(The novel by Nicée 5/7) The Martyr and the New Pentecost
Alexandros between the first, prudent: the gateway to the building, low and narrow, indeed requires each visitor to bow. Arrived in Nikaia, before engaging in the city, he wanted to drive the small group that accompanies him on the banks of the lake, to the martyrium of Neophytos. Inside, placed on the small marble altar leaning against the red wall, the wreaths of a flowery laurel testify to the reputation of holiness of the place. By whispering in Demetrios’s ear, Simonos, the Ethiopian priest, tells him the story of the saint who is the pride of the city. “For twenty years that the body of Neophytos has been resting here, many have come to meditate. What an irony of fate for this young monk who lived several years in a cave and did everything to be forgotten! It will have been enough to pass in the city so that its destiny changes. “Faced with the interrogating gaze of Demetrios, Simonos continues:” As he crossed the forum, he laughed at the debauchery of deities of all kinds which had been installed there. He was then condemned to be whipped in public.
But the crowd that had gathered had a taste for blood. Driven on the beach, Neophytos was completed with kicks and daggers. The priests of the neighboring temple dedicated to the great Apollo, the God of the Arts and Beauty, had been able to pay who it is necessary for him to be so. As if to console his scribe, troubled, Athanasios intervenes: “Three years later, the prestigious temple was struck by lightning. Here, look. It was with his stones that we built this mausoleum for the martyr. Does that remind you of something? “Rejected stones, God knows how to make corner stones”, proclaims the young man, quoting the good news.
Petronia has not lost a crumb of the story of Simonos. She seems very moved. Demetrios knows that she is thinking of her brother, also tortured and put to death, like so many others. But now, relying on the arm of Athanasios, Alexandros kneels slowly, then bowed to kiss the ground, where the stone is marked with a cross. So, Simonos launches the Zema, an ancient melopée of its distant land of Africa, and deposits on the edges of an oil lamp a few golden grains of Louban which do not take long to consume itself by forming thick and fragrant scrolls.
Prayer did not last long. However, when leaving, all are dazzled by the sunlight that floods Nikaia. At the southern door which pierces the imposing defensive wall of the city, Roman soldiers check each pass. And while the group heads for the inn where it is expected, Demetrios goes alone on its side. Athanasios gave him mission to learn about the names of all the prelates already arrived in town. His wax pads under his arm, he goes up the cardo on which all the other streets are grafted at right angles, and crosses the merchant districts.
At each crossroads, the tavern counters have large amphorae where servants come with jugs with jugs oil, wine or grum, this fish brine of which each city keeps with pride a secret recipe. Large golden breads, in the shape of rings, hung high as the cookings that follow one another all day, rub shoulders with the neighborhoods of meats wrapped in linen tissues soaked in vinegar. Everywhere, hot and cold smells are mixed, acres, sweet, spicy, sweet.
“Zopyros de Barce. Macarios of ælia. Marinus de Palmyra. Theodoros de Laodikon. Iohannes of the Pays des Persai… ”By giving all these names* in the fresh evening air, Demetrios thinks of the story of the Pentecost. Athanasios is seated at the wooden table. For once, the roles are reversed: it is he who transcribes on papyrus what his scribe dictates to him. Slowly, Alexandros got closer. When some names are mentioned, he nods. A way of signifying to Athanasios which of these prelates are acquired in the doctrine of Areios and which will be their support in the future debates. “You have done a good job, from Demetrios,” thanked Alexandros. Can you continue your investigation every day until the Synod is opened? »».
