In 628, the Byzantine emperor Heraclius, having traveled more than 1,600 kilometers from Constantinople to Ctesiphon, crushed the Persian Empire at Nineveh. For six long years, almost without respite, the goal of the great ruler was to return the True Cross, then the largest relic in the entire Christian world, to the Byzantine Empire.

“Here it is,  emperor!” said the soldier excitedly, who, running out of the Persian palace, came to me carrying the Cross in his hands. As tears poured down his cheeks, he kissed it devoutly and handed it to me. I also kissed it and leaned it against my chest. There are no words to describe this feeling. It was as if the whole divine light and goodness permeated me as I tightened the Cross against my chest. Then I lifted it high to heaven, and the joyful cries of my warriors and tears of joy greeted our holy relic. It is ours, our gracious Lord! In the hands of Christians. It had been in the hands of unbelievers for almost fourteen years, and now we will bring it back to Constantinople with numerous honors and great joy. For six years, my warriors followed me on a long and difficult path. Now, here, I can see how the fatigue from their faces disappears and how the wounds on their soul and body heal. We are returning, to Constantinople,  and bringing you the greatest treasure of all!
Many years ago we stood, my father Heraclius, and I, whose name I myself bear, on the coast of Carthage in the early evening. The wind from afar, probably from Sicily, brought the scent of olives and ripe black grape clusters from which wine would flow, the best wine of all.
“Whose ship is that in the distance? Is it Phoenician?” my father asked me, straining his tired old eyes.
“Yes father, it’s Phoenician, ” I lied.
His face reflected fatigue from all the wars on the battlefield, even in the hidden depths of his soul. When he spoke to me, I saw that he was overwhelmed with sadness.
“Son, times have never been worse. Look at our Eastern Empire. The Persians came to Chalcedon, about to set foot in Constantinople with their ungodly foot. The illiterate Phocas sits
on the throne. What did our rulers do after Justinian? Justinian lost Dara and Tiberius lost Sirmium. Slavs are invading with all their ferocity! What will happen to our Holy Kingdom?”

His gaze wandered east again. I knew that he was in his thoughts on the streets of Constantinople, in front of the altar of Hagia Sophia, in the squares and markets of the big city. I did not interrupt him in his thoughts, but a restlessness moved into my soul as well. I was almost ashamed. I, the son of the great war leader and exarch of Carthage, stood helpless before his despair.
“We will save the Empire “! he said decisively, interrupting my thinking. “Phocas must be overthrown! Prepare the fleet. You, my son, will sit on the throne of the Eastern Empire!”
The Carthaginian people were roused by the desire of their ruler to restore the old
splendor of the Empire. We congregated in port to repair and equip our ships for the great battle.
When that day came, my father presented the icon of the Virgin and under her protection, we headed for Constantinople.
And it was the will of God that we should conquer it, that the unfortunate little officer Phocas should be overthrown from power, and that I, the servant of God of Heraclius, should sit on the throne of the Eastern Empire.

But that was only the beginning of the troubles of a young ruler. Were it not for the wise counsel of my father, all would have turned sour. For times were hard indeed. Much of the territory once occupied by our famous emperor Justinian fell into the hands of barbarians. From the east came the Avars, and from north the Persians. Savage Slavs ravaged the Balkans. One day news came that Damascus had fallen.
A great concern was reflected on my father’s face.
“Jerusalem will fall”, he said with a trembling voice, “our holy city will fall into the hands of unbelievers. They will take the Cross, our True Cross, our holy relic!”
“I will raise an army…”I began.
“No, my son “, he interrupted me, “it is late, Jerusalem will fall in a few days, and then Alexandria. Be wise and wait”
For the first time in my life, I disagreed with my father. I walked through the imperial chambers in disgrace, torn apart by the pain of a man who has lost and carried by the desire to disobey my father’s advice and leave immediately.
“I’ve been through many battles, “I heard his voice behind me. “It is not difficult for a warrior to go from one battle to another. You are carried by the warrior’s fervor, triumphant pride, and the feeling that your ancestors and all the heavenly powers are with you. You feel neither fatigue nor pain,  even though you know that tomorrow you must draw your sword again. The hardest thing, my son, is to pick up the sword you have retired back up again. The one which, cleaned and anointed with oil, stands hanging on the wall and waits. When you take that sword in your hands, you immediately feel old pains, ones that you did not feel in the midst of battle. “
He paused for a moment as if giving me time to understand his story.
“Let them enjoy the victory, let them return to their Kingdom, and let them hang their swords. And you sit on your throne like an emperor who lost one battle and starts winning others, those that are won by wisdom, not by the sword. Give the old splendor back to our Empire. “
So I started the transformation in all fields. But my soul wandered the way by which our True Cross was taken to some Persian city.
The time for my journey was drawing near. I strengthened the navy and multiplied my troops. In order to leave the capital as safely as possible, I calmed the Avars with money and strengthened the city’s defense against the Slavs. When that day came, my father handed me the sword and said, “You have a long way to go, son. We will not see each other for a long time and I do not know if I will live to see our Cross. But I know that Constantinople will!”

He blessed me with his holy elderly hand and I set out from Chalcedon on a long and difficult journey to retrieve the True Cross.
Here I am six years later, standing at my father’s grave. There is still joy while our Cross is being carried through the streets of Constantinople. It was a long and difficult fight. We broke the Persian Empire at Nineveh and took back our relic. But do I need to tell my father this story? He knows it by heart. Can I now sit on the throne as the Emperor who has won all the battles?

No answer comes forth, and I’m uncertain. I will hang up my sword and I hope that apart from this particular pain, which I feel now at my father’s grave, none of the old ones shall return.