At the beginning of the sixth century Zosimus composed a
history of the Roman empire that covered the period from the uncertainty over
imperial succession in the early third century to the coming of the barbarians
in the early fifth century. Constantine’s reign was hence at the chronological
midpoint of his narrative, and in his discussion of the emperor, Zosimus
highlighted civil wars. The first was against Maxentius in 312. According to
Zosimus’ account, Constantine invaded Italy with an enormous army while
Maxentius prepared to defend Rome with an army that was almost twice as large.
His defense included the construction of a special breakaway timber bridge over
the Tiber. Before the battle Maxentius consulted the Sibylline oracles while
Constantine was heartened by seeing a propitious flock of owls on the city’s
wall. After his troops were overwhelmed, Maxentius was thrown into the river
when the bridge collapsed. The residents of Rome rejoiced when they saw
Maxentius’ head on display at the end of a spear.
The second important civil war was against Licinius in 324.
Several years earlier Constantine and Licinius had fought an inconclusive
campaign. This time Constantine built a huge fleet in the harbor of Athens
while Licinius mobilized ships contributed by regions around the eastern
Mediterranean. Constantine’s army defeated Licinius’ forces in Thrace, and his
fleet besieged the fleeing emperor in Byzantium. At his last stand outside
Chalcedon, Licinius was again defeated and then surrendered. Although initially
Constantine exiled his rival to Thessalonica, he soon had him executed.
The Campaign
Constantine’s preparations at Piraeus indicated that he was
planning a war that would carry his forces into the heart of Licinius’ realm,
assisted by a greatly enlarged fleet.
With the legacy of his father’s invasion of Britain still
fresh in his mind as well as Maxentius’ more recent invasion of Africa, he may
also have felt that he could draw from a reservoir of naval experience that his
opponent would be hard-pressed to match. Given the record of hostility between
the two regimes, surprise was not an appropriate tactic; massive advance
planning was therefore the order of the day. Constantine was not a man to
underestimate potential obstacles or to fail to take what he saw as the
necessary steps to meet them. News that a fleet was building would give
Licinius something to worry about. Was the plan for a direct assault or was it
to land troops somewhere in the rear of his army? Anything that would inject a
degree of uncertainty into Licinius’ deliberations would be useful-he had shown
himself rather too competent when it came to a straight-up confrontation.
Constantine’s invasion of the east began in the summer of 324. Meanwhile the
empire still had to be governed, and it was to men like Locrius Verinus-last
seen dealing with Donatists as vicarious
of Africa and now prefect of Rome-that Constantine turned. One task that he
allotted to an official named Dalmatius was to set down the ages at which young
people would be considered mature; and Constantine himself sent an important
missive to Severus, probably praetorian prefect at the time, telling him that
people who merely purchased their ranks at the palace should be booted out-it
was “fitting that only those who are employed in the palace or work in the
administration should be selected for the bestowal of honors.”
The measure looks like a house-cleaning operation ahead of
what would predictably be the complex task of integrating survivors of
Licinius’ regime with his own people (Constantine appears to have been totally
confident about the likely outcome of the campaign). The last communication on
record as the campaign began is also to Verinus: it is a lengthy discussion on
the subject of the appropriate rate of pay for swine-catchers.
The same texts that show Constantine in action also reveal a
novel feature of the regime: the extensive involvement of members of his
immediate family in positions of very great responsibility. One praetorian
prefect this year who was traveling with him was one Flavius Constantius. We
have no information as to who he was, but the fact that he shared two elements
of Constantine’s name (the emperor was formally known as Flavius Valerius
Constantinus) suggests that he was probably a blood relative. The Dalmatius
mentioned in the preceding paragraph is likely Constantine’s half-brother, and
his son Crispus, now in his early twenties, was in command of the fleet.
As Constantine and his family moved east with his entourage
and troops, Licinius once again mustered his forces at Adrianople. Following
the renewal of hostilities, Licinius established his army near the city of
Adrianople (Edirne) in Thracia. His imperial rival soon marched against him
from Thessalonica and encamped a short distance away on the opposite bank of
the Hebrus (Maritsa) River. The following day, Licinius arrayed his army of
150,000 infantry and 15,000 cavalry on open ground to the north-west of the
city near the confluence of the Tonoseius (Tunca) and Hebrus rivers, but
Constantine was not willing to hazard a water crossing while his opponent
waited in full battle formation. Over the course of the next days, the
proximity of Licinius’ army prevented Constantine from traversing the river, as
any attempt to cross the watercourse would place his army at the mercy of the
awaiting eastern troops. He eventually settled upon a deception to move his
army safely across the Hebrus. Upon learning of a location sufficiently narrow
to permit men and horses to ford the river, the emperor ordered bridge
materials collected at a location far removed from the chosen crossing point.
With the enemy misled by the construction of the decoy, Constantine secretly
gathered 5,000 infantry and archers and 800 cavalry on a wooded hill in
preparation for an assault. He then led a select force of horsemen across the
river at the predetermined place and charged Licinius’ formation. The
unexpected attack threw the eastern legions into disorder, allowing time for
the remainder of the western army to cross the Hebrus and reassemble for
battle. There followed a difficult struggle that ended around sunset when
Constantine’s men overran the enemy camp. By that time the main divisions of
Licinius’ army were put to flight. Eastern losses amounted to almost 34,000
dead. The following morning, Constantine accepted the surrender of those
defeated forces now scattered about in the countryside and throughout the
immediate vicinity of the previous day’s fighting.
Constantine seems to have led the decisive attack himself,
in the course of which he was wounded in the leg, while Licinius fled the field
for the city of Byzantium. There he appointed a general called Martianus to command
his forces on the far side of the Bosporus (the straits dividing Europe from
Asia).
The record of Constantine’s wound reveals not only the
continuing importance of the warrior ideology of the imperial position-it was
just three years earlier that Nazarius had added Constantine’s secret scouting
mission to the story of the Italian campaign-but also further problematizes the
narrative of Eusebius. In his Life of Constantine the bishop reports that
Constantine went into battle with the aid of a miraculous battle standard.
Evidently visualized as taking the form of the labarum first mentioned in
relation to the battle of the Milvian Bridge, this standard had amazing power. Carried
into battle by fifty select guardsmen, it provided special protection for those
around it: if the standard bearer should drop it in fear, the javelin coming
his way would skewer him, while the man who then seized the standard was safe
from all peril. The standard’s staff acted like a magnet, attracting javelins
to itself so that it came to resemble a giant pincushion. As with the story of
the cross in the sky before the Milvian Bridge, Eusebius claims Constantine
himself as the source for this information “much later.” If this was
the case and since Eusebius seemed not to know about the standard or the vision
until a year before Constantine’s death when he wrote his speech celebrating
the thirtieth anniversary of Constantine’s accession, one might wonder if
“much later” in The Life of Constantine means “more than a
decade later.” In 325 there seems to have been no need to Christianize
this fast-moving narrative, or conceal the emperor’s injury.
With Licinius in Byzantium, the next phase of the campaign
took place at sea: the western fleet was unmatchable, as Licinius’ admiral
learned at his peril. Having lost control of the Bosporus, Licinius abandoned
his men in Byzantium to take command of fresh forces near Chalcedon.
Constantine landed his army without opposition north of Licinius’ position,
forcing him to fight, probably on September 18, at a place called Chrysoplis
(modern Üsküdar in Turkey). The result was now a foregone conclusion as Licinius
was plainly outmatched. He fled to Nicomedia, and the troops who had been left
in Byzantium surrendered, the campaign all but over. On or just before December
16, 324, Constantia, assisted by Eusebius (bishop of Nicomedia, no relation to
Constantine’s biographer), negotiated the surrender of her husband. He was sent
into exile at Thessalonica, where he was executed shortly afterward, allegedly
for conspiring with barbarians.
Constantine was now sole ruler of the Roman Empire. He may
have learned something of the art of government from his father, more perhaps
from Diocletian. As we have seen, he knew how to govern: he guided his
officials with a firm hand, and he understood his position as emperor within
the tradition of imperial power that had developed over the centuries. But the
victory of Constantine stemmed from more than just skill in the art of
government, from more even than his extraordinary ability on the battlefield.
Constantine’s victory stemmed from his own toughness and determination,
qualities honed in the train of Diocletian but perhaps instilled earlier in the
palace at Trier, or as his mother grasped her dignity and self-respect in the
wake of rejection. Constantine had learned that there would be no one upon whom
he could rely as much as he relied upon himself, and this is reflected in his
belief in the god who guided him. Constantine’s god was still a very personal
god, one whom he met on his own and who provided him guidance on an intensely
personal basis; the god who Constantine believed to have guided him to victory
was the god who had mercy upon him for his failings, and who protected him from
evil.
