by Bryan Litfin
The Christians walked in silence and passed no one on the streets. Once the nuns had reached their house and were safely inside, Flavia turned toward the bishop’s home, a mere three blocks away.
“Do you need a guardian, sister?” a monk asked.
“No, my destination is close. Thank you for your kindness.”
Flavia bowed politely, then hurried to leave, for she wanted as few people as possible to know she was staying in the secret room at Miltiades’s house. Aside from any scandal it might cause, one never knew who might be an informant. The point of staying there was to hide from the government’s prying eyes. Rumors that Maxentius’s army had been routed at Verona had recently reached the capital, so any whiff of treason was being treated with swift reprisals from the agitated emperor. Flavia had no desire to be thrown into the Carcer again. Don’t forget, you’re still under a death sentence, she often reminded herself when she was out in the streets.
Miltiades’s house was in sight, its front lamp ablaze in anticipation of her return, when Flavia spotted a squad of four Praetorians loitering across the street. She halted. There wasn’t a good reason for them to be there. Another more private door gave access to the home, so Flavia turned down an alley to reach it—then immediately regretted her action. A man stepped from the shadows behind her and began to close the distance.
His boots were hobnailed. And he was in chainmail. A soldier.
Picking up her pace, Flavia moved briskly toward the secret entrance into the bishop’s domus. Unfortunately, the soldier was even faster. He caught up to her from behind.
“Leave me alone,” Flavia warned as the man drew near. “I have friends nearby, and I’ll scream.”
“Don’t scream,” the soldier said. “It’s me.”
Flavia knew that voice. “Rex!” she exclaimed, dashing to meet him. He beamed back at her.
“Sorry for the scare,” he said. “I had to get close. I didn’t want to speak your name out loud.”
“That’s alright. I’m just so glad it’s you!” Flavia started to throw her arms around his neck but checked herself. What might have been appropriate for a slave girl in Gelotiana House seemed less fitting for a Christian nun in a veil. She pointed to the cloth over her face. “Maybe I shouldn’t . . . you know . . .”
“Oh, right. Of course not.” Rex held up his hands in a compliant gesture. “I understand. The sisters would disapprove.” A warm smile spread across his face again. “But it’s great to see you, even from a distance. I really mean it! I missed you so much.”
As Rex spoke, Flavia caught the tone that sometimes emerged in his voice—an intensity of feeling that lay under his words. She sensed their reunion was as meaningful to him as it was to her. Of course, Rex was returning from war, so there was no telling what he had just experienced. Many things might make him glad to be back in Rome. Clearly, he was moved right now, but by what emotion? Relief? Friendship? Gratitude? Maybe . . . love? It was hard to say. Perhaps Rex himself didn’t even know.
Probably not love, Flavia decided.
Even so, she looked him straight in the eyes to signal that whatever the affection was, it was mutual. “I prayed for you every day, Rex. Prayed for your victory over”—she glanced around and leaned close—“Maxentius,” she whispered with a sly smile. “And I often prayed for your safe return. Now here you are! We must thank God for it.”
“Your God was definitely watching over me,” Rex agreed. “Things got a little dangerous at Verona.” He paused for a moment, thinking, then changed the subject. “I was hoping maybe we could talk for a bit. I know it’s late, but I don’t want to separate yet. You want to go for a walk?”
“After dark?”
“You’ll be safe with me.”
“Yeah,” Flavia said with a grateful nod. “Of that I’m quite sure.” She took the risk of giving Rex’s arm a soft pat to say thank you.
“So you’ll go?” he asked.
“Sure. Where to?”
“Just stay beside me, and I’ll show you. I think you’ll like it.”
The pair made their way across the Trans Tiberim neighborhood in the direction of the river. Just as Flavia had observed at the bishop’s house, an unusually large number of soldiers seemed to be lurking about. When her father had served as city prefect, he was in charge of the Watchman Cohorts, the guardians who put out fires by day and policed Rome at night. Though another man commanded those troops now, the sight of soldiers patrolling the dark city wasn’t anything strange. Tonight, however, it wasn’t the normal watchmen who were on the streets, but Praetorians. Rex had noticed it too, making a point of avoiding them.
“The city is in turmoil,” Flavia told him. “Maxentius imposed a tax in gold on all the aristocrats and businessmen for the city’s defenses. He’s digging a new ditch and strengthening the walls, but everyone still resents the tax. And there’s a terrible food shortage. Prices have gone way up, and the bread supply has been cut to almost nothing.”
“The grain is being diverted to feed the army,” Rex said. “And the supply never really got going again after the rebellion in Africa, so we were already short.”
“People are angry and upset, from beggars all the way up to the Senate. They blame the emperor. Just yesterday, some men in this neighborhood rioted. They made a straw figure of Maxentius and set it on fire. One brave soldier from Moesia tried to stop it. He went up and doused the flames with a bucket.”
“How did the crowd take it?”
“The rioters killed him.”
Rex’s head swung around. “The people murdered a Praetorian in broad daylight?”
“It’s awful, I know.”
“It’s more than awful. It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t go unpunished by a nervous emperor. Letting people kill Praetorians without consequences is what leads to a coup. The mob starts to get too confident.” Rex glanced around, then took Flavia by the hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I think I know why so many soldiers are around tonight. Retaliation is on the way.”
Rex led Flavia toward the Bridge of Probus, though at several points he had to turn aside because the number of soldiers was growing. They emerged from inconspicuous buildings or were dropped off by covered wagons. Unlit torches were in their hands, and they all wore armor and helmets.
“Stay close,” Rex whispered. “It’s about to start.”
A trumpet blast ripped through the night. One by one, the torches blazed into life as the men passed the flames to each other. Swords drawn, they began to move through the streets, kicking down the doors to the apartment buildings and setting smoky fires to drive people out. Angry commands, squeals of fear, and the wails of the grieving filled the streets as the massacre began.
Though Rex carried a sword and wore armor, he didn’t have on the distinctive garb of a Praetorian. Several soldiers ran up to him, their blades bloody from the slaughter. “Back off, friends!” Rex barked, thrusting out the heel of his hand. “Imperial horse guardsman! This is my woman, and we’re not part of your operation!” Grunting, the men headed off in another direction to fulfill Maxentius’s lust for vengeance.
After leaving Trans Tiberim by the Bridge of Probus, things quieted down, though the shouts and tumult could still be heard in the distance. A memory flashed through Flavia’s mind: she and the “Christian boy” Magnus had escaped a pursuer across this bridge about a year ago. Rex is more my type of escort, Flavia thought, then immediately realized that in the most important way, the statement wasn’t true. The recognition made her sad.
The night air became cooler and more pleasant as Rex and Flavia ascended the Aventine Hill. Though Flavia longed to glimpse her home, even if just from the outside, Rex had other plans. He took her instead to the Temple of Ceres, located on the brow of the hill with a stunning view of the city.
“It’s so lovely!” Flavia exclaimed, gazing across the moonlit cityscape. Below her was the full width of the Circus Maximus, and just beyond it, she could see the top floor of Gelotia
na House. Above that rose the Palatine Hill, crowned by the massive imperial palace. The marble façade of Maxentius’s brand-new baths glowed white in the light of the moon.
The couple sat down on the temple steps and remained silent for a long time, simply enjoying each other’s company in a tranquil setting—something Flavia had experienced all too rarely in her time with Rex. Eventually they began to discuss their respective activities since they had parted ways at the beginning of the summer. Flavia explained that since the day her secret identity was uncovered, she had been living in peaceful retreat at the bishop’s house. Only on rare occasions did she leave it to join the Christian sisters in their ministry to poor widows and orphans. Although such behavior was incomprehensible to most Roman citizens, Flavia had come to hold the girls’ lifestyle in high esteem.
For his part, Rex had experienced just the opposite. The first battle at Taurinorum had turned into a slaughter of Maxentius’s forces. In the chaos of that moment, Rex, Geta, and Aratus had reestablished contact with Constantine and fought for a while on his side. But when it was time to go back undercover in Rome, they joined up with some ragtag Maxentian legions retreating down the peninsula toward the capital. The spies’ cover story was that they barely escaped the massacre at Taurinorum and had to make their way across the countryside on foot, sleeping in barns and stealing food to survive. In reality, they had been fighting against the very legions they were now joining, though no one would have believed such a preposterous idea.
“That’s the double life of the speculator,” Rex said with a grin.
“It’s so scary, what you do.” Flavia shuddered a little as she spoke. “You face so many dangers. I thought about you every day while you were gone.” She glanced over at him quickly. “Thought about your safety,” she clarified. “In my prayers, like I said.”
“Well, thank you for that. I suppose I can use all the divine help I can get. Actually, I’ve come to realize Jesus is more powerful than I thought at first.”
“Really?” The statement was intriguing to Flavia, for it was something she had never heard Rex admit. God, help him see your truth! “What makes you say so?” she asked in a casual tone.
“At the siege of Verona, I wore the Christian amulet around my neck. And then at a crucial moment of the battle, I invoked the name of Jesus. I don’t know why. The words just burst out of my mouth. But your Christ helped me even though I’m not baptized. I defeated my enemy, and I could feel the help of a god as I did it.”
“Our scriptures say, ‘The Lord trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle.’ So it must have been God strengthening you. He gave you victory. That’s what I believe, anyway.”
Rex fell silent as he stared out at the temple of Jupiter, pale and luminous atop the Capitoline Hill. Though he was normally so confident, Rex now seemed nervous, fiddling with the leather of his belt. Flavia examined his face from the side. His jawline was well-defined, turning sharply beneath his ear in a knot of muscle, then jutting into a strong chin like the prow of a ship. Where barbarian whiskers once grew, now there was just a smooth Roman cheek. Though Flavia sensed a certain turmoil in Rex and wanted to provide comfort, she resisted the urge to put out her hand and touch his face. The gesture, she knew, would be far too intimate. Instead, she simply rested her hand on his forearm.
“Is something wrong?” she asked gently.
“You said your god helped me. Maybe he did. But the truth is, I also did something evil that day. Something no soldier should do.”
A twinge of fear caught Flavia by surprise. Somewhere deep in her mind, a tiny voice whispered that Rex was violent at heart, but she brushed it away. He’s a good man, another voice countered. He just needs a friend at his side. Someone to listen to him.
“You can talk about it if you want,” she offered.
Rex picked up a pebble and inspected it in his fingers. “Pompeianus was the general at Verona,” he said at last. “I made a vow that I would kill him in war if I could. And I got that chance. He was the enemy that I just described—the one I fought in the power of Christ. I drew first blood from him on the battlefield.”
“I don’t know if that can be called evil, Rex. Our theologians are divided about warfare. Some say you should never shed blood. Others believe war can be just, like it was for the Jews of the Old Testament. They were clearly doing what God had commanded.”
“Warfare wasn’t the evil I was referring to. I fought Pompeianus nobly out on the field. It was what happened next that . . .” Rex grimaced and resumed his silence.
“You can tell me,” Flavia said softly. “I’ll still respect you.”
“Tch! Not likely.”
“Yes, I will! What happened, Rex? You’re scaring me.”
“I abandoned Constantine to die.”
Flavia involuntarily shrank from her friend. “But you’re no coward! Why would you do that?”
Rex sighed, tossing the pebble down the temple steps. “Only one thing would make me abandon my commander to death. As it turned out, he didn’t die. But only because many brave men gave their lives for him. Men that didn’t include me.”
Rex’s expression was so guilty that Flavia felt tears of compassion gather in her eyes. Clearly, this warrior, this man of action who took pride in his courage and military virtue, was bearing a heavy burden. For a soldier to abandon his post at the emperor’s most desperate hour was a crime worthy of death. To any honorable legionary, such cowardice was abhorrent. Dereliction of duty was unforgivable. Those accused of it often committed suicide rather than endure the shame.
“It’s not the worst thing,” Flavia said, trying to inject hope into her voice. “I know you weren’t afraid out there. I’m sure you must have had a good reason for fleeing.”
“I didn’t flee!” Rex said bitterly. “I chased down my enemy. I had already wounded him on the field, so I pursued him and caught him. By the end of the chase, Pompeianus was at my feet, helpless and asking for mercy.”
“He must have been badly injured to stoop to that. He’s such an arrogant man.”
“I had severed his hand, and he was exhausted, so he gave himself up to arrest and requested a trial.”
“Where did you take him?”
“Nowhere.”
Flavia gasped. “You let him get away?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then what? You left him to be captured by someone else?”
Rex shook his head.
A creeping horror began to take hold of Flavia. She turned and looked at Rex, uncertain that she knew him like she thought she did. “Surely you didn’t . . .”
“Yes. I executed him like the criminal he was. And I don’t regret it. Now he will never be able to hurt you again.”
“Oh, Rex,” Flavia said in a trembling voice. “That wasn’t battle. Nor was it self-defense. It was murder for vengeance! The worst sin a man can commit!”
“I don’t believe in sin,” Rex declared.
“God does,” Flavia replied, and burst into tears.
OCTOBER 312
Constantine had been to Rome only once before, and on that visit, a decade earlier, he had come by sea. Now he had just spent the better part of three weeks descending the Flaminian Way, the main artery between northern Italy and the capital. It was a rugged road that crossed two passes in the Apennines. At one point it even pierced through an archway carved out of the mountain itself. Yet by the end of the highway’s course, as it approached the capital city along the Tiberis River, the surrounding countryside was a flat upland. And it was there, just a few miles short of the walls, that Constantine ordered his soldiers to set up camp. It would be their last field bivouac. The next tent that each man occupied would be within sight of Rome’s walls. The final battle with Maxentius was coming soon.
Several of the senior officers rode with Constantine down to a monument called the First Gate. On his previous visit, the emperor recalled being unimpressed by it; and seeing the gateway once more, he found no
new reason to feel a sense of awe. It was just a nondescript place where an aqueduct crossed the road to supply water to an ancient villa. As the arches spanned the highway, they formed a kind of portal.
“Not much to look at, is it?” the emperor remarked to Vitruvius.
“I suppose it’s mostly symbolic—the first entry point to the vicinity of Rome. But it’s not symbolism that matters to me. I care about battle plans. See that cliff?” The general pointed to a low bluff of rust-colored tufa. “It’s called Red Rocks. The terrain here narrows, so we’ll have to be careful. Maxentius isn’t likely to come out and give us a good fight, but he might send a detachment to try and ambush us in a tight place.”
“He’d be a fool to leave the walls for a pitched battle,” Constantine agreed. “He’s survived a siege twice before. It’s his best defense now.”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I’ve already ordered the men to start constructing catapults and towers.”
“Good. Looks like it’s going to be a long siege.” The emperor reined his horse around. “Let’s get back to camp and keep an eye on things.”
The scouting party returned up the Flaminian Way to the encampment at the thirteenth milestone. Constantine’s men were well trained, each knowing his job. Some were already digging defensive ditches, while others erected orderly rows of the eight-man tents used by legions on the march. The commander’s tent, much larger than these, occupied a prominent spot on the highway at the center of the camp. It served as the official headquarters of the temporary fortress, and an open area lay next to it for assembling the troops.
“Today is the Ides of October,” Constantine reminded Vitruvius as they shared cups of wine in the privacy of the tent. “You know what’s happening down in the city?”
The general had to think for a moment before responding. “Ah, yes! The October Horse is being sacrificed. The race must have just finished. The blood of the winner is probably still warm.”
“That’s right. On the Field of Mars, that ancient god always gets his blood. It’s all rather primitive, don’t you think? I mean, this slaughter of animals to appease the deities. Doesn’t it strike you as archaic, Vitruvius?”