“And there is something more. I have had a vision,” he said then. “For a time the holy Joseph—he in whose tomb Christ was laid -dwelt among us, before he sailed away across the sea. In my vision, he appeared and told me that you would come. When I saw you, I was to speak these words:
” ‘Follow the setting sun to your journey’s beginning, and through the mists of morning you shall pass between the worlds…’ ”
“Does this mean something to you?”
I remembered now—twice, I had dreamed this. I nodded, weeping, though the warm air dried my tears before they could fall.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY
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AD 327-328
We travelled up to the Holy City just before the Feast of the Resurrection. On the lower slopes, the vivid green of spring was already ripening to summer gold, but the heights around Hierosolyma were bright with new leaf and meadows jewelled with red buttercups, with little pinkish-purple orchids and hairy flax and a host of other flowers. It seemed that every migrating bird in this part of the world flew over Palestine, and the air rang with their cries.
“Rejoice! Rejoice in the spring!” they sang, “Kore returns from Hades, and the Son of God arises from the tomb!”
On the slopes around the city dense colonies of rock-rose were covered with snowy white bloom, as were the spiky sprays of desert thorn. Inside the gates, one became suddenly aware of hidden gardens when a trill of birdsong and a whiff of perfume came drifting over a wall.
Bishop Macarius’s round face was as bright as the flowers, in the past two months his diggers had made great progress. They had unearthed a hard knob of stone which was clearly the site of the Crucifixion, and laid bare the hillside beyond it, into whose slopes had been dug a number of tombs. But his very success presented a new problem, for none of the openings still held bodies, so how were they to tell from which one the angel had rolled back the stone?
With my stick to steady me on one side and a strong young priest ready to catch me on the other, I crossed the ditch and made my way across the uneven ground. A philosopher would have welcomed the current situation as a way to test the hypothesis that great events can sanctify a location, for this site, though historical, had been inaccessible until now. At Bethlehem and the Mount of Olives, the devotion of two centuries had left an impression, and there, I could not be entirely certain whether the images I was perceiving came from the events that had taken place there or the focused yearnings of the pilgrims who believed in them. To Eusebius, simply identifying the location was a powerful aid to faith, but Macarius, and Constantine, wanted a place of power.
I paused, turning to my left to study the knob of stone.
“We believe this to be the place they called Golgotha, because it looked like a skull. The stone here is more fissured than the rest, and I suppose that is why it was not quarried.” Macarius pointed to the uneven surface.
I laid one hand upon the stone, and after a long moment jerked it away, shuddering at the echoes of agony it retained. “Surely this was a place of execution—the very stones still cry out in pain,” I whispered, though I could not say with certainty whose it had been.
There was a murmur of awe from behind me and I sighed, realizing the story would be all over the city before night fell.
“Be comforted, my lady,” said the young priest when he saw how I had been shaken. “Behold the empty tomb!”
There were in fact two chambers in the side of the hill that were still in good condition, and several others that might have been tombs before the stone crumbled away. Clearly neither Eusebius nor Macarius had dared to make a choice for fear the other would object to it. I, representing the Emperor, was expected to decide.
To those with the skill to sense such things, places retain memories of great deeds that have been done there. But this tomb, unlike all others, was important because the body of Jesus had not remained within.