They were nodding, but I could see a glaze of incomprehension in some of their eyes, and others were looking out into the garden, as if they found more truth in the play of light on the leaves. Still, I could hope that something of what I had said would stay with them. Laughing, I dismissed them to go out and play.
For two more years, Diocletian’s edict remained in force in Britannia. The year after the edict, when everyone was ordered to sacrifice, a soldier named Albanus had been put to death in Verulamium for refusing to do so, and one day I found Vitellia weeping because she had heard that her fourteen-year-old nephew, Pancratus, had been killed in Rome, but in Londinium there were no executions, though the bishop had been imprisoned and stayed under guard.
The Christians continued to meet in their houses, and when even that became too dangerous, I allowed them to hold services in mine. Or rather, in my atrium, since even with veils thrown over my images and altars, the interior was considered too polluted for them to expose the holy things of their god. They were happy, however, to welcome me to those parts of their service open to the uninitiated.
Nathaniel the rope-maker, who, since he was only a deacon in the church, had escaped arrest with the others, was holding forth to his congregation, the men on one side of the garden and the women on the other, heads covered and eyes cast down in piety.
“Oh God, the heathen have come into thy inheritance;” he intoned, moving his finger along the line of writing.
Vitellia sat in the first row, eyes closed and lips moving. Why did they not allow her to speak, I wondered, since obviously she knew the holy writings as well as he?
“They have defiled thy holy temple; they have laid Jerusalem in ruins. They have given the bodies of thy servants to the birds of the air for food …”
As he continued I reflected on the appropriateness of the words, which had been written, so I was told, by one of the ancient Jewish kings.
“We have become a taunt to our neighbours, mocked and derided by those round about us…”
Apparently those who served the god of the Jews had always had difficulty in getting along with their neighbours. Was it because they were wrong, or because, as they believed, they were ahead of their time? I had suggested that since the Christians did not believe in our gods, it could do no harm for them to go through the motions of making an offering, but Vitellia reacted with horror. I realized then that the Christians did believe in the gods, and considered them evil. I did not understand her reasoning, but I had to admire her integrity.
“… let thy compassion come speedily to meet us, for we are brought very low. Help us, O God of our salvation, for the glory of thy name…”
For the past few minutes I had been aware of a distant murmur. As Nathaniel paused, it grew louder—the sound of many feet and many voices. The Christians heard it too.
Softly, one of the women began to sing—
“The eternal gifts of Christ the King,
The martyrs’ glorious deeds we sing;
And all, with hearts of gladness, raise
Due hymns of thankful love and praise…”
I caught Philip’s eye and nodded, and he got up and went through the house towards the door.
Then we heard a heavy banging, and even Nathaniel’s voice failed. Some of the women were weeping, but others sat straight with burning eyes, as if hoping for martyrdom. And they continued to sing.
“They braved the terrors of the time,
No torment shook their faith sublime;
Soon, holy death brought peace and rest
And light eternal with the blest.”
I rose to my feet. “Do not be afraid. I will go out to them.”
When I got to the door, Philip had it open, confronting the crowd. I stepped past them, and as the first man opened his lips to speak, stared him down.
“I am Julia Coelia Helena. For twenty years I was the wife of Constantius who is now your Caesar, the mother of his first-born son. And I promise you, it is his wrath that you will feel if you dare to invade my home!”