“You must be very proud of him,” I answered, thinking of last year’s victories against the Germans. In Crispus, I saw Constantine reborn, and even more glorious, without the suspicions that my son had learned from Diocletian.
“Yes. I am naming him and little Constantinus as this year’s consuls.”
“Licinius will not like that,” I observed. “Last year you named yourself and Constantius, with no mention of Licinius or his son. And if you continue to spend most of your time in Serdica, so close to his border, Licinius will think you are planning to attack him.”
Constantine shrugged. “Did you really believe that we could share the Empire forever? If the Armenian Christians appeal to me, I will help them, and if the Visigoths attack Thrace, I will repel them. Licinius will no doubt object, and there will be another war.”
“I hope you can delay it for a year or two longer, until Crispus has enough experience to be a truly effective commander.” I replied.
“Yes, the boy is developing well…’
It seemed to me that his answer came a trifle reluctantly, and in that moment, random memory reminded me of the ritual of the running of the stag that the little people of the marshes near Avalon performed sometimes when there was need. And it seemed to me that I could hear the whispered echo of their cry, “What of the King Stag when the Young Stag is grown?”
But this was Rome, I told myself, and Constantine was a civilized man. With a shiver, I thrust the memory back into the darkness from which it had come.
“… but he is still young,” Constantine was continuing, “and subject to the lusts of the flesh, which lead men into sinful entanglements.”
I suppressed a smile. “Not all so-called entanglements are unlawful, or he would never have been born. For that matter, your father and I would have been living in sin.”
“No!” Constantine exclaimed. “You were my father’s true wife! He told me so!”
I sighed, realizing there was no point in trying to explain that our marriage had been valid in the world of the spirit rather than in Roman law. I remembered now that Constantine had always been stubbornly attached to his own version of reality.
“The days of pagan immorality are ending! Soon Christianity will be the only faith, and the imperial family must set an example. I am building a basilica in honour of the martyrs Marcellinus and Petrus on the road adjoining your palace grounds. You will become its patroness.”
“Constantine! Not even the Emperor can command another’s conscience, as Diocletian and Galerius learned to their cost. Will you deny your own edict, that granted toleration to all?”
“Oh, I will not persecute the pagans—” He gestured dismissively. “When they see the glory of the Church they will beg to come in! But if God is to bless my reign, my family must serve only Him!”
“Indeed…” my voice grew softer. “And when were you baptized? I would like to have been there…”
He stilled suddenly, and I wondered if the shiver I had just felt was a flicker of fear. This was an emperor, and emperors had been known to execute close relations, even their mothers, in times past. In the next moment he smiled, and I told myself I had been insane to entertain such a notion. This was Constantine, the child whom I had borne to change the world. And indeed he was doing so, even if the manner of it was very far from anything we might have imagined on Avalon.
“Baptism is a very sacred rite,” he said in a voice as soft as mine. “So sacred it can be performed but once, to wash away all sin and leave the soul cleansed and ready for Paradise. But I am Emperor, and must rule in a very imperfect and sinful world—”
And you suspect you may have some sinning yet to do … I thought wryly, but I did not voice the thought aloud.
“I live in the same world,” I said instead. “Until you make that commitment yourself, you cannot require it from me. But I will take your new church under my protection, and receive instruction in the faith as a catechumen.”