Caesars lord, p.2
Caesar's Lord, page 2
Ostia. Ostia Antica, an archaeological site today, but the original port of Rome
Palaestina. Corresponds to parts of Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria
Paphos. Paphos, Cyprus
Peloponnese. Large peninsula comprising all of southern Greece
Pola. Pula, Croatia
Portus. Secondary port of Rome, which eclipsed Ostia; today it is at the tip of the runway at Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci International Airport
Propontis. Sea of Marmara, Turkey
Ravenna. Ravenna, Italy
Rhenus River. Rhine River
Sarmatia. Corresponds to southern Ukraine
Serdica. Sofia, Bulgaria
Seres. China
Sicilia. Sicily, Italy
Sirmium. Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia
Tarsus. Tarsus, Turkey
Thessalonica. Thessaloniki, Greece
Thracia. Corresponds to parts of Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey
Tiberis River. Tiber River, Italy
Trans Tiberim. Trastevere neighborhood, Rome
Verona. Verona, Italy
Glossary
agora. The central marketplace of a Greek town, equivalent to the Latin forum.
argenteus. A silver coin of significant value, though not as much as a solidus.
augustus. A traditional title for the emperors, used within the Imperial College to designate one of the two highest leaders.
ballista. Torsion-powered weapon for projecting darts and missiles with great force.
bireme. A rowed warship (usually also having a sail) with two banks of oars on each side.
caesar. A traditional title for the emperors, used within the Imperial College to designate one of the two junior rulers.
calda. A warm drink made of wine, water, and spices.
caldarium. A hot room in a Roman bath.
canicula. A Latin term for a female dog.
capsa. A tube-shaped container for carrying books or scrolls.
cardo. Primary north-to-south street laid out in a Roman legionary camp or city.
catechumen. A person who has believed in Christ and entered into preparation for baptism.
chi-rho. The first two Greek letters in the name of Christ, superimposed to form ☧, a Christogram often used by Constantine.
chiton. A simple, loose-fitting dress worn especially by Greek women, held in place by pins.
codex. A book of papyrus or parchment pages bound inside covers, readily adopted by Christians to replace the scroll.
college. A legal association of like-minded people, whether a civic club like a guild or the Imperial College (“Tetrarchy”) of four emperors.
corbita. Roman merchant ship, propelled by sails, not oars.
cubicularia. An attendant who oversees an aristocrat’s bedchamber and personal quarters in a palace.
decumanus. Primary east-to-west street laid out in a Roman legionary camp or city.
denarius. (pl., denarii) In late imperial times, it was no longer an actual coin, but a monetary unit of low value; e.g., an unskilled laborer would make twenty-five denarii per day.
domus. A Roman city house, as opposed to a country villa.
donative. Periodic distribution of large monetary gifts to soldiers to increase their annual pay and keep them loyal.
Falernian wine. The wine perceived as the very best by the Romans, grown in the Falernian region between Rome and Naples.
fossor. Gravediggers employed by the church to oversee Christian cemeteries.
Gnosticism. Ancient heresy that took many forms; centered on the idea that knowledge (gnosis) of heavenly truth, not the historical work of Jesus on the cross, leads to salvation.
hippodrome. Eastern term for what the Latin-speaking world called a circus: an oblong racetrack for chariots with a central spine, surrounded by seats.
jugerum. (pl., jugera) Unit of land measure, about two-thirds of an acre.
Kalends. First day of a Roman month, from which the previous month’s days are counted backward (inclusively) to the middle day of that month (known as the Ides).
labarum. The battle standard of Constantine, marked with a chi-rho (the origin of its name is uncertain).
liburnian. A lightweight warship prized for its speed and agility.
mile. A Roman mile, equal to a thousand paces, or about 4,860 modern feet (nine tenths of a modern mile).
monoreme. A rowed warship (usually also having a sail) with a single bank of oars on each side.
nummus. (pl., nummi) The general name for a coin, including bronze coins of little value, like a penny.
odeon. A small semicircular theater for musical, poetic, or dramatic performances.
optio. A Roman army officer with various duties, serving under a centurion.
ornatrix. A domestic slave specializing in hair and makeup for the lady of the house.
ostracon. (pl., ostraca) A piece of broken pottery reused as writing surface by ink or incision.
peristyle. The rear garden in a Roman house, surrounded by pillars supporting a shady arcade.
posca. A cheap drink of soldiers and lower classes, made from diluted vinegar and herbal flavorings.
solidus. A late imperial gold coin of significant value.
spatha. A long sword that had come into common use by soldiers of the late imperial era, replacing the shorter gladius.
speculator. A Roman special forces agent, like a spy (from speculari, to observe, explore, see).
stadium. (pl., stadia) A Roman unit of distance, imprecise, but perhaps about two hundred yards. The word also meant a foot-racing venue of that length.
thermopolium. Hot-food restaurant counter found on many urban streets.
tonsor. A barber.
trireme. A rowed warship (usually also having a sail) with three banks of oars on each side.
vellum. The finest parchment, made from calfskin.
vexillarius. Standard-bearer of a Roman troop, who carried the war banner (vexillum).
Prologue
SEPTEMBER 323
Despite the bloody sword in my hand, the captured Sarmatian kneeling before me had a defiant look in his eye. His name, so I had learned, was Rausimodus. He was the chieftain of his people and their warlord in battle. I found his swarthy face arrogant, especially for someone kneeling in bondage before an emperor of Rome. For a long moment, I considered thrusting my blade into his throat so his smirk would offend me no more.
There was a day when I would have done just that. But then I learned to execute my prisoners in a more useful way. It became my custom to throw the vanquished barbarians into the arena, where their deaths would do me some good. How the crowds would cheer as those once-mighty chiefs were ripped apart by the beasts! No one could dispute the invincible dominion of Rome.
Now, of course, I have rejected my former violent habits. I have become a Christian. Granting mercy has become my new way of life—mercy to even a captured enemy with a rebellious gleam in his eye. Truth be told, this virtue doesn’t come easy to me. I am Constantine, a ruler who must be feared. But mercy is God’s will, I reminded myself as I sheathed my sword and turned away from the haughty Sarmatian.
“Lock him up,” I commanded my camp prefect, “and give Rausimodus a fair trial. If he has fought nobly, send him back to his people with his thumbs cut off so he can never again hold a weapon. But if he is guilty of treachery . . .”
The prefect smiled wickedly as he tried to finish my command. “Crucify him.”
“No!” I shouted. “The Savior’s death is unworthy for any man. It is cruel, and I forbid it. If capital punishment is required, give Rausimodus a merciful death. Execute him by the sword, and swiftly. But first let him defend himself before a magistrate, which is only right in the eyes of God.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the prefect replied as the guards dragged the prisoner away.
I shivered and drew my cloak around me as I gazed across the wide and placid Danubius River. It was a cold day on the river’s windswept plain. That we were upon the northern bank of the Danubius, not the southern, was significant. Here, my army was outside the Roman Empire, in territory belonging to the barbarians. They had started crossing the river and raiding the empire last spring, taking captives and much loot. A prolonged campaign that stretched into September had been required to subdue them. But now they were defeated, and Rausimodus would trouble my subjects no more. Our victory would bring long-lasting peace with the Sarmatians. Unfortunately, the way it had happened would probably lead to war with someone else: my prideful brother-in-law, Licinius.
Across the Danubius, I could see a detachment of Licinius’s army eyeing us warily, though not with a threatening deployment. Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight. Both sides knew this. Yet a civil war seemed inevitable.
Even as I watched the troops, a rowboat was launched from the southern bank, whose earth belonged to the Roman diocese of Thracia. Over there, the troops stood on imperial soil, while the stuff beneath my feet belonged to the wild barbarians. We were free to wage war on this side; no laws or agreements restricted us. However, my army had been forced to cross through Thracia in pursuit of the Sarmatians. I suspected Licinius was going to make a fuss about that. Technically, it was a violation of our treaty. Many wars had been sparked by lesser offenses than this.
I beckoned to my camp prefect. “Now is the time for that scroll,” I told him. He scurried off to fetch it while I waited for the rowboat to land.
When it skidded into the mud, the leader who disembarked was a blond-haired German wearing upscale Roman clothing. His soldiers, too, were Germanic mercenaries. Yet despite his foreign ethnicity, I knew he was coming to me with Licinius’s full authority. All Roman commanders were using mercenaries these days. The only thing that differed was the tribe they were from. Interacting with barbarian lieutenants was normal in this age of scarce imperial troops.
Interestingly, the man who approached me walked with a limp. Though he had a powerful build and was probably still dangerous, this fellow wasn’t fighting in battles anymore.
“I am Geta,” he announced when his party came and stood before me. “I am a son of the great and noble Augustus of the East, Gaius Valerius Licinius.”
“A son, yet not a caesar,” I observed. “You are the spawn of a wench, then.”
Geta stiffened at this. Though his eyes narrowed and an angry flush reddened his cheeks, he dared not respond with a threat. Bodyguards stood behind me; an army was encamped around me.
“I am a prince of the emperor by a humble woman,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And what do you seek from me, Princeling Geta?”
The man gathered his composure before he spoke. “My lord Licinius is offended. You have violated the treaty you made at Serdica six years ago. At that time, you clearly awarded Licinius jurisdiction over Thracia. You agreed not to occupy his lands without permission.”
“I am not in his lands. Nor are any of my men.”
“True,” Geta admitted, “but you marched troops through his territory.”
“Not against him,” I said mildly. “Only to defeat our common enemy. The Sarmatians are a mobile and elusive people, as Licinius would know if he ever bothered to defend his subjects from foreign raiders.”
“The duties of Licinius are not the issue at hand, Augustus Constantine.”
Though Geta’s tone was calm, his words and his face were bold. I could see he wasn’t frightened of me, for he knew I wouldn’t give his master cause for war by doing something more egregious than I had already done.
I smiled benignly. “Tell me, Princeling Geta. What is troubling the great man’s heart? I have done nothing except eliminate a threat that was harming our people.”
Geta held up an object in his fingers. “This is why I have come! Licinius is angered by this!”
The object in the emissary’s hand was a little silver coin, newly struck by one of my own mints. How Licinius had obtained it so quickly, I didn’t know. A spy at the Sirmium mint had probably rushed it to him. I motioned to my camp prefect, who took the coin from Geta and brought it to me. I gazed upon it in my palm. My own image was there, my brow wreathed in laurels. I flipped over the coin and gazed at the reverse image: a victory goddess with a palm branch and a trophy in her hands. A prisoner was bound at her feet. Around her were written the words Sarmatia Conquered.
I glanced up from the coin. Rather than apologize for it, I announced to Geta, “Indeed, the Sarmatian threat to our empire has been vanquished. Now I am taking a new title: Sarmaticus Maximus, for I am the one who accomplished this needful thing.”
Geta recoiled at this announcement. Even my own guardsmen were shocked. It was a title that should have belonged to Licinius. The fact that I had taken it instead was a slap in the face, a reminder to everyone that Constantine was taking care of what Licinius was too timid to accomplish.
But I wasn’t finished with my shocking announcements. In times like this, when peace hung in the balance and war loomed like a vulture on a branch, it didn’t pay to be timid. The initiator who made the first move and threw his opponent off-balance was likely to come out ahead. And so I reached toward my camp prefect and received the scroll I had sent him to fetch.
“You have given me a token,” I said to Geta. “Now I have something for you to take back to your so-called father.” Though the insult angered the German again, I didn’t relent. “It has come to my attention that Licinius has also violated our former pact. We had agreed that the Christians in our lands would be at peace. Yet I have learned that Licinius has been forcing bishops to sacrifice to the gods. Surely Licinius has aroused the wrath of the Highest God! That is why I have issued this law”—I pitched the scroll to Geta, who caught it awkwardly as it bounced off his chest—“which mandates a harsh beating or a heavy fine for any official who requires a Christian to sacrifice to the filthy demons whom you call gods.”
Geta unrolled the scroll and scanned it. His expression of dawning comprehension told me that although he was a barbarian, he could read Greek. After taking it all in, he looked up. Then, with what some would call courage but others might call impudence, he began to limp toward me.
Instantly my bodyguards rushed to my side, their spears lowered. Yet Geta kept coming. Though he was unarmed, he seemed determined to approach. After stopping a few paces from me, he met my eyes. His jaw was square, his chin dimpled, his blond hair woven into a braid that draped down his back. He seemed to be in his early thirties, yet he had the trim and muscular build of a younger man.
“I will take your law with me,” Geta said, “but I must warn you, Licinius does not favor those Christian vermin you adore so much.”
“Vermin?” How dare he offer such an insult. This man knows I am a Christian too!
My hand fell to the pommel of the sword on my hip. Everything in me wanted to draw it . . . swing it around . . . sever this fool’s head and hang it from a branch by its blond braid. My body knew exactly what to do after so many years of combat. It would be easy. Every fiber of my being cried out to do it.
But I refrained.
Why did I hold back? Out of Christian mercy, like before? Perhaps. Yet I also knew I wasn’t prepared for war right now. My legion—a force plenty big enough to defeat the Sarmatians yet not capable of resisting Licinius’s army should it close around us because of a diplomatic affront—was out here on the frontier. To slay this imperial legate, this illegitimate son of the eastern augustus, would be to slay myself as well. Licinius would have just cause to attack. I would be captured and killed.
And so I released the hilt of my sword.
Even so, I didn’t back down from arrogant Geta. I stepped toward him and was gratified to see him give way to my advance. I glared at him with all the disdain I could muster. He was a tall man, but so was I, and our eyes were even. “You will take that decree to my brother-in-law,” I told him fiercely, “and he will enforce it, or there will be hell to pay.” My statement pleased me, for it had a double meaning. God would punish Licinius’s persecution of Christians with blades in this world and fire in the next.
To his credit, Geta didn’t answer with a meek reply. Instead, he said, “When I return to Hadrianopolis with this law, my lord shall spit upon it.”
I could no longer hold myself back. My hand whipped out my sword in a move so quick that my bodyguards had no time to react. The tip of my blade was under Geta’s chin, pressing a dimple in his throat, though not drawing blood.
“Know this, spawn of Licinius,” I growled as I stared into Geta’s blue eyes. “I am the only lord who matters here. Now get out of my sight, lest I send you back to your father limping in both of your legs!”
Geta grimaced and took a step back, then returned to his boat. Only after the craft had eased into the water did I shove my sword back in its scabbard and turn away from my illegitimate nephew who had dared to challenge my reign.
“Will it be war?” the prefect asked as we left the riverbank.
“Iacta alea est.”
The prefect glanced sideways at me. “I only know Greek, my lord.”
“Those were the words of Julius Caesar when he started a civil war. ‘The die is cast.’ And so it is once again.”
1
MARCH 324
Even after seven years of marriage, Flavia’s heart still leapt when Rex came home. He was a tall man with a purposeful walk, so the sound of his footfall was distinctive in the hallway outside. And he had a way of always bursting into their apartment with a commotion that Flavia found endearing. That was who Rex was: a big, rowdy bundle of zest and energy. Flavia delighted to welcome him into every part of her life.
“I’ve got lake perch!” he exclaimed as he barged through the door, holding out the purchase he had made at the thermopolium, where hot food was served. The flaky white fish was wrapped in palm leaves to keep it warm. Olive oil dripped from it onto the recently mopped floor, a minor mess that Rex hadn’t noticed in his enthusiasm for the evening meal. Flavia placed the fish on a wooden platter and made a mental note to clean the spill later.
She kissed Rex on the lips—not passionately, for it was not yet time to stir those flames—but sweetly and with genuine affection. As she turned to take the fish to the kitchen area of the apartment, she felt a playful pinch on her bottom. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Rex’s bearded face grinning back at her. He was thirty years old now, and truth be told, even better looking than when she met him at eighteen. Back then, he was just a boy. Now he was a good and godly man—a fine husband and provider. She winked at him, acknowledging his playful flirtation. “Let’s eat on the balcony,” she suggested. “Go out, and I’ll bring the dinner in a moment.”
