cephorus emperor. But they were taken again, and at last shipped to
Athens, where they vanished from the sight of men.

God rest their tortured souls, for they were more sinned against than
sinning.

CHAPTER III

MOTHER AND SON

The next vision of this Byzantine life of mine that rises before me is
that of a great round building crowned with men clad in bishops' robes.
At least they wore mitres, and each of them had a crooked pastoral staff
which in most cases was carried by an attendant monk.

Some debate was in progress, or rather raging. Its subject seemed to be
as to whether images should or should not be worshipped in churches.
It was a furious thing, that debate. One party to it were called
Iconoclasts, that was the party which did not like images, and I think
the other party were called Orthodox, but of this I am not sure. So
furious was it that I, the general and governor of the prison, had been
commanded by those in authority to attend in order to prevent violence.
The beginnings of what happened I do not remember. What I do remember
is that the anti-Iconoclasts, the party to which the Empress Irene
belonged, that was therefore the fashionable sect, being, as it seemed
to me, worsted in argument, fell back on violence.

There followed a great tumult, in which the spectators took part, and
the strange sight was seen of priests and their partisans, and even of
bishops themselves, falling upon their adversaries and beating them with
whatever weapon was to hand; yes, even with their pastoral staves. It
was a wonderful thing to behold, these ministers of the Christ of peace
belabouring each other with pastoral staves!

The party that advocated the worship of images was the more numerous
and had the greater number of adherents, and therefore those who thought
otherwise were defeated. A few of them were dragged out into the
street and killed by the mob which waited there, and more were wounded,
notwithstanding all that I and the guards could do to protect them.
Among the Iconoclasts was a gentle-faced old man with a long beard, one
of the bishops from Egypt, who was named Barnabas. He had said little in
the debate, which lasted for several days, and when he spoke his words
were full of charity and kindness. Still, the image faction hated him,
and when the final tumult began some of them set upon him. Indeed,
one brawny, dark-faced bishop--I think it was he of Antioch--rushed at
Barnabas, and before I could