Immaculate Resurrections Book I Chapter 1 A.D. 325 Hosius was in a dangerous mood. For a man whose sole purpose in life was to execute the directives of another person, the morning’s events called into question his very identity. The unrelenting heat wasn’t helping his frame of mind. Even the cooling breezes that usually blew across Lake Iznik, to the west of Nicea, were nonexistent, just as they had been since the Christian delegations started arriving to the town three weeks prior. The air, heavy and saturated with moisture, clung to his olive skin like a colony of blood-starved leeches as he strode purposefully through a phalanx of palace guards manning the north entrance to the imperial palace. The stench of animal entrails, rotting food, and human excrement burned his nostrils as he navigated the vermin-filled streets of the town. But the foul smell was quickly replaced with the sweet scents of burning incense and blooming foliage when he entered the verdant courtyard. Hosius was as familiar with the palace grounds as any man in Nicea. In just a few minutes he was inside the imperial palace and walking briskly along an open-air corridor overlooking the town and the lake’s distant, dull blue waters. The corridor was a bustling polychromatic sea of activity. Delegation members making their residence at the palace congregated outside seeking respite from the suffocating heat of the palace’s windowless inner rooms. They tended to isolate themselves in clusters, each small group easily distinguishable by their unique clothing and language. Some huddled together and spoke in conspiratorial whispers with their foreheads practically touching. Others made no attempt to conceal the content of their conversations, gesturing wildly while shouting in their strange native tongues. Hosius made his way down the corridor in a straight line. The men in his path scurried out of his way like a ship full of rodents confronted by a hungry predator. The men averted their eyes and turned their backs in futile attempts to avoid being noticed. Hosius wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist, paying no attention to the men. Glancing up at the sun, still low on the horizon, he was reminded that he should have been elsewhere that morning, attending to other problems. But those matters would now have to wait. The messenger had changed everything. Just before dawn, when the land is shrouded in impenetrable darkness and the night sky is so dark that a man’s primordial fears creep into his rational consciousness and cast doubt on whether the sun will ever rise again, the messenger had arrived unannounced at Hosius’s one-room flat. Without making eye contact or uttering a word, the messenger handed him a piece of parchment no larger than the palm of Hosius’s hand, then turned and vanished into the darkness. On the parchment, someone had inscribed an unintelligible combination of letters, numbers, and symbols which formed three vertical columns. Hosius knew its meaning at once. After examining the letter for a few brief moments, he set the parchment ablaze with the flame of a nearby candle. He held the thin paper until his fingers burned, letting it go and watching until nothing was left except smoldering ashes on the dirt floor of his tiny room. An ordinary man, if he knew the meaning of the letter, would have feared for his life and fled the town. But Hosius wasn’t an ordinary man. He viewed the world differently than did other men. To him, the world was really quite simple. There were no shades of gray, no conditions, no qualifications, and no alternate perspectives. There were only absolutes. He received his orders and carried them out one at a time. If he failed to fulfill a directive he would never be granted an opportunity to redeem himself. It would be his last. That certainty—the undeniable knowledge that life and death were always in the balance—meant that he couldn’t be distracted, his focus couldn’t waver, he could never accept failure. He ignored the heat and focused his mind entirely on the objective at hand. He was at the palace to meet with a man who was making his residence there. The man simply represented another problem to Hosius; a problem that had resurfaced and was beginning to fester. He knew that if he didn’t deal with the problem now, it would spread like an infection. And if that were allowed to happen, not even Hosius’s considerable talents could contain it. He arrived at an arched doorway carved out of the stone walls of the palace’s inner façade and entered a large square room. Hosius took a moment to survey his surroundings. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the pleasant smell: rare incense overlaid with precious perfumes and aromatic oils imported from the Orient. A large hammered-silver tray, overflowing with luscious ripe fruit, was atop a low table. Several amphorae filled with wine were pushed against a wall. The room was elegantly appointed, with vivid frescoes adorning the walls. Beautiful, intricately crafted mosaics splashed across the floor in a colorful exhibition of the palace’s wealth. A marble bust of the Emperor Constantine dominated the room from its perch atop a tall pedestal in the center of the room. He found the man he was looking for. Eusebius, the bishop of Caesarea, stood beside the bust of Constantine, engaged in an animated discussion with six members of his retinue. Each wore a light brown tunic nearly identical to the other. The delegation from Caesarea apparently had received word Hosius was on his way because his arrival didn’t elicit a reaction other than a few nervous glances cast in his direction. The news was obviously delivered by one of the men in Eusebius’s entourage, a corpulent, heavy-breathing man struggling to catch his breath as perspiration dripped down his face and onto the floor. Eusebius was a giant of a man, wide at the waist and shoulders and nearly seven feet tall. He wore an intricately decorated dark blue tunic and an elaborate headdress that gave him the appearance of an enormous bird of prey. His features were rather hawk-like; a large hooked nose, leather-colored skin, mottled gray and black hair, wide-set, unblinking eyes, and an Adam’s apple the size of a child’s fist. “Master Eusebius,” Hosius said, using the honorific. Eusebius didn’t turn to face him. “Hosius,” he replied haughtily, his thin lips barely moving as he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.” “Neither was I. I had hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary for us to meet before the completion of your charge,” Hosius said. He spoke softly yet his voice carried easily to the far corners of the room. Eusebius turned toward Hosius and crossed his arms imperiously. “Ah, yes. My charge. About that…” “Your men will leave the room now,” Hosius interrupted. The six men in Eusebius’s retinue looked bewildered. “You will leave the room now,” Hosius repeated. “Go to your sleeping chambers. You will be returned to your master soon.” The men’s eyes darted uncertainly at one another, and then at Eusebius, as if expecting him to countermand Hosius’s order. When Eusebius didn’t speak, the men reluctantly shuffled toward the back of the room. They disappeared through a doorway that led to a hall connecting the inner chambers of the palace to the outer rooms. As soon as the last man left through the doorway, Eusebius stomped his sandaled foot on the tiled floor like a child having a temper tantrum. His hands were balled in white-knuckled fury, his face deep crimson with anger. An enormous vein bulged on his forehead like a well-fed snake. “How dare you! How dare you order my men out of the room! My men! Do you know who I am?” Eusebius shouted. Hosius turned his back and studied a wall fresco depicting a scene from the Trojan War. He wasn’t a large man. He was a foot shorter than Eusebius and lighter by at least a hundred pounds. But when he spoke, his words carried a certain indefinable aura of authority that was impossible to ignore. “How dare I?” Hosius replied evenly, turning to face the bishop from Caesarea. “You know on whose authority I come?” This last wasn’t intended as a question. “Yes, of course,” Eusebius answered in an overly dramatic voice, like an actor entertaining an outdoor audience. “The emperor. The mighty Constantine.” Then his face was awash with self-righteousness and his voice turned disdainful. “But you are aware of the one on whose authority I come!” “Yes,” Hosius said with perfect calmness. “That is why I am here. To discuss, once again, why you and the other bishops were summoned here by the emperor.” “Summoned, you say? Don’t presume to tell me why! I know why…” “I don’t believe you do, Eusebius. Let me remind you of matters you seem to have forgotten. It was the Emperor Constantine who adopted this new religion which we call Christianity. It is now the official religion of the Empire. But as of today, Christianity is not one religion. It is a hundred different religions. There are dozens, even thousands, of cults and sects in the realm. And they’re doing all manner of acts in the name of Christianity. Men are worshipping snakes, sacrificing animals, even drinking each other’s blood.” “The other bishops and I are aware of this…” “The Book,” Hosius interrupted, a touch of impatience in his voice. “The time has come to be done with the Book.” The “Book” was how Hosius, Eusebius, and the more than three hundred other bishops who gathered at Nicea referred to the single most important task undertaken by the Church since the death of Jesus Christ three hundred years earlier—the creation of the one official text, the Gospel, the Holy Scriptures. The book that would be used by all of Christendom to define Christianity and give it a lasting and unified identity. The bishop’s task wasn’t easy. During the past three weeks, they had tried to determine which of the hundreds of writings associated with Christianity throughout the Empire should be discarded and which should be included in the Book. The disagreements and infighting among the bishops had grown fiercer in recent days. Differences that had splintered Christianity since its formation widened, and the bishops began forming rival factions based on theological, geographical, and political loyalties. The bishops of Alexandria, Ptolemais, and Antioch threatened to leave Nicea without agreeing on a final Book, intent on using their own versions of what they considered the true Christian gospel. “The Book,” Eusebius said. “Yes, of course. I know why you are here, Hosius. But you ask too much of me. I cannot in good conscience do what you have demanded of me. And I cannot include in the Book doctrines that I know to be apocryphal.” “Nor would I ask you to do such a thing. But the three doctrines must be in the Book.” “The first already is,” Eusebius replied defensively. “Surely you are aware of that. We have already settled the question of the divinity of Christ. The bishops have agreed as to the matter of the Immaculate Conception. After all, Christ cannot be of the same substance as the almighty Father and have an earthly father.” “Christ cannot be born from a man,” Hosius said firmly. “That is the first doctrine.” “We are agreed on that,” Eusebius said, his temper rising. “I have already told you! We agree on the first doctrine. But that is only because it is consistent with the Christian tradition. It was only a few bishops who attempted to oppose us. But the other two doctrines…” “Must also be included,” Hosius said. “Let me refresh your memory—the second doctrine is that of the Second Coming of Christ. Christ will return to our world at the appointed hour to save mankind.” “But that is ridiculous!” Eusebius shouted. “Christ has already come—he has been resurrected. He returned to life and ascended to heaven to be with the One from whom he was begotten—the One True God. The path to salvation has already been laid before us. A Second Coming you say? Theologically it does not fit within the constructs of the Christian faith.” Hosius ignored his outburst. “The third doctrine is that of the one who is the opposite of Christ. The one sent by the Dark Father to bring pestilence and death. The one who seeks absolute power and the enslavement of mankind for all eternity. He will be known as the Antichrist. He will come forth and his entry into our world will signal the End Times—the Apocalypse. The Armageddon of man.” Eusebius shook his head irritably. “Hosius, again, doctrinally, you do not make any sense. The Dark Father, the devil, is the originator of all evil. That doctrine is well-established in the Church. But the concept of this Antichrist will never be accepted by the bishops, and I fail to understand why…” “The Antichrist is the servant of the devil—his emissary. When he is sent, Christ will come, and they will battle for the fate of mankind. Those doctrines must be in the Book.” Eusebius scratched the tip of his nose, and then stood completely upright, to his full height, and looked down on Hosius with his large avian eyes. “I’m terribly sorry, Hosius,” he said like a teacher lecturing a dimwitted pupil. “But neither I nor the other bishops will be coerced by the emperor to include doctrines that violate the Church and the Christian tradition.” Hosius nodded his head as if agreeing with the bishop’s sentiments. “I completely understand your theological objections, Eusebius. Unfortunately, you have not yet grasped the nuances of your charge. You see, the Emperor Constantine has a very strong interest regarding the contents of the Book. In fact, the Book is already completed. Your charge is simply to accept it. Constantine would promulgate it himself, but he would prefer that a council of great holy men deliver it to the Christian faithful after consulting with the almighty himself. After all, a council of over three hundred bishops most assuredly was divinely guided in the selection of the Holy Scriptures.” Eusebius’s face was contorted with rage. Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. “I will not be a party to this insidious…” “I understand you have been blessed with a rather large family, Eusebius,” Hosius interrupted. “You have, I have recently heard, four daughters and a son.” “What? I what?” Eusebius stammered, not comprehending the sudden change of topic. At last, he gathered himself. “I have four daughters and two sons,” he said petulantly. Hosius paused to make sure Eusebius’s attention was focused on what he was about to say. “Emperor Constantine has taken the liberty of moving your family to the royal residence in Constantinople until the Book is endorsed by the council. Unfortunately, because of your hubris, and because you were so determined to disobey your emperor, he decided that your eldest son should be sacrificed. It was the emperor’s hope that by chopping off first his hands and feet, and then his testicles, arms, and legs, and then finally his head, that you might better understand your charge.” The bishop’s eyes bulged. Without warning he lunged at Hosius with his arms outstretched and his fingers bent like talons preparing to tear flesh. Bam! Bam! Bam! The sound of steel hitting steel reverberated throughout the room. Eusebius stopped in mid-lunge as if his body suddenly became frozen, his fingers mere inches away from Hosius’s thin neck. From the doorway where the bishop’s retinue departed into the inner chambers of the palace came a detachment of Emperor Constantine’s private imperial guard dressed in full battle regalia. The sun reflected off the polished steel of their swords and shields, casting beams of white light throughout the room. Eusebius watched dumbfounded with his mouth agape and his arms still outstretched as the imperial guards entered the room two abreast. He didn’t notice that many of the guards carried objects which they tossed cavalierly at his feet as they marched across the room and gathered around Hosius in a protective formation. Eusebius blinked and shook his head as if trying to wake from a deep slumber. He looked down at the floor and screamed—a high-pitched wail filled with terror and revulsion. The floor around him was covered with the hacked-up remains of his retinue: arms, legs, fingers, torsos, and heads were all tangled together in heaping piles of flesh and bone. Blood was spreading across the floor and beginning to form pools around his feet. A severed head made a splotching sound as it hit the floor and tumbled end over end, finally coming to rest in front of Eusebius. The severed man’s head stared back at him with its eyes still open, its tongue lolling out of swollen purple lips. “You…you monster,” he stammered. “The emperor is an abomination.” Hosius surveyed the room around him disinterestedly, as if trying to decide what wine to drink with dinner. “Actually, it’s exactly the opposite, Eusebius. Emperor Constantine is doing everything in his power to save our world from the abomination. You see, he is privy to certain knowledge that a simple man like you could never understand. This time, do as you have been instructed. The three doctrines will be included in the Book. You will make sure that the other bishops are in agreement, and you will not waste any more of the emperor’s time.” Eusebius’s face was ashen, the look of a man of great privilege who has lost everything in an instant. Hosius had seen the expression before—on the faces of the three other bishops who also misunderstood their charges. Hosius nodded at the captain of the guard, and the soldiers began filing out of the room toward the outside corridor. Just as Hosius was about to leave, he looked back at Eusebius, who was staring blankly at the carnage surrounding him. “One more thing, Master Eusebius: if you choose to disobey Emperor Constantine again, you should know that his armies are readied and will be sent to Ceasarea. Once there, they will be given orders to rape, torture, and slaughter every man, woman, and child. “And your family—they will suffer the same fate as your eldest son. Every fucking one of them.” |
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