by Bryan Litfin
Since he possessed no ranged weapon, Rex could only raise his shield and charge at his foe, letting out a ferocious scream as he ran. The incoming arrow whisked past Rex’s head, but the archer was quick and had another on the string before Rex could reach him. This time, he could hardly be expected to miss.
Rex snatched his shield from his left arm and gripped it in two hands. Like an Olympian hurling the discus, he sent the shield spinning toward his enemy, forcing him to lower his bow and dodge the heavy oaken missile. The action gave Rex the delay he needed. Lunging with his arm fully extended, he plunged his sword into the archer’s belly just as the man brought his bow back up. The arrow fell harmlessly away as the archer realized he had gambled and lost. His face contorted into a tight grimace, and he dropped his bow. Rex put the heel of his hand on the man’s chest and shoved him backward into the dirt. Bright red blood soaked the blade of Rex’s sword, dribbling crimson droplets from its tip.
Yet this was no time to linger. Another scout was out there, perhaps maneuvering for a shot of his own. Rex recovered his shield and ducked behind a tree trunk, then made his way to where the other man had gone down. But this enemy was no threat. He was flat on his back in a fierce-looking thornbush. The thick briers had ensnared him, snagging his armor and holding him fast. Upon seeing Rex, he thrashed violently but couldn’t break free of the thorns. At last he sank back and stared up at Rex with a hopeless look in his eye. He knew his end had come.
“Where’s your horse?” Rex demanded.
“Why should I tell you?” the man spat back.
Kneeling, Rex wiped the blood from his blade on a clump of thick grass, then slid the weapon back in its scabbard. “Because we’re on the same side. We both fight for Constantine.”
“Liar! I see your uniform! You’re in the horse guard!”
“Not everything is as it seems. Throw me your helmet.”
“Get your own helmet.”
Rex scowled. “Throw me your helmet,” he roared, “or I’ll change my mind about sparing you!”
The surprising words made the man more cooperative. Though his arms were constricted, he managed to get the helmet off and toss it onto the grass. Rex removed his own and strapped the replacement on his head. It was the new conical kind made of riveted plates like most of the Constantinians wore. The fit wasn’t too bad.
“Your shield is with your horse?” Rex asked.
“Aye.” The man flicked his head over his shoulder. “About a hundred steps that way, under the big elm.”
Rex approached the mess of brambles that had ensnared the soldier. He used his sword to hack one of the thick branches that anchored the tangle to a tree, then another. At last the thorny vines sagged a little. “Wriggle around a bit, and you should be able to get out,” Rex said. “In return, I need your horse and shield.”
“Take them. I’ll gladly trade them for my life.”
“A fair bargain, I would say.”
Rex turned to go, but the soldier hailed him from behind. “Guardsman! Why did you do that?”
“I told you. I fight under the sign of the cross.”
An excited expression came to the captive man’s face. “You fight for Jesus? I’m a Christian too!”
“I didn’t say that.” Rex withdrew the tau-rho amulet from his collar. “I fight for the man who gave me this.”
“Well, my friend, you should know that’s a powerful sign.”
“So I’m learning. Farewell, Christian.”
Rex found the man’s horse where he said it would be. It was a spirited dapple gray that shied at first but quickly grew accustomed to its new master. Rex discarded his own shield and took up the important one: the one with the tau-rho painted on its face. Fortunately, the horse’s tack was also distinctive to the frontier legions. With that mount and the new helmet and shield, everyone on the battlefield would immediately identify Rex as a Constantinian.
Which is what I am, he reminded himself as he swung into the saddle.
As soon as Rex emerged from the thicket, the sounds of battle confronted him again. Yet most of the action was away from him now, much farther south than he had expected. A chill ran through him as he realized what that implied. Constantine was having quick success—which meant he was pressing hard toward the Milvian Bridge, the focal point of the day’s attack. Perhaps he had already reached it?
“Let’s see what you’ve got, little fella,” Rex said as he called for a canter from the gray. He wished he had the Sardinian chestnut between his legs, but warfare had a will of its own and a good soldier had to be ready to adapt. Rex set his eyes on the distant bridge and asked for a gallop from his mount.
The fighting was thick at the bridgehead. The Maxentians were in desperate retreat, yet they hadn’t turned their tails and run. Though they were giving up ground quickly, they were extracting a price for it in blood. A barrage of javelins and arrows filled the air as both sides converged on the bridge.
Where’s Constantine? Rex scanned the clashing armies, trying to find the most important man on the field. The emperor could usually be found at the forefront of any battle. But where is he now?
At last Rex spotted him. The Augustus of the West wore no ceremonial plumage or impractical armor—at least not today, when he actually expected to fight. Other than some gold trim, his kit was essentially what a top field officer would wear into battle: high-quality armor and light, strong weapons meant for real war. Yet despite such normal attire, Constantine was readily identifiable once Rex’s eye fell on him. The imperial standards were clustered nearby, inspiring the troops and calling them to rally behind their glorious leader.
From across the river, a Maxentian hornblower sounded the call for a retreat. Now a huge mass of soldiers scrambled onto the bridge. For the first time, a spirit of panic began to strike them. The Maxentians were all trying to flee at once, and the temporary bridge was their only means of escape. Constantine could see it too. Like an avenging angel, he surged forward, eager for final victory.
“No! Stay back!” Rex screamed as he galloped on an intercept trajectory. Though he knew the warning couldn’t be heard above the din of battle, the words burst from his lips nonetheless.
The gilded and gleaming Maxentius was visible on the far end of the bridge, seated on his white stallion in the midst of his retreating soldiers. He jabbed his finger toward his enemies, hurling curses at the advancing forces. The wind whipped his cape around his shoulders and sent the horsetail crest on his helmet flying behind him like the tail of a dragon. Arrows and javelins rained down near the emperor, splashing left and right in the Tiberis, yet a divine hand seemed to protect him. He refused to leave his end of the bridge—a bitter loser shaking his fist and snarling with rage.
The perfect lure for a warrior like Constantine!
A Maxentian cavalryman from one of the Italian legions caught sight of Rex as he sped toward the bridgehead. The two riders raced beside each other, each striving to beat the other to the goal. Though the Italian’s long-legged mare had a bit of a head start, the dapple gray proved the faster of the two. As Rex pulled alongside the man at a full gallop, he leaned over and grasped his enemy’s shield. Raising his sword, Rex swept the blade down in a devastating blow that severed his opponent’s arm at the shoulder. The man squealed and fell away. Now Rex had a second shield. He extracted the bloody limb from the straps and cast the ghastly thing aside, then set the newly acquired defense on his right arm.
With his two shields raised above his head, Rex squeezed his thighs and guided the courageous gray into the hail of missiles hurtling across the space between the opposing armies. The horse was fast, yet it was also nearing the end of its strength. One . . . two . . . three arrows struck the shields above Rex’s head. “Jesus Christ!” he cried. “Protect me!”
A gap opened among the troops, and the bridge emerged into clear view. Aghast, Rex could see he was too late. Constantine had reached it first and was preparing to cross. “It’s a trap!” Rex screamed,
but nothing could stop the emperor’s advance. The experienced commander could sense victory was about to be his, and he intended to claim it without hesitation.
Now Rex changed strategy. Yanking both shields from his arms, he tossed them aside. He flipped the helmet off his head, then hiked up his chainmail tunic and started to wriggle out of it. Though he easily withdrew his arms from the sleeves, the tunic caught on his chin as he tried to pull it over his head. Blind for a moment, he could only trust the dapple gray as it churned forward, expending the last of its strength for its master.
Something smacked Rex hard on the skull, stunning him with the force of its impact. He shook away the dizziness and freed his face from the armor. As he hurled the tunic to the ground, he noticed an arrow snagged in the strong iron links. Apparently, both Jesus and the blacksmith had done their jobs well.
More arrows and javelins pierced the earth around the galloping horse as it raced along the riverbank. Constantine’s own mount had arrived at the pontoon bridge and was seeking entrance. Maxentius was at the other end, taunting him. Between them was a horde of panicked soldiers.
A javelin fell from the sky and stabbed the dapple gray in the throat. Its forelegs collapsed. The noble beast began to tumble headfirst into the mud. Rex leapt sideways from the saddle, hurtling through the air like a human missile.
For a long moment, everything was silent. Rex closed his eyes and braced himself.
And then, with a tremendous splash, the muddy Tiberis swallowed him whole.
Dawn had come to Rome at last, but its light was thin and pale as it filtered through the high windows in the house church at the Aventine mansion. Flavia pulled a woolen shawl around her shoulders and stirred the coals in a brazier, for the day had turned colder than expected and the room was chilly and musty. The church meeting hall had been closed for a while because the recent upheaval in the city had interrupted the regular services. For the time being, the handsome priest Felix who led the congregation had been transferred to a different location. Yet Flavia still liked to come to the hall when she felt an urgent need to pray. And with Rex fighting in a colossal battle out by the Milvian Bridge, this was definitely a time for prayer.
The scriptures of God were stored in a wooden cabinet at the rear of the hall. Since the mansion was well fortified and safe from intruders, the cabinet was typically kept unlocked. Flavia withdrew the Old Testament, written in large Greek letters, and laid it on the lectern. It was an expensive book that few churches could afford. Flavia had pestered her father for a year before he finally gave in and purchased a copy. Yet it had been worth it, for the congregation had been blessed by God’s holy words ever since. And now, Lord, she prayed, give a frightened girl some encouragement on a scary day!
Though Flavia was tempted to turn straight to the psalms—knowing they would speak about war since so many were written by King David—she sensed the text to which God might lead her lay somewhere else. She flipped parchment leaves again and again, seeking solace, but her anxious heart couldn’t find rest. Today either her city was going to be liberated or its horrible dictator was going to win and become entrenched for many years to come. And if that prospect weren’t fearful enough, Flavia knew Rex was out there among thousands of men who wanted to kill him.
Sure, Rex was vigorous and skillful in battle. But it would take only a single arrow hitting him in the wrong place, and the man she—
Flavia paused. The man I what? Finish that thought, she ordered herself. And when she did, it surprised her. The man I love. Yes. It’s true. I love Rex more passionately than I ever could have imagined. And now I can’t live without him. I would marry him if he asked!
The realization terrified Flavia, yet was also freeing in a certain sense, for at least the idea had become concrete and existent. She didn’t have to bottle up this fact anymore, pretending it wasn’t true. She didn’t have to keep playing the game that Rex was merely a friend. The reality was that she, Lady Junia Flavia, was madly in love with an incredibly handsome, generous, cocky, winsome, tenderhearted, protective man—who also happened to be an unbelieving barbarian killer.
“God!” Flavia screamed, throwing up her hands. “How did this happen?!”
The sudden outburst caused a dove to burst from its roost on a high windowsill. The bird fluttered into the gray sky, leaving behind a puff of dust and down. Flavia watched a single fluffy feather drift from the rafters in a maddeningly slow back-and-forth tumble. But the feather did not touch the floor. It came to rest instead on the page of the holy book.
Flavia approached the scriptures slowly, uncertain if she should take the dove’s feather as a random event or a divine sign. There are no accidents with God, a voice in her head reminded her, so she decided she had better accept whatever words she found as a special message from the Lord.
The codex lay open to the Book of Jeremiah. Flavia bent to the page in the dim light and began to translate the Greek from where the text picked up after the feather: “I will look after you, and confirm my words to you, to return your people to this place. And I know my plans for you, plans of peace and not of evil, that I might bestow on you these things. So pray to me, and I will hearken to you! Seek earnestly for me, and you will find me, when you search for me with your whole heart.”
My whole heart. Flavia stared at those words a long time, pondering their significance. Her finger caressed the soft, smooth page as she considered what the words might mean. God wants my heart to be united with his, she realized at last. But what does that require of me? And if I figure it out—can I do it?
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Flavia closed the book, then a man stepped into the church: the kindly doorkeeper Onesimus.
“My lady?” he said. “A visitor has arrived at the house. He seeks an audience with you.”
“Who is it? I was not expecting anyone. Certainly not at this early hour.”
“The man would not give his name. But from his looks, I could see he was a Germanic soldier in our army. He was tall and fair-haired. He said he knows you well.”
Rex! You’re alive! And you came to me!
Though Flavia’s body churned with sudden desire, she kept her voice calm. “Tell the visitor I will greet him shortly,” she said with aristocratic dignity. Onesimus bowed and turned to go, but Flavia grabbed his sleeve, pulling him close. “And send the ornatrix to my chamber right away!”
The doorkeeper gave his mistress a little wink. “Of course, my lady. Right away. I was young once. I understand.”
Hurrying as much as seemed appropriate, Flavia returned to her bedroom. The ornatrix arrived soon afterward and did a quick job of applying rouge to Flavia’s cheeks, pink gloss to her lips, and dark thickener to her lashes. When all was ready, Flavia drew a lovely silk mantle around herself, dabbed some perfume on her neck, and glided to the atrium where Rex was waiting.
Little pellets of sleet tumbled through the skylight and ruffled the pool’s surface. Flavia’s heart skipped as she sensed movement in the far corner of the room. Though she had intended to walk slowly and gracefully, she couldn’t help but break into a run when she glimpsed the tall man in a military uniform standing in the shadows. A smile of uncontainable joy crossed Flavia’s face as Rex turned to greet her.
But then he turned fully around.
Geta!
Flavia sucked in her breath and pulled up short. Geta did not stop, however, but closed the distance until he was standing very close.
“Good day, Lady Junia,” he said smoothly. “As always, your beauty is like that of a goddess.”
“I . . . I don’t believe in goddesses.”
“Of course you don’t. What I meant was—”
“Geta, why are you here?”
“That is what I’ve come to explain.”
“Where is Rex?”
“Fighting at the Milvian Bridge, obviously.”
“And why aren’t you there?”
“Ah, that is truly a complicated matter. But it relates to t
he politics of men. Trust me, you don’t need to trouble yourself with it.”
“Try me. I’d actually like to know. I’m, uh . . . I’m rather surprised to see you here.”
Geta sighed. “Fine, I’ll tell you. The simple truth is, I can’t be seen publicly supporting either Constantine or Maxentius.”
“Why not? I thought you fought for Constantine.”
“No,” Geta said with a shake of his head.
Flavia narrowed her eyes and recoiled. “Surely not Maxentius?”
“Of course not.”
“Who then?”
“I have cast my lot with Licinius.”
Licinius? Isn’t he far across the Alps? What’s happening?
Sensing Flavia’s confusion, Geta smiled warmly. “Don’t be afraid, Lady Junia,” he said in a gentle tone, raising both hands in a gesture of consolation. “You’ll soon see the wisdom of what I have in mind. Licinius is the emperor who can take us the furthest.”
Us?
A cold knot of fear seized Flavia’s gut. Something terrible was going on. She couldn’t help but shrink away from the tall warrior with the strange look in his eye.
“Let me explain,” Geta said, moving toward her.
“Stop!” Flavia exclaimed with a sudden thrust of her palm. Immediately, she realized the command was too intense. “Just give me a moment to think,” she added more politely.
“As you wish.”
Flavia’s head was spinning now. Everything was strange and confusing. “I want to see Rex,” she said at last.
“I can’t go near him.”
“But he’s your best friend! You should be fighting at his side!”
Geta wouldn’t—or couldn’t—hold back any longer. He closed the final distance and almost grabbed Flavia by the shoulders, though he stopped at the last moment and lowered his arms. Even so, he towered over her and implored her with his eyes.
“Are you able to consider new ideas, Lady Junia? Can you open your mind? There are good reasons why I should be here with you!”
“L-l-like what?” Flavia stammered.