Imperator, Deus

by John R. Prann Jr.

  Constantinople,

  May 3, 1089 AUC (336 AD)

  Arius finished his usual fig juice and grain cereal breakfast, which had come late this morning. He was getting ready to go out with Mastiff.

  Both Mastiff and Arius were getting on in years—Mastiff was nearly 16 and Arius, 80. Of the two, Mastiff was showing her age more. Although she still got excited at the prospect of going for a walk, she moved slowly and often required the return in Arius’ arms.

  Arius was a celebrity in Constantinople—and it would be common to see him walking with a group of admirers. This Saturday, it was even more so. The entire community was aware that he was going to be reinstated with the Church. Crowds of well-wishers greeted him as he started his walk, congratulating him.

  A longtime critic of Arius, Socrates Scholasticus, described what followed:

  It was then Saturday, and Arius was expecting to assemble with the church on the day following: but divine retribution overtook his daring criminalities. For going out of the imperial palace, attended by a crowd of Eusebian partisans like guards, he paraded proudly through the midst of the city, attracting the notice of all the people. As he approached the place called Constantine’s Forum, where the column of porphyry is erected, a terror arising from the remorse of conscience seized Arius, and with the terror a violent relaxation of the bowels: he therefore enquired whether there was a convenient place near, and being directed to the back of Constantine’s Forum, he hastened thither. Soon after, a faintness came over him and, together with the evacuations his bowels protruded, followed by a copious hemorrhage, and the descent of the smaller intestines. Moreover portions of his spleen and liver were brought off in the effusion of blood, so that he almost immediately died. The scene of this catastrophe still is shown at Constantinople, as I have said, behind the shambles in the colonnade: and by persons going by pointing the finger at the place, there is a perpetual remembrance preserved of this extraordinary kind of death.

  As the crowds grew around the privy where he lay, one of his crying admirers went to pick up Mastiff. She was sitting by the entrance, sensing that her master would not be coming out.

  As he picked her up, she whimpered. And then went limp.

  The large crowd grew even larger as Arius’ body was identified and removed.

  Alexander received the news and was overjoyed. He was greatly relieved. He rejoiced, praising the Heavens that his prayers were obviously answered by God.

  The huge crowd that had gathered by the privy knew, however, that such an “extraordinary kind of death” was not the answer by God. It was the product of poison.

  Nicomedia, Asia Minor

  May 21, 1090 AUC (337 AD)

  Eusebius looked at Constantine, as he fitfully slept on the couch in the Palace’s great room. Daylight was waning and most of the visitors had left. For the moment, the two were alone.

  That morning, the Emperor had removed his Imperial purple and gold robes and had been baptized by Eusebius in the company of three other bishops and his daughters. He was now clothed in the white robes of a learning Christian, a catechumen.

  The pain Constantine described in his stomach was identical to what his father had described in the weeks before he had died.

  Constantine said he had no doubt that he would die soon.

  Eusebius started to plan what course the Church would take, now that its most powerful supporter was dying. Constantius II, Constantine’s favorite son, was leading an army on the frontier in Persia to regain some of the territory lost to Shapur. A detail had been sent to notify him about his father. Eusebius was closer to Constantius than he was to Constantine’s other children—but that didn’t guarantee anything.

  Suddenly Constantine awakened.

  “Eusebius, why is it I fear I am headed to Hell and I awaken to see you?”

  “My apologies, cousin. I’ve always had that effect on people.”

  “Any word from Constantius?”

  “No. He is south of the Jordan River with the army. So, quite a distance from here. But we’ve sent word.”

  “I had hoped to join him. And to be baptized in the Jordan River. That is where the Nazarene was baptized,” Constantine grimaced while he spoke.

  “Shall I get you some opiates?”

  “No. Perhaps later tonight, to help me sleep. I watched my father die of this same thing. He had no opium and didn’t complain. I should be so strong.”

  “I remember him well. He was a good man. He would be so proud of you,” Eusebius said.

  “I hope so. I hope to see him soon.”

  Eusebius tried to change the subject. “Tell me, cousin. How did you get out of Galerius’ court to rejoin your father? Galerius was so brutal. I’ve often wondered what you did to avoid getting yourself killed or maimed by him.”

  Constantine nodded. The spasm of pain seemed to be ending. “He did try to kill me. He threw me in a room with a lion once. Thank God, he gave me armor and a sword. How I escaped from Galerius was simple, really. I got him drunk. He thought he was going to seduce me—but he just passed out after I had him sign my transfer to my father’s army. Then I rode all night. Switching horses at…five…roadhouses, I believe it was, before dawn. By the time he awoke, surely disoriented and uncertain of what had happened, I was too far away for him to catch.”

  “His guards didn’t stop you?”

  “No. They hated him as much as everyone else did. Maybe more,” the Emperor laughed. “I was with my father’s army three days later. Where was it? Somewhere north. Anyway, that was when I saw Vibius really fight for the first time. What a soldier.”

  “And Galerius didn’t seek revenge?”

  “I’m not sure he knew what had happened. He wasn’t really a sodomite. But he did take boys once in a while—and, sometimes, those boys just vanished. He probably didn’t remember and thought he had had me in return for my release. He was one of the last real pagans. Hated Christians. He burned down the palace of his co-emperor and blamed it on Christians.”

  “Co-emperor. I’d almost forgotten about those.”

  “Yes. Like trying to take an army into battle with two generals. Or build a Church with two popes. Bad idea unless they are directly related.” Constantine grimaced again. The spasms were coming more quickly. “Old Galerius hated Helena, too. And he would have nailed her to a cross—but he was afraid of my father.”

  “Even though your father had married Theodora by that time?”

  “Yes. But he always showed kindness toward my mother.”

  “How did Galerius even know your mother?”

  “She lived very close to where we are now. And his Imperial Court was right there,” Constantine sat up for a moment and pointed out a window across the room, “in the center of town. She would enter his court, uninvited, to see me. I think she believed that, if he saw her constantly, he’d think twice about doing harm to me. He may have feared her, too. Not just my father. Bullies often fear women.”

  “Well, Helena was fearless. It’s amazing to me that she went to Bethlehem and Jerusalem when she was nearing 80. And was a still full of so much energy,” Eusebius said. “She was one of the truly most fearless people I’ve ever known.”

  “Yes. Fearless and relentless about encouraging me to build more churches. In the Holy Land alone, she authorized four—the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, Burning Bush in Sinai and…the last one…St. Catherine’s in Sinai. She would start those churches, then come back and tell me I had to pay for them. Such will! I wish…I’d found a wife like her. The children we might have had.”

  “Your children are good and loyal, cousin.”

  “I suppose. But they’ve had lives of privilege, which does not make strong metal. I think of the years in Naissus—after my father left. The abuse and ridicule of the soldiers. That ridicule made me stronger, more determined. My c
hildren have never had that. Constantius is a good son—he will probably do best. But even he…. I wish I could help him grow and mature, make him a better soldier. I didn’t do enough of that with him. If only I had Crispus.”

  “That is the first time I’ve heard you mention his name since… you told me what happened.”

  “I am haunted by it. Constantly, cousin. It never leaves my mind. I have such fear, of them, of people that know, that…. I look forward to death, if only to stop that which haunts me. Such immorality. And needless. They each could have done…other things. God forgive me, I was so angry.”

  Eusebius rested a hand on Constantine’s shoulder. “If your regret and repentance are genuine, then God will forgive. You know that.”

  “I beg His forgiveness, Eusebius. Of my children, Crispus was the best leader. The Empire would be stronger now, if he were alive. I prayed that evening—and every evening since—for God to tell me whether fierce justice was right. But I never heard an answer. And, in my pride, I also prayed that their sin would never be known, fear so much fear, I have never feared death, but this…” Constantine’s voice trailed off.

  “That prayer has been answered, cousin. I’ve never heard anyone speak of it.”

  “Good. My mind is full of conflict. But I’m ready for sleep, cousin.”

  “Then sleep. We all feel conflict and doubt when we face death. It is part of the human condition,” Eusebius said, in an assuring tone.

  And he watched his cousin slip back into sleep.

  Nicomedia, Asia Minor

  May 22, 1090 AUC (337 AD)

  Constantine had gone into a coma the night before and his breathing had become erratic. A huge crowd of people had surrounded the villa on the outskirts of Nicomedia. Most of his ranking officers, important magistrates and his daughters were present, as he remained on the couch in the Great Room.

  At mid-day his breathing became worse and then just stopped.

  He had passed.

  The news spread throughout the Empire in record time, the only subject people wanted to talk about. Constantine had been the only Emperor that many citizens of the Empire had ever known.

  Soldiers came and lifted the Emperor’s body into a golden coffin covered by his purple standard. They transported it to the Imperial Palace in Constantinople. It lay in state for several days, while dignitaries and common citizens from all over the Empire came to pay their respects.

  Constantius II arrived and led the procession of a military guard, followed by masses of people, to the Church of the Holy Apostles— where a High Mass was dedicated to his father’s life.

  Constantine’s body was interred in a mausoleum within that Church, causing significant disappointment in Rome that the Eternal City would not be his eternal resting place.

  Epilogue

  Those wanting a compromise in the wording of the Nicene Creed were correct given the conflicts that followed. The debate continued for centuries. Eventually, the Creed was modified in the Second Ecumenical Council of Constantinople in 381. The new creed removed the specific clauses aimed at Arius and added references to the Virgin Mary and the Holy Ghost.

  I believe in One God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and of all things visible and invisible.

  And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Only-Begotten, begotten of the Father before all ages; Light of Light; True God of True God; begotten, not made; of one essence with the Father, by Whom all things were made; Who for us men and for our salvation came down from Heaven, and was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and became man.

  And He was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate, and suffered, and was buried. And the third day He arose again, according to the Scriptures, and ascended into Heaven, and sits at the right hand of the Father; and He shall come again with glory to judge the living and the dead; Whose Kingdom shall have no end.

  And in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life, Who proceeds from the Father; Who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified; Who spoke by the prophets.

  And in One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church.

  I acknowledge one baptism for the remission of sins. I look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.

  Even with these changes, conflicts within the Church over Arius’ theology would continue. In the nearer term, the Arian conflict caused considerable trouble among Constantine’s own heirs. After Constantine’s death, the Senate voted that the Roman Empire would be divided into five administrative districts—each controlled by one of his three surviving sons or two nephews.

  Within a few months, both nephews were killed by their own troops—reportedly on the orders of Constantius II. As a result, the Empire was ruled by the three sons. One of those sons, Constans, was only 14 at the time; so control of the Empire fell to the two older brothers—Constantine II and Constantius II.

  Constantine II supported the Nicene Orthodoxy and recalled Athanasius from one of his exiles in Gaul and restored him as Bishop of Alexandria. Constantius II, a supporter of the Arian Theology, was offended.

  Like his older brother, young Constans was generally more inclined to the Nicene Orthodoxy. However, he was offended by Constantine II’s, his guardian, reluctance to allow him to rule when he came of age. He also didn’t like his brother’s demands for territory based on primogeniture claims.

  As a result of those issues, Constantine II and Constans began to feud in 340. It ended quickly. Constans’ troops ambushed Constantine II and killed him.

  Constans was betrothed at one point to Ablabius’ daughter. But the marriage never took place—which was best for Ablabius’ daughter. Constans had an attraction only for young pagan boys and his extreme cruelty and inconsistency eventually turned even his own army against him.

  In 350, one of his generals, Magnentius, led a rebellion. Magnentius’ soldiers assassinated Constans in a pagan temple, exactly 10 years after they’d helped kill his brother.

  Ablabius, one of the most powerful senators in the Empire and a Nicene believer, was assassinated by Constantius II, an Arian.

  Constantius II was the most successful of Constantine’s heirs. He ruled 24 years, as either Emperor or co-Emperor. He pursued and killed Magnentius in the course of two major battles. He tried—but failed—to encourage a compromise theology between the Arian and Nicene orthodoxies. He died in 361 at the age of 44.

  Constantine’s daughters didn’t fare much better. The elder, Constantina, was married to her cousin, Hannibalianus, until his early death on Constantius II’s orders. She later married another cousin, Constantius Gallus. Together, they ruled some Eastern portions of the Empire—but, after reports of mismanagement and cruelty, Constantius II ordered them to come to his Palace in Italy to explain. Constantina died on the trip. And Gallus blamed her for the mismanagement. Constantius was outraged and sentenced Gallus to death. Helena, Constantine’s youngest child, was married to Jullian the Philosopher, another cousin and the successor to Gallus in ruling parts of the Eastern Empire. She died in childbirth in 360.

  Athanasius was expelled five times from Alexandria by four different Emperors for a period of seventeen of his forty five years as Bishop. He is a Church Father and is venerated as a Saint in both the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church. In his Easter Letter of 367 AD he listed the 27 books of the New Testament which he regarded as canon. Of those 27 books he included John’s Revelation. It is generally agreed that these books were accepted as canon at the Synod of Hippos Regius in North Africa in 393 AD.

  Constantine and his mother, Helena, are also venerated as Saints by both the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church. Constantine is often referred to as the Thirteenth Apostle.

  About the Author

  John R. Prann, Jr. is the former CEO of a NYSE-listed company and past member of several corporate boards. H
is interest in Christian history first began developing when he was a graduate student at the University of Chicago. John lives with his wife, Cheryl, and their ferocious miniature Schnauzer, Pepper, on Sanibel Island, Florida. Imperator, Deus is his first book. He is working on his second novel.