Chapter 26

 

Hebdomon Palace, January 431

 

“Have you seen this?” Arcadia and Marina showed their sister the codex.

“Address to the Most Pious Princesses, From the Bishop of Alexandria,” Pulcheria read. “I have. He sent the same, addressed to Theo and Athenais. With Cyril entering the fray, our two-year battle against Nestorius is coming to a head. Have you read it?”

Her sisters nodded.

“Your thoughts?”

“He is most persuasive in his support of Mary as Mother of God. He shows how, historically, bishops have referred to Mary as Theotokos,” Arcadia said.

“I counted over two hundred New Testament references to prove Nestorius wrong. Bishop Cyril suggests we share our thoughts with our brother.” Marina giggled. “The man is very thorough.”

“And flattering to us.” Arcadia pointed to a passage. “He begins with praise for ‘the sacred and wholly pure brides of Christ, famous for their virginity, which glorifies the court and keeps our image brilliant throughout the world.’” She looked up, a twinkle in her eye. “It’s good you taught us humility, Sister, or this might feed our vanity.”

“Cyril is a subtle thinker and dangerous enemy. I’ve had dealings with him in the past. When I was but a year into my regency, he stirred up the populace of Alexandria in his bid for supremacy. They nearly murdered our prefect, and did murder a learned woman, Hypatia, a philosopher and teacher. I still regret not investigating that incident more thoroughly, but she was a pagan and I was new to my rule. The city was purged of dissent. It seemed best to let the situation rest.” Pulcheria shook her head. “Nestorius opened a hornet’s nest when he threatened to bring the Bishop of Alexandria to an ecclesiastic court. This goes beyond a simple doctrinal dispute and is now personal between them. Cyril seeks our support. We can use him in our campaign to rid ourselves of this heretical bishop.”

“Should we visit our brother?” Arcadia asked.

“Yes, but I think not to overwhelm him. We go one at a time.”

“Poor Theo.” Arcadia gave her a mock sorrowful look. “Three holy sisters. Three lectures.”

Imperial Palace, February 431

“HOW GOES THE CODE, BROTHER?” PULCHERIA TOOK HER BROTHER’S ARM AS they walked through a room of lawyers and scribes busily sorting through stacks of papers and making notes. “This is quite an undertaking.”

“I’m proud of the progress we’ve made. Within a few years we will compile all the laws of the empire and can set about simplifying and expunging the out-of-date ones. We’ll restore order to our magistrates and courts.”

“I’m proud of you, too, Theo.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a great emperor, just like your grandfather.”

He rubbed a hand through his thinning hair. “In all ways but one, I suppose?”

“I always say what I mean, Brother.”

“You’re not here to castigate me about Nestorius?” He smiled ruefully. “Arcadia and Marina visited earlier in the week, fortified with the writing of Cyril of Alexandria.”

“If your two holy sisters, the Good Bishop of Alexandria, your Generals, the monks, and people of Constantinople can’t convince you to abandon Nestorius, why should I believe my influence will prevail? I am here only to support you, if I can.”

They left the scriptorium, with its smell of vellum and ink behind.

“The gardens?” she asked. “You look as if you could use some sunshine.”

As they passed from shadow into light, Theo’s shoulders loosened. He turned his face to the winter sun, like a flower seeking sustenance. “I have missed our strolls, Sister. I can always count on you to counsel me wisely.”

“I would be at your side every day, if you wish it.” Pulcheria pulled her wool cloak tighter as a brisk February breeze wafted in from the sea, bringing the scent of salt and dead fish.

“I know.” He patted her arm. “This Nestorius business is a hornet’s nest. I don’t like the divisions and contentions it causes—between us, and within the empire. Bishop Celestine of Rome has now demanded Nestorius recant his so-called heresies or face ex-communication. The metropolitans preach to empty churches, since the women withdrew to worship in private residences. Can’t you do something?”

Pulcheria shrugged. “What would you have me do? Nestorius has made enemies of the monks and women with his heresies and disrespect. They do not wish to honor Nestorius with their presence. The earliest Christians met to worship in private homes. We are following a long tradition.”

“They were persecuted!” Theo said, exasperated. “You can attend Church without fear.”

“Women are told to stay in their homes, and monks in their cells. Bishop Nestorius is clear that we have no say in the Church or any part in Christ’s directive to alleviate the plight of the poor and dispossessed.” Pulcheria raised an eyebrow. “Beyond that, he denies Christ’s divinity when he preaches Mary is not the Mother of God. We don’t have to participate in the bishop’s heresies at the peril of our souls.”

Theo seemed to understand she would not budge on this issue. He tried a more personal appeal. “About these letters from Cyril. They circulate widely and tell one and all we are at odds. Ria, it’s…embarrassing!”

“Cyril knows nothing of our love for one another. We can disagree on Nestorius, but that does not diminish my loyalty to you. That said, you cannot let this situation continue. The people grow riotous.” She sat on a marble bench, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the sun. “What do you intend to do?” she murmured, enjoying the meager warmth. She sensed Theo taking a seat to her right and opened her eyes.

“This is a doctrinal issue. The bishops should decide. I’m calling an Ecumenical Council for the next Pentecost in June. All the bishops will convene to resolve these difficulties.”

“Where will this Council be held?”

“I haven’t decided. Chalcedon, perhaps. Or Ephesus?”

“Chalcedon is just across the water. People might think you controlled the Council if it were that close. Ephesus would be better. It’s central and on the coast, so the bishops can easily reach it by land or sea.”

“We can also easily provision a large gathering from ships, if the Council goes beyond a week or two. Ephesus, it is.” Theo sighed. “Thank you, Sister.” His hand took hers.

Pulcheria smiled. And so it begins.

 

*****

 

Episcopal Palace, Alexandria, Egypt, March 431

 

“THE COUNCIL WILL BE IN EPHESUS!” Cyril cried to Archdeacon Paul. “Only Alexandria would have been better, and we could not hope for that. I see the Augusta’s hand in this. The See of Ephesus is a rival of Constantinople’s and a natural ally of mine. Bishop Memnon is a firm Mariologist. We can work with him. The Council will take place in a Theotokos Church. Nestorius cannot prevail in a church dedicated to the Virgin.” He chuckled. “We have won before the Council begins!”

Cyril opened a second imperial letter. His face darkened, and hands shook with anger as he tossed it to his desk.

“Bishop?” Paul looked concerned. “Bad news?”

“The emperor chides me as if I were a child. He accuses me of sowing discord between him and his sister, as if he had no hand in the matter.” Cyril took the letter up, read it again, and smiled. “On the other hand, the emperor says he and his sister are of one accord. I believe Pulcheria Augusta has made her move. We will soon see our most holy and Virgin Empress back in power.” He looked up. “In the meantime, we have a war to prepare for.”

“War?” Paul’s voice squeaked in alarm.

“Ephesus. We will seize and occupy it. Nestorius will have no support whatsoever, and these scurrilous attacks on me will cease!”

 

*****

 

Episcopal Palace, Ephesus, June 431

 

“DO SOMETHING, MEMNON!” Nestorius shook with anger. “The Egyptians riot in your streets. Those so-called monks attack me and my supporters. Last night, they broke into the house where one of my deacons stayed, pulled him out of bed, and beat him senseless.”

“I believe they are not monks, but the bishop’s hospital attendants.” The Bishop of Ephesus pointedly corrected the Bishop of Constantinople. “They are called parabalans.”

“I don’t care what they’re called. They are murderous bullies intent on making this council a farce!” Nestorius’ eyes flashed with indignation.

“Not all the rioters are from Alexandria. Quite a few come from your own See to protest against you.” Memnon had put his own contingent of rowdies at Cyril’s disposal, but Nestorius didn’t have to know that. He stood, putting a hand on his colleague’s shoulder, urging him toward the door. “The Council convenes tomorrow. Go home. Prepare your position.”

“I am not without my own resources.” Nestorius blocked the door. “Count Candidian, the emperor’s agent, has his soldiers, and I bring my own monks and supporters.”

“Fine.” Memnon gave the Bishop a little push out the door. “They will provide you protection from the Egyptians.”

Nestorius shrugged off his hand, glared, and left.

Good! Memnon smiled. Tomorrow we restore Mary to her proper place and rid our church of this heresy.

The next morning Memnon presided over the opening proceedings in the Theotokos Church, which abutted his episcopal palace. A large fresco of Mary with the infant Jesus loomed behind the altar. Images of the apostles trooped down one wall, while the other showed scenes from Christ’s life. Oil chandeliers lit the dark interior; sweet incense struggled to mask the scent of hundreds of male bodies sweating in the June heat.

Cyril’s and Memnon’s supporters packed the nave behind sitting rows of bishops from throughout the empire. Memnon had met with each delegate and knew their preferences. A couple wavered, but Cyril’s men convinced them to take his side. Memnon wasn’t completely happy with the Bishop of Alexandria’s methods, but they were effective in achieving the result the Augusta wished.

After prayers, a small group of imperial officers, led by Count Candidian approached the episcopal throne. He bowed. “Bishop Memnon. I have come from the emperor to open the Council.”

“Read your charge.” Memnon waved a ringed hand at the young officer.

Candidian unrolled a scroll. “The Most Honorable and Pious Emperor of Rome, Theodosius, Second of that Name, charges this Ecumenical Council to resolve the confusion arising from disagreements over doctrinal issues according to the canons, correct the failures of the past, and provide firm guidance toward piety before God and the good of the state. Do your duty.”

Memnon rapped his staff on the floor. “Who brings charges before this Council?”

Nestorius jumped to his feet. “We’re not here to discuss charges! We’re here to discuss doctrine.”

“Heretic! Drive him out!” rose from the crowd behind the bishops. “Death to the heretic Nestorius!”

More people took up the chant. A few bishops started to shove Nestorius and his supporters. They shoved back. Some monks brought out short sticks to beat the protestors. One struck an elderly bishop on the head; blood gushed down the old man’s shocked face.

“Murder! Nestorius commits murder!” several protestors cried. The crowd surged forward.

Memnon rapped his staff on the floor. “Order! Order! Return to your seats.”

To no effect. This was not supposed to happen! He had planned an orderly reading of charges and votes on ex-communication.

“Count! Help!” the frightened Nestorius called.

Candidian and his lightly armed soldiers formed a protective wedge around the beleaguered Bishop. “Which way?” the Count shouted at Memnon.

“Out the back!” He pointed towards a corridor to the left.

Candidian and his soldiers escorted Nestorius out of the nave.

Cheers erupted as they left. Memnon rapped his staff on the floor for quiet. “Take your seats. Evacuate the injured.”

The injured elderly bishop, along with a couple of others with bumps and bruises, left the church for aid. The rest returned to their seats. Memnon stood, intoning, “Again, who brings charges before this Council?”

“I do.” Cyril of Alexandria rose. “As I’ve demonstrated in these texts, Nestorius is in error in his denial of Mary as Mother of God. He should be deposed from his See and excommunicated. Bishop Celestine of Rome agrees, and asked me to act on his behalf in this matter.”

The Church shook with acclamations.

At the end of the day, as the crowd left the church, people lined the streets and cheered. A huge crowd of women, bearing lighted candles and incense censers, escorted Memnon, Cyril, and their supporters through the streets. Mary was still Queen of Heaven and Mother of God.

As she should be. Memnon beamed.

 

*****

 

Hebdomon Palace, July 431

 

“HOW GOES EPHESUS, SISTER?” Arcadia looked up from sewing a small wool tunic for a poor child. Pulcheria perused a dispatch. Their assembled coterie of women worked at their usual tasks of spinning, sewing and embroidery.

“Not as I had hoped.” Pulcheria frowned. “Bishop Cyril, as usual, overreached himself. He incited violence in the streets and the Council. That man!” She put down the paper to rub her temples. “I had hoped he would leave his army of unruly monks in Egypt. We had the bishops to overrule Nestorius on doctrine. Because of the threats and rioting, several bishops switched sides. Our holy cause is compromised because of human pride and privilege!”

Arcadia motioned a servant to attend to her sister. The young woman brought a soothing drink of willow bark and honey.

Pulcheria took a sip, smiling at her sister. “Thank you, Arcadia. I don’t know how I’d fare if you didn’t look after me.”

“You’d starve at your desk or die of apoplexy and exasperation,” Arcadia teased.

Pulcheria picked up the missive to examine it again. “Bishop John of Antioch arrived late and immediately set about winning a result more to our brother’s liking. He has convened a smaller counter synod, claiming the one Memnon convened illegal because not all the bishops had arrived. John’s synod excommunicated and deposed both Memnon and Cyril. Memnon’s synod excommunicated and deposed the Nestorians.”

Pulcheria stood and began pacing, to stimulate thought.

“This is why the Church should not be left to its own affairs! The bishops mire themselves in charges and countercharges, arguing the smallest minutia, flinging excommunication at each other as if they were pagan curses. And is it for the greater glory of God or to benefit the souls of the people?”

The assembled women shook their heads, muttering, “No!” to the rhetorical question.

“It is not! These bishops live in luxury in their episcopal palaces, dressed in rich robes, attended by scribes and servants. Most are petty tyrants, ruling over their narrow kingdoms, squabbling with their neighbors over who is most powerful and enjoys the most influence over the mind of the emperor and souls of his people. It is the rare bishop these days who is truly a holy man.”

Pulcheria sat at her worktable. “I must send a note to Theo. The bishops failed in their task. He must decide which finding he will accept, and what will be the law of the land and practice of the Church. Theo seeks a reconciliation with us, if only to counter rumors of our discord. It’s time we present a united front.”

“You will accept Nestorius?” Arcadia asked, eyes round with disbelief.

Pulcheria smiled. “I didn’t say that, Sister.”