Caesar's Lord, page 11
Whap!
The impact against Rex’s pack felt like someone had struck it with a club. Holding perfectly still, he shielded the emperor from further attack while the bodyguards subdued the assassin. And he waited for the pain to start.
Silence.
No one moved.
And there’s no pain . . .
“Well done, Rex,” Crispus said. “You may stand up and release me.”
Now completely confused, Rex did as he was told. Glancing around, he found all the military officials and bodyguards smiling. Even the man with the crossbow had a big grin on his face. Rex’s eyes fell to the bolt on the ground. Its end was tipped with padded leather like the bolts used in mock combat drills. The attack was a ruse!
“What’s going on here, Your Majesty?”
“A test,” Crispus replied, “and you passed it beyond all expectation. I had to know whether you still possessed your instincts and skills—and where your true loyalties lie.”
“But . . . why?”
“So I can commission you back into the army. I need you, Rex. Your emperor summons you to war.”
Stunned, Rex could offer no reply. The announcement was so unexpected that his mind had to grapple with it for several moments before the meaning of Crispus’s words could register. At last, Rex realized he needed to speak. “M-my ship leaves tomorrow,” he managed to say. “Herakles arranged it.”
Crispus said nothing. His face was unreadable.
“How do you even remember me?” Rex finally asked. The question had been bothering him all afternoon. Though he had served as Constantine’s bodyguard long ago, and in those days the young prince was often nearby, Rex had never actually exchanged words with Crispus before today.
But the answer was simple. Crispus shrugged and said, “How could I not remember you? As a boy, I secretly admired you—a handsome Germanic warrior with huge muscles. I have followed your military career over the years. And of course, there was the incident at Verona. It was due to my urging that my father finally forgave you. Let it be known that any questions about your courage are banished forever. We have just seen that you were willing to take a crossbow dart for your lord.”
Now it was Rex’s turn to remain silent. The “incident at Verona” was a source of shame for him—a time when he left Constantine’s side in the heat of battle so he could pursue an enemy who carried a grudge against Flavia. Chasing and killing that man was a legitimate action in war. Yet Constantine had taken offense at Rex leaving the field, so he condemned him to be a menial rower in the imperial navy. Apparently Crispus had been instrumental in turning things around.
“Thank you,” Rex said as he struggled to make sense of all that was coming at him.
“Here is the situation,” Crispus explained. “The New Aegean Fleet is fully assembled. Our warships number two hundred, supported by a flotilla of transports. We depart in two days for Thessalonica, and from there I shall lead the navy against Licinius. Meanwhile the infantry will march overland to Hadrianopolis under my father’s command. That is where you come in. We need field scouts—explorers and speculators. But the captain of our scout force has contracted a deadly cancer. Though the junior officers are skilled operatives, none of them is a natural leader. Warfare, I have learned, requires more than tactics and techniques. Victory demands a captain who can win the hearts of his troops by his courage and quick wits. You, Rex, are such a man.”
“But, Your Majesty . . . I am in service of the church now.”
“Who is your bishop?”
“Alexander of Alexandria. And in time of necessity, I represent Sylvester of Rome as well.”
“Do those men wish to see Christ’s name exalted in our empire?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And do they wish to see the pagan temples fall into disuse because the gods are shown to be false?”
“That is indeed their goal.”
“Then fight with me, Rex! Fight with me and my father, Constantine. We want the same thing. Only Licinius stands in our way, demanding that the gods be worshiped and staining the earth with the blood of those who refuse. I have seen the carnage with my own eyes.”
Rex was silent for a long time. The officials of the imperial entourage stared at him while the young emperor waited expectantly. Though Rex wanted to say yes to the summons, there was so much to consider. Lord, what is my duty here? How should I respond? Show me!
“I know what that is,” Crispus said.
Uncertain about what Crispus meant, Rex did not reply.
Now the emperor indicated that one of his bodyguards should hand him a sword. The man immediately obeyed. Slowly, Crispus withdrew the sword from its sheath. Metal slid against metal, a sound every soldier knew well. The exposed blade gleamed in the bright Greek sun. It wasn’t ornamental. This weapon was made for death.
“I know what that is,” Crispus repeated, and began to advance toward Rex.
Rex straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. He met Crispus’s eyes as the emperor approached—not in a rebellious way, nor fearfully, but with the confident dignity that a soldier should possess.
As Crispus walked forward, he extended his arm and brought his sword close to Rex’s throat. Its tip rested lightly on his collarbone. No one dared to move, for no one knew what was coming next.
“I know what that is,” Crispus said for the third time. And then, with a flick of his blade, he withdrew a necklace from beneath Rex’s tunic and cut the leather thong as soon as it was free. The gilded pendant started to fall, but Rex instinctively caught it before it could reach the ground.
Slowly, he opened his fist. The pendant lying in his palm was engraved with a cross. It was the Christian amulet given to him by Constantine long ago, at the outset of Rex’s first mission. Everyone exhaled at the sight of the mighty emblem.
“In this sign . . .” Crispus said, then turned his weapon around and offered the hilt to Rex.
“. . . you shall conquer,” Rex replied as he received the sword from the Caesar of the West.
JULY 324
Flavia was in a good mood, delighted that her mother, Sophronia, had joined her for a shopping excursion on a pleasant evening with cool breezes coming off the sea. It was a get-together they tried to observe at least once a week. Their custom had started as soon as Sophronia moved from Sicilia to Alexandria about a year after Rex and Flavia arrived in the city. Sophronia was a nun, so she didn’t often leave her convent attached to the Church of Theonas. But a brisk walk down Canopus Avenue browsing the shops and buying the week’s necessities was a good way for mother and daughter to spend some time together and catch up on each other’s lives.
“Look at this,” Flavia said as the two women paused outside an herbalist’s shop. “It’s lavender essence. And the bottle is so pretty. Let’s get it.”
Sophronia chuckled at the idea. “I’m forty-eight and a nun, Flavia. What do I need with perfume?”
“It’s not just perfume. It’s good for infections, the health of the skin, and calming the spirit. Besides—a woman is never too old to feel lovely.”
“I have no one to feel lovely for,” Sophronia said as she stared absently into the distance.
Flavia glanced at her mother. By anyone’s estimation, Sabina Sophronia was a beautiful woman. Her hair and eyes were dark—more so than Flavia’s chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Yet despite this difference, everyone said the two favored each other, and people of both sexes tended to compliment their beauty. Though Flavia was thirty and Sophronia was forty-eight, each woman was attractive for her age. Flavia didn’t want her mother to think she couldn’t be considered pretty. “I’ll buy it for you,” she insisted. “You can use it as you wish.”
For a moment longer, Sophronia’s mind remained in some far-off place, then she returned her attention to the present. “I’ll use it for health reasons,” she said, and Flavia made the purchase.
“Now all we need is lamp oil, and we’re done,” Sophronia said. “I believe Osiris’s shop had a good price last week. We might be able to work him down again.”
“I, uh . . . I prefer that little shop on the corner with Aspendia Street. Better oil there.”
“It’s exactly the same stuff! That place is twice as far and in the wrong direction. Why go there when Osiris’s store is a few steps away? Come on, let’s see what kind of deals he’s offering.”
Sophronia moved in that direction, so Flavia reluctantly followed. She didn’t want to tell her mother the real reason she wished to avoid the shop: because getting there required passing in front of the Isis temple. It was a wicked place, a place of demons, a place where she had grievously sinned. Sophronia, of course, didn’t know about that. Flavia had only confided in Athanasius. And the bishop knew it too. Beyond that, no one else did.
Since it was dusk now, the torches outside the temple had been lit by the time Flavia reached the building, giving its façade a weird and eerie glow. With her eyes cast down, she passed on the other side of the street. No sooner was the temple behind her than she caught a refreshing breeze and her discomfort dissipated.
“Osiris is going to want to bargain hard,” Sophronia said, “but if we—”
“Aahh!” Flavia screamed as a wrenching pain stabbed her in the belly. She clutched the excruciating place with one hand and grabbed her mother’s forearm with the other.
“Flavia! What is it?”
“It hurts!” She grimaced as the pain dug in hard, crescendoed, then waned and finally let go. Beads of sweat were on Flavia’s brow.
“Step into the latrine, quick!”
Flavia stumbled into the dark and smelly place behind her mother. Fortunately, no men were using it now. Though the interiors of such places were always dim, at night they were especially gloomy. A single oil lamp in a wall niche provided the only illumination. Sophronia picked it up and helped her daughter lift her hem.
“Blood,” she said in an ominous tone. “Let’s get you home right away.”
The walk back to the apartment near the Serapeum was interrupted by two more agonizing spasms, both spaced closer to each other than they were to the first. As soon as the women arrived, Flavia climbed the stairs to her second-floor residence and tumbled into her bed as another cramp took hold. Unlike the others, this one felt . . . substantial. Flavia knew exactly what was happening. “Boil water,” she told her mother as tears came to her eyes. “There are linen rags in the cupboard.”
Sophronia stayed with Flavia for the next sad and painful hour. At the end of it, everything had changed. Flavia would not—at least for now—be a mother.
“I am sorry, my love,” Sophronia said quietly as she stroked her daughter’s hand. Flavia’s only response was to utter a helpless whimper.
The moon rose in the sky, casting a white glow through the bedroom window. Flavia felt herself awaken from a kind of stupor as she noticed it. “It’s late,” she said to her mother. “You need to get back to the convent. You cannot stay out unexpectedly.”
Sophronia nodded. “I shall come again at first light.”
“Knock on Philip’s door downstairs and ask him to escort you. He is a stretcher carrier for the church. No one will bother you while you’re with him—not with a frame like his.”
“I will,” Sophronia said. “Philip is a dove in an ox’s body. But out on the streets, no one will know that.”
After kissing Flavia’s forehead, Sophronia exited the apartment and closed the door behind her. Immediately, the place fell into a deathly stillness. For a while, Flavia simply lay on her bed, exhausted by her ordeal. At last, she decided to read from the scriptures. Since the apartment had grown dark, she carried the lamp into the study where the books were kept in a cabinet.
Flavia had just retrieved the book of Paul’s epistles when she noticed that the landlord had delivered a letter and laid it on the desk. After breaking its seal, she found it was from Rex. Excited, Flavia began to scan it by the light of the oil lamp in her other hand. At first, Rex’s affectionate words thrilled her. But when she came to the part about “a commission from Caesar Crispus” and “a campaign through the fall” and “honorable duty,” her heart sank. Although she supported Rex’s main reason for rejoining the army—to save her fellow believers from future persecution—Flavia couldn’t help but feel the personal sting. She had been hoping to see her husband again soon. Now he would be delayed for several months, in danger the whole time and unable to communicate. It felt like another blow from on high.
Lord, is your hand against me?
Such a woeful thought was an indulgence in self-pity. She knew God was loving and kind. He was never against his children. Yet after the terrible experience of the miscarriage, followed by the letter delaying Rex’s return, Flavia felt overwhelmed with sadness. God might not be against her . . . but could he be rebuking her for her sin at the Isis temple? Was this a divine chastisement because she hadn’t sufficiently repented?
Flavia laid the letter on the desk and returned to her bedroom with the Pauline scriptures. Cool ocean breezes blew in through the apartment’s windows. After stirring the charcoal brazier, she set the lamp on her bedside table and settled onto her bed to read.
The Holy Spirit led Flavia to a passage in Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians. Flavia was meditating upon the apostle’s guidance about marriage when a strong gust of wind extinguished her lamp.
Stiffly, she climbed out of bed and took the lamp to the brazier. Soon a cheerful flame once again danced in the lamp’s mouth. Its warm glow illuminated the room and soothed Flavia’s soul on this hard and gloomy night.
But as she was returning the lamp to its stand, an aftershock from the miscarriage seized her abdomen. As her hand instinctively went to her belly, she fumbled with the lamp and dropped it. The flame went out and the oil spilled across the floor, plunging the room into darkness again.
Flavia endured the pain until the cramp finally passed, then turned her attention to the lamp. “Noooo,” she said as she knelt and found it broken. She was about to go get another lamp when she remembered that the apartment was out of oil. Because of the distressing circumstances of the night, she hadn’t bought a new supply.
Mournfully, she got back in bed and drew the coverlet up to her neck. The room seemed oppressively dark. I’m like one of the Five Foolish Virgins who had no oil, Flavia thought. What did Jesus say to those women who did not prepare? “Truly I say to you, I do not know you.”
“Lord, do you know me anymore?” Flavia cried to the ceiling. But there was no reply.
For a long time, her mind drifted. Outside, clouds rolled over the moon, darkening the house and Flavia’s spirits even more. Her thoughts went to the passage she had been reading from First Corinthians. According to the apostle, abstinence from sexual relations was useful when spouses needed to devote themselves to prayer. Flavia resolved to implement the ascetic practice for several months after Rex’s return. Maybe then God will return his favor to me!
Another breeze blew into the room, fanning the coals in the brazier. Briefly, a red glow illumined the walls. Then it faded and returned the room to darkness. “Was that you, Lord?” Flavia whispered. She hoped it was. Yet as she closed her eyes for sleep, the disquiet in her soul suggested it might have been something else.
Two weeks of marching had brought Constantine’s field army within sight of Hadrianopolis’s high, white walls. The route from Thessalonica had taken the troops along the Egnatian Way to the Hebrus River near Aenus, where they turned upstream and followed a branch of the main highway to their destination. Rex had been surprised, though not alarmed, to arrive on the last day of June and find Licinius’s army deployed on the eastern side of the river for about twenty-five miles above and below Hadrianopolis. Constantine’s army remained on the western riverbank until a plan of attack could be formed. And that’s where the scouts come in, Rex had reminded himself. Time to get to work.
The squad of elite speculators numbered twelve men. Upon meeting these special forces operatives, Rex had immediately understood Caesar Crispus’s concern. While these speculators were skilled in their craft, they were all young, ranging from their late teens to early twenties. And because the empire had been at rest since the peace treaty at Serdica seven years ago, none of these warriors had seen army-on-army combat. Though they had skirmished with barbarians like Rome had been doing for centuries, they had never actually scouted an enemy supply line, spied on a city like Hadrianopolis, or devised an attack against a fortified position. The barbarians didn’t require such tactics—but the imperial army did. Caesar Crispus had realized that to take on Licinius, leadership experience in actual army reconnaissance was going to be required. And so he had commissioned Rex back into the army.
“Here’s what I want,” he told his assembled men. “Half of you go upstream and half go down. Bring me word of two things: the narrowest place to cross and the shallowest.” He threw two coils of rope on the ground in front of the troops. “Measure both crossings by sending your best swimmers across at night. Hold one end of the rope on this side and have the man cut it at the far bank. By tomorrow, I want these ropes to be exactly as long as the distances between the riverbanks at both crossings.”
The next day, the speculators gave Rex the two ropes. They had found the narrowest crossing to be a swift, deep, and dangerous place at the base of a wooded hill. The shallowest crossing, however, was a much wider place in the river—and as an obvious place for an attack, it was more robustly defended by the Licinians on the far side.
Now Rex went to the headquarters tent and sought permission to speak with the emperor. Constantine called Rex inside along with his old general, Arcadius, whom Rex knew from previous battles. In contrast to the tall and slim Constantine, General Arcadius was short but powerfully built. It was he who spoke. “What’s your plan, soldier?”
Using a belt and some other objects on the emperor’s desk to represent the Hebrus River and the two crossings, Rex outlined his idea. Arcadius and Constantine listened closely. When Rex was finished, Arcadius said, “The Batavi, eh? You think they’ll do the trick?”
The impact against Rex’s pack felt like someone had struck it with a club. Holding perfectly still, he shielded the emperor from further attack while the bodyguards subdued the assassin. And he waited for the pain to start.
Silence.
No one moved.
And there’s no pain . . .
“Well done, Rex,” Crispus said. “You may stand up and release me.”
Now completely confused, Rex did as he was told. Glancing around, he found all the military officials and bodyguards smiling. Even the man with the crossbow had a big grin on his face. Rex’s eyes fell to the bolt on the ground. Its end was tipped with padded leather like the bolts used in mock combat drills. The attack was a ruse!
“What’s going on here, Your Majesty?”
“A test,” Crispus replied, “and you passed it beyond all expectation. I had to know whether you still possessed your instincts and skills—and where your true loyalties lie.”
“But . . . why?”
“So I can commission you back into the army. I need you, Rex. Your emperor summons you to war.”
Stunned, Rex could offer no reply. The announcement was so unexpected that his mind had to grapple with it for several moments before the meaning of Crispus’s words could register. At last, Rex realized he needed to speak. “M-my ship leaves tomorrow,” he managed to say. “Herakles arranged it.”
Crispus said nothing. His face was unreadable.
“How do you even remember me?” Rex finally asked. The question had been bothering him all afternoon. Though he had served as Constantine’s bodyguard long ago, and in those days the young prince was often nearby, Rex had never actually exchanged words with Crispus before today.
But the answer was simple. Crispus shrugged and said, “How could I not remember you? As a boy, I secretly admired you—a handsome Germanic warrior with huge muscles. I have followed your military career over the years. And of course, there was the incident at Verona. It was due to my urging that my father finally forgave you. Let it be known that any questions about your courage are banished forever. We have just seen that you were willing to take a crossbow dart for your lord.”
Now it was Rex’s turn to remain silent. The “incident at Verona” was a source of shame for him—a time when he left Constantine’s side in the heat of battle so he could pursue an enemy who carried a grudge against Flavia. Chasing and killing that man was a legitimate action in war. Yet Constantine had taken offense at Rex leaving the field, so he condemned him to be a menial rower in the imperial navy. Apparently Crispus had been instrumental in turning things around.
“Thank you,” Rex said as he struggled to make sense of all that was coming at him.
“Here is the situation,” Crispus explained. “The New Aegean Fleet is fully assembled. Our warships number two hundred, supported by a flotilla of transports. We depart in two days for Thessalonica, and from there I shall lead the navy against Licinius. Meanwhile the infantry will march overland to Hadrianopolis under my father’s command. That is where you come in. We need field scouts—explorers and speculators. But the captain of our scout force has contracted a deadly cancer. Though the junior officers are skilled operatives, none of them is a natural leader. Warfare, I have learned, requires more than tactics and techniques. Victory demands a captain who can win the hearts of his troops by his courage and quick wits. You, Rex, are such a man.”
“But, Your Majesty . . . I am in service of the church now.”
“Who is your bishop?”
“Alexander of Alexandria. And in time of necessity, I represent Sylvester of Rome as well.”
“Do those men wish to see Christ’s name exalted in our empire?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And do they wish to see the pagan temples fall into disuse because the gods are shown to be false?”
“That is indeed their goal.”
“Then fight with me, Rex! Fight with me and my father, Constantine. We want the same thing. Only Licinius stands in our way, demanding that the gods be worshiped and staining the earth with the blood of those who refuse. I have seen the carnage with my own eyes.”
Rex was silent for a long time. The officials of the imperial entourage stared at him while the young emperor waited expectantly. Though Rex wanted to say yes to the summons, there was so much to consider. Lord, what is my duty here? How should I respond? Show me!
“I know what that is,” Crispus said.
Uncertain about what Crispus meant, Rex did not reply.
Now the emperor indicated that one of his bodyguards should hand him a sword. The man immediately obeyed. Slowly, Crispus withdrew the sword from its sheath. Metal slid against metal, a sound every soldier knew well. The exposed blade gleamed in the bright Greek sun. It wasn’t ornamental. This weapon was made for death.
“I know what that is,” Crispus repeated, and began to advance toward Rex.
Rex straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. He met Crispus’s eyes as the emperor approached—not in a rebellious way, nor fearfully, but with the confident dignity that a soldier should possess.
As Crispus walked forward, he extended his arm and brought his sword close to Rex’s throat. Its tip rested lightly on his collarbone. No one dared to move, for no one knew what was coming next.
“I know what that is,” Crispus said for the third time. And then, with a flick of his blade, he withdrew a necklace from beneath Rex’s tunic and cut the leather thong as soon as it was free. The gilded pendant started to fall, but Rex instinctively caught it before it could reach the ground.
Slowly, he opened his fist. The pendant lying in his palm was engraved with a cross. It was the Christian amulet given to him by Constantine long ago, at the outset of Rex’s first mission. Everyone exhaled at the sight of the mighty emblem.
“In this sign . . .” Crispus said, then turned his weapon around and offered the hilt to Rex.
“. . . you shall conquer,” Rex replied as he received the sword from the Caesar of the West.
JULY 324
Flavia was in a good mood, delighted that her mother, Sophronia, had joined her for a shopping excursion on a pleasant evening with cool breezes coming off the sea. It was a get-together they tried to observe at least once a week. Their custom had started as soon as Sophronia moved from Sicilia to Alexandria about a year after Rex and Flavia arrived in the city. Sophronia was a nun, so she didn’t often leave her convent attached to the Church of Theonas. But a brisk walk down Canopus Avenue browsing the shops and buying the week’s necessities was a good way for mother and daughter to spend some time together and catch up on each other’s lives.
“Look at this,” Flavia said as the two women paused outside an herbalist’s shop. “It’s lavender essence. And the bottle is so pretty. Let’s get it.”
Sophronia chuckled at the idea. “I’m forty-eight and a nun, Flavia. What do I need with perfume?”
“It’s not just perfume. It’s good for infections, the health of the skin, and calming the spirit. Besides—a woman is never too old to feel lovely.”
“I have no one to feel lovely for,” Sophronia said as she stared absently into the distance.
Flavia glanced at her mother. By anyone’s estimation, Sabina Sophronia was a beautiful woman. Her hair and eyes were dark—more so than Flavia’s chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Yet despite this difference, everyone said the two favored each other, and people of both sexes tended to compliment their beauty. Though Flavia was thirty and Sophronia was forty-eight, each woman was attractive for her age. Flavia didn’t want her mother to think she couldn’t be considered pretty. “I’ll buy it for you,” she insisted. “You can use it as you wish.”
For a moment longer, Sophronia’s mind remained in some far-off place, then she returned her attention to the present. “I’ll use it for health reasons,” she said, and Flavia made the purchase.
“Now all we need is lamp oil, and we’re done,” Sophronia said. “I believe Osiris’s shop had a good price last week. We might be able to work him down again.”
“I, uh . . . I prefer that little shop on the corner with Aspendia Street. Better oil there.”
“It’s exactly the same stuff! That place is twice as far and in the wrong direction. Why go there when Osiris’s store is a few steps away? Come on, let’s see what kind of deals he’s offering.”
Sophronia moved in that direction, so Flavia reluctantly followed. She didn’t want to tell her mother the real reason she wished to avoid the shop: because getting there required passing in front of the Isis temple. It was a wicked place, a place of demons, a place where she had grievously sinned. Sophronia, of course, didn’t know about that. Flavia had only confided in Athanasius. And the bishop knew it too. Beyond that, no one else did.
Since it was dusk now, the torches outside the temple had been lit by the time Flavia reached the building, giving its façade a weird and eerie glow. With her eyes cast down, she passed on the other side of the street. No sooner was the temple behind her than she caught a refreshing breeze and her discomfort dissipated.
“Osiris is going to want to bargain hard,” Sophronia said, “but if we—”
“Aahh!” Flavia screamed as a wrenching pain stabbed her in the belly. She clutched the excruciating place with one hand and grabbed her mother’s forearm with the other.
“Flavia! What is it?”
“It hurts!” She grimaced as the pain dug in hard, crescendoed, then waned and finally let go. Beads of sweat were on Flavia’s brow.
“Step into the latrine, quick!”
Flavia stumbled into the dark and smelly place behind her mother. Fortunately, no men were using it now. Though the interiors of such places were always dim, at night they were especially gloomy. A single oil lamp in a wall niche provided the only illumination. Sophronia picked it up and helped her daughter lift her hem.
“Blood,” she said in an ominous tone. “Let’s get you home right away.”
The walk back to the apartment near the Serapeum was interrupted by two more agonizing spasms, both spaced closer to each other than they were to the first. As soon as the women arrived, Flavia climbed the stairs to her second-floor residence and tumbled into her bed as another cramp took hold. Unlike the others, this one felt . . . substantial. Flavia knew exactly what was happening. “Boil water,” she told her mother as tears came to her eyes. “There are linen rags in the cupboard.”
Sophronia stayed with Flavia for the next sad and painful hour. At the end of it, everything had changed. Flavia would not—at least for now—be a mother.
“I am sorry, my love,” Sophronia said quietly as she stroked her daughter’s hand. Flavia’s only response was to utter a helpless whimper.
The moon rose in the sky, casting a white glow through the bedroom window. Flavia felt herself awaken from a kind of stupor as she noticed it. “It’s late,” she said to her mother. “You need to get back to the convent. You cannot stay out unexpectedly.”
Sophronia nodded. “I shall come again at first light.”
“Knock on Philip’s door downstairs and ask him to escort you. He is a stretcher carrier for the church. No one will bother you while you’re with him—not with a frame like his.”
“I will,” Sophronia said. “Philip is a dove in an ox’s body. But out on the streets, no one will know that.”
After kissing Flavia’s forehead, Sophronia exited the apartment and closed the door behind her. Immediately, the place fell into a deathly stillness. For a while, Flavia simply lay on her bed, exhausted by her ordeal. At last, she decided to read from the scriptures. Since the apartment had grown dark, she carried the lamp into the study where the books were kept in a cabinet.
Flavia had just retrieved the book of Paul’s epistles when she noticed that the landlord had delivered a letter and laid it on the desk. After breaking its seal, she found it was from Rex. Excited, Flavia began to scan it by the light of the oil lamp in her other hand. At first, Rex’s affectionate words thrilled her. But when she came to the part about “a commission from Caesar Crispus” and “a campaign through the fall” and “honorable duty,” her heart sank. Although she supported Rex’s main reason for rejoining the army—to save her fellow believers from future persecution—Flavia couldn’t help but feel the personal sting. She had been hoping to see her husband again soon. Now he would be delayed for several months, in danger the whole time and unable to communicate. It felt like another blow from on high.
Lord, is your hand against me?
Such a woeful thought was an indulgence in self-pity. She knew God was loving and kind. He was never against his children. Yet after the terrible experience of the miscarriage, followed by the letter delaying Rex’s return, Flavia felt overwhelmed with sadness. God might not be against her . . . but could he be rebuking her for her sin at the Isis temple? Was this a divine chastisement because she hadn’t sufficiently repented?
Flavia laid the letter on the desk and returned to her bedroom with the Pauline scriptures. Cool ocean breezes blew in through the apartment’s windows. After stirring the charcoal brazier, she set the lamp on her bedside table and settled onto her bed to read.
The Holy Spirit led Flavia to a passage in Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians. Flavia was meditating upon the apostle’s guidance about marriage when a strong gust of wind extinguished her lamp.
Stiffly, she climbed out of bed and took the lamp to the brazier. Soon a cheerful flame once again danced in the lamp’s mouth. Its warm glow illuminated the room and soothed Flavia’s soul on this hard and gloomy night.
But as she was returning the lamp to its stand, an aftershock from the miscarriage seized her abdomen. As her hand instinctively went to her belly, she fumbled with the lamp and dropped it. The flame went out and the oil spilled across the floor, plunging the room into darkness again.
Flavia endured the pain until the cramp finally passed, then turned her attention to the lamp. “Noooo,” she said as she knelt and found it broken. She was about to go get another lamp when she remembered that the apartment was out of oil. Because of the distressing circumstances of the night, she hadn’t bought a new supply.
Mournfully, she got back in bed and drew the coverlet up to her neck. The room seemed oppressively dark. I’m like one of the Five Foolish Virgins who had no oil, Flavia thought. What did Jesus say to those women who did not prepare? “Truly I say to you, I do not know you.”
“Lord, do you know me anymore?” Flavia cried to the ceiling. But there was no reply.
For a long time, her mind drifted. Outside, clouds rolled over the moon, darkening the house and Flavia’s spirits even more. Her thoughts went to the passage she had been reading from First Corinthians. According to the apostle, abstinence from sexual relations was useful when spouses needed to devote themselves to prayer. Flavia resolved to implement the ascetic practice for several months after Rex’s return. Maybe then God will return his favor to me!
Another breeze blew into the room, fanning the coals in the brazier. Briefly, a red glow illumined the walls. Then it faded and returned the room to darkness. “Was that you, Lord?” Flavia whispered. She hoped it was. Yet as she closed her eyes for sleep, the disquiet in her soul suggested it might have been something else.
Two weeks of marching had brought Constantine’s field army within sight of Hadrianopolis’s high, white walls. The route from Thessalonica had taken the troops along the Egnatian Way to the Hebrus River near Aenus, where they turned upstream and followed a branch of the main highway to their destination. Rex had been surprised, though not alarmed, to arrive on the last day of June and find Licinius’s army deployed on the eastern side of the river for about twenty-five miles above and below Hadrianopolis. Constantine’s army remained on the western riverbank until a plan of attack could be formed. And that’s where the scouts come in, Rex had reminded himself. Time to get to work.
The squad of elite speculators numbered twelve men. Upon meeting these special forces operatives, Rex had immediately understood Caesar Crispus’s concern. While these speculators were skilled in their craft, they were all young, ranging from their late teens to early twenties. And because the empire had been at rest since the peace treaty at Serdica seven years ago, none of these warriors had seen army-on-army combat. Though they had skirmished with barbarians like Rome had been doing for centuries, they had never actually scouted an enemy supply line, spied on a city like Hadrianopolis, or devised an attack against a fortified position. The barbarians didn’t require such tactics—but the imperial army did. Caesar Crispus had realized that to take on Licinius, leadership experience in actual army reconnaissance was going to be required. And so he had commissioned Rex back into the army.
“Here’s what I want,” he told his assembled men. “Half of you go upstream and half go down. Bring me word of two things: the narrowest place to cross and the shallowest.” He threw two coils of rope on the ground in front of the troops. “Measure both crossings by sending your best swimmers across at night. Hold one end of the rope on this side and have the man cut it at the far bank. By tomorrow, I want these ropes to be exactly as long as the distances between the riverbanks at both crossings.”
The next day, the speculators gave Rex the two ropes. They had found the narrowest crossing to be a swift, deep, and dangerous place at the base of a wooded hill. The shallowest crossing, however, was a much wider place in the river—and as an obvious place for an attack, it was more robustly defended by the Licinians on the far side.
Now Rex went to the headquarters tent and sought permission to speak with the emperor. Constantine called Rex inside along with his old general, Arcadius, whom Rex knew from previous battles. In contrast to the tall and slim Constantine, General Arcadius was short but powerfully built. It was he who spoke. “What’s your plan, soldier?”
Using a belt and some other objects on the emperor’s desk to represent the Hebrus River and the two crossings, Rex outlined his idea. Arcadius and Constantine listened closely. When Rex was finished, Arcadius said, “The Batavi, eh? You think they’ll do the trick?”
