Then he went back across the river on the bridge to his command tent, where a medic waited.
The medics of the Roman army had developed medical procedures to minimize infection, primarily through cauterization, and to reduce pain, primarily through use of opiates.
The arrow in Constantine’s leg was too deep to pull out by hand, so the medic started to heat an arrow extractor. He encouraged Constantine to drink a fig juice-opium mixture to reduce the pain. The procedure was going to be painful—it involved cutting the skin around the arrow and inserting red-hot metal thongs to extract the arrowhead and cauterize the wound. Then he’d close the wound with an ivory needle and catgut sutures.
Initially, Constantine refused the opium, insisting that he wanted to remain clear-headed. But, when the medic started cutting around the arrow shaft, he changed his mind.
Within an hour, the procedure was over. Constantine could walk, with some pain, and headed out to his horse.
As soon as he got outside, he saw Ablabius crossing the bridge.
“Dominus, how is your leg?”
“Fine. I’d forgotten how much it hurts to get wounded.”
“My apologies. Would that Vibius were still here.”
“Yes. How is the battle progressing?”
“Licinius just left. Took a legion with him, headed towards Adrianople. I suspect he will keep running beyond that,” Ablabius said. “His remaining forces are broken. It should take us another hour or so to finish them.”
“It is getting late and I am sure the men are tired. Why don’t we withdraw from the field?”
“Withdraw now, Dominus? Only a part of Licinius’ army is left. Perhaps a quarter of the original number. We can annihilate them, if you give me another hour.”
Constantine was confused by what Ablabius was saying. A quarter? Of what? “So, the battle is won?”
Ablabius was confused by the question but assumed Constantine hadn’t heard him completely. “Yes, Dominus. Licinius’ army isn’t just defeated—it has been crushed. None of his troops want to face you again. In fact, they were told never to face you in the first place. Licinius told them to never look directly at your Labarum.”
“What? Why did he tell them that?” Constantine asked, even more confused.
“He has always been superstitious, Dominus. Perhaps a pagan soothsayer told him not to look at it.”
“How much of his army remains?” Constantine asked again.
“Fifteen legions, perhaps fewer. There are many desertions already. We can offer the survivors surrender….”
“Casualties?”
“Our chief field medic says relatively few for us—perhaps 2,500. Well over 30,000 for them. I think it is the largest battle I’ve ever fought, Dominus! Perhaps we should continue for another hour—”
“Fine. Sound the withdrawal. Take whoever joins us. And wait to hear when Licinius is going to surrender. If he does not want to surrender, get word to Crispus to start moving the navy. We need to control the Bosporus either way.” Constantine replied, as if he’d heard nothing Ablabius had said.
Adrianople, Thrace
July 4, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
“Ablabius!” Constantine screamed, limping out from his tent— just as the sun was rising.
“Yes, Dominus?” answered Ablabius, as he emerged from the latrine behind Constantine’s tent.
“We crushed Licinius’ army yesterday.”
“Yes, Dominus. A complete victory.”
“No, I mean in the afternoon. After the medic extracted the arrow. We didn’t stop. We finished the battle, correct?”
“No, Dominus. You instructed me to sound the withdrawal,” Ablabius answered, nervously combing his beard.
“Ye Gods! Ablabius, the doctor gave me opium for my leg. I didn’t know what I was thinking. We should have pressed his forces and crushed them. Now, he’ll probably gather enough together to fight another battle. You had to know that!”
Ablabius dropped his head. “Dominus, I questioned you. Each time, you returned to wanting to withdraw.”
“Damn it, Ablabius. I have had commanders put to death for less stupidity than this. This is extreme negligence. How could you. Damn it Ablabius, stop primping like a woman. Whatever madness I thought was a good idea yesterday, it was a….” Constantine limped back into his tent, leaving Ablabius speechless and looking at his comb and mirror.
Byzantium, Greece
July 5, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
Two days after the massacre at Adrianople, Licinius met with his officers in the large villa of Byzantium’s wealthiest Christian merchant. His remaining troops were encamped outside the walls of the city, recovering.
Licinius sat in a large leather chair, looking out at the Bosporus Strait. His officers stood in a half-circle facing him.
“How could you not anticipate that Constantine would find a way to cross the river? He’d massacred our entire left flank before we fired the first arrow!
He continued. “I sat here last night, considering having all of you killed! Each one of you, standing here. Dead! But I have no time to find new commanders. That bastard will be nipping at my heels again in a few days. And let me tell you this, each of you had better be motivated to fight him now. And fight him viciously. Because, if you don’t, then win or lose you will be dead that day. I’ll kill you myself!”
He stood up and looked each of the in the eyes for at least a moment. Each of them looked down.
“Now, I have some other news. I have decided that the bastard brother-in-law of mine is no longer fit to be my co-emperor. He is an enemy of Rome! As of today, I am elevating Sextus Martinianus to be Emperor to the West. He has been my trusted bodyguard for several years. Now, he will rule the Western Empire, after Constantine’s death.”
“As for the rest of you—you’re lucky you’re still breathing. Get out there and sharpen your swords. Fix your saddles. Train your men. Prepare to defeat that bastard. Or die trying! Now go!”
As the others left quietly, Licinius motioned for Sextus to sit next to him.
Sextus pulled a woven chair facing Licinius at an angle, backwards, and sat down straddling the chair—his arms on the back, facing Licinius.
“Sextus, I don’t think I’ve ever been so discouraged. What happened in Adrianople was inexcusable. We were in a far superior position and now we are defensive. Amandus has to buy us time and ensure we build our strength back up. What is our current troop count?”
“Not strong, Augustus. Perhaps ten legions. Fifty to sixty thousand soldiers.”
“How many did we lose at Adrianople?”
“Difficult to know. We have about a third of our original deployment. So, we lost about a hundred thousand troops. Perhaps half of those were desertions. And the other half, casualties,” Sextus answered.
“It was a massacre,” Licinius sighed.
“It could have been worse,” Sextus answered. “I wonder why Constantine didn’t continue the battle. He sounded the withdrawal as soon as we left.”
“Perhaps he got a new sign from his Christian God,” Licinius said. This wasn’t scorn—he believed in signs. “We need to enlist new troops as soon as possible. The Goths should be our principle allies. They hate Constantine. They’re pagans. They should understand what an attack on their culture the bastard’s God would be.”
“Yes, Augustus. I know their chief, Aliquaca. Sent emissaries to him this morning, after you and I talked. He’ll be a strong ally. But, even with his troops, we need at least another 30,000 legionari.”
Licinius sat back in his chair. “Get word out throughout the Eastern Empire that this is a holy war. All those that remember the glory of the Empire as it used to be should fight with us.”
After a short silence, Licinius continued. “Use that as our recruitment theme. We will need to build our strength quickly. I suspect t
he bastard has already notified his bastard son to start moving into position to confront Amandus. We must get word to Amandus: Avoid Crispus initially, at least, in order to give us the maximum time to rebuild our troops.”
Sextus sneered: “Amandus won’t have any problems with Constantine’s fleet. It is far smaller than ours. It’s mostly liburnians, mostly Greek commanders. Our ships are larger—with Egyptian, Persian and Syrian commanders. We’ll hold the Bosporus. We’ll block Constantine from attacking us on the Asian side. He won’t be able to get his troops across the water to attack us in Chrysopolis or Nicomedia. He took Adrianople—but he’s stuck where he is.”
“I agree, Sextus. Our situation isn’t dire—we just lost our dominant position.” Licinius said, ending with a nervous laugh.
Sextus stood up and looked at the water. “Augustus, do you wish to keep our remaining troops here in Byzantium? Or should we build our strength on the other side of the Bosporus?”
“I’ll stay here with a legion as a decoy,” Licinius answered. “Take the rest to Lamseki, on shores of the Hellespont. Rebuild the troops there. I suspect that the bastard will attempt to cross to the Asian side either there or at Chacedon. I’ll negotiate with him as a delaying tactic. Again, we need time.”
“Good. I will be near Amandus and the largest part of our fleet.”
Licinius stared at the water. It was muddy—almost red—not glistening and clear, as it usually was.
Thessalonica, Greece
July 5, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
Crispus heard the news of his father’s victory that morning while waiting on the ship’s deck for the final ballista to be installed on an older liburnian. He wondered about his father’s injury—but the messenger, barely a boy, knew few details. He was also somewhat perplexed that his father had withdrawn his troops. It was not like Constantine to give up on an absolute victory. There must have been details missing from the report.
Regardless, it was time to get the fleet moving. The latest intelligence had Amandus’ fleet split between the Bosporus Strait and the Hellespont, with over two hundred ships at the entrance of the Hellespont and the Aegean Sea. The remainder of Amandus’ fleet, mostly the older ships, was located in the northern part of the Sea of Marmara by the Bosporus. An odd arrangement.
The Hellespont was a narrow strait that separated the Aegean Sea from the Sea of Marmara. It formed the southern end of the Sea of Marmara; the northern end was the Bosporus Strait, by Byzantium.
The Sea of Marmara—from the Hellespont up to the Bosporus—was the demarcation line between the Western Empire and the Eastern Empire. Amandus was blocking both ends.
“How shall we go?” Thestor asked, when Crispus told him that the fleet had to move.
“I’ve spoken with the other senior captains,” Crispus said, knowing that Thestor would expect him to do so. “They’re concerned about storms if sail straight across the Aegean.”
“That would be the straightest line,” Thestor said, like a school master.
Crispus shook his head. “We’re loaded for war. A strong storm could scuttle the fleet. We’ll hug the coast of Greece and attack Amandus’ fleet at the mouth of the Hellespont.”
Thestor smiled. “It will add a few days to the trip. Amandus might have moved before we get there.”
Crispus smiled, too. “I’ve sent word to our scouts to meet us west of Cape Helles, on the way in. They’ll confirm his whereabouts then.” He was beginning to feel like a commander.
A few hours later, the fleet had left Thessalonica.
Adrianople, Thrace
July 7, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
In the command tent overlooking the Hebrus River and the recently ravaged battlefield, Constantine threw Licinius’ scroll to the ground. “This idiot claims that he should still control a portion of the Empire after losing over half of his troops in one day. I don’t think he understands what ‘defeat’ means.”
Ablabius was less talkative than he’d been a few days earlier. He didn’t like being blamed for withdrawing the army when it should have attacked. Nor being threatened with death.
“A delaying tactic, Dominus.”
“Undoubtedly, which means he is calling on the Goths and needs at least a couple of months to build a new army.”
“Which will have never fought together. And they will be facing us at our best. We should strike soon.” Ablabius picked up the scroll and scanned it briefly before putting it on a folding table.
“We can’t be too confident. We have to flush him out of Byzantium first,” Constantine said. “He’s holed up in there.”
“He can’t build his army while hiding in Byzantium, Dominus. If we lay siege to the city, he’ll be stuck.”
Constantine shook his head. “It’s hard to lay siege to a port city. All he needs to do is slip out some night on a skiff. His army is just across the Bosporus.”
Ablabius let silence sit for a moment and then tried another approach. “There are different ways to attack, Dominus. Licinius always takes over the same villa when he’s in Byzantium. One of our centurions has family members that have been servants during his prior stays. We could feed him some poison and end his lunacy.”
Constantine thought for a moment. “I’m no Nero. You know I’ve never liked the idea of poisoning opponents, Ablabius. It seems like…cheating. Now, in Licinius’ case, I am tempted. It would save the lives of so many of our troops. But I’m not sure…. Talk to this centurion and see what the risks to his family would be. Don’t do anything until we talk again about it.”
“Yes, Dominus.” Ablabius angled toward the door of the tent. “We have made initial plans for a siege on Byzantium. We could leave in two days, if your leg has healed enough for you to ride.”
“That will be fine. My leg is better every day. Any word from Crispus?”
“Nothing yet. I suspect he received our messenger two days ago and has set sail yesterday. Since Licinius doesn’t appear to be willing to surrender, we need to control the straits to get across safety.”
Constantine looked at the scroll and shook his head. “More than that. We’ll need the ships to blockade Byzantium from the water, if our siege has any hope of working.”
“Yes, Dominus.”
Byzantium, Greece
July 17, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
The summer heat was in full force. And odors of horses and humans filled the humid air. Thousands of troops were working as earth movers. They were building huge mounds of dirt almost equal to the height of the city’s walls. Carpenters had started to build bulwarks on which they’d mount catapults and ballista captured from Licinius at Adrianople.
If the citizens of Byzantium had been uneasy about having nervous Licinius as their guest when he first arrived, they would be terrified now that Constantine was laying siege to their city.
Constantine, walking with a slight limp, was examining the ground works with his palatini when Ablabius found him. “Dominus, I have word from Crispus.”
“Where is he?”
“Three days out from Cape Helles. He needs intelligence about Amandus’ position.”
Constantine pointed to a low ridge, several hundred feet behind them. It was away from the noise. As they walked that direction, Ablabius noticed that the Emperor’s limp was more pronounced than it first had seemed.
“And what is Amandus’ position?”
“As of two days ago, he was in the same place he has been for weeks. By Canakkale. Half his fleet is there, with him, and the other half, the older ships, are up here by the Bosporus.”
“And their army? Where are they assembling their troops?”
“Sextus Martinianus is rebuilding their army near Lamseki.”
“Who is Sextus Martinianus? And why Lamseki?”
“Martinianus is Licinius’ new co-Emperor.”
Constantine sneered. “By God’s g
race! I’ve been replaced?”
“Not God’s grace, Dominus. By Licinius’ word. This new ‘Caesar’ was one his senior guards. Promoted because of loyalty more than brilliance or skill. And I have no idea why Lamseki, unless Licinius thinks you will try to cross into Asia there—because of their famous docks.”
At the ridge, the palatini set up a folding chair for Constantine— who sat with a thud. One of the guards gave him a damp cloth, which Constantine put around his neck. Another guard handed him a cup of water, which he drank quickly. “Well, Caligula made his horse a senator. Ablabius, get our scouts to the Cape soon, in case he gets there early. And why is Amandus staying in the straits? The open sea would give him more room to maneuver and evade….”
“I don’t know. Naval tactics have never made sense to me.”
Ablabius waited for a few moments, to make sure the guards weren’t listening. They were trained to attend to the Emperor—but pay little attention to the details of his conversations.
“I do have word from our centurion concerning that… business…with Licinius.”
“Ah, yes. The basket of asps. What news?”
Ablabius spoke carefully. “He thinks he can get into Byzantium by boat and deliver the package to his sister, who is very trusted. They do not think Licinius has any doubts about them and they would be safe.”
Constantine nodded—but was looking at the workers on one of the bulwarks. “I am still not comfortable with this. I would kill him in an instant if we had swords in our hands. Give me a day to think about this. Let’s make a decision on this in a day or two.”
“Yes, Dominus.” Ablabius bowed slightly and quickly walked back toward the earthen mounds. He’d spotted a worker starting to put a ballista foundation facing the wrong location.
Cape Helles, Greece
July 20, 1077 AUC (324 AD)
It was a warm, late afternoon. Crispus, Thestor and several of their senior commanders listened to three scouts describe the location Amandus’ main fleet. They were on the beach at the southernmost shore of Cape Helles—and the scouts had sketched in the sand the locations of the Amandus’ triremes and the smaller liburnians. They had drawn their location, where the Hellespont narrowed, not far from the town of Canakkale.
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