The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  A magnificent Persian stallion awaited the emperor in the palace courtyard, its coat entirely white and unblemished. Though a groom had placed a mounting block next to the horse, Constantine disdainfully kicked it away, then mounted his steed like the equestrian he was. “Follow me, men, and stay in formation,” he said to the assembled riders of his elite cavalry.

  Proceeding up the cardinal street of Augusta Treverorum at the head of his troops, Constantine rode along a grand thoroughfare with colonnades on either side. All the city had turned out to wish him well as he passed. He exited through the massive northern gate with its pair of four-story towers, then immediately found himself in a necropolis, the tombs of which lined the road outside the walls. Soon a little trail branched off between two mausoleums. Constantine followed it and climbed a low rise. As he topped out and emerged from the trees, he could see the entire army encamped on the field to the north of the city.

  Most of the soldiers had already packed up their gear and goatskin tents, ready to depart now and let the baggage handlers follow behind. Though the equipment would be floated up the Mosella River and down the Arar, a host of fast riders would turn south with the emperor and take the Agrippa Highway to Lugdunum. Near that city was the turnoff to Mons Matrona Pass, which General Vitruvius had advised using due to its relative warmth and ease of passage through the snowy Alps. Constantine couldn’t help but chuckle at the historical irony. I’m just like Hannibal and his elefanti, five hundred years ago—except I’m coming to Rome as a liberator, not an enemy!

  Out in the encampment, the army awaited their emperor’s command. Constantine gazed at the battle-hardened men, their heavy traveling cloaks drawn tight around their shoulders. Although the sky today was clear and blue, an early spring crispness lingered in the air. The wind whipped at the mane of Constantine’s stallion and blew his cape to one side. All the soldiers stared back at their lord, pushing close to gather before him in a turbulent mass of eager anticipation and martial splendor. Like a good cavalryman, Constantine sat erect in the saddle as he surveyed his faithful army. General Vitruvius joined him atop the low hill. In his hand, hidden by his horse’s flank, he gripped the labarum.

  “Soldiers of the Germanic lines, I greet you!” Constantine shouted to a roar of acclaim. When the crowd had quieted again, he continued. “Today we ride out to war! As you know, the tyrant Maxentius calls upon the dark arts of magic. Yet there is a Supreme Deity in heaven, one who is stronger than any spell. And you shall ride out under his protection, led along by his saving sign!”

  At this cue, Vitruvius stepped his mount forward and raised the battle standard in both hands, waving it back and forth. All the legionaries fell back at the sight of such a dreadful totem. Though religious devotion had long been given to military standards and the spirits in them, this vexillum was especially magnificent.

  Constantine cupped his hands around his mouth. “Behold the labarum—the emblem of the God of victory!”

  “Victory!” the soldiers shouted in unison.

  “This is the sign I witnessed in the sky!”

  “Victory!” the soldiers repeated.

  “This is the sign given to me in a dream!”

  “Victory!” came the cry once more.

  “Vitruvius?” Constantine whispered. “Do you remember that speculator named Rex who confronted me in the hall? What was the slogan he used when he handed me the flag that time?”

  “In this sign, you shall conquer.”

  “Yes, that was it! Raise it up high, General. Follow my lead and stay by my side.”

  Vitruvius thrust the banner toward the sky, holding the shaft by its butt and waving its golden length in the sun.

  “In this sign, you shall conquer!” Constantine bellowed to the troops, then spurred his horse down the face of the little hill. With a boisterous cheer, the men mounted up and surged to get in line behind their commander and his flag.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, my lord,” Vitruvius said with a shake of his head.

  Constantine glanced over at his general, a man who had served him well for many years. “The horse is prepared for the day of war, but the Lord bestows the victory.”

  Vitruvius gave his master a quizzical look. “Frontinus?”

  “Solomon,” Constantine said with a laugh. “Come on, my old friend. Let’s go conquer Rome.”

  MAY 312

  The frontier legions always mocked the permanent forces of Rome as decadent and lazy soldiers. According to the common wisdom along the Germanic lines, the Praetorians’ idea of combat was brawling with the neighborhood drunk, while a foreign expedition meant visiting a suburban garden.

  But Rex had found just the opposite to be true in his time with the imperial horse guard. These were crack troops, drilled in combat maneuvers and accustomed to physical exertion under the hot sun. In every way they were the equal of the northern army. Even so, they had a few unique approaches to warfare, the knowledge of which would benefit Constantine. Everything Rex observed as he played the role of a cadet at the New Camp learning cavalry skills for the first time—things Aratus had already taught him several years ago—he filed away in his memory for future use. At night, by the glow of an oil lamp, he even made a few notes about the guards’ tactics and combat readiness. Such valuable intelligence would be incorporated into his eventual briefing to the emperor. Of course, these records were encrypted so no one could read them, should they ever be discovered. Although the espionage was stressful and physically exhausting, Rex loved what he was doing. This was covert reconnaissance at its best, just the way he had been taught.

  Despite the cadets’ rigorous training schedule, they were allowed an occasional day of leave from camp. Rex often used those opportunities to meet with Geta at the local balneum, yet he had also taken up the habit of checking on Flavia at Gelotiana House. Since he hadn’t seen her for a few days, he was on his way there now, which gave him ample time alone with his thoughts. His conversations with Geta had prompted him to consider more deeply whether a future with her might be possible. Many soldiers were married, especially horse guardsmen, with their higher status and better pay. These days, it wasn’t uncommon for wives and children to escort the troopers on expeditions. A good marriage was certainly possible for a member of the Emperor’s Personal Cavalry. But not to the aristocratic daughter of one of Rome’s most ancient families. Face it, Rex, you’re just a barbarian soldier with a spear, a horse, and a small sack of coins to your name.

  The thought was depressing, and it gnawed at Rex until another consideration occurred to him as he walked along the never-ending length of the Circus Maximus. Right now, Flavia was just an imperial kitchen maid with very few friends and even fewer romantic prospects. For the time being, we’re both down and out—a perfect match!

  Except in our religion. Rex grimaced as he considered that obstacle. Something will have to be done about that.

  The Gelotiana House was unusually quiet when Rex entered. It was afternoon, and most of the boys—like virtually all the free males of the city—had found their way to a bathhouse. It was a perk not many slaves could enjoy, but the imperial pages were exceptions, for their rich masters wanted them clean and smartly dressed. Since the rowdy boys would be elsewhere right now, Rex had decided the afternoon peace that descended on Rome every day was his best opportunity to be alone with Flavia.

  She was resting on a couch in the house’s shady atrium when he came through the door. Her eyes were closed as she lay on the divan with her head on a cushion. The garment she wore wasn’t a long, silky gown like she had grown up with, but the rough-spun tunic of a slave. Her pale legs and bare feet protruded from the hem of her dress. Although her calves were shapely, it wasn’t physical attraction that struck Rex immediately but a powerful sense of admiration. There was a very long distance between Flavia’s former life and this one, yet she had embraced it with fortitude, perseverance, and no complaints. Rex found her courage deeply respectable.

  “
Flavia!” he whispered, trying not to startle her.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Rex!” she cried, jumping up as soon as she saw him to give him a jubilant hug. Such affection would have been unthinkable for an aristocrat, but slaves could be more familiar, and Rex found himself glad for the temporary change.

  They exchanged small talk for a while, then decided to go outside and find something to eat. Although the length of the racetrack across the street was lined with the stalls of food vendors, most of them had closed for a few hours while the city took its collective rest break. Fortunately, one enterprising merchant was still selling hot sausages on a stick.

  “I’ll take two,” Rex told the man behind the grill. He thought it would be gallant to pay for Flavia’s meal, even though her family was fabulously rich. He knew how much she enjoyed sausages. Though it was only a small gesture, Rex liked to do what he could.

  “Oh, Rex, meat is so expensive,” Flavia said. “Bread and oil will be fine.”

  “It’s alright. I’m happy to buy it for you,” Rex replied as he held out some money.

  “Not with that coin,” the sausage vendor said.

  Rex was taken aback. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s fake. There are gangs of counterfeiters working in Rome. That’s not a real nummus.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I was a slave in the imperial mint before I bought my freedom. I know the difference. Let me see your other coins.” The man glanced at the rest of the nummi that Rex brought out and held in his palm. “Those are all good,” he declared, “but that one doesn’t have any silver in it. You might as well throw it away. Unless you think you can pass it off on someone less observant than me.”

  “You should stick to your new job,” Rex said irritably. He paid the man with one of the good coins and received his change without another word.

  An umbrella pine nearby provided a pleasant spot out of the sun to stop and eat. The meat was hot and zesty, and its juice ran down Rex’s chin when he bit into it.

  “Eek!” Flavia cried as she encountered the same problem. Rex looked up to see her standing with her neck craned forward and grease dripping from her delicate lips. She had an embarrassed look on her face. When Rex made a motion to suggest she use her tunic, Flavia shook her head.

  “Why not?” he asked, gesturing at her clothes.

  Flavia looked down at her cheap garment with patches sewn on it, shrugged, and wiped her collar across her face. The two impoverished diners burst into laughter.

  “Being a slave has its perks,” Flavia observed.

  “I suppose—for now, anyway. But I wouldn’t want it for you long-term.”

  Flavia glanced up at Rex, a little twinkle in her eyes. “That’s interesting. I didn’t realize you wanted anything for me long-term. Good to know.”

  Although Rex sensed a little flirtation in Flavia’s voice, he wasn’t inclined to reveal too much about his own feelings. “I just want you to be happy long-term,” he said blandly.

  “What do you think that would take?”

  Rex chewed his sausage and swallowed the bite before answering. “Not a slave’s life, that’s for sure. I can imagine a nice home on a Roman hill, and a church nearby, and children.”

  “And a gentle husband. So many women are mistreated by their men. I want someone gentle.”

  It was a surprisingly honest statement, one that caught Rex off guard.

  Am I gentle? he wondered. Probably not. I’m a soldier—the opposite of gentle!

  Flavia took a step closer to Rex. “Don’t worry,” she said, reading his expression. “I think you’re gentle.”

  “Pfft! I’m a fighter.”

  “Never against me. Always for me.”

  “Yes, I’m for you, Flavia. I always will be.”

  “Rex, I think—”

  “That’s the girl right there!” someone shouted.

  Rex and Flavia spun toward the sound. The voice had come from a scowling Praetorian leading a group of four. “Stay where you are, woman!” he commanded as he marched over, followed by his three comrades. He was clearly the decanus of his little squad.

  “My cohort’s insignia is on my tunic,” Rex whispered to Flavia, “so I can’t fight them. They’d be able to identify me. Let me try and talk our way out of this.”

  Flavia nodded and moved to stand behind Rex.

  “No need for any trouble here,” he said to the decanus. “I’m a soldier too—imperial horse guard. What do you want with this woman? She’s mine.”

  “We have orders from the Praetorian prefect to arrest her. Stand back.”

  “Come on! Why would Pompeianus care about a menial slave like this girl?”

  “We have reason to believe she’s actually an aristocrat the prefect is looking for.”

  Though he didn’t show it, the words hit Rex like a punch in the gut. Gods! She’s been discovered! Behind him, he felt Flavia’s grip tighten on his tunic. She, too, evidently understood that her spying days in the palace were over. Pompeianus was after her again.

  Rex’s mind was working fast now. What next? Fight? Lie? Run?

  Whatever you do, you’ve got to stand between Flavia and these men. She’s in serious danger.

  I’ll kill these four guys before I let them take her back to the Carcer!

  Yet despite his protective instincts, Rex knew if it came down to a fight, his mission would be over, and he would be in prison instead of her. No longer could he melt into the immigrant crowds of Rome and disappear. Now that he was a recognizable trooper of the imperial cavalry, too many people knew where to find him.

  “I can assure you,” Rex said, raising his palms in a soothing gesture, “this girl is no aristocrat. She’s just a slave. Born into bondage for three generations. I’ve known her all her life—and bedded her for almost half of it! Know what I mean?” He gave the Praetorian a friendly soldier’s guffaw.

  The decanus was in no mood for joking. “We were told she’s a highborn lady hiding in the imperial palace as a kitchen slave.”

  “What? Who told you nonsense like that? What kind of rich girl comes here and scrubs floors? She’s just a plain slave. Look!” Spinning around, Rex grabbed Flavia roughly by the elbow and drew her into the men’s view. “Her hair is ragged and ugly. Her hands are calloused. And have you ever seen a noble lady with bruises on both knees from kneeling all day on a kitchen floor?” Rex lifted the hem of Flavia’s tunic to reveal that, indeed, both her knees were faintly blue.

  “Maybe it is the wrong girl, sir,” one of the Praetorians suggested to his leader. “The page boy could have been mistaken.”

  Rex nodded emphatically. “That’s right! But I’ll tell you what isn’t mistaken. This wench of mine is the favorite of one of the senators up on the hill. He calls for her after every banquet. You bother her and you’ll have made a very powerful enemy. If I were you, I’d get my facts straight before I arrest a senator’s favorite girl. You know how those rich old men can be about their little sweeties.”

  “She has to come with us,” the decanus insisted, though he was more tentative now.

  “If you take away my woman, I’m going straight to the senator to get her freed. And when that happens, as it surely will, I hope you like the cold rain, because you’ll find you’ve just been reassigned to Hadrian’s Wall at the edge of Britannia.”

  “Sir . . . let’s just make sure first,” the second Praetorian whispered.

  “This is all based on the word of one boy,” said a third.

  The decanus frowned. “Don’t leave the vicinity until we get back,” he spat.

  “We won’t need to,” Rex scoffed, “because you’re about to find out that this common hussy is no aristocratic lady.”

  The soldiers moved off to do their investigation. As soon as they rounded a corner, Rex turned to Flavia. “Your cover is blown,” he said. “You’ve got to get out of here right away.”

  “I know,” Flavia said softly. “And I think I know who bet
rayed me.”

  “Doesn’t matter now. Let’s start walking.”

  “I need to collect a few things from my room first.”

  “I’ll send for them. You’re never going into Gelotiana House again. We have to clear the area immediately.”

  “Can I go home?”

  Rex shook his head. “That would be the first place they’d look.”

  “So then . . . where? Tibur?”

  “No, that’s dangerous as well. But it gives me an idea. Are there any Christians who would put you up?”

  Flavia thought for a moment. Suddenly her face brightened. “Bishop Miltiades would hide me!”

  “Good idea. Let’s go before those Praetorians return.”

  “They ordered us to stay put until they get back,” Flavia said.

  “That sort of threat works on most people, but not on us. We have more to lose by staying than leaving.”

  “Good point. Lead the way, then. Make for the Bridge of Probus. We have to cross the river to get to the bishop’s house.”

  It was a long walk to Trans Tiberim, but the sun was out and the spring afternoon was warm and pleasant. For a while they hurried along in silence, each lost in thought. Rex’s mind was troubled. At last he gathered his courage and apologized for the rude way he had spoken about Flavia. Although it was a ploy, he had insulted her honor and treated her like a harlot.