Part 26 (1/2)
Inspired by Martha's fervour, Cunoarda was already doing so. I had freed both women when I took Martha into my household, for I could not treat the Alban girl as a slave when we had laboured together like fellow priestesses in the hospital.
”Then you are a Christian!” Constantine exclaimed.
”Call me what you like,” I said tiredly. ”The Truth does not change.” I did not tell him that it was not his example that had inspired me, but the simple faith of a Syrian slave.
”Praise be to Christ, by whose Name we shall be saved!”
Constantine's deep-set eyes blazed with conviction and I found myself recoiling, trying to remember where I had seen such a look before. It was not until evening, as I was preparing for bed, that it came to me. In that mood, Constantine had been the image of Ganeda, laying down the law with self-righteous certainty.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
AD 325-6.
”In Christ's holy name, why can they not agree?” exclaimed Constantine. ”I called this council so that the bishops mightresolve their differences.”
”Yes, Augustus,” said Bishop Ossius, his face reddening, ”but these matters are both subtle and important. A single syllable may make the difference between salvation and d.a.m.nation. We must proceed carefully.”
Bishop Eusebius of Caesarea, who had come with him to report on the deliberations, was frowning. The pagans in the room looked confused, and my old tutor Sopater, who had become a noted teacher of rhetoric and a member of Constantine's court, was suppressing a smile. The two thousand bishops who had come to the Council at Nicaea at the beginning of May were already arguing about the nature and relations.h.i.+p of G.o.d and His Son.
My hip-bones had begun to ache, and I tried to s.h.i.+ft position un.o.btrusively on my ivory chair. The first time I had seen the Emperor's audience chamber in the palace at Nicomedia I had felt overwhelmed by its splendour. But that had been over fifty years ago. Now that I was accustomed to Constantine's ideas of the state befitting an emperor, Aurelian's throne room seemed cla.s.sic and restrained. Only its human ornaments showed the taste of the Constantinian age.
Where Aurelian had allowed the vivid purple of his toga to proclaim him Emperor, and contented himself with a simple curule chair, Constantine's gilded throne was raised on a dais, and his robes, which were of cloth of gold over purple and adorned with precious stones, outshone it. And where Aurelian had presided alone, Constantine was flanked by his two empresses, for he had given both me and Fausta the t.i.tle of Augusta the preceding year, when he finally defeated Licinius.
I had been placed at the Emperor's right hand, resplendent in amethysts and cloth of silver, and at his left was Fausta, glittering in emeralds and bronze. Imprisoned in the heavy robes, we sat like the images of Jupiter flanked by Juno and Minerva in the temple at Rome, though I knew better than to say so to Constantine.
”Do they not understand that the unity of the Church is essential to the unity of the Empire?” he exclaimed.
It did no good to point out that the Empire had flourished for more than two centuries while tolerating a wide variety of cults and creeds. The bishops who had come to the council were representing the people who had let themselves be slain rather than throw a pinch of incense on an altar fire. I wondered sometimes if they had become so accustomed to persecution that now that they were the Emperor's favourites they were compelled to attack each other.
Even after several years of Christian instruction, I, like Constantine, found it hard to understand the fine distinctions over which the bishops were arguing. What ought to matter was what Jesus had said, not whether he was G.o.d or Man.
”Indeed,” objected Ossius, sweating, ”but if the Empire is not founded upon truth, it will fall. If the Son and the Father are not one and the same, equally G.o.d, then we are no better than the polytheists.”
”We are no better than fools if we deny logic!” exclaimed Eusebius, a flush animating the intellectual serenity of his features. A high forehead merged into his tonsure and he wore his beard long, like a philosopher. ”If the Father begot the Son, then there must have been a time when the Son did not exist.”
”But they were of the same substance!” Ossius replied, ”h.o.m.oousios,” he added the Greek term, ”Light from Light, True G.o.d from True G.o.d!”
”Could we not sayh.o.m.oiousios ? Oflike substance?” offered Eusebius rather desperately. I had heard that he was noted for his writings on Church history, a scholar who would care about every shade of meaning.
Constantine shook his head. ”Consubstantialis-”of the same substance”, has been good enough for us in Rome. Let men interpret it as they will. Then we can address ourselves to objects more within our power. All these fine words are distracting us from reality, and we become no better than the philosophers who reason about a thing without looking at it at all.
”If the bishops, who are the pastors of the people, attack each other, the people will fight as well,” he went on. ”You should never have raised such questions, and if they were raised, they should not have been answered! This is philosophical frivolity! With the Persians on our eastern borders and the Germans to the north, I have enough to worry about without these squabbles. I beg you-give me back peaceful nights so that I can live in the pure light of the Spirit and use my energy for the protection of the Empire!”
During this speech both bishops had gone a little pale.
”Consubstantialis?” said Eusebius weakly. ”Well, perhaps we can get them to agree on that. My lord, I will bear your word to my brethren.”
”No-I will come myself,” answered the Emperor. ”Perhaps if I plead with them in person they will understand!”
The two bishops abased themselves, foreheads touching the marble floor, and backed away from the imperial presence. Constantine smiled as if he had persuaded them, and I suppose he had, for though he might not be their master in logic, he was surely their superior in power.
At least my son did not requireme to bow down before him. I s.h.i.+fted my weight to the other hip and addressed a prayer to the Son, whatever His relations.h.i.+p to the Father might be, that the imperial audience would not last too long.
No part of the palace at Nicomedia could be called home-like, but the red dining salon was small enough that our voices did not echo when a dozen people were gathered there. Fausta was reclining on a couch upholstered in crimson brocade which clashed with the purple tunica she wore. Neither colour suited her complexion, but perhaps the flush was due to wine. After giving Constantine three sons, she had borne him two daughters, Constantina, and a new baby whom they had named after me. Her figure had suffered, and palace gossip said that she no longer shared a bed with the Emperor. On the other hand, Constantine was not sleeping with anyone else, but whether this was the result of morality or because he was incapable no one dared surmise.
It occurred to me that in my old age I was becoming cynical, and I gestured to the servant to bring me some wine as well. These days I found getting up and down from a dining couch more trouble than it was worth, and had claimed a comfortably padded chair, but all of us rose as the Emperor came in.
His couch groaned a little as he stretched himself upon it, but his bulk was more muscle than fat, even now. Swiftly the servants set tables before us and began to bring in the food.
”Do you think that the bishops will be able to agree on the wording of the creed?” I asked. These days I had little appet.i.te, and a few bites of the cuttle-fish croquettes in liquamen had been enough for me.
”It is necessary that they do so. I must make that clear,” answered Constantine.
”If they know what's good for them, they'll comply!” Fausta giggled. There was an uncomfortable silence, as everyone immediately thought of Licinius and his young son, who despite Constantine's pledge to his half-sister (who was married to Licinius) to spare them, had been executed only a few weeks before.
”I meant, of course, for the sake of their souls,” Fausta added, and someone suppressed a snort of laughter, for the Empress, unlike the rest of the imperial family, was still avowedly pagan. Constantine was frowning, but he continued to chew steadily on the stuffed shoulder of wild boar they had just brought in.
”Has there been any new word of the Visigoths?” asked Sopater in an attempt to change the subject. It was not terribly successful, since suspected communication with the barbarians had been one of the reasons given for executing Licinius. Constantine had defeated them in Thrace two years before, going into Licinius's territory to do so and provoking the last civil war.
”Well, if they make any trouble, you can send Crispus to deal with them!” Fausta laughed a little too loudly. ”Don't they call him ”Invictus”, the Unconquered?”
I felt a p.r.i.c.kle of unease. During the war against Licinius, Crispus had been put in charge of the Aegean fleet and by defeating the enemy admiral, he had enabled Constantine to take Byzantium. Only last year the Emperor had struck a medallion showing Crispus and young Constantinus together, but since then Crispus had been transferred from Treveri to frontier duty in Dacia. Old Crocus was long dead, but his tribe had continued to send young warriors to serve as Caesar's bodyguard. Perhaps that was what Fausta had been referring to, but there was something I did not quite like in her laugh.
”These bishops are too concerned with words,” said Constantine, pus.h.i.+ng his plate away. I wondered if he really had not heard, or only pretended not to. ”They forget the need for faith. Words divide, but the symbols of religion inspire the soul.”
”What do you mean?” asked Ossius.
”The pagans have shrines where they venerate the treasures that they believe were given by their G.o.ds. If we are to wean the people away from such delusions, we must offer them something to take their place.
How can true believers walk in purity when every grove and crossroad is dedicated to a pagan G.o.d?”
”What would you have them wors.h.i.+p instead?” asked Fausta.
”The places where our G.o.d has shown Himself to men. Why have we no basilica to honour Christ's empty tomb?”
”Does anyone even know for certain where it is?” I asked.
”That is precisely the problem!” exclaimed the Emperor. ”It is in my mind to send an expedition to excavate the site. Do you know what stands on the hill of Golgotha now?” he added indignantly, ”A temple to Aphrodite the Wh.o.r.e!”
”Abomination!” exclaimed Ossius.
But surely, I thought, it was the place of execution that had been the abomination. I wondered what irony of fate had transformed it into a temple of the Lady of Love.
”Oh indeed,” muttered Fausta. ”We all know thatShe has no power any more...”
In July the Council of Nicaea concluded with the creation of a creed to which everyone, even Arius, was willing to subscribe, respecting, if not the will of G.o.d, the wishes of their Emperor. At the beginning of the next year, Constantine, euphoric in the conviction that his leaders.h.i.+p had brought the quarrelling Christians to a state of unity, moved his court to Rome to celebrate the twentieth year of his reign.