The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  “It seems traditional and time-honored to me, sir.”

  “So the priests always say. But I’m beginning to think the spiritual rituals of the Christians are more noble.” Constantine snapped his fingers to a bodyguard standing outside the open tent flap. “Go summon my chaplain,” he said.

  In short order, Ossius of Corduba arrived. He was an old man, probably near sixty, so the rigors of marching with a field army had taken a toll on him. Yet despite his obvious fatigue, his eyes shone with purpose and determination. “You called for me, Augustus?” he asked with a dip of his chin.

  “The men of Maxentius are down in Rome sacrificing to their god of war. I believe our troops need to feel they are supported by an even higher God—the Highest Divinity, who created the world. Can you give a speech to the men at the morning assembly?”

  “Indeed I can, Your Highness. It would be my honor to do so.”

  “Good. We will hear from you tomorrow at the third hour.”

  At the appointed time the next day, the entire officer corps, down to the rank of centurion, gathered at the assembly ground outside the emperor’s tent. An elevated podium had been erected from planks laid across the bed of a wagon. Ossius climbed up and stood before a flag-draped crate that served as a makeshift speaker’s pulpit. The Spanish bishop was looking much better this morning, wearing a respectable tunic and, in solidarity with the men, the same kind of cloak and boots the officers themselves wore. Even his normally long and wavy hair had been cropped close. He carried a book under his arm, which he placed on the pulpit before he began his speech.

  The oration was a rousing one. Clearly, these Christian preachers were well-trained rhetoricians, skilled in the art of teaching, delighting, and motivating their audiences. Ossius captured the men’s attention with colorful illustrations and references to classical history that everyone knew. When he began to expound the Christian scriptures—texts with which the men were unfamiliar—he explained the background of the stories and recounted them in a way the audience could understand.

  His chosen passage was from the Book of Exodus, a Greek word meaning “the way out.” Long ago, the ancient Hebrews had fled from the tyrant Pharaoh in Aegyptus. When he chased them with his fearsome chariots, God opened a path through the sea.

  “In the same way, O mighty warriors, you must cross the waters of the River Tiberis!” Ossius thundered at the gathered officers. “At the Milvian Bridge, you will cross safely by the hand of God, just like the Hebrews walked on dry land in the midst of the sea. Then you shall come into the promised land of Rome, where the new Moses, our glorious emperor seated before us, will lead us in the divine law after coming down from the high mountains!”

  Surveying his men, Constantine could tell that the bishop had convinced them to cast their lot with the Christian God. They nodded among themselves, and no one dared scoff at the oration. Any god was a thing to be feared, but the one who had created everything, and who had been around for so long, was especially dreadful. The Christian religion now had three centuries of proven success. It had survived terrible persecution and come out stronger. It possessed sacred books, mysterious rituals, an effective leadership structure, and some brand-new buildings, though not very impressive ones. Yet even without magnificent temples, Christianity was a force to be reckoned with. Constantine could see that now was the time to put into motion the final part of his plan.

  He rose from his ornate folding chair and climbed up beside Ossius on the podium. “Men of valor, I salute you!” he cried, and a cheer rose from the assembled soldiers. “You already know your augustus has been marching under the powerful sign of the cross. You have seen the glorious labarum at the head of the column since we departed on this expedition. But now, my brave soldiers, each of you must receive the heavenly help that the cross affords. And that is why I have arranged this!”

  Constantine swept his hand toward a small tent next to the assembly ground. A handful of army slaves came forth, carrying pots of paint and horsehair brushes from a nearby villa. The paint was bright white, so it would show up well on any surface.

  “Centurions!” Constantine barked. “Your emperor commands you to mark each man’s shield in your century with the holy sign. It must look like this.” One of the slaves held up a placard with a circle drawn on it to indicate a shield. Inside it was the tau-rho figure, with its perpendicular arms intersecting at the boss of the shield.

  “Soon we will conquer Maxentius by this saving sign,” Constantine went on, “the wondrous sign that I saw written in the sky long ago by the hand of the Highest God. And this very sign, which I was told in a dream to accept, I now bequeath to you! Let Hercules and Apollo and Mars be set aside. It is time to let the Lord Christ fight our battles!”

  A single voice rose above the hubbub of the crowd. One of the centurions, a devout Christian, was first to run to the pots of paint. “Jesus Christ the victor!” he cried. Snatching a brush, he dabbed a crisscross stroke on his shield, then finished the sign with a curved arc at the top to form a tau-rho: ϼ.

  The action provoked a powerful response. The other centurions rushed to the paint and enthusiastically marked their own shields.

  Ossius let out a long breath as he stood at Constantine’s side. “After so much persecution and bloodshed, it is hard to believe I am seeing this, Your Highness. I can only believe it is the handiwork of God.”

  “I pray that God will also show us his handiwork before the walls of Rome.”

  “He blesses his followers and hears their prayers. That much, at least, is certain.”

  Constantine put his arm around his chaplain and gestured to the busy soldiers with his other hand. “You are witnessing a unique event here, Bishop Ossius. Never before has a Roman army fought by any other power than the traditional gods. Yet I believe it is time to revere only one God—and to have one emperor again as well.”

  Ossius glanced over at Constantine, his eyebrows arched in surprise. “You won’t share power with Licinius?”

  A mischievous smile came to the emperor’s face. “My future brother-in-law has his eyes on Rome—of that we can have no doubt. But we shall have to wait until another day to discover what unfolds within the Imperial College. For now, it seems I am the first to reach the capital. Soon I’ll be master of all Italy. And when I defeat Maxentius by the mighty hand of God, I will order a triumphal arch to be erected right here, at this camp.”

  “A fitting way to mark the beginning of your great conquest.”

  “Yes. May it stand as a monument to the day the empire claimed the power of Christ. From now on, Bishop Ossius, the legions of Rome shall conquer in the sign of the cross!”

  Lady Sabina Sophronia signaled for her serving maid to approach with the tray of sweet dates and cheese. The girl set it before the guests and quickly exited, for the household slaves had been told to stay away from the dining room during the meeting. Only faithful Onesimus was allowed to remain nearby, standing guard at the door to prevent any listening ears from coming too close.

  Sophronia’s brother-in-law, the eminent senator Titus Junius Ignatius, had arrived at the Aventine mansion earlier that morning. But despite his presence, the person Sophronia rejoiced to see most in the room was Flavia. It had been such a surprise when Flavia showed up a few nights ago with the handsome guardsman who watched out for her. Rex claimed to know for certain that Ruricius Pompeianus had fallen in battle at Verona. Now it was safe, Rex declared, for Flavia to return home. The house seemed to have gained a new liveliness with Flavia’s return. Sophronia caressed her daughter’s arm as they reclined on a divan beside the dining room’s central table. She’s home! I praise you, Holy Christ, for your mercies!

  Senator Ignatius, the man with the highest status of the group, reclined alone at the head couch and presided over the meal. To his left were Sophronia and Flavia, while on his right were Rex and the Greek schoolteacher Alexamenos. Fortunately, the master of the house was away on business in Puteoli. Neratius seemed to be g
oing there a lot these days, though Sophronia didn’t know why.

  “As you are aware, this is not a pleasure banquet but a strategy meeting,” the senator said, getting straight to the point now that the food had been brought and the slaves were gone. “It is time to make plans. We shall not leave this table until some specific strategies have been determined.” The others in the room nodded but said nothing, deferring to Ignatius’s leadership. When he saw that he had their full attention, he continued. “I think we all realize Rome is on the brink of civil war. Maxentius was once popular, but the citizens have turned against him. And why not? His arrogance, harsh taxes, and ravishing of aristocratic wives have angered the people.”

  “Not to mention his brutal vengeance,” Rex put in. “Six thousand peasants were massacred in Trans Tiberim the other night because one soldier was lynched. And most of the people who were slaughtered had nothing to do with it.”

  Alexamenos grimaced as he shook his head. “It’s shameful. But it also reminds us to be careful. Right now, Constantine is out in the countryside somewhere to the north. The Praetorians are here with us, inside the walls. It’s risky to take a public stand against Maxentius.”

  Flavia, who had been quiet so far, finally spoke up. “I agree it’s risky, but I think many people are starting to take those risks. I’ve been hearing open grumbling and complaining. Once Constantine has control of the city, everyone will go over to him gladly. The people are convinced Maxentius will lose. No one wants to be remembered as having sided with him. The whole city is afraid of what is about to happen. Rome hasn’t been invaded for seven hundred years. The idea is terrifying.”

  Senator Ignatius’s hand shot into the air, his finger pointing upward in an emphatic gesture. “Yes! You just said it, my little niece. Fear is exactly what we need here. It can run through a city like a wildfire. Our job is to be the arsons. Throw sparks of fear among the citizens and fan them into flame. This will bring Maxentius down faster than anything else. Any ideas on how to do it?”

  Rex was the first to reply, and since he was a recognized expert in tactics, everyone listened closely to his words. “I think the strategy we want here is to plant one simple idea and spread it from person to person. Just as a fire spreads more easily in a dense neighborhood, we need to go where people are packed tightly together. In Rome, that means one obvious location.”

  “The slums?” Alexamenos suggested.

  “No, even tighter than that. Shoulder to shoulder, in fact.”

  “Ah, of course,” Senator Ignatius mused, “the circus! It holds thousands of spectators.”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand, to be precise.” Rex made a flicking motion with his fingers. “We only need to cast our sparks among a few of those thousands, then sit back and watch the fire spread.”

  “I have an idea,” Sophronia offered. “Many years ago, I remember a magistrate who advertised his candidacy by hiding medallions in the free bread at the races. He had the little coins washed in silver to give them some value. Each one had his portrait on the front and an election slogan on the back. The people loved it! Even I ripped into my bread looking for a coin, though I didn’t get one. But some did, and they were the envy of the city. Everyone was talking about it for days afterward. And the magistrate was elected easily.”

  “That would be expensive,” Alexamenos observed. “We’d need several thousand medallions to influence the whole racetrack.”

  Ignatius waved his hand. “Money is no object when it comes to bringing down Maxentius. It’s a worthwhile investment for me. I’d rather lose some funds than have my estates confiscated by a tyrant.”

  “Then the way to do it,” Rex said, “is to get in touch with some counterfeiters right away. I think I can do that. We’ll imprint the medallions with the message that Constantine can’t be defeated. Once we have them, we’ll need to bribe someone high up in the imperial bakeries to let us insert them in the dough. The coins will bake into the loaves, but no one will know which ones have them inside. The crowd will be interested already because bread is so scarce these days. The money will just add to the interest. It’s a simple plan. All we need is high-level permission to do it.”

  “A close friend of mine was recently brutalized by Maxentius . . .” Sophronia’s somber words trailed off for a moment, but she collected herself and continued. “She’s the wife of the prefect of provisions. A very dignified lady who was horribly mistreated in the palace. Obviously, her husband is furious and seeking revenge against the emperor. He supervises the imperial bread dole. I’m sure he’d cooperate with our plan.”

  Rex gave Sophronia an affirming nod. “That will work. So if he says yes, where should we take the coins?”

  “There’s a bakery on the Palatine that supplies the racetrack,” Flavia said. “It also makes bread for banquets in the palace. I’m a familiar face around there, so I could pass by unnoticed. The kitchen maids go there often.”

  Alexamenos looked doubtful. “I think that’s dangerous now that some people know your real identity, Lady Junia. I would have to go with you for protection. The workers all know me in those tunnels. If anyone bothers you, I could insist you’re one of my slaves. It’s the only way you’ll be safe.”

  The room fell awkwardly silent. No one wanted to insult the brave yet slender-framed Alexamenos after his generous offer of “protection.” Finally, Senator Ignatius took the lead. “Rex, you should go with them too,” he instructed. “Pose as a porter. There are plenty of stout Germanic slaves carrying loads through the passages beneath the palace. You’ll fit right in.”

  “Yes, sir, I agree,” Rex said. “A wise plan.”

  “So there we have it, everyone! Do we all know our roles?” Each of the conspirators nodded their assent to the senator.

  “Very well,” he concluded. “Lady Sabina, would you please pass me the dates? Let us take some refreshment in these perilous times.”

  Although the food was delicious, the rest of the meal passed with none of the guests savoring the delicacies. Too much was at stake, and the conspirators knew all too well what would happen if Maxentius got wind of the conspiracy before he was ousted. At last the meal broke up in a kind of grim farewell. Rex and Alexamenos left the house to attend to their duties, while Flavia retired to the rear garden. Sophronia followed her.

  “It’s wonderful to have you home again, my love,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Flavia’s lips curled into a little smile as she basked in the waning sunshine of autumn. “Mother, you’ve told me that a thousand times over the past two days.”

  “Well, I’m just so happy to have you home again.”

  “A thousand and one,” Flavia said. The two women looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. For now, at least, the fearsome burden of carrying out high treason was forgotten.

  When their giggles had subsided, Sophronia sat next to Flavia on a sun-washed bench. “I love you, sweet one,” she said, patting Flavia’s knee.

  “I love you too, Mother.”

  “I have to admit, I wasn’t sad when I heard Pompeianus had fallen at Verona. He was an evil man.”

  Flavia remained silent, fiddling with the decorative fringe on her mantle.

  “It meant you could come home,” Sophronia went on. “That soldier Rex takes good care of you. He won’t let you go anywhere unsafe.”

  “Yes. He’s very protective. It’s one of his positive traits.”

  Sophronia gave her daughter a sly glance. “Alongside many others, yes? He certainly has more than one.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Oh, he definitely does. Older women can see these things. He’s a man of high character. Lots of potential in life. And he’s remarkably good-looking.”

  “Mother, stop! You know he’s not in our catholic faith. Why are you putting ideas in my head?”

  “But what if he converted? He seems open to it. He visited church with you several times.”

  “Even if he got baptiz
ed tomorrow, he’s not of our social station.”

  “I know. But I talked with your father about that. Neratius said it’s much easier to enter the knightly class these days. Any aspiring and well-connected young man can do it, especially if he’s completed a good tour in the army. He comes out of the ranks with an honorable discharge and has a nice government post waiting. After he puts in a few years in the provinces, he comes back to Rome and works his way up the bureaucracy. Lots of talented Germani are doing it these days. In fact, it has become quite fashionable for Roman girls to marry barbarians.”

  “Marriage? Since when are we talking about marriage?”

  “You’re eighteen, Flavia! What else should we be talking about? Once Constantine takes over this city, it’s going to settle down again. We need to think about your future.”

  “My future is to marry a Christian.”

  Sophronia sighed. “You know I share that intent, my love. I protected you from your father several times when he wanted to form alliances with pagan families. I even stopped him from making you marry Magnus, although that would have helped our fortune. So, yes, I want you to marry a Christian. But I also want you to marry someone you respect.” Sophronia paused, staring up at the sky. “Marriage is hard if you don’t have that,” she said quietly.

  “I do respect Rex. Very much, to be honest. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’s close to converting. I mean, he’s a warrior. He kills people.”

  “War can be a noble part of manhood. And even when it isn’t noble, it’s often necessary.”

  “I know. But in Rex’s case, I fear his warlike spirit keeps him from bowing to Christ.”

  “Don’t give up hope, daughter. Soldiers have been turning to the true faith ever since the centurion came to Jesus to get his servant healed.”

  “It’s a nice story, I guess.”

  “It’s more than a story. It’s the truth.”