The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  “Sometimes even the truth is hard to believe.”

  Flavia rose abruptly from the bench and walked to a decorative fountain on a stand. She rested both hands on its rim and stared into the water. It took several moments before Sophronia noticed her daughter’s shoulders quaking.

  “My love, you’re crying!” Sophronia hurried to Flavia’s side and tried to stroke her hair. Flavia averted her eyes and pulled away.

  “What is it?” Sophronia pressed. “You can share it with me. I’m your mother.”

  Flavia spun, her face a mixture of anger and despair. Tears had smudged the makeup around her eyes. “All this talk of marriage is foolishness!” she cried. “Haven’t you read the scriptures? Saint John’s letter says no murderer has eternal life abiding in him. Or if an apostle isn’t enough, let the Lord himself speak! He says anyone who murders is of his father the devil. Such a one has no truth in him at all!”

  Taken aback by the vehemence of the outburst, Sophronia needed a moment to collect her thoughts. At last she leaned forward and put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. Flavia could only stare at her feet.

  “Keep your faith strong,” Sophronia urged. “The grace of Almighty God is powerful.”

  “Yes, I know. But do you know what else is powerful?”

  “What?”

  “The bloodlust in Rex’s heart.”

  Sophronia shook her head defiantly. “There are other scriptures you’re forgetting, Flavia. Don’t you remember your favorite one from the Book of Proverbs? ‘Like a rush of water being diverted, so is the heart of a king in God’s hand.’ If that is true of a king, how much more of a mere soldier? God can turn your friend’s heart in any way he chooses. He can cause Rex to become a Christian.”

  “Oh, Mother! I want to believe that so much! And I would give anything to see it happen. I mean anything! But I fear it never will.” Flavia put her hand to her forehead and covered her eyes. “I know it’s wrong to despair,” she whimpered. “I just have a terrible feeling that Rex and I can never be together, no matter how hard I pray.”

  “God can do all things. He can certainly do this.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Flavia pursed her lips and shook her head. “I believe Rex’s heart is the one kingdom that can’t be conquered.”

  “Flavia! Why are you so fearful?”

  “Because this is what I desire more than anything else in the world. I don’t know if I can live without it!”

  “My sweet daughter!” Sophronia exclaimed, drawing Flavia into a hug. “It sounds to me like your heart is the one in need of conquest.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Flavia whispered as she rested in her mother’s arms.

  OCTOBER 27, 312

  Rex gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow and lifted the heavy load. He was nearly naked, wearing only a waistcloth like the most menial slaves in the imperial palace. Such attire was far beneath his station as an elite warrior of the horse guard, but he accepted the disguise as a necessary contrivance. Flavia endured a much lower drop in social class when she came here for several months, he reminded himself. You can do it now for the sake of the mission.

  The mission on which Rex had been sent to Rome—gathering intelligence and destabilizing Maxentius to pave the way for Constantine—had taken on new meaning in recent weeks. Rex had found himself unable to shake his burden of guilt for having abandoned the emperor at Verona. His flight that day had been seen by all. Though Constantine didn’t know the identity of the cowardly deserter or he would have had the man arrested, Rex still had to live with the awareness that the emperor now despised him. Ever since that day long ago at Eboracum, when twelve-year-old Rex was spared from execution and sent to military school, the great Emperor Constantine had been a hero of his. Now Rex believed only a major contribution to the downfall of Maxentius could atone for his despicable treason. Fortunately, each step he took as he rolled the wheelbarrow along the tunnel was one step closer to redemption. Senator Ignatius’s clever plot was in motion, and if all went according to plan, Maxentius would soon be on his way to ruin.

  “Greetings to you, miss,” a slave said to Flavia as they passed in the hall. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

  “Just so busy,” Flavia replied, shrugging as she held up her bucket and mop. “So much to do.”

  Although the passageways that burrowed into the Palatine Hill had the complexity of an anthill, Alexamenos knew his way through the maze, and Flavia seemed to have a good grasp as well. Rex followed them, rolling his cart full of casks—none containing water or oil, as the casual observer would assume. Instead, they held silver-washed medallions purchased from an illegal counterfeit ring.

  “Feel that heat?” Alexamenos asked as the threesome turned a corner. “The bakery is just ahead.”

  Flavia closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. “Mmm! It smells so good.”

  “I know. Everyone is craving bread. The bakers had to post guards because people have been stealing loaves and selling them on the black market.”

  The bakery was located on the outer edge of the imperial complex at a spot where the chimneys from its ovens could be vented outside. A burly slave in a flour-covered apron met the visitors at the door. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Bread makers with a special recipe,” Alexamenos told him.

  “What’s it for?”

  “A bread so good, it will make you rich.”

  The slave nodded at the use of the proper password and admitted the threesome into the bakery, then shut the door behind them.

  Rex set down his heavy wheelbarrow and arched his back. A rivulet of sweat made a ticklish sensation as it ran between his chest muscles and down the middle of his stomach. He brushed it away with his hand.

  “Do you, um, need a rag?” Flavia asked.

  Rex glanced over to see Flavia offering him a cloth. Strangely, she was staring at her feet as she held it out.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking the rag and wiping his drenched body. He started to give the rag back to her, but as soon as he looked up after drying off, Flavia averted her eyes and darted away. Rex pitched the wet cloth into a corner.

  The bakery was large, designed to produce a high volume of bread. One entire wall consisted of a countertop for kneading the dough into balls. Another was lined with empty cooling racks to receive the freshly baked loaves. The third wall held the ovens, their fiery mouths opened wide.

  “Listen up now, men,” Alexamenos said to the gaggle of slaves gathered around him. “You have been instructed by your master to participate in a plan that could get you killed. You know how Rome treats its rebellious slaves. If word ever gets out about your involvement, it will mean a long, slow death for you on a cross.”

  Though the slaves remained silent, Rex could see they understood all too well that the warning had merit. The treasonous nature of what was being done today had made an impression on the workers. They shifted their feet and waited for Alexamenos to continue.

  “The medallions are here,” the teacher said, sweeping his hand toward the wheelbarrow. Rex reached into one of the casks and extracted a heavy sack that jingled as he held it up. “All we want you to do is place a single coin inside each of the loaves. Once they’re baked, you’ll mix them with baskets from other bakeries so no one will know where these came from. You must be very secretive about this. Am I understood?”

  The slaves nodded, so Alexamenos dispatched them to their task. The three conspirators joined them, sliding the coins into the dough balls with the help of a knife, then smoothing the surface to make the slit invisible. Rex found that the work proceeded quickly. At the end of an hour, four thousand coins had been inserted, which meant sixteen thousand coins still remained to be implanted in the upcoming batches of dough. It would be a big job, but there was plenty of manpower. And it was only the third hour now. The chariot races wouldn’t take place until the late afternoon.

  “Try this one, Rex,” Alexamenos said. He picked
up a bun from the cooling rack and tossed it across the room. Rex caught it but had to bobble it in his hand because it was so hot. Finally, he speared it with his knife and held it up before his nose, savoring its wheaty, yeasty aroma. He risked a nibble to let some steam escape, then followed with a big bite. On the second bite, he found the coin protruding from the loaf.

  “Let’s see it,” Flavia said, coming to his side.

  Rex showed it to her in his palm. The medallion displayed the triumphant face of Emperor Constantine with radiant sunbeams shining from his head. Flavia flipped the coin over. A slogan was there:

  Constantinum Vinci Non Posse

  “Constantine cannot be defeated,” Flavia read aloud—an expression of her hope. And perhaps a prayer?

  “That’s our essential message,” Rex said. “It’ll only take one person shouting it to get the crowd going. Even though Maxentius’s army is bigger than ours, Constantine is viewed as a military genius. Everyone believes he’s going to win. No one wants to say so out loud. But they might if they’re not alone.”

  “Well, I’m going to make sure—”

  A sudden knock interrupted Flavia’s boast: three hard raps on the door followed by two more, the signal that the visitor was a friend. The doorkeeper let him in. “Praetorians are snooping around,” the visitor, another bakery slave, announced. “We’re going to be arrested!”

  “Not likely,” Rex replied. “Nothing noteworthy is happening here if we keep the casks out of sight.” He turned toward Alexamenos. “It’s possible that someone has recognized Flavia,” he whispered so the slaves couldn’t hear. “Bringing her to the palace might have been a bad idea. I’ve got to get her out of here. Can you stay and supervise the operation?”

  “Absolutely. The bread will be ready for the afternoon races. Go now—quick!”

  Rex peeked out the door. Seeing no one, he flicked his head to tell Flavia it was time to leave. She came up behind him and peered around his shoulder at the empty hallway. They were about to go when Rex pulled back. At the end of the hall, a squad of soldiers had just rounded the corner. They stopped a kitchen maid and started harassing her as she protested her innocence.

  “We’ll never get past them, Rex! They’re looking for girls my age. And there’s no other way out of this bakery!”

  Rex put his hand on Flavia’s shoulder. “You worry too much for a Christian. Calm down and let me take care of it.” He gave her a wink to reassure her. “Now squat.”

  “What?”

  “Squat down,” Rex repeated, pointing to the ground. “Make yourself into a little ball. Hold your knees to your chest.”

  Flavia complied. Before she could protest, Rex pulled an empty grain sack over her entire body and scooped her into his arms. She squealed as Rex lifted her.

  “Don’t make a sound. Wheat doesn’t cry out like that. Just hold still.”

  “Okay,” came a muffled reply from the bag.

  After depositing Flavia in the wheelbarrow, he arranged several full sacks of grain around her, then pushed the cart into the hall. The Praetorians had abandoned the girl they were questioning and now were headed toward the bakery. As they approached, Rex could see they were the same bunch he had encountered the day he purchased sausages with Flavia. However, Rex had been in uniform that day, a prestigious cavalryman. The Praetorians would hardly expect him to be here, months later, shirtless and performing manual labor. Besides, the Romans often said that all the blond Germani looked the same. They would probably just pass him by as irrelevant. Rex put his head down and kept rolling.

  The soldiers approached. Rex stared at the floor like slaves always did in the presence of troublemakers.

  “Stop where you are,” one of the men barked. Rex halted but did not look up.

  “You trying to run us over, slave? Your stupid cart takes up the whole tunnel.”

  The soldiers slipped past. One of them bumped Rex with his armored shoulder but Rex didn’t respond. When they were behind him, he picked up the wheelbarrow’s handles and started moving again.

  “Stay still until I say otherwise,” he whispered to Flavia.

  After a few twists and turns, he took the nearest exit he could find. Out in the sunshine, a crowd was gathering, for the bakery was adjacent to the Circus Maximus and people were arriving early to get a good seat. Unlike the gladiator matches in the amphitheater, the chariot races were free and open to the public. The earlier you arrived, the better the seat you could find.

  Rex rolled the wheelbarrow into a shaded alley. He loosened the string on Flavia’s sack and her feet popped out. She gratefully slithered out and stood up.

  “I thought rich girls put flowers in their hair,” Rex said as he plucked a stalk of wheat from her locks. “Is this the new fashion?”

  “I thought soldiers wore armor,” Flavia shot back, pointing at Rex’s loincloth. “Is this the new fashion?”

  The saucy rejoinder made Rex burst into laughter. Flavia laughed too, sharing the humor of the moment. Finally, Rex came close to her, looking down at her face with a mischievous grin. “Do you remember the day we dined together in Tibur, Lady Junia?” The playful use of her formal name caught her attention.

  After a moment’s pause, Flavia mimicked the game. “Why, yes I do, Guardsman Brandulf Rex,” she replied. “Why do you mention it?”

  “I’d like to offer a second invitation.”

  “Perhaps I might consider it. Go on.”

  “What if, instead of sitting down to an elegant meal, a shirtless porter and a kitchen maid went on an outing together?”

  Flavia’s face lit up—then a strange expression clouded her face. She seemed to become more reluctant than her initial response would have suggested. Even so, she offered a gorgeous smile. “Where is this kitchen maid being taken?” she asked, still playing the game, but with less heart now.

  Rex pointed over her shoulder, and she turned to gaze at the immense height of the Circus Maximus. “To watch the downfall of a tyrant,” he declared.

  “Now that should be a good show.”

  Rex extended his arm like a gentleman. “So might I escort you there, my lady?”

  For a long moment, Flavia stared apprehensively at Rex’s outstretched elbow. These Christian girls really are shy, he thought. Finally, she slipped her arm into his, then cuddled closer to his side than he had expected. She even tipped her head to lean against his shoulder. His arm was clutched tight in her grasp.

  “Lead me on, brave warrior,” she said, “ because I have no idea where I’m going.”

  At the end of the hunting portion of the circus show, Flavia decided that the variety of animals God had made was indescribable. Ostriches, hippos, panthers, baboons, zebras—each strange creature was too exotic to comprehend. But the animals Flavia marveled at most were the giant spotted camels without humps. These strange beasts, imported from Africa, had such long necks and legs that they towered even above the trees. Their coat was a remarkable patchwork of brown and white blotches, and they had two stumpy horns on their heads. Eight of these tall, loping creatures had been killed by hunters with spears. Fortunately, no men had died in combat with them, though several gladiators did perish in their fights with the elefanti and rhinos. Though most of the beast hunts in Rome were held in the amphitheater, blood sport was also one of the attractions of the Circus Maximus, and today was no exception.

  “I’ll be glad when the chariot races begin,” Flavia remarked to Rex, who sprawled next to her on one of the circus’s risers. Since it was a public venue, he had donned a slave’s tunic over his loincloth. “I’m not used to watching the hunts. Too much bloodshed for me.”

  Rex pursed his lips. “I think you’d better brace yourself. The races might not put an end to it.”

  Flavia shuddered at the remark and vowed not to look if a bad crash happened.

  Tomorrow would mark the sixth anniversary of Maxentius’s coronation, so all of Rome was being offered bread and entertainment in honor of their great ruler. By
now the people had grown sick of the man who wore the royal crown. Nevertheless, if he wanted to put on a good show in the circus, they weren’t averse to turning out for it.

  “Look up there,” Rex said, pointing to the imperial box in the stands. It was a lavish affair with painted columns and a shady porch from which to watch the spectacle. “People are starting to arrive. Mostly soldiers, it looks like. The emperor will be here soon. Then the races can begin.”

  Rex was right about the emperor’s entrance. It wasn’t long after his prediction when, accompanied by a trumpet fanfare, Maxentius strode into view and took a seat in his box amid the idols of Rome. His arrival was followed by a long parade that entered the circus through an arch at one end. Priests, musicians, horsemen, jugglers, and dancers followed one another around the track’s central spine. After a single raucous lap, the procession exited by the same archway. A curtain closed the portal behind them.

  Now a tense silence descended on the thousands of spectators. Charioteers had taken up their positions in six of the starting gates. Maxentius rose from his couch, holding a white cloth above his head. The crowd held its breath. And then, like a single snowflake, the cloth fluttered to the emperor’s feet.

  The chariots burst from the gates with a collective roar from the crowd. This was the first of twelve races today, a preliminary match between several new drivers for the Blues and Greens. Flavia tried to imagine what it must be like to guide two galloping horses around the sandy track—not to mention four horses, like several later races would feature. “Have you ever tried doing that?” she shouted into Rex’s ear over the clamor of the mob.

  “What?” he yelled back.

  “Have you ever driven a chariot?”

  “Once or twice. It’s hard!”

  It must be very hard if Rex had difficulty with it, Flavia thought.

  The chariots thundered around the track seven times, losing only two teams in a colossal smashup before the winner crossed the finish line. The victory went to an up-and-coming Spanish driver for the Blues. Flower petals rained down on him as he received his victory palm. Many of the spectators cheered for him, while others harrumphed at the money they had lost in their betting.