Ambrosius was able to cope very well without this kind of assistance. Nevertheless, it was necessary to observe certain conventions. He was on his way to the Emperor to ask him questions that would test his orthodoxy. For this, he needed witnesses, and the brothers he took along with him were supposed to perform this function. He also wanted to re-enter into the dispute with the new General Rheinberg, who was close to the Emperor and doubtlessly had continued his heretical whisperings during recent weeks. Ambrosius knew that he had already entered a dangerous path because of his covert support for Maximus, so he had to protect himself and be careful in his subsequent decisions. And the more the news spread in the leadership of the Church that the once pious and orthodox Gratian had succumbed to the dictates of the witch from the future, the more the Church hierarchy would keep quiet when Maximus seized the purple by force and reversed the so-called “reforms” the Emperor enacted with worrisome speed.
At least that was Ambrosius’ hope. He wasn’t so sure that Maximus would actually deliver on that promise quickly. Too many of the actions of the young Emperor, and even the bishop had to acknowledge that with grudging respect, made sense. Among those was certainly not the explicit confirmation of the Edict of Tolerance made by Galerius and thus tolerating heretical trends in the Church – but so much else wasn’t that stupid, and a Maximus, once confronted with the requirements of government, would recognize the logic and benefits of some measures very well. Ambrosius accepted that, as long as the new emperor would meet his key demands: to make the Trinitarian strand of Christendom the only valid state church; and to burn all other sects, cults, religions, including the ancient Roman state gods, on the pyres of history. This was Ambrosius’ will, to be accomplished, if necessary, with sword and fire.
They were not far from Trier and would reach the city in the late afternoon, in time before sunset, when the guards shut the gates and allowed no more traffic. Ambrosius thought to make representations to the Emperor at once, who, also one of the positive changes the bishop didn’t like to consider too much, worked long hours every day, sometimes from very early until midnight. Previously, as Ambrosius knew well, Gratian used to go hunting quite often and had given up duties to subordinates who then had made decisions sometimes more, sometimes less according to his wishes. What magical influence Rheinberg ever had on the young Emperor, it helped Gratian to reach a new level of seriousness and self-discipline.
The Bishop looked in his heart to find regret, as he tried to extinguish this life soon, but he found only sincere conviction that it was for the good of the Church and thus, ultimately, the right thing for the whole world. There were sometimes victims and the Lord would assess this properly once judgment was upon them, and Ambrose was willing to pray for those who died and were innocent.
But he wouldn’t spare anyone who stood in his way.
Thus prepared internally, the Bishop was able to endure the annoying chatter of his travel companions quite unmoved. His already stony facial expression prevented each of them to direct the word at him, so he didn’t have to worry about being drawn into this sea of trivialities. It was a hardship, but then, through the haze of drizzle that had accompanied them throughout the day with leaden heaviness, he recognized the walls of Treveri. New optimism filled the Bishop, as the cart rumbled in the twilight before the gates, and they got stepped of the vehicle, stretched and yawned, then crossed the threshold to the city by foot. At once, the commander of the city watch provided for rapid escort to finally reach the Emperor’s residence.
Ambrosius wasn’t just anyone. It wasn’t long until he was led into the palace Gratian inhabited. When he entered the large atrium, where guests were waiting for an audience with the Emperor, he saw craftsmen busy under the light of numerous oil lamps, working to beautify the floor of the hall with a new, large mosaic. Barriers stopped the few guests from stepping on the building site. Three men knelt on cushions in front of large boxes with colored stones, in addition to drawings lying around that represented the proposed design of the mosaic. An elderly man with a long, gray-white beard stood by and seemed to oversee the work. Perhaps he was even the artist of the draft. Now and then he murmured instructions to the kneeling men who carried them out at once. With little hammers, they added the colored stones side by side, connected by tiny layers of a special clay, which dried out quickly and would give the mosaic the necessary strength. It was a long and delicate endeavor, and required a high degree of attention, experience and craftsmanship. Ambrosius realized that the artisans knew their work, for their economical and precise movements was obvious. Even their warden seemed satisfied with the work, as he uttered now and then an affirmative grunt or tapped one of them approvingly on the shoulder.
There were a few people waiting, and they seemed not to be very interested in the artisans’ work. Ambrosius stepped forward and looked at the display. It was basically not a surprisingly different or new image – the finished mosaic, that was completed by two-thirds already, would show Emperor Gratian how he sat on a chair and considered his council. Dignitaries, military, civil servants, all in submissive posture and identified through the objects they held in their hands, stood beside him. They were symbolic for the wisdom that was given to the Emperor by them and didn’t represent specific and therefore identifiable persons. Ambrosius knew that for Gratian the court was both a menace as well as an inevitability. It was a hotbed of jealousy, envy, resentment, greed, the struggle for power and influence. Power was defined by one’s proximity to the Emperor. Gratian had the various political currents well in mind and granted no one too much favor, had to remain flexible, distributed his attention, redeployed it, always looking for an escape route. A certain person, an identifiable individual in some “eternal” representation such as a mosaic would be contrary to this principle.
Then, the view of the Bishop of Milan fell on a detail that previously eluded him. He took a deep breath and tried not to show his anger, but he had to struggle for his self-control. No, also time-travelers weren’t represented in personam. No Rheinberg, no von Geeren, nobody.
But down there, at the feet of the Emperor, the appearance of waves was recognizable. And in these waves, in the midst of Roman triremes, swam, made carefully from blue-gray stones and nicely composed, the vessel of the demons called the Saravica, after a village not too far from Treveri, a remote settlement on a westerly river.
The ship was clearly visible. The artisans had expertedly used very fine stone dust, inserted into the still damp clay, to mimic the rippling smoke that rose up from the chimneys of the ship. No, there was no need to represent someone as a person, because the symbolic power of the ship was more than adequate.
Ambrose stared at the unfinished work with burning eyes and felt the overwhelming desire to take a hammer and smash the still fresh artwork with a vengeance, to symbolically erase its perpetuation of influence from the memory of everyone.
He took a deep breath and took a step back. His brothers sat in a corner and continued their inconsequential conversations. They had not noticed.
The bishop turned away, now more impatient than before. He knew that Maximus still owed him another favor if, one day, he’d wear the purple.
A favor that had something to do with a big, heavy hammer.
He braced himself with patience. So unfathomable the ways of the Lord sometimes might be, so inevitable it was also that all heretics would finally be subjected to a dismal fate. It was this certainty from which Ambrosius drew his strength and confidence, and it also helped him to get his emotions under control. He even managed to perceive the good craftsmanship beyond that terrible image, which had simply been abused for a misguided message.
Nothing he could change right now.
It didn’t take long and Ambrosius and two of his brothers, Lucius and Hardinus, were admitted to the Emperor. A staff member led them silently through the corridors of the palace until they arrived in Gratian’s working chambers. A
mbrosius walked in with all signs of respect. He didn’t want to fight Gratian, at least not here and now, but give him a chance to show the strength of character which his old teacher Ausonius once taught him.
As expected, Gratian wasn’t alone. The personalized anathema, Magister Militium Rheinberg, was also present. Ambrose forced a smile. He bowed to the Emperor and muttered a salutation before he straightened up and looked around.
The influence of the time traveler could be seen everywhere. And as Ambrosius previously had been contemplating, it wasn’t only negative. The large map of the Roman Empire, which was mounted on the wall, was the joint work of German and Roman experts and excelled any known one in terms of scale, accuracy and detail. He found himself to feel a desire to obtain a similar map on which he would delineate episcopal responsibilities and areas of influence of the true Church with greater care and accuracy. He almost felt tempted to ask Gratian for a copy, but this would be taken as an admission of the superiority of the time travelers, something the bishop was in no way ready to express. He threw one last, half-regretful, half-envious look at the colored wall map, but then he fixed his eyes on Gratian, who seemed to have become visibly older since a few months ago, when he had met him the last time. The new seriousness of the Emperor, reported to him by various sources, showed in his whole habitus, in its economical gestures as in his dignified, but at the same exhausted posture.
Bishop Ambrosius took this with regret. To kill this man was certainly a waste. He hoped the inevitability of this decision would prove to be a mistake, but the confidential, almost friendly way Rheinberg sat next to the young Emperor spoke its own language. And the mistrust, the caution in the eyes of both men as they stared at Ambrosius wasn’t lost to him either. The Bishop pushed any doubt aside.
“Honorable Augustus, I’m grateful that you have received me. May I introduce my brothers Lucius and Hardinus, loyal servants of our church who have accompanied me on the arduous journey from Milan.”
“They’re all welcome,” said Gratian and nodded to the two priests who considered him friendly, one step behind Ambrosius. “We should all sit, especially after a long journey. I’ll ask for drinks and food, so that you can regain your strength.”
Ambrosius’s first reflex was to emphasize his ascetic nature in order to win a point in the silent struggle, which would now inevitably begin. But his two brothers looked so thrilled by the announcement of the Emperor and sat so happily on the proffered chairs and looked so eager at the small tables carried in by servile slaves at Gratian’s sign that Ambrose swallowed the rejection and asked himself again if the idea to take these two priests along could have been one of his worst.
So Ambrosius sat and waited until he had received a cup of watered wine and some cold food. He was hungry, but he didn’t want to seem too grateful and contented himself to wet his throat briefly before he spoke.
“I’m well satisfied now! Urgent matters lead me to you this time of year, Augustus.”
“Indeed?”
“I came to speak to you about important aspects of church politics and faith.”
Ambrosius noticed how Rheinberg’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly and his body tensed. Gratian, on the other hand, seemed to be nervous, playing with the cup in his hand, although he pretended this was rather an expression of serenity.
“It must be something very important for you to take the journey,” Rheinberg uttered. His Latin, the Bishop had to concede, became better with each new encounter.
“It’s important, indeed it’s of great importance. I was motivated to travel here because complaints by some bishops came to my attention.”
“Complaints about what?”
“The fact that the complete tax exemption of ecclesiastical possessions is about to be repealed and that new donations of property would only be made to the church with a tax burden previously agreed upon, a fact none of my brothers is especially pleased about. I feel compelled to join them in their grievances.”
“You are aware of the financial situation of the Empire?” Gratian asked with slight impatience in his voice.
“Well, of course, in broad terms. I’m aware that after Adrianople extensive funds had to be provided for the re-establishment of the eastern army.”
“And for many other things that are necessary to meet the Huns effectively,” added Rheinberg.
“Then the Empire should certainly open up new sources of revenue. There are many wealthy people who are exempt from any tax. The majority of senators, many nobles, estate owners – they all pay few or no taxes but are of immense wealth.”
Gratian nodded. “That’s true, honorable Ambrosius. We have taken steps in that direction. All tax privileges are to be deleted, and the amount of levies are to be reduced at the same time. Nobody is exempted anymore, but the burden will be distributed fairly.”
“Excellent. I agree with that.”
“Nobody, Ambrosius. I repeat, no one is excluded. Eligibility for the exemption of the traditional religions of Rome is also terminated. Everyone who generates income has to give up some for our future. Give to Caesar what the Caesar’s is.”
Ambrosius squinted.
“But the Church should continue to be an exception. We have to play an important role.”
“When Rome falls, the fulfillment of this very role will be difficult,” Rheinberg considered.
The Bishop was very grateful to the man for this defensive remark because it allowed him to gently steer the discussion toward the direction of his real problem. He therefore gave the time traveler a friendly smile. “That may well be. But there are nevertheless your own traditions that prove that the Church is eternal and survives the millennia. Empires disintegrate, there are even schisms, but ultimately the Church remains, and with it the dominance of the Catholic faith, the doctrine of salvation based on Trinitarianism. Am I wrong?”
Something flickered in Rheinberg eyes, but he didn’t flinch. “Yes, the Church exists and Rome is its center.”
“And the commandments are followed by millions of people – in many countries at the same time, spoken in many different tongues, even without the unifying bond of an Empire.”
“This is true.”
“Then why should the Church, with its eternal mission stretching through millennia, deal with the needs of a specific country or Empire and shouldn’t rather primarily take care of its own welfare and existence?”
“Yes, why not? Do you want war and destruction to rain down on your faithful?”
Ambrosius waved it away. “The message of Christ has survived crisis and corruption and will continue to do so. You yourselves are the best proof.”
“But my responsibility,” Gratian declared, “lies mainly in the care of this Empire and the welfare of its citizens.”
“Salvation is surely your goal as well!” Ambrosius said with coldness in his voice.
“The Church is responsible for salvation – and every Christian is, in the ways of his character and behavior. The Empire can provide a framework for this, nothing more.”
“This framework is in danger if you impose economic burdens on us,” the Bishop argued.
“This framework is no longer under threat, if everyone shares the necessary burden.”
Ambrosius shook his head. “We move around in a circle, Augustus. Ultimately, we have to answer one specific question: Can we, the Church, our faithful and all those who have not yet experienced the grace of the word, provide effective protection against eternal damnation, when the Empire simultaneously takes away the means to do the work of the Lord effectively and everywhere?”
Rheinberg leaned forward. “Honorable Bishop, allow me a question.”
Ambrosius nodded once.
“Why are you so sure that eternal damnation awaits people if the Church doesn’t endeavor to avert it?”
“Redemption can be only achieved through Chris
t,” Ambrosius replied firmly. “How else can a mortal see God? We accept the sacrifice of the Son of God and thus we attain mercy.”
Rheinberg nodded thoughtfully. “But God has created us in his image.”
“That’s true.”
“If he did that, we are part of creation, and some would say we even claim suzerainty over it.”
“Sure, we have an exalted position in the plan of creation – but also a great responsibility,” Ambrosius said. He didn’t want to have this discussion with Rheinberg but with the Emperor. Still, Gratian listened to the dispute quietly and attentively.
“And the God who created us with this exalted task is a merciful God?”
“That he is. He is willing to forgive us if we turn to Him. His goodness is limitless.”
“I understand.” Rheinberg closed his eyes. “And he gave us free will, to do what we think is right?”
“That he did. Finally, a reason for the fall from grace. God gave us the freedom to do the wrong thing as well.”
“The wrong from our standpoint or from His?”
“If we follow the scriptures, then surely from His, because He gave us commandments.”
“God is so predictable?”
“We can’t fully grasp and understand Him. We can only approach a certain understanding.”
“Is that so? So God, the eternal Kind and ever Forgiving, created us in his own image, yes, even gives us an exalted position, and yet we need to ask for forgiveness? Yet He judges us and our sins? And so He sends all those who don’t recognize Him, and especially His Church, in eternal damnation? The Jews, too?”
“The Jews especially. They have murdered the savior!”
Rheinberg shook his head. “Bishop, you describe an unfathomable God, a jealous, envious, stubborn and envious God. With that, he seems to be not so much different from Jupiter, who walked around to screw virgins and threw flashes in wild anger when upset – or when Hera has annoyed him.”
Ambrosius stared wildly at Rheinberg. “The rules of the church–”
The Emperor's Men 3: Passage Page 13
