Caesar's Lord, page 16
However, to transport a hundred thousand troops and their supplies across the channel would require an uncontested crossing. That was why the location selected for the landing was far away from Licinian territory: twenty-five miles up the Bosporus at its mouth where it opened into the Euxine Sea. The Asian coastline was dotted with a few villages here but was otherwise uninhabited. To get the troops across, every available boat had been rounded up and log rafts had been built that could be towed behind the warships. By the time Licinius learned of the invasion and started to mobilize, the army would already be across. Then the final battle could commence.
Over the next two days, the crossing was successfully made. The soldiers, horses, and materiel were loaded into boats—often overloaded, Rex thought—and ferried across the strait. Early on the second day, his twelve speculators arrived on the European side, so Rex took his leave from Crispus and reassumed command of his men. They crowded onto a raft and were towed over to Asia, where they reclaimed their horses and gear. Since they were skilled horsemen, the speculators had been tasked to function as a nimble and high-impact strike force wherever quick action was needed on the battlefield.
Once the whole army was safely across in Asia, Constantine and Crispus—the augustus and his caesar—led a triumphant cavalcade toward Chalcedon, where Licinius was based. But because the forward scouts began to make enemy contact around Chrysopolis, the army stopped on its outskirts instead. A field camp was constructed at the edge of a broad field surrounded by rolling hills. The Licinians moved up and camped on the other side of the open space. Now the game board was set. The pieces could only sit and wait for the match to begin.
After the tents had been erected and the ditches dug around the camp, Rex climbed a knoll and surveyed the contours of the battlefield. It was mostly level, though a few gullies and ravines split the land here and there. The view from the knoll was idyllic and pastoral, but Rex knew that wouldn’t last much longer. Soon the wide, green meadow would be churned into a bog of brown mud and red blood.
The augustus and his son had ordered a prayer tent to be set up outside the camp. It functioned as a place of retreat and spiritual preparation. Crispus’s former tutor Lactantius served as its chaplain. As the day of battle approached, a prayer service was appointed there on Sun Day at dawn, the hour of the Lord’s resurrection. Since Rex was a deputized legate of Bishop Sylvester, he was invited to attend the ceremony as a representative of the Roman church. It was held under an open sky in front of the tent.
Surrounded by the officers and centurions, Lactantius delivered a rousing sermon from the story of David and Goliath in the first of the four Books of Kings. Using the gruff voice of the Philistine giant, Lactantius cried, “Am I a dog, that you come at me with sticks? I curse you by all my gods! Come now, you runt, so I can give your flesh to the birds of the air and your bones to the beasts of the field.”
Then, switching over to David’s more noble voice, Lactantius summoned all his rhetorical power and proclaimed the courageous reply of God’s anointed: “Thou comest at me with a sword, and a spear, and a shield. But I come in the name of the Lord God of Hosts! And the Lord shall deliver thee into my hand. Then shall the whole world know that the Lord delivers not by sword or spear but by his own power and might. For the battle is the Lord’s, and he shall deliver thee into our hands!” The cheering that this proclamation aroused was so loud, Rex thought it could probably be heard all the way to Licinius’s tent.
At last, the day of battle arrived. It dawned bright and clear, with a crisp coolness in the air that hinted of the autumn to come. The hundred thousand Constantinian soldiers had arrayed themselves at the edge of the battlefield to face the hundred and thirty thousand enemy troops. In the center of the line were Constantine and Crispus, along with their standard-bearer, who wore a lion skin over his shoulders and carried the mighty Christian labarum. It was marked with the Greek letters chi and rho, the first two letters in the name of Christ, superimposed on one another: ☧. The army of Constantine would conquer by the sign of the cross.
Rex, however, was stationed off to the side with his speculators. Each man was fully armed. They wore high-quality chain mail and had iron helmets with green plumes for easy identification. Since their strategy was to be mobile, their horses had been selected for quickness and agility in battle.
“Let’s get this job done,” Rex said to his men. “Fight hard today and you’ll be back to your women before the first snow, with gold in your purse and honor on your brow.”
“And home cooking in our bellies!” added a freckle-faced youth from Gaul, a province where they knew a thing or two about fine food.
“That’s right,” Rex replied as he fastened the helmet’s thong at his chin. “Now, tighten up your straps, boys. And may God go with us.”
The sun was above the trees by the time the first sorties took place. The armies were like two pugilists testing each other with a few early jabs. But soon the battle was engaged in earnest. It was a traditional pitched battle with a preliminary exchange of missiles followed by successive clashes of infantry whose wings were protected by cavalry.
The most elite of Constantine’s legions were stationed near the labarum. Its banner was made of brilliant purple cloth, and its top was crowned by a jeweled wreath that surrounded a chi-rho made of gold. Rex could see that wherever the labarum went, the Licinian legions fell back. Clearly, they perceived it to have dreadful power, so they wanted to fight in other places until the battle had turned their way. This afforded the Constantinian troops a significant advantage. They could initiate contact wherever they wanted and expect a retreat.
Yet as the labarum surged forward and was about to break the enemy lines, another combatant entered the fray: a detachment of Gothic mercenaries led by their muscular chieftain, Alica. His gods were of another tradition, so the Germani held no fear for the peace-loving God of the Christians. Alica fought his way toward the Christian war banner under the power and impetus of Thor. And Thor wasn’t afraid of Christ.
Meanwhile, Rex’s speculators had skirmished their way along the fringe of the battlefield to a location where a flanking strike would be effective. Their strategy had inadvertently brought them close to the place where Alica was striving to intercept the labarum. The battle grew fierce as two powerful forces converged at that spot. The ground was broken and uneven, making maneuvering difficult for the combatants. Death claimed many men from both armies.
Slowly, however, Constantine’s legions began to prevail. Fighting with confidence and determination, they succeeded in pushing back the Gothic warriors. The battle was turning their way. Victory felt close. And then tragedy struck: a javelin came hurtling from the sky like a thunderbolt from Asgard. It impaled Constantine’s standard-bearer through the chest. He collapsed to the ground and sent the labarum tumbling into a craggy ravine at the base of a gnarly oak.
“Now is our time!” Rex cried, putting his heels to his horse’s flanks. “Follow me!” The labarum was the rallying point and inspiration for the whole Constantinian army. Holding it high was essential for securing a victory. Now it was down in a ditch. Rescuing the flag in the heat of battle was just the kind of mission for which the speculators existed.
As the twelve men galloped toward the ravine, they immediately encountered resistance. Sling bullets made of lead flew past them with high-pitched whistles or made loud bangs when they struck helmets and shields. The slingers’ attack slowed down a few riders, but Rex pressed on and led them deeper into the fray.
A horde of Goths, locked in hard combat with the best of Constantine’s legions, blocked the way to the ravine. Rex’s men hit the rear of the Gothic contingent but didn’t stop to engage them. Yet the Goths were fierce fighters, so any clash with them came at a cost. Blood was spilled as the speculators barreled into the melee. Finally, they managed to break through the tumult and reach the edge of the ditch. Rex headed for the gnarled tree where he had seen the labarum go down. He intended to recover it or die in the attempt.
But another band of Gothic riders had set their eyes on the craggy ravine as well. They, too, understood the symbolic significance of the Christian flag. These men had broken free of the main combat and were charging toward the tree. Instead of turning aside, Rex decided to meet them head-on. He urged his mount to go faster. His twelve warriors accelerated into the confrontation as if borne along by angels’ wings.
The collision of the two sides was an enormous smashup. Bodies flew from saddles. Rex saw a severed Gothic head spin past him like a comet. He took an arm-numbing blow on his shield, then ran his spear through the throat of a mustached warrior with battle lust in his eyes. No sooner had he taken down that opponent when something clobbered him on the back of his helmet. Bright lights flashed before Rex’s eyes. His body went limp. All sound disappeared. He fell sideways. A wall of green rushed up to meet him.
Rex hit the ground hard. Though the impact was bone jarring, it also knocked him back to reality. His instincts and training kicked in, causing him to roll across the turf to absorb the blow. Finally, he came to rest. Rising onto his hands and knees, Rex squinted and shook his head, trying to overcome the pain and disorientation. Get up! demanded a voice in his head. Do it now or die!
He scrambled to his feet and drew his sword. Glancing around, he saw no immediate opponent. The gnarled oak was a few paces away. Rex ran to it. After sliding down the jagged side of the ravine, he scanned the ground for the labarum. At first, it was nowhere to be seen. Then he spotted it—not lying on the ground but clenched in Alica’s triumphant fist.
The Gothic warrior was a specimen of manhood like few Rex had ever seen. He must have been a foot taller than Rex, with shoulders so wide he could have set a yoke on them and put the oxen to shame. His arm muscles bulged inside his sleeves as if he had stowed melons there. Alica’s helmet had fallen off, causing his long blond hair to blow in the wind like filaments of gold. The braid of his beard dangled from his chin with the kind of girth that made other men shrivel and shrink. Alica seemed like a pagan god walking the earth. Even so, Rex gripped his sword and began to advance. It was time for the old gods to die.
“That banner belongs to me,” Rex said, “and I’m coming to take it.”
Alica spat a gob of saliva on the flag. “I curse you and your god,” he replied in deep, throaty German. Then he dropped the labarum, drew his sword, and charged at Rex with utter disdain.
The force of the warrior’s onslaught was impressive, but Rex was experienced in war and had fought strong foes before. He didn’t yield any ground but took the blows upon his shield and countered with thrusts of his own, forcing Alica to defend himself and not simply attack. Wooden splinters flew from the two men’s shields as they hacked and slashed at each other. In between their assaults, they stepped back and circled each other with wary eyes, catching their breath, alert for any opportunity to make a killing strike.
Alica growled like a feral beast, his pale gray eyes fixed on Rex. “You cannot defeat me,” he snarled. Yet even as he spoke, he circled toward the edge of a furrow in the earth that he hadn’t seen.
Rex positioned himself so that his charge would make Alica step backward into the uneven ground. “You are defeated already,” he declared, then threw himself at his opponent.
The Gothic chieftain held his stance as Rex came charging in. The two warriors found themselves locked in a contest of strength as they shoved each other with their shields. Neither man could bring his sword into action at such close quarters. Each combatant struggled to force the other one back. Then, in a surprise move, Rex brought up his knee and smashed Alica in the groin.
“Argh!” the Goth cried as the pain made him withdraw. His foot landed awkwardly in the rut behind him, and he tumbled onto his back. His sword skittered from his hand. And in that helpless instant, Rex stabbed Alica through the heart.
For what seemed like a long time, Rex returned the man’s fierce yet impotent stare. At last, Alica’s eyeballs rolled back and his eyelids fluttered. The light faded from his countenance. A final, raspy gurgle escaped his throat. Then death claimed him.
“And so it ends,” Rex said. Still panting from the fierce exertion, he turned away from Alica’s corpse and went to retrieve the Christian labarum.
Peeking out of the ravine, Rex found that the battle had shifted to a more distant place. His own men were farther away now, still engaged with the Gothic riders. Closer in, a squadron of Licinian cavalry had paused near the ravine to regroup. If a soldier in Constantinian armor were to emerge from the ditch with the labarum, the Licinians would descend on him like a swarm of demons. Unfortunately, some of Alica’s men were now moving up the ravine in search of their commander. At any moment, Rex would be spotted by one enemy or another.
The Constantinian battle line was two stadia away across an empty field. It would be hard for a rider to outrun his pursuers over such a great distance. Mounted archers would be shooting at him the whole time. Yet hiding in a hole like a scared rabbit would only lead to discovery and death. There were no good options. The Goths were drawing near. Rex’s best choice was to grab a horse and make a run for it.
Alica had hitched his mount to the gnarled oak when he went after the flag. The animal was no compact pony from the Sarmatian grasslands but a huge stallion with draught-horse bloodlines. The mighty beast was built for an all-out charge—which was a good thing because that was what Rex was about to try. After making the sign of the cross over himself, he clambered from the ditch and untied the stallion. Rex was in the saddle, labarum in hand, before any of the Licinians noticed him. But that obscurity didn’t last long. A single shout arose, followed by a roar, and the chase was on.
The stallion wanted to run, so Rex had no problem motivating his mount to rise to a gallop. Its pace was smooth and its stride was long as it ate up the ground. Yet a glance over Rex’s shoulder told him how much trouble he was in. Around a thousand men were surging after him like a wolf pack in pursuit of a wounded fawn. The labarum meant everything in this battle. Rex was its lone defender. Every man in the ravenous horde wanted to be the one to claim it.
Arrows began to whistle past Rex on either side as his pursuers loosed their deadly missiles. It was only a matter of time until one of the points struck the stallion’s rump—or worse, Rex’s spine. He had to get out of their range.
Squeezing his thighs, Rex directed the stallion toward a low, grassy slope. Though it wasn’t on a direct course toward the Constantinian army, Rex thought that passing over its top would protect him from the arrows long enough to reach the safety of his own battle line. At least, he hoped it would.
Clang! An arrow grazed Rex’s helmet with enough force to knock his head forward. Had the point hit him square on, it would have pierced his iron headpiece. He urged the stallion to press harder. If its courage and willpower failed, both man and beast would perish on the field of war.
Rex reached the base of the knoll and began to rise up its slope. Behind him, he could hear his pursuers’ curses and shouts. Arrows flew past on the left and right. Rex felt his shoulders tense as he anticipated one of the shafts piercing him through.
But the top of the rise was close now. “Just a little more!” he shouted to the brave horse. “You can do it!”
The stallion dug deep and found even more speed. At last, Rex reached the summit. And as he crested the knoll, he beheld a sight he would never forget.
Galloping up the back side of the hill was a vast legion of Constantinian cavalry. There had to be five thousand riders surging up the slope, unseen by the Licinians who were chasing Rex. This mighty host was about to reach the crest and go spilling over its rim like lava flowing down the flanks of Mons Aetna. Death and destruction would follow in their wake.
Atop the knoll’s summit, Rex reined up his horse and spun it around to face the enemy. The noble stallion reared on two legs and pawed the air with its hoofs. From within its broad chest it uttered a defiant whinny. “For Christ and Constantine!” Rex shouted as he raised the labarum to the noonday sun. And at the sound of those words, the five thousand riders surged past Rex and descended upon the terrified Licinians like the avenging whirlwind of God.
OCTOBER 324
Constantine had decided he was tired of staring at city walls from the outside. After remaining outside of Hadrianopolis and Byzantium, then bypassing Chrysopolis after the victory on the battlefield, Constantine was looking forward to resuming a civilized, urban life again. In particular, he wanted a real bath. The city of Nicomedia was about to provide it.
“We won’t have to capture it,” Crispus suggested to his father as the two men examined Nicomedia’s walls from their encampment before its western gate. “All we have to do is sit here and wait. That city will vomit out Licinius like a piece of rotten meat.”
Crispus’s prophecy was fulfilled even sooner than Constantine had expected. Later that afternoon, the gates opened and two people exited with their attendants. Guards immediately swarmed them and escorted them into the imperial camp.
The captain of the royal bodyguard approached Constantine. “Your Majesty,” he announced, “an audience is requested by your half sister, Lady Julia Constantia, and the venerable Bishop Eusebius, along with their handmaids and deacons.”
“I grant it,” Constantine said, and the guests were brought to him.
It had been many years since the emperor had seen his half sister. Laying eyes on her now, he marveled at how much she looked like their father. Constantius had been a heavyset man. Similarly, Lady Constantia was a curvaceous, full-figured woman. Both of them had striking features and smooth, pale skin. Anyone would consider Constantia beautiful—except Licinius, who always mocked her as “fat.” Another crime to add to his list.
