Amy's Guardian Josie Jade & Regan

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 Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21

Epilogue
Never Too Late Series
Also by Regan Black
Also by Josie Jade
About Regan Black
About Josie Jade
 Chapter 1

The hiss came from right in front of Amy Young. Reflexes kicking into gear, she jumped back, clearing
her feet from the snake.
Except it wasn’t a snake. It was an alligator—no, a crocodile, its pointy, V-shaped snout open to
reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.
And it was looking right at her, dark eyes glinting and the sound coming from its throat ominous
and very, very clear.
Amy took a small step back, her heart slamming against her rib cage. Sweat coated her palms,
making it hard to hold on to her aunt’s worn leather journal.
How could she have been so reckless? She knew better than to walk around in the wild Florida
Keys with her nose in a book.
She’d been distracted, studying one of Aunt Jo’s sketches, hoping it would give her the clue she
needed. What good was a clue, though, when you were minced meat in a wild animal’s belly?
“Good croc.” She took another slow step back.
The crocodile stepped forward, advancing out of the brackish water it had been at the edge of. It
hissed again and snapped its jaws. Apparently it didn’t care for compliments.
Everything she’d read about safety in the Florida Keys flashed through her mind. There’d been
nothing about crocodile encounters in her guidebook, though. Their appearance in this part of the
Keys was supposed to be rare.
Run. She should run, right?
Her breathing sped up, and her hands started shaking. Her kids deserved more than this—to hear
their mother had been eaten by a wild animal in the middle of a small island while in search of
treasure that might or might not have existed.
No. She’d waited years for this adventure, and she wouldn’t have it all end like this. Turning, she
ran—right into a tree.
She spun around, searching for the best escape through the thick underbrush. The croc snapped its
jaws and lurched forward, only a couple yards away now.
“Here!” Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed her arm and jerked her to the side.
Sharp leaves scraped at her shoulders and face as the hand pulled her around the tree and through
bushes. She scrambled, trying to keep up as her feet tripped over themselves.
“Run!” the man who’d grabbed her said.
Amy didn’t need to be told twice. She pumped her arms, taking off into the woods, only faintly
aware of the two people racing beside her.
 Under trees they ducked, zigzagging along sun-dappled ground. Amy’s pulse screamed in her ears,
and she didn’t dare look back. If she was about to become a meal, she didn’t want to know.
“We can stop.” The second person—a woman with long hair—waved her hand and gasped for
breath.
The three of them jogged to a stop, and Amy looked over her shoulder. The woods were empty
and peaceful.
“Good thing crocs only run ten miles an hour.” The guy who’d grabbed her grinned, sweat
trickling down his temples.
“Good thing you were there.” Amy pressed a hand to her chest and willed her heart to calm down.
The woman’s hands shook from lingering adrenaline as she pushed her hair off her forehead. “It
was meant to be.”
Free from the possibility of being eaten alive—though still nauseated from the fear—Amy took in
her two saviors. Early thirties, with the same sun-streaked brown hair, chocolate eyes, and rich tans.
Siblings; she’d bet her last dollar on it.
“I’m Amy.” She extended a hand to the man. “And thank you for saving my life.”
He shook her hand. “Decker. And something tells me you could have fought him off. You look
pretty tough.”
Amy laughed. “It’s the outfit. I only look like I know what I’m doing out here.”
She’d dropped so much money on her expedition wardrobe—waterproof boots, cargo pants,
quick-drying shirts, backpack—that she’d almost returned it all twice. Logically, she’d known it was
money well spent, but deep inside, a voice told her she wasn’t worth it. That she was being selfish by
taking off to Heartbreak Key in the first place.
That voice, as her therapist had helped her discover, wasn’t her own. It had been implanted in her
head, courtesy of her ex-husband.
Still, knowledge was only one part of power. The other part came with time, and Amy wasn’t
quite there yet.
“Lily.” The woman shook Amy’s hand.
“Twins?” Amy asked.
“I’m two years older, but we get that a lot.”
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” Amy retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and
wiped sweat from her forehead. She hadn’t been thinking about the season when she’d booked the
trip, only that she couldn’t imagine waiting any longer to go.
“That’s good, because you don’t have to.” Lily took a swig from the water bottle on the side of
her backpack.
Decker cocked his head, his expression growing serious. “What were you doing off the trail?”
Amy grimaced. “I know. It was reckless. I was looking for something, though. A specific tree.”
She tucked her handkerchief into her pocket and shielded her eyes. They were back on a trail, but
not one she recognized. The whole morning’s work was gone.
“What kind of tree?” Lily asked.
“It’s called lignum vitae. The Wood of Life. Or Tree of Life, as some people call it.”
“Oh, there are plenty of those around here.” Lily’s face scrunched against the sun.
“I’m looking for one in particular. A really old one. It might be thirty feet tall. Maybe forty.”
Decker’s spine straightened, and he quickly looked at Lily.
“That does sound old.” Lily fanned her neck with her hand. “I haven’t seen anything like that.
Sorry.”
 “It’s okay. I figured I’d ask.” She did a three-sixty, still hoping to get her bearings.
“Wait.” Lily snapped her fingers. “I did see a pretty tall Tree of Life. It could be the one you’re
looking for.”
“Really?” Excitement buzzed through Amy’s limbs. “Where?”
Lily pressed a finger to her lips, thinking. “Lemme see… We passed by it while we were hiking
yesterday. I want to say it was southeast of here.”
“Southeast.” Amy scrambled to extract her compass from her bag. “This is wonderful. Thank you
so much.”
Lily waved off the gratitude. “No problem. Are you visiting here, too? We’re here for another
week.”
“I just got in last night.”
“There’s a big Fourth of July celebration next week.” Lily flapped her T-shirt to get some air
under it. “Will you be here for that? It’s supposed to be pretty cool.”
“Er…” Amy avoided their eyes. “I’m not sure.”
Lily shrugged. “Either way, we should grab a drink.”
“That would be nice. I owe you drinks for the rest of my life, after what you did.” Amy smiled at
Decker, wanting to include him in the conversation she and Lily had commandeered.
“Sweet. We’ll see you in town.” Lily walked backward. “Watch out for the crocodiles, though.”
“You know it. Thanks again.” She waved, and Decker waved in response before jogging to catch
up with his sister.
Drawing a deep breath, Amy laid the compass flat and waited. Mobile data was nearly
impossible to get on Heartbreak Key, so she hadn’t even bothered downloading a compass app on her
phone.
Which she really didn’t mind. Using all the tools that had been in place before smartphones made
her feel like a true adventurer. She was doing it the way generations had before her…except a warm
meal and a shower were just a thirty-minute hike away.
Still. It was a start to her first big outing, and she felt damn proud of herself.
With the direction located, she stepped back off the trail. This time, she walked slower, much
more aware of her surroundings than before. Dead saw palmetto leaves and twigs crunched under her
feet, and birds sang in the trees.
It was calmer under the canopy, even the fear from the crocodile encounter cooling down.
Lily hadn’t said how far away the tree was from the trail, so Amy kept walking. The worst that
could happen was she emerged on the beach and then had to walk her way back to town.
Stepping over a fallen tree, she shook her head. It was still hard to believe she was actually here,
on Heartbreak Key, a lifelong dream suddenly materializing all around her.
If only Jo could see her now.
“I wish you were here, Aunt Jo,” she murmured.
It was nice to think she was, in spirit. Amy certainly wouldn’t have wanted anyone else on the trip
with her. After over two decades of feeling like she was suffocating, she craved not only breathing
room and wide-open spaces, but the ability to make her own choices.
It had never been like that in her marriage. Any time she’d dared have an opinion that differed
from Don’s, he’d—
She ground to a halt. She’d done it again. Gotten completely lost in her thoughts.
It seemed, though, that being absent-minded was her superpower. Once more, something notable
had appeared in the midst of her daze.
 Amy studied the ramshackle log cabin, its front door in pieces and part of the roof caved in. “Wait
a second…”
Her heart in her throat, she riffled through the journal, past the doodles and the random names,
past the sketches of beaches and the drawing of a tree, past the poem about secrets and journeys.
There, in the very middle, was the sketch she was looking for—a rough depiction of the cabin.
In the drawing, the roof was still intact and the trees around the structure were smaller, but there
was no denying it. Jo had sketched this very spot some thirty years ago.
Why, Amy didn’t know. Her aunt’s journal was full of drawings, poems, a list of random names,
and questions without answers. There was only a chance that the old cabin held some significance.
But a chance was a chance. Especially when you had no other leads.
Stuffing the journal back into her backpack, Amy set her things on the ground and stepped into the
cabin. Her boot bumped against something hard, and she peered at a table turned on its side.
What she was looking for, she wasn’t entirely sure. Something that would make this whole trip
worth it and not a fairy tale she’d concocted just to distract herself from life.
As her eyes adjusted, she moved deeper into the structure. The place had to be nearly a hundred
years old, maybe more. Who had built it? What kids had learned to walk on these floors and played in
the yard?
Eventually, it had been abandoned for the wild to reclaim it. But before then, had it been a happy
home?
A lump formed in Amy’s throat, a salty mixture of longing and relief. She still couldn’t neatly
package and label her own feelings when it came to the word “home,” and she wondered if she’d
ever be able to.
Her fingers searched across her pants pockets, seeking her flashlight. Realizing she’d left it in her
backpack, she turned back for the door.
The sound of footsteps stopped her.
Amy froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight up. Adrenaline shot down her spine
and into her limbs. Someone—or something—was in the cabin.
And they were coming right at her.
 Chapter 2

“Can I help you?” A flashlight shone right in Amy’s face.

She held her hand in front of her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone…lived here.”
Lived here? Or squatted? Because the place was definitely not up to code.
The flashlight lowered. “Sheriff Beau Brennan. Come out into the light, please.”
Amy’s stomach flipped. Shit. She wouldn’t get in trouble for this, would she? All she’d been
doing was looking around.
Carefully, she made her way out of the cabin and back into the too-bright morning sun. Sheriff
Brennan followed close behind, his frame nearly filling the doorway.
Blinking away spots, Amy drank him in. Thick black hair. Late forties maybe, though every single
accumulated year looked good on him. Tall and big—all that heft from muscle, not fat.
Something crept through her, a feeling she wasn’t used to.
“Care to tell me what you were doing in there?” He tilted his head and studied her face.
“I was just looking around. Why? Is that a crime?”
Sheriff Brennan blinked, his green eyes not amused. “You’re a tourist.”
It felt more like an insult than anything else, and she stiffened. “What makes you think that?”
He smirked. “I haven’t been here even a year, and I can probably name every person on this
island.”
Oh, so he was cocky too. Not that she hadn’t asked for the attitude. She had a way of putting her
foot in her mouth, and being in front of a uniform didn’t equal an exception.
Amy cleared her throat and stood a little straighter. “You got me. I’m a tourist.”
“This cabin’s not in any of the guidebooks.”
She felt her eyes narrow. “Heartbreak Key isn’t in any of the guidebooks.”
He nodded to her backpack on the ground. “Is that yours?”
“Yes.” The word was tart on her tongue. He didn’t have the audacity to go through it, right?
Did he even have the legal authority? He hadn’t arrested her for anything.
“I was looking for something.” The words spilled from her mouth, her eagerness to explain away
everything running ahead of her logic. “A tree.”
“A tree?” He cocked a thick eyebrow, looking like he might laugh at her. “You were looking for a
tree in an old cabin?”
She folded her arms. “I told you. I was only curious. Look. Are you keeping me here just to flex
your authority, or what?”
Red bloomed up his chiseled jaw and across the bridge of his nose. Amy stiffened. Damn it.
She’d done it now.
“I’m going to need to bring you into the station for questioning.”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously? Who even owns this cabin? Don’t you think you should ask them
first whether they care that I just peeked in it?”
“It doesn’t matter who owns it.” His nostrils flared. “You’re still trespassing.”
Those eyes—rich as a moss-covered forest—flashed. Amy bit the tip of her tongue. Years of
living under another person’s thumb hadn’t tamped down her need to prove herself. If anything, now
that she was out in the world, her voice had gotten louder.
So far, that wasn’t turning out to be a positive thing.
“I need you to turn around now.” He reached for his handcuffs.
Somewhere in her logical brain, a voice told Amy to do as the sheriff said, to not be a pain and to
go peacefully. That wasn’t the part that won out, though.
They spent the whole walk through the woods, him carrying her backpack and her walking ahead
with her hands cuffed behind her back, accompanied by her protests and accusations.
“You clearly don’t have anything better to do.” She ignored the teenagers on Main Street, who
watched with unabashed curiosity.
“That’s right. This is exactly where I want to be, babysitting an entitled tourist with no respect for
the law. Who wants to be fighting real crime?”
“Aha! You just admitted this wasn’t a real crime.”
Ignoring her, he opened the front door to the sheriff’s department. “Go ahead. Straight back.”
Amy walked past the empty front desk and to a back room with two jail cells at either end. The
reality of the situation sank in, and her limbs went numb. She’d made a mistake somewhere along the
line, but it couldn’t have been going into the cabin. That had been essential, exactly what her aunt
would have done.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Sheriff Brennan uncuffed her and shut the cell door.
Anger simmered in her chest, and she had to unclench her teeth to speak. “How long are you
planning to keep me here for?”
“Long enough to run your identification.” He put on a fake smile. “Sit tight.”
He disappeared out of view, and Amy let out a frustrated growl. The urge to kick the bars filled
her, but she at least had some self-control.
Folding her arms against the cool wall, she dropped her forehead onto them and closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Jo.”
A dry sob climbed its way up her throat, her failure the most terrible case of indigestion ever.
She’d wanted to continue her aunt’s legacy, to keep a legend and the love for the hunt alive.
Instead, she was stuck in jail, no closer to her goal than she’d been ten years ago.
That little voice returned, the one that always reminded her of what a failure she was. This time,
though, she knew the malicious murmur to be true.
 Chapter 3

Beau couldn’t really run the woman’s identification. Hell, he couldn’t do much of anything on an
island with next to no internet.
The only Wi-Fi spot on Heartbreak Key was at Jake’s, a PI who sometimes worked with the
department. And Beau wasn’t going to bother him for something so trivial.
Sitting at the front desk, Beau flipped Amy Young’s driver’s license back and forth, studying the
photo there. She even looked like a firecracker, with her short, wavy brown hair and defiant hazel
eyes.
A beautiful woman was the last thing he’d expected to find in the woods that morning, and it was
the most exciting thing that had happened in weeks. He hadn’t planned on cuffing her, hadn’t even
thought to arrest her at first, but then she’d opened her mouth.
And what a pretty mouth it was. Perhaps he ought to keep her around for just a little while longer.
Beau put the license on the desk, annoyed with himself. Drooling over tourists wasn’t part of his
job description. Shit, it was downright shameful and immoral.
He admired Amy’s spunk, and if he hadn’t been on the clock, he might have just let her attitude
slide, but he had a duty to uphold. She’d been trespassing, even though he wasn’t sure whether the
land the cabin was on belonged to the Hawson family or Ethel Carraway, a woman in her eighties
who lived in New York City and, from what Beau had been told, never visited the island.
“Are you going to let me out now?” Amy called from the back of the building.
Beau stifled a chuckle. Girl had grit, unlike most of the women he was used to.
And what had been that talk about a tree? Likely, he wouldn’t get a straight answer from her.
On second thought, perhaps he ought to ask for that favor.
Picking the license back up, he grabbed the landline and hit the speed dial for Jake’s house.
It rang only once. “Jake here.”
“Hey, Jake. It’s Beau. I’m hoping you have time to run a license for me.”
“Sure thing. I’m at my computer now. What’s the number?”
Beau read it off and listened to the clicking of Jake’s keyboard.
“Amy Young,” Jake announced. “Forty-six years old. Resides in Columbia, South Carolina. No
warrants out for her arrest.”
“That’s mildly surprising.”
“Really? What did she do?”
“Nothing big. Trespassing.” Beau grabbed a pen from the holder on the desk and tapped it against
the wood. For some reason, nervous energy pumped through him.
 “Sounds like she’s got you worked up.”
“What?” Beau stiffened. “I’m annoyed. She was somewhere she shouldn’t have been. I’ve got her
in the cell now. I just—”
Muffled shouting outside cut him off. He pulled the receiver from his ear and listened.
“You son of a bitch!” Whoever was yelling sounded more pissed than a stepped-on nest of yellow
jackets.
A guttural yell followed, and Beau’s stomach vaulted into his chest. Even after decades in this
work, all it took was one second of strife to get his adrenaline pumping, one scared scream to make
his blood run cold. He was keenly aware that any day, any moment, could be like that fateful one that
had changed everything.
“Jake, I gotta go. Thanks for your help.” Dropping the phone, Beau ran out the front door.
 Chapter 4

“Unbelievable.” Amy paced the small cell with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
How long did the sheriff intend on keeping her in jail? Didn’t she at least get a phone call?
She’d overheard him at the front desk, talking on the phone. Though she’d only been able to pick
up the occasional word, the conversation had clearly been about her.
Fine. That was just as well. With a little digging, he’d find that she was nothing but a boring
housewife—or, rather, former housewife.
She briefly wondered how many messages Don had left on her cell since she’d gone out of range.
Just thinking about the notifications popping up on the screen made her chest squeeze.
Pushing away all thoughts of him, she returned to the bars. “Hello! There’s still a person in here,
in case you forgot!”
Surprisingly, that cry yielded results. Sheriff Brennan appeared, key in hand.
“I ran your driver’s license.” He unlocked her cell.
“And you’re letting me out despite the homicide counts attached to me?”
He froze and stared at her.
“I was kidding.” She grinned, and—amazingly—he shook his head and chuckled.
“I’m surprised your slate is so clean, actually.”
Yeah, well, it was kind of hard to get into trouble when you spent twenty-five years a near
prisoner in your own home.
“That’s me. A model citizen.” She twisted a fingertip against each cheek.
“What are you doing?” He frowned, the serious expression only making him more attractive.
She dropped her arms. “Showing off my dimples.”
“You have dimples?”
“Forget about it.” She sighed. “Can I go now?”
“Yes. Sorry for keeping you so long.” Stepping out of her way, he gestured a brawny arm to the
doorway. “There was a dispute between two locals about a missing chicken.”
She stared at him. What was more surprising—the rumble over a chicken, or his apology?
“Did they consider that a crocodile might have eaten the chicken?”
He shook his head. “Crocs don’t usually come to this area.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She waltzed into the front room, eager to grab her backpack and get out of
there.
“What are you doing on Heartbreak Key?” Sheriff Brennan leaned against the doorjamb with his
thumbs hooked on his belt.
 Electricity rippled across Amy’s skin, and her fingers fumbled as she pushed her hair out of her
face. “Uh. Visiting.”
“By yourself?”
She studied his posture, his expression. He looked like he was trying to be friendly but didn’t
have much experience with it. “Are you asking me as a man of the law or as…”
Something else?
“I’m asking out of curiosity.”
“Thirty minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get me in that jail cell.” Laughing, she shook her head.
“Now you want to get to know me? Interesting. Where’s my bag?”
“It’s right…” He pointed at the desk next to her, his finger dropping as his sentence trailed off.
She looked where he pointed, nothing on the desk but a phone, a pen holder with a pen, a notepad,
and an empty coffee cup.
Sheriff Brennan pushed off the doorjamb and joined her at the desk, the air shifting like the unease
before a surfacing storm.
He bent and looked under the desk. “I thought I left it right here.”
“What do you mean, ‘you thought’? Where is it?”
Brennan stood and frowned. Opened a broom closet. Rubbed the back of his head.
Amy’s heart ricocheted around her rib cage like it was trying to escape. This couldn’t be
happening. Not her aunt’s journal…
“Where is it?” she demanded.
He peeked into the back room they’d just come out of. “I…I don’t know. I swear I just had it. I ran
your driver’s license.”
“And then what did you do?”
“I put it right here. Next to your bag. Ah!” He grabbed her wallet, which had been hidden behind
the pen holder.
But her ID and credit cards were the last thing she cared about.
“Oh my God.” She clutched the edges of the desk and leaned forward, her head dropping.
“It has to be here somewhere.” He opened the front door and peeked outside.
“I had a journal in there.” She pressed her fingers between her eyes and tried to control her rapid
breathing. “I need it.”
He ran his palm across his mouth. “I, uh, I left the front door open when I heard the shouting in the
street.”
She stared at him, absorbing this new information. “The shouting over the chicken, you mean?”
He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “That’s right.”
Amy buried her face in her hands. “So, someone came in here and stole my bag while you were
outside? That’s what you’re saying?”
“That’s what it looks like.” He closed the front door behind himself. “I take it this isn’t any
journal.”
“It was my aunt’s.” The rest of the story weighed on her heart, too heavy to make its way up her
vocal cords and out of her mouth.
Fury rumbled through her. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t arrested her in the first place, she
wouldn’t be in this situation. Now someone had come into the building and stolen her bag. They’d
probably thought it had a wallet in it, and instead, they’d ended up with something that was only
valuable to Amy.
It sucked that her backpack had been stolen, but everything inside it could be replaced. It was the
journal—Jo’s sketches and poems—that really mattered.
“I take the blame for this,” Sheriff Brennan said. “I shouldn’t have left the door open.”
His admission cooled some of her anger. She still wanted to scream and hit him, but at least now
she could settle with leaving him alive.
“I thought quaint little towns like this didn’t have crime.” Lacing her hands behind her head, she
paced the floor.
The sheriff just stood there, as if her world wasn’t falling apart. “If they didn’t have crime, then
they wouldn’t need me.”
Splendid job you’re doing preventing that crime.
She kept the comment to herself. Her energy would be better served finding her backpack.
“Well, this has been fun.” She clapped her hands, the annoying sound intentionally loud. “I’m
going to head out now and see if I can collect what little pieces of joy are still out there for me.”
“Ms. Young. Amy. Wait.”
She stilled, her hand on the doorknob. He knew her name?
An unexpected hit of pleasure trickled across her shoulders. Down, girl. He knew her name
because he’d had to read her driver’s license, not because he had a personal interest in her.
“I’ll help you find your backpack.” He joined her at the door, so close, his spicy scent tickled her
nose.
She had to crane her neck back to look at him, tall as he was. “That’s okay. You’ve done enough.”
“It’s my job.” He ducked his head, intensity simmering in his pupils. “And I want to help.”
Something long dormant yawned and stretched deep in Amy. A profound hunger she hadn’t known
she had. With him so close, his presence so demanding and intoxicating, she couldn’t think straight.
“Please,” he breathed. “Let me help you.”
It was that word—one of many words she’d fantasized about hearing from a man—that did it for
her.
“It’s the journal that’s important.” She shook her head. “That’s what I really need.”
His nod was gentle. “Then we’ll find it.”
 Chapter 5

It was a fine week for the department’s security cameras to be on the fritz, but when it rained, it
poured.
By the time Beau checked the feed anyway, just in case the system had magically repaired itself,
Deputy Trivedi was back from an early dinner and Beau and Amy could head out. As he’d rationally
predicted, he found no video evidence of a thief entering or exiting the sheriff’s department.
Eyewitnesses were also at zero; the handful of people on Main had been wrapped up in watching
Mickey Easmon and Todd Macall try to tear each other’s throats out over Mickey’s missing chicken.
A chicken that had pecked its way onto the street while Beau was in the middle of pulling Mickey off
Todd’s back.
Glad to leave that drama behind, Beau walked with Amy along the edge of Main Street, catching
the sporadic shade from trees. Even though it was late afternoon, the heat hadn’t subsided, which
meant most people were tucked away in their homes, lounging on the beach, or nursing a beer at the
Salty Beast.
“Right there.” Amy pointed at a pink house, part of the Swimming Pig Bungalows.
Owned by a couple who was probably nearly as old as the island, the bungalows came in an
assortment of colors. Their exteriors were in need of repair and they could have used some new
appliances, but overall, they were safe and clean. Beau had looked at them when he’d first arrived in
town before settling on the boarding house.
“Pink’s my favorite color.”
Amy side-eyed him.
He shrugged. “I’m not afraid to admit it.”
A smile, brighter than the Florida sun, slid across her face. He started to smile back but then
instinctively checked himself.
It was crazy. Despite their rude introduction, being around Amy felt good. Easy. Even their
bickering had a flow to it.
Which meant none of this could be trusted.
She opened the screen door, and they walked into the dark room, cooled by fans overhead and in a
window. The bed was made up neatly, two suitcases peeking out from the floor under the mattress. In
the kitchenette, the table was clear and dishes dried in the rack. It smelled clean, too—like lemon and
fresh herbs.
Amy seemed a little too wild to be so on point when it came to housework, but Beau liked what
he saw. Hell, he was liking everything he saw when it came to her, including her round, tight rear end.
 Coming back from his wayward thoughts, he snapped his gaze away from her ass. They’d stopped
in the bungalow so she could change into something cooler, her thick cargo pants more than she’d
probably bargained for in the sticky heat. She hadn’t been hitting on Beau by asking him there—and it
wasn’t like he was fishing either.
He’d do best to remember that, before he did something he regretted.
Amy opened the wardrobe and pulled out some fresh clothing. “Be right back.” She lingered in
the bathroom doorway, giving him a meaningful look. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He snorted. “Very funny.”
Already, he felt bad about the way he’d treated her. He’d been in an off mood because the
repairperson for the cameras was already three days late, and some teenagers from Marathon had
come over the night before and graffitied the side of the grocery store. He’d caught them, but the
incident put a sour taste in his mouth.
He now got why people on Heartbreak Key didn’t like outsiders. Even though he’d only been on
the island for a handful of months, he felt more protective of it each day.
Which had added to his irritation at seeing a tourist walking around in the dilapidated cabin,
poking her nose where it shouldn’t be.
Amy wasn’t any old tourist, though, judging by what he was seeing in her room.
The map on the desk under her charging cell phone drew him in. It was of Heartbreak Key, with
streets and memorable spots like the cove and the docks marked. Next to it sat a short stack of books.
Beau picked them up one by one.
Lost Treasures of the Florida Keys. Mysteries in the Water. Treasure Hunting for Ordinary
People.
“There’s not much that’s useful in those,” she said from behind him. “Unfortunately.”
He put the last book down, embarrassed at being caught, and turned to face her. She stood in the
bathroom doorway, jean shorts hugging her hips and a tight yellow tank top showing off her waist. It
was a simple outfit, the kind plenty of women wore around the island.
So then, why was it suddenly so hot in the little bungalow?
“What’s wrong?” Amy frowned slightly, her hands tugging at her top—like she was trying to make
it grow in length. “I know I’m not stick-thin and there’s a little extra sag here and there, but it’s hot
and this is more comfortable.”
“Nothing at all. You look fine.” Beau cleared his throat and gestured at the books so that he could
get his mind off Amy’s mouthwatering figure. So that he wouldn’t think about how sexy she looked
with her curves on display. Saggy, his ass.
“You’re treasure hunting.”
“I know it seems stupid.” She joined him at the desk and flipped through the top book.
“Why would it seem stupid?”
Her cheeks turned pink, and she shrugged. It was the first sign that she might be something other
than brash and completely outgoing, and he wondered where this demure streak came from.
“Not many people know that it’s a real thing.” She put the book down and took a seat on the end of
the bed.
“There’s treasure on Heartbreak Key? That’s why you’re here?”
It was as if a light switched on inside her. Her eyes glowed, and she sat straighter, the energy he’d
first recognized in her returning. “It’s not very well-known, but yes. Maybe.”
He chuckled. “Maybe?”
“It’s a ‘maybe’ with every treasure, isn’t it?” She squeezed the mattress’s edge on either side of
her in excitement, like a little kid.
“So, what is this treasure?” He took a seat in the desk chair, straddling it so that his chest was to
its back.
“Family jewels.”
Beau cocked an eyebrow, and Amy instantly blushed.
“Very funny.” She rolled her eyes.
“I didn’t say anything.” He lifted his hands in mock innocence. “Whose alleged family jewels are
these?”
Her lips drew thin, and she shook her head. “I couldn’t find any names. There’s no record of this,
but rumor has it that over one hundred years ago, two young lovers came to Heartbreak Key. They
were barely out of their teens, running away from home.”
“A real Romeo and Juliet situation.”
“Kind of. There were fewer soliloquies.”
Beau barked out a laugh. “So, what happened to them?”
“Well…” She licked her lips, still buzzing. “No one lived on the island then. Not full time
anyway. It had been inhabited on and off for centuries, and there was a hut here that fishermen would
stay in sometimes. The two lovers were hiding out in that, planning on eloping once the dust settled
and their families weren’t looking for them. The girl came from a rich family, and she’d taken some
jewels, thinking they could sell them in order to start their new life.”
Beau clutched the chair’s back and leaned forward, already invested. He had a feeling the story
wouldn’t end well, though.
“Before they could get married,” Amy said, “a big hurricane came through. and a tree fell on the
hut and killed them.”
“That’s awful.” Even though it was a story about something that had happened over a century
before—and maybe not even true—pain flooded Beau’s chest.
He’d seen a lot of awful things in his years as a deputy—and now sheriff—but instead of numbing
him, they’d made him more sensitive. At this point, he liked that Heartbreak Key had no TV service
or internet; it made it a lot harder for the world’s constant violence obsession to make it to his eyes.
“What happened to the jewels?” He inclined his head. “Allegedly?”
“Allegedly, they buried the jewels before the hurricane, just in case their families found the two
of them. That way, they could run away again later and grab the jewels.”
“Makes sense.” Beau leaned back and studied her. “So where do you come into this story?”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “It’s not as interesting.”
“I asked, though. I’d like to know.”
She hesitated, but she must have seen something in his expression she liked. “My aunt loved
treasure hunting. She went all over the world looking for things.”
“Did she ever find anything?”
“No, but that didn’t seem to get her down too much. She always said it was the journey that
mattered. Although…I know she would have liked to find something really big. Who wouldn’t want
to, right?” Her eyes unfocused, she gazed into space.
“Sounds like she was a lot of fun.”
“The best.” She ruffled her hair, making it thicker, and Beau’s fingers itched to find out what the
strands felt like.
“Did she ever take you on any of these hunts?”
Amy scoffed. “I wish. My parents wouldn’t let me go anywhere. It was like living in a bubble.”
The last sentence came out in a depressing tone, and her gaze dropped to the floor.
“But she told you all about Heartbreak Key’s treasure?”
“What she knew. It wasn’t much, though. She wrote what she knew in her journal, but it’s mostly
sketches and poems. Some names. She visited here a few times when she was younger and she
planned on coming back, but then she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and that was it.”
“I’m sorry.”
Amy dropped her face, hiding her eyes. “You know… Thank you, and it’s fine.”
Beau blinked. She knew he was aware she was only saying what you were supposed to. And he
liked it. There was no facade with her.
“That’s why I’m here.” Amy turned her palms upward. “I’m finally free for the first time, and I
want to fulfill her last wish. I want to use her knowledge to find a treasure.”
What did she mean, free for the first time? What had kept her trapped for all her years?
Beau ached to know, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t overstep the boundaries. He’d promised to
help her find the journal, which meant keeping things professional.
He’d also promised himself he wouldn’t get hurt again.
So instead of probing deeper, he settled for an old-fashioned compliment. “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s why I need the journal.” She blew out a heavy breath. “It’s not perfect information, but some
of the sketches and names would be helpful.”
His ears perked up. “Names? Do you think you remember any of those?”
Her eyelashes fluttered as she thought about it. “Maybe. I don’t even know if they’re people who
are still on the island.”
“What if I took you around and introduced you to folks? Hearing some names might jog your
memory.”
She inspected him, distrust laced in her eyes. “Is that what you want to do?”
“Of course it is, or else I wouldn’t have offered.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes, the suspicion only deepening.
“Look.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for this morning. I was only doing my job…maybe a little too
well.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“I’ll still help you find the journal. I just don’t want to promise you that it will show up. For all
we know, the thief dumped the whole backpack off the side of a boat after taking anything worth
selling. We should have a contingency plan.”
“Okay.” Her head bobbed with a long stream of nods. “That sounds great. You said you know
everyone here?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Not quite. It’s a small place, but I haven’t been here that long.”
“So that was a lie.” She pursed her lips in amusement.
Beau shook his head at the floor. “Let’s call it an exaggeration.”
“Why did you come here?”
He pressed his tongue against his front teeth, taking his own turn at hesitation. “I wanted a change
of scenery.”
She must have picked up on the finality there. Standing, she clapped her hands. “Let’s go now. If
that’s all right with you.”
She was already shifting her weight around, brimming with enough energy to power a small city.
Beau watched her, a slow chuckle working its way up his throat.
“What?” Amy frowned.
 He sucked in a breath that got caught in his chest. “Uh. Nothing. Let’s go.”
It wasn’t until they were back outside, walking across the sandy yard, that Beau noticed the slight
shake in his hands. Energy thrummed through him, and a whirlpool of teenage excitement spun in his
gut.
He knew better than to give in to it, though. Amy was the first woman he’d felt drawn to since Jen,
but that didn’t mean anything. Sooner or later, someone surely would have caught his interest.
And that was the real challenge, wasn’t it? Not forgetting about the past, not making sense out of
what happened, but having the strength to resist temptation. Because temptation led to situations a man
had no control over, and once he handed over his power, he was done for.
 Chapter 6

All in all, Amy didn’t hate this new twist. Sure, her aunt’s journal, which contained all the clues to the
Heartbreak Key treasure, was now missing. Perhaps never to return.
But she also had some help, and not just from anyone. From the town’s sheriff.
She hadn’t missed his long looks in her bungalow, and she hadn’t hated them either. Though, they
were somewhat surprising. At her age, she couldn’t help but be aware of how everything had started
shifting south a little more each year. But every time Sheriff Brennan’s—Beau’s—eyes lingered on
her, a delicious shiver went down her back and excitement pooled in her belly.
Had she felt this way years ago, when she’d met her husband at the coffee shop in between
community college classes? She’d stopped revisiting that memory long ago, knowing she’d find
nothing there but regret. But she didn’t think so.
Beau warmed her to her very toes, making her dangerously close to overheating in the Florida
humidity. She hadn’t come to the island looking for romance, but who was she to deny something so
tempting?
It seemed fitting, really. A hunk at her side and a treasure at the end of the line. Aunt Jo would
have been proud. Hyland and Levi certainly would be excited. Her kids were always urging her to
“meet some guys,” and “have fun.”
“The Andersons live right there.” He gestured at a weathered blue house, seashells lining its yard.
“Have for the last fifty years, from what I understand.”
Excitement ballooned in Amy’s chest. This could be it. Bill Anderson was one of the few names
she remembered from the journal. Scribbled into the corner of a page, without context to go with it,
but Jo wouldn’t have written it down for no good reason.
Beau stopped at the front steps. “Want me to go up with you?”
Her heart dropped a little. Didn’t that go without saying?
She didn’t want him to think she was some clingy woman, needing a man to accompany her
everywhere. It would be nice, though, to have him there. She hovered at the door, her fist raised to
knock.
Before she could decide how to answer him, the front door opened and an old woman emerged,
apron on and her hair in curlers.
“Hello there.” Her voice was strong and clear, despite the stoop in her shoulders.
Beau nodded at her from the ground. “Hello, Ms. Elizabeth. How are you doing?”
“Hi.” Amy smiled big and spoke loudly, in case the woman was hard of hearing. “I’m Amy
Young. I’m looking for Bill Anderson.”
 The lashes on Elizabeth’s deep-set blue eyes fluttered. “Bill, you said? My husband Bill has been
dead for ten years now.”
Amy’s heart sank, like a deflated balloon. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry, dear. What was it you wanted to see him about?”
At the question, a slight hope bloomed in her chest. “About the Heartbreak Key treasure. Maybe
you know something about it?”
Elizabeth thought hard, her lips pulled so thin they vanished. So hard Amy almost considered
asking her to stop before she hurt herself.
When Elizabeth’s words came, they were slow as molasses. “No, I can’t say I know of it.”
A lump formed in Amy’s throat. “Okay. Thank you anyway, though.”
“You’re welcome, honey.”
The old woman went back into her house, and Amy joined Beau in the yard. Her head and arms
felt twice as heavy as they should have.
“I’m sorry.” He twisted his lips in sympathy. “She has a husband, but he must be her second one. I
still don’t know everyone’s story.”
“It’s all right. You helped me cross that name off the list faster than I would have on my own.”
“And we have more to go.” From his pocket, Beau pulled the list they’d compiled. “Let’s see…
Cash Pettigrew… He’s not here anymore. A young man bought his house, and Cash left.”
While he was looking at the paper, Amy stole a moment to study his arms, thick with ropes of
muscle. He looked like he could toss her right over his shoulder with hardly any effort.
An ache, familiar and yet so foreign, pulsed between her legs. Searching for an excuse to look
away from him, she shielded her eyes and gazed down the street.
Beau blew out a heavy breath. “That only leaves one more.”
“Jasper,” they said at the same time.
Amy caught his eye. “There was a last name, I’m sure. I just can’t recall it. Do you know any
Jaspers?”
He pocketed the list and checked his wristwatch. “I know one, and I also know where to find him.
It’s just about time for his first beer.”
Oh Lord. That didn’t sound good. Especially if the local sheriff knew where to find a drinking
man on any given day. Would this Jasper even remember what happened last week, let alone thirty
something years ago?
“Great.” She plastered a smile on her face.
Even if Jasper didn’t know anything about the treasure, even if they never found the journal,
everything would be okay. This was just a fun adventure.
Right?
At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself.
It was probably unhealthy, but a lot was riding on finding the jewels. And not just her aunt’s
legacy. This was Amy’s chance to prove to herself and everyone else that she was capable of big,
hard things. She’d been pigeonholed into the role of a suburban soccer mom, but it wasn’t that she
hated that.
She’d loved raising her daughter and son. It was the fact that she’d never been able to branch into
anything else that ate away at her late at night. Her ex-husband had always told her she would be
nowhere without him, that she wouldn’t amount to anything in the “real world.”
Well, here was her chance to prove him wrong, to rub his face in her success. Maybe it was petty,
but she needed this. Needed it badly.
 The Salty Beast sat on Main Street, right between the docks and the island’s one grocery store.
She’d noticed it upon arrival the other day, but she had been too busy working out the kinks of her
game plan to explore the town.
Now, she entered it alongside Beau, a gust of sweet air conditioning meeting them. The tables
were empty, a waitress filling the salt and pepper shakers before the dinner rush hit, but a few men sat
at the bar. A bartender, who looked more like he belonged on a fishing boat, cut lemons.
The door banged shut behind them, prompting every head in the room to turn their way.
Amy put on her best smile. “Hi. I’m looking for Jasper.”
Two of the men, both with weathered, leathery skin, turned their gazes on an old fellow settled at
the bar’s corner. Pushing back his ball cap, the man squinted at Amy.
She approached the bar, faintly aware of Beau close behind her. “Jasper?” she croaked, not
realizing until she spoke just how nervous she was.
That was the final name she’d remembered from the journal. If he didn’t have any knowledge of
the treasure, then it would be game over.
“Yes, ma’am.” He took a swig of beer. “How can I help you?”
She licked her lips, which felt unnaturally dry. “My name is Amy Young. My aunt was Jo Young.”
She waited to see if the name registered for him, but he only stared at her blankly.
“She visited Heartbreak Key a few times several decades ago.” Amy gestured at her head.
“Blonde, curly hair. Tall?”
Suddenly, Jasper laughed and slapped his knee. “Hell yes, I remember her. That woman was
wild!”
Her smile flickered, unsure how to interpret the comment. Jo had been an animated woman,
driven by her curiosity and thirst for the new. She’d been the only person in the family who
understood Amy. While both of them had often been labeled “loud” and “annoying,” Jo taught Amy
something else—what they really were was passionate, something not everyone understood.
“She was a special person, for sure.” Amy stood a little straighter, ready to defend her aunt.
“Is she still around?” Jasper asked.
“She passed away years ago.”
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “That’s too bad.”
Amy wondered how many people he’d seen leave this world. Thinking about it, she no longer
judged him for visiting the bar every day.
“Did she ever mention to you why she was here?” She set one arm against the bar and leaned into
it.
Jasper rubbed the scruff on his jaw, thinking. “Not that I remember.”
A frantic need to get something useful out of him—anything—scrambled up her chest and throat.
“Are you sure? She didn’t say anything about searching for something? Something…archaeological?”
Though the word “treasure” lingered on her tongue, she was being cautious. A handful of people
were listening in, and there was no telling what hearing about treasure might make some of them do.
She wasn’t keen on her bungalow being broken in to or someone kidnapping her and demanding
information on the jewels. She’d only opened up to Beau about the treasure because… Well, she
wasn’t really sure why.
Yes, he was a sheriff, but that didn’t make someone innately trustworthy. But there was just
something about him that made her want to share with him.
Or maybe she was just, as her daughter liked to put it, thirsty.
“No.” Jasper shrugged. “Jo never said she was an archaeologist.”
 The last bit of strength whooshed out of Amy. She caught Beau’s encouraging expression and tried
to smile back, but it was as if her facial muscles no longer worked. Everything was atrophying at
lightning speed.
“Thank you.” Her voice cracked. “I appreciate it.”
She started to turn, but someone spoke up. “Hold on a second.”
Amy looked over her shoulder at the bartender drying his hands on a dish towel. He was nearly as
old as Jasper, but his face was kinder and he actually wanted to talk to her.
The man jerked his head at Amy and Beau, signaling they should follow him into the kitchen. She
glanced at Beau, who nodded in affirmation.
Following the man, who walked with a limp, they made their way through the kitchen and out the
Salty Beast’s back door. Under the building’s shade, the bartender pulled a cigarette from his apron
pocket.
“Is there some trouble brewing?” He addressed Beau.
“No. We’re on a hunt of a personal nature.”
His saying “we” made her warm inside. He hadn’t even known she existed twenty-four hours
earlier, but here he was, shouldering some of her weight.
“Amy, this is Francis,” Beau said. “He owns the Salty Beast.”
Cigarette hanging from his lips, Francis stuck out his hand. “A pleasure.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” She shook his hand. “I guess you overheard what I was asking Jasper.”
He lit his cigarette. “I remember Jo. She was here looking for the treasure.”
Amy’s breath caught. “Yes!”
He nodded and lowered his cigarette. “You remind me of her. Same face.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that, but it brought tears to her eyes. Not a day went by that she
didn’t miss her aunt terribly.
“So she told you about the treasure,” Amy said, carefully choosing her words. “Have you ever
looked for it?”
“I wouldn’t know what to look for.”
A tall Tree of Life.
She kept the tidbit to herself.
“She did tell me one thing,” Francis said. “She thought it was located in the southeastern part of
the island, in the woods.”
A delirious thrill passed through her. “Do you know why she thought that?”
He scratched the side of his head. “No offense, but Jo could be kind of out there. A great lady, but
she had some wacky ideas. A few people have searched for this supposed treasure, but in the end, it
was debunked.”
Amy knew all about that. She’d read everything she could get her hands on about the treasure,
sparse as the literature was. An archaeologist had done a search on the island in the late nineties and
decided there was nothing to be found.
But he didn’t know about her aunt’s journal. He didn’t know about the Tree of Life.
By that point, Jo had passed. She’d never had the chance to prove the archaeologist and everyone
else wrong.
Francis chuckled to himself. “If you want my honest opinion, the young lovers thing was
dramatized. You know people, though. They love a good story.”
Amy’s heart beat a loud, steady rhythm as she tried to stay calm. “Yeah, they do. Thank you
anyway.”
 He put out his cigarette in the ashtray on a window ledge. “Sorry I couldn’t have been more of a
help. My condolences about your aunt.”
“Thank you.”
She waited until the door yawned shut behind Francis to turn to Beau. “Did you hear that?” She
rocked forward onto her toes, brimming with excitement.
“I did.” His eyes sparkled.
So pumped up she couldn’t stay still, she launched herself into his arms and hugged him tight.
It happened so suddenly, she had no time to ask herself whether it was a good idea. Standing
there, pressed to his broad, firm chest, she realized how big of a mistake she might be making.
She started to step back, but suddenly, Beau’s arms were around her, his heady, masculine scent
making her knees tremble. She held her breath as he hugged her, and although there was a stiffness to
the action, the spots where they touched crackled with electricity.
Warmth pooled in Amy’s belly, and she was dimly aware of the fact that if she didn’t step back
now, she might never.
Clearing her throat, she shuffled out of his arms and occupied herself with smoothing her hair.
Beau’s cheeks were pink, but she pretended not to notice. “Did your aunt write anything about the
southeastern part of the island in the journal?”
“No, but she wasn’t exactly a meticulous note-keeper.” Amy rubbed the back of her neck, still
feeling like she’d stuck her finger in a socket. “Also, I don’t know that everything in the journal had
importance. She might have sketched some things because she wanted to.”
He ran a thumb across his full, straight lip, looking serious. “Like the cabin?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re telling me I arrested you for nothing?” His tone was teasing, his mouth in a smirk.
“Sorry.”
He shook his head, his voice softening. “It wasn’t for nothing. Trust me.”
The air between them changed, like the subtle shift before an afternoon storm blew in. Her breath
felt thick and slow, her thoughts even more lethargic.
“What now?” she asked.
“I promised I would help find your journal.”
Her heart dropped. Right. So this was the end of their time together.
She tried not to be disappointed, but all the strength was leaving her body and she was having
trouble imagining going on without him. Just a few hours with him had changed the course of this trip.
Beau continued. “As far as the treasure…it’s your project. I don’t want to interfere, unless you
would like me to. I’m not interested in any money that might come of it. I don’t need anything like
that.”
She cocked her head, a slow smile pulling at her lips. “Then what are you interested in?”
Heat simmered in his gaze. “Is it so crazy to think I might be having fun?”
She laughed, a riotous sound that echoed off the buildings across the street. She almost slapped
her hand across her mouth, embarrassed as she was, but Beau only grinned. Really, truly grinned. Like
he appreciated what he heard.
“Then come with me,” Amy said. “Please.”
He nodded once, calm and cool as a cucumber. “I’d like that.”
Her insides did all kinds of dances, but she managed to keep her expression blasé. “Well, what
are we waiting for?”
Beau looked at his watch. “We should probably wait until tomorrow morning. That part of the
island is mostly woods.”
“I know what to look for, though.” She chewed on her lip. “A Tree of Life. A big one.”
His eyebrows knit together. “You said that you couldn’t tell what was meaningful in the journal
and what wasn’t.”
“This is different.” Her chest swelled. “The sketch with the tree was the only page that had
anything substantial on it.”
“Substantial how?”
“A question mark. And a note where she was frustrated that she didn’t get the coordinates.”
He stroked the stubble coming in on his angular jaw. “Sorry to say it, but that doesn’t sound very
notable.”
“For Jo, it was. There was just…more attention paid to that sketch. The tree was important to
her.”
Beau nodded and dropped his hand. “If you say so. You’re in charge of this treasure hunt. I still
say we should wait until tomorrow, though. Rest and pack a bag for the whole day.”
Amy drew a sharp breath. She hated waiting—hadn’t she done enough of that in her life already?
His logic was sound, though.
“Okay. We’ll go tomorrow.” She planted her hands on her hips. “The rest of the day needs to be
worth it, though.”
His eyes narrowed, and he almost looked afraid. “How so?”
“There’s a liquor store on this island, right?”
 Chapter 7

“I love it out here.” Amy stretched her arms wide and breathed in the salty air. The last rays of light
were dipping below the horizon, taking with them one of the most interesting days of Beau’s life.
“It’s a good spot.” He put one more log on the pile and pulled out his lighter.
He knew he was pushing things with Amy. Coming to Heartbreak Key, he’d promised himself an
extended break from women. Now here he was, building a fire on the beach with the most beautiful
and vivacious woman he’d ever set eyes on.
Though he was still hesitant, the urge to push forward was starting to win out. Sure, if they were
to become involved—and he’d noticed the way her breathing picked up when he was close—a
complete catastrophe might result.
His rational mind screamed at him to pull back, to retreat into his shell. With his body aching to
touch hers, though, it was getting harder and harder to hear that cautious voice.
“Why did you come here?” Amy asked.
Thank God his back was to her. He didn’t know what his face looked like, but surely it revealed
too much.
Beau cleared his throat. “I, uh, wanted a change. I heard about the sheriff’s position through a
friend and figured why not?”
“It’s like heaven on this island.” She plopped down onto the blanket next to him.
“As long as you don’t value communicating with the outside world.”
Which he didn’t. Not lately.
The kindling took, and fire raced along the underside of a log. Still, he stayed squatting there,
arranging the logs and blowing on the flames.
“It’s only my kids I want to hear from.”
He snapped his head in her direction. “Kids, huh? How old are they?”
“Nineteen and twenty-two.” She smirked. “Technically, they’re not kids anymore, but it’s hard not
hearing their voices every day.”
He gazed into the fire. “I bet you’re the fun mom.”
The hot one, too.
Amy giggled. “Guilty as charged.”
Beau chuckled, her laughter infectious. Sitting back, he settled into the sand and hooked his arms
over his knees. “When did you decide to look for this treasure?”
Her inhale was sharper than he expected. “I’ve wanted to do it for years. Ever since my aunt told
me about it.”
 “Why didn’t you?” He studied her profile in the last gray light, more perfect than if she’d been
carved by Michelangelo.
“Life got in the way.” Her gaze unfocused, she stared into the fire.
“I understand that.”
They sat quietly for a while, night wrapping around them and the fire crackling. It had never
occurred to Beau to make a fire on the beach, but now he wondered why he didn’t spend every night
down there.
If it weren’t for Amy’s appearance, he’d be working on renovating the house he’d bought a few
months back. That, or sitting in the boarding house drinking a beer and reading a book that only half
distracted him.
It was his work that saved him. Gave him something to do and made him feel like, just maybe, he
was making a small difference in a world that often made no sense.
“How about a drink?” From his bag, he pulled the rum he’d brought along. “Looks like I forgot
glasses.”
“That’s okay. Just how fancy do you think I am?” Amy unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Heat
rushed into Beau’s crotch, and he shifted awkwardly. It was only lips on a bottle, and yet he’d
reverted to a thirteen-year-old trying to hide a boner in gym class.
She passed the bottle back, their fingers grazing as he accepted it. Sparks danced through his
hand, and he shot the rum down his throat, eager to calm himself.
“Thank you for helping me today.” She rested her elbow on her knee, propped her head in her
hand, and watched him from that sideways position.
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“Something tells me you’re always doing the right thing.”
He chuckled and returned the rum. “And what would give you that impression?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the badge.”
He looked down at the shirt and shorts he’d changed into. “What badge?”
“I guess even heroes need an evening off.” She took a swig and passed the bottle, but he held off
from drinking, his stomach squirming.
He wasn’t much of a hero. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, and he carried more than his
fair share of regrets. When it came down to it, he was only a man trying to do his best.
“So.” Amy raked her hand through her short hair. “Did you find out yet whose property the cabin
is on and if they want to press charges?”
He was pretty sure it wasn’t the firelight making her eyes dance. That was good old
mischievousness.
“I’ll let you know when I get that sorted out. I know how much you liked the jail cell.” He handed
her the rum.
She barked out a laugh. “No Wi-Fi. No phone. Lots of quiet to think. It’s almost exactly like the
rest of the island.”
“Except it gets pretty lonely.” With a start, he realized both their hands were around the bottle, the
alcohol held between them like a ceremonial object.
Energy crackled and popped where they touched, and a zing skimmed over Beau’s hand. Amy
sucked in a breath, her eyes settling on his.
“Yeah.” Her chest rose with a long inhale. “It does.”
Maybe she said something else. Or maybe a meteor crashed into Earth and everything was
breaking into pieces around them. Either way, he didn’t notice.
 Suddenly, nothing in the whole universe mattered but her lips. Those rosy, full pillows that were
always curved up in jest.
He wanted to taste them. Explore them. Find out what made them smile even on the hardest days.
Take his time tracing their edges with his fingertips. Lose himself in every tactile component they had
to offer until he couldn’t remember his own name or which way was up.
His chest swelled with desire and apprehension. The last time he’d felt this way, things had ended
up going horribly wrong.
But this wasn’t that time. This wasn’t that woman. And Beau wasn’t the man he used to be.
A shimmering, uncertain future stretched out before him, and he wanted to be present for every
moment of it.
Amy’s throat rolled with a swallow, her steady gaze drinking him in. It was all the confirmation
he needed.
Lowering his head, he gently pressed his lips to hers. With that one touch, it was all over. He took
the first step into an unknown land, the road he’d taken to get there crumbling behind him.
There was no going back.
Slipping his arm around her waist, he kissed her harder. Amy looped her arms over his shoulders,
her breath hot and quick against his mouth.
Sliding his hand lower, he pressed his palm against the small of her back. She let out a sweet little
moan, and a fire twice as warm as the one they’d built spread through him.
He deepened the kiss, their bodies and lips rocking together in an ocean-like rhythm. As they fell
against the blanket, Amy cried out in surprise.
“Oh my gosh—the rum!” She giggled frantically, liquid gushing from the bottle and soaking the
edge of the blanket.
“Guess we should finish it so that doesn’t happen again.” They’d lost a good portion of the bottle,
so Beau took a hearty drink of what was left before passing it to her. They finished it off like that,
grinning at each other in that flirtatious way that only came from the new—new kisses, new closeness,
new intimacy.
How had he ended up here? Just that morning, he’d been going about his rounds on the island,
living his days on repeat, and now here he was. Perfectly and undeniably alive on the beach with an
amazing woman. More than just an amazing woman—a woman he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to
get out of his mind again.
The bottle finished, Beau set it in the sand and pulled her to his chest, not wanting to be away
from her any longer. She slid her hands under his shirt, her touch more intoxicating than the liquor.
He raked his teeth along the side of her neck, down to her shoulder. Her nails dug into his waist,
and he groaned in satisfaction. She was demanding what she wanted, and he damn well loved it.
Guiding her onto her back on the blanket, he settled on top, her legs nestled between his. Gone
was the tentative exploration. It was as if neither of them could get close enough—their hands
grasping and stroking, worshiping and learning.
Beau stopped to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere into the sand. Or maybe the fire. He didn’t
really care. Walking home buck naked would be worth it if he got to touch this goddess for even one
more minute.
Amy’s hands moved to the hem of her own shirt, but then she hesitated.
“What?” he asked gently. “Changed your mind?” It would kill him to stop, but he would, of
course.
“I’m just… It’s been a while, and my ex never missed an opportunity to suggest how I could
improve my body, especially as I got older. And he was right—I let myself go over the years.”
Beau shook his head. “There’s a huge difference between letting yourself go and maturing. You’re
not a young girl, and you don’t have a young girl’s body—thank God because I’m not looking for
some waif with no curves.”
She smiled a little at that.
“You have a woman’s body,” he continued. “Delectable, soft, and gorgeous. I don’t need to see
you out of clothes to already know that’s true.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
He threaded his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her closer. “I know I don’t have to say
that. I’m saying it because it’s true. I’m saying it because, no matter what you look like without
clothes, I know you’re going to be beautiful because Amy the person is beautiful.”
Giving him a sweet smile, she eased back then pulled off her shirt, revealing full breasts barely
contained by a bra. Beau couldn’t hold back the growl deep in his throat. “If this is an example of
what let yourself go looks like, then you need to let yourself go even more.”
She giggled and relaxed as he bent down to kiss and nibble at the delicate flesh just above the
cups of the bra. All laughter died away as he laid her back and she arched, pressing herself more fully
against him.
He removed her bra and nipped and kissed along her breasts, learning what she liked. Hearing her
moans pick up as his mouth and fingers became the slightest bit rougher—soft pinches and bites
followed by soothing licks of his tongue.
Shimmying down her torso, he undid her shorts, then slid them over her legs. He kissed his way
back up, wanting to find words to tell her how beautiful she truly was. He hadn’t been lying when
he’d said he wasn’t interested in the near-gaunt look so popular for young women nowadays.
He much preferred Amy’s curves and softness. He loved how he could dig his fingers into her
hips and pull her closer. She had substance in all possible ways.
But the words wouldn’t come right now, so he would have to show her. And he did so, finding all
the secret places and ways she liked to be touched and tasted, until she was calling his name,
gazing at him, eyelids heavy and lips swollen.
The picture of perfection.
He leaned over on one elbow and stroked some hair from her face. “You’re beautiful. With
clothes off, with clothes on” —he grinned; he couldn’t help it— “but especially when you’re calling
my name.”
She smiled. “I want you. Right now. Inside me.”
Fire streaked down his chest and settled right between his legs. He more than wanted her. Fuck, if
he didn’t get inside her soon, he would probably go mad.
Reaching into his pocket, he found his wallet and the condom tucked into a fold. The whole box
had been bought on a whim, and though he hadn’t used any since arriving on Heartbreak Key, they
weren’t expired yet.
Thank God.
Then again, he might have been perfectly happy just pleasuring Amy until the sun rose…
Slipping it on, he settled against her, their bodies fitting together so perfectly it was hard to think
this moment had come about by chance. It must have been written in the stars the instant they blinked
into existence.
Their lips locked, and he pushed into her. Her warmth welcomed him, her muscles stretching to
accommodate his girth and embracing him tightly.
Another random document with
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couronne à Diran, qui, soutenu par les Romains, battit les Perses et
les chassa de l'Arménie. Ce nouveau roi imita la conduite de son
prédécesseur; en payant également tribut aux Romains et aux
Perses, il chercha à garder la neutralité entre les deux empires. Il fut
la victime de cette politique insensée.
[103] On voit que Gibbon (t. 2, p. 161 et 349-356, et 368; t. 3, p. 463) a cherché à
faire usage dans son histoire, des renseignements fournis par Moïse de Khoren, le
seul des historiens arméniens qui ait été traduit en latin (Lond. 1736, 1 vol. in-4o).
Gibbon ne s'est pas aperçu de toutes les difficultés chronologiques que présentent
les récits de cet écrivain. Il n'a pas songé à toutes les discussions critiques, que
son texte devait subir, avant que de le combiner avec les récits des auteurs
occidentaux. Faute d'une telle attention, Gibbon a rendu les renseignements qu'il y
a puisés, plus fautifs qu'ils ne le sont dans l'original. Ce jugement s'applique même
à tout ce que l'historien anglais a tiré de l'auteur arménien. L'histoire de Moïse de
Khoren a été pour moi l'objet d'un travail particulier, dans lequel j'ai discuté son
texte de tout point; et c'est avec confiance que je présente les résultats que je
place ici, et ceux qui entreront dans la suite de mon travail supplémentaire. Pour
faire juger de la différence, qui existe sur ce point, entre moi et Gibbon, je me
contenterai de remarquer, qu'il a commis presque partout un anachronisme d'une
trentaine d'années, d'où il s'ensuit qu'il rapporte au règne de Constance beaucoup
d'événements, arrivés du temps de Constantin. Il n'a donc pu reconnaître la liaison
véritable qui existe entre l'histoire romaine et celle d'Arménie, ni se faire une juste
idée des raisons qui portèrent Constantin, vers la fin de sa vie, à faire la guerre
aux Perses, non plus que des motifs qui retinrent si long-temps Constance dans
l'Orient. Il n'en a même fait aucune mention.—S.-M.
[104] On sait que Tiridate fut obligé, vers la fin de son règne, de soutenir une
guerre contre Maximin, à cause de son attachement pour le christianisme. Voyez
ci-devant, l. 1, p. 76 et 77. Il paraît que, antérieurement, il avait, comme allié des
Perses, soutenu plusieurs guerres contre les Romains; nous en avons pour
preuve le surnom d'Armeniacus Maximus, que Galérius prenait pour la sixième
fois, eu l'an 311, comme on le voit par l'édit qu'il publia au sujet des chrétiens.
Voyez Euseb. Hist. eccl., l. 8, c. 17.—S.-M.
[105] Selon l'historien Moïse de Khoren (l. 2, c. 76), Tiridate, son père, aurait eu,
avant son avénement, des relations intimes avec Licinius; on pourrait croire alors
que ce fut cet empereur, qui rendit à Chosroès la couronne de ses aïeux. Licinius,
depuis la mort de Maximin, arrivée au mois d'août de l'an 313, était le maître de
tout l'Orient, et par conséquent en mesure de secourir les Arméniens.—S.-M.
[106] Il est question dans le Code Théodosien (l. 3, de inf. his quœ sub tyr.), d'un
Antiochus qui vivait à la même époque, et qui était, en 326, préfet des veilles à
Rome, præfectus vigilum. On voit dans un fragment du même ouvrage récemment
découvert par M. Amédée Peyron, et inséré dans le t. 28 des Mémoires de
l'académie de Turin, que cet Antiochus occupait déja les mêmes fonctions en l'an
319. Il se pourrait qu'il eût été antérieurement envoyé en Arménie.—S.-M.
[107] Les princes de la famille Camsaracane descendaient de la branche des
Arsacides, qui régnait dans la Bactriane. Ils se réfugièrent en Arménie, sous le
règne de Tiridate pour fuir les persécutions des Perses; ils y reçurent de ce prince
les provinces d'Arscharouni et de Schirag, dans l'Arménie centrale, sur les bords
de l'Araxes. Ils en conservèrent la possession jusqu'au huitième siècle. Voyez ce
que j'ai dit à ce sujet, dans mes Mémoires historiques et géographiques sur
l'Arménie, t. 1, p. 109, 111 et 112 et passim. Voyez aussi un article que j'ai inséré
dans la Biographie universelle, t. 33, p. 324.—S.-M.

—Diran était dépourvu des qualités nécessaires à

un roi, et l'Arménie ne fut sous son gouvernement [Faust. Byz Hist.
qu'un théâtre de troubles. Plusieurs familles d'Ar. l. 3, c. 12-
puissantes persécutées par lui embrassèrent 20.
secrètement le parti du roi de Perse, et
favorisèrent les projets qu'il avait contre l'Arménie. Moses Choren.
Un traître nommé Phisak, chambellan du prince Hist. Arm. l. 3, c.
arménien, s'entendit avec Varaz-schahpour, 11-18.]
gouverneur[108] de l'Atropatène[109], pour livrer son
maître au roi de Perse. Excité par leurs sourdes manœuvres, celui-ci
ne tarda pas à montrer des intentions hostiles, prétendant que Diran
avait manifesté le désir de chasser de la Perse la race de Sasan,
pour y replacer sa famille qui y avait régné autrefois. Le gouverneur
de l'Atropatène, qui était d'accord avec le traître Phisak, sollicita une
entrevue avec le roi d'Arménie, sous le prétexte de lui demander une
explication: elle lui fut accordée. Varaz-schahpour entra alors en
Arménie suivi de trois mille Perses, et il parvint dans le canton
d'Abahouni[110], non loin des sources du Tigre et de l'Euphrate; là,
au milieu d'une partie de chasse, secondé par ses infâmes
auxiliaires, il surprend le roi sans défense, et il l'emmène prisonnier
avec sa femme et le prince Arsace son fils. Diran fut à peine en la
puissance de son ravisseur, que ce barbare le priva de la vue en lui
faisant passer un charbon ardent sur les yeux; il le conduisit ensuite
dans l'Assyrie où se trouvait Sapor. Les Arméniens, avertis trop tard
du malheur de leur souverain, se mirent à la poursuite du général
persan; mais ils ne purent l'atteindre, et quelques ravages commis
sur le territoire ennemi furent la seule satisfaction qu'ils obtinrent.
Tous les princes et les grands de l'Arménie, fidèles à la cause de
leur patrie, s'assemblèrent pour aviser aux moyens de sauver l'état
des malheurs qui le menaçaient. Ils résolurent d'un commun accord
d'implorer l'assistance des Romains; Arschavir prince de Schirag, et
Antiochus prince de Siounie[111], furent envoyés à Constantinople,
pour y demander du secours. C'est en l'an 337 que cette révolution
arriva. Il est facile de voir qu'elle fut la principale cause de la
déclaration de guerre que Constantin fit aux Perses, et de
l'expédition qu'il entreprit contre eux cette même année. Elle fut
interrompue par sa mort, qui arriva dans ces circonstances; mais elle
fut continuée par Constance, qui était à Antioche quand son père
cessa de vivre. Il y avait seize ans que Diran régnait, quand il fut
aveuglé par le perfide Varaz-schahpour.
[108] Les auteurs arméniens lui donnent le titre de Marzban, c'est-à-dire,
commandant de frontière. C'était une des plus grandes dignités de la Perse. Voyez
mes Mémoires historiques et géographiques sur l'Arménie, t. 1, p. 320.—S.-M.
[109] Ce pays nommé Aderbadagan par les Arméniens et par les anciens Perses,
répond à l'Aderbaïdjan des modernes, il comprenait toute la partie montagneuse
de la Médie, limitrophe de l'Arménie. Voyez Mémoires histor. et géogr. sur
l'Arménie, t. i, p. 128 et 129.—S.-M.
[110] Voyez Mémoires sur l'Arménie, t. i, p. 100.—S.-M.
[111] La Siounie était une des provinces de l'Arménie orientale; elle formait une
principauté particulière, qui se conserva dans la même famille, jusqu'à la fin du
douzième siècle. Voyez Mémoires sur l'Arménie, t. i, p. 142 et 143.—S.-M.
—Cependant le roi de Perse n'avait pas perdu de
temps pour entrer dans l'Arménie, secondé par les Faust. Byz. Hist.
traîtres qui l'avaient appelé; il n'eut pas de peine à d'Arm. l. 3, c. 20
envahir tout le pays, et les princes fidèles n'eurent et 21. Mos.
Choren. Hist.
pas d'autre ressource que de se sauver sur le Arm. l. 3, c. 18.
territoire romain, où ils trouvèrent un asile. Sapor
prit des ôtages pour s'assurer de la soumission des princes, qui
n'avaient pas quitté leur pays; puis il en confia le gouvernement à sa
créature Vaghinag, parent du prince de Siounie, à qui il confia aussi
le commandement de l'armée, chargée de défendre la frontière
orientale de l'Arménie, et il en dépouilla le prince Amadounien[112]
Vahan. Il porta ensuite ses armes sur les terres de l'empire[113]. Les
Arméniens qui s'y étaient réfugiés rallièrent toutes leurs forces, et
secondés par des troupes romaines, ils furent bientôt en mesure de
reprendre l'offensive. L'empereur et les fugitifs arméniens vinrent
camper à Satala[114], dans la partie septentrionale de la petite
Arménie sur les bords de l'Euphrate, d'où ils se mirent en marche
pour pénétrer dans la grande Arménie; arrivés dans la province de
Pasen[115], au nord de l'Araxes, ils y rencontrèrent les Perses, qui
furent complètement défaits auprès d'un bourg nommé Oskha.
L'avantage fut si décisif, que les ennemis furent obligés
d'abandonner toute l'Arménie. L'empereur en confia l'administration
à Arschavir et à Antiochus[116]. Tous les princes qui s'étaient bien
conduits furent comblés de présents, et magnifiquement
récompensés par Constance.
[112] C'est le nom d'une famille de dynastes ou princes arméniens, qui passaient
pour descendre d'une race juive venue de la Médie vers le premier siècle de notre
ère. Voy. Moïse de Khoren, l. 2, c. 54.—S.-M.
[113] C'est à cette époque que les Arméniens, alliés de Sapor, firent sur le territoire
romain les incursions dont parle Julien (orat. 1, p. 18 et 19, ed. Spanh.). Si l'on
s'en rapportait au témoignage sans doute bien exagéré de l'historien arménien
Moïse de Khoren (l. 3, c. 18), Sapor aurait à cette époque pénétré jusque dans la
Bithynie.—S.-M.
[114] Cette ville se nomme en arménien Sadagh.—S.-M.
[115] Province de l'Arménie centrale, qui fut appelée Phasiane par les Grecs du
moyen âge, et sur laquelle on peut voir les Mémoires historiques et géographiques
sur l'Arménie, t. 1, p. 107.—S.-M.
[116] Voyez ci-devant p. 402 la note ajoutée au § ix.—S.-M.
—Ces revers, et sans doute le peu de succès qu'il obtenait du côté
de la Mésopotamie et devant Nisibe, portèrent le roi de Perse à
demander la paix, et à ajourner pour le moment ses desseins sur
l'Arménie. L'empereur exigea avant tout la liberté de Diran et de
ceux qui avaient été emmenés captifs avec lui. Sapor, pour montrer
la sincérité de ses intentions, fit écorcher vif Varaz-schahpour, qui
avait été la cause de la guerre, et Diran fut renvoyé avec honneur
dans son royaume; mais ce prince, désormais incapable de régner
par lui-même, refusa de reprendre la couronne. Son fils Arsace fut
alors placé sur le trône par le roi de Perse[117]; pour Diran, il se retira
dans une habitation qu'il avait choisie au pied du mont Arakadz[118],
où il vécut encore long-temps. Quant à son fils, il suivit la politique
versatile de ses prédécesseurs; son élévation, dont il était en partie
redevable au roi de Perse, qui lui avait permis de rentrer en
Arménie, le mit dans la dépendance de ce prince: il fut donc son
tributaire. Par cette conduite il s'éloigna des Romains, dont la
puissante assistance lui avait conservé la couronne. Il ne rompit
cependant jamais entièrement avec eux. Toujours balotté entre les
deux empires, toute la durée de son règne fut une longue série
d'agitations et de troubles fomentés par Sapor, qui ne cessa de
harceler l'Arménie qu'il convoitait. Après la victoire de Constance et
la délivrance de ce royaume, par les troupes romaines, s'il consentit
à laisser remonter Arsace sur le trône de ses aïeux, c'est qu'il sentit
que, avec les pertes qu'il avait éprouvées, il fallait attendre une
occasion plus favorable pour l'accomplissement de ses projets.]—S.-
M.
[117] On pourrait même croire, d'après ce que dit Moïse de Khoren (l. 3, c. 18),
qu'aussitôt après la prise et la mutilation de Diran, Sapor avait fait proclamer roi le
fils de cet infortuné monarque; il serait possible qu'en effet Sapor en eût agi ainsi,
pour faciliter ses succès, pendant qu'il retenait Arsace, dans ses états.—S.-M.
[118] Chaîne de montagnes dans la province d'Ararad au nord de l'Αraxes. Voyez
Mém. sur l'Arménie, t. I, p. 47.—S.-M.
Sapor renfermé dans ses états s'occupa pendant
les deux années suivantes à réparer ses pertes. An 339.
C'était un temps précieux, dont Constance aurait
pu profiter pour prendre ses avantages. Il pouvait xv. Troubles de
se mettre en état d'entamer la Perse à son tour, ou l'arianisme.
du moins, par des mesures bien prises, obliger
Sapor à se tenir sur la défensive. Mais ce prince
Ath. ad monach.
imprudent ne portait pas ses vues dans l'avenir: au
t. i, p. 349. et
lieu de pourvoir à la sûreté de ses états, il passa apol. contr.
ces deux années à brouiller les affaires de l'église, Arian. t. i, p.
et à jeter les semences des troubles dont tout le 140-144.
reste de son règne fut agité. Il se transporte à
Constantinople, et y fait tenir un concile où Paul
Socr. l. 2, c. 7.
est déposé. L'ambition d'Eusèbe fut enfin
couronnée: il se vit installé sur le siége de la Theod. l. 2, c. 3.
nouvelle capitale. Paul se réfugia à Trèves dans la
cour de Constantin, qui servait d'asile aux prélats
Soz. l. 3, c. 3 et
catholiques. Athanase n'était pas en repos à 4.
Alexandrie. Les Ariens y avaient donné un évêque
à leur faction: c'était Pistus, autrefois chassé par
Alexandre, et frappé d'anathème dans le concile Theoph. p. 28.
de Nicée. Il fut ordonné évêque d'Alexandrie par
Sécundus de Ptolémaïs; mais il n'en fit jamais les Vita Pauli, apud
fonctions. Les ennemis d'Athanase mettaient tout Phot. cod. 257.
en œuvre pour séduire le pontife romain, et les
trois empereurs; mais leurs calomnies ne
Vita Ath. in edit.
trouvaient de croyance, que dans l'esprit de Benedict. p. 31
Constance déja préoccupé. Il écrivit au saint prélat et 32.
des lettres pleines de reproches, et n'eut aucun
égard à ses réponses.
Till. Arian. art.
Tandis que la faction arienne dressait toutes ses 27 et 28.
batteries pour perdre Athanase, il fut délivré d'un
de ses plus dangereux ennemis, parce que c'était
xvi. Mort
peut-être le moins déclaré et le plus habile. d'Eusèbe de
Eusèbe de Césarée mourut. Il eut pour successeur Césarée.
son disciple Acacius, surnommé le Borgne; celui-ci
ne fut guère moins savant, ni moins éloquent que
[Socr. l. 2, c. 4.]
son maître: mais il était plus entreprenant. Fier
arien sous Constance, humble catholique sous
Jovien, sa religion se plia toujours à ses intérêts. Soz. l. 3, c. 2.
Les consuls de l'année 340 méritent d'être connus:
c'étaient Acyndinus et Proculus. Le premier, déja Vales. de vit. et
préfet d'Orient depuis deux ans, était un homme script. Euseb.
dur, mais assez équitable pour reconnaître ses
fautes, et pour les réparer à ses propres dépens. An 340.
Pendant qu'il était à Antioche, il condamna à la
prison un habitant qui devait au fisc une livre d'or,
et jura que s'il ne payait dans un certain terme, il le xvii. Consulat
d'Acyndinus et
ferait mourir. Le terme approchait, et le débiteur de Proculus.
était insolvable. Sa femme avait de la beauté. Un
riche citoyen lui proposa d'acquitter sa dette, à Idat. chron.
condition qu'elle se prêterait à sa passion. Mais
elle aimait son mari; elle ne voulut disposer du prix
S. Aug. de
de sa délivrance qu'avec sa permission: le Sermone Dei in
misérable y consentit. Ce honteux trafic eut la fin monte l. 1, c.
qu'il méritait. Le riche libertin ayant donné à cette 16, t. 3, part. 2,
infortunée un sac plein d'or, eut l'adresse de le p. 186.
reprendre et d'y substituer un sac rempli de terre.
Retournée chez elle, dès quelle s'aperçut de la Symm. l. 1,
fraude, désespérée d'avoir commis un crime epist. 1. et app.
inutile, et résolue d'achever de perdre son honneur p. 299.
plutôt que son mari, à qui elle l'avait déja sacrifié,
elle va porter sa plainte au préfet. Acyndinus jugea
God. ad Cod.
qu'il y avait quatre coupables; deux n'étaient que Th. lib. 8, tit. 5,
trop punis par leur honte et par leur malheur: il se leg. 4.
chargea de punir les deux autres; c'étaient le riche
perfide, et lui-même, dont les menaces cruelles
avaient fait naître cette intrigue criminelle. Il Grut. Thes.
prononça que la dette serait acquittée aux dépens Inscript.
o
p. 360,
o
d'Acyndinus, et que la femme serait mise en n 4, p. 361 n
1, 2 et 3, et p.
possession de la terre où le fourbe avait pris de 362 et 363.
quoi la tromper. Cet Acyndinus passa
honorablement sa vieillesse à Baules en
Campanie, où il avait une belle maison de Reines. Inscript.
campagne. L'autre consul Proculus était célèbre Cl. 6, no 122.
par sa naissance, par ses magistratures et par son
mérite personnel. Il était fils de Q. Aradius [Rufinus] Valérius
Proculus, qui avait été gouverneur de la Byzacène. Il fut élevé aux
plus grands emplois[119]. Les inscriptions qui font mention de lui,
disent qu'il était né pour tous les honneurs. Symmaque le fait
descendre des anciens Valérius Publicola, et lui donne la gloire de
soutenir cette illustre origine, par la dignité de ses mœurs, par sa
franchise, sa constance, sa douceur sans faiblesse, et par sa piété
envers les dieux: car il était païen, et revêtu des sacerdoces les plus
distingués.
[119] Outre le gouvernement de la Byzacène, il avait été propréteur de Numidie,
gouverneur de l'Europe, division de la Thrace, de la Sicile, et proconsul d'Afrique.
—S.-M.
Ce fut sous ce consulat que le jeune Constantin se
perdit par son imprudence. La querelle qui s'était xviii. Mort du
élevée entre ce prince et Constant son frère, au jeune
sujet du nouveau partage, s'aigrissait de jour en Constantin.
jour. Un tribun, nommé Amphilochius, de
Paphlagonie, ne cessait d'animer Constant, et le [Eutrop. l. 10.
détournait de tout accommodement. Enfin, Zos. l. 2, c. 41.]
Constantin prit le parti de se faire justice par les
armes, et passa les Alpes. Constant était en Jul. or. 2, p. 94.
Dacie: il envoie ses généraux à la tête d'une ed. Sp.
armée, et se dispose à les suivre avec de plus
grandes forces. Ses capitaines arrivés à la vue de
l'ennemi près d'Aquilée, à la fin de mars ou au Amm. l. 21, c. 6
et 10.
commencement d'avril[120], dressent une
embuscade, et ayant engagé le combat feignent
de prendre la fuite. Les soldats de Constantin Zon. l. 13, t. 2,
s'abandonnent à la poursuite; et bientôt enfermés p. 11.
entre les troupes qui sortent de l'embuscade et les
fuyards qui tournent visage, ils sont taillés en Aur. Vict. epit. p.
pièces. Constantin lui-même, renversé de son 225.
cheval, meurt percé de coups. On lui coupe la tête;
on jette son corps dans le fleuve d'Alsa, qui passe Socr. l. 2, c. 5 et
près d'Aquilée. Il en fut apparemment retiré, 21.
puisqu'on montrait long-temps après son tombeau
de porphyre à Constantinople, dans l'église des
Soz. l. 3, c. 2.
Saints-Apôtres. Il avait vécu près de vingt-cinq
ans, et régné un peu plus de deux ans et demi
depuis la mort de son père. Ayant perdu sa Philost. l. 3, c.
femme, il venait de contracter par députés un 1.
second mariage avec une Espagnole de noble
origine, dont on ne dit ni le nom ni la famille. God. Chron.
Constant profita seul de la dépouille de son frère: il
devint maître de tout l'Occident. Constance moins ambitieux ou plus
timide, se contenta de ce qu'il avait possédé jusqu'alors. Son empire
se terminait au pas de Sucques: c'était un passage
étroit entre le mont Hæmus et le mont Rhodope, Ducange, C. P.
qui séparait la Thrace de l'Illyrie. Le vainqueur l. 4, c. 5 et fam.
déclara nulles les exemptions dont Constantin
avait gratifié plusieurs personnes. La loi qu'il fit à Byz. p. 47.
ce sujet porte le caractère d'une haine dénaturée
qui survivait à son frère: il le qualifie son ennemi et
celui de l'état. Cod. Th. l. 11,
tit. 12, leg. 1.
[120] On voit par une loi du code Théodosien que Constant
était à Aquilée, le 9 avril, après la mort de Constantin.—S.-M.
[Monod. vel Or.
Pendant le règne de Constantin, les trois princes in Const. Jun.
avaient tantôt séparément, tantôt de concert établi mort. p. 10, 11
plusieurs lois utiles. Nous allons en rapporter les et 12.]
principales, en y joignant celles qui ont été
données sur les mêmes objets, jusqu'à la fin du xix. Lois des
règne de Constance. Constantin le Grand avait trois princes.
réprimé l'ambition de ceux qui se procuraient par
argent ou par brigue des titres honorables. Cet
abus subsistait, et ces titres avaient tellement Cod. Th. lib. 3,
tit. 13. leg. 1, 2
multiplié les dispenses et les exemptions, que les et ibid. God. lib.
fonctions municipales couraient risque d'être 6. tit. 4, leg. 3,
abandonnées. Les princes s'efforcèrent de et seq. usque
remédier à ce désordre: ils réglèrent la forme et ad 17, et tit. 22,
l'ordre de la nomination aux offices municipaux; ils leg. 2; lib. 9, tit.
n'en déclarèrent exempts que ceux qui ne 1. leg. 7, et tit.
34, leg. 5, 6; lib.
possédaient pas vingt-cinq arpents de terre, ceux
10, t. 10, leg. 4,
qui seraient entrés dans la cléricature avec le 5, 6, 7 et 8. Lib.
consentement de l'ordre municipal, et un petit 11, tit. 36, leg. 4.
nombre d'autres personnes distinguées par leurs Lib. 12, tit. 1. l.
emplois: ils enjoignirent aux décurions et aux 23 et seq.
magistrats, sous certaines peines, l'exactitude la usque ad 50.
plus scrupuleuse à s'acquitter de leurs obligations Lib. 15, t. 1, leg.
5. Lib. 16, tit. 8,
personnelles; ils prirent des mesures pour prévenir leg. 6, 7.
l'anéantissement du sénat des villes, et pour
remplir les places vacantes; afin d'encourager ces
utiles citoyens, ils renouvelèrent leurs priviléges. Cod. Just. lib. 2,
t. 58 leg. 1. Lib.
Les donations du prince prédécesseur, souvent 6, tit. 9, leg. 9,
attaquées sous un nouveau règne, furent et tit. 23, leg. 15
confirmées, mais on soumit à l'examen les et tit. 37, l. 21.
exemptions accordées par les gouverneurs. Le
massacre de la famille impériale, et la confiscation Tac. ann. l. 12,
des biens de ceux qu'on avait massacrés, faisaient c. 7.
naître mille accusations contre les personnes, mille
chicanes sur les biens: les empereurs en Suet. in Claud.
arrêtèrent le cours par de sages lois; ce ne fut que c. 26.
dans les dix dernières années de la vie de
Constance, que ce prince prêta l'oreille aux
délateurs. Constantin avait proscrit les libelles Idem,c. 22.
in Domit.
anonymes; ses fils n'en témoignèrent pas moins
d'horreur; ils défendirent aux juges d'y avoir égard:
On doit, dit une loi de Constance, regarder comme Dio. Cass. l. 68,
innocent celui qui, ayant des ennemis, n'a point § 2, t. i, p. 1119.
d'accusateur. Constance confirma les lois de son
père contre l'adultère; il porta même encore plus Soz. l. 1, c. 8.
loin la sévérité, en condamnant les coupables à
être brûlés, ou cousus dans un sac et jetés dans la mer, comme les
parricides; il ne leur laissa pas même la ressource de l'appel, quand
ils étaient manifestement convaincus. Les formules de droit, dont
l'exactitude syllabique rendait tous les actes épineux, furent abolies.
Afin de ne pas laisser languir l'innocence dans les prisons,
Constance ne donna aux juges que l'espace d'un mois pour instruire
les procès des prisonniers, sous peine d'être eux-mêmes punis. On
voit dans ce prince une grande attention à procurer au peuple de
Constantinople les divertissements du théâtre et du cirque, et à en
régler la dépense qui devait être faite par les préteurs. Julien lui
reproche une haine déclarée contre les Juifs: en effet, il leur défendit
sous peine de mort d'épouser des femmes chrétiennes; et il ordonna
que les chrétiens qui se feraient Juifs, fussent punis par la
confiscation de leurs biens. Mais une loi célèbre de Constance,
datée de l'an 339, est celle par laquelle il défend, sous peine de
mort, les mariages d'un oncle avec la fille du frère ou de la sœur, et
tout commerce criminel entre ces mêmes personnes. Ces alliances
étaient prohibées par les anciennes lois romaines. Mais lorsque
l'empereur Claude voulut épouser Agrippine, fille de son frère
Germanicus, le sénat, pour sauver l'infamie de l'inceste à ce prince
stupide et voluptueux, avait déclaré par un arrêt qu'il serait permis
d'épouser la fille d'un frère; et par une distinction bizarre, qui
indiquait assez le motif du relâchement, on n'avait pas étendu cette
permission à la fille de la sœur. Il ne tint qu'à Domitien de prendre
pour femme la fille de Titus son frère; il aima mieux la laisser
épouser à Sabinus, la corrompre ensuite, tuer son mari, vivre
licentieusement avec elle, et lui procurer enfin la mort. Nerva rappela
les anciennes lois; mais bientôt l'abus reprit le dessus, et se maintint
jusqu'à l'établissement de la religion chrétienne. Sozomène dit en
général, que Constantin défendit les unions contraires à l'honnêteté
publique, qui étaient auparavant tolérées: mais nous n'avons de lui
aucune loi précise contre les mariages des oncles et des nièces.
Constance y attacha la peine de mort, qui fut modérée par
l'empereur Arcadius. Ces alliances ont été depuis ce temps-là
regardées comme incestueuses. Constance défendit aussi
d'épouser la veuve d'un frère, ou la sœur d'une première femme, et
déclara illégitimes les enfants sortis de ces mariages.
La mort du jeune Constantin privait Athanase de
son plus zélé protecteur. Les Ariens renouvelèrent xx. Nouvelles
leurs efforts pour enlever encore au saint évêque calomnies
l'appui de Constant: ils ne réussirent ni auprès de contre saint
Athanase.
lui ni auprès du pape, qu'ils tâchèrent aussi
d'ébranler. Silvestre était mort le dernier jour de
l'année 335. Marc lui avait succédé, et n'avait vécu Ath. apol. contr.
que jusqu'au mois d'octobre suivant. Jules, élu le 6 Arian. t. i, p.
février 337, était alors assis sur la chaire de saint 140-154, et ad
monach. p. 350.
Pierre. C'était un pontife qui savait allier la douceur
d'un pasteur avec la fermeté d'un chef de l'église;
digne successeur de tant de saints et de tant de Bar. an 339.
martyrs. Les Ariens lui députèrent un prêtre et
deux diacres: ils lui envoyèrent les actes du Pagi, ad Baron.
concile de Tyr, comme un monument de leur
triomphe; ils ajoutaient de nouvelles calomnies.
L'évêque d'Alexandrie, instruit de leurs démarches, Hermant, vie de
rassembla pour sa défense toutes les forces que S. Ath. l. 5, c. 5.
l'église avait dans l'Égypte, dans la Pentapole et vie de Jules, art.
dans la Libye. Près de cent évêques se rendirent à 2, 1.
Alexandrie: tous, d'un accord unanime,
souscrivirent une lettre adressée au pape et à tous les évêques
catholiques du monde. Athanase y était pleinement justifié contre
toutes les accusations anciennes et nouvelles. Celles-ci roulaient sur
trois chefs: il avait, disaient ses ennemis, violé les canons de l'église
en rentrant dans son siége; déposé par un concile, il fallait un
concile pour le rétablir; de plus, le peuple d'Alexandrie ne l'avait reçu
qu'à regret; il ne s'était remis en possession que par la force et par le
carnage; enfin il détournait à son profit les sommes que Constantin
avait consacrées à la subsistance des pauvres de l'Égypte et de
l'Afrique: cette dernière accusation était appuyée d'une lettre de
Constance. Tels étaient les nouveaux reproches des Ariens. Le
concile d'Alexandrie détruisait le premier chef, en faisant voir que le
prétendu concile de Tyr n'avait été qu'un conventicule d'hérétiques,
présidé par un comte, inspiré par la cabale, guidé par la violence: il
donnait le démenti aux accusateurs sur les deux autres articles; les
témoins du rétablissement d'Athanase déposaient de
l'empressement et de la joie qui avaient éclaté à son retour; et sa
fidélité dans la distribution des aumônes était prouvée par
l'attestation des évêques qu'il avait employés à ce pieux ministère.
Les députés du concile chargés de cette lettre eurent, en présence
du pape, avec les envoyés des Ariens une conférence, dont ils
remportèrent tout l'avantage. Les uns et les autres offrirent de s'en
remettre à la décision d'un nouveau concile qui serait tenu à Rome,
et auquel le pape présiderait. Jules accepta la proposition; il indiqua
le concile; mais il refusa de donner audience à Pistus, que la cabale
avait nommé évêque d'Alexandrie. Les députés d'Eusèbe n'espérant
rien d'une affaire traitée dans les règles, et confus du peu de succès
de leurs intrigues, partirent précipitamment de Rome. Le pape
envoya à Athanase une copie des actes de Tyr, afin qu'il se préparât
à se justifier.
Il n'était pas question d'apologie. Constance
voulait qu'Athanase fût coupable; il rougissait An 341.
secrètement d'avoir été forcé par ses frères de lui
rendre justice; il prétendait s'en venger sur Athanase même; et la
mort du jeune Constantin lui en laissait plus de
liberté. L'année suivante, sous le consulat de xxi. Concile
Marcellinus et de Probinus, il assembla dans la d'Antioche.
ville d'Antioche un grand nombre de prélats, pour y
célébrer la dédicace de la grande église, appelée Ath. apol. contr.
l'Église d'or. Ce superbe édifice, commencé par le Arian. t. i, p. 144
grand Constantin, était enfin achevé. Constance et 148, et de
assista à cette brillante cérémonie avec plus de Synod. p. 735,
quatre-vingt-dix évêques, tous de ses états. La 736 et 737.
dédicace fut suivie d'un concile, qui fait encore
aujourd'hui un sujet de dispute. Les canons qu'il Socr. l. 2, c. 8.
composa, ont été reçus de toute l'Église: les trois
professions de foi qui y furent dressées ne
renferment rien que d'orthodoxe, quoique la Soz. l. 3, c. 5.
première contienne quelques propositions
équivoques, et que le terme de consubstantiel n'y Theoph. p. 30.
soit pas exprimé, non plus que dans les deux
autres. D'habiles critiques distinguent deux parties Pagi, ad Baron.
dans ce concile: il fut d'abord composé de tous les
évêques qui étaient venus à Antioche, et dont la
plupart étaient catholiques: les professions de foi, Schelstr. de
les canons et la lettre synodique sont leur ouvrage. sacro Antioch.
concil. Vita Ath.
Mais après le concile quarante prélats ariens, in edit.
dévoués aux volontés de l'empereur, restèrent Benedict. p. 33
assemblés: c'était là dans l'intention de Constance et 34.
le vrai concile; la cérémonie et la convocation des
autres prélats n'avaient servi que de prétexte. Ils
Till. Arian. art.
voulurent signaler la dédicace de l'église 30, 31, et 32.
d'Antioche par la condamnation de leur plus
redoutable adversaire, comme ils avaient six ans
auparavant signalé la dédicace de l'église de Chron. temp.
Jérusalem par la réception d'Arius leur maître. La Ath. ex
Mamachio.
sentence de déposition prononcée à Tyr fut
renouvelée. On avait déja nommé Pistus pour remplir le siége
d'Alexandrie; mais il fut oublié comme incapable de soutenir un rôle
si important. On jeta les yeux sur Eusèbe d'Édesse, homme savant,
instruit par Eusèbe de Césarée, et Arien décidé. Il était trop habile
pour accepter une place où il ne pouvait se flatter de réussir. Dans
un voyage qu'il avait fait à Alexandrie, il avait été témoin de l'amour
du peuple pour Athanase. Il refusa. On le fit dans la suite évêque
d'Émèse; il passa pour un saint parmi ceux de sa secte; Constance
le menait avec lui dans ses expéditions, et se conduisait par ses avis
dans les choses qui regardaient l'église.
Au refus d'Eusèbe, on nomma Grégoire. Né en
Cappadoce, il avait fait ses études à Alexandrie. xxii. Grégoire
La reconnaissance, s'il en eût été capable, l'aurait intrus sur le
attaché à la personne d'Athanase, qui l'avait traité siége
comme son fils. Mais ni les études d'Alexandrie, ni d'Alexandrie.
les bienfaits d'Athanase n'avaient adouci la
rudesse de ses mœurs, et la grossièreté naturelle Ath. ad orth. t. i,
au pays de sa naissance. Personne n'était plus p. 112 et apol.
propre à seconder les desseins violents et contr. Arian. p.
sanguinaires de ceux qui l'avaient choisi. Il part, et 149, ad
monach. p. 350-
Constance le fait accompagner de Philagrius qu'il 352.
nomme préfet d'Égypte une seconde fois, et de
l'eunuque Arsace, avec une troupe de soldats.
C'était ce même Philagrius, dont j'ai parlé au sujet Greg. Naz. or.
des informations faites dans la Maréotique 21, t. i, p. 380.
pendant le concile de Tyr: il était Cappadocien
comme Grégoire; et sa cruauté armée des ordres Socr. l. 2, c. 8,
du prince s'empressait d'éclater en faveur d'un 9, 10 et 11.
compatriote[121]. Ils arrivèrent à la fin du carême
de l'an 342. L'église d'Égypte était alors dans un Theod. l. 2, c. 4.
calme profond, et les fidèles se préparaient à la
fête de Pâques par les jeûnes et par les prières. Le
Soz. l. 3, c. 5 et
préfet fait afficher un édit, qui déclare que Grégoire 6.
de Cappadoce est nommé successeur d'Athanase,
et qui menace des plus rigoureux châtiments ceux
qui oseront s'opposer à son installation. L'alarme Chronolog.
se répand aussitôt: on s'étonne de l'irrégularité du temp. Ath. ex
procédé; on s'écrie que ni le peuple, ni le clergé, ni Mamachio.
les évêques n'ont porté de plainte contre Athanase, que Grégoire
n'amène avec lui que des Ariens, qu'il est arien lui-même et envoyé
par l'arien Eusèbe. On s'adresse aux magistrats: toute la ville retentit
de murmures, de protestations, de cris d'indignation.
[121] Saint Grégoire de Nazianze parle cependant (orat. 21, t. i, p. 390 et 391) en
termes honorables de ce préfet.—S.-M.
Pendant ce tumulte, Grégoire entre comme dans
une ville prise d'assaut. Les païens, les Juifs, les xxiii. Violences
gens sans religion et sans honneur, attirés par à l'arrivée de
Philagrius, se joignent aux soldats. Cette troupe Grégoire.
insolente, armée d'épées et de massues, force
l'église de Cyrinus, où les fidèles s'étaient réfugiés comme dans un
asyle: on met le feu au baptistère; on le souille par les plus horribles
abominations. On dépouille les vierges, on leur fait mille outrages;
quelques-uns les traînent par les cheveux, et les forcent de renoncer
à Jésus-Christ, ou les mettent en pièces. Les moines sont foulés aux
pieds, meurtris de coups, massacrés, assommés. Grégoire pour
récompenser le zèle des Juifs et des païens, leur abandonnait le
pillage des églises; et ces impies non contents d'en enlever les
vases et les meubles, profanaient la table sacrée par des oblations
sacriléges. Ce n'était que blasphèmes, que feux allumés pour brûler
les livres saints, qu'images affreuses de la mort. Les Ariens, au lieu
d'arrêter ces excès, traînaient eux-mêmes les prêtres, les vierges,
les laïcs devant les tribunaux qu'ils avaient établis pour servir leur
fureur; on condamnait les uns à la prison, les autres à l'esclavage;
d'autres étaient frappés de verges; on retranchait aux ministres de
l'église le pain des distributions, et on les laissait mourir de faim. Le
vendredi saint, Grégoire, accompagné d'un duc païen nommé
Balacius, entre dans une église; irrité de voir que les fidèles ne le
regardaient qu'avec horreur, il anime contre eux l'humeur barbare de
ce duc, qui fait saisir et fouetter publiquement trente-quatre
personnes, tant vierges que femmes mariées et hommes libres.
Philagrius avait ordre de Constance de faire trancher la tête à
Athanase; les Ariens se flattaient de le surprendre dans un lieu de
retraite, où il avait coutume de passer une partie de ce saint temps:
mais il s'était retiré ailleurs. La sainteté du jour de Pâques ne fut pas
respectée; et tandis que le reste de l'église célébrait avec joie la
rédemption du genre humain, celle d'Alexandrie éprouvait toutes les
rigueurs de la plus dure captivité. Philagrius ayant pillé les églises,
les livrait à Grégoire qui en prenait possession; et les fidèles étaient
réduits à la nécessité de s'en interdire l'entrée, ou de communiquer
avec les Ariens. On ne baptisait plus les catholiques; leurs malades
expiraient sans consolation spirituelle: la privation des sacrements
de l'église était pour eux plus affligeante que la mort même; mais ils
aimaient mieux mourir sans ces secours salutaires, que de sentir sur
leurs têtes les mains sacriléges et meurtrières des Ariens. Grégoire,
altéré du sang d'Athanase, se vengea de sa fuite sur la tante de ce
saint prélat, qu'il accabla de mauvais traitements. Elle ne put y
survivre; il défendit qu'on l'enterrât; et elle serait restée sans
sépulture, si des personnes animées d'un esprit de charité n'eussent
dérobé son corps à ce persécuteur opiniâtre.
Il est vrai que Constance n'avait pas ordonné ces
cruautés; mais il ne devait pas ignorer que les xxiv.
souverains sont heureux quand le bien qu'ils Précautions
commandent est à demi exécuté, et que le mal pour cacher ces
qu'ils permettent est toujours porté fort au-delà de excès à
l'empereur.
ce qu'ils ont permis. Grégoire et Philagrius en
vinrent eux-mêmes à craindre que l'empereur ne condamnât de si
étranges excès. Pour lui en ôter la connaissance, Grégoire d'un côté
attribuait à Athanase tous les maux dont il était l'auteur; c'était sur ce
ton qu'il écrivait à Constance; et le prince abusé par sa propre
prévention ajoutait foi à ces mensonges. D'un autre côté, le préfet
défendit sous les plus terribles menaces aux navigateurs qui
partaient d'Alexandrie, de rien dire de ce qu'ils avaient vu; il les
contraignit même de se charger de lettres, où la vérité était
entièrement défigurée; et ceux qui refusèrent de se prêter à
l'imposture, furent tourmentés et retenus dans les fers. Il supposa un
décret du peuple d'Alexandrie conçu dans les termes les plus
odieux, et adressé à l'empereur, par lequel il paraissait qu'Athanase
avait mérité non pas l'exil, mais mille morts. Ce décret fut signé par
des païens, par des Juifs, et par les Ariens qui les mettaient en
œuvre.
Après s'être rendu maître de la capitale, le nouveau conquérant
songea à réduire toute la province. Grégoire se mit en marche avec
Philagrius et Balacius, pour faire la visite des
églises d'Égypte. Environné d'un cortége brillant, il xxv. Les
ne témoignait que du mépris aux ecclésiastiques; catholiques
mais il prodiguait les égards aux officiers de maltraités par
l'empereur et aux magistrats. Assis sur un tribunal toute l'Égypte
entre le duc et le préfet, il faisait traîner devant lui
les évêques, les moines, les vierges; il les Ath. ad monach.
exhortait en deux mots, ou plutôt il leur ordonnait t. i, p. 350; et
de communiquer avec lui. Sur leur refus, affectant vit. Anton. p.
la contenance d'un juge, cet hypocrite impitoyable 859 et 860.
les faisait, avec un sang-froid plus cruel que la
colère, déchirer de verges et meurtrir de coups: les plus favorisés en
étaient quittes pour la prison ou pour l'exil. L'évêque Potamon,
célèbre confesseur, l'un des pères de Nicée, et qui avait perdu un
œil dans la persécution de Maximin, fut frappé à coups de bâton sur
le col jusqu'à être laissé pour mort; et il en mourut peu de jours
après. Grégoire, ayant reçu une lettre de saint Antoine, qui le
menaçait de la colère de Dieu, la donna avec mépris à Balacius;
celui-ci la jeta par terre, cracha dessus, maltraita les envoyés du
saint, et les chargea de dire à leur maître, qu'il allait incessamment
lui rendre visite. Cinq jours après, Balacius, ayant été mordu par un
de ses chevaux, mourut en trois jours. Cette persécution continua,
mais avec moins de violence, pendant les cinq années que Grégoire
occupa le siége d'Alexandrie.
L'Égypte n'était pas le seul théâtre de ces
sanglantes tragédies. Marcel d'Ancyre, Asclepas xxvi. Violences
de Gaza, Lucius d'Andrinople [Hadrianopolis] exercées
furent chassés de leurs siéges. Constance, à la ailleurs.
requête d'Eusèbe, condamna à mort Théodule et
Olympius, l'un évêque de Trajanopolis, l'autre Ath. apol. contr.
d'Énos, villes de Thrace. Comme ils avaient pris la Arian. t. i, p.
fuite, il ordonna qu'ils fussent exécutés partout où 146.
on les pourrait trouver; et l'on vit, dit un auteur
judicieux, par une procédure si contraire à la Hermant, vie
liberté de l'église et aux sentiments de l'humanité, d'Ath. l. 5, c. 18.
que les hérétiques ne respiraient que la mort et le
sang de leurs frères. Ces deux évêques échappèrent à cette
proscription cruelle.
Athanase, du fond de sa retraite, portait aux Ariens
des coups mortels. Il écrivit à tous les évêques xxvii. Athanase
orthodoxes une lettre circulaire, pleine d'éloquence va à Rome.
et de dignité. Elle commence par un trait sublime,
qui seul peut faire sentir la beauté et la vigueur du Ath. ad orth. t. i,
génie de ce grand personnage. Il se compare à ce p. 110-118, et
lévite qui, voyant le corps de sa femme, victime ad monach. p.
des plus horribles outrages, le coupa en douze 350 et 352.
parts et les envoya aux tribus d'Israël. Sa lettre
n'excita pas moins d'indignation contre ces Socr. l. 2, c. 11
nouveaux Benjaminites, qui avaient souillé par tant et 15.
de forfaits l'église d'Alexandrie. Le pape Jules,
résolu de tenir le concile, que les députés
d'Eusèbe avaient eux-mêmes proposé, manda Theod. l. 2, c. 4.
Athanase, qui se rendit aussitôt à Rome. Eutropia,
sœur du grand Constantin, le reçut avec honneur; Judic. c. 19, v.
et pendant dix-huit mois qu'il attendit ses 29.
accusateurs, il répandit dans l'Occident les
premières semences de la vie monastique, qui fleurissait déja dans
les déserts d'Égypte et de Syrie. Jules ouvrit les bras aux évêques
persécutés, mais il rejeta l'arien Carponas et les autres députés, que
lui envoyait Grégoire pour lui demander sa communion. Ces
funestes divisions semblaient sur le point d'être terminées par le
jugement du synode, auquel les deux partis avaient offert de se
soumettre. Il ne manquait plus que les évêques d'Orient qui devaient
comparaître en qualité d'accusateurs. Le pape les envoya inviter par
les prêtres Elpidius et Philoxène. Mais ces prélats, faisant réflexion
que ce concile serait un jugement purement ecclésiastique; qu'on n'y
verrait ni comte, ni gouverneur, ni soldats; et que les décisions n'y
seraient pas dictées par l'ordre du prince, refusèrent de s'y rendre.
Ils prirent pour prétexte de leur refus la crainte qu'ils avaient des
Perses; et ces prélats, qui feignaient de n'oser aller à Rome au-delà
de la mer, où les Perses n'étaient nullement à craindre, couraient
comme des furieux tout l'Orient, et allaient jusque sur la frontière de
Perse chercher leurs adversaires, et les chasser de leurs églises.
Afin d'éluder le concile, ils retinrent à Antioche les députés du pape,
jusqu'après le terme de la convocation.
Dans cet intervalle mourut Eusèbe. Il n'avait joui
que trois ans de la qualité d'évêque de xxviii. Paul
Constantinople, qu'il avait achetée par tant rétabli et chassé
d'années de crimes. Le parti arien faisait une de nouveau.
grande perte; mais il trouvait encore des
ressources dans l'opiniâtreté inflexible de Théognis Socr. l. 2, c. 12
de Nicée, de Maris de Chalcédoine, et de et 13.
Théodore d'Héraclée. C'étaient des vieillards
consommés dans les intrigues de l'hérésie, Soz. l. 3, c. 6.
auxquels s'étaient joints depuis peu deux jeunes
prélats, ignorants, mais bouillants et téméraires,
Ursacius, évêque de Singidunum dans la haute Liban. Basil. t.
Mésie, et Valens, évêque de Mursa dans la basse 2, p. 127, ed.
Morel.
Pannonie[122]. Après la mort d'Eusèbe, la discorde
se ralluma entre les partisans de Paul et ceux de
Macédonius. Les catholiques prétendaient rétablir Theoph. p. 35 et
Paul injustement dépossédé. Les Ariens, ayant à 36.
leur tête Théognis et Théodore, installèrent
Macédonius: les esprits s'échauffèrent; on en vint Phot. vita Pauli,
aux armes, et plusieurs citoyens périrent de part et cod. 257.
d'autre. Constance était à Antioche[123]. Averti de
ce désordre, il ordonna à Hermogène, général de Cedren. t. i, p.
la cavalerie qu'il envoyait en Thrace, de passer à 298 et 302.
Constantinople, et de chasser Paul de la ville.
Hermogène, à la tête de ses cavaliers, va arracher Chron. temp.
Paul de l'église où il s'était retiré; le peuple se Ath. ex
soulève, attaque les soldats; le général se sauve Mamachio.
dans une maison; on y met le feu; on égorge
Hermogène; on traîne son corps par les pieds dans les rues de la
ville, et on le jette à la mer. A cette nouvelle, Constance enflammé
de colère monte à cheval; c'était la saison de l'hiver; il accourt en
diligence à Constantinople, malgré les pluies et les neiges; il ne
respire que punition et que vengeance. Mais à son arrivée, touché
de voir le sénat et le peuple fondants en larmes et prosternés à ses
pieds, il fit grace de la vie à tous, et se contenta, pour châtier la ville,
de lui retrancher la moitié des quatre-vingt mille mesures de blé,
qu'on distribuait tous les jours au peuple en conséquence de
l'établissement de Constantin. Il chassa Paul, mais sans confirmer
l'élection de Macédonius, dont il était mécontent, parce qu'il avait eu
part à la première sédition, et parce qu'il s'était fait ordonner évêque
sans avoir pris l'agrément de l'empereur. Il lui permit cependant de
faire les fonctions épiscopales dans l'église où il avait été ordonné,
et repartit ensuite pour Antioche.
[122] Socrate place au contraire cette ville dans la haute Pannonie, Οὺάλης
Μουρσῶν τῆς ἄνω Παννονίας; il est d'accord en cela avec l'auteur de l'Itinéraire de
Bordeaux à Jérusalem, qui vivait vers la même époque. La Pannonie se divisait en
deux provinces, distinguées en première et seconde; celle-ci, où se trouvaient les
villes de Sirmium, de Cibalis et de Mursa, était ordinairement nommée Pannonie
inférieure, mais quelques auteurs, comme on vient de le voir, l'appelaient
supérieure, tandis qu'ils réservaient le nom d'inférieure à la première Pannonie.
On peut consulter, à ce sujet, Henri de Valois, sur Ammien Marcellin, l. 16, cap.
10, et Wesseling, sur l'Itinéraire de Jérusalem (apud Itineraria Romanorum vetera,
p. 561).—S.-M.
[123] Des lois de ce prince nous apprennent qu'il était à Antioche le 5 avril et le 11
mai 342.—S.-M.
Paul, exilé d'abord à Singara en Mésopotamie, eut
la liberté de revenir à Thessalonique. Il alla bientôt xxix. Athanase
chercher un asyle dans la cour de Constant. Les va trouver
Ariens avaient inutilement tenté de gagner ce Constant.
prince. Il chérissait Athanase, et respectait sa vertu
héroïque et son grand savoir. Quoique peu réglé Socr. l. 2, c. 17,
dans ses mœurs, il aimait la vérité; il la cherchait 18 et 19.
dans les livres saints, et il s'était adressé à
l'évêque d'Alexandrie pour les avoir dans une Theod. l. 2, c. 4.
forme commode, parce que les Égyptiens
s'entendaient mieux que les autres à copier et à
relier les livres. Athanase lui écrivit; il lui fit une Soz. l. 3, c. 9.
peinture touchante de la guerre cruelle des Ariens
contre l'Église; il lui rappela le grand concile de Theoph. p. 36.
Nicée, et le zèle de son père qui avait formé cette
sainte assemblée. Cette lettre fit verser des larmes au jeune prince,