The Court in Arles

The amphitheatre would have been eerily silent as the morning sun slowly crept across the stonework were it not for the echoed crashing. Constantine knew he’d have precious time to readjust his position before the sun hampered his visibility. He lunged at the Centurion with his shield, crashing hard into the man who, while having braced to minimise the impact, nonetheless staggered sideward. He staggered into the sunlight. Constantine, now with his back to the light, pressed the advantage and kept the Centurion off guard consistently as he struggled anticipate the direction of the blows. The man gave way at increasing speed, his defence slowly becoming less and less effective with the total loss of the initiative…and then Constantine raised his hand to bring an end to the affair. He had sighted Iovinus awkwardly bobbing his way towards the centre of the arena. Dismissing the Centurion, Constantine intercepted the Prefect. “Iovinus, I pray you have come to tell me that my son has delivered the head of Gerontius?” He should have known that his sullen face suggested differently. “Augustus, Gerontius has defeated your son, who is now besieged in Vienne with the remains of his army and…” A bitter and calculating mood immediately took hold of Constantine’s mind. “And what else, Iovinus?” Iovinus paused briefly to collect himself before half blurting out the news from Italy “Rome…Rome has been sacked, Augustus.” Now a rage took hold of Constantine causing him to adopt a snarl. “Who? Who did this?” Iovinus’ answer that it had been the late Alaric’s Goths was purely academic at this stage. Honorius, Honorius did this…and I…and that Vandal thug, the late Stilicho and…. A new resolve seized control of Constantine as he charged towards the exit of amphitheatre and towards his offices.

From the offices he called his palace, Constantine glanced across the Rhone as is his war council awkwardly shuffled into their seats. Taking a breath, Constantine looked towards the small array of officers and administrators who had gathered around the small table, a map of the Western Empire placed in its centre. “Soldiers, my son is in danger. As we speak, the traitor is placing his lines around Vienne” Constantine made no further comment, instead choosing to watch his council’s mood. Only one of the younger officers decided to break the silence. “Augustus, let us pursue peace with Gerontius, and march on Italy. Our position in Gaul is no longer tenable. With his barbarian allies, we can trap Honorius in Ravenna. Perhaps we could even enlist the aid of the Goth.” Constantine regarded the man scornfully for a moment. “My son is in danger. I’d sooner see Gerontius’ head on a spike! And who else among you would have me march on Italy?” The diverted eyes told Constantine all he needed to know. “I tell you all now that we will not be going anywhere. Gerontius was a brother to all of us. And he betrayed us, he betrayed his brothers and for this he shall die. As for Honorius, he can rot in Ravenna for all I care. Gaul’s poverty and Hispania’s destruction are the products of the same sickness.”

Constantine paused again before continuing. “Today marks the end of a regime the acquiesces to disorder. At this moment, in Ravenna, Honorius LIES to Empire, while he and corrupt senate support hordes of loathsome Germanic warriors! This order in Arles on which you have built, on which we all stand, shall see the world restored! Hence, I declare that Gaul and Italia stand apart. This day shall mark the creation of the Imperium Galliarum. And I, the Emperor of a new Roman order in Gaul.”

There would be no games, there would be no public celebrations. The men of the Imperium Galliarum, from the common solider to the public administrator, would now bend to the task of crushing Gerontius and his allies. The eyes of the war council now turned to Vienne.