Mitchell and Dolores Sloan.
At various significant points, I have relied on the published work and the generous encouragement of Jack Miles, Donald Harmen Akenson, Karen Armstrong, David Noel Freedman, Leonard Shlain and David Rosenberg, each of whom has inspired my own work in important ways.
BOOK ONE
THE GOD THAT FAILED
You have rejected the Lord who is among you, and have troubled him with weeping, saying, “Why, now, came we forth out of Egypt?”
—Moses, Numbers 11:20
BOOK TWO
THE WAR OF GOD AGAINST THE GODS
For although there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth—as indeed there are many “gods” and many “lords”—yet for us there is one God.
—Paul, 1 Corinthians 8:5-6
CHAPTER FIVE
“IN THIS SIGN, CONQUER”
The Curious Encounter of Christ and Constantine in the Struggle for the Roman Crown
What god was it that made you feel that the time had come for the liberation of the city against the advice of men and even against the warning of the auspices?
—Panegyric to Constantine after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge
The remarkable saga of how Christianity rose from a persecuted cult to the state religion of imperial Rome begins with a slightly bawdy tale about a general and an innkeeper’s daughter.
Inns, as it happens, were a feature of the famous system of roads that was one of the greatest achievements of ancient Rome. First constructed to permit the speedy movement of the Roman legions across the vast stretches of the empire, the network of roads was also used by imperial agents, diplomatic couriers and travelers of all kinds—“All roads lead to Rome” is the old aphorism that describes its essential function, and stretches of the ancient roadway can still be seen all over Europe. To serve the needs of those who traveled over the roads by foot or horseback, cart or carriage, a service industry was established in the form of way stations called stabula , where the travelers refreshed themselves with food and drink, spent the night and set out again with fresh mounts.
Innkeepers, then as now, always seek to keep the customers satisfied, and the stabula offered all of the services that a weary traveler demanded—the young women who poured the wine and filled the trenchers surely provided other services, too. And the Roman legionnaires who were the principal users of the roads were their best customers. For that reason, some pagan chroniclers have charged that a Roman soldier by the name of Flavius Valerius Constantius (c. 250-306) availed himself of something more than food and drink when he stopped at a way station on the Roman road and first encountered the publican’s daughter who is known to history as Helena.
The commander’s striking visage, pale and drawn, earned him the nickname Constantius Chlorus—“Constantius the Pale”—and his complexion has been explained by the ancient sources as “a symptom of the intense energy which he put into the struggle for survival and self-advancement,” according to historian John Holland Smith. 1 Constantius demonstrated these qualities in combat against the so-called barbarian tribes that continually threatened the frontiers of the Roman empire, the Franks and the Alemanni, ancestors of the Germans. Although a genealogy was later invented to link him to the oldest and most aristocratic families of old Rome, Constantius is reputed to have been the son of a peasant, born in some Balkan backwater of the Roman empire. Ultimately, it was his exploits in battle, rather than his imaginary family history, that brought him the political clout that sometimes turns common soldiers into emperors.
The lowborn but combat-hardened soldier, in fact, rose to the highest circles of power in the Roman empire, but not before he had taken up with the innkeeper’s daughter, and she had given him a son—the baby boy was named Constantine. Pious historians insist on referring to their union as a marriage, and one overenthusiastic medieval
At various significant points, I have relied on the published work and the generous encouragement of Jack Miles, Donald Harmen Akenson, Karen Armstrong, David Noel Freedman, Leonard Shlain and David Rosenberg, each of whom has inspired my own work in important ways.
BOOK ONE
THE GOD THAT FAILED
You have rejected the Lord who is among you, and have troubled him with weeping, saying, “Why, now, came we forth out of Egypt?”
—Moses, Numbers 11:20
BOOK TWO
THE WAR OF GOD AGAINST THE GODS
For although there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth—as indeed there are many “gods” and many “lords”—yet for us there is one God.
—Paul, 1 Corinthians 8:5-6
CHAPTER FIVE
“IN THIS SIGN, CONQUER”
The Curious Encounter of Christ and Constantine in the Struggle for the Roman Crown
What god was it that made you feel that the time had come for the liberation of the city against the advice of men and even against the warning of the auspices?
—Panegyric to Constantine after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge
The remarkable saga of how Christianity rose from a persecuted cult to the state religion of imperial Rome begins with a slightly bawdy tale about a general and an innkeeper’s daughter.
Inns, as it happens, were a feature of the famous system of roads that was one of the greatest achievements of ancient Rome. First constructed to permit the speedy movement of the Roman legions across the vast stretches of the empire, the network of roads was also used by imperial agents, diplomatic couriers and travelers of all kinds—“All roads lead to Rome” is the old aphorism that describes its essential function, and stretches of the ancient roadway can still be seen all over Europe. To serve the needs of those who traveled over the roads by foot or horseback, cart or carriage, a service industry was established in the form of way stations called stabula , where the travelers refreshed themselves with food and drink, spent the night and set out again with fresh mounts.
Innkeepers, then as now, always seek to keep the customers satisfied, and the stabula offered all of the services that a weary traveler demanded—the young women who poured the wine and filled the trenchers surely provided other services, too. And the Roman legionnaires who were the principal users of the roads were their best customers. For that reason, some pagan chroniclers have charged that a Roman soldier by the name of Flavius Valerius Constantius (c. 250-306) availed himself of something more than food and drink when he stopped at a way station on the Roman road and first encountered the publican’s daughter who is known to history as Helena.
The commander’s striking visage, pale and drawn, earned him the nickname Constantius Chlorus—“Constantius the Pale”—and his complexion has been explained by the ancient sources as “a symptom of the intense energy which he put into the struggle for survival and self-advancement,” according to historian John Holland Smith. 1 Constantius demonstrated these qualities in combat against the so-called barbarian tribes that continually threatened the frontiers of the Roman empire, the Franks and the Alemanni, ancestors of the Germans. Although a genealogy was later invented to link him to the oldest and most aristocratic families of old Rome, Constantius is reputed to have been the son of a peasant, born in some Balkan backwater of the Roman empire. Ultimately, it was his exploits in battle, rather than his imaginary family history, that brought him the political clout that sometimes turns common soldiers into emperors.
The lowborn but combat-hardened soldier, in fact, rose to the highest circles of power in the Roman empire, but not before he had taken up with the innkeeper’s daughter, and she had given him a son—the baby boy was named Constantine. Pious historians insist on referring to their union as a marriage, and one overenthusiastic medieval
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