by Bryan Litfin
Neratius folded his arms across his chest in a posture of mature sagacity. “Be careful here, Your Majesty. Constantine is popular in certain circles. You mustn’t underestimate his appeal to the masses. We want the people to love you and turn against him. Open war might not be our best option. A propaganda campaign might work better.”
“You could use his Christian policy against him,” Pompeianus suggested.
Flavia’s ears perked up. Christian policy? What does that mean?
“He recently took up Apollo as his patron,” Pompeianus went on, “but I hear he is switching to Jesus—another sun god. Constantine respects this superstition because Helena is a Christian. Apparently, his lowborn mama appoints his divine protector! They say Constantine has been openly consorting with the church’s bishops. It’s a shameful departure from the religion of our ancestors. Something ought to be done about it.”
“Are you recommending I start up the persecution again, Pompeianus? You certainly have been persistent in that request.”
“It’s for the good of the empire, Your Highness. You should do it.”
Flavia felt her forehead go sweaty as a wave of anxiety ran through her. She fanned the collar of her dress, trying to cool herself. It seemed as if the lives of thousands of Christians—perhaps even her own—hung on whatever words would be uttered next. Father! she silently pleaded. Now is the time! Say something!
But Neratius was mute, his head down, while Maxentius nodded thoughtfully at Pompeianus’s urgings. Horrified by what might be about to happen, Flavia intervened the only way she could. After showing the leather ball to one of the toddlers, she whispered “Go get it!” then rolled it toward the emperor’s feet. The little mop-headed boy giggled and started after it. When he had caught the men’s attention, Flavia scooped him up from behind and steered him back to his playmates. “Forgive me, sirs,” she said, bowing respectfully.
“Who are you?” Maxentius demanded.
“Lady Junia Flavia, Your Majesty.”
“Aha! The daughter of Neratius!” The emperor stared at her for longer than seemed necessary. Flavia sensed, in the way women always can, that she was being gazed upon with desire. “Well, Neratius,” said Maxentius with a snicker, “your girl is just as fetching as her mother.”
Ignoring the sleaze, Flavia took her opportunity to speak, fully aware it was now or never. “I’m sorry to disturb your important discussions, Your Majesty. I suppose the Highest God ordained the interruption through the innocence of a child.” She began to edge away.
The emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a moment! Stop right there. What do you mean by that, little pretty?”
“I . . . I overheard you discussing the Christians. It made me think of the Highest God. May that God never be angry at the great augustus but always help him become a wise and just ruler, loved by all.” Flavia thought that was something she could legitimately say.
But Maxentius frowned. “And who is that Highest God, may I ask, since you are so well informed about religious matters?”
“Surely there must be a god more powerful than all the rest, no? That is the Highest God. And isn’t he the one the Christians claim to worship? If that is true, I would want you, our appointed ruler, to be the instrument of his holy hand—to be turned here and there by him like a stream of rushing water.” Flavia looked up and met Maxentius’s stare. “I often pray for you,” she said earnestly.
A sly smile crept across the emperor’s face. He turned to look at Pompeianus, then at Neratius, whose expression was apprehensive. Rising from his seat, Maxentius came and towered over Flavia. She held her breath, unable to move.
Slowly, the most powerful man in Rome reached out and cradled her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Such a pious girl,” he said in a breathy voice. “I like that. More than you know.” Bending low, he kissed Flavia softly on the cheek. “Pray often for your emperor, my little pretty. Pray that I make the right decision about the Christians. Run along now and leave religious matters to the grown men.”
Trembling, Flavia slowly backed away. Before she turned to leave, she remembered to give a courteous nod to the emperor and the two men at his side. Though she wasn’t surprised to see relief on her father’s face, the more startling expression from the other man nearly took her breath away. The last thing Flavia saw as she left the emperor’s box was an image she would never forget.
A glare of sheer hatred in the turbulent eyes of Ruricius Pompeianus.
JULY 311
Flavia peeked from the vestibule of her house for the third time, yet still saw no sign of the young man she awaited. It was a hot day, for it was high summer now and Rome was broiling. She stepped back into the vestibule’s shade, grateful for its relief. Not many things would get her outside on a stifling day like this. But an ordination service was one of them.
Though Flavia didn’t want to attend the ordination with Magnus as her protector, she had decided it beat the alternative: showing up at the Hall of the Church in an ornate litter carried by slaves. To do that would be to lord her wealth over the impoverished Christian brethren in direct violation of the scriptural warning of James, the Lord’s brother, who wrote, “Has God not chosen the poor of the world to be rich in faith? But you have dishonored the poor.” Therefore Flavia had resigned herself to walking to church with Magnus today, for her father had given her only those two options.
“The streets of Rome can be rough,” he had said.
As if going with Magnus would make any difference, Flavia had thought, though she didn’t voice that disrespectful reply. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder, Why are the males around me so weak?
Nevertheless, despite her unwelcome escort, Flavia believed the day was going to be glorious. Father Miltiades is being ordained Bishop of Rome! It was one of the many things that had been going well for the catholic church recently. Earlier in the spring, Emperor Maxentius unexpectedly ended his ban on bishops, which he had instituted when Eusebius was exiled for the riot. The local presbyters wasted no time electing Miltiades the next pope. Flavia considered this a direct answer to prayer. When coupled with the Edict of Toleration that had just come down from one of the most vicious persecutors among the Eastern colleagues—the demon-worshiper Galerius—it seemed God’s hand of blessing had been abundant upon the Christians. Now if we could just get our properties back!
Magnus finally showed up, sweaty and out of breath from his hike up the Aventine. “Ready, Lady Junia?” he asked, mopping his brow with a silk hanky.
Flavia nodded graciously and joined him in the street, making polite conversation as they descended the hill and crossed the river into Trans Tiberim. The Hall of the Church had been cleaned and repaired after the terrible riot that had resulted in Eusebius’s exile. Now the place looked even nicer than before. It was decked out with beautiful lampstands and a fine woolen runner down the middle of the nave. The bishop’s throne had been restored to its place of honor on a raised platform. It was there, in his special seat called a “cathedra,” that Miltiades would sit to preach sermons from the sacred scriptures.
Flavia took her leave from Magnus as the service was about to begin and assumed her place on the women’s side of the church. The liturgy of ordination was somber and holy, as was only proper on such a momentous occasion. Three bishops were normally required to legitimize an ordination. For an event as special as the installation of a Roman metropolitan, the guests had come from quite a distance. The Tuscan bishops Felix of Florentia and Gaudentius of Pisae, along with the Sicilian bishop Chrestus of Syracusae, were the three designated pastors who laid hands on Miltiades and invoked the Spirit’s empowerment of his ministry. When this portion of the service was finished, Miltiades called for a copy of the Epistle to the Hebrews, which the Eastern church claimed was by Saint Paul, though the Romans doubted it. After an hour’s exposition of the ways a bishop should make Christ’s priestly ministry present in the lives of the faithful, Miltiades turned his attention to recent d
evelopments in the life of the church.
“As you all know by now,” he said, “the wicked emperor of the East, Galerius, was horribly infested by worms in his bowels and died a shameful death. Does not holy scripture likewise say of King Herod, ‘An angel of the Lord struck him, for he did not give glory to God; and having been eaten by worms, he breathed his last’? Nevertheless, my children, I find that the very portion of Hebrews open in my lap reminds us, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay.’ And since ‘it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God,’ we shall not glory in the death of Galerius. But let it be known that a deacon from Rome will be traveling to Antiochia and Caesarea with an offering for our Eastern brethren who have been tested in the same fires of persecution that we ourselves experienced not long ago under Maximian. And now we know that this man was executed by Constantine for treason. Nevertheless, my children, let us not wallow in hatred toward these evil rulers who have recently been struck down, but only rejoice in the justice of God—the God who avenges the blood of the martyrs. Whether by disease or by the hand of Constantine, it is the Lord who delivers judgment on the wicked.”
Miltiades offered a few more exhortations along these lines, reminding the gathered believers about the importance of confessing Christ alone and letting no pagan worship infect the faith. As Flavia listened to Miltiades speak, she thought he was the perfect picture of a godly bishop: dignified as he sat in his chair, dressed in a stylish yet modest tunic, his silver hair oiled and swept back, the Word of God open in his lap, exhorting the church to persevere in righteousness. The Lord has blessed us abundantly, Flavia decided—and then, as if to confirm that blessing, the bishop declared he had an important announcement.
Miltiades raised a parchment so all could see. “My children, before we depart, there is one more thing I must show you.” Unexpectedly, he ripped the document in two. “Behold the rental contract for the Hall of the Church. I have destroyed it because it is no longer needed—for Maxentius has restored our properties in full!”
Flavia, along with many others in the room, uttered an exultant gasp.
The properties are ours again! Praise be to God!
The celebratory atmosphere remained in the hall long after the service had ended. Instead of dispersing, the believers stayed as long as they could to rejoice in the favor the Almighty had shown to the church of Rome. Though Magnus was anxious to get home, Flavia put him off, reluctant to leave until she got a chance to speak with Miltiades. Finally, she was able to approach him.
“Holy Father, I wish to give the church a gift,” she told the bishop.
“Your piety is a sufficient gift, daughter.”
“But piety must result in charitable actions. That is why I wish to provide, out of my own dowry, a banquet to feed the needy. Might we have it at the Apostolic Monument at the Catacombs?”
Miltiades folded his arms in his sleeves and gave a slight bow from the waist. “Yes, indeed, that is a fine idea. For the rich and poor alike to feast as equals in the company of the martyrs seems a fitting way to celebrate the restoration of the properties. I will coordinate this with your mother. Thank you, Lady Junia, for your generosity.”
The bishop had several other people waiting to see him, so with the matter of the banquet settled, Flavia excused herself and left the church at last. Even Magnus’s awkward presence on the walk home wasn’t enough to dampen her spirits. They were nearing the Bridge of Probus when Magnus suddenly said, “I think we should step into this pottery shop.”
“It’s rather late for shopping, Magnus. I thought you wanted to go straight home.”
“There’s a man following us. He stands out because he’s a dark Aethiops. I have seen him behind us since we left the church. He turns whenever we do.”
“I noticed him too. Perhaps he is going our same way by chance?”
“I think he’s following us. What should we do?”
“You are the son of a knight, Magnus. You decide.”
The youth stared at his feet for a moment, then slyly glanced around before suggesting, “How about if we go into the shop, then go out the back?”
Flavia agreed, so they tried it. After exiting into an alley, they hurried to the bridge. The dark-skinned man, however, was waiting in the vicinity.
“He knew we had to cross the bridge,” Flavia said.
Magnus picked up his pace. “Let’s just hurry.”
The pair ascended the Aventine to the mansion on the crest. As Flavia neared her home, she looked over her shoulder. The Aethiops had stopped downhill at a public fountain on a branch of the aqueduct. He averted his eyes and turned away when Flavia glanced back.
Magnus beckoned Flavia into the vestibule of her house. “We lost him!” he said gleefully.
“He followed us all the way home, though.”
“It matters not. I got you home safely.”
“Yes, you did. I honor you, Magnus, for your courtesy today. Thank you for walking with me as my protector.”
“But of course! It was my pleasure. So then . . . um . . .” Magnus fiddled with the hem of his toga, which he had only recently started wearing now that he had reached the age of manhood. “Lady Junia . . . er, Flavia . . . it was most pleasant today . . . I mean, thank you for going to the church with me.” Suddenly the youth closed his eyes and leaned forward, his lips slightly parted.
Ack! He’s trying to kiss me!
Flavia distanced herself from her incoming suitor. Sensing her withdrawal, Magnus opened his eyes. “Oh! Perhaps I misunderstood . . .” His words trailed off, creating an uncomfortable silence in the little vestibule.
“Yes, I think you did, Magnus,” Flavia said gently. With a final farewell, she retreated into her house and closed the door, glad to be home at last. She kicked off her sandals in the atrium and flopped onto a plush divan, putting all thoughts of romance from her mind.
Father Miltiades is the bishop now! she reminded herself, focusing on the real significance of the day. And the properties are back in Christian hands! Flavia smiled broadly at the thought. It was a beautiful ordination service. The age of persecution is over. At last, the church’s best times are ahead!
The steaming, glistening liver still throbbed in the soothsayer’s blood-drenched hand. He had just yanked it from the belly of a live goat, which bleated and thrashed in agony. No doubt its suffering was immense. Yet that was the price the spirits demanded to divulge their sacred knowledge. They always hungered for blood and pain—the more innocent and precious, the better.
“This is not how the old ritual was done,” Maxentius said.
“No. But there is a far more powerful magic at work in this.” Pompeianus gave Maxentius a sly look. “Just wait. You will see.”
The secret room deep within the imperial residence was lit only by candles, making it hard for Pompeianus to see exactly what the soothsayer was doing. The veiled man turned the goat’s liver this way and that in the candlelight, inspecting it for holy signs. Suddenly his eyes went wide, and he pulled the liver close to his face. Extending the tip of his tongue, he tasted the blood, then spat it out. He approached the emperor. “You must declare war on Constantine, my lord,” he announced. “He is the enemy of the god who empowers you. You must oppose Constantine’s faith in the god of the cross.”
Pompeianus wanted to utter a victory cry, though of course he could not do such a thing during the arcane ritual. Instead, he urged the soothsayer, “Say it plainly, priest! We should restart the persecution, yes?”
The wrinkled old man stared down at the liver for a moment, then raised his gaze to Maxentius and shook his head. “The omens say no blood of Christians should be spilled. Keep the peace in Rome for now. Focus all your attention on Constantine! He is the real threat to your god. It is he whom you must defeat in war! Otherwise he will change everything, and the cross will triumph.”
Now Pompeianus found himself wanting to utter a curse, but since he couldn’t do that either, he contained his fury in silence. I
can find a way around this!
“I have one more question for you,” Maxentius said. “Please seek an answer, for I have given the spirits the gift of innocent blood and pain.”
The soothsayer nodded. “Indeed, their hunger has been satiated. You may ask.”
“Who is my special patron? Constantine has chosen his god, the ridiculous Jesus. Now I need to know—which god favors me most? Who will give me victory?”
A smile came to the soothsayer’s face, then he broke into a cackle that seemed impious in the quiet room. At last he pointed with his long fingernail to a bulging ridge of yellow fat in the liver. “See here? This declares plainly who it is.”
“Tell me!” Maxentius cried.
The soothsayer leaned over and whispered in his master’s ear. Pompeianus strained to hear but could not move any closer without being obvious. The emperor’s mouth fell open, then he whirled and rushed to confer with a servant in the shadows. After the man listened to Maxentius’s instructions, he bolted from the room.
“We shall assemble in the circus at the ninth hour,” Maxentius decreed to the assembled aristocrats who had been gathered for the sacred divination. “There you will discover my special patron. Until then, the services of my palace are yours for the enjoying. Just ask the slaves for whatever you need. You may go.”
The dark room quickly emptied. Pompeianus passed the intervening time with a lunch of olives, cheese, and bread, followed by an afternoon fling with the girl who had brought it. When the sundial indicated the ninth hour was near, he made his way along the covered sidewalk to the new circus at Maxentius’s villa.
Only a few people were gathered in the imperial box, among them Neratius Junius Flavianus, the ambitious fool who was always angling for the city prefect job that Pompeianus felt should be his. The rest of the guests were sitting in the stands. All of them were aristocrats, for Maxentius had arranged a special exhibition today, not a scheduled race for the masses.
Pompeianus gazed down at the oblong track. Twelve starting gates stood at the western end, flanked by a pair of impressive three-story towers. The long marble spine, decorated with statues, pools, and an Aegyptian obelisk, divided the track in two. At each end of the spine stood the conical turning posts around which the chariots ran. Columns along its length held dolphins and eggs that could be moved to count the laps. In the distance, through a perfectly situated arch, the ancient tomb of Caecilia Metella was framed like a portrait of a bygone age. Everything about the scene was normal except for one thing: a large, cloth-covered crate lay on the track, directly in front of the imperial viewing platform.