Chapter 3: The Court of Diocletian

AD289 Siroccos transformed into gales as the sky was
streaked with clouds, milky and gray. Frigid early morning mists
replaced tints of pearl, rose, and saffron as a slow illumination
occurred in the east behind the silhouette of land. The mornings
were murky, and dismal. Dark auroras transfigured into patches
of shade and light, pouring down from a hidden ocean above the
clouds. The seasons changed. Three times since Constantine's
expedition with Maximian, summer had come to an end and fall
had billowed in.

The winds of change blew past Constantine at the court of
Diocletian. For three years he was continuously imbued with the
principles, policies and spirit of the empire. Knowledge passed
before his eyes through words on papyrus, and through the
experience of the emperor. Diocletian ensured that Constantine
would have an intimate knowledge of administration and the
intricacies of the judicial system. Maturing in the presence of the
emperor, Constantine was provided with a unique opportunity to
leam from the heart of the policy-maker himself. At the same
time he rose high in estimation of Diocletian, who had no sons of

his own. He became the emperor's pupil, his prodigy, and his
adopted son.

At times, Diocletian would deal with problems in various
places throughout the empire. Sometimes he took young
Constantine with him, sometimes leaving him at court. It was
here at court that Constantine encountered ordinary people with
ordinary problems. He loved their simplicity, and realized that
they made up the vast majority of the population. Through the
years, numerous officials came to court in hopes of resolving the
problems and needs of various provinces. Constantine met,
spoke, and thought about their problems. Taxation and the
economy were central themes. He was not in any position of
authority, yet he kept an open ear. People came and went, like
the seasons of the year, like sand in an hourglass. Constantine
learned from them. He learned from the mistakes of the empire.

Constantine spent most of his free time around the Roman
soldiers and in the palaestra. These palaestrae, or public
facilities for combative exercise, were among Constantine's most
visited places. Many times in the palaestra, Constantine was
forced to defend himself. This was one of those times.

In the palaestra, off duty soldiers stood with their backs
facing away from walls, which had life size drawings of great
warriors upon them. Some stood within the weight lifting station,
and some occupied themselves in front of the weapons rack. A
few sat upon satchels filled with sand and hay, which were
usually used for striking practice. Others placed double ended
striking balls behind their heads as pillows. They were all
focused on the center two—Constantine and Maxentius.

Although Constantine was younger than Maximian's son,
his opponent, he was more fit and naturally skilled. Maxentius
bent forward, placing his hand on the sandy ground as if to
regain his balance. Constantine let down his guard. Maxentius
hurled a handful of sand at Constantine, blinding him instantly.
No cheers were heard, but Maxentius pressed the attack. He
kicked Constantine in the groin and then used his fist to strike a
blow at Constantine's chin. Constantine was still blinded. Yet he

managed to grab hold of Maxentius' chest. They struggled for a
moment until Constantine felt the fingers of his opponent's right
hand. Grabbing them, Constantine stepped in at a forty five-
degree angle, dislocating three of four fingers. Maxentius fell
violently back, slamming his torso against the ground in an effort
to save his hand and escape the grip. The soldiers cheered loudly.
Constantine stepped over Maxentius' squirming body, pulling his
arm with leverage on the wrist in order to force his helpless
opponent onto his stomach. Constantine laid down the arm,
pinning it flat with his knee on the triceps. Maxentius struck the
ground with his free hand in pain.

"Who is the best?" Constantine calmly asked with a smile
as soiled tears flowed down his face. The soldiers cheered and
laughed.

Maxentius writhed angrily, hesitating to answer out of
sheer pride. Constantine was on the verge of breaking his wrist
when Maxentius screamed, "You are the best, the best ever!"

Constantine let go of the hand. Maxentius quickly
withdrew and cradled his hand as he lay in fetal position.

"That's all I wanted to hear," Constantine said. He stood
in front of him, extending his hand in a sportsmanlike gesture.

Maxentius took hold and to his obvious surprise,
Constantine embraced him warmly. "Good match Maxentius,"
he softly whispered into his ear.

The soldiers had witnessed a unique occurrence. Cassius
began to clap, followed by another soldier, until the entire
palaestra echoed with applause.

Diocletian entered, and the casual atmosphere vanished, to
be replaced by professional discipline. The soldiers marched out
in succession. The emperor took hold of Maxentius' hand,
pulling the fingers until they popped back into place.

"Have this taken care of," he ordered.

Maxentius retracted his hand. "Yes,."

The emperor and Constantine remained in the palaestra
alone. The emperor pulled forth a canteen, opened the lid, and

poured the mountain spring water onto Constantine's uptilted
face.

As Constantine's vision cleared, an obscure purple blob
resolved into the shape of the emperor.

Diocletian stood glancing down upon Constantine with a
grin that the young prince had only seen only rarely. "One
shouldn't make a mockery of the son of an Augustus whom your
father serves."

Constantine realized the implications of his words, aware
that something significant had transpired. The emperor put his
arm around Constantine's shoulders and guided him to a striking
satchel. There they sat down and Diocletian spoke to him most
unusually. He looked him in the eyes and allowed words to flow
out of his mouth without friction.

"The formation of the tetrarchy has begun."

Constantine recalled Diocletian's plan. The empire was
too vast for one man to rule efficiently, thus he decided to
appoint three additional emperors to rule in assigned prefectures.
Now, it was confirmed, the plan had been implemented.

"Your father, Constantius, is Praetorian Prefect to
Maximian. If he is successful in his upcoming campaign, he will
be promoted to Caesar, along with Galerius. However, as the
empire must come first, certain arrangements have been made in
order to strengthen the connections between the ruling families.
One such arrangement is your father's marriage to Augustus
Maximian's eldest stepdaughter Theodora."

Constantine was appalled. His mouth dropped open, but
no speech was heard. He listened in disbelief.

"The empire has divorced your mother Helena from your
father for the good of the people, for the good of the future.
Everyone must make sacrifices for the good of the whole. At
times it seems that we rulers give more than our share." He
paused a moment to allow the news to settle in.

"I wanted to let you know before your father arrives."

Constantine responded with a frozen expression.

"That's right. Constantius is arriving, along with
Theodora. Remember, he is more than just your father. He is also
Caesar. I command you to give him due respect."

"And the woman?" Constantine inquired coldly.

"The woman is your mother and shall be treated with
respect, as well. Mind you, she is also the daughter of junior
Augustus." As Constantine turned away, the emperor grabbed
him by the shoulders and turned him violently, forcing the boy's
eyes to meet his.

"Hide your emotions from them all. I came here
personally, to save you from making a spectacle of yourself
tomorrow. Save your anger for combat," the emperor persisted.

He left Constantine to stew in angry thought. His poor
mother, alone as she had been from the beginning. She had a
phantom of a husband, and a loving son who had been stolen
from her before she truly spent her life with him. Constantine
had seen the symbol of the empire as an eagle. But at times such
as these, he felt as though the eagle were a decrepit vulture in
disguise, pecking away at his mother's heart.

Alone in the palaestra, Constantine hung up the satchel he
had been sitting on. The emperor's words resonated in his mind.
The heavy bag suddenly fell victim to his wrath. The more he
thought of his mother's official loneliness, the harder he struck.
Elbows, knuckles, feet, and knees all collided with the target for
close to half an hour. What started as a flurry, slowed and
weakened. Since he hadn't properly wrapped his hands, layer
after layer of skin was left behind on the textured material. He
shed his rage, along with his skin and blood. Exhausted, in pain,
but accepting at last what had to be, he collapsed upon the sandy
floor, and remained there until the moon emerged together with
the stars.

The convoy rode out of the clearing mist of late morning.
Trumpeters, guards, various aristocrats, and Diocletian's most
elite regiment, with whom Constantine stood, were present to
receive them. The convoy split into formal echelons. Horse after
horse galloped to the back of the rows.

A velvet-lined sedan chair, borne on poles by four tall,
brawny men, came to the front of the convoy. The small side
doors opened, and Constantius' sandals touched the ground at
Diocletian's court. The trumpeters blew an imperial arrival tune.
The new Caesar reached into the sedan chair and took the hand
of Constantine's new mother. Diocletian came to them. They
each bent down on one knee and then greeted the emperor by
kissing his hand.

They spoke, but Constantine could not hear their words.
His father and stepmother's back was turned to him. She wore
elegant clothing, much more elegant than his mother's. Her long
hair was black, woven into lacy designs upon an average sized
head. Her calves were slightly bare, small stumps compared to
Helena's toned sinews.

Diocletian looked over their shoulders at Constantine and
he knew they were speaking of him. The emperor and the Caesar
walked off, allowing Constantius a brief glance at his son. The
regiments dispersed and the convoy made its way to the stable.
Everyone moved from their places, everyone except Constantine
and Theodora.

Constantine stood still as she walked to him with an
arrogant strut. Her head was proudly lifted, her shoulders swayed
in a rehearsed manner, in perfect timing with her steps. Her
sophisticated walk was a testimony in itself to the fact that she
was royalty. He looked at her face. There was a nevus above the
left comer of her full lips, but it was more attractive than
repulsive. Her skin was dark, matching her eyes, brows and hair.
Constantine was reminded that Theodora was Maximian's
stepdaughter, she looked nothing like him. She was in front of
Constantine now—she was young, too young. She looked more
like Constantine's older sister than she did his mother.

"Hello, Constantine," she said, breaking the silence. "I
am..."

"I know who you are," he said bluntly. Constantine
swallowed his pride, bending down on one knee to pay her the
proper respect. He continued, as if speaking to the ground. "I am
honored to have you here before me and to call you my mother."

A baleful grin appeared on her face. "Look at me," she
said disdainfully. "You are the spitting image of your father. This
is good."

Constantine was angered. He hid his true feelings of
contempt to himself, while feigning interest in her. Then, from
deep within him, exploded a question. "Do you love him?"

She paused for a moment, giving her time to retrieve her
composure. "Love will come," she responded uncertainly.

Constantine relaxed. There was no longer a threat. She
didn't love him. It was a forced marriage, without the necessary
emotional ties that would make it complete. It was artificial; a
fabricated relationship lacking romance, the ingredient that
Helena had told Constantine was necessary for the happiness of a
wife.

"Good," he thought. "If my mother isn't happy, Theodora

shouldn 't be either"

She continued to speak to him. He nodded as if listening to
her. The weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
There was no way that Theodora could ever replace Helena.
Finally, Constantine kissed his young stepmother on the cheek
and she walked away into the palace to join her husband.

He stayed outside, walking through the garden. He sat
down on a crimson settee, like he used to with Helena. It wasn't
the same. The morning air was not invigorating. There was no
humming, or playing the lute. There was no Helena.

The winds blew the shrubbery as the birds flew overhead
and rays of sunlight spilt over the tended garden. He could not
focus on nature's beauty today. He tried, but he could not, it was
impossible.

A distinct, musk scent grew stronger and then Constantius
was sitting beside him. Constantius said nothing at first,
observing his son. The boy had been used as a bargaining chip
by the emperor. Every year that passed, he looked more like
Constantius, except more handsome. He had been a boy when
he saw him last and in front of him was a man.

Constantius could wait no longer as words flowed from his
mouth. "Nostalgia is the best friend and worst enemy at times."
Constantine turned to his father. Constantius put his arm around
him. "Beautiful out here isn't it?"

Constantine's eyes looked at him as he said, "I wouldn't
know." He squeezed himself out of his father's embrace. They
looked at each other, uncomfortable and uncertain.

"Did you love mother?"

Constantius roared with laughter. "Is that all?"

Perplexed, Constantine nodded.

His father's face sobered and he looked his son in the
eyes. "All the empire knows how much I love your mother, all
except you."

"Do you love Theodora?"

Constantius adjusted himself on the settee. "No. There is
only room for one love in my heart. However, Theodora is
wonderful in many ways and I do hold her as my wife. This is
my duty and I must leam to live with it, as must you." He
exhaled deeply and continued. "I will always love Helena, and
she will always love me. She understands, she has always
understood. I am a leader, Constantine, and as such, I must do
things, not because I want to, but because I have to. We make
sacrifices to benefit the empire as a whole."

The all too familiar response didn't surprise Constantine.
Although, coming from his father's mouth, it seemed to be more
comprehensible this time. He ignored his feelings and changed
the subject.

"Congratulations on your promotion, father."

His beard flecked with white, expanded as he smiled.

"Thank you son."

Constantius was the same. His son knew he loved him.

"I should also congratulate you," his father said. "You
have done very well in your studies. The emperor is pleased with
you."

Constantine felt good. It was unusual to receive praise
from anyone, and Constantius was not just anyone.

"In you, I see me. Leam from my faults and my
successes." Constantine realized that his father was prophesying
his son's future career.

"Only time can tell what will happen in the end. Just know
this—you will always be my favorite son. Nothing in this world
can change that." He rose from the settee, paused to take one
look over his shoulder, then left Constantine for the last time.

Constantine was already aware of the campaign his father
had been assigned. He was to take command of Maximian's
army on the Rhine. It was along the Rhine frontier where the
Franks had launched their attack. Constantius had been in battle
many times and Maximian's army was experienced and familiar
with the terrain. Constantine was confident that his father would
be victorious and would become one of the two Caesars.

His father and stepmother departed as hastily as they had
arrived. They were off to see Maximian and to tell him the news,
news that was kept from Constantine. Theodora was pregnant.

A prince was expected, although the birth would actually
result in a girl. Constantius would leave his new wife and
daughter, as he had previously left Constantine and Helena. He
would return to his domain, the palaces where he would sit upon
his golden throne and be eventually hailed Caesar.

After his father's departure, Constantine went to the
stables. The brisk winds blew the redolence of hay and dung past
the stables and out over the grazing fields. The horses were
tethered in long lines. Constantine was with one of them, a

golden, with a flaxen mane and tail. He caressed its coat with a
thick brush. Its tail occasionally flapped and swatted flies, while
it rumbled contently at Constantine's touch. Helena had taught
him to respect the livestock, who were slaves to humans, just as
humans were slaves to themselves.

"Before you know it, you will sprout hooves and you'll be
saddled up and ridden." It was Cassius, the only friend
Constantine had at court apart from the animals. "There used to
be over a dozen stable guards." He paused, then whispered,
"That's one of them you're grooming now."

Constantine jestingly hurled the brush at Cassius.

Cassius caught it in his hand and ran at him. "You are
next!"

Constantine dashed out of the stable and onto the pasture.
Cassius chased close behind him with the brush held in his hand
like a weapon. Then Constantine came to a halt and turned. The
smile on Cassius' face turned into a grimace; his momentum
would not allow him to stop.

Constantine leaped forward, positioning his right elbow
parallel to his collarbone. In a crouch, he used all his strength to
collide with Cassius' legs. Cassius flipped forward until his chest
and face slammed onto the hard dry shrubbery and soil. He was
in pain, but still able to giggle about the situation.

Constantine grinned. His friend had succeeded in making
him smile again. "I may be a horse, but you are a bird."

"My thighs are broken," Cassius cried out in half laughter.

Constantine roared with laughter. It was the first time that
season he had laughed. Cassius joined in and a hysterical frenzy
developed. They tried to stop, but they couldn't. Tears washed
down Constantine's cheeks, tears of sorrow disguised as hilarity.
For months, he had kept his thoughts and emotions to himself; it
was time for a release.

"I cannot feel my legs. You have broken me," Cassius
said.

Constantine tried to speak in between breaths. "Stop,
stop."

Cassius placed both hands on his rear end, as if searching
for a lost object. "I cannot feel it. You broke my ass!"

Constantine curled over in a fetal position, holding his
stomach. "Shut up, shut up!"

"What will I tell the emperor, I cannot ride, I am broken
from the waist down?" Constantine placed a finger over his lips.
"Shhh!"

"Did you pierce your lip in the attack? It sounds like it's
leaking." He watched Constantine stomp the ground with the
soles of his feet in hysteria.

Constantine thought of his mother and left his laughter
behind. Constantine helped Cassius up and helped his limping
friend stagger out of the pasture. They went for close to a
kilometer until he reached the palace where a physician could
come to his aid. Constantine had marked Cassius' thighs, leaving
a purple wale across them.

To Cassius, the injury was unimportant. It would heal in a
days time. It had been worth it to see Constantine's boisterous
laughter. Besides, it provided Constantine with a release that
allowed him to speak of private affairs.

"Surely, Constantine, you still aren't upset about the
divorce. It's completely out of your control, my friend."

Constantine shook his head. "You don't understand. It is
not easy..."

"Nothing in life that matters is easy," Cassius interrupted.
"Let it go, my friend, or it will eat you alive."

"Very well, I'll try."

"Smile a little more, please. Just think, who will you have
at the various courts that will put a smile on your face?" Cassius
said. "Don't worry about it, what is done, is done."

Tears formed in Constantine's eyes, "I will miss you
dearly, Cassius." They grasped forearms. "You are truly a friend
and I shall not forget your counsel."

"The next time I see you, you will be in a position of
authority. I am certain of this, my young friend." Cassius kissed
his cheeks, left and then right. "I bid you farewell."

Constantine nodded. He released his grip and left with the
winds.

The winds took Constantine throughout the empire. Over
the next four years, he followed the court of the emperor from
place to place. He was alone again.