In This Sign

Constantinus paced the length of the tent. Through the thick cloth, he could hear the troops outside gathering to the cooking fires.

Marcelius had come to this battle with him. He'd been the family's cook for Constantinus's entire life and had accompanied Constantinus's father before him. Marcelius was more like kin than a servant, and it worried Contantinus that he hadn't been able to persuade the old man to stay behind and enjoy his advancing years in more pleasurable pursuits. He was too old for the cool nights and the roughness of the soldiers. Before Constantinus's rise to the throne, Marcelius had accompanied his new master's father to the battlefield more times than he or the aging man remembered. Marcelius insisted, when Constantinus forbade him from coming along, that he was not about to give up the task now.

"You'll have to tie me well and perhaps roast me over my own fires to make me stay behind."

"Perhaps you should be leading us, Marcelius," Constantinus had said with a hearty laugh. "My men can learn much from your determinaton."

"I am no less determined than you yourself are. You are fearless, Constantinus. Perhaps, moreso than your father before you."

He wondered what the old man would think if he knew Constantinus was now considering retreating from this battle. He could picture the old man; could see his gnarled fingers grasped around the stirring spoon, bending to his work with care. The clatter of tin plates and cups rang out and one of the soldiers had rousted the others in a victory song, clearly a half-hearted and near-futile attempt to inspire feelings in his comrades. Victory. Never had the word tasted so bitter on Constantinus's tongue.

"You are quite ponderous this evening, your Majesty." Elorian, chief aide and close friend to Constantinus was a man well versed in the nuances of war. He sat on a stool near the low fire that gave warmth to the large tent. Elorian watched the smoke curl up to the opening at the top of the tent, before turning his attention to Constantinus. He watched the pacing so long, his mind began to wander so that soon, he was gazing without seeing.

Constantinus's armor gleamed red in the flame's glow. He shook his head and stopped in his pacing. A sardonic laugh burst forth, startling his aide back to full awareness. He stared hard at Elorian as though about to say something of great import.

"Would you care to share whatever has humored you? I could certainly use the levity."

"I was thinking about my belly. Wondering when Marcelius will bring his stew to stop this churning in the pit of my stomach. With all that I have to occupy my mind, I'm thinking only of my stomach."

"It's not a lack of food, I think, that tortures you so," Elorian said.

"No, but it is the most easily dealt with." Constantinus threw himself on the pile of blankets and pillows in the corner, and pressed the heel of one large hand to his forehead. "We are lost Elorian. Lost. The only hope we have is to retreat." He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut.

"It seems hopeless, I know, but surely, your majesty, that can't be the answer." Elorian's eyes were filled with fear. After all they had done to secure their land, now Constantinus could talk of retreat? It would mean slavery for their people, their women; daughters and wives would be reduced to common whores. Everything their forefathers had worked so hard to preserve for their children and their children's children would be lost. The Romans had no respect for their traditions, their God. It was a bridge. One simple bridge. Surely, they could hold it until their allies joined them. "We have the strength to hold the bridge. I know we do."

Constantinus shook his head. He opened his eyes and stared at the fire to avoid meeting Elorian's questioning gaze. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Your majesty, if I may enter?" came the feeble voice of the cook.

"Yes, Marcelius, enter." Constantinus was grateful for the temporary reprieve. He watched as the frail man hefted two large bowls of stew from his tray to the make-shift table devised from a slab of wood atop hastily-bound tree branches. He smiled as Marcelius bowed and turned to remove from the tent. Constantinus watched the old man shuffle to the door, wondering if bringing him had been a wise decision. None of his decisions seemed to be the right ones lately and watching a failing old man serve him through blind faith seemed a cruelty he had never thought himself capable of. Then again, hadn't he been doing the same thing? Following his God on blind faith? We are of God, we will win this war. Hadn't he cried out those very words while his people were still safe within the walls of the city? Now, they seemed in danger of losing it all; losing everything because of his own blind faith.

"Marcelius? Do you wish to return home in the morning?" Constantinus called out to the hunched back of his faithful employee, his words gentle for so giant a man.

"Oh, yes, your majesty. I'm sure we all want that, though I don't see how we can succeed the bridge so soon." Ah, faithful to the end, like Constantinus to his God.

"No, you're right. We won't take the bridge by morning I'm afraid. We won't be going home. You may go and tend to your pots now."

They ate in silence for some time before Elorian again tried to broach the subject of the bridge. Avoidance wasn't something he was comfortable with and he knew Constantinus fared no better with it.

"I think we must have a meeting tonight," Elorian said, ignoring the steaming bowl before him. "Make our plan once and for all. You must know, Constantinus, that if we do not, the Romans surely will. We could all be dead by morning if we do not act immediately." Elorian's voice rose, his words sharpening as surely as a sword honed to a fine blade able to cut a man's head off with one blow. "You sit here, ensuring your belly is sated, and do nothing about the bridge."

"Give me peace, Elorian. I know we must act." Constantinus pushed his bowl hard so that it clattered on the table, stew dripping from the edges of the dish to form a small pool that looked disturbingly like congealed blood. He stood to his full six and a half feet. The power of a warrior's family coursed through his blood and for a moment, Elorian glimpsed the fire that had made him want to follow Constantinus so many years before this night. Constantinus strode from the tent.

The men standing sentinel at the entrance to the tent, now stood at attention as their leader passed, giving them a terse nod. In a steady march that never betrayed their fearful feelings, they followed as he strode up the hillside. These are men of honor and valor who follow me. How can I tell them those very things may be their downfall? How do I explain that their ‘fearless' leader may soon be retreating in uncommon defeat to the hated enemy, Maxentius? Constantinus would have preferred to be alone, but he knew there was no use to suggest such a thing during times of war. Anyone could be the enemy. It would be only too easy for the Romans to set spies in their camp, spies only too happy to rid Maxentius of his greatest bane.

This war was more than a plea for freedom to keep their land, more than something so trivial as holding the Milvian Bridge. This was a stand for freedom to live in peace and harmony, to believe in those things to which they had been raised. This was a war to determine the true Emperor of Rome.

With a heavy heart, Constantinus stood atop a hill where he could see across the land, see his troops gathered in the valley at the mouth of the bridge. On the other side, he could make out the shadows of the enemy. His own troops were outnumbered and this battle would determine the fate of an entire nation. Constantinus had never felt more helpless in his life. He fell to his knees atop the hill and closed his eyes.

"My Lord," he whispered. "Why? Why did you lead us here if only to send us into the arms of the enemy? I have done everything I can, and still we are about to face the greatest loss in our history. How do I hold my head up with pride and tell these men they are about to die for a lost cause? How do I tell them their families will surely be sold into slavery--and all because I convinced them following you was the answer? Are you the answer? Are you? Please, God. If you have any love for these people, please deliver us. I beg of you."

Constantinus sat quietly for some time, waiting--though for what he couldn't say. Did he really think God would answer? Did he expect to see God apparate before him and lead them all into a victorious battle? He shook his head and angrily rose to his feet. "Why?" he asked, raising his hands to the heavens, ready to cry out to his God in anger that He had brought a good people to the brink of ruin.

With fists raised, a deep guttural cry of rage upon his lips, Constantinus paused as if frozen in a child's game of statue. He stopped breathing for a moment. When he finally exhaled, it was in shallow, rasping breaths.

"Do you see that? Do you?" Constantinus whispered to the guard nearest him, afraid to talk too loudly for fear the sight before him was illusion, a trick of his mind that would disappear if he so much as spoke. He motioned the guard forward and one by one, the troops that accompanied him up the hill looked heavenward and many cried out. Others fell to the ground, weeping for joy. Still others whooped, hollered, and called to the troops in the valley to look to the sky.

There, high above them, shining as if the image itself was made of light, was a cross; the symbol of their religion. This was the symbol that spoke of freedom and faith. Beneath the golden burning cross were the words, also of golden light, In Hoc Signo Vinces.

"In This Sign Thou Shalt Conquer!" Constantinus yelled. "In this sign thou shalt conquer." He raised his hands higher still, stretching his massive arms as far as he could manage as if he hoped to embrace the image. "Quickly," he said, turning to the soldier standing nearest him. "Get the Holy man, bring him here to see this sight. Fetch Elorian as well. Quickly, quickly!"

Constantinus clapped his large hands together and laughed aloud. "Fetch Marcelius, the old cook, while you're at it," he called to the retreating back of the soldier.

"In this sign thou shalt conquer," he said under his breath, his eyes still to the sky. He turned to his troops and repeated it. Within moments, the cry rang up through the crowd. The entire camp was alive with the words. Elorian ran to stand beside the man the soldiers were now declaring the true Emperor. He stared wide-eyed at the spectacle above him.

"There is your solution! The war is won, Elorian," Constantinus bellowed, clapping his friend and aide on the back. Elorian laughed and gave Constantinus a hearty embrace.

"Hail to the Emperor," Elorian cried and bowed before Constantinus. Hundreds of voices called out "Hail to the Emperor!" and with uniforms clashing, they all bowed before Constantinus.

Marcelius made his way through the crowd, his smile that of a beloved father looking upon a favored son. Constantinus laughed aloud again and shook the old man's hand. "Have you ever seen such a sight as this, Marcelius?"

Marcelius stammered that he had not, as his gaze shifted from his master to the apparition in the night sky and back again. "Sir, I served your father well, but his power was not so great as your own. I am honored to be your servant." Tears shone in his eyes as he bent his crooked body to the ground and kneeled before the true Emperor of Rome.

That night, the guards and captains met to discuss strategy in Constantinus's tent. Excitement hung in the air and the low morale that had plagued their troops for these last weeks lifted. They were sure of a win in the morning. Not a man among them doubted it.

That night, Christ appeared to Constantinus in a dream and told him to take the cross as his symbol of victory. Upon waking, Constantinus immediately ordered that all soldiers were to engrave the symbol of Christianity on their shields and prepare for battle. The troops obeyed. There were some who questioned the sanity of it, but with the memory of the sign in the sky the night before, they quickly joined the others.

The battle was short; Constantinus's troops quickly overcame the masses to gain control of the Milvian bridge. The war was won before any of them had hardly time to blink. And the chant that led them to their easy victory despite their smaller number was the one they'd been given only hours earlier: In This Sign Thou Shalt Conquer.

Constantinus ruled under a mantle of God's blessed love and became known as Constantinus the Great. He ruled with a good heart and a steady hand as Emperor of Rome until his death.



This is based on the legend of Constantinus the Great.

I like to use ideas wherever they may be found, in this case, an encyclopedia.

Close your eyes, open an encyclopedia on a random page, set your finger upon the page, open your eyes and write a short story based on the information you found "at your fingertips." You can learn more about Constantinus by checking out a history of Rome.