EPISODE 1

 

After a half-century of chaos, the Empire was divided in two.

Constantine, son of Constantius–the recently deceased Western Emperor–marched his 40,000-strong army from Britain across the Alps and down towards Rome along the 500-year-old Flaminian Way. On the way, the battle-hardened army easily defeated his brother-in-law’s forces at Susa and Turin, opening the way to march on Rome. In Verona, the advancing army was greeted with open gates and celebration. In late October they set up camp on the hills banking the Tiber River across from Rome.

Anticipating a siege, Maxentius, Constantine’s sister’s husband and rival, had fortified the city and rendered the Milvian Bridge unpassable. He would have been content to wait out another siege if Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn hadn’t formed an auspicious conjunction in the night sky. Then the Oracle assured Maxentius that “on October 28th, an enemy of Rome will die.” He was eager to put his antagonist to the sword and consolidate his power.

 

 

 

October 28, 312 AD.

Three hours before dawn.

A tall, blond legionnaire entered Constantine’s spacious goatskin tent, flanked by two of the Emperor’s elite bodyguard.

He executed a well-disciplined salute and said “My Lord Caesar.”

But the emperor noted with distaste a certain wildness in the eyes. Something barbaric, untamed. Unpredictable. “One must never trust a barbarian,” his father had said, “no matter how civilized they may pretend to be.”

“Germanicus. Hostage to the house Faustus,” he said. “I’ll be direct. You garnered quite a reputation among the men during the Alps crossing. They tell me you acquitted yourself quite well in Britain, and at Turin. They say you know the ways of the stars, minerals, and herbs. Your poltices are first-rate, apparently… Well?”

“Thank you, Lord Emperor. I learned at my mother’s knee before I was taken to Rome.”

“Yes. The men are unsettled by the stars.”

“The rare conjunction marks a historic turning of the tide. It does not bode well for the losing side.”

“Quite. Should the men be afraid?”

“My lord, you summoned me at this hour because of a dream?”

The Emperor of the Western Empire stared at the barbarian for a thick, silent moment.

“That is correct.”

The barbarian knelt on the dirt floor and drew his broad dagger. The centurions pointed their spears at the German’s neck. Untroubled, he drew a glyph in the dirt. A bind-rune. The glyph of pleasure, crossed by the sign of the gift. Constantine recognized it from his dream. The Chi-Rho, the symbol he had seen blazing in the dawning sun. And he had heard the voice of Sol Invictus himself, Lord of the Sun–

“By this sign shalt thou conquer,” said the Barbarian.

The Emperor, stunned, felt the presence of the gods, and his knees trembled in fear.

“My Lord, with your permission, may I offer a potion?”

The guards’ eyes flashed alarm. Constantine gestured for them to be at ease.

Over a low open fire, the Hostage brewed a bitter brew of herbs, roots, and funghi in a bronze pot, from pouches he had tucked into his belt.

When the steam told him that it was ready, Germanicus offered it to Caesar, who made an impatient gesture for him to drink first. He nodded and took a deep swig. As soon as the bitterness hit the back of his throat the air in the tent thickened and filled with swirling, glowing light. Spirits both living and dead swarmed the air.

The barbarian fell backward onto his butt on the packed dirt floor.

Constantine waited a few minutes, then drank from the bronze pot.

Time flickered.

He was walking in the garden with his father, who said profound things Constantine couldn’t quite make out. He was on a boat at sea in a storm. He was in a battle against his cousin. His father lay cold, blue-faced, and stiff in his arms on a foggy British bog. He was marching his army across the alps to reclaim the throne from his brother-in-law. He was having his sister burnt to death for supporting her husband Maxentius over him, her own brother. He was sitting astride his horse at dawn…

As the sun broke the horizon a weird glare appeared in the air–Perhelion– sun dogs casting the symbol of the Chi-Rho on either side of the sun.

“Men!,” Constantine shouted to his gathered forces, “