The Sign of The Blood

by Laurence OBryan

“Then we must give your father what he desires and keep our long-standing promise to you as well. But first.” He released Constantine’s arm, then patted it, as one might a wayward client’s. “You will swear to a few small conditions.”

  Constantine kept his face as expressionless as he could. “Emperor, you can always be assured of my loyalty, and my family’s loyalty.”

  Galerius looked amused. Such a promise was the very least he expected.

  “Yes, yes, but you must also promise to help rid all our lands of any threat to the peace of the empire. And you will swear to never make war against me, or against those I command, and finally, but most importantly, you will make no claim to be your father's successor, unless I agree in advance. Swear these conditions in front of these witnesses and you will be free to go to your father.”

  Constantine felt the weight of the moment stiffen the air around them. But now, at last, as the moment of his freedom came near, he felt no joy. All his years in the east had passed so quickly. There was much he would miss. Galerius’ conditions didn’t bother him. They were no worse than he’d expected. And between Galerius’ words there were enough openings for many things to pass. The prize he'd waited so long for, his freedom, was within his grasp, and it was ironic that after all this time the key to it lay in words alone. He felt numb. Was it going to be this easy? He raised his hand.

  “I swear to never rise up against you, to make no claim to be my father’s successor unless you agree, and to act as you wish to defeat our enemies.” His voice was calm, loud.

  “And to never raise a hand against any men I command,” added Galerius.

  “Yes, that too I swear.”

  “Good, good. You are free to go to your father. Make haste if you wish, we’ll not detain you any longer.” He turned to an official standing nearby and gave him a thumbs up. The man handed Constantine a palm-sized bronze sheet with the emperor's insignia impressed upon it.

  “Your discharge pass will allow you passage through to your father's provinces, my lord.” The official spoke in a low monotone.

  Such a small thing to hold such power, Constantine thought, staring at it. He took the pass and put it in the pouch attached to his belt. He knew what he had to do next.

  He knelt and kissed the edge of the emperor's toga. Galerius laid a hand on his shoulder. Constantine rose, kissed him on both cheeks.

  “I will keep my word,” he said, as he drew away.

  Galerius had the look of a viper contemplating lunch. Constantine bowed and retreated. He could go. He felt a surge of relief at last, then an urge to run from the room. His day approached. He could sense it, like people sense the sea from far inland.

  Lucius congratulated him and pummeled his back when they were finally alone. Constantine hardly heard him. Everything had changed. A shroud restricting his vision had been shaken off. He gripped Lucius’ arms.

  “Finding that Persian girl we rescued all those years ago was a good omen, Lucius. You were right. She will be our living testimony to what happened in the Persian war. When we present her to my father he will know we are speaking the truth.”

  He'd dreamed often about his arrival in Gaul. How his father would lead an entourage out to greet him and appoint him commander of his legions in the west. And if that was too much to expect, perhaps commander of just one legion. How could his father refuse him?

  “I have a favor to ask,” said Lucius, looking sheepish.

  “Not another miracle-making soothsayer who wants a letter of introduction to my father, I hope,” said Constantine.

  Lucius shook his head.

  “What then?”

  “Please, come to my father's estate. He wants to talk to you before you head for Gaul. I know you want to leave here quickly. But my father can help you.” Lucius’ words tumbled out as if practiced. “He has a fast ship ready to sail for Rome. You could use her. “

  Constantine hummed. Passage aboard a fast ship was exactly what he needed. With the favorable winds at this time of year, he could be in Rome in days, not weeks, and then sail on to his father's provinces.

  “Of course, I’ll come, Lucius. You'd think I wanted to steal your favorite mistress, by that worried look on your face. Shall we go now?”

  “My father said to come as soon as we have news. The slaves will come with us. I wouldn’t leave them in that nest of agents at your villa or mine. Galerius' agents are capable of seducing anyone. We can be at the estate by nightfall.”

  Constantine had wondered why the slaves had been brought along to the palace. That explained that. But what would Lucius' father want in return for all this help?

  “You'll have to lose your guards along the road. My father hates imperial agents snooping around his estate. You'll be perfectly safe with us. You know that.” Lucius grinned.

  Constantine shrugged. “This new lot are certainly brick faced enough to be Galerius' agents all right.” He punched Lucius' arm. “Come on then, let's get away from here.”

  They passed down the corridor, guards bowing away from them, and ended up at the open door of the room where Juliana and Tiny were supposed to be waiting.

  “Where are our slaves?” said Constantine, when he saw they weren’t there. He turned to the guards who were stationed by the door to the empress' rooms.

  “I’ve no idea, my lord,” the head guard said, a look of injured innocence on his face.

  “You must have seen them. You are responsible.” Constantine pointed at the man. “Personally responsible.”

  He considered the possibilities. The guard must have seen something. He went over and jabbed his finger in the man’s face. They stood facing each other. Constantine shook his head slowly, as if regretting what was bound to happen next. The man looked up and down the corridor, licked his lips, then spoke.

  “Some slaves were called to the stables earlier, my lord.”

  Constantine strode away. He knew where the stables where. “This place gets worse every time I come here,” he muttered.

  When they reached the stables, to his relief Juliana and Tiny were standing near the main doors. They turned toward Constantine and bowed as soon as they saw him.

  “Where have you two been?” he said.

  Juliana and Tiny looked at one another like children who'd been caught stealing.

  Juliana spoke. “We were told to wait for you here.”

  “Don’t move from where you’re supposed to be in future, do you understand?” interrupted Lucius loudly.

  Constantine’s guards brought out the horses quickly, and when they were ready they filed out through a side gate onto a quiet, muddy laneway.

  Before long they'd left the palace walls well behind. Gray clouds filled the sky and a cold wind blew in his face. A shiver ran through him. He urged his horse forward.

  He'd been refused leave to go to his father so many times for so many reasons he'd sometimes felt convinced he'd never be released. That he should expect nothing but tricks. The wind whispered across his cheeks as he rode. Soon, it said. Soon you'll be away. Soon you will show them what you can do when you’re not shackled.

  XXI

  Nicomedia, 306 A.D.

  Seeing Constantine calmed Juliana, but she still wanted to be as far away from the palace as possible. Someone wanted to cause problems for them. But why?

  “What do they want with us?” she whispered, more to herself than Tiny, as they rode side by side in the middle of their small column of riders.

  “For us to do what we’re told,” replied Tiny in a matter of fact manner.

  The guards had taken them down into the catacombs below the palace building. Built into the solid rock, the low roofed rooms echoed with their footsteps and distant disembodied voices. She’d felt real fear at that moment.

  They’d passed patches of slimy moss on the walls and a guardroom overflowing with grunting and laughing guards, then went down more steps. It grew ever darker with each turn of the steps as the stinking oil lamps became less frequent. She’d won
dered then if Constantine and Lucius had also been arrested and the clutch of an awful dread had kept her mouth tight shut as they were hustled down an arched corridor.

  And then a skin-crawling wailing had surrounded them. And as abruptly it stopped. The silence, heavier now, oppressive with expectation, was broken only by the shuffling of feet.

  They’d halted in front of an iron-studded door, slightly ajar. The lead guardsman banged brusquely. A gruff voice answered. The door creaked open. Juliana's mouth dried. A large vaulted room full of strange and fearsome apparatus waited for them.

  A grotesquely bloated man in a stained leather tunic stood with his hands on his hips just beyond the doorway. A piercing cry echoed. Juliana looked round the room. Her knees became weak. All the implements she’d heard of were there: racks with chains, masks with spikes facing inwards, seats with spear like protrusions. A large wheel hung from a wall.

  She’d been told by other slaves all about the persecutions of Christians carried out in the name of the emperor, and she knew that she should forget every prayer her mother had taught her, in case someone overheard her.

  Could they have guessed? Was that why she’d been brought here?

  And then she saw the source of the wailing. A thin pitiable girl, perhaps fifteen summers old, struggled in the clutch of a leather-aproned dwarf who reached only to the girl’s shoulder, but whose arms and chest were massive, as big as Tiny’s at least.

  The dwarf held one of the girl's hands toward the embers of a glowing brazier. He grinned delightedly at his new audience and jabbed the girl’s hand toward the heat again and again. Her screams cut through Juliana like a blade.

  “This is what happens to slaves who disobey Galerius’ orders,” said the lead guardsman. He glared at Juliana, then dragged her forward into the room by the arm. Another guard pushed Tiny in after them.

  She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. The girl had seen them. She cried piteously at them, as if they might save her. A sliver of smoke rose in the air as the girl’s hand touched the embers again, and her cry became a howl, a wail that went on long after her blackened hand had been pulled away from the fire.

  “Do not ever tell what you have seen here. If you do, or if you ever refuse a request by Galerius, this is but a taste of what will happen to you.” The guardsman’s voice sounded like a snake slithering.

  Then they were hustled away to the sounds of cloth tearing and further gulping and wailing.

  “Remember this lesson,” the lead guardsman said when they were pushed unceremoniously against the wall of the stables. “When you’re asked to do something in the name of our beloved Emperor Galerius, no matter where you are, no matter what it is, do it. That’s not too difficult, is it?”

  They’d both nodded. Juliana’s mouth was as dry as dust and only her determination kept her upright. She’d seen slaves being punished, but the cruelty she’d just witnessed was more than that, it was evil in a way she’d feared ever seeing again, but it made her want to be strong, not weak.

  Constantine and Lucius had appeared soon after. Well, it seemed soon after to Juliana. She was in such a daze she couldn't really tell.

  So, when finally they left the palace behind, she looked over her shoulder and wished herself even further away from that awful place, and as quickly as possible. She wondered too, what had happened to that girl, what she’d done to be taken down there.

  “That’s not my idea of a palace.” Tiny leaned toward her. “I didn't get to see any dancing girls.” The color had returned to his cheeks. He looked at Juliana for a reaction.

  “This is all as strange as a belly full of snakes, you know that don’t you? And look at this one.” He gestured toward Constantine. “He rides as if all the Harpies are on our trail.”

  They rode on, away from the city, along a wide graveled road. She read the milestones marked with the distance to Chalcedon, and back to Nicomedia, and wondered where they were headed. Later, her main preoccupation became finding a comfortable way to sit, to prevent the iron hard saddle from rubbing too often again and again at the same place on her inner thighs. She’d only ridden around the estate before when one of the field hands had wanted a horse exercised or as a favor. This nonstop riding had her praying they’d stop after every milestone.

  They passed two cohorts of legionaries marching at a steady tramp, heading toward Nicomedia. Some of the officers recognized Constantine. They hailed him as they passed.

  Juliana and Tiny’s smaller horses found it difficult to keep up the pace set by Constantine, especially Tiny's. His horse’s head started drooping. To her relief, they stopped to rest soon after at a small single-tavern village by a shallow rocky stream that ran for a while alongside the roadway. The surrounding forests had been pushed back here, and fields had been marked out with lines of stones as if someday walls would be built.

  The tavern keeper served fresh, very thin bread and boiled chicken. Even Juliana and Tiny ate well. They sat at the side of the building under a wooden trellis more suitable for summer. When they finished eating, an argument developed inside between Constantine and the centurion leading the guards.

  “It’s for your protection, my lord. Robbers, blood worshippers, they all work these forests. You must keep us with you.” The man’s tone was loud, bullying. He expected compliance. Juliana looked at Tiny. He grinned in reply.

  “Are you refusing a direct order?” Constantine’s voice was raised.

  Juliana couldn't understand the centurion's reply, but he stormed out of the tavern soon afterwards, and roared at his men who were sitting not far from Juliana and Tiny. They all rode away without looking back.

  “There goes your protection,” said Tiny. “I expect we're on our way to some debauched festival. I can only guess what your role will be. You might want to be friendly to me now.” He reached over and ruffled Juliana's hair. She slapped at his arm.

  “I'd rather die.”

  He shrugged his arm, as if he’d barely felt her slap, then shook his head slowly.

  “My, you are aroused easily.” He winked at her.

  Juliana ignored him. She'd ignored similar suggestions too many times before to count.

  When they were ready to leave the tavern, she was given Tiny's horse to ride. It immediately picked up its head and whinnied when it realized its new charge was much lighter than its previous burden.

  Not long after, the road ran uphill into thick, damp-looking pine forest. The tall ivy-draped trees reeked of resin and decay. Tiny gave Juliana one of his wide-eyed looks.

  “I’ve heard these forests are overrun with bears.”

  Juliana stuck her tongue out at him. “And I heard all the bears in Bithynia were killed long ago.”

  He grinned wide, showing her his rotten teeth. “Well, don't worry, when they’re all finished with you, I'll soothe your wounds.” He fingered his mouth as if wiping away drool. Then he looked to see if Constantine or Lucius, talking to each other up ahead, had heard him. They hadn’t. They rarely turned around to check on them.

  The dark branches were close to the road now. They seemed to be reaching toward her. The high canopy of trees enveloped the roadway in deep gloom. The four riders fell silent.

  She imagined her father as one of those guards back at the palace. The sick smell of burning flesh came back to her. No, if she ever found him he'd be strong and honorable. But how could she ever find him? He was probably back in Britannia. And even if she bought her freedom after many years as a good slave, all she had to search for him was a name she’d overheard once, Arell.

  And she wasn’t even sure if she’d remembered that right. She had to stop her foolish daydreams. Even if they were all she had.

  They rode on into the afternoon, stopping twice to water the horses at streams near the road. The trees became sparse in places, but most of the time they were surrounded by forest. After hours of this, she couldn’t tell how many, they turned off the main roadway and headed down a small, rutted side track. The sun
dropped quickly toward the horizon.

  In the distance a hunting horn echoed, disturbing the chirping of courting wood pigeons from the trees around them.

  Tiny reached over and touched her arm. “Look,” he whispered, “we're being watched.” He pointed at a tree.

  For a moment Juliana thought someone lay hiding there, waiting to ambush them. She imagined the dwarf from the emperor’s torture chamber appearing, grinning, ready for a new victim. Then she saw red squirrels standing perfectly still around its base. In a moment, they scampered away, startled.

  “Pan lives in these woods, and he still wields all his powers.” Tiny kicked his horse and left Juliana behind as they rode deeper into the forest.

  She didn’t care now. She was not going to cling to him, which was probably what he wanted. What she’d seen that morning, the girl being tortured, had left her images in her head that didn’t want to go away. The awful stench returned to her at odd moments too. And now they were far from the palace, anger had emerged. She prayed hard that if her turn came, she would have the courage to fight back.

  The setting sun cast long shadows as they made their way up a steep wooded hill. It grew chilly. She pulled her cloak tight to keep the cutting wind out. They rounded a bend into a level area and were confronted by a stout wooden gate barring the track. A wooden palisade, twice the height of a man, ran away on each side into the trees. On one side the ground fell away steeply. On the other it rose.

  Guards called out a welcome to Lucius as they rode through the hastily opened gate. Beyond it the path dipped. A valley appeared through the trees. At its apex sat a large villa with walls made of giant rocks, surrounded by wooden outbuildings and orchards of thickly leafed olive trees stretching away into the distance.

  They came out of the woods on the floor of the valley and rode toward the villa. There were people sitting, wrapped in cloaks, at a row of wooden tables that went around the side of the villa. Cooking fires burned nearby. The smell of home came to her on the wind, then fled. It was a smell of goat stew and onions and flat bread, freshly baked.