From the speculative murmur that broke out following his question, Vigilius felt that he had at least sown a seed of doubt in the minds of his hearers. He sensed that the atmosphere in the chamber had subtly changed from suspicion verging on hostility at the inception of the meeting, to one of interest that was not unsympathetic. Their entrenched opposition to condemning the Three Chapters was perhaps beginning to erode. Sufficiently, at least, to allow his own position in the matter (or rather the position he had been forced to adopt) to be accorded a fair hearing. Vigilius began to entertain the hope that he might even win them round. A hope, however, that was destined to be dashed.
A hand was raised, and on Vigilius’ nod a huge figure rose — Facundus, bishop of Hermiane in Africa and a famous scholar. Outstanding in appearance on account of his great size and coal-black skin, Facundus seemed to radiate an indefinable air of presence and personal magnetism. Most African Romans were of Berber or Italian stock, the latter mainly descended from settlers who had arrived following Rome’s victory against Carthage in the Punic Wars. But a few hailed from Africa the continent, rather than the diocese: from Nubia or Axum, even from beyond the Great Sand Sea. Such a Roman citizen was Tertius Facundus.
‘My thanks, Your Holiness, for granting me permission to speak in this august assembly,’ acknowledged Facundus, speaking in a richly booming rumble that someone had once described as ‘like thunder laced with cream’. Smiling, he addressed his audience. ‘Vigilius, with admirable clarity, has summarized the stance taken by Nestorius regarding the relation of the Virgin Mary to the Son. Was she Theotokos, the Mother of God, or simply the mother of Jesus the man? If the latter, then His Divinity must have been conferred by God alone.’ The bishop paused, then lowering his voice, went on, ‘No doubt what I now have to say will sound to some of you controversial, nay, heretical even. But I put it to you: does this issue of the status of the Virgin Mary really matter? To my mind, it seems in essence a distraction, an irrelevance which obscures what we should chiefly be concerned about: the true nature of the Christ himself. Of infinitely greater importance in the teaching of Nestorius has to be the fact that he acknowledges the dual nature of Christ — that He was both human and divine. Which is the very essence of our Chalcedonian creed — something that Ibas of Edessa in especial, homes in on in his Chapter, a Chapter to which the Council of Chalcedon itself gave its approval.’
A tense and prickling silence reigned throughout the chamber as Facundus surveyed his rapt audience. ‘Wake up, my friends!’ he declared in ringing tones. ‘This Edict is nothing but a shabby cover-up. If we condemn the Three Chapters, we condemn the very faith which every one of us holds dear — Chalcedonian Orthodoxy!’
All over the great room bishops leapt excitedly to their feet, shouting their approval of Facundus’ words: ‘Down with the Edict!. . Down with Justinian!. . Up with the Three Chapters!. . Long live Facundus!. . Shame on you, Vigilius!. .’
With a surge of panic, Vigilius realized that any hope he might have entertained of persuading the bishops to condemn the Chapters was now dead beyond recovery. Obeying his instinct to play for time, he declared the meeting at an end — a statement greeted with noisy resentment. Raising his voice to be heard above the hubbub, he cried, ‘Fellow bishops, you have made your feelings plain. Rest assured, I shall take due cognizance of this when, in due course, I announce my verdict. Depart in peace, my friends, and may Christ’s blessing be upon you all.’
The bishops departed — not in peace, but in a bitter mood of fury and frustration.
In his official judgement or Judicatum,* Vigilius (as, under pressure from Justinian, he was bound to do) roundly condemned the Three Chapters. But, in a desperate attempt to salvage some scraps of credibility with the Western clergy, he included in the document an addendum avowing his unshakeable attachment to the findings of the Council of Chalcedon — the very assembly which, as Facundus had pointed out, had stated its approval of those selfsame Chapters! Vigilius’ attempt to square this particular circle met with utter failure. Throughout the West, outraged clergy demanded the withdrawal of the Judicatum, the General Synod of African Bishops going so far as to break completely from communion with the Pope until he should agree to do this.
Far from establishing the unity that Justinian desired, his Edict, in combination with the Synod, then the Judicatum, had created a yawning gulf between the Churches of the East and West that now seemed nigh unbridgeable.
‘Well, we did our best, Serenity,’ said Ascidas to Justinian in conciliatory tones, ‘But we failed. It seems there are some battles we are destined not to win, however hard we try. Best perhaps that we accept that, and move on.’ The two men were once again inside Saint Irene’s, a venue that, for some reason, Justinian found soothing to his troubled state of mind.
‘I hear what you say, Ascidas,’ replied the emperor. ‘But in this matter, failure cannot be allowed to be an option. The Three Chapters must be universally condemned.’
‘Even now, Serenity,’ said the cleric gently, ‘after the Western bishops have forced Vigilius to withdraw his Judicatum?’
‘You don’t understand!’ cried the emperor, a note of desperation entering his voice. ‘As Christ’s vicegerent upon earth, it is my duty not only to reunite the Roman Empire, but to ensure unity of faith within that Empire. To achieve the first without the second would be a meaningless accomplishment.’ He stared intently at the other. ‘You can understand that, can’t you? Vigilius must not become a broken reed. I have made him swear an oath, backed up by a signed statement, that he will revisit this whole matter of the Three Chapters with a view to ensuring their condemnation. As a concession to religious sensitivities, however, I have given my permission for the oath to remain secret — for the time being.’
At that moment, a man attired in palace livery burst into the church. ‘Serenity,’ the official blurted out, ‘the physician urges that you come immediately to the Palace. The Augusta has been taken gravely sick!’
* i.e. two elements combining in a single entity — ‘as fire and iron come together in a red-hot ingot’, as Leontius puts it.
** The treaty was renegotiated in 545.
† See Chapter 19. To remind the reader: the Monophysites held that Christ had only one, divine, nature; the Chalcedonians that He had two natures — both human and divine.
* Both Palace and Gate are still extant. (See Notes.)
* Rome, rather than Constantinople, Antioch, or Alexandria, was held to have the final say in matters of theology.
** On 25 January 547.
* On 29 June 547.
* Issued on Saturday 11 April 548.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Enter into thy rest, O Empress! The King of Kings and Lord of Lords calleth thee
Hurrying through the Palace corridors en route to Theodora’s bedchamber, Justinian was intercepted by Theoctistus, the imperial physician.
‘What ails the Empress?’ cried Justinian distractedly. ‘I had no idea anything was amiss. I–I came immediately I received your message.’ Grabbing the other’s arm, he stared with wild-eyed panic into the man’s face. ‘How is she?’
‘The Augusta sleeps, Serenity,’ replied the medicus, a grave-faced man of calm demeanour. ‘I have increased her medication. She is very sick, I fear. But, to spare you from worrying, she has insisted these past months, while secluding herself in her summer palace of Hieron, that you were told nothing. Until now, that is.’