The warring gods of those dark years always agreed on one principle: when they relieved me of one trouble, they were swift to burden me with another, darker and riddled with sharper thorns.
The day began in my bed. Alone, enjoying the warm comfort of the soft sheets and light woollen blanket, yet loathing the absence of my loved ones. I had been out on the edge of my empire all winter and had intended to return to Treverorum by spring, but I still had a month or more of dealings here to contend with before I could be with them again: Fausta, Crispus, Mother, I thought with a sad pang in my breast.
‘Domine!’ a Cornuti sentry woke me with a hoarse cry. I nearly fell from my bed and dashed my head on the cold stone floor, such was his tone. ‘The tribes are at the gates of the great fort!’
My befuddled mind was suddenly as sharp as a blade dragged abruptly along a whetstone. I glanced to the closed shutters, the gossamer veil there billowing gently in the spring morning breeze that crept through a slight gap. Outside: silence.
‘The horns? Why are the buccinators not signalling the alarm?’ I gasped, leaping to my feet and striding over to bash the shutters open. The bright sunlight, pastel-blue sky and mild air hit me like an ill-timed, playful slap. I saw the sea of Colonia Agrippina’s red-tiled roofs, the murky green ribbon of the Rhenus, interrupted only by the dark timber bridge leading to the great grey titan of Divitia on the thickly forested far bank. I could now hear the gentle sounds of citizens ambling around the streets, the easy song of nature and the tumbling Rhenus. But not one raised voice, and no sign of movement or frantic action over on Divitia’s battlements.
‘They come in peace, Domine,’ the Cornuti warrior added awkwardly only after I had made something of a fool of myself. I swung to pin him with a demon’s stare, then old Lactantius stepped into view behind him, beaming smugly.
‘All is well. The tribes have learned well the teachings of the true Lord. Come, see,’ he said, beckoning me.
This was not the dark, thorny trouble I spoke of, you see; this was the sweet moment that only hardened the cruel blow that was to come.
A short while later I was dressed in boots and tunic, saddled on Celeritas’ back, with Lactantius, Batius and Krocus and a pair of Cornuti walking with me as we crossed the Rhenus bridge.
‘They emerged from the forest this morning, Domine,’ the soldier who had woken me said. ‘Marsii, bearing not arms and ire, but with mules laden with sacks of silver and trinkets.’
It was a tribute I had neither solicited nor expected. Indeed, the Second Italica legion operated a double watch on Divitia’s walls, so certain was I that the establishment of my great fortress would provoke a reactionary assault.
‘It is genuine,’ Krocus said. ‘I was there when they came. I recognised the men who brought the fineries into the fort. Chieftains and sons of leaders.’
Life had taught me to treat every gift with a suspicious eye. Was this the exception?
‘They deposited the treasures by the foot of the eastern gates… then left, melted back into the woods,’ Batius agreed, somewhat bemused.
‘They say you are invincible, Domine,’ the escorting Cornuti added.
The comment stoked a thousand memories. Among them, the bloody battlefields of Persia, the Carpi warriors on the Danube who nearly butchered me when they caught me alone, detached from my legion… and the assassins: the wicked blades of Galerius and Maxentius.
I looked down at him and erupted in a hard, lasting laugh that helped purge the memories – particularly the last one. ‘They once said my father was invincible when he campaigned in these lands. He bettered the Alemanni in a great battle on the meadows of Lingones… but only a moon previously those very same dogs had chased his army from the countryside and back to that city. Yet the gates were shut, barred from the inside by the townsfolk. They certainly didn’t think he was invincible then. The Alemanni were bearing down upon him and still the citizens refused to open the gates to let him in lest they be unable to shut them again in time to keep the barbarian horde out. Instead, a goat herder decided to lower a rope and leather harness used for lifting animals down from the battlements to hoist him up. And so the great Constantius Chlorus was hauled to safety like a prize hog!’
Batius and Krocus chuckled in unison, each recalling fondly their old master. Then they recognised the harmonious nature of their reaction, scowled at each other and looked in opposite directions.
The great, double-leaved gates of Divitia’s western gatehouse groaned open as we came to the far end of the bridge. The iron-grey interior was dotted with men of the Second Italica, and in the heart of the vast grounds sat a trio of wagons and a bemused group of shaggy pack mules, the sacks on their backs betraying a tell-tale glint of precious goods. One of the mules was particularly weary-looking, with a mean eye and a bite missing from its ear. One of the Italica soldiers approached the beast to take a look in the bags it carried, only for the creature to take a sudden fit of pique, braying at him. As the legionary fled, the mule loped after him, chasing him in circles, biting at his buttocks, much to the amusement of the other legionaries nearby.
The mule cast a look at those men as if to ward them off, killing their laughter, then returned to its pack.
‘Did Priam of Troy not once receive such a gift?’ I said with a mirthful glint in my eye and a degree of respect for the brave mule.
‘So I’ve heard,’ Batius said with a chuckle, ‘so when we get drunk tonight… we should keep an eye on that shaggy brute.’ Then he glanced sideways at Krocus. ‘I mean the mule, not you.’
Krocus was about to explode with some retort when Batius reaffirmed: ‘We will be celebrating this turn of events, yes? With wine… yes?’
I sensed Krocus reflect Batius’ hopeful look, and heard Lactantius groan wearily.
‘Triple the wine rations tonight,’ I said, but took care to add with a hard tone: ‘but the double watch remains.’
*
It was deep into the night and the off-duty legionaries of the Second Italica were in a fine state of merriment. They sat by the porches of their long stone barrack huts, toasting bread and cheese on their braziers and toasting themselves and each other with the rich, red wine from the stores. There were ruddy faces etched with smiles in every direction. The men still on duty on the walls impressed me with their resolve: not one breaking their sentinel-like watch over the dark forest to glance behind them and down at their comrades in the fort interior. But I had promised them their share too – so long as they did their stint on duty.
Batius, Krocus and I sat on a stone bench by the Principia, drinking cups of warmed soldier wine. We chatted of old times – mainly about my father, for it provided a common ground for my two most trusted men to meet upon. I almost sensed Father’s shade by my side, so vivid were each man’s tales.
‘A warrior, a leader,’ Batius said solemnly, taking another mouthful of wine. ‘That day the Alemanni chased him back to Lingones,’ he said, nudging me, ‘he only ran after trying to hold a bridgehead for six hours. He was plastered with blood and shaking with fatigue but still he held out until he saw there was no hope and no sense in him and his remaining few men dying.’
Krocus grunted in agreement, raising his cup. ‘He was a fine man. Gone too soon.’
I thought of Father’s achievements: keeping the West stable, shunning the persecutions at the risk of Diocletian and Galerius’ wrath, forging a small but solid army utterly devoted to him – a force that was the foundation for my accession.
‘If the gods have their wits about them, then he will be walking with them,’ Batius said.
Krocus looked up, a slight wrinkle on his forehead. ‘The gods?’
I sensed the subtext: Which gods?
But Batius did not take the bait. ‘Whichever of them awaits beyond—’ he lifted his hands as if to gesture to everything around us ‘—Mars, Wodin… the God of the Nazarene Christ.’
A scoff escaped my lips. Batius and Krocus looked at me, befuddled. The pair could not fail to love my father and his memory, but then they had not been at the sharp end of his ruthless ambition. ‘He walked out on his wife and his boy.’
Batius’ eyes closed slowly, as if realising his blunder. ‘Domine, I didn’t mean—’
‘He left us with a home but little coin. He took with him my mother’s confidence and sense of purpose. He stole a piece of my heart the day he deserted us. He left me dazed and mystified, drove me to seek out the grimmest of replacement paragons in his absence. I only ever took up place in Galerius’ court because Father left us! He drove me to that whoreson!’ I tossed the rest of the wine from my cup, suddenly annoyed by its heat in my veins.
‘Constantine,’ Batius said, his voice like a whisper.
Few people used my name these days. It took me back to my youth in a single breath, when big Batius was a young bull of a soldier. ‘Fathers seldom avoid mistakes. Mine liked to drink, morning, evening, all night. He beat me and my mother.’ The big man clenched and unclenched a fist as if recalling painful memories, then growled like a mastiff: ‘For a time.’
‘And how many sons can truly say they idolise their fathers?’ Krocus mused dryly. ‘Most follow the examples of other men: generals, gladiators, great speakers or bards… men whose dark sides they can choose to ignore.’
I noticed a welling of tears in the Regii leader’s eyes and realised that this pair knew the truth and knew it well. I suddenly felt foolish and laughed to let the tension ebb. ‘Fathers,’ I proclaimed, pouring a fresh cup of wine for myself then holding the vessel aloft.
‘Fathers,’ Batius and Krocus said in unison. ‘Bastards and heroes!’
Now you may recall the dark, spiny trouble that I said was to come and flatten my day. At this late hour, there was little time left for its advent. But come it did. And as with so many problems in recent times, it came on the back of a horse, carried by a rider. Not a cut-throat horseman from Maxentius’ realm; not a cloying herald from the lands of the dying Galerius… but a rider of my own, from Treverorum.
The din of the hooves on the Rhenus bridge brought all eyes, drunk or otherwise, within Divitia to the western gatehouse. The gates swung open to reveal the horseman who arrowed towards us at the Principia. He almost fell from the saddle before the stallion had stopped.
‘Domine!’ he gasped. All memories of childhood evaporated with that cold, hard, weighty appellation. ‘I knew it was not true,’ he gasped, searching me as if to make sure I was real.
‘What in the name of all the gods are you blabbering about, man?’
‘Maximian has stoked a great fire! He announced in the forum that you had been slain out here by the tribes. He proclaimed himself your successor… and even took to donning your purple cloak as he spoke.’
I felt my skin harden into a shell. For years, the man had slumbered by my side. He had played the role of father-in-law well, and some days I almost forgot just how shrewd and scheming he was. I had installed him as Governor of Arelate and entrusted him to watch my southern borders for me, yet he had thrown my trust back in my face. He had once tried this trick in Rome to displace his very own son. Now he dared to try it in my lands, while living under my sheltering arm?
‘A small force backed him, but the legion stationed near Arelate refused to believe the news, demanding evidence. He lost his nerve then, and upped and fled the city, but not before taking with him many wagons laden with the contents of Arelate’s treasury.’
Batius gasped.
‘That is the hub of our gold and silver store, Domine,’ Krocus said.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the rider. ‘And now? Where has he gone? My family…’ I said, the words instinctive.
‘Your family are safe, Domine. Your mother, your boy and Fausta are in Treverorum, and that city has gone untouched by Maximian’s treachery. He has fled to Massilia. The men of his loyal cohort have barricaded the walls of the city and made it their own. They blockade the roads there and trade in southern Gaul has ground to a halt.’
My blood felt like fire. Fathers! Fausta’s sire or not, the man was a wolf. And the last thing I needed right now – on the cusp of stabilising my realm, was a gnashing predator, right at its heart.
I turned to Batius then Krocus. ‘Leave a cohort stationed here. Have the rest of the men prepare to move out at dawn. Maximian has made his last mistake.’