“Very good job, both of you. We will need rope guides when we cross. So that our legionari don’t lose their balance in that strong current. But this will work.”
He nodded to the men, to cross back again. Over the sounds of splashing, he said to Ablabius, “When we get back to camp, let’s discuss how we’ll organize this. We have to maintain the element of surprise. Have to maintain that.”
Adrianople, Thrace
Midday, July 2, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
“Idiots! This is not how we drew the plans! The Emperor will have your heads!” Ablabius was up to his knees in mud and water. He screamed at the carpenters to tighten the ropes to the girders on the portable bridge. He knew that many eyes on the other side of the river were watching him as he laid into his workmen.
His workmen knew this was a show. For over a week, they had been playing at building this bridge. But the actual attack was being prepared elsewhere.
As with everything Constantine did, he prepared. And then prepared again, for good measure. For two nights, a legion of sagittari, 250 molossus and their handlers, three legions of equiti and five legions of legionari got up before daybreak. The first night, they marched two mille in the general direction of the actual crossing point. The second night, they marched all the way to the small forest of trees by the river bed—and a handpicked few actually crossed the river., all in a chilling silence. Combined, the men involved in these predawn exercises accounted for a slightly less than half of Constantine’s fighting force.
The other half practiced looking normal and being seen. Specifically, they milled around the higher ground near the river and the portable bridge that was being built with theatrical delay. Some of those troops were dressed casually, without armor, others wore armor.
Ablabius threw up his arms, slapped the shoulder of the carpenter in charge and walked away, shaking his head.
Constantine met him on the other side of the hill. “You missed your calling. You should have been an actor.”
“Do you think it was too much?”
Constantine laughed and shook his head. “No. I suspect our audience thinks we will be another week before that bridge is ready.”
“It will be finished this evening, Dominus. It doesn’t look like much, but it will function. And the men are ready. I have mats prepared, to cover the low ground by the base of the bridge.”
“Those mats will hold up?”
“Yes, Dominus. That is the question. They’re made of hemp, so they’re likely to break up at some point. Sooner, if the horses and carts are moving slowly.”
Constantine briefly closed his eyes, imagining the scene. “If the horses and carts cause serious delay, send the infantry at pace to our other crossing point. It will take some extra time—but it will be better than standing around waiting. Have you sent word to Crispus that he should be prepared to move the fleet?”
“Yes, Dominus. I also told him where Amandus is anchored. By the mouth of the Hellespont. A good location. For us.”
“A perfect location. But Amandus will move, as soon as he hears about this,” and Constantine pointed over the hill, toward the city.
“God may grace us, Dominus.”
“God has graced us,” said Ossius, as he approached. “And may He bless you both tomorrow.”
Adrianople, Thrace
Evening, July 2, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
In a command tent overlooking the Hebrus River and most of Constantine’s camp on the opposite side, Licinius stood listening to his Dux and three senior centurions. They were laughing confidently as they described the scene they’d witnessed that afternoon.
“Augustus, it is comical. This contraption they’re building couldn’t hold a kitchen boy and his dog, much less an army with horses. And they’re proceeding like a bunch of women!”
“We watched the great Ablabius have a temper tantrum at the slow pace. He struck the carpenter in charge so hard that he fell to the ground. And favored his right arm the rest of the day!”
Licinius forced a smile. He was uneasy about laughing at Constantine—but he wanted to show his officers that he could be one of them. “So, when will this rickety bridge be ready?”
“I estimate three or four more days, Augustus.”
Licinius looked out, toward the river. “Have all the walls and barriers between the river and our legionari been tested? In case this bridge is some sort of feint and Constantine crosses the river on boats at night? He’s a deceitful bastard, you know.”
“Yes, Augustus. The walls are secure. And we have seen no boats. There is no way they can cross at night without us knowing it. We have watches all along the Hebrus. And our archers are ready. If they attempt any crossing, we will have our way with them.”
Licinius tuned back to his officers and nodded. “Good. Keep those archers poised. I’m going to spend the night in town with my wife. Send word to my guards immediately if there’s any news.”
After he’d climbed onto his horse—a fine Arabian—Licinius held the reins for a moment and took a hard look at the rickety bridge. It was empty of its carpenters and well-lit by the torches on his side of the Hebrus. It was wide enough to carry eight or ten men abreast. And, in truth, it didn’t look so rickety.
He could order archers to rain fire into the bridge. But that wasn’t the right move, tactically. Large armies were involved here; but this was really a battle between two men.
Licinius wanted Constantine to attack directly at the center of his line, his archers and his barricades. It would be strength versus strength—and, once and for all, that bastard would learn that Licinius was the stronger man.
But, as in the past, he had a nagging feeling that he might be missing something. He looked up and down the river. It was a marshy, muddy mess on the other side—as far as the eye could see. Constantine’s only choice was a direct assault. Turning his horse toward town, Licinius reassured himself. “No more tricks. This time, I have the dominant position.”
Adrianople, Thrace
July 3, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
The morning began for Licinius’ troops as the last several had. It would be another sweltering day, with loud hammering and yelling down at the river. They could attack Constantine’s bridge at any time but were under orders not to do so. The generals wanted to “invite” Constantine to cross at that spot.
Many of Licinius’ men gravitated toward either end of their fortifications, to get away from the constant hammering. The soldiers on the left flank were doing what all soldiers did during lulls before battle—sitting around complaining. Because of the heat and humidity, few were wearing their armor.
A cloud dimmed the sunlight.
A few soldiers screamed warnings—but they were hard to hear, over the hammering and yelling down at the river.
The cloud descended. It was over five thousand arrows. And they weren’t coming from across the river; they were coming from beyond the left flank.
Most of Licinius’ left flank never got the chance to stand up. The arrows fell with nothing to stop them. The few survivors ran away from the direction of the arrows— most leaving their armor on the ground. A second round killed most of the survivors.
Tiberus had ordered his sagittari to jog forward 50 cubits, get into formation again and release another volley. Then jog forward, regroup and shoot again…. The challenge soon became slowing down to prevent the legionari in full armor from tiring out from all the jogging.
Panic set in quickly amongst Licinius’ troops. His centurions tried to form a defensive line, facing left; but the long, narrow body of troops was hard to manage when one side was folding under multiple barrages of arrows. Finally, Licinius’ centurions formed a line by killing many of their own retreating legionari.
As the defensive line was beginning to form, Ablabius looked to Constantine—who nodded. Trumpets sounded and the dog handlers raced past the a
rchers, seconds after another cloud of arrows had launched. The handlers released the dogs fifty cubits from the defensive line.
Licinius was having breakfast with Constantia in her bedroom when they both heard the unmistakable sound of a battle. Screams of pain, screams of orders, the thud of impact, the vibration of hoofs. She didn’t say anything—but cocked her head at him, skeptically. He felt nauseous.
“Guards! Guards! What the hell is going on?”
His Adiutor and two of his bodyguards met Licinius in Constantia’s outer sitting room. None of them knew what was happening; but all of them recognized the screams.
Licinius grabbed the Adiutor’s shoulder. “Get my wife and the child over to Byzantium and make sure they are secure in our friend’s villa. Immediately!”
“Yes, Augustus.”
He didn’t say anything to the guards—but headed out.
As soon as Licinius was on his horse, a centurion—also on horseback—approached. “Augustus, Constantine has attacked. From this side of the river.”
“This side? How many?”
“Don’t know. He attacked our left flank with sagittari, many of them. And it appears more of his army stands behind them.”
“Have his equiti attacked?” Licinius screamed.
“No.”
“Good, then we are holding our formation.” Licinius kicked his horse and started off.
“No! We have not yet held. The army is retreating into itself.” The centurion yelled, galloping next to Licinius.
“What?”
“We have not held, Augustus.”
Licinius, his guards and the centurion crested the hill just out of town, near his command tent. The battle came into view—much closer than any of them had expected. The dogs had met the forming defensive line. It didn’t stand any chance of holding.
Molossus were trained to kill but not to eat until their handler gave permission, so they continued to attack—even though they hadn’t eaten in several days. Since most of the dogs weighed as much as a soldier, their teeth, razor sharp collars and leggings had little trouble overpowering legionari who were already in retreat.
Ablabius’ equiti had started their attack, following the dogs.
As soon as the standard bearer raised the Labarum for the equiti, Licinius’ troops started retreating in even greater numbers. Some were literally running, with their backs to the dogs’ teeth and the equiti’s swords.
Licinius realized that his preparations for repelling Constantine were now entirely useless. Not a single artillery stone had been fired, not one bolt from any of his scorpios. And his long line of troops was folding like the bag of a bellows. Blood and gore were everywhere. Licinius felt nausea overwhelm him again. He leaned forward in his saddle and vomited his breakfast onto the ground.
Constantine, Ablabius, the four palatini and half a dozen extra equiti guards followed the charging troops toward Licinius’ retreating legionari. Leading the small group was a standard bearer signaling Constantine’s presence. The Vexillum was now constructed so that the Chi Rho symbol, the Labarum, was formed onto the top of the iron structure. Below that was a purple banner embroidered with three profiles of Constantine’s head. This had changed from a decade earlier, when the Chi Rho had been painted on the cloth.
Constantine’s bodyguards were wary of engaging directly in battle—but everyone noticed that, wherever he approached, the intensity of fighting increased and Licinius’ troops turned from the sight of the standard.
Licinius’ thin line continued to collapse on itself.
As the day progressed, Constantine took possession of the top of the ridge where Licinius’ command tent had been that morning. From that spot, he could see the progress his troops had made in the first few hours of the battle. They had penetrated to almost the midpoint of the initial position of Licinius’ army. They were less than two hundred cubits from the decoy bridge. And the lines were actually starting to solidify.
Per Constantine’s instructions, there had been no activity from his side of the bridge. But now, he gave a signal and the buccina sounded a command to the remaining sagittari on the other side of the Hebrus.
Within moments, a legion of archers was in position next to the bridge. The horns sounded again and Licinius’ troops were caught in crossfire. They weren’t trained to form phalanxes. And it was impossible for any single soldier to hold his shield in two directions. Their lines began collapsing again.
Licinius had moved to another observation point—about a mille to the west of his original position. He could see that he had lost at least half of his left flank, perhaps 25,000 men. Although it was hard to calculate in the heat of battle, it appeared to him that the two armies were now at about equal strength.
He had to get his troops to hold at some solid point to stop the advance of Constantine’s troops. There, they could rally and turn the tide of this battle.
Given the speed of Constantine’s initial advance—and now his archers firing from the opposite shore—Licinius realized it was impossible to consolidate his troops near the decoy bridge.
His troops needed time to get some barriers up and formations, including their archers, in place. His commanders were waiting for orders. He chose a spot west of the bridge.
“Look. There,” he yelled at one of his officers, pointing to the location. “Set fortifications there, near those carts. Put up barricades and get the archers in place behind them. Now!”
“Yes, Augustus.”
The ground was high, there—good for making a stand. His troops would have time to fortify the area and to be out of the range of Constantine’s archers. For a while, anyway.
Constantine saw Licinius’ legionari dragging large wooden tree barriers and fences west of the bridge. Now was the time to test the effectiveness of the bridge. He gave the signal and the troops on the other side of the Hebrus mobilized. Within minutes, the bridge had several pontoons on the end closest to the river and a padded buttress on the far side that served as a yoke for horses.
Then, the surprise: The horses pushed the buttress—and the entire wooden bridge moved—from the wetlands toward the river. Carpenters placed hemp mats in front of the structure and the horses for stability. Within 20 minutes the bridge spanned the river. Constantine’s remaining troops started to cross.
When he saw Constantine’s fresh troops crossing the bridge, Licinius cursed himself. Another trick. His rallying point wasn’t close enough to block the bridge—but it was close enough for his archers to make crossing difficult. “Order the archers to fire on the bridge. As soon as they’re assembled. Focus on the front side. Seal it with bodies!”
Constantine signaled his officers at assemble for a quick meeting on horseback. Ablabius started the exchange: “Dominus, I don’t think we should slow down and give them a chance to regroup. If we let Marcus assault from the river side with our fresh troops, I am sure I can circle over the crest of the hill with my equiti. And we’ll have them surrounded.”
Marcus nodded in agreement.
Constantine was worried that the assault from the river side was difficult because of both Licinius’ new fortifications and the uphill march. “Yes. Marcus, attack their rallying point. But, Tiberus, I want your sagittari hitting the riverside. Right now! We have no time to wait. As many volleys as you can. It will be better when we have breached their fortifications and are fighting in formation.”
They immediately fanned out. Tiberus’ arrows were flying before Licinius’ archers had assembled. The legionari fighting on the river side bogged down—the ground was even softer than either army had expected. Ablabius was successful in circling behind Licinius’ fortifications, but his progress once there was slow and of little help to the legionari on the river side.
“They need help.” And, with that, Constantine—accompanied by his regular palatini and extra units—left his observatio
n post to ride into the battle on the water side of Licinius’ fortifications.
The sight of Constantine’s standard added incentive and the progress through the armed fortifications quickened. Constantine stayed on his horse, using a lance to stab opposing troops. His palatini and the equiti tried, with little success, to keep him from fighting; he found being on the horse effective because most of Licinius’ soldiers would look away when they saw him. That made stabbing them easier, either for him or one of his men in the group.
After about an hour of intense fighting, the legionari from the river side broke through the fortifications and joined Ablabius’ equiti inside Licinius’ rallying point.
Some of Licinius’ troops tried to surrender—but Constantine’s men weren’t taking prisoners.
As the enemy was being pushed back, Constantine raised his shield as a signal of good progress to his troops. As he did, an arrow aimed at him ricocheted off of the shield and landed deep into his right thigh.
Constantine stared for a moment in disbelief. If he hadn’t raised his shield at that instant, the arrow would have hit his neck or his face. He yelled to Ablabius, “Our Lord protected me!”
“Dominus, go to the Medic and let us finish this business!”
“No!” Constantine broke the shaft of the arrow at his leg, held it up for a moment and then threw it onto the ground. A cheer went up and his men started fighting with even more intensity. They moved through the rallying point and pressed against the body of Licinius’ army—forcing it, again, to collapse on itself. “We are the fire,” he yelled to his troops, “and we are burning this candle to its base.”
Eventually, his leg started throbbing. Constantine had been hit with arrows several times in his fighting life, but never this deep. He broke off from the fighting and climbed down from his horse so his guards could examine the wound. Climbing down was painful; but he made a point of walking around his horse, so that his men could see that the wound wasn’t life threatening.
Imperator, Deus Page 17