The city of Tyre in Phoenicia instituted certain regulations targetting Christians and notified the emperor. Responding, he wrote a long letter in which he welcomed the Tyrian initiative and assured the city elders that he would lavish favors on them in the future. The residents, greatly honored by this, engraved the entire text on a bronze plaque and put it on public display. Other cities did the same.[1] Eusebius, residing in nearby Caesarea, transcribed the letter and translated it—though not very well—from Latin into Greek, and he included extensive excerpts in his work.

In them, the emperor praises Tyrians for their enterprise and piety, then states:

It is obvious to me that this salutary idea was suggested to you by the gods, by Jupiter himself, the Best, the Greatest, the protector of your fabled city, your gods, your women, your children.

He breathed into your souls a redemptive resolution. He has revealed to you what an excellent, wonderful, and useful thing it is to worship and venerate the immortal gods with due devotion.

For who is so unreasonable and so utterly devoid of logic as not to see what we owe to the gracious care of our gods? The earth does not in vain receive the seed, nor does she defraud the hopes of farmers; the horror of a criminal war can not easily threaten us; the elements of air and fire do not lose their balance, they do not hasten our bodies towards death; the sea, agitated by gusts of uncontrollable winds, does not throw up destructive waves out of the blue; violent storms do not break suddenly and do not unleash sinister tempests without a proper warning; the earth, our host and mother, does not shake in its depths constantly, the mountains do not come crashing down every day.

And yet it is well known that such and even more terrible misfortunes have frequently happened in the past. But all have happened due to the fault of sinful men, men possessed by hallucination or vain stupidity. Error reigned in their souls and defiled the whole earth.

But let them look at our wide fields! Behold, they stand under crop, and the heavy ears of corn are swaying, and the meadows, sprinkled with rain, are joyful with herbs and flowers, and the wind blows sweet and gentle. May we all rejoice that thanks to our piety, our sacred ceremonies, our reverence for our gods, the winds once so violent have quieted. Long may they rest in the serenity of peace. And even more, let us rejoice, us who have abandoned blind insanity and the pathless wilderness. For we have regained the proper understanding of things, just as we have survived violent storms and severe illnesses and can expect to reap only the sweetness of life in the future.[2]

This beautiful prose came from the pen of a literary person. Perhaps not the emperor himself, but the very fact that people of such caliber were in the ruler’s closest surroundings gives him a very flattering testimony. In light of this document, it seems clear that Daza fought Christianity for two main reasons. First, he was fervently and sincerely attached to his ancestral faith. Secondly, he blamed Christians for the enormity of the misfortunes that had oppressed the Empire for decades—a view shared by many both then and centuries later.

Of all the rulers of this period, only Daza remained faithful to the political testament of the creator of the tetrarchy. And as the current senior Augustus, he became a symbol of the unity of the empire. So it was no coincidence that Valeria, Diocletian’s daughter and widow of Galerius, her mother Prisca, and his son Candidian sought refuge with him even though Galerius had asked Licinius to have care of them. Apparently, they did not feel safe at Licinius’s side.

Daza decided to exploit the arrival of his guests for political purposes. He engaged his own daughter to Candidian and decided to divorce his wife and marry Valeria. Christian writers claim, of course, that he was motivated by insatiable lust. But in fact, Daza wanted to consolidate his position by marrying the daughter of Diocletian, the restorer of the empire. Alas, Valeria categorically refused. She offered the excuse that the usual period of mourning had not yet passed (this must have taken place in AD 311). In truth, she refused the marriage precisely because of its politics.

If Lactantius is to be believed, the offended ruler reacted very harshly. He confiscated Valeria’s property, banished her from court, tortured her eunuchs, and sentenced several to death. She herself was exiled with her daughter to a desert region of Syria, where she was obliged to move from place to place.

Nevertheless, she managed to inform Diocletian of her fate. The old man begged Daza to send them back. In vain.[3]

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[1] See inscription from Aricanda in E. Diehl, Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae Veteres, 1 a-b

[2] Eusebius, IX, 7-11

[3] Lactantius 39-41

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