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Chapter 3

Like any general whose army had performed admirably in battle, Constantine was cautiously optimistic. Despite leaving half of his forces along the Rhine to protect the Empire’s northern frontier, his civil war against Maxentius, his brother-in-law and rival for supremacy in the West, had thus far been going as smoothly as he could have hoped. Descending into Italy from the north, he encountered no resistance coming through the Alps, and was barely challenged by the loyalist forces stationed in the Piedmont foothills. A successful siege of the walled city of Segusium followed, and with the victory he ordered his troops to refrain from the usual plundering in order to court favor with the locals. “This is a war to liberate Rome, not to occupy it,” he told them.

The strategy worked. Word of Constantine’s leniency spread to the civilian populace ahead of his advancing legions, and when Maxentius’ garrisons at Turin marched out of the city to engage Constantine’s forces, its citizens barricaded the gates behind them, cutting off any retreat and forcing Maxentius’ soldiers to fight with their backs to the city walls. Their surrender quickly followed. Milan fell in a similar fashion, Parma soon afterwards, and then Modena and Bologna. Rome lay ahead. Constantine knew that Maxentius would defend it to the death. But would he remain in his well-fortified capital and try to repel the invasion from within its walls, or would he lead his army across the Tiber and carry the fight to his enemy?

The answer soon came back from Constantine’s scouts: Maxentius’ forces, significantly larger than Constantine’s, had already advanced their defensive position across the river at the Milvian Bridge and destroyed it behind them, setting in its place a makeshift pontoon bridge out of boats bolted together, over which his troops could retreat if necessary and then quickly disassemble behind them to hinder pursuit. But the decisive battle would be fought on this side of the Tiber.

Constantine dismissed the scouts and gazed up into the brilliant afternoon October sky, pondering his next move. Suddenly he had a strange and captivating vision; etched into the sky just above the sun, he saw clearly the imprint of a cross, the symbol of the Christians. He squinted, shielding his eyes with his forearm, and looked again, as directly as he could bear. Still there! When he closed his eyes the bright image remained, slowly fading but unmistakably emblazoned in shadowy relief against the insides of his eyelids. Opening them, he saw it anew, this time even more distinctly, until the searing sunlight again forced him to look away. Surely this must portend something, he thought—but what? Constantine was no Christian, although he had a measure of respect for the religion and its power over the minds of men; early in his military career he had seen many Christians willingly go to their deaths rather than sacrifice to other gods. His mother and stepmother were both Christian sympathizers, and had occasionally tried to interest him in learning more about the faith, but he had always rebuffed them. Now, he was presented with something he could not dismiss, something full of portent, a sign in need of interpretation.

Constantine summoned his officers and asked if they had seen the celestial cross; none said they had. Despite their quizzical looks, their lack of corroboration did nothing to shake his certainty in what he had witnessed. It puzzled him greatly, distracting his focus from the plan of attack that he and his officers were busily putting together for the following morning.

That night as he slept fitfully in his tent, Constantine received his answer. In a dream, he saw superimposed against each other the Greek letters chi and rho, the first two letters of Christos, and heard a booming voice which he took to be that of Christ himself, saying “In hoc signo vinces”—“By this sign you shall conquer.” The voice commanded him to inscribe the Chi-Rho symbol on his soldiers’ shields before going into battle. Constantine awoke, shaking and in a sweat, but determined to follow the divine instruction.

At dawn he summoned his officers, directing them to do as the dream had commanded, and within the hour hundreds of his soldiers’ shields bore in charcoal the Christogram that came to be known as the Labarum:

As he prepared for battle, and for the first time in his life, Constantine prayed to the Christian God: “Bring me this victory, and henceforth I shall worship none but you!”

By mid morning the two armies were fully engaged, Constantine himself leading one of the cavalry wings, the sign of Christos inscribed on his helmet. Constantine’s troops fought that day with a ferocity that put the defenders on their heels. His cavalry from the flanks and his infantry from the center relentlessly pressed Maxentius’ forces back toward the Tiber, which denied them the room to fall back and regroup, resulting in disorganization that gave the advantage to the invading army. As Maxentius’ cavalry was overwhelmed and his heavy infantry found itself pinned down, panic began to set in—for in destroying the Milvian Bridge, they had hindered their own retreat! Maxentius’ Praetorian Guard fought valiantly to the last man on the banks of the river, while his remaining troops rushed madly onto the pontoon bridge until it collapsed helplessly into the water. Maxentius himself drowned in the Tiber while attempting to escape, unable to swim the current in his heavy armor.

By nightfall what was left of the defending army had surrendered. Constantine’s victory was complete. When Maxentius’ body was found washed up on the river bank the next morning, his head was promptly mounted on a spear, and the victorious army marched into Rome with it that afternoon, a triumphant and elated Constantine leading the procession to the Capitoline Hill. He knew that the Senate was prepared to accept whoever emerged as victor, but the hearty cheers of the throngs of Romans lining the streets eight and ten deep gave him even more certainty that unity and stability would now come to the western empire—his empire.

Constantine kept the solemn bargain he had made prior to battle at the Milvian Bridge; he prayed in fervent thanksgiving to a God he did not know, convinced that he owed his victory to the protection of Christ. Although not then choosing to be baptized, he soon began to study in earnest the religion that had suffered such persecution at the hands of his predecessors.

Six months later he and Licinius, the Emperor of the eastern empire who had made the trip from Nicomedia to Milan in order to marry Constantine’s half-sister Constantina in a display of political unity, would sign the Edict of Milan, extending freedom of worship to Christians everywhere and directing provincial magistrates to restore them their property:

“And accordingly we give you to know that, without regard to any provisos in our former orders to you concerning the Christians, all who choose that religion are to be permitted, freely and absolutely, to remain in it, and not to be disturbed in any ways, or molested. And we thought fit to be thus special in the things committed to your charge, that you might understand that the indulgence which we have granted in matters of religion to the Christians is ample and unconditional; and perceive at the same time that the open and free exercise of their respective religions is granted to all others, as well as to the Christians. For it befits the well-ordered state and the tranquility of our times that each individual be allowed, according to his own choice, to worship the Divinity; and we mean not to derogate aught from the honor due to any religion or its votaries.

“Moreover, with respect to the Christians, we formerly gave certain orders concerning the places appropriated for their religious assemblies; but now we will that all persons who have purchased such places, either from our exchequer or from anyone else, do restore them to the Christians, without money demanded or price claimed, and that this be performed peremptorily and unambiguously; and we will also, that they who have obtained any right to such places by form of gift do forthwith restore them to the Christians: reserving always to such persons, who have either purchased for a price, or gratuitously acquired them, to make application to the judge of the district, if they look on themselves as entitled to any equivalent from our beneficence. All those places are, by your intervention, to be immediately restored to the Christians. And because it appears that, besides the places appropriated to religious worship, the Christians did possess other places, which belonged not to individuals, but to their society in general, that is, to their churches, we comprehend all such within the regulation aforesaid, and we will that you cause them all to be restored to the society or churches, and that without hesitation or controversy: Provided always, that the persons making restitution without a price paid shall be at liberty to seek indemnification from our bounty. In furthering all such things for the benefit of the Christians, you are to use your utmost diligence, to the end that our orders be speedily obeyed, and our gracious purpose in securing the public tranquility promoted.”