Chapter 25

 

Imperial Palace, July 428

 

“GENERAL, THERE’S A COMMOTION OUTSIDE.”

Ardaburius looked up from the worktable in his palace office. His guard stood in the door. “What’s the problem?”

“A man who says he’s from your church claims the new bishop is trying to confiscate it. He calls on you for help in repelling the attack.”

“Let him in.”

A young priest, breathing heavily, pushed past the guard. “Thank you, General. Please. We need your help.”

“Stephen, isn’t it?” The young man nodded. “Have some water and tell me what happened.”

He handed the priest a cup of water, which he gulped. “Nestorius is at the door of our church. He demands we vacate the building and hand it over to him. Father Andrew has barred the door to him and his followers, but I don’t know how long he can hold out.”

“Christ on the cross! Doesn’t that idiot bishop know who we are?”

“He says Arians are heretics. We should convert or leave the city.”

“I’ll settle this.” The General grabbed his helmet and called for his escort and mounts to meet them at the Chalke Gate.

They rode to the German district of the city, where most of the army’s dependents lived and several officers had substantial homes. Streets grew crowded the closer he got to the church. Most people recognized him, calling for his help in saving their church and trailing behind his squad of soldiers.

Ardaburius broke through the crowd into a small square. A modest brick and timber church, shops, and apartment buildings faced a central fountain. He reined his horse to a stop at the church steps. Nestorius stood at the topmost, shouting through the door. Several of his priests pounded on the brass-bound barrier with thick chunks of wood.

“Bishop! Stop!” the General shouted in his best parade ground voice. Quiet descended in the near vicinity, but the vague roar of a crowd thundered on the next block.

Nestorius turned. “I am on the emperor’s business! This church preaches the heresy of Arianism. It must be closed.”

“Do you know who I am, Bishop?”

“It matters not.”

“I am magister militum for the Emperor’s Armies in His Presence. I and my men protect the emperor and the city against our enemies. This is my church!”

“Then you are a heretic and should have no place in the emperor’s presence, much less be a general in his army!”

“We Arians won the right to worship in our own Christian churches through our service to Emperor and Empire. We’ve had that right for ten years!” Ardaburius sharply reined his horse, which pranced and shied in response to his agitation. “You, Bishop, take your people and go before I drag you from the steps.”

“The emperor will hear of this.” Nestorius shook his fist at the general.

“I’ll make sure of it!” Ardaburius shouted back.

“Fire! The church is on fire!” Shouts went up from the crowd.

The general looked up to see flames licking the wooden roof. Smoke curled from narrow windows. He rode up the steps, sweeping Nestorius and his men aside, and pounded on the door with his sword hilt, shouting, “Father Andrew, bring your people out! It’s Ardaburius. I’ll protect you!”

The door gave way. Several men in multiple layers of vestments, carrying altar cloths, chalices, and other church treasures, stumbled through the entrance, coughing. The last one through halted in front of Nestorius. “You’ll never set foot inside our church, Bishop!”

Nestorius, red-faced, retreated from the flames.

Ardaburius guided his mount, snorting and wild-eyed from the smoke and heat, back down the steps.

“It’s spreading!” the crowd cried.

Ardaburius looked up. Sparks lit on roofs of nearby buildings. Cursing roundly, the General dismounted. “You men, get buckets and start a line at the fountain. Call out the local vigiles! Let’s get this under control before the whole city goes up.”

“God cleanses by fire!” Nestorius shouted

The general turned to the errant bishop. “Leave now, or I’ll toss you into the flames myself!”

Nestorius and his followers fled to shouts of “firebrand” as the local fire patrol arrived with ladders, pickaxes, and additional buckets.

Ardaburius accosted the captain of the fire brigade. “Can you save the church?”

The stocky freedman, arms scarred by past burns, shook his head. “The church is gone. We’ll concentrate on saving the buildings next to it.”

“I have soldiers. What can we do?” Ardaburius wiped soot from his face.

“Make sure people are out of those apartments. Join the bucket lines dousing the buildings. My men will knock down the church and try to contain the fire.” The captain gazed into the still morning sky. “Luckily, we have no wind. Where’s a good dousing rain when you need it?”

Ardaburius deployed his men, then ran into the four-story apartment building next to the church, shouting, “Fire! Everyone out!” The smell of smoke pervaded the first floor. From the outside, or was the roof going on this building? A trickle of people raced downstairs clutching odd-shaped bundles of clothes and small chests. One old man carried a cage with a blanket thrown over it, which failed to keep the frantic bird inside from squawking. Luckily, few were home at this time of day.

“Help!” A frantic female voice called from the top floor. “Help, please!”

The general sprinted up three flights, choking and gasping for air. I’m getting too old for this!

A young woman, with a baby strapped to her chest and a toddler clutching her skirts, carried a gray-haired woman on her back. “Thank the Good Lord! I don’t think I can carry my mother down the steps. She can’t walk!”

“I’ll get her out.” Ardaburius took a steadying breath. “Any others on this floor?”

The young woman shook her head.

Ardaburius took her frail mother in his arms. She weighed little more than a child!

“Good! Now go. I’ll be right behind you.”

The old woman cackled in his ear. “The Good Lord bless you, Sir! I begged Mariana to leave me, but she refused. You’ve saved more than my life today.”

“Glad to be of service, Grandmother.”

Back in the square, Ardaburius deposited his charges with a group of holy women attached to his church. They had set up an aid station: giving water, treating burns, and comforting victims. He surveyed the scene. The vigiles demolished the church with battering rams, pulled apart burning timbers with pickaxes, and spread sand on the embers. Bucket brigades on ladders doused roofs and walls of nearby buildings. Unless the wind picked up, it looked like they could confine the damage to this square.

“Water, General?” A heavily pregnant woman, with a round face and curly blonde hair, handed him a clay cup.

“Thanks!” He gulped the water. “How do you know me?”

“My husband, Flavius Marcian, is your tribune.” Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she patted her stomach. “We’re to name him Ardaburius, if he’s a boy.”

“Quite an honor.” He grinned through soot and returned the cup. “Thanks for the water.”

He ran to the fountain to join a bucket brigade. What a mess! Will we be able to rebuild our church? Does the emperor turn against us or does the bishop overstep his bounds? In either case, I must consult with Pulcheria!

 

*****

 

Episcopal Palace, Alexandria Egypt, September 428

 

“WRETCHED MAN!” Bishop Cyril of Alexandria muttered as he read over reports from his agents in Constantinople. He reached for a cooling draught of melon juice. The sultry summer lingered in the Nile delta, turning his saturnine face red with heat and sweat. His anger only grew with the reading.

“Which man?” Paul, his arch deacon and scribe, looked up from his own stack of papers.

“The Bishop of Constantinople. Nestorius. Those traitorous clerics brought our dispute over that church in the Rhokatis quarter to the Constantinople Bishop—as if he had any rule over us!—and he brought it to the emperor. I might be charged in an ecclesiastical court with that Antiochene as judge!” Cyril stood to look out the window, hoping for an errant breeze from the sea. “Why take such a trivial matter to the emperor, if not to embarrass me? First Nestorius declines to send me the traditional gifts due my office when he took his See. Now he hopes to bring me up on charges.”

Paul leaned back and fanned himself with a report. “I heard he convinced the emperor to introduce an annual memorial to that other Antiochene Chrysostom at the imperial court.”

Cyril turned, back stiff, jaw set. “Is he trying to assert the primacy of the Antioch See over Alexandria’s? That will never happen.” He sat, taking up a reed pen. “I’ll direct my agents to send me copies of his sermons, speeches, and prayers. If he mumbles when he shits, I’ll hear of it. My agents say he is extreme in his beliefs, and close to preaching heresy. Nestorius will learn it does not pay to dispute with the Bishop of Alexandria.”

 

*****

 

Constantinople, December 428

 

THE FEAST OF MARY. Pulcheria surveyed the Great Church crowded with women—highborn noblewomen in their finest silks, lowly washerwomen in their cleanest woolens, holy women in their somber colors, and, of course, the Virgin Princesses and their following. Men attended as well, but women far outnumbered them. They came to be celebrated as well as to celebrate the Mother of God. Pulcheria settled in her seat with a sigh.

One year earlier, the gentle Sisinnius held the See, and peace reigned. Now all was in turmoil over that wretched Nestorius and his fanaticism. He sat on his throne behind the pulpit in full episcopal raiment—gold pectoral cross and ring, casula embroidered with gold and silver crosses, and crozier in the shape of a gold-headed shepherd’s crook. The mere sight of him made blood pound in Pulcheria’s temple. What a difference a year makes!

After opening rituals, Father Proclus took the pulpit to deliver the traditional sermon on the Virgin Mary. Proclus was an ambitious man, a stout supporter of Mary Theotokos, and a good friend. After months of controversy and recriminations from the bishop, Pulcheria looked forward to hearing something pleasing.

“Our present gathering, in honor of the Most Holy Virgin, inspires me, brethren, to offer Her a word of praise, of benefit also for those who have come to this holy celebration. It is in praise of women, a glorification of their gender, a celebration of She Who is both Mother and Virgin at the same time. O desired and wondrous gathering! O nature, celebrate that whereby honor is rendered to Woman; rejoice, O human race, that in which the Virgin is glorified.”

An auspicious start. Pulcheria sat back, hands folded, smiling. Nestorius looked calm. He shortly wouldn’t be.

“The Holy Mother of God, the Virgin Mary, has gathered us here.”

Nestorius sat up straighter. He regularly upbraided people for using the term “Mother of God” and suggested they use the title Christotokos—Mother of Christ—instead. As planned, Proclus baited him, goading Nestorius into publicly expressing his heresy.

“She is the pure treasure of virginity,” Proclus continued, “the intended paradise of Second Adam, the place where the union of natures—divine and human—was accomplished. The Lover of Mankind did not disdain to be born of woman, since She gave Him life in His human nature. If this Mother had not remained a Virgin, the Child born of Her might be a mere man, and the birth would not be miraculous in any way. Since She remained a Virgin after giving birth, how is He Who is born not God?”

Pulcheria smiled. The heart of the matter. If someone denied Mary the title Mother of God, they denied Christ’s divinity.

Proclus continued supporting his argument with quote after quote from scripture. He concluded, “Through these words, the Holy Virgin and Mother of God is clearly indicated. Let all contention cease, and let the Holy Scripture enlighten our reason, so that we too may receive the Heavenly Kingdom unto all eternity. Amen.”

The congregation thundered back, “Amen!”

Nestorius rose from his episcopal throne and took the pulpit. “It is not surprising that you who love Christ should applaud those who preach in honor of the blessed Mary, for the fact that she became the temple of our Lord’s flesh exceeds everything else worthy of praise.”

Pulcheria’s eyebrows rose. Did the Good Bishop concede the point?

“But whoever claims—without qualification—that God was born of Mary prostitutes the reputation of the faith. Has God a mother? If so, we may excuse paganism for giving mothers to its deities. Mary was not Theotokos. For that which is born of flesh is flesh. A creature did not bring forth Him who is uncreated; the Father did not beget by the Virgin a new God.”

“Heresy!” A man stood in the nave, shaking his clenched fist at the bishop.

“Who is that man?” Arcadia whispered to Pulcheria.

“I believe that’s Eusebius, a high official in our brother’s government.”

“Not a holy man?”

“No, but a godly one. I spoke with him frequently when we resided in the palace. I believe his faith will bring him to service in the church. Now he speaks for the people. If Nestorius were wise, he’d listen closely. I expect he will not.”

“Bishop, recant your words!” Eusebuis demanded. “The nature of Christ was settled over a hundred years ago. The Divine Word underwent a second birth in the flesh of a woman. Christ is God. Mary is His mother. Mary is the Mother of God.”

“It’s not that simple…”

The restless crowd shouted “Heresy!” “Blessed is Mary Theotokos!” and, most pleasing to Pulcheria: “Blessed are the Virgin Princesses! All grace to the Most Pious Ones!”

Nestorius tried to regain control with his golden voice and rhetorical style but went unheard by the thundering crowd. He gathered his robes and left the pulpit, back rigid, face stormy. Just as Pulcheria hoped.

As they exited the Great Church, Proclus approached the princesses and bowed. “May I have a word, Your Serenity?”

Pulcheria took the man’s arm, leading him a few steps away from her women. “Nicely done, Proclus. I believe we have our bishop on the run.”

“Thank you, Augusta. Nestorius made his own mistakes, and they were many. It is up to us to capitalize on them.” He watched the jubilant crowd of women streaming past. “I don’t understand his antipathy to Mary Theotokos. It’s been settled doctrine for years. Why does he bring this trouble down on himself?”

“Some few men hate women and cannot abide their presence or influence in any sphere. If these men have no power except over their wives and daughters, it is bad enough. I’ve seen women in my hospitals bruised and battered for no reason other than men believe they have the right to beat their women. I believe Nestorius is such a man.

“Unfortunately, his position gives him the power to do great harm. He seeks to strip women of all dignity and worth and uses his position to do so. To him, every woman, no matter how holy or selfless, is a vile daughter of Eve, a vessel for sin and temptress to men. I do not deny such women exist, but most women do not deserve such approbation. He also slandered and tried to humiliate me. I will not stand by and let my virtue be maligned.”

Proclus nodded. “The people know of your goodness and piety. They do not believe his lies.”

“I know.” She suppressed a wolfish grin. “It is time the bishop knows it, as well. I want you to preach on Mary Theotokos in my church in the Pulcheria quarter. If the bishop remains recalcitrant and orders you to stop, we women will abandon his churches and hold services in private residences. Let him preach to empty pews.”

She continued to plot as they walked to her wagon. “I will make sure Nestorius’ words against Mary Theotokos reach the other Sees. We have the support of the suburban bishops, the archimandrites, and the monks. Even that snake Cyril of Alexandria backs us, though I suspect it has more to do with his own animus than the holiness of the cause.” She patted Proclus’ arm. “What do you know of this Eusebius, who called out our Good Bishop? I believe we can enlist him in our plans to rid the city of this wretched man.”