by Bryan Litfin
“I have other business tonight,” Rex said, then turned and left the girl pouting in the doorway of the banquet hall.
The actual temple of Hercules sat on a high platform in the middle of the sanctuary’s plaza. Because the whole edifice was faced with white marble, it gleamed so brightly that it hurt Rex’s eyes. Isolated above its surroundings in lonely splendor, the temple could be approached only by a travertine staircase flanked by fountains for ritual washing. Its porch was supported by a double row of eight columns, in front of which the acolytes were gathered around a portable altar. Each man held a knife. After rinsing his fingers, Rex mounted the stairs with his clay token and his lamb. “I wish to commune with the god,” Rex said to a young man at the altar.
“You have the proof of payment?”
Rex handed over the token. The man inspected its front and back, then nodded and extended his palm. “Very good. That will be twenty-five common denarii.”
“I already paid the girl at the feasting hall.”
“I know. That was the sacrifice fee. This payment is for the knife rental.” The acolyte waved the blade in his hand.
“The knife rental?” Rex pursed his lips and held back the curse he wanted to utter. “How is that different from the sacrifice fee? Shouldn’t the knife be included?”
“The sacrifice fee pays for the blood that is shed,” the young priest explained, “but the knife fee pays for the instrument that sheds it. As you can see, those are two very different things.”
“No, they’re not.”
The acolyte offered only a blank stare. Shaking his head in disgust, Rex paid the man a second amount, then gave him the lamb.
“Don’t make the sacrifice right away,” he ordered. “I want to pray to Hercules first. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
Rex had crossed the portico and was about to enter the temple when a pair of armed guards stopped him. “Hey, stranger, stop right there!” one said. “You aren’t allowed inside.”
“Why not? I’m a devout man, here to worship. I even brought an offering.”
The acolyte who had received the token intervened. After waving the guards away, he came and stood between Rex and the main door. “The temple is the god’s house. His idol is protected inside the cell. We priests are the mediators between you and him. If you have a request to make, tell it to me, and I will relay it.”
“I can’t go inside? Out in the provinces, free citizens can stand in the doorway of many temples. And there are shrines for the soldiers in army camps. People want to see the idol they’re praying to.”
“My friend, this isn’t some rustic temple for country yokels and barbarian legionaries. It is the holy and most splendid Sanctuary of Hercules Victorious, patron of commerce at Tibur, and divine protector of all Latium. Entrance is forbidden to the common people.”
“So what did my coins and that lamb buy me?”
The acolyte rolled his eyes and tsked, then gave Rex a patient smile, as if explaining basic truths to a child. “The god’s awareness of you, obviously. Why else should mighty Hercules pay attention to a mere mortal? You need to draw his notice with a gift. Come now! Step over here and watch your sacrifice. You have brought a good one. Even more than grain or wine, a blood sacrifice will surely earn the god’s favor.”
Rex followed the acolyte to the altar, from which a thin column of smoke rose to the sky. After sprinkling wine and salted flour on the lamb’s head, the man slit its throat with a practiced hand and deftly caught the blood in a bowl. When the dribble finally stopped, the priest skinned and butchered the animal. He dumped the entrails and scraps into the bowl of blood but left the choicest cuts of meat on a silver tray.
“You have a petition for glorious Hercules?” he asked, gesturing toward the temple with his bloody hand.
“A thanksgiving for his past protection. And a request for his continued watchcare. He knows the details of what happened.”
“Perhaps you might want to remind him. Hercules is a popular god. He receives many requests.”
“It was a fight with five evildoers. I thank him that I got only this cut on my arm. I ask for no further injuries.”
“Hmm. Alright, that should probably be enough to jog his memory.” The priest pulled a veil over his head and began to intone the words of an ancient ritual. A flutist joined him at the altar, so the words themselves could not be discerned. When the priest’s liturgy was finished, he dumped the lamb’s bloody guts onto the hot coals. A cloud of dark, pungent smoke immediately billowed up. Rex watched the smoke rise toward the sky and dissipate into the heavens.
“Is that all?” he asked the young priest.
“I just sent up a good smell to Hercules. I also sent him your prayer in exactly the right words. What more do you want?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
The acolyte turned and beckoned toward a slave standing in the shade of the temple’s porch. “Take that tray of meat to the kitchen and be quick about it,” he instructed. The slave bowed, then grabbed the silver tray by its handles and carried it away.
“Don’t forget the mint sauce!” the acolyte called after the slave.
“Mint sauce?” Rex asked. “What’s that for?”
“My dinner, of course.” The priest smiled broadly at Rex and bid him good day. Then, glancing over Rex’s shoulder, he signaled for the next worshiper to step forward.
The Palace Hall at Augusta Treverorum wasn’t decked out in imperial splendor today, but Constantine still preferred to meet his guests here whenever possible. It was a beautiful and spacious basilica, obviously worthy of an emperor even though it was located in a frontier city. And best of all, it was heated. Although autumn days in northern Gaul could be cold, the hot air flowing beneath the floor of the Palace Hall was always up to the challenge.
The mood in the hall was suitably casual, with the fine banners having been removed and the floor runners stored for more ceremonious occasions. An ample meal had been set out for Constantine, and though he nibbled at it, in the end he decided he wasn’t hungry. Squatting on his heels, he whistled at his two favorite hunting dogs asleep on the warm floor. The hounds lifted their heads and pricked their ears. When they scented the hunk of swine flesh in the emperor’s hand, they sauntered over and gulped down the pieces that Constantine tore off for them. He ruffled the dogs’ ears and let them lick his hand clean.
Standing again, he returned to the table, preferring it over his imperial throne for this meeting. His general Vitruvius was bringing documents and maps today, so a table seemed like a better choice since the meal was likely to turn into a strategy session. A military man himself, Constantine liked to foster a more informal and intimate relationship with his generals. They deserved his personal friendship. It was only right that there be mutual respect among those engaged in the noble art of war. Sharing an afternoon meal was a way to demonstrate that high regard.
Vitruvius arrived a short while later and was escorted to the table. A finely tooled calfskin satchel was draped over his shoulder. He reclined on the couch opposite Constantine, and plates and silverware were set before him. The emperor knew that refraining from eating would be impolite, so he picked at his food and ate enough to make his guest feel welcome. When the dishes were cleared and the goblets refilled, the two battle-tested warriors got down to business.
“My servants tell me a courier arrived late last night from Pannonia,” Constantine said. “I’m anxious to hear the news.”
Vitruvius couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’re not going to believe what you hear.”
“Go on.”
The general reached into his satchel and removed a large book written on expensive parchment and bound in wood and fine leather. “It is a gift from a friend,” Vitruvius said, sliding the book across the table. “He had it made specially for you. I’ll let you read it.”
Constantine opened the codex and immediately recognized it as a selection of the Christian scriptures. The dedication page, which w
as in Latin, read: To Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantine, Augustus of Gaul. May you live, flourish, and rejoice in God. I, Gaius Valerius Licinius Augustus, have dedicated to you in friendship this Book of the Fourfold Gospel, whose most holy words about the Savior are written here, copied by expert scribes from ancient versions. On the first page, The Gospel according to Matthew began in Greek, followed by that of Mark, Luke, and John.
“Since when is Licinius a Christian?” Constantine asked, setting the book back on the table.
“Probably since he heard you had adopted Jesus as your patron. After you saw the heavenly cross in the sky, he decided to get in on the god’s power as well.” Vitruvius paused, considering his words, then arched his eyebrows at the emperor. “May I assume you see the significance of this gift?”
“Yes, of course. It’s a bid for an alliance. Two Christians working together.”
“That’s right. And we should probably accept it. Better to have friends than enemies.”
“I could marry my sister to him. Then the alliance would be much more lasting. And Constantia would surely enjoy the prestige of being an augusta.” Constantine drummed his fingers on the couch, reflecting on this interesting development. “So why do you imagine Licinius is making this move?”
“Licinius is ruthless, entirely focused on his own interests. There can be only one reason he would seek to join with you. Let me show you what we know.”
Vitruvius reached again to his satchel and unrolled a large map across the table, weighting the corners with lead pellets. “Here is your territory,” he said, tracing his finger around Hispania, Britannia, and Gaul. “Down in Rome we have Maxentius. He might be a nobody in the Imperial College, but in his mind, he’s an augustus, and his army holds Italy and Africa whether we like it or not. So he’s functionally the ruler there, no matter what the college says.” Vitruvius next circled the lands along the Danubius River to the east of Italy. “Here is what Licinius controls. It’s not much, just a few poor provinces. And then the rest of the East, as far as the Euphrates and all the way around to Aegyptus, belongs to Daia. That is a great holding, but Daia isn’t satisfied with it. He wants the whole empire for himself. To get it, he’s making overtures from here”—Vitruvius slid his finger from Asia to the peninsula of Italy—“to here.”
“Daia wants to join forces with Maxentius?”
Vitruvius grimaced and nodded. “I’m afraid so. That’s what we’re hearing from our spies. You can see, then, why Licinius would be looking for an ally. He’s pinched between you on one side and two enemies on the other who are uniting against him. Predicaments like that often lead men to make new political alliances—or religious conversions, if that’s what it takes.”
“Crafty little fox, isn’t he?”
“More than you know. Look here.” Vitruvius indicated the broad arc of the Alps that curved above the Italian peninsula. His finger came to rest on the mountainous province of Noricum, just north of Italy itself. “Licinius has armies here. But see? You take some troops across one of the alpine passes, and just like that, you’re at the gates of Aquileia, then Ravenna, then—”
“I see it, General. Our friend Licinius is poised at the gateway of Italy. And there’s only one thing stopping him from claiming the prize of Rome: my dear brother-in-law, Maxentius.”
“Right. So let’s say Licinius is successful in making an alliance with you against Maxentius and Daia. That means you and he are Christians, and you’re united against two pagans. It’s perfectly reasonable for one or the other of you to march down to Rome and take out your challenger. All the reports say Maxentius is becoming a tyrant. The people are turning against him. Whoever goes down first and conquers Rome will be hailed as a liberator—and he’ll have complete control of Italy and Africa. The man who holds those lands will be hard to stop.”
“What do we know about Maxentius’s strength?”
“Nothing yet. Centurion Aratus and his team of speculators are there now, collecting intelligence.”
Constantine chuckled as he recalled the long-haired youth who had confronted him in this very hall. “That Germanic kid of his was impudent, but I like him. I think he’ll get the job done.”
“Young Rex is indeed impressive. The centurion tells me he’s never seen such a strong fighter at his age.”
“Remember how he grabbed the battle standard and handed it to me? He said, ‘In this sign, you shall conquer!’ That’s essentially the same message God gave me in the sky. It was written in the heavens that the cross will bring me victory.”
“It was a bold prediction indeed.”
“From a bold young man. Let’s hope he was right.” Constantine paused, tilting his head and staring into space. “You know what we should do?”
“What, sire?”
“We should make a special battle standard like the one Rex handed me—something impressive to go before the troops. It should be marked with the Christian cross. Maybe we could gild the pole and put some gems on it. That would surely give the men confidence.”
“It can be done. There’s a jeweler’s shop across the street from the palace. I’ve seen the man’s work. He’s quite skilled.”
“Excellent! See that it gets done. But Vitruvius—run it past the bishops first to make sure it would be pleasing to the Highest Divinity. I don’t know this God very well, and I don’t want to upset him.” The emperor returned his attention to the map. “So then, we’ll march for Italy as soon as the alpine passes open up next spring. Which one would you take? Poeninus?”
Vitruvius shook his head. “That one is more northerly, so it stays closed longer. I think we should try this one.” The general traced his finger from Poeninus Pass around the western curve of the Alps to the town of Brigantium in southern Gaul. “This area is warm and sunny. The pass here isn’t much higher than the city, and it faces south, so it thaws early. If we get a quick jump, we can vault over the mountains before the first flowers are pushing through the turf at Segusio.”
“That sounds good. What’s it called?”
“It has different names, but the oldest is Mons Matrona.”
“Mons Matrona?” A little laugh escaped Constantine’s lips. “When I was a boy, my tutor taught me that was the pass Hannibal crossed with his war elefanti!”
“It’s true. And Your Majesty, while I can’t provide any of those great beasts, I promise to be a general worthy of our ancient Carthaginian foe.”
“I know you will, Vitruvius.” Constantine stretched across the table and clasped the old warrior’s shoulder. “I believe in you. And we will also have the new battle standard going ahead of us.”
Vitruvius said nothing for a moment, only nodding as he gazed at the heavy platter of pork on the table. Finally, he raised his eyes and gave Constantine a pointed stare. “There is one thing I must emphasize to you, my lord.”
“Yes?”
The general picked up a hunk of meat, then rolled over on his couch and tossed the tidbit in a high arc. It landed in a splatter of sauce on the smooth marble floor.
“Your manners are somewhat lacking,” Constantine said, feigning disapproval. Yet he knew his friend was trying to make some kind of point.
The heads of the two hounds dozing by the wall suddenly lifted. They scrambled up and raced toward the juicy morsel. One dog managed to outdistance the other. It snatched the meat and gulped it down before its competitor could grab a share. The winner licked its muzzle, smug in its victory, while the other hound wandered back to its place and resumed its nap.
“The prize will go to the first to claim it,” Constantine said.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Let’s make sure it isn’t Licinius.”
The tall man in the distance obviously wasn’t a shepherd or a local Italian. Though he had lost the long-haired look of a Germanic barbarian, Flavia still knew it was Rex walking back toward the walls of Tibur from the Sanctuary of Hercules. She found herself a little excited at his return, then immediately chastised herself for it.
He’s coming from the worship of demons, she recalled. You mustn’t let your heart be drawn to a pagan. According to the scriptures, it wasn’t proper for a Christian to be unequally yoked with an unbeliever. Even so, Flavia couldn’t help but feel safer when Rex was around.
She left the gate and followed the Tiburtinian Way to meet Rex halfway between the town and the temple. The plan today was to approach her uncle’s villa under cover of darkness, where—God willing—she could find refuge until further arrangements could be made. All the running and hiding was beginning to take its toll on Flavia. She was ready to get somewhere safe for a while and rest.
The pair greeted each other when they met on the road. “What did you think of the temple?” Flavia asked as they walked side by side. “From a distance, it certainly looks like an impressive building.” Flavia thought she could acknowledge that much, at least, about the huge religious complex.
Rex shrugged. “Not what I expected.”
“Really? Why not?”
“It’s as much a cattle market and toll station as a temple. Hercules is doing alright for himself there. Or at least his priests are.”
“Were you able to make your sacrifice?”
“Yes, if you can call it that. More like a bribe.” Rex glanced sideways at Flavia as they walked back to Tibur. “How does Christianity make its sacrifices? I know you don’t have idols, so where do you leave your offerings?”
Lord, help me explain your truth rightly, Flavia prayed as she considered her friend’s honest question. “The Jews used to do it at the temple,” she said, “but it’s not like that anymore in the Christian religion. We do make a sacrifice, but it’s only bread and wine, not animals. We consider Christ’s body and blood a sufficient sacrifice already. So it’s a remembrance that we offer in church—a sacrifice that looks back to what the Savior did. My bishop says the Eucharist makes Christ present in our midst. He is truly there with us, to nourish us. We like to say we feed on him. Not literally, of course, but spiritually. The Spirit of God is in that consecrated bread and wine. Grace comes to us in this holy meal.”