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I.
Tell me if you’ve heard this one before: three future Emperors walk into a bar. The one who’s going to end up with the Empire is the barmaid.
In a manner of speaking.
She’s sixteen or seventeen, and reasonably pretty for that age, though you’d have to get close and observe her for a longer time than it takes to notice her hips and long legs to realize she’s also intelligent: Helena the daughter of no one. One of the citizens of Drepanum in Bithynia, trying to make a living. It’s a bad time to be the daughter of no one and have no family, yes, more so than usual. This entire century seems to be cursed: the coins have been debased so much that a nail has more honest silver in it, trading in goods and animals works only if an army doesn’t pass through your area because then they’ll simply take what they want without bothering with recompense, and good luck seeking justice even if you are a noble who can afford a lawyer. Justice from whom? It’s been one Emperor after another who got crowned by the army and deposed by the army, every ambitious general seeing himself as Augustus and ending up as Caesar, with a knife in the back. This is true even for those who have declared independence from Rome in their own provinces. Helena couldn’t tell you the names of the last three. The current one is Aurelian, which she knows because the young soldiers showing up in the tavern are shouting his name while they order wine and throw around coins that seem to have some actual weight. Of course, they weren’t minted in Rome. They come from the realm of Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, whom Aurelian, it seems, has just defeated.
„He’ll get the empire back together again, you’ll see! A soldier’s soldier!“ says the brawniest of the three young Roman soldiers, thumping the table so hard that Helena winces. It’s too early in the evening for broken tables and the inevitable brawl.
„Oh, but should he, Maximian, should he?“ retorts his companion, who seems to be a few years older and slightly more sober. He’s talking in the same Illyrian accent as his companion, though. Working in a tavern is educational that way; you have to learn quickly to figure out who is from where, if only because sitting Gauls next to Britons is asking for trouble.
„But of course, Diocles! It’s all been going to shit these last years. I mean, Roman provinces ruled by a bloody woman, doesn’t that say everything? And the Persians are pissing on us. But not anymore, not with Aurelian in charge! He’ll make it like it’s supposed to be – one Empire, with one Augustus ruling and law and order restored.“
„Law and order are needed“, Diocles nods and gesture for Helena to refill his cup. „But I think the way things stand, the best general in the world can’t restore the Empire. Not alone, anyway. There’s a reason why Zenobia got away with it for so long, and those jokers in Gaul even longer. It’s too damn large for a man, that’s what it is. And even Aurelian can’t be everywhere. If you run from one corner to the Empire to the next trying to stitch things together again, your coat is just getting torn somewhere else.“
„So what are you saying?“ the third young soldier, who’s been silent until now, asks slowly. Unlike his companions, he doesn’t wear a beard, and his face is paler than theirs, though his hands are no less rough; he’s no rich man, either, and he talks with the same Illyrian twang„That Aurelian should have let Zenobia be and focused on Italy?“
Impatiently, Diocles waves his hand as if swatting away a fly. „Of course not. Zenobia dared to annex Egypt, and the Empire can’t do without Egypt and ist grain. And actually, I think Italy is part of the problem, Constantius. To be more precise – Rome is. If I were Aurelian, I’d tell that bunch of freeloaders they’ll have to pay taxes just like every other province. The way things are now, they’re just getting fat in that city, doing nothing, not even contribute soldiers anymore. They’re not the true Romans. We are! Who needs them if they don’t work? If the Empire is truly supposed to get restored, everyone will have to contribute. And you need a different type of administration.“
„You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you,“ Constantius says, and then shocks Helena, because he looks directly at her. „But pretty girls have ears. Should you really talk about this here, where anyone can hear you?“
No man before has noticed when Helena had listened to their conversation. Granted, not many said anything interesting, and so she hadn’t lingered long with the others, but still.
Maximian snorts. „Afraid of a barmaid tattling, Constantius? Seriously?“
Diocles, on the other hand, looks at her as well. Helena goes for her best wide eyed, innocent expression. The problem is that the innocent get eaten alive in this world, and so she had to stop being one soon after she started to get her monthly courses.
„Do you have Egyptian beer here as well?“ Diocles asks, and she nods. „Then bring some for me and my friends.“
Getting beer will require going down to the cellar where they store the barrels ever since a food riot three years ago had the tavern plundered. At least having to carry barrels upstairs will slow people down. It’s a neat way of getting her away from the table without looking like he’s fearing her indiscretion.
She has only made a few steps before someone yells „Wait“ and comes after her. Without meaning to, she shivers. She shouldn’t have listened. What does she care about what a few grunts in the army think of the current Emperor’s policies? But you can’t ever let anyone smell fear, so she puts on a brazen smile on her lips and turns around. It’s the pale one, Constantius.
„Leaving your friends alone, unsupervised, soldier?“ she asks. „Who knows, maybe they’ll have ditched you by the time you get back?“
He surprises her again by grinning and saying: „That’s more likely then not. Also, I’d rather be with you.“
And that’s how they meet, the future conqueror of Britain and his concubine. Helena is no blushing virgin, and she doesn’t want to remain a barmaid forever. She’d hoped to be a tavern owner some day, but taverns get smashed, and there’s a reckless streak in her that makes her gamble all on the Venus throw, the the turn of the dice that can get you everything. When the army moves on, she’s among the women going with it, and not as a whore, either. She’s Constantius‘ woman, and he’s shown himself talented enough that a promotion is in sight; he can afford sharing his wages with her. As for his two friends: they get promoted even faster. It will be a while till she sees them again.
II.
Tell me if you’ve heard this one before: a woman gives birth in a manger. There’s a reason why Helena knew this was the religion for her when she heard people preach of the Nazarene. No, that’s not how she gave birth to her son: Constantius was sufficiently well off and advancing through the ranks to afford a nice clean room and two midwives for her when she gave birth to his oldest son, and indeed an entire house as a residence. But it is how Helena herself was born; left in the manger, too, by whoever her mother might have been, and literally growing up in the inn.
Constantius doesn’t care deeply about the gods, one way or the other. He worships Sol Invictus even after Emperor Aurelian’s death because that was the God the Emperor who started to turn things around for the Empire has done, but he’s not passionate about it. On the other hand, his friend Diocles once says something about needing to get back to old fashioned Roman values, when honoring the gods meant something, as opposed to letting bizarre cults from the East that started with slaves and freedmen split everyone apart.
„And here I thought your father was a freedman?“ Helena asks before she can stop herself. She’s pregnant, though, which is a great excuse. It’s true in any case; Diocles‘ woman, Prisca, has told her so. Diocles eyeballs her, but replies that whatever rank his father may have held, he knew better than to listen to adherents of a blood cult.
They don’t see much of Diocles after that, since he gets promoted to the Protectores Domestici, the cavalry unit directly attached to the Imperial household, and once Aurelian gets murdered and the merry dagger go round of assassinated Emperors starts again, that means he has to be elsewhere every other year, while Constantius has been made tribune and is aiming for a governorship.
„Diocles is going places,“ Prisca insists on those rare occasions. She’s now an officially married wife and proud of it. She’s also curious about Nazarene teachings, which is why she seeks out Helena despite Helena’s continued concubine status. Maximian’s wife, Eutropia, was only interested until she learned there was no actual blood consumed, and no one got castrated in ecstasy, but then Eutropia believes everything you tell her. She’s good with the gossip, though; she is the one who tells Helena Maximian once saved Diocles‘ life when they were green and young recruits and a cruel bastard of a superior had his eyes on Diocles, and that’s how their friendship started. And she’s the one to breathlessly report that the latest ambitious general to grab the purple, Carus, has been struck by lightning, a clear sign of disapproval from the gods. Maximian saw it with his own eyes, Eutropia swears in her letter. Now Carus has not one but two sons whom he’s both made Caesars already, but surely the gods can’t be well disposed towards a family whom Jupiter literally decapitated with a thunderbolt?
„What I’d like to know,“ Helena says, massaging Constantius‘ shoulders the way he likes, „is just how much your friend Diocles worships Jupiter, and how good your friend Maximian’s sword aim is?“
„That faith of yours makes you an awful cynic about miracles,“ Constantius says, catches her hand and kisses it.
III.
Tell me if you’ve heard this one before: a man makes it through all the ranks by work and merit, and then, when he’s this close to the top he can almost smell the incense, he ditches the woman who’s been by his side through all the hardships in favour of some young thing with money and rank. Except the young thing in question has acquired both money and status rather recently.
„I see,“ Helena says when informed that now that Diocles has become the Emperor Diocletian and, amazingly, has made his old friend Maximian Emperor as well, it’s time to strengthen old ties for Constantius, and that this is done best through a marriage, a proper, Roman marriage, with Maximian’s daughter Theodora. „I take it Diocletian’s daughter wasn’t available anymore?“
Constantius squeezes out a tortured smile. „He’s already married her to that annoying Galerius. Look, it’s really not you, it’s me. Diocles – Diocletian meant what he said all those years ago: the Empire is too big for one man to rule. And look, Maximian would die for Diocletian, but honestly, I’m better as a general, and they really need the best if they want Britannia back. If I don’t make my play for third Emperor now, it’s going to be that twerp Galerius. This is a once in a life time chance!“
„No doubt,“ Helena says.
„Look, if you’re upset…“ he falters, because she hasn’t changed her expression since he started to talk. She would have if she hadn’t heard it about it before. Eutropia still is great with the gossip. „You are upset, aren’t you?“ he asks, disconcerted and sounding just the tiniest bit insulted at the idea she might not be.
„Who am I to stand in the day of your greatness?“ Helena retorts, blandly. „Or in the way of you pawing a girl half your age. I get the urge, believe me. Maximian has a teenage son as well, doesn’t he?“
Constantius‘ face darkens. „You wouldn’t!“
„Well, I certainly wouldn’t if I was married to you,“ Helena returns. „Given that the faith I believe in teaches marriage is forever, and a woman can’t just be put aside the moment it’s convenient for the man. But since we are not married, and you don’t share my faith, well, a woman has to live, doesn’t she? And has certain needs. Is Maximian’s son as well built as his father?“
Constantius storms off to dictate several letters to his scribes, because he can afford more than one now. When he has calmed down, he informs Helena she and their son, young Constantine, will be cared for in the best way possible. Which is to say that they’ll be placed in an Emperor’s household, no less. Not Maximian’s, of course. In fact, they’ll be as far way from Maximian and his family as it’s possible to be, in the other part of the Roman Empire, the one Maximian is not ruling. Constantine and Helena will be now part of the Imperial household of Diocletian himself. As for Constantius, Constantius will marry Theodora and then go off to bring the independent-minded Britons to heel.
„Now do you see I’m only doing what’s good for you and our son?“
„Yes, dear,“ Helena says sweetly. „You’re all self sacrifice. I’m sure you don’t expect me to tell you anything that’s going on around Diocletian at all.“
„Well, now that you mention it…“
„Enjoy Britannia. At least you won’t get sunburned there. You have such a thin skin.“
IV.
Tell me if you’ve heard that one before: a man murders his way to the top, ends an anarchic period, consolidates his Empire and discovers morality, proceeding to shove it down all his subject’s throats. Well, which Emperor doesn’t want to echo the first and greatest Augustus? Assuredly not Diocletian, who has arguably a much harder job than the quondam Octavian three centuries before had had. What with the Empire being larger and the anarchy having lasted longer. Also, Diocletian seems to have hit on the winning formula to end the endless bloody string of generals going for the purple: he ends up with not one, not two but three fellow Emperors, the fourth one, much to Constantius‘ annoyance, being Galerius. And it works, too.
„Just think, dear,“ Helena tells her son, young Constantine. „Now that your father has conquered Britain, it’s back to Romans on Barbarians violence, as opposed to Romans on Romans.“
„Or Barbarians on Romans,“ young Constantine observes. „Given Galerius got kicked in the teeth by the Persians.“
Peace within the Empire means Diocletian can do more than reform the economy, though. There’s that morality to rediscover, just like Augustus did. Though Diocletian’s version of morality as a way to restore the Roman spirit doesn’t focus on everyone’s sex lives. No, the Emperor, who has staken on the additional name of Jovius while Maximian is called Herculius, really wants to bring back popularity to the Olympians. And the way to do that, it seems, is first to purge the army of any Christians unwilling to sacrifice to the gods, and then to go after disobedient civilians who insist on following their Nazarene faith as well.
„It’s all Galerius‘ fault,“ Prisca tells Helena, sounding deeply unhappy. „He’s convinced my husband that this is the only way to restore the moral fabric of the Empire. You understand that I can’t attend mass with you anymore under these circumstances, don’t you?“
Personally, Helena thinks any man who successfully schemed his way to the imperial throne and then was confident enough to appoint three other ambitious men to share that power without fearing they would betray him, any man who actually actually does evoke the loyality to justify this kind of confidence, any such man does not have the excuse of being influenced by evil advisors. Still, it wouldn’t do to say so out loud to Diocletian’s wife.
„Naturally,“ she says. She also makes arrangements for sending several of her friends to Britain and Gaul, the provinces governed by Constantius, who knows he’d better turn a blind eye and not not follow through on Diocletian’s decrees. There’s a reason for that.
„Why, it’s young Constantine,“ Diocletian exclaims when he contrives to come across Helena and her son in the garden one day. „And the lady Helena. Lovely as ever. It’s been such a long time. Do you know, young man, I was here the day your father met your mother?“
Constantine looks suitably impressed. Unlike Helena, he’s grown up in riches, but she hopes she’s been able to teach him his life can depend on never let anyone else know what you’re thinking regardless.
„Shame you two had to part ways,“ Diocletian says to Helena, „but such is life, and I believe you and Constantius are still acting as responsible parents, don’t you? Sharing educational concerns? Or are those messengers to Britannia only carrying letters from Constantine to his father?“
„Indeed, I do consider it my maternal duty to inform Constantius Caesar of his son’s progress under your mighty wings, Dominus,“ Helena says in her best soothe-the-drunken-patron voice from her barmaid days. Except she’s never seen this man drunk, in the tavern or out of it. Even two cups wine and one mug of beer in, he’s always been level headed.
„And does Constantius tell you things as well?“
„Only about the state of his health,“ Helena replies, and thinks of the stories she’s heard, of the arrests of all priests and bishops. „Which is of interest to me as the mother of his oldest son. Anything else would be improper. Since he’s a married man.“
„And the father of more hopeful children now, one hears, yes. Shame, though. I hoped he might have told you something about a mystery that Galerius has brought to my attention. It seems that for some reason, there no arrests of Christian priests in his territory. Now, I’ve always said that any Christian who is willing to sacrifice to mighty Jupiter as well should be left alone, but for some reason there are no such Christians in Galerius‘ part of the Empire, whereas Britannia and Gaul seems to have them in abundance, for otherwise there surely would have been some arrests.“
„I’ve never been to Britannia,“ Helena says. There are drops of sweat running down her back, but her face remains as calm as ever. „And it’s been over a decade since I was in Gaul. So how would I know what anyone believes there?“
Diocletian looks at her. She has no idea what she will do if he asks her point blank if she is a Christian, right now, in front of her son and with her son’s life in the balance. But she does know that she’s made it very clear to Contantius what will happen if he does to others of the Nazarene faith what Diocletian, Maximian and Galerius do: her conscience would force her to confess her faith for all the world. And it would be very embarrassing indeed if the mother of Contantius‘ oldest son ends up in the arena. After all, Constantius still has hopes for his own future. Hopes even above the status of a Caesar.
Constantius could have gambled on her being more protective of her son than she is of her brothers and sisters in the faith, but then Constantius has never known her as well as she knows him.
„Hostage is such an ugly word,“ Diocletian says softly. He’d know. Constantine has a good place in his household, and gets a good education, but it’s also true that previous governors in Britannia and Gaul have either declared independence or tried for the purple in the Empire proper. And Constantius, for all his faults, cares for the boy.
„Isn’t it just?“ Helena agrees. She’d know. Which is why she’d never phrase it like that when hinting to Contantius‘ messengers what would happen to her son and herself if Constantius doesn’t continue to acta as he does.
„As long as we understand each other,“ Diocletian says, ruffles Contantines hairs, though Constantine is really getting too old for such a gesture, and potters away.
„I don’t like this talk of other hopeful children,“ says Constantine.
V.
Tell me if you’ve heard this one before: the mightiest man of the world retires, and gives his Empire to those who say they love him most. While ignoring those who actually did but aren’t as good at proclaiming it. Much to his surprise, war and anarchy ensue.
Well, that’s one way of describing Diocletian’s abdication, anyway. Given that he not only makes Maximian retire as well but lets Galerius, who along with Constantius gets promoted from Caesar to Augustus, handpick both successors. The only person this makes happy is Galerius. Who isn’t just petty but also short sighted, because he lets young Constantine out of his sight. Constantine joins his father in Britannia, and within a few months, the Roman Empire goes back to ambitious generals trying to tear each other apart, with Maximian’s son Maxentius joining that most exclusive of blood sports, and after a while, Maximian himself. Diocletian gets out of retirement just long enough to talk Maximian back into it and confirm Constantine as a fellow Emperor after Constantius‘ death, but that peace doesn’t last out the wax tablets it’s first drafted on. Several wannabe Caesars and Augusti come and go while Maximian tries the game one last time, fails and has to kill himself while poor Prisca and her daughter Valeria, the one Galerius married, were handed over like trophies from one to the next and eventually beheaded in the central square of Salonica, with Diocletian’s pleas on their behalf ignored, because to Licinius, the man who ordered their deaths, Diocletian is just a name.
Did you really expect differently, though? That’s what I’m asking you, now that we’re sitting in your palace garden again, in your home province of Dalmatia, where you’ve built yourself a palace for the ages on a peninsula. I’m from the Bithyinian coast myself, so I can understand why you never wanted to move to the moskito and fever infested swamp land that is Rome. Give me the rocky coast with its sea breeze any time. And then there’s the warmth. I’ve been living with my son’s family in Augusta Treverorum these last few years, and honestly, Gauls to the right, Germans to the left – that place is enough to give anyone a permanent cough and the desire to never see rain again.
But enough about me. You are perhaps the smartest man I ever met, and yet you’ve paved the road to the destruction of all you’ve built yourself, Diocles the Illyrian, Diocletianus Augustus. I’m sorry about Prisca, by the way. I always liked her. And she never did give me away. Valeria I hardly knew, but I’m sorry for her, too. Maximian, though, and you? Pardon me, but you had it coming. Vengeance is mine, says the Lord, I know, but I’m still working on how good a Christian I manage to be.
My son, now, Constantine, he isn’t one. I hope he will be, one day. Meanwhile, he has revoked all your edicts in that regard. He will do more than that. Just think, Diocletian: from martyrs in the arena to rulers of the Empire, within a generation. Some priests aren’t sure whether it will be good for the faith, having that much power, and they may be right. But I have been powerless, and I can tell you: having power, ensuring no one can set you aside or persecute you again, that is better.
Now the bloody contest of Emperors has narrowed down to my son and Licinius, and while I’m biased, I tell you Licinius won’t last. My son will. And then he will face the same challenges you did, which is why I’m here, really. I’d rather he doesn’t end up sowing the seeds for his own destruction as well. So: if you could do it all over again, what are the mistakes you’d avoid? Favouring Galerius that much? Not asking Maximian to retire at your side, where you could have kept an eye on him once the longing for the purple reasserts itself? Constantius always said that Maximian would do anything you wanted, but only for as long as he could bask in your gratitude for him doing so. Then again, Constantius did always feel like the third wheel on a two wheels chariot, long before any of you made it to the throne, and that does make one a bit prickly in one’s assessments.
Your biggest mistake was not killing me on the day we met, you say? There you go with the bloody solutions again. Why not just wish for having chosen another tavern to celebrate with your mates in, hm? But I suppose I should feel honored. I do hope I’ve made a difference, and that the changes my son makes will last longer than yours. A Roman Empire that is truly a realm of peace, wouldn’t that be something? It’s just, the boy has been around you for a bit too long, if you ask me. He tends to favour bloody solutions as well. And he’s picked up your mythologizing habits. You’ve made yourself and Maximian Jupiter and Hercules; he’s now naming cities after himself and me, and just the other day, one of his scribes has asked me to tell him more about my noble birth, as the daughter of Kings. Briton kings, if you can believe that. When I’ve never even set foot on that wretched island. That was Theodora. Bithynian barmaid, that’s me. If the boy is going to make up stories about his parents, they shouldn’t be about any royal ancestors, but rather about them creating something new.
Ah well. I suppose once the war is over and done with, I could always do something I’ve always wanted to: travel without being part of an army. Syria should be lovely this time of the year. And I have an idea. See, if you work in a tavern, you hear so many stories. Some you believe and some you don’t, but you do learn to look for proof of the more adventurous tales. When I was part of your Imperial household, I didn’t just raise my son, I also used the chance to consult the Imperial archives when I could. Checking city descriptions, even. Of Aelia Capitolina. Jerusalem. And I think I know where to look for Golgatha.
No, of course you don’t know that name. Let’s just say finding it centuries after the Emperor Hadrian rebuilt the entire city is as likely as, well, reforming the Roman Empire in your image.
Tell me if you’ve heard this one before: three future Emperors walk into a bar. The one who’s going to end up with the Empire is the barmaid.
In a manner of speaking.