As he stood, he looked up at Quintus—the quietest of his guards, holding the offending archer. Tears streaming down his cheeks, as well. Constantine then turned to Ossius, “I would like Vibius to have a service, as the Nazarene would have.”
Ossius paused, at first not sure what Constantine meant. Then he realized he meant a Christian service of final rites. He said in a quiet voice, “Of course, Imperator. But Vibius was not baptized.”
“Then baptize him,” Constantine said curtly.
The Emperor turned back to the archer, held up by two of his bodyguards. “Before the hour is out, you will beg for death. Quintus, nail him to the large horse stake by my tent.”
The sun was fading and an October chill was evident. The day was still bright but the orange tinge of fall was developing.
All four palatini looked forward to nailing the archer’s hands to the tall stake not far from Constantine’s tent. After tying a rope around his chest, Quintius held the archer’s hands behind the post. Appius drove a large stake through both hands into the wooden post. The screams from the archer had just begun. A long line had developed of all ranks from the army who had heard of Vibius’ death. But the Dux and Constantine’s guards were to go first.
Gaius started. He used his dagger to cut off the tip of the hated one’s index finger so that in the afterlife he wouldn’t be able to hold an arrow. Ablabius punctured one of his eyes. Tiberus used a sharp arrow head to cut an x on his chest over his heart so that the gods would have a bullseye. The object was pain without a tremendous loss of blood. They didn’t want him to die quite yet.
The rest of the troops started to file by, leaving their mark on the hated sagittari.
Constantine met with his Dux and the senior centurions with the cries of the archer echoing in the background. Constantine’s losses were less than 2,000. The other side had lost as many as 20,000. The majority of Maxentius’ loses were due to drowning in the Tiber—as Gaius’ legionari had pursued the retreating troops to the water’s edge. Three centurions who knew the Dux of Maxentius were dispatched inside the walls with instructions for how the other side could retrieve their dead. They also were to discuss preparations for tomorrow’s grand entrance. Constantine’s dead and any that were unclaimed were to be burned in funeral pyres which would start that evening.
All equipment from the soldiers, dead or alive, was to be cleaned, inventoried and extra equipment warehoused.
Constantine would enter Rome mid-morning the following day, following all his troops. He would attend a public victory ceremony at noon. Then, there would be a meeting on the Senate floor afterward. Several hundred senior centurions would circulate in the crowd to ensure none of the remaining Praetorian Guard would attempt to kill Constantine.
As they discussed their plans, the archer’s cries faded to groans.
After over an hour, the meeting finished. There was still no sign of Maxentius’ body. Troubling. Constantine walked out of the tent and glanced at the blood-covered mass held up by the gleaming red rope. He kept his eyes on it, watching to see if the chest still rose for air. It did.
There were over a thousand of his troops, mostly sagittari, in a line stretching down into the camp. Each man waiting for his turn to make a small cut. Constantine looked down the line and recognized a tall, mixed-race North African holding a javelin. It was Jonas, a distant relative of Vibius—cousin or nephew, he couldn’t remember which. But Jonas had revered his Vibius.
“Jonas, I am sorry for our loss. More sorry than you can imagine.”
“Yes. Dominus.” The young man said, nervously. He had only spoken to Constantine once, with his cousin nearby. He wasn’t used to being addressed by a living god.
“Jonas, are you as good as Vibius with a javelin?”
“No, Dominus.”
Constantine chuckled at his honesty. “Are you good enough to hit a target at 20 cubits?”
“Yes, Dominus.” Jonas wasn’t sure what 20 cubits were. But he followed Constantine’s eye and immediately understood what the target was.
Constantine reached for the javelin of one of Jonas’ companions. He lifted it and found its balance point. Then he stretched his arm, feeling the muscles in his forearm and below his shoulder. He nodded toward the archer and told Jonas, “You aim high. In the chest. I will aim lower.”
They threw simultaneously. A uniform thud indicated that each had hit his mark. The troops roared.
A thin sliver of the moon could be seen in the Eastern sky, as the sun’s glow was still barely noticeable to the West. Thousands of soldiers watched as Ossius washed Vibius’ body, poured holy water over his brow, anointed him with oil and prayed for all to hear that God would accept him into His Kingdom. After the sacraments, Vibius’ body was placed on a pyre. It was consumed by fire in a few minutes.
Although Ossius preferred burial for Christians, Constantine had decided—and he had agreed—that cremation with his fellow fallen soldiers was appropriate.
The battlefield was aglow with mass pyres burning, consuming the dead. Pyres would be burning for several days. Carcasses of the dead horses were also burned, after any edible meat had been butchered by the cooks. Aniketos, the knife-wielding senior cook, could butcher a horse before most men would finish the first cut.
Three days was the usual time. If the bodies were left for more than three days, the stench of the rotting flesh would be overwhelming.
After solemn ceremonies at their dead friends’ pyres, many of the soldiers were celebrating with food and wine. Constantine seldom participated—other than a quick swallow of wine when a bottle was presented, as a sign of goodwill.
As Ossius and Constantine walked back to the encampment, the Emperor asked the priest, “Where is Vibius? With that prayer, does he enter the Kingdom of the Nazarene?”
“I don’t know, my Imperator.”
“Why not? What is the delay? What do your holy rules tell us?”
“As we have discussed, it is written in early manuscripts that Jesus rose three days after being crucified. He sent his apostles to spread the word of His resurrection and then returned to Heaven. In order to join Him there, one must recognize Him as our Lord. And live a Christian life.”
“And a Christian life would be?”
The priest hesitated for a moment. They had been over this many times. “Obey the Commandments of Moses. And, more important, follow the teachings of Jesus. Particularly His instructions that we honor God. Forgive others. And treat others as we would want ourselves treated.”
“Yes. Good words. Vibius may have heard of the Nazarene, but he didn’t know much of His teachings. So, it is impossible for Vibius to enter His Kingdom?”
“It is actually His Father’s Kingdom.”
The Emperor flashed an impatient glance at the priest, who nodded instinctively.
“No one knows. My own belief is that it is unlikely that a non-Christian can enter the Kingdom of Heaven. But I also recognize that there is another interpretation. In the translations from the early scripture, it is impossible to tell when one must recognize and follow Jesus. It may be at the very instant of death. Vibius may have died, immediately met Jesus and Satan and chosen to follow Jesus. In what seems to us like a blink of an eye. Certainly, his act of self-sacrifice would commend him.”
“Then I believe he is in God’s Kingdom.” Constantine responded.
They walked along in silence for a few steps. Constantine looked back at his bodyguards, who were trailing father behind than usual and in deep conversation. Then, he said to Ossius, “By the way, thank you for this afternoon on the hillside. You diverted the archer’s attention. Is that how a bishop is taught to act?”
“I was upset.”
This time, the Emperor nodded. “Tell me, if you had reached that archer before the rest of us, what would you have done? Hit him with your cross?” Both laughed.
&n
bsp; They entered the camp and separated for their respective tents. Before he’d settled in his tent, Constantine grew anxious and decided that the he wasn’t tired enough to sleep. He would return to his command tent and watch the pyres. This usually had a calming effect on him.
As he walked toward his command tent, he noticed the archer was still hanging on the post. He tensed in anger. He’d told the palatini that he wanted the archer’s body thrown to the army’s pigs. He prepared to berate the guards but, as he walked closer, he saw that the archer’s body was gone. It was merely the bloody ropes that gave the appearance of a body still nailed to the post. A trick of the eye. It had been an exhausting day.
The servants moved his wicker chair, as he instructed, to the entrance of the command tent. And he wrapped himself in a heavy cloak and sat. He watched the ghost-like figures of his caretakers throw bodies on the funeral pyres. Some of the bodies were still surrounded by fellow soldiers giving their last respects. The light from the pyres was not as bright as it had been an hour earlier, but it was brighter than the moon.
The distinctive, sweet odor of burning flesh filled the cool night air. And a mixture of sounds echoed against the city walls and across the plain. Some revelry, some moaning, some bits of conversation. He could hear flashes of his name mentioned among the troops.
He wondered how his troops had won such an overwhelming victory against a massive foe. He’d prepared. He’d studied the battlefield. He’d trusted his generals. But the victory felt…hollow. Though the priest would disagree, the Emperor felt more lucky than blessed.
He knew this hollow feeling well. He’d felt it when his father left to marry Theodora—the sense of overwhelming loss, the taunts and jeers from the garrison soldiers who called him a bastard child. Those jeers were constant. They’d motivated him to improve himself. Make himself stronger. Master the sword and, ever so slowly, earn the respect of the soldiers.
His father returned a few years later, as a general. And, in time, as one of the Augustus—co-emperors. But the happiness didn’t last. His father sent him to study and learn in Emperor Galerius’ court. It was a rare opportunity; one that confirmed how much influence his father had. Constantine enjoyed learning languages, math, law and— especially—the military training. He was good at it.
There were other lessons, too. Far less enjoyable lessons. Galerius was an unpredictable and brutal emperor. He was an ugly, thick-featured man, who’d come from humble origins in rural Dacia. He ruled by fear, which he used indiscriminately. He would instill fear in Christians by having them massacred—some by wild animals, some by fire, some by soldiers and some by poison. And he always insisted that surviving Christians watch their fellows die.
At his cruelest, Galerius sentenced people to death almost randomly. It wasn’t just Christians. Common people that he disliked or for whom he developed distrust, real or imagined, would often end up dead at his whim. He couldn’t prey so freely on senators or other elite Romans, but he could terrorize them—justice, he claimed, for the way Trajan had treated the Dacians generations before.
Later, near the end of his life, Galerius would stop terrorizing Christians. To maintain his political power, the old man would want to be seen as tolerant. A laughable proposition.
There were times when Galerius tried to humiliate the young Constantine in court, calling him a hostage and a pawn by which he could manipulate Constantius. When Constantine refused to be baited by these insults, Galerius looked for other ways to plant fear in him. Because Constantine had developed a good reputation with the sword, Galerius would order him to “spar” with seasoned soldiers and gladiators. But these fights were not sparring. The weapons were real—and the loser usually died.
Later, even more dangerous: Galerius would send young Constantine out into the streets of Nicomedia or Rome to arrest individuals suspected of sympathizing with the political opposition. These individuals could be citizens or non-citizens. They had little to lose in trying to kill an imperial agent. Constantine detested these orders, particularly when they involved arresting whole families. And children. He knew their fates would ultimately be death—as would be his, if he didn’t complete the mission.
When Constantine took his father’s place as one of the Augustus, he vowed that he would not rule by cruelty and fear, as Galerius had. He would support the laws and the institutions that had made the Empire great. He would work with the Senate, seek its counsel. Not try to terrorize its members.
Personally he would keep his son, Crispus, close to him and give the boy the love, support and training that he’d wanted from his own father. Crispus was 12 years old—and Constantine could remember clearly when he’d been 12 years old. His father had left. And the pangs of the hollowness had come.
The hollowness wasn’t always with him. Sometimes, he felt blessed. A few years before, he’d had a dream—a vivid dream—in which the Nazarene had spoken to him. Had told him to protect those who needed his protection. Had it been merely a dream? Or, as Ossius argued, had the Nazarene communicated with him through the dream? And, if Ossius was right, was Vibius with the Nazarene now? Could Vibius also communicate through a dream? Ossius had said the Kingdom wasn’t like the Greek afterlife—but why not?
A loud crack came from one of the pyres. It made him jolt up in his chair. He’d been drifting into half-sleep. His neck was stiff on one side and he could feel the muscles down the opposite side of his back. And his knee, again.
His groggy thoughts about the Nazarene and Vibius led him to one conclusion. His Mother was right, the visions he had and his victories proved it. He needed to pay more attention to the Nazarene’s teachings. He needed to understand them. Even to support and promote them. But that would take time. The Nazarene’s faith was merely a cult throughout most of the Empire, not like the politically supported and organized religion of the Roman Gods.
He stood slowly, looked once more at the orange pyres, registered the pain of missing Vibius, and headed back to his bed.
Rome, Italia
Morning, October 29, 1065 AUC (312 AD)
Constantine woke before sunrise with some stiffness, a headache…and the feeling of hollowness still lingering in him. For a moment, he expected to see Vibius standing outside his tent. Instead, it was Quintius—quickly joined by Appius.
They walked to the latrine. None felt like talking. After relieving himself, Constantine splashed his face with fresh water. Dawn was just overcoming the darkness as they walked to the mess area. Aniketos had prepared piles of thinly cut cooked meat, grains, fruit, yogurt, juice and diluted wine. Most of the legions prepared their own food. But it would be supplemented by Aniketos’ staff— particularly when meat was plentiful.
“Aniketos, only you can carve like this!” Constantine yelled to the Greek cook, holding up a wafer-thin slice of meat on the point of his dagger before placing it on his metal plate.
“It is in honor of your great victory yesterday, Imperator!”
Constantine walked with his food to the highest point in the center of the camp and sat on the ground. Quintus and Appius sat on their side of him. In a few minutes, they were joined by Sevius and Titus—even though Titus had guarded Constantine’s tent most of the night. As they ate, they watched the waking troops start their morning preparations for the entrance into Rome. Soldiers were cleaning their armor, touching up the CHI RHO insignia on their shields and sharpening their swords and javelins.
Rome had been the center of the Empire for centuries but had fallen in political importance over the last hundred years. Constantine—like most soldiers—considered Rome a place of weak men, whorish women and lying politicians. The century after Marcus Aurelius had been known as “the years of decadence” and that decadence applied to the rulers and general population alike.
Sexuality in the Empire focused on dominance and wasn’t confined to gender or even species. As long as the male was dominant, he could h
ave sex with whomever or whatever he chose— excluding fellow Roman citizens, their wives and children. Any others, slaves, prostitutes, entertainers, non-citizens or conquered armies were all acceptable objects of a citizen’s carnal attention. With various emperors, the list extended to sisters, brothers, children and a variety of animals.
Most Roman men considered it shameful to be on the receiving end of a sexual tryst. But there were a few sodomites in every crowd—and more than a few in Rome.
Rome was also considered decadent because it had seen so many severe Christian persecutions. While the rest of the Empire was usually more tolerant of all manner of cults and religions, Rome had remained tyrannical against the followers of the Nazarene.
Constantine knew this history well. Nero enjoyed the evenings around his Imperial residence in Rome at night, lite by the burning bodies of Christians on stakes. After Nero had burned down the City and blamed them, Christians had been persecuted throughout the Empire. The persecutions had reached their climax during the rule of Diocletian, over 200 years after Nero. At that point, the Empire had become so large—and tyrannies so commonplace—that the Emperor decided that it could not be ruled by one man in one location. The senate tentatively proposed a solution in which the Empire would be ruled by three emperors, the Augustus’, who would serve as checks against each other’s excesses. The Roman elite called this solution the “recovery of the Empire.” Diocletian had accepted the arrangement, and he claimed it had been his plan all along.
Diocletian’s successor was the brutal Galerius.
The geography of the Empire had changed since Nero’s time. It had spread all directions, but particularly north and east. Rome was now in the western portion of the Empire. Nicomedia—where Galerius’ court had been and where Constantine had studied Latin, Greek and philosophy—was closer to the center. In many ways, it was more cosmopolitan. On the other side of the Bosporus from Nicomedia was the Greek town of Byzantium.
The Empire’s economy had changed, too. Manufacturing and trade had become more important than farming. Building materials, road construction, iron, jewelry, wine and food were major industries. All were taxed heavily. But even those taxes weren’t enough.
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