Chapter 2: "In Christo Morimur"

Milan, AD 285 The tempest flowed from the east,
exuding its wrath across the land. Days turned to night as clouds
covered the blue sky, transforming it to a gray gloom. Torrents
of rain spewed from the heavens, cleansing the dust from
yellowed foliage and soaking deep into the parched earth. It was
an unexpected occurrence, an anomalous act of nature,
uncharacteristic of this time of year. Eventually, the dome of the
sky turned blue and streaked with ivory, saffron, and magenta;

the earth basked in the sun's rays. New growth sprung verdantly,
and the blanched soil turned dun with clear natural juices that
would afford growth. The tempest was gone.

Intertwined branches and leaves from the ancient olive tree
shaded the damp soil, grass, and Constantine. His head lay on top
of vine leaves and debris from the tree. He slept crowned with a
garland, as if he had been victorious in a competition to please
the gods, following in the footsteps of those who had gone before
him at Olympia. Bunches of green olives dangled amidst the
wild vines and branches overhead. The season of change had

come early this year. The olives would soon be ripe for the
picking, for they were on the verge of turning purple.

"Constantine!"

Jarred awake by a menacing voice, Constantine's body
pumped with adrenaline. The dream about his mother was
forever interrupted. He quickly rose from under the olive tree
and ran toward the palace entrance. Seeing the unfamiliar boy
with beige locks and an unusually muscular build for his age, the
sentries lowered their lances.

"I am Constantine. The emperor calls my name."

The sentries returned at ease as Constantine identified
himself.

He entered the palace, the house constructed of
luxuriousness. Black and white marble made up the palace floors
and walls, trimmed throughout with gold fretwork. Busts of the
emperor, sat near those of Mars, Jupiter, and Neptune, creating
the effect that Diocletian himself completed the pantheon. The
marble tables held trays of fruit and other delicacies, which were
replaced daily and never completely eaten. The furniture-
elaborate chairs, velvet divans, and thrones—were of the finest
quality and material from all the empire. Handcrafted draperies
lined various white washed walls as others were furnished with
numerous works of dark timber battle scenes, perfectly carved by
the most talented of artists at the time. The palace was a treasure,
a place of splendor, displaying the riches of Roman high culture.

Upon seeing the purple cloak, Constantine bent down on
one knee and bowed his head toward Maximian and Diocletian.
The two were like night and day in appearance. The emperor was
light skinned with hazel eyes and an aging complexion. He
concealed the bald spots on the top of his head by combing his
thinning hair over them. Maximian was a dark man with a
sunweathered face, whose large ebony eyes produced the most
intense stare. The furrow that ran along the outside of his right
eye socket and curved down along his cheekbone, was a
testimony to his battle experience.

Diocletian turned to Constantine. "Go to the west chamber
and dress yourself at once! You are awaited at court."

Constantine hurried into the darkened hall of the palace.
Inside a room that was Constantine's temporary living quarters,
maids helped him hastily dress. It was his eleventh birthday and
his mother was not present to celebrate it with him. He stood
there, half dressed, thinking of her: her floral fragrance, her
sweet voice, and her love. The more he thought, the more he felt
his stomach tighten and cramp. His heart was broken, he knew
she was alone, and he no longer a part of her life. But now he
was in another world, a world of power, leadership and force. He
now lived in the world of the emperor. It had become forever his
home away from home.

Sentries escorted Diocletian out and down the cobblestone
path. Members of the emperor's elite cohorts the Praetorian
Guard, were the best warriors of the empire, recruited from
various legions stationed throughout. Like the emperor and all
that he possessed, the guards were themselves pictures of
decadence, wearing gold plated armor and with gold spearheads
attached to their lances. They walked straightfaced, ready to kill
at the wave of the emperor's hand. They were the highest paid,
highest trained, and highest motivated of all the soldiers in the
empire. They were enforcers of the emperor's words, men who
policed and protected the very breath of the empire. The
emperor's death would mean their end.

It was a day of celebration, yet Diocletian was
preoccupied in thought. With his bodyguards surrounding him,
the emperor made his descent to the inscribed gates of the court.
The large doors were opened and a swift applause resonated as
everyone came to their feet. The trumpets sounded and the
throng cleared. One after another, the citizens bowed to one knee
as the emperor, draped in purple, walked by them. When his

formal entrance had come to an end, Maximian, along with his
wife and children, took their seats, followed by the attending
aristocrats.

Dressed flamboyantly and standing tall under the
grapevines of the court, the divine sovereign began, "By decree
of the gods, I command thee, Constantine to approach." He
pointed in the direction of the entrance.

The trumpets sounded and Constantine came forward, clad
in full mail armor. The crowd gazed upon him, observing his
strength and beauty. He calmly approached Maximian's side.
The emperor signaled Fausta to come forward. At three years of
age, accompanied by her older brother Maxentius, she walked to
him, holding a golden helmet trimmed with peacock feathers.
Little Fausta handed over the gift with dignity, but the moment
was interrupted by the sound of the emperor's voice.

"Let the festivities begin."

The music commenced and chalices were filled with wine.
The tense silence of a few moments before was washed away
with speech and laughter.

By this time Constantine knew the emperor was heading
around the side of the palace to a private area shrouded by
foliage. It was a place where the emperor would go when
preoccupied. This was to which Diocletian could disappear,
where he could leave his worries behind, and relax for a few
moments.

Surely, thought Constantine, Diocletian's private place
was where the two rulers were going. He left the guard's trail
and made his way through the bush. He had beaten them to the
spot. With his newly polished armor now filthy from his efforts,
he squatted in wait for the emperor.

Stirring the leaves and vines, Diocletian and Maximian
emerged from the shrubbery. They came to a long crescent-
shaped seat made of stone and sat down facing each other. Their
backs were to Constantine, and the nearby orchard. They were
alone, having ordered the guards to take up their positions some
distance away.

Constantine slow-crawled along the back of the stone
crescent, positioning himself within feet of the emperor. He
ignored the insects landing on his face and crawling along his
skin inside his armor. He controlled his breathing, closed his
eyes and listened.

"Maximian, you are Caesar. If you wish to become
Augustus, and co-emperor, you must act in accordance with the
discipline and order that you have instilled into your troops these
past years."

Constantine moved even closer to hear the conversation
more clearly. He came as close as he could without being
detected. A black serpent slithered before him, silent and smooth.
It stopped, sticking its dark split tongue out at the human at its
level. Constantine crawled towards it. The snake coiled and
raised its head for the attack. Without hesitation, Constantine
reached out and grabbed its neck.

The emperor glanced over his shoulder, but dismissed the
sound as a natural movement of wild animals.

The serpent's body went limp in Constantine's hand.
Snakes were his least favorite of all the creatures that roamed the
earth, yet he instinctively held onto the reptile, despite his
uneasiness. The insects continued to land, and nibble at him
under his armor. With the exception of the frequent wings
buzzing in his ears, all was silent, and he could hear Maximian's
voice clearly.

"Thus, you agree with my decision to have him
beheaded," Maximian pompously suggested.

Diocletian hunched his back in disappointment. Maximian
was missing the point and the emperor was growing more
frustrated. He reassumed his upright posture, blowing out his
words with force.

"This Mauritius, a Manichaean Christian, how did he ever
become commander of the elite Theban Legion?"

At that moment, Constantine caught sight of Maximian's
scar change shape, as a result of his grimace. "He is an excellent
warrior and commander. His expertise was invaluable to our
cause," Maximian said.

"Rome is invaluable to him! You deal with him and his
acts of rebellion. The issue is not so much religion as it is the
discipline within the ranks. Nevertheless, I have been lenient
about enforcing any edicts of persecution, and my leniency has
produced weak links in the army's chain of command. Previous
Caesars and Augusti of Rome would have their elaborate gardens
at court lighted every night by the burning of Christian bodies.
Over the years, much has changed. Now we honor them by
providing them with a legion to command."

"It was unknown until recently to me that he was a
Christian," Maximian boldly interrupted.

The emperor bent his head, taking his index finger and
thumb to caress his frowning forehead. "If the discipline and
valor of the army is diluted, the empire will crumble. The
problem must be resolved without delay."

"I am grateful for your advice and I will act accordingly."

Diocletian clasped Maximian by the forearm and stared
into his eyes. "Solve this problem expediently, as would an
Augustus, old friend."

The emperor's words settled in Constantine's mind.
Maximian's actions would determine his future career. A
significant event was approaching and Constantine wanted to be
a part of it.

The emperor rose, turning away from Maximian, he left
the area. A moment passed, and Maximian followed. Constantine
was alone with the serpent in his hand, with the insects, and with
nature. His arm relaxed and the serpent slithered away quietly
under a bush. He jumped to his feet, pounding then stripping off
his armor in an effort to rid his body of the insects. His uniform
was filthy and his skin was black with mud. He donned the
armor and ran off to a different route, one which led to his
bedchamber where he would change, clean himself, and then join
the others at court.

Later that evening, after the emperor had drunk much wine
and was again in a festive mood, Constantine approached him.
He came down to one knee and bowed his head. Diocletian
reached down and tapped the youth's head in an approving
gesture.

"I bid you a time of celebration, yet you come to me with
a look of anxious anticipation. Out with it, then. Speech has been
granted you." He tilted the chalice ever so slightly and sipped the
liquid.

Constantine swallowed the lump in his throat, exhaled
deeply, and then let the words emerge from his mouth. "Lord,
with your permission, may I accompany the Caesar on his
expedition?"

Diocletian accidentally knocked the chalice on the table.
The red wine poured out onto the floor in front of Constantine. A
crimson puddle formed beside his knee.

"At court, you see an abundance of wine. On expeditions,
you will see an abundance of blood. As a warrior and leader, one
must develop an acquired taste for both. Tomorrow you start the
development of the latter, but tonight, rise, and have a taste of
wine together with your emperor."

The maidservants poured more wine and everyone at court
had cups, including young Constantine. Diocletian raised the
gold chalice with blue, red, and purple rubies, high above his
head. The throng hushed. "To manhood." The sweet red wine
flowed smoothly down Diocletian's throat, gliding gently over
his taste buds. The crowd and Constantine, tilted back their cups.
Diocletian glanced at the boy. The expression on his face showed
that he didn't appreciate the taste of the beverage. It was Mavro
Daphne, one of the strongest wines of the empire.

A maidservant refilled Constantine's cup from her carafe,
and he forced another mouthful down his throat. The sweet tang,
along with the high potency of alcohol, and the rapidity with
which he had drunk had begun to sicken him. At sight of another
maidservant approaching, he gagged and tried to avoid her.

Diocletian smiled as he watched. Constantine could not
escape the maidservants forever. This would be a night the
young man would never forget.

Many days had passed and the wine had long vanished
from Constantine's stomach. He was one of the many in red
under tunics with studded brown leather kilts and bronze armor,
inserting a note of decadence into the land through which they
marched. The sun sparkled off of the numerous helmets with
brass fittings and horsehair plumes. His body had grown
accustomed to the stride of his gelding, whose dappled gray

stood out from the rest of the horses. He rode in line with
Maximian, the flag bearer of the unit, a bodyguard, and a
trumpeter. Five hundred men on horses followed behind, in three
files of troops, ten rows wide. The standard-bearer led each file
as Maximian provided co-ordinants of their destination.

As they approached the end of the tall ill drying grass that
covered the open field, Maximian raised an arm and clenched his
fist. The regiment came to a halt. The troops dismounted. Their
fatigued legs buckled from the distance they had traveled since
the first sign of light, since dawn. Men towed their horses to the
shade under the large trees. A shallow stream flowed clear for a
stretch near the woods. Horses instinctively found their place
there, taking in cool water without guidance. A mild breeze
under the shade cooled the sweat upon the uniforms, and
provided a relaxing tune from nature's fife. Approximately a
dozen men were designated sentries, while the rest of the
regiment enjoyed a brief time of lunch and leisure at this
unexpected oasis in the hinterland.

Constantine walked around the area, hoping to find a
group of soldiers who were awake and exchanging battle stories.
He came across three cavalrymen. One man with auburn hair,
who rested his body against a tree, was telling a story. His two
colleagues were leisurely sprawled out with the ground
supporting their elbows and their palms stabilizing their heads.
Like most men of the regiment, stubble had covered their faces.
The storyteller saw Constantine. As the boy came to them, the
storytelling fell silent.

"Do you mind if I sit and listen?" he inquired.

"The son of Constantius can always join us. No need to
ask," the man with auburn hair replied. The other two soldiers
moved to allow Constantine room to sit between them.

The soldier against the tree addressed Constantine. "I was
just speaking to my brothers about the Theban Legion."

Constantine observed the two men on either side of him.
They looked nothing alike. "These men are your brothers?"

The soldiers smiled and the man against the tree replied,
"Of course, just as you and everyone else below the Caesar are
my brothers. We share the same blood in the same mud."

With that comment, Constantine felt a unique sense of
camaraderie with the soldiers. He urged them to continue.

"The Theban Legion has done more for the empire in
terms of security than any other legion to date under Diocletian."

Constantine's eyes widened, the words had piqued his
curiosity.

The deep raspy voice of the soldier to the right of
Constantine interrupted. "I have heard of the Legion's valor in
battle, but I cannot agree with you that they have done more. If
we ourselves are not there to participate, or witness an event, we
do not know for sure."

The soldier against the tree shook his head and grinned.
"Your wish has been granted to you, my brother. We go to Le
Valais to persecute the Christian commander of that legion. We
will see if their actions are true. Either that, or it will be proven
that gossip roams as abundantly through the army as it does by
the tongues of women in villages and cities throughout the
empire."

The sound of the trumpeter blowing his tune wakened
everyone, notifying the troops that their rest was over. It was
time to move on.

Constantine turned to the soldier against the tree. Their
right hands braced each other's opposing forearms.

"Constantine, I enjoyed your company."

"As did I yours." They pulled away and Constantine
shouted. "What is your name brother?"

The soldier grinned, "Claudius Cassius."

Constantine nodded. He had made a friend who was an
experienced soldier. He ran to his gelding, mounted, and the
regiment was again back on course.

After weeks of travel, the regiment was finally only half a
day's ride from Le Valais. Constantine would never forget this
last day. A day of sauntering along rolling hills, with roan and
green streaks. He would remember the imperceptible sinking of
the sun, the profound serenity of nature. He would remember the
pure beauty of life, for after this day, nature would turn dark and
brooding for him. Constantine would always remember this day
as the last day of his innocence, the day prior to manhood.

Tattered clouds of dust raised by the army hovered over
Le Valais. It was not really a town, but more a colossal shrine,
there solely for the worship of the Roman pantheon by the
patrolling soldiers of the frontiers. It was an enclave usually
vacant of humans, though wild beasts roamed temples filled with
statues and a few occasional empty storage units. On this day,
the garrison was occupied by thousands of men, so many that
they had to station themselves on the outskirts of the religious
center. Previously empty buildings were filled with food and
drink. Troops had dug special pits for the mass barbecues that
would take place later in the day. Legions formed themselves
around and in Le Valais, occupying patches of land with distinct
boundaries. The movement of thousands on parched soil
produced an effect of sound, dust, and action.

Maximian's regiment halted, observing the enclave below.
For the first time, Constantine saw a human herd of soldiers. It
was marvelous: the plethora of men below, a farm of red army
ants. It was a spectacle of the legions and the thunder produced
by the hooves of thousands of horses. The mass assembly
displayed to him the strength of the Roman Empire in all its
might.

They descended, passing no less than half a dozen legions
before entering the central area. As Maximian's forces cantered
forward, a sudden hush fell over the religious center. One empty
area at the hub of the shrine had been reserved for Maximian and
his men.

Constantine, always at Maximian's side, took post with
the regiment facing the Theban Legion at the axis. Many legions

and thousands of troops stood in formation, silently inspecting
the infamous Legion, whose six thousand plus troops stood
stiffly at attention.

The dust settled and the enormous marble deities
themselves seemed to gaze balefully down upon the still Legion.
The handsome young Apollo, poised with a clenched fist and
open arms, stood directly behind the Thebans. Mars, the Roman
god of war, with his longsword and helmet, stood nearby. The
supreme deity, Jupiter, stared straight in front of the Legion.
Other Roman gods such as, Neptune, Mercury, and Venus
completed the pantheon. In the center was the Theban Legion, all
gazing off into the distance, as if hoping to discover a newfound
paradise.

At the shout of Maximian's command, all the troops
except the Theban Legion, moved into echelons. The earth
trembled from movement and dust fell back into place as quickly
as it rose. Again silence.

In a loud voice, Maximian began. "Commander Mauritius,
step forward!"

Constantine observed the commander courageously stand
before all. Aged, yet healthy in appearance, he and his Legion
were a wonder to all whom attended. The commander stood at
attention, with his olive eyes fixed on the horizon.

Suddenly, blindness struck Constantine as sunlight
gleamed off of a lance whose blade rested over the Christian's
heart. This blade, which the commander held as though it
possessed the key to life itself, flabbergasted Constantine who
knew from his history lessons, was at least three centuries old.
Constantine thought, "What is an elite commander doing with
that antique that he holds so precious?" This question would
echo deep in his mind long after that ghastly day.

Maximian dismounted and began to pace in front of the
Theban Legion. He held his hands behind him, as if they were
tied, and began his tirade for the mass assembly to hear.

"In the never-ending struggle to protect the empire from
barbarian hordes, many of our comrades have died. The gods

have obliged us in our victories and guided us to overcome in the
most dangerous of situations. Here in front of me stands a Legion
whose battle record speaks for itself. But the very fabric that
provides them and all of us with our victory has been slowly
gnawed away by this very Legion. A Christian Legion. Answer
me, Commander! Who allowed thee to be victorious in battle?"

In a deep imposing voice, he spoke words that echoed
throughout Le Valais. "We fought like lions for righteousness.
This is my answer to your question."

"And what righteousness do you speak of?" Maximian
erupted.

"God! To set another precedent, to show that the true
power of the faith will one day encompass the empire."

"What nonsense is this monotheism, these naive notions of
false doctrine? We are all soldiers here. Our unity is an integral
part of our expertise. Acts of rebellion such as these will not be
tolerated. Any deviation from the imperial unity is a form of
treason, punishable by death." He drew his sword and held it in
front of him.

"Now we return to the situation at hand," he said twisting
the blade to force the sunlight to bounce off it and strike the
commander in the eyes. "You legionaries stand in front of me,
unaware that the gods are angry with your commander. They
look down upon you as I speak. In an effort to sooth the anger of
the pantheon, one of two things must take place. Either your
commander speaks on behalf of the entire Legion by denouncing
the Christian faith, or you face decimation. Mauritius, proclaim
your faith to the gods who surround you, and your Legion will be
spared." Maximian walked back to his horse, next to
Constantine.

The Commander's posture altered, as he glanced upon the
marble figures. "Gods made of hands are not gods!"

Maximian's right brow trembled with nervous anger as a
bead of sweat from his forehead trickled down into his deep scar.
He signaled two men from his regiment, who ran to the
commander with weapons drawn.

Mauritius jumped out before his troops in an attempt to
halt the decimation of his Legion.

Maximian spoke. "Our gods appear in this form like us,
except perfect and immortal. This God for whom you will surely
die, how do you really know about him?" Maximian felt that any
answer to his question would enrage the surrounding legions. He
also knew that a failure to answer would make Mauritius look
like a fool, about to die for a lost cause.

"In the dark black night," said the Commander with a grin,
"when one cannot see the ground below, when one walks as if in
a mysterious void. Then a flash of blinding light emerges from
the darkness. This is knowing God."

Some soldiers groaned at the response. Maximian needed
to end the debate. "Now what have you to say? You fought like
lions but are about to be slaughtered like lambs!"

Commander Mauritius took off his helmet, touched both
knees upon the pale earth and bowed his head. "So be it. I no
longer wish to stand in front of this brood of vipers!" Holding the
lance in front of him, he kissed the blade and then shouted, "In
Christo morimur\"

Maximian waved his hand and the centurion raised his
double-edged sword. It came crashing down with full
momentum, slicing through the flesh, and snapping apart the
vertebrae. The body collapsed as Mauritius's head fell next to the
lance.

Maximian stared at the Legion who stood before him.
Unfazed by the decapitation. His festering anger had reached the
boiling point; he exploded.

"Begin the decimation!"

The legion's second in command stepped up and seized
the lance next to his commander's decapitated corpse. He
stepped to the side and then raised it above head. Every tenth
man simultaneously stepped forward, took off their helmets,
knelt, and offered their necks to the soldiers of the surrounding
regiments.

Then, in a thunderous voice, they spoke the same Latin
words. "In Christo morimur\"

The double-edged swords came slicing down and six
hundred, sixty-six prized warriors were instantly robbed of their
lives. A grin broke the contours of Maximian's face. He always
found humor in any form of passive resistance. Again, the
intrepid legion positioned itself. The soldiers raised their swords
with both hands high overhead.

"The gods will surely be pleased with this offering,"
Maximian commented. The surrounding legions cheered
malevolently. Their shouts continued until every last man of the
Theban legion was headless.

For close to an hour, Constantine beheld the massacre with
horror. His empire's swords dripped crimson blood as they raised
overhead and came crashing down violently, time after time. The
earth dampened, turning black with the absorption of the vital
fluid of life. Ultimately, the infamous Theban legion was again
motionless—headless and lifeless. Six thousand, six hundred,
and sixty-six legionaries were martyred on this day.

The massacre itself was an abomination, but what was
most unsettling was the lance, which lay upon the pale surface,
surrounded by blood-darkened soil and carnage. Not a droplet of
blood had fallen onto the blade. It shone forth, from the last
patch of unstained earth in the viscinity. Constantine dismounted.
His knees buckled under him. Soldiers collecting weaponry and
armor passed in opposite directions. His feet began to feel very
warm and wet. The stench invaded his nose and lingered
redolently on his taste buds.

"An acquired taste indeed," he mumbled aloud, trying to
conceal his complete and total disgust with his surroundings. He
had reached Mauritius' fly-swarmed body. He stepped over the
corpse of the second in command and then finally he stood
before the lance.

Constantine reached down and grasped it in both hands.
The fetor vanished from his nostrils and the vile scene

disappeared from his vision. A sense of pure remorse seized him,
at the same time he felt a mystical sensation of immortality.

"String that weapon on my saddle and wipe your face. It's
unbecoming for a young leader." Maximian walked away from
him and his horse.

Constantine was awe-stricken. Something unfamiliar,
surreal, and altogether wonderful had transpired. But now, he
had returned to the place of horror. His tears trickled onto the
blade. He was crying. For the first time since he was an infant, he
was crying, and he didn't know why. He did as Maximian
commanded him, and upon letting go of the sacred object, he felt
the loss of its mystical powers.

The pagan festival took place, as soon as the sacrificial
corpses were removed. Thousands of soldiers ate, drank, and
were merry, believing that the gods were pleased by their
actions. Contests were held and demonstrations were performed,
all in the hopes of satisfying the pantheon.

Constantine, on the other hand, sat alone, off at one comer
of the city. He relived the massacre and found comfort in
thoughts of his mother. His eyes closed. He remembered his
mother speak of Christians. The followers of a Nazarene who
preached a doctrine of love and passive resistance. Jesus Christ,
they called him, this performer of miracles, this Nazarene who
had been nailed to the cross, instead of strapped with leather
twine like most crucified victims. And in the end, when his legs
were to be broken to speed up the asphyxiation process, the
Roman centurion Longinus had thrust his lance into Christ's
side.

Here Constantine began to question the legitimacy of his
own faith. "Surely Mauritius and the Legion believed in their
hearts that Christ was their only salvation." They had
proclaimed this in their dying words, "We die for Christ."
Perhaps the stories his mother told him were not merely myths.
"The way" she would refer to it in Greek. He was not sure what
to believe and he wouldn't be sure for years to come.