Chapter 10

 

Imperial Palace, June 415

 

“Patrician, I want this executed at once.” Pulcheria imprinted the warm wax on the imperial constitution with her brother’s seal, handed it to Aurelian, and leaned back in her imposing chair. She had moved her reception and workrooms to the Daphne to be closer to the imperial audience hall and foreign embassy delegations. When she finished here, she would join Theo in noon prayers, then hold a joint audience in the afternoon to receive petitioners.

“As you wish, Augusta.” Aurelian squinted at the fair copy and read: “‘Anyone polluted with the crime of pagan worship will be purged from the army’s officer ranks and government administration.’ That will ensure a stampede to the baptismal fonts.”

“We save the souls of those willing. Those too wrong-headed will suffer the consequences of their beliefs.”

Pulcheria was quite pleased at the changes she had implemented in the court in the past year. Early on, she overheard one woman complain about the prayers, plain dress, and fast days; commenting the court was boring compared with her mother’s extravagances. Pulcheria dismissed her from her entourage but welcomed the comparison. The last thing she wanted was a reputation like her wanton mother’s.

She was also pleased with Aurelian. She suspected her mother had approved of him because he was so malleable. The old man brought a veneer of continuity, yet allowed Pulcheria to wield all the power. A few council members initially balked at her leadership, complaining to Theo, but with his backing, and the example of Isidorus sulking outside the city, bereft of titles and power, they fell into line.

A palace page entered to whisper in Aurelian’s ear. Pulcheria raised an eyebrow. The Patrician cleared his throat. “Augusta, there are two delegations from Alexandria wishing to meet with you. They want imperial intervention in a conflict there. The Bishop sends a representative, and the city council a delegation.”

“Is this the trouble that our Prefect Orestes was unable to quell?” She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, recalling details from the report by her agent—Timothy?—to the city. “The prefect was badly injured, if I remember right, and a learned woman philosopher murdered. Cyril is Bishop there, isn’t he?”

“You have a most acute and accurate memory, Augusta.”

She had become used to blatant court flattery and paid it little heed. “The Alexandrines are a quarrelsome bunch. Sometimes I think the hot climate breeds hot heads.” Pulcheria frowned at her cluttered worktable. “This is a delicate matter, not suited for the afternoon audience. I’ll receive the delegations now. Attend me.”

She took Aurelian’s arm and walked through an adjoining door, followed by the young page. In this, her formal reception room, her women worked on their various domestic projects and priests read scripture aloud. She sorely missed Father Marcus’s deep voice lending drama to his readings. With her elevation, he considered his work done. Pulcheria sent him to his favorite monastery, with tears in her eyes and alms for the poor, to dedicate his life to prayer.

They crossed the multi-colored marble floor to the gilded chair occupying the low carpeted dais at one end. A realistic fresco on her right-hand wall looked as if you could walk into a flower garden even in winter. Pulcheria took her seat, surveying the room with a deep sense of satisfaction. In private life, she preferred plain furnishings, but in public she needed ostentation to signal her rank.

Pulcheria turned to the page. “Send in the church representative first.”

He bowed and left. Aurelian took a red silk-cushioned chair to her left, off the dais, where servants plied him with wine and his favorite sweets. Pulcheria smiled at him. Habits she would not tolerate in younger men she forgave in Aurelian. He could be enjoying his retirement as he wished, but her mother’s advisor had answered their call back to duty. She did not begrudge some small compensations.

“Presbyter Paul, representative of Bishop Cyril of Alexandria,” her page announced from the doorway. Pulcheria frowned at the churchman’s rich embroidered robes and ring-encrusted fingers. He hesitated at the door, taking in the modest dress of the Augusta and her attendants. The long walk from the door to dais would provide him plenty of time to realize his tactical error.

Paul prostrated himself before the Augusta. When Pulcheria gave him permission to rise, he doffed the jewel-encrusted cloak and stripped his hands of rings, leaving him in an elaborate tunic embroidered with gold and silver. “Our most Holy and Virgin Augusta, please accept these small tokens from the Bishop of Alexandria, to be given to the Great Church of Constantinople. I also bring with me several bolts of cloth and donations of silver for the poor of the city.”

“We thank you on behalf of the people of Constantinople for your bishop’s generosity.” She waved for a servant to bring a chair and refreshments. “Please sit and tell me of the troubles in your city. I was most displeased to hear our imperial representative was injured…and by a monk!”

The churchman sipped his wine, letting his face fall into sorrowful lines. “I’m afraid Prefect Anthemius served the emperor poorly in his choice of city governor. Orestes listened to the advice of pagans and Jews, taking their part over your most Christian subjects. He rarely attended church, and openly attacked our bishop in word and deed.”

“I understand differently. My dearest friend, Bishop Atticus, personally baptized Prefect Orestes, and vouches for his sincere Christian beliefs.” Pulcheria leaned back, spearing him with a direct gaze. “My own agent observed the chaos in your city and advised Bishop Cyril against fomenting riots and murder. This behavior on the part of the bishop is utterly foreign to those who serve in the name of Christ.”

“Those acts were in answer to a terrible assault. The Jews murdered Christians and Orestes did nothing. Our Sainted Bishop Cyril could not stand by. He roused the Christian populace and we purged the city of the Christ-killers.” He lowered his eyes to his goblet. “We felt we were following your will, after the imperial constitution you ordered that forbade the construction of new synagogues and required the destruction of existing ones.”

“Destruction of synagogues in desert places…if that could be accomplished without riots,” she snapped. It galled her that Isidorus had been right on the consequences of that constitution. She had thought it a limited law that would protect the desert monasteries. She had not counted on exuberant Christians burning and looting synagogues in the cities, causing major upheavals. Those riots cost her a year delay in purging top levels of the army and government of Jews and pagans. She didn’t want to make the same mistake twice and took the year to study the consequences of the earlier law. She was confident in her plan to implement this next phase.

“Saving souls is not always a bloodless process, Most Wise Augusta,” Paul said in a soothing tone. “Alexandria is now firmly Christian. Those unhappy with your policies and our bishop’s actions can immigrate to pagan Persia and be damned to hell.”

“What of the philosopher? Lady Hypatia? I understand she was a learned woman and well beloved by her city.” Pulcheria remember the voluminous letters she had received after the Lady Philosopher’s murder, asking for redress. “I’ve scores of petitions from the city fathers and her former students, protesting her murder. Many of those men hold high posts in both the Church and the government.”

“Hypatia brought on her own fate, Most Holy One. She studied sorcery, astrology, other pagan arts. She cast a spell on Orestes, held him in thrall. He didn’t make a move without consulting that woman!” The presbyter realized his mistake and amended, “Not that taking advice from a woman is wrong but taking advice from a pagan forever put Orestes outside of and at odds with the Christian community.”

From her agent, Pulcheria knew Hypatia to be a chaste and learned woman on good terms with the former bishop. Only when Cyril took the bishopric did rumors of sorcery start to swirl. Her brother studied from Hypatia’s textbooks on algebra and astronomy. The philosopher’s fervent supporters pointed out in their letters that she taught there was only one God, and to know Him one had to live an ascetic life like Christian holy men and women. Pulcheria felt a distant kinship with the ascetic woman, who led her community and ably advised city elders. Given other circumstances, she would have liked to meet the famous Lady Philosopher.

Pulcheria sensed the churchman’s great unease and had no wish to alleviate it. “What is it you wish of us?”

“The city fathers are unhappy over the deaths and riots. They blame Bishop Cyril for exciting hot tempers and accuse him of using our private hospital staff of parabalans to incite riot and disorder. They wish the bishop reprimanded, the parabalans disbanded, and Hypatia’s murderers held accountable. The parabalans are blameless. They serve in our charity wards, moving the sick, injured, and dead. The bishop had nothing to do with Hypatia’s death or the riots that caused it. We wish the matter closed and the name of our good bishop cleared.”

“Somebody attacked our prefect and murdered the Lady Philosopher. If not the parabalans, then who?”

“The people were outraged at pagan sorcery and rose up in defense of their faith.”

Pulcheria studied the man wiping nervous sweat from his brow. She knew the desert Nitrian monks, called into the city by Bishop Cyril, were responsible for Orestes’ injuries. There were rumors a presbyter named Peter led a civilian mob that murdered Hypatia, but those were unconfirmed. What was done, was done. A good woman died, but Alexandria was quiet and Christianity won out.

“I will consider your petition.”

Presbyter Paul rose, bowing low. “I’m certain our Most Holy Augusta will see the merits in our case.”

After he left, Pulcheria saw the delegation from the Alexandria City Council. The three men told the same story as Cyril’s representative, but with a different point of view. In their tale, Bishop Cyril overstepped his bounds and instigated unrest by closing rival Christian churches and calling on the volatile desert monks to riot. The parabalans were a lawless group of thugs arrayed by Cyril to enforce the bishop’s will on innocent citizens. The representatives’ voices differed little from the Hellene faction she had disbanded in her own court. They advocated tolerance in religious practice and a respect for law based on Greek tradition rather than Christian scripture. After listening carefully and asking a few questions, Pulcheria dismissed them. “What is your inclination, Augusta?” Aurelian had sat listening to arguments of both sides.

“The Great Constantine once said, ‘One Emperor, one Empire, one God.’ He knew the disorder and disunity of the pagan Empire. People who worship many gods follow false prophets. The only way to hold this empire together is if all worship the One True God and obey His Viceroy on earth, their emperor. Church and Empire must be one; rule and laws based on scripture.”

She motioned to a scribe. “Take this down and deliver it to both parties: The emperor denies all requests to remedy the consequences of the actions taken by Bishop Cyril in his capacity as leader of the Christian community, with one exception. The number of parabalans will be limited to five hundred and vacancies will be filled by the city council. The parabalans are also banned from public meetings or spaces.”

It was a shame her prefect was harmed and a learned woman murdered, but—as the presbyter pointed out—Alexandria was now firmly in the Christian camp and at peace. She shook her head and focused on the present. “What is next, Aurelian?”

The Patrician smiled. “The portrait bust you ordered is finished, Augusta.”

“Excellent!” She still resented the time taken to sit idle for the artist’s drawings, but the result would be worth it. “When is the dedication?”

“Next week, I’ll unveil it in the Senate House next to your brother’s and uncle’s. It will be a potent symbol, showing all you are of equal status with your fellow Augusti.”

“Thank you, Aurelian.” She patted the old man’s hand. “You’ve been a most loyal advisor this past year. I believe the senate has come to terms with my rule but be observant at the ceremony. Report back any senators that seem displeased by my actions.”

“It goes without saying, Augusta.” He bowed. “My duty is to you and your brother.”

Pulcheria scanned her court, satisfied all was going according to her plans. She felt a deep need to give thanks to the Lord. She turned to Aurelian. “Patrician, I believe it more than past time to restore the burned Hagia Sophia to its position of Great Church. I’ll speak to the emperor today about funds to rebuild.”

Yes, this has been a hard year, wrenching the government from the Hellenes and their lax ways. But the empire is at peace, the populace is happy and prosperous. It is past time to honor My Lord and care for my people through good works.

She spotted her sisters embroidering in a corner. And long past time to give my sisters a purpose.