News of his father’s sudden, serious illness came too late. When Constantius, summoned all the way from Syria but traveling with feverish haste, finally arrived on the Bosphorus in early June, the emperor had been dead for two weeks. The embalmed corpse, adorned with a glittering diadem and covered with a purple mantle, rested in the palace’s grandest hall on a tall, golden catafalque, surrounded by the quivering glow of a thousand oil lamps and watched over by the palace bodyguard in gleaming armor. The highest military and civilian dignitaries of the Empire adored the body ceremonially, observing all the requirements of court etiquette, just as they had adored the living man. Also, the entire population of Constantinople—that’s what the former “Byzantium” was now called—paid homage to the man who had expanded their city, raised it to the dignity of an imperial residence, and gave it his name. And yet, both now and for almost three more months, the fiction continued that Constantine still governed. Until September 9, 337, the state chancellery signed edicts and letters with his name.

Constantius approached the catafalque ceremonially, in mournful concentration. Driven by filial love, he carefully lifted the purple cloak to take one last look at his father, clad underneath in a white penitential robe—the same in which the emperor had been baptized a few days before his death. As he did so, the prince saw with astonishment that the dead man’s hand was clutching a papyrus scroll. Gently, he took it and unrolled it. He quickly ran his eyes over the words that Constantine had scratched out with his trembling hand as he sensed the inexorable approach of his death. By such means, he had conveyed his last will and his most secret instructions:

“I die poisoned by my brothers. Therefore, I name only you, my three sons, as my heirs. At the same time, I command you to avenge my death inflicted on me so treacherously!”

Constantius read the letter silently, and his face remained impenetrable. He was young, only twenty years old, but perfectly in control of himself. Calmly, as if nothing had happened, he took part in the magnificent funeral ceremonies, which continued for many more days.

That was one version of the story of the letter from beyond the grave. According to another, the letter had been handed to Constantius by Bishop Eusebius—the man who had baptized the ailing emperor. Others yet said that the bishop, for fear of the poisoners—the emperor’s brothers—hid the letter for some time and only later placed it in the hand of the deceased under his purple cloak.

These and similar rumors began circulating in Constantinople in the summer of 337, passed from mouth to mouth, but always in the greatest secrecy. Many dismissed them with indignation, as obviously unbelievable and brazenly fabricated by the enemies of the imperial family, eager to incite the sons of the deceased against their half-brothers. They said:

“A letter from beyond the grave? What a capital idea, what a shocking plot! But such things only happen in ancient myths. Who will believe such tales today, in our cold and cynical times?”

Meanwhile, others believed that the letter had been found under the cloak but thought that it was a forgery, a part of a vile plot: someone had faked the letter and slipped it into the dead man’s hand. Many of them maintained a reverent silence, wondering whether those behind the plot would prove courageous enough to carry through.

Many thought that the letter had indeed been written by Constantine. Those choosing this version were, in fact, the most dangerous: by a peculiar coincidence, most of them happened to be officers of the imperial guard. They belonged to a number of different formations, but all worshipped the memory of the emperor, to whom they owed immense favors, privileges, and gifts. In soldierly fashion, they believed that only the emperor’s sons deserved their obedience, and for their sake, they owed vengeance.[1]

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[1] The letter under the purple mantle: Philostorgius, Ecclesiastical History, II 16; the display of Constantine’s body: The Life of Constantine, IV 66-67.

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