some food. And so these are the works of the Ariomaniacs. 

7. See, most holy brothers, if this is not persecution, when we who keep the Catholic Faith suffer these things: and think more deeply whether this persecution is not very much even worse than that one which happened through the ones who serve idols. Those men were sending people into prison: nevertheless they were not preventing their own from coming to them.

How much, therefore, has Satan wounded the Churches through the cruelty of the Ariomaniacs! People who are obliged to free men send into public guard-houses. People who are taught to suffer for the sake of justice commit violence. People who are taught by the divine law not to demand back their own property when it is stolen steal others’ property. I pass over how much cruelty has invaded them, while they rejoice in their temporal ease. The ability to see their own people is not denied by torturers or judges to bandits shut up in prison: our people are kept from us: and not only are they forbidden from the guest house in which we are held, but they are terrified by threats so that they will not approach the prison. In this way they have subjugated everyone, as I have very plainly known.

I will begin from the bishops: while certain of them fear to lose their office, they themselves have lost the Faith; while they do not not want to lose their earthly faculties and immunities, they have judged the heavenly treasuries and true security to be nothing. In the same way also the rest have been led astray, while they see the bishops fearing these things perish, and have begun to love the things which they cannot have forever.

8. In this way the Ariomaniacs frighten the rich, since they threaten them with proscription: in this way they frighten the poor, since they have the power to shut them up in prison. And how great this insanity is! In the place in which we are held, they not only send the men who serve us into prison, but also they shut up the holy girls [sanctiominales=consecrated religious] in the public guard-houses without any fear of God. But as the the evil old men who sought to violate the chastity of Susanna did not rejoice: so neither will these rejoice always, who try to subject the Church to their infidelity with various persecutions and excessive oppressions. For the holy Daniel said to those men: ‘In this way, because they were afraid, the daughters of Israel slept with you’ [Daniel 13:57].

But let human fear, Most Holy ones, depart from your minds, since you have the consolation of the Lord, who says: ‘Do not fear those who kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul’ [Matthew 10:18]. This is the time of testing: the time exists so that those who have been tested and proved may be made known and manifest. Therefore they have received human help, because they do not have divine help: because if they did have it, they would never subjugate innocent souls to themselves with earthly power.

9. We were obliged to write many things about those men’s evil deeds, by which not I alone, but very many are oppressed: but it is so that we might not be able to do this, and communicate their cruelty by letters, that we are kept in this very confined guard-house by them. For this reason also our other people and friends are kept from approaching us.

But the Lord has granted to me to send this letter to you through our most dear deacon Syrus, whom we have in our power to send; because by the providence of our Lord at that time he approached to see the holy places and was not discovered with the rest of the brothers. 

10. As for the rest, we have with difficulty written this letter in whatever way we could, always begging God that he would restrain our guards for a time, and grant that the deacon might bear more the announcement of our labors than what letters of greetings are usually like.

For this reason I beg you all sufficiently that you keep the Faith with all vigilance, that preserve harmony, that you lean on prayers, that you remember us without ceasing: so that the Lord might think it worthy to free his church which labors over the whole earth, and so that we who are oppressed might be able to be freed to rejoice with you: the Lord will think it worthy to grant this since you ask for it through our Lord Jesus Christ, who with him is blessed from the ages and into all the ages of ages. Amen.

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.

Death of the Son, Episode IX: Flight and Fight

Death of the Son, Episode IX

Flight and Fight

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

Theodotus followed two black-robed slaves through a whirling, dissolving mass of white-clad bishops, priests, and deacons, mailclad soldiers, togaed Senators, and robed officials of every type. The sense of chaos in the vast space of the Basilica of Galerius was overwhelming, and entirely different from the rigid order that had unified the assembly only a few moments before.

Something has happened, Theodotus knew; and so did all the other powerful men racing to leave, pushing and shoving and maneuvering around each other like frightened animals. 

But what had happened? The powerful Spanish bishop Hosius, favored advisor of the Emperor for years, had delivered a speech to Constantine's face that had in some way challenged or upset him; he had announced his imminent departure back to Spain; and the Emperor had suddenly left, ending the assembly hours before it had been expected. This was not a crisis of state in any typical sense: but it was nevertheless clearly a crisis.

One of the two slaves behind him touched his arm, steering him slightly around a knot of worried-looking Imperial officials, wearing Phrygian caps and whispering in agitated voices. One of them shot him an angry look, as if to say: What have you Christians done this time?

Theodotus fought simultaneous impulses to laugh and freeze in terror. What have we done?

Death of the Son, Episode VIII: In the Assembly of the Great King

Death of the Son, Episode VIII

In the Assembly of the Great King 

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

Theodotus and Apollon slept, again, in their quarters--but only after Theodotus had made something of a show of locking all the doors, propping furniture carefully against them as the old priest watched nervously. It was all so much theater: if the Emperor's slaves wish to take us, they will do so. Otherwise, I am more than a match for any lone assailant. A locked door will not hold anyone determined. Yet Apollon seemed truly reassured, and after only a few minutes Theodotus had the satisfaction of hearing, through his own door, the old man's snores.

He himself, though, stayed awake a great deal longer, lying in his bed, his head propped up on his hands, considering the events of the previous day, and those about to come. 

There must, he was sure, be some way to make sense of this tale...to wrest some victory from the jaws of apparent defeat. If he could only understand the players involved...deduce the secret both Crispus and Fausta had known, which Apollon had almost heard...the secret that had somehow involved the dead Emperor Licinius...the secret which he must know, when at last he spoke with Constantine...the secret that might save Eustathius' life...

But what could the secret be? So far as he and everyone else know, Licinius' tale was straightforward, if twisted in a way not uncommon for Emperors in time of civil war. A Dacian, friend of Galerius, appointed Augustus of the West to contain the usurpers Constantine and Maxentius...but unlike his fellow Tetrarchs, wise enough to see Constantine's potential, and first tolerate him, then ally with him against Maximinus Daza. Then for nearly ten years, Augustus of the East, ruling from Nicomedia, in partnership with Constantine. 

In his mind's eye, Theodotus saw the statue he had passed every day, along his route from apartment to the chancery, for nearly a decade: the heavy body, the long head, the staring eyes gazing upwards, the small, confident smile. Licinius had been the Emperor he, and everyone in the East, had looked up to, appealed to, praised and thanked for defeating the cruel pagan, the arch-persecutor Daza, and bringing the Persecution to a close. Like most, Theodotus had payed little attention to the second, smaller statue set up beside Licinius', with its sharp nose and broad face and grave expression: Licinius' Western colleague Constantine. It was only when that second statue abruptly disappeared, one morning, from its place at Licinius' side that he, and everyone else, realized that civil war had begun. 

The rest had been only rumors, let slip by tired soldiers in the taverns, or boasted of by confident, well-fed men in the market-places. Again and again, Theodotus had come into the room where his fellow court deacons worked to find them all huddled together, faces grave, discussing the latest news. Incursions, troop movements, raids, persecutions...

As the weeks went by, the talk turned more and more to this latter category. Licinius, it was said, had begun to fear the Christian clergy of his domain, seeing in them advocates and supporters of Constantine: spies, or worse. Bishops, it was said, had been arrested and put on trial before the Emperor for treason, priests expelled from the palace as spies. On every face, Theodotus saw the same fearful, enclosed expression, the same stirring memories, though no one ever actually spoke the words flicking through their mins: it is happening again...

As during the persecution, the people of Antioch began withdrawing. The crowds in the cathedral thinned by nearly a third; people began giving clerics a wide berth in the marketplace; and even the shopkeepers and slaves in the cookshops avoided Theodotus' eyes as they took his coins. Everywhere, there was a tense expectancy, like a storm about to break. 

Theodotus had not known the previous bishop, Philogonius, at all well; apart from brief meetings where he and the other deacons explained the cases and proposed judgments of the court for his approval, the two men had never spoken. Yet he remembered well the sermon Philogonius had given barely two years before, at the height of the war. 

The old bishop, like them all, had lived through the Persecution; barely ten years had passed since Daza's famous indulgences in the arena of Antioch. His thin, grizzled face had been pale even next to his white robe, and his hand had shaken as he had delivered his discourse. 

He had exhorted them, obliquely and carefully, saying nothing that might call down Licinius' wrath or those of officials, to endurance. He called to their minds the sufferings of the martyrs; and his frozen face and unblinking eyes showed clearly that he was remembering even as he spoke. The martyrs, he had reminded them, had considered the loss of their earthly possessions, even the loss of their hands and eyes (everyone's faces involuntarily turning toward the old bishop's empty socket), as nothing in comparison to the gain of heaven. It made no sense, the bishop insisted, to save perishing trifles and in so doing lose imperishable treasure. Still, he insisted, those who had left the Church and returned to their former ways of life out of fear would be welcomed back upon their return. But those who fled from Christ would never receive his rewards.

The display had been effective; the crowds of departing Christians slowed to a trickle, and many returned, shame-faced, to receive the bishop's forgiveness. Among the clergy of Antioch, though, Philogonius' courage had caused a panic. The deacons abandoned their work entirely, and instead spent all their time discussing when the hammer would fall, when and where and how Licinius would take his revenge against their bishop for speaking so openly. 

Abruptly, discussion of the Persecution ceased being taboo among the clergy of Antioch. Stories were swapped, in low tones, of brave men and women, and weak men and women, and their individual fates; of creative punishments administered to bishops by Daza, by local governors, in arenas and palace chambers and prisons. The implications, though never stated openly, were always the same: this is what will happen to Philogonius. Theodotus had taken no part in these discussions, but had wondered, idly, as he continued with his own work, if any of these discussions came to Philogonius' ears, and what the old man thought of it. He suspected the bishop had plenty of memories of his own to occupy him.

At last, it had, apparently, happened. A young priest, Eukalion, burst into the court office, just as the deacons were gathering to leave for the day, to tell them that a messenger had arrived for the bishop from Licinius. Though Eukalion had not heard the message himself, rumors had it that Philogonius had been summoned to Byzantium, where Licinius was currently holed up. Licinius, Eukalion speculated, must be furious; his rages, it was said, had grown worse and worse, and it was said he had had clerics killed in front of him, just like Daza. Even an invitation to court, Eukalion declaimed, his cheeks pale, was as good as a death sentence.

In the end, of course, nothing had happened. Whether or not Philogonius had been summoned to Byzantium, he did not go; nor was Licinius in Byzantium much longer. Within a matter of months, the old bishop was dead; a development not, Theodotus suspected, at all unrelated to the strain of those feverish months. This development seemed to sap the courage of the clergy of Antioch entirely; though month after month discussions were raised over electing a new bishop, nothing was done. There was no point, his fellow deacon Martinus had whispered, shrugging his shoulders, in electing someone who would go straight into the arena.  

As the months passed by without incident, however, the specter of persecution did not dissipate; it seemed rather, to hang in the air over the city, dimming the sunlight. People went about their business with heads bowed, shooting resentful glances at the cathedral, treating it like a bad omen. After the initial flurry of activity, the civil war seemed to have stalled; though there were still rumors of battles, they were less plausible and more fanciful, and the people stopped discussing them. The cookshop Theodotus visited every evening for his dinner was now nearly silent, with people standing quietly in line and even the slave at the counter sullen.

Without a bishop, though, the work of the episcopal court ground to a halt; and Theodotus and his fellow deacons were reassigned to delivering food for the poor. This meant a great deal of traipsing through the streets, day and night, which allowed Theodotus an even better sense of the city's mood. It had soured, and it was clear the souring was against Licinius. People stopped paying respect to his statues as they passed, and a few even spit; graffiti calling for Constantine's victory appeared throughout the city, and after a few months the local Imperial administration gave up on removing it. A statue of Licinius, it was said, had been torn down in the night; and though it was set up and shining again when Theodotus saw it the next morning, soldiers with round shields slung on their backs now watched it, sweating under their armor and shooting suspicious glances at passersby.

Again, the crowds in the cathedral dwindled, though this time it was likely as much due to lack of a preacher than fear of persecution. The smaller chapels throughout the city, when Theodotus passed by them, seemed fuller than ever, people unable to fit inside down on their knees praying for deliverance and, increasingly, for Constantine's victory. Persecutor or not, Licinius had lost the confidence of his people.  Living under Galerius and Daza had been frightening, but living under a possible persecutor was an intolerable strain, from which only the Christian Emperor could deliver them.

Finally, the war broke out again in earnest; not mere rumors, but detailed reports soon began pouring into the city, passed eagerly from well-dressed Imperial messengers in tabernae or soldiers in the town squares or slaves from the Palace; they spoke of battle after battle, all, it seemed, lost by Licinius and won by Constantine. Licinius' army of 150,000, it was said, had been routed by Constantine's much smaller force, bearing the sign of the chi-rho on their shields and with the Emperor's divine totem, the labarum (the design of which, it was said, had been given to him in a dream) borne before them. Licinius too, it was whispered, had dreamed of Christ taking the diadem from his head and placing it on a statue of Constantine. Bodies of martyrs, fresh from the slaughter, had spoken, telling of Licinius' defeat, and predicting his imminent demise. 

Most trumpeted of all, however, was the news of the total defeat of the Eastern Emperor's fleet, the ships taken or burned off the Hellespont after a bold tactical maneuver had encircled them. The commander who had originated this strategy, and bravely led his men in boarding Licinius' ships, was not Constantine, though, but a heretofore unknown figure in the East: the Emperor's brilliant, dashing son, a great strategist, and equally brave, a pious Christian like his father, who had prayed on bended knee before a cross just before the battle: a worthy heir to the throne, a new Christian Emperor, a guarantee against any future persecution. His name, it seemed, was Crispus.

At that, Theodotus' thoughts were brought back, with a jolt, to the present. He sat up in bed, and silently mouthed the words: Constantine murdered Crispus. The Emperor killed his son.

Almost angrily, he lay back down again, and tried to force his mind to consider, once again, what the secret might be. 

Death of the Son, EP 7: Apollon's Tale

Death of the Son, Episode Seven: Apollon's Tale

[Episode One; Episode Two; Episode Three; Episode Four; Episode Five; Episode Six]

When they reached Hosius' chambers again, after a long, silent tramp through the streets and corridors (Theodotus having to run to keep up with Hosius' heedless strides), the rooms were empty.

Theodotus glanced at Hosius in surprise, but the old man was still silent; after a few minutes, he crossed the sitting room into his private cell, and the door shut with a click. 

Theodotus shook his head in frustrated resignation. I demanded that we meet with Constantine; and he agreed. But he will need time to adjust to what we just discovered. 

Theodotus, though, needed no such time, at least in his own mind. He began pacing the floors of the chamber, around the chairs and tables piled with scrolls and codices, around and around and around.

So we are all doomed. Very soon now, Helena will leave Rome; and Constantine will learn what we have done. And if we do not reach him first...who knows what he will do? Perhaps he will send his soldiers here, and arrest us. Hosius and Eustathius will be disgraced; and I will be punished as a scapegoat for them all. And all I will have to comfort myself with is that I fulfilled my bishop's commands, that I upheld my penance, that I solved the puzzle. 

But how can I solve the puzzle? Helena instigated Fausta's death; about that there can be no doubt. But who else was involved? Who were these conspirators Constantine made use of, who were so afraid of her being publicly tried, who were so afraid of a secret she might tell?

The slave Flavius told me that a one-eyed man had led Fausta to her death; a martyr? A terrible thought...and then the slave-woman told me that a priest had accosted her, heard her story, and forgiven her sins, swearing her to silence; the same man, or another? And if he was not the same man, how would he have known what had taken place? Or even known to interrogate the slaves? 

Somewhere in this palace, there is another clergyman, or many perhaps, who knows as much as me, or more. But why? Is he responsible for what has happened, covering his tracks, or only curious? Is he an ally, or an enemy?

And still we are no closer to learning why Crispus himself was put to death. Helena blamed Fausta for instigating Crispus' death, to advance her own childrens' claim to the throne. But what evidence did she have? None at all. Hosius and Eustathius are engaged in theological controversy, with Eusebius and many others...they claim Crispus for an ally, but was he? They blame their theological opponents for his death, but what evidence do they have? None at all. 

It is all mirage, a phantom. This is not an investigation; it is a ghost story, a myth, a hall lined with mirrors. And why should it be an investigation at all? What mystery is it that Emperors kill? That men of violence commit violence? We clergy, so recently escaped from the Persecution, should know that better than anyone. And yet we wish to delude ourselves into believing Constantine is different;  just as we delude ourselves into believing that behind petty human wickedness, cruelty, violence, there is some higher purpose at work, for good or evil. The Persecution was not a plan of God, or the Devil; it was merely policy. There is no mystery in Constantine killing his son. Crispus was a war hero, a great general, a gifted administrator; a natural successor; a natural threat. Why shouldn't Constantine kill him?

And what am I doing here, now, in this palace, dressed in deacon's robes, investigating the death of Emperors at the command of a Christian bishop? I was only a poor man. The Tetrarchs made me a soldier, made me kill, for their own purposes. The old man drove me into the clergy for his own purposes. Vitalis made me work in the Episcopal Court for his own purposes. And then Eustathius, forced me to come here. He, too, is playing politics, stirring up controversy and conflict for his own reasons. He is an ideologue, a fanatic; such men are not to be trusted. He told me nothing. And I am less than a pawn.

He stopped walking abruptly, breathing heavily; and as if at a signal, the door opened, and Apollon tumbled into the room.

Column 06/18/2024: Death of the Son, Episode Six: Interview with an Empress

Death of the Son, Episode Six: 

Interview with an Empress

[Episode One; Episode Two; Episode Three; Episode Four; Episode Five]

"Is he awake?"

In his memory, the old woman approached the couch slowly, her hands trembling. The soldier, however, did not tremble, but stayed perfectly still, his eyes open, but hoping--somehow--that she would not notice. 

But the old man's strong hands gripped him suddenly by the shoulders--those gnarled hands somehow so much stronger than those of his trainer or the optio of his century or the other soldiers who grappled with him each morning; with them all, he had fought and struggled and often thrown off their arms, but with the old man, the very idea of resistance seemed absurd--and rolled him in a moment over onto his back, exposed, his eyes suspended without recourse beneath the great, dark ones of the old woman. 

But the hand on his shoulder now was not that of the old deacon, but of the bishop Hosius--and Theodotus shook himself out of his reverie to find that it was Hosius' brown eyes, many shades brighter than those of the old woman, that now looked intently into his own.

How long, oh Lord? When will my penance be complete?

"Are you ready?" Theodotus felt, unexpectedly, a flash of anger, though whether at Hosius or Christ he could not be sure. Must everything be a test?

But he was coming out of his reverie now, and the anger was quickly lost, as it always was, in a rush of understanding. Hosius is no longer trying to test me; he is afraid, and looking for reassurance.

After a moment, then, he put his hand awkwardly on the older man's shoulder--just as the old man would have done. "Don't worry: we are carrying out our Lord's business, and he will help us," he said--just as the old man would have said. He wondered if the words sounded as awkward and hesitant to Hosius as they did to him.

But Hosius seemed satisfied. He turned rapidly back to the little, black-haired slave-woman who had been watching them, not without amusement, from behind her strange blue eyes. "Take us to the Empress." She bowed, stiffly, and led the way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Empress' Palace. 

As they walked, Theodotus again found himself studying the decor carefully--and was again struck both by what he saw, and what he did not. He had only recently been in the Imperial Palace, decorated and prepared for the Emperor's residence--before that he had on a number of occasions set foot in the palaces and mansions of the Antiochene rich, investigating a crime or bearing some message from the Episcopal Court. Only once, early in his tenure as a deacon, he had visited the Widow's House, where those holy women prayed and contemplated and fed themselves and the poor at the bishop's expense. That had been a sizeable dwelling for its place in the city, a donation from some local grandee, but cramped and austere, like a military barracks, narrow corridors and innumerable small bedrooms bearing little decoration but the occasional gilded image of Christ or the Virgin. He understood that Eustathius had since built a new, larger residence for them, using the funds that Constantine so beneficently showered down upon the dioceses--but he could not imagine it differing overmuch from its original. 

Helena's Palace, though, resembled none of these models, but rather a strange melding of them all, a material imprinted indelibly with something that he gradually came to perceive as the personality of the woman who reigned within it. At first glance, the religious house loomed largest--in the darkness and austerity of the corridors, the gilded mosaics and paintings of Christ and martyrs prominently displayed in every room, and most of all in the women moving here and there dressed in the rough, dark cloth, sewn with crosses, that served nearly everywhere in the Empire as the badge of consecrated widows and virgins. A minute later, though, and the signs of prosperity began to assert themselves--in the size of the rooms and corridors, the colored marble floors, the impressionistic paintings, false windows and doors and gardens, covering every wall, behind and above and around the religious images, and the occasional niches bearing draped or missing pagan statuettes. 

So far, though, it might be any wealthy woman's house recently converted into an impromptu haven for ascetics--of which many had sprung up throughout the Empire, even in Antioch. It was only when he passed into a sitting room and found himself confronted with a life-size porphyry image of Constantine and Helena, both reclining on couches with their hands joined, that he found himself suddenly confronted with the fact that he was in a house of royalty. After that, though, he began to find the signs everywhere--in the labyrinthine size and extent of the palace itself, the verdant pleasure gardens, trees and vines and flowers in abundance, glimpsed through real windows and doors, and most of all in the images of the Imperial family found in nearly every room, carved into statue groupings or painted onto the walls. 

It was with an even greater shock, though, that he found himself, turning another corner, suddenly staring into the face of the woman he had seen in his dream--Fausta herself, the Emperor's recently-deceased wife, seated in arrogant, beauteous splendor above the doorway, next to Helena, and with another young woman on her mother-in-law's other side, black hair elegantly curled and a broad face drawn in a wide smile. 

He glanced at Hosius. "Crispus' wife? ...she...?" 

The old bishop's brows tightened; but a shake of the head was his only response.

This encounter soured Theodotus' already shaken mood. For the first time, his intellectual interest gave away to a sense of the uncanny about this strange house, an Imperial Palace filled with images of living Christs and dead women. Even the living women...further glances dispelled his initial sense of familiarity in the figures that inhabited this strange landscape. That young woman in the simple brown dress...was she in fact a consecrated virgin? Or was she, perhaps, merely a fashionable young women, of some wealthy family, playing the devotee for a day, or merely there to gossip and enjoy the Empress' pleasure gardens? That older woman in richer garb, busied with clearing a table...was she a widow? Or was she merely a slave, the well-dressed servant of a great lady? Even those two women with crosses sewn on their dresses...were they officially sanctioned ascetics, their vows received by the bishop, or were they merely pious, wealthy laywomen dressed as them: or were they some third thing, outside of his current conception of the Church? 

And of course, the central question itself: what was Helena herself? Was she a widow of the Church, or an ordinary great lady of Rome: or was she simply the Empress, infinitely exalted above all others by the wealth of the Empire and the devotion of her son? What was Helena?

Buy My Book!

Those readers of this blog who do not otherwise know me may be interested to learn that my first academic book, from Oxford University Press, has just been published.

Entitled Christ the Emperor: Christian Theology and the Roman Emperor in the 4th Century AD, the book aims to give a new, intertwined narrative of the dynasty of Constantine and the Arian Controversy, focusing on the political theologies espoused by both Emperors and bishops and by theologians on both sides of the controversy. 

You can order it from the Oxford University Press website here, as well as from Amazon here. It is also available at a number of other online retailers, including international ones. Amazon and Google Books both feature roughly ~50 page previews that you are welcome to check out even if you don't end up buying. 

This is obviously a work of academic historiography and so quite different from the sort of writing I do on this blog. However, if you can stomach my overly-long essays and are generally interested in the sort of topics I cover here, I would imagine you would enjoy and get something out of the book as well.

Godspeed!