Valeria’s Cross (6 page)

General Galerius scowled as he surveyed the battlefield and observed the Theban Legion. He figured that if he could persuade Diocletian to give him Valeria’s hand in marriage,
he would divorce his wife, marry the emperor’s daughter, and ultimately succeed Diocletian as emperor. His plan had been infallible until his rival Mauritius had threatened it by first winning Valeria’s heart, and then Prisca’s favor. Now the young captain had won Diocletian’s respect on the battlefield, threatening Galerius’ future.

But Galerius had searched for the Egyptian’s Achilles heal, and he had found it—his allegiance to his God. Galerius kept a close watch on Mauritius when the Theban Legion arrived in Gaul. When Diocletian ordered that the entire Roman Army participate in pagan sacrifices so the gods would turn the battle in their favor, Mauritius, on behalf of the Theban Legion, had refused.

“You must punish them,” Galerius had insisted to Diocletian and his co-emperor, Maximian, the ruler of the Western Roman Empire.

Diocletian was adamant in his response. “I will not risk losing the finest soldiers in the empire.”

Sensing Galerius’ anger, Emperor Maximian stepped between the two men and voiced his opinion. “We need the Theban Legion to win the battle with Gaul. It is impossible to trust the loyalties of the local soldiers. Many of them are fighting against family members, and when there is a choice, a man will choose his brother.”

Galerius was furious but was forced to swallow his anger. After a few days, he reassured himself that this was only a minor setback. His ingenious plan would not only spoil Prisca’s matchmaking attempts but Mauritius’ military future as well. To seal his own fate, Galerius would stop at nothing—even if it meant destroying Mauritius. So Galerius watched and waited for the opportunity.

After weeks of a succession of crushing defeats on the battlefield, Diocletian summoned Galerius and his co-emperor,
Maximian, to dine with him in his tent one evening so they could collaborate on their future plans. The last to arrive, a weary Galerius, removed his helmet and handed it to a servant. He reclined on a divan, surrounded by servants, who brought platters of food and decanters of wine for the leaders.

“We have suffered heavy casualties and lost the majority of our battles,” Galerius reported, dipping a hunk of bread into his porridge and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Not all of them are lost,” Maximian added. “Have you heard of the Theban Legion’s victories? They have yet to lose a battle.”

Galerius frowned, folding his arms. “All I know about the Thebans is their constant refusal to participate in the sacrifices.”

Diocletian nodded. “Their fierce allegiance to their God is rivaled only by their expertise as soldiers. Have you observed their military strategies?”

Galerius agreed, “Fine soldiers, indeed, but they have made the gods angry, and I am convinced this is why we are losing so many of our battles.”

Diocletian rubbed his chin. “But the Thebans have been victorious in their confrontations. How do you explain this theory?”

Consumed with jealousy, Galerius preyed upon both Diocletian’s and Maximian’s pagan paranoia. “The Thebans may be winning their battles, but since they arrived, our overall losses have increased tenfold.”

“So what are you saying?” a worried Diocletian asked as he set his wine goblet down on the table. “Their allegiance to their God is obviously working in their favor.”

“Perhaps that is true. Their God may enable them to win the battles, but we are losing ours, because our gods are angry that the Thebans are refusing to join in the pagan sacrifices.”

“Then we must demand their participation in our sacrificial rites,” Maximian insisted, with Diocletian nodding in agreement.

But the following day their discussion was quickly forgotten when the course of the battles abruptly changed direction in favor of the Roman Army. Within weeks they had won the bloody confrontation, defeating the rebels of Burgundy.

The Theban Legion went about the business of resting and refreshing themselves from the arduous campaign, awaiting their discharge orders to return to Egypt. All the army was celebrating in the large city of Octodurum situated on the Rhone River, except Galerius, who brooded in his tent. Time was running out for his plan to succeed, and he feared that Mauritius might rob him of his future.

The Egyptian Christians went to hear the victory speeches and partake of the feasting and revelry—so much as their faith and good conscience would allow. When Baraka entered the inn, where his legion was dining on platters of suckling pigs, beef, mutton, cabbages, and an array of other foods, Mauritius saw him and waved him over to his table.

“My brother, how soon can we leave for Egypt?” Baraka asked.

“Ah, are you so anxious to see my sister that you cannot greet me properly?” Mauritius teased him and stood to his feet. He embraced Baraka and said, “Congratulations on a battle well fought and superbly won. How are you, dear brother?” He held Baraka’s face in his hands and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Exhausted. The Barbarians were fierce competitors, but alas, I am grateful that God has protected us and blessed us with a mighty victory.” Baraka grabbed the goblet in front of Mauritius and drank from it.

“I thought this was wine,” he said, spitting it out. “What is this stuff?”

Mauritius roared with laughter. “Ale, a popular Gallic libation.”

“It’s terrible,” Baraka groused. “Is there any wine around here?”

Mauritius lifted a bottle with one hand and a goblet with the other and filled it with wine. He handed it to his friend and then lifted his ale in a toast. “To our Almighty God, our country, and the women we love.” The men’s goblets clinked.

Baraka soon rubbed his hands together as the wine warmed his insides, and then asked again, “When are we leaving?”

“As soon as we receive our orders.” Mauritius blushed. “I have also requested a private audience with Emperor Diocletian, and I am awaiting his reply. I hope he will see me before our orders are signed and we must depart. Pray for me, brother.”

Baraka grinned and slapped him on the back. “Aye, you are a brave man.”

Mauritius frowned. “You think the emperor will not grant it—his permission for me to marry Valeria?”

Baraka laughed. “Do not look so glum, my brother. I was only joking. Your leadership and the way you fought on that battlefield did not go unnoticed by anyone, including the emperor. He will be honored to have you for his son-in-law. No, he will not refuse you.” He laughed again and winked. “A fine emperor you will make one day!”

“I have no desire to become emperor,” he assured Baraka. “I wish only to marry his daughter. There could be no greater prize in my life than to receive Valeria’s hand in marriage.”

“I will pray for you,” Baraka promised, and then hurried off to find his regiment for the feast.

When Mauritius rejoined his fellow officers, Candidus questioned him. “Is there any truth that Emperor Maximian has ordered the entire army to participate in the pagan rituals tomorrow?”

Mauritius shrugged. “We have not received any orders yet.”

Another commander named Exupernis joined their conversation. “I have heard dreadful rumors that tomorrow’s sacrifices will be human—Gallic Christians.”

“Human sacrifices!” Mauritius winced. “Are you sure?”

Exupernis shook his head. “Let us hope we are not among them.”

“For months the emperors have ignored our refusal to participate in the sacrifices,” another officer commented. “So why would tomorrow be any different?”

“Tomorrow’s rites honor the gods for our hard-won victory, but they are also tantamount to the divinity of the emperors,” Mauritius noted. “With their egos involved, there is no way to predict what can happen.”

“What will we do if the rumors are true?” Exupernis asked.

“We managed to escape the pagan rituals during the conflict,” Candidus reminded them. “Now that we have conquered Gaul, perhaps it will not be an issue. By now they will be drunk on wine and ale. They may not care.”

Mauritius took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, but there is one thing we should consider. As long as the war was ongoing, we were invaluable to the emperors. Now that it is over, they will be unconcerned whether they offend us or not.”

“Then what is our strategy?” Exupernis asked as he stuffed another piece of mutton into his mouth. Before they could finish their conversation, an eerie silence settled over the establishment. All heads turned toward the entrance where
three soldiers and a young man, who appeared to be a messenger, walked through the door. The men searched the dimly lit room until their eyes landed on Mauritius.

Exupernis took a deep breath and sighed. “The orders have arrived.”

“Perhaps it is a message from Emperor Diocletian granting my request to speak with him,” Mauritius hoped aloud. His companions around the table shrugged.

Pushing their way through the crowd, the soldiers stopped directly in front of the Theban leader and stood at attention, waiting. Mauritius nodded his permission for the messenger to speak.

With his eyes aimed slightly above the military leader’s head, the messenger unrolled a papyrus scroll and read the orders. The proclamation was short but clear: Mauritius and his men were not to be spared the required attendance. The Theban Legion was required to attend the rituals.

Mauritius stiffened. He replied without hesitation, “With all due respect, please tell the emperor that the Theban Legion will not attend tomorrow’s ceremonies. Our allegiance is to our God. And while we are loyal Roman soldiers, we will not be present at a ritual where our fallen Christian foes are sacrificed to the gods.”

The messenger paled. “But …” He paused for a brief moment and then regained his composure. “But, sire, you killed many of your Christian brothers in battle. What is the difference?”

Mauritius shook his head. “Aye, it is one thing to kill a brother in war, but to condone their sacrifice to the pagan gods is unconscionable.”

“But … what shall I … tell the emperor? Commander Mauritius, Emperors Diocletian and Maximian have ordered
the whole army to participate in the pagan sacrifice to the gods tomorrow.”

One of the other soldiers who stood beside the messenger suggested, “If you attend, there is a chance that the other officers will not force you to participate. But if you do not obey your orders and report to Octodurum, I fear it will be far worse for you.”

An impatient soldier in the group spoke up. “Report with your troops to the base camp outside Octodurum tomorrow at dawn. Those are your orders. May we take our leave, sire?”

Mauritius granted their leave and then watched the soldiers disappear into the night.

“Perhaps we should go and take our chances,” Candidus suggested.

Shaking his head, Mauritius replied, “We cannot witness such a travesty.”

They returned in silence to their table, and within a few minutes the Thebans’ victory celebration ended.

The men of the Theban Legion returned to their campsite and spent the night in prayer, hoping that tomorrow would not bring a confrontation with the emperors. Mauritius met with his co-leaders, Exupernis and Candidus, around the fire. They concluded their best plan was to withdraw the troops from Octodurum. In the middle of the night, the officers marched the men to Agaunum in southwestern Switzerland, where they made camp.

At daybreak, General Galerius waited and watched. With no sign of the Theban Legion, he was the first to report to the emperors that they were absent from the roll call. Diocletian, who felt a deep respect for the exceptional soldiers, sent orders to the Theban Legions’ camp to return to Octodurum.

Captain Mauritius met the messengers himself. “The Theban Legions’ first allegiance is to our God; our second is to Rome. Nothing will ever reverse our loyalties.”

One of his own soldiers urged the captain, “Sire, please let us go, and perhaps they will ignore our nonparticipation in the rituals, like they have previously.”

One of the other messengers, who was sympathetic to the Christians, suggested, “And if they do force you to make the sacrifices, why not make the sign of the cross like many of the other Christians do, to exonerate yourself?”

Mauritius would not compromise. “We have fought valiantly for Rome; let us worship our God as our reward, as you have the freedom to worship yours.”

Exupernis, who stood at his side, asked the soldiers, “Is there any truth in the rumor that the emperors have offered human sacrifices?”

One of the soldiers hung his head. “Aye. The smell of burning flesh is horrific. Even Gallic children are being thrown in the fire.”

Mauritius and Exupernis exchanged sorrowful looks, each making the sign of the cross.

“What shall we tell the emperors?” another of the soldiers asked.

“Tell them we will not come,” Mauritius declared. “We cannot.”

Throughout the day, Diocletian sent repeated orders, but with each order the Theban Legion respectfully declined.

Incited by both Galerius and his co-emperor, Maximian, Diocletian grew weary at each refusal, and it was not long until his agitation turned to rage. In a fit of anger, he exclaimed to Emperor Maximian, “We will decimate them! We will kill every tenth man.”

After the sacrifices were completed, the trumpets blew, and Emperor Maximian ordered the entire Roman Army to descend upon Agaunum to fulfill the emperor’s declaration of decimation.

Sometime later, as a soldier approached Mauritius to report that their lookout in the mountains had seen the Roman Army headed their way, Mauritius heard the clamor of approaching horses’ hooves in the distance. He called his troops together to pray while they awaited the army.

Never in his wildest dreams had Mauritius imagined it would come to this. Just days ago he had been revered as a conquering hero with hopes of marrying the emperor’s daughter. But when a band of messengers arrived ahead of the army at Aguanum, it was perfectly clear. Now in the distance the Roman soldiers were ready to carry out the orders—the Theban Legion would be decimated.

Mauritius turned his eyes on Candidus. As their gazes locked, Mauritius was sure he saw a glimmer of terror in the eyes of his otherwise fearless warrior-friend.