Chapter 15: Sanctuary

Constantine and Cassius entered the confines of the city,
the rest of the escorting troops falling back in formation. A city
awaited their arrival. As they turned a comer, they could see the
city streets crowded with inhabitants. The tune of a familiar song
rang in Constantine's ears and nostalgia took him back to when
he was a child and used to play it along with his mother in the
garden at dawn. The music from the trumpets, lyres, and a
congregation of women humming, drew them to Constantius.

Constantius stood at the end of the city with his hands held
wide open to welcome his son. He was the same as Constantine
had remembered him. At fifty-five, he still had a stout build and
the same fatherly appearance; his red face masked by a fluffy
white beard. Tears streamed down his aged cheeks and into his
beard as Constantine dismounted his horse and ran to his
embrace. Constantine's nostrils took in the distinct musk scent
that he had last smelled sixteen years before. Constantine heard
the town's applause, which Cassius had instigated. Father and
son were once again reunited.

"When I saw you last, I looked down onto you,"
Constantius said. "Now I look at you above me." Constantine
had grown a great deal since the time of his father's last visit. He
was tall, handsome, and solidly built.

In the excitement, Constantine nearly forgot about
Cassius. "Father," Constantine said, signaling Cassius to come
over to them. "This is Cassius."

He immediately knelt.

Constantius waved at him, disgusted by formality. "Stop
that nonsense and come here." He took them both in his embrace
and the crowd was as surprised as Cassius.

"Father we must have his wounds tended to."

"What happened, my son?" he said to Cassius.

"A lion attack at the court of Emperor Galerius."

"It was an ambush set purposely to end our lives,"
Constantine added.

Constantius' brows rose and his smile vanished.

"Right when I thought the lion had the best of me,
Constantine came and saved me. He single-handedly killed the
fierce beast."

"That's my boy," the emperor said proudly. "Come to my
quarters, both of you. I will delay my plans to cross the strait so
that you can get sufficient rest."

"What is your intent?"

"Sometime in the near future, we will fight against the
Brigantes. At last, you will be by my side in battle."

Constantius escorted them into an inn that served as a
temporary palace. It wasn't like the luxurious construction and
ornamentation Constantine had grown accustomed to at the
courts of Diocletian and Galerius. In fact, they would have found
these living quarters a bit revolting.

It didn't matter to Cassius, who was completely drained,
nor to Constantine, who ignored his fatigue in order to appreciate
the reality of his father's presence.

They were walking down the corridor to the baths when
Constantius had a whooping cough attack. It was that same
familiar cough that Diocletian had had.

Constantius looked up at them teary-eyed. "Always
reminding me that it's still there."

"Are you all right father?"

"Oh, you mean that business about having been
bedridden? That was a ruse to conceal my real condition, in case
I had to come and snatch you myself from the emperor's court."

"I know nothing of the contents of your letters to Galerius.
I am speaking frankly about your health."

"I'm fine, just a cold. You, however—I cannot stand to be
around you much longer. I do not know which is worse, the
stench of the horse, or your own body odor."

"If it isn't too much trouble, can we have a few
maidservants to assist us?" Cassius said cautiously.

Constantine gave him a stare that indicated he was
crossing the line.

"Consider it done, my boy. However, if you fool around
with any maidservant it's marriage or death."

Constantine grinned. His father was still a chivalrous and
chaste man.

"Never mind," Cassius said downcast.

"Anything you want." He directed his attention to Cassius.
"Anything that is honorable will be at your disposal. Do not get
too comfortable, though. We are going to be on the fields and in
battle attire in a few days."

Constantius exited the bathing area and they both stripped
off their clothes and entered the bath. Two women, young and
attractive, entered the area prepared for duty with brushes and
soap. Constantine pointed to Cassius whose eyes were closed,
and his head resting outside on top the marble surface.

"He's the one you want." Constantine ignored Cassius and
his sudden burst of energy at the site of the women. Instead he
sat quietly in thought. The baths reminded him of Minervina, and
of their short life together.

Their enjoyment of Constantius' hospitality was cut short
through the necessity of tending to business. Cassius tagged
along with Constantine, his father, and the troops as they crossed
the strait to Britain. He was incapable of joining the rest of the
group in combat, due to his loss of blood and the wound that had
grown infected. Furthermore, his body had tightened up and he
could feel every muscle with the slightest of movements. He
could barely walk as a result of the long ride, much less
participate in battle. The opportunity to fight side by side with
the emperor and his son was one that came around seldom in a
lifetime, and Cassius had no choice but to deny it.

Being a hardened rider benefited Constantine, enabling
him to recover in time to assist his father in battle. In actuality,
Constantine made every effort to help sore muscles recuperate
from the weeks of constant riding. He discreetly massaged his
tender spots and stretched to limber the areas that were tight. He
applied herbal concoctions that had first been used by athletes at
Olympia, and then later by gladiators and the rest of the world.
He forced himself to a speedy recovery as he took every measure
to ensure he would be at one hundred percent when they hit dry
land. Had it been a weaker person, at least a few weeks time
would have been required for proper recuperation from such a
strenuous journey.

Constantius set aside his pleasure in his son's arrival in
order to direct his attention to the insurrection within his domain.
Constantius had tried to bring the people of his region under one
ruler, with techniques that differed from those used by
Diocletian. For years, he had tried everything to peacefully
assimilate the native population into the Roman Empire. He had
exercised a policy of tolerance of religion and culture, limited tax
collection and waved reparations for battles lost against him. He
even went as far as appointing them officers and soldiers in his

army. For the most part, his efforts had proven effective and the
populace in his domain lived simple and happy lives. However,
the Brigantes and Gauls had a natural inclination to be at war, if
not with the Romans, then with themselves. It was time to squash
another group of Brigantes, known as the Picts.

The army galloped in the valley through a clearing thick
fog. They were several legions strong by this point, divided into
the usual formation of regiments in preparation for battle. Five
hundred men on horses followed behind Constantius, his son, a
standard-bearer and a bodyguard. Each regiment had three files
of troops, ten rows wide. For Constantine, it was a familiar
position in an unfamiliar land.

The fog lifted and from the hills surrounding the valley
emerged enemy troops. Eyeing the enemy approaching from a
distance, Constantine saw no reason to change the Roman
Army's position.

The land suddenly seemed foreign and savage.
Constantine's ears filled with barbarous discords, increasing in
volume as the enemy, shrieking intolerably, drew closer. The
sun's rays beamed down on a lush valley filling with warriors.
Constantine shut his ears to the uproar, but his eyes widened at
the sight of men whose faces and half-naked bodies were painted
with swathes of bright blue and ocher. The face paint
accentuated their ferocious scowls as they swung their battle-
axes at Roman armor. Led by a standard-bearer holding a staff
from which hung enemy skulls, they spread out in a mad rush.
Experienced though he was in battle, Constantine had never seen
anything like this before and, for a moment, he was intimidated.

Constantius made a motion with his hand and the trumpets
drowned out the savage discords. The cohorts moved into
position. It was not conventional warfare that seemed to hold off
the Picts; their scattered warriors attacked individual soldiers and

broke them, but the Roman line held. From the iron-gray peaks
of the surrounding hilltops sprang down the rest of Constantius'
army. These were a select force comprised of men from various
regions from throughout the empire, whose valor and expertise
had landed them a place under Constantius' command. They no
longer remained hidden to the enemy, nor Constantine. All hell
broke loose.

The enemy was immediately outflanked and outmanned.
Retreat was imminent as the enemy was gradually squeezed
between the two armies. Constantine drew his sword, hoping to
claim his own kill in the presence of his father. But, the battle
ended in the enemy's retreat before he could thrust his weapon
into an enemy soldier. It suddenly became vividly clear to
Constantine that the Roman army under his father was far more
disciplined, technologically advanced, and adaptable to various
terrains, than those under which he had served before.

From the start, Constantine had been accepted by the men
as a general. Constantius had made it a point to circulate rumors
among his soldiers about Constantine's successes on the field.
He had already become a legend, and many of the soldiers's
treated him as such. Constantius had made him his praetorian
prefect, and official Commander. These were well calculated
moves by Constantius, whose health deteriorated with each
passing day.

The campaign against the Picts lasted longer than
Constantius had expected. He fought several decisive battles
with his son by his side, but before long his health began to
impair his judgement on the field. By late autumn, frigid gales
hovered in, further threatening Constantius' health. He soon
retired to his court at York (Eburacum), and left his loyal subject,
Crocus, the Germanic king who had escorted Constantine from
Treves to Bononia, in command of his army. Constantine shared
the title and responsibility with Crocus, whose experience and
quick wit had proved effective in war. In the meantime,
Constantine ordered his friend Cassius to watch over his father in

York. Cassius did this willingly, as he was still recovering from
his shoulder wound.

Constantine's efforts gradually succeeded, although
warfare in Britain tended to be prolonged, even under
Constantius' command. The enemy was fierce and resolute. As
soon as they would lose the bulk of their troops in battle, another
herd of warriors would emerge from the countryside and gladly
lay down their lives.

In the process of planning and fighting, Constantine
developed a bond with the army that soon felt as if it had become
his own. He secured his niche by choosing to position his men
strategically on the field, and the soldiers hailed him as he
proved that his reputation was deserved. A brotherhood
developed with his troops and with their foreign leader. Crocus-
like that, which he had first experienced with Cassius.

The Alemani King had an intimidating appearance. He
wore his long gray hair in a ponytail, and his thickset body was
taller than that of any Roman soldier. He was someone to fear
from a distance. However, Constantine was drawn by his warmth
that distinguished him from Roman rulers. Crocus tended to wear
animal hides, with a touch of Roman armor and weapons. He
was not flamboyant like Roman emperors. Instead, he was
simple and good-hearted. Constantine soon understood why
Constantius treasured him as a colleague, regardless of his roots.

They trotted on their horses towards the northern part of
the island. They had pushed the enemy back as far as Hadrian's
Wall, where they were to make their last stand. After months of
fighting, the taste of victory was in their mouths. Scouts, a unit
of roughly one hundred-twenty cavalry, investigated the
parameter while the rest of the army kept to a leisurely pace.
Constantine rode alongside Crocus and attempted to converse

with the Alemani King who understood Greek, but rarely dared
speak it.

A translator who also happened to be one of the army's
standard-bearers served to decipher the King's words to
Constantine. The King rode a stout native horse. It was chestnut
with white legs and a bulky frame. Although Constantine's
Arabian was taller than the other animal, the King and his horse
appeared to be larger than Constantine was.

"I stayed at the Emperor Diocletian's court for many
years. I hadn't seen my father for some time."

Crocus spoke to the translator, who began to laugh. "He
says that when he first met your father... Excuse me, when he
first served with him, your father was extremely worried about
Diocletian."

"What for?"

"He feared a coup instigated by the emperor, and—"

"Why, what did he do?"

"It is what he didn't do."

The Alemani King nodded.

"Your father failed to collect the taxes that were due to
Diocletian. The emperor sent word that if he did not receive the
money owed from his domain, Constantius was to abdicate."

The King interrupted the translator.

"Ah yes. His majesty also says the reason why your father
was worried was because he feared harm would come to you."

"He actually didn't collect taxes in his region? Why?"
Constantine inquired.

"It was hard enough for the people in your father's domain
to recover from the ravages of war."

"My father should have explained the situation in his
letters."

The king mumbled a few words.

"He did."

"Diocletian probably thought he did collect and was
keeping the money for himself," said Constantine.

"Well, I was here and I can say that he did no such thing.
In the words of King Crocus, he did the most honorable thing he
had seen a ruler ever do to spare his people. Instead of forcing
the population to pay and take the little they had, he called the
wealthiest men of his domain to an assembly. King Crocus was
one of them."

The King spoke at length to the translator.

"At the meeting he asked for their help. Each man gave as
much as he could, but the King gave more than his share,
donating almost everything he had. He was impressed with your
father and knew at that point that he was a man of great
character. Together they reached the amount that was due."

"That's amazing. I'm sorry I missed that."

"Wait, if you will, sir. I have yet to inform you of the best
part. As soon as the meeting convened, a messenger from the
emperor's court arrived in Treves. Constantius reorganized the
meeting, as if it had never taken place and had the messenger
present. He casually explained the bind he was in and without
any objections, offered him the gold he requested." The King and
the translator laughed as he continued. "The look on the
messenger's face was worth the King's share of the donation."

Constantine smiled. "I never would have known that if
you hadn't told me. Thank you. King."

Crocus uttered a few more words to the translator.

"He says that there is something more you should know
and leam from. In time your father returned all the gold that had
been given to him that day, including that of King Crocus. It is
because your father is such an upright human t>eing that the king
and all his men, as well as the majority of his subjects, are so
loyal to him. May I also say that they are also loyal to you, sir,
because of your blood line."

The galloping interrupted the conversation. The scouts
were returning and they had several enemies with them. Saluting
as they approached, one shouted out with glee. "The enemy has
surrendered!"

Even Crocus understood the scout. He leaned over to
embrace Constantine. They immediately galloped down the line
of the regiment.

"We are triumphant! The enemy has surrendered,"
Constantine shouted to his soldiers, who began to cheer
ecstatically.

Crocus addressed his own men in his native tongue. They
too joined in the celebration with howls of mirth and triumph.

Constantine doubled back to the scout. "When are
discussions to be held regarding a treaty?" he inquired.

"They expect you just north of here. They sit in wait along
Hadrian's Wall."

"Report back that we are on our way and they are to stand
fast."

"Yes, sir." He saluted with a smile and rode off with his
men.

Constantine signaled the trumpets to sound in order to
gather the army's attention.

"King Crocus, congratulations on our victory. However, I
do not trust the enemy and I believe it is in our best interests to
make a show of our power. Do you concur?"

"As you please," he said.

Constantine rode onto an embankment and addressed the
soldiers below. He cupped his hands and shouted his words.

"We must make a good show of strength by appearing to
have double our number. We will come from the west and only
the high officers will be present at the talks themselves. The rest
of you will form a single line that will stretch along the highest
peaks of the rolling hills to the west. Just far enough for the
enemy to be convinced not to have a change of heart. Let's go to
it."

The soldiers who could hear cheered. They started off in a
circular path, away from that taken by the scouts. They rode for
close to an hour before Hadrian's wall came into view, stretching
across the countryside like a black serpent slithering along the
bumpy green landscape. At the peak it spread out and appealed

to Constantine's eyes as he could now see the wall along the
length of the island. Then it vanished as they descended into a
valley, only to reappear closer and more imposing at the next
peak. The sun rested in the west, dangling bright in the sky over
the approaching army. It was perfect timing on the part of
Constantine, who had calculated their route precisely, although
he had never been here before.

He and Crocus, along with their top officers, left their
soldiers to gaze at the magnificent structure. Over one hundred-
fifty turrets and some eighty small mile-castles formed a stone
barrier that spread the width of Britain from one side of the
island to the other.

Constantine and aides approached with King Crocus by
his side. They rode with their heads held high, although
Constantine was secretly in awe of the vast stone structure. They
came to the location where they were awaited, five hundred
meters from a gateway on the wall. Small contingents of troops
were grouped together behind the enemy leaders. Obviously they
were feeling pinned with their backs to the wall, especially since
Constantine's illusion of greater numbers of soldiers appeared to
have been successful. Constantine and Crocus had achieved the
upper hand and were now in a position to impose a peace on
their terms.

Just as they began negotiating with the chieftains of the
Picts, several horses came racing to them. They ceased the talks
momentarily, and glanced at four Roman soldiers rushing toward
them. Constantine immediately sensed that something had gone
horribly wrong. The pit of his stomach was acidic and tingled
with nervousness. The silhouette of the horsemen gradually
transformed into living color. It was Cassius, accompanied by
three ofConstantius' bodyguards.

"Constantine," he called out.

Constantine turned to Crocus. "I trust your decision and
grant you the authority vested in me to continue. Something is
wrong with my father." It was a moment in which he had

achieved everything he had worked so hard for, though it didn't
matter because of his father's ill health.

Cassius and the other horsemen reined in hard. He paused
for a moment in order to catch his breath. By this time, the King
had resumed the negotiations and the disruption was almost
completely ignored.

"Your father is dreadfully ill," said Cassius with anguish.

"How far are we from him?"

"Well, he's at York."

"If we make haste, we can make it there before nightfall,"
a guard familiar with the land blurted out.

"Constantine, he specifically asked for you. I hope it isn't
too late."

"You men, leave these horses here and take the fresh ones
from there." He pointed to horses ridden by the generals. They
mounted and without hesitation, sped off into the direction of the
sim.

The officers in the midst of negotiating didn't so much as
turn a head, much less question why their horses had been taken
from them. The troops on the peak observed as their gold,
scarlet, and chestnut colors turned to black as they rode under the
sun. They were at full speed and en route for York.