Chapter 21: A Game Overturned
In the basilica’s audience hall in Trier, Constantine sat in judgment. Before him, two Gallic landowners argued furiously over a disputed property line, a case that had been tangled in local courts for years, wrapped in layers of obscure statutes and paid-for testimony. He listened to their lawyers’ long-winded orations for a time, his face a mask of cold neutrality, before raising a hand for silence.
"The land survey from the time of my great-uncle is clear," Constantine stated, his voice cutting through the chamber’s dusty air. His memory of the provincial archives, which he had been methodically consuming, was absolute. "The river’s course changed seventeen years ago. The eastern marker stone stands where it always has. The land belongs to Petronius. The suit is frivolous, and an attempt to defraud this court. Decimus," he said to the petitioner, "you will pay Petronius’s legal costs and a fine to the state for wasting its time. Next case."
The swift, brutally logical verdict left both parties stunned into silence. It was with this same unsparing efficiency that he had begun to impose his will on Gaul. As Claudius Mamertinus ushered the bewildered landowners out, Valerius entered from a side door, his expression urgent.
"Augustus," he murmured, leaning close. "A rider from Italy. One of our own. He rode three horses to death to get here."
Constantine’s eyes sharpened. "Bring him."
The scout was brought into a private chamber, his clothes caked in dust and sweat, his body trembling with exhaustion. He knelt, then forced out his report. "Augustus... Severus is defeated."
Constantine felt a cold stillness descend upon the room. "Explain."
"His army... it deserted him on the march to Rome. The old soldiers of Maximian went over to Maxentius in droves. Severus fled with a few guards. He has taken refuge in Ravenna... and Maxentius has him trapped."