”Another, Prefect?” Remigius gestured to the table where the pitcher remained easily two-thirds full.
Medone, knowing the bishop’s penchant for austerity, wisely refused.
”I know my limits, tua gratia.” He tried to ignore the hard surface of the wooden chair and its effect on his back, avoiding another such sign of weakness. Of course, the bishop was quite aware of all his struggles, which is why his sparse living quarters in Reims was such an advantage to him, as was Medone’s choosing to visit him in his home city. It was a mark of deference which did not go unnoticed, the Roman Prefect of Gaul journeying to call upon the Bishop of Reims.
The hard stone walls around them were roughly hewn, the old basilica having survived the recent Frankish sack with moderate damage. Remigius had chosen to repair yet not improve, disdaining his peers who were picking opportunities to add comforts to their small sees. His spirituality was harsh on some yet it drew in a measure of respect throughout the region, making him perhaps the senior prelate in all of Gaul. Having his brother Principius installed as bishop of the provincial capital, Soissons, also helped. This independence could be seen in how he ran his church, preferring a more Gallican liturgy, which reflected a regional character distinct from its Ambrosian or Celtic counterparts, for example. Remigius was known to conduct the readings with slow dignity and with an intensity that withered visitors to the church, sinners all. He also frowned on such innovations as the use of a choir or
schola singing hymns during the gathering. All of this contributed to his conservatism and suspicion of some of his rather enthusiastic peers.
He had less suspicion reserved for the Prefect, naturally. Medone was a vital servant, dedicated yes, perhaps with a bit lack of understanding, yet he was loyal and very useful. He may not truly grasp the importance of their work, but he knew its value to the bishop and to God, and that was enough. And it was the work that was the reason for their latest meeting. With the border with the Franks loosening, thanks to the recent settlement, the bishop and his brother had eagerly begun pushing forward the bounds of the church. The boundaries between Roman Gaul and the Frankish Kingdom were always in flux due to constant raids and warfare and now with King Clovis’ defeat, they naturally drifted east once more, absorbing empty tracts of land on the northern coasts and down to the rich lands surrounding his own see at Reims and Sparnacum. The newly open lands meant new subjects to tend to. Eastward went zealous brothers with fear only for God, and they were soon to be followed by churches to guide the new converts on their journey of faith. Arras, north and west from Reims, was becoming a center of this pious effort, and Remigius wanted to mark its elevation with a new church. Despite the generosity of Christian aristocrats and a friendly Prefect, there were simply not enough funds to pay for its construction and for the men to erect the humble structure. Having appealed to Medone, the emperor’s hand-picked governor in Roman Gaul, and finding his funds wanting, the bishop had then turned to the commander of the army, Calvus, who rebuffed him stiffly. The rebuilding of Laudanum and even the bishop’s own city were of greater priority, he was mildly rebuked.
So it was back to the Prefect.
”It’s the honey,” he said with a confident smile.
” Makes the drink go down softer. So, if you’re content, then perhaps I can touch on some matters of import. I wanted to convey my displeasure at the general’s latest rejection. If you are in difficulties providing enough funds for the project, Prefect, I simply must draw the manpower from the army instead. You have influence with General Calvus, yes?” He drew his hands together in contemplation, starting with direct questions to which he already knew the answer. It was a useful method to gauge the other’s mood before they moved into more sensitive topics.
”We served together and that is the limit of it, I’m afraid.” Medone glanced to the tiny window, the only glimpse he had of the outside world. Already it was growing dark, typical of late winter evenings in Reims. The
Vidula would threaten to freeze in the coming weeks, making travel more hazardous. Perhaps, he thought for a moment, he wouldn’t make this trip for a little while. Realizing the Bishop was staring at him, he shifted with a touch of guilt.
”I simply have no say over the use of the army. The Dux Gallias takes his orders directly from the Imperator and the Magister Militum. I can assure you from personal experience that the emperor hasn’t the scope of mind for religious matters, and Claudius even less so.”
”I confess I thought as much,” Remigius replied, looking away from the governor with a dismissive flick of his eyebrows.
”Very…regrettable…” he said idly. Regrettable that power in the province had returned to Rome, when Syagrius had been so malleable. He longed to bring the faith to the fallen tribes, the ones polluted by Arius’ heresy. And even more so, to the pagans in the east, the Franks especially, the Saxons, the Alemanni. There was so much to do. Why did no one see this? The Prefect here was willing but the spirit was weak. And how was a bishop to render unto God when everything around him was being rendered to the new Caesar?
”We must simply have faith, Prefect. And I can sometimes produce a little more faith among my colleagues when needed. I am putting stylus to parchment on a few letters to my friends in the south. They’ve been huddling nervously after Macrinus captured Rome and now we’re all anxiously awaiting our newest father. Perhaps a call to faith can rattle the scattered shepherds back to our own necessary affairs. To our own flocks.”
Medone nodded blankly, finding himself missing the days past, when he had ridden on the dash to Burdigala. The physical dangers were so very real and exciting, and now they were masked by soft words and inquiring looks. He had always known his true path, however, and now that he was in a position to hold power in some measure, he would place it at the feet of God as he had vowed so long ago.
”I understand. I will do what I can with the resources I can muster. Perhaps I overlooked some coin in one of the local treasuries. And I can send my own letter to Bishop Aeonius in Arles. He was acquainted with my father.”
Smiling benignly, Remigius stood awkwardly, producing enough noise to summon one of the brothers to his side.
”A meal for the Prefect here and perhaps a little soup for myself, nothing more.” His manner became friendlier and with a hand on Medone’s shoulder, he began guiding him to the door to the communal hall.
”Your efforts are not going unnoticed, my young friend. Together, we will do great things in bringing God’s kingdom to fruition. Finishing the church in Arras is only the first step! Now come, you can join me for my evening prayers.”
