The Roman Tinderbox

The silence in Constantine's private study within the Trier palace was heavy, broken only by the crackle of a nearby brazier. Valerius stood patiently, having delivered his momentous news of the turmoil in Rome and Maxentius's ambition. Constantine stared at the map of Italia spread before him, his mind a vortex of cold, rapid calculations. Maxentius. A new piece on the board, a disruptive element that shattered the already fragile Tetrarchic order.

Constantine's inherited memories of Maxentius painted a picture of arrogance and entitlement, but also of a certain popular appeal, especially among the Praetorians his father, Maximian, had once commanded. This was no minor frontier rebellion. This was a direct strike at the heart of the Empire, a challenge to Galerius's entire system.

And a magnificent opportunity, Constantine thought, a predatory gleam in his eyes that Valerius, despite his years of service, found subtly unsettling in one so young.

"So Galerius's taxes have finally set Rome alight," Constantine mused, more to himself than Valerius. "And Maxentius is there to feed the flames, using his father's old name as a shield." "It seems so, Augustus," Valerius confirmed. "Word is the Praetorians are rallying to him quickly." Constantine absorbed this, nodding slowly. "A new player in Italy then. The entire game shifts."

His gaze shifted on the map, from Rome to the territories controlled by Flavius Valerius Severus, Galerius's appointed Augustus of the West. "Severus. He is now caught between my forces here in Gaul and Maxentius in Italy. A most unenviable position."

He summoned Claudius Mamertinus, the acting prefect, and his key military commanders – Crocus, Metellus, and others he had come to trust in the whirlwind days since his acclamation. When they were assembled, he laid out the intelligence. The reactions were varied. Mamertinus, ever the administrator, blanched at the thought of further widespread chaos. Crocus's eyes lit up at the prospect of more war and the potential for shifting alliances. Metellus and the Roman officers listened with grim focus.

"Severus is Galerius's man," Constantine stated, cutting through any potential debate. "His authority in Italy was already tenuous. With Rome in revolt under Maxentius, his position becomes critical. He will be forced to march on Rome to crush this new rebellion, on Galerius's orders."

"And if he succeeds?" Metellus asked.

"If he succeeds, he will be weakened, his legions depleted, and he will still have us to contend with here in Gaul," Constantine replied. "And if he fails…" He let the implication hang in the air. A defeated Severus meant his territories – Italy, Pannonia, Africa – would be ripe for the taking, either by Maxentius or another.

"Galerius will be stretched thin," Constantine continued, his finger tracing the vast expanse of the Eastern Augustus's domain. "He cannot easily intervene in both Italy and Gaul simultaneously, not with the Persian frontier always demanding his attention." This was the core of the opportunity. While his rivals were occupied with each other, he would have precious time.

"Our course, therefore, is clear," he announced, his voice ringing with cold authority. "First, we consolidate our hold on all of Gaul. Messengers will be dispatched immediately to every remaining provincial governor and garrison commander, from the Rhine frontier to the Pyrenees. They will be offered a simple choice: swear allegiance to me and enjoy the stability and rewards of my rule, or be treated as supporters of a crumbling, distant authority and face the consequences." The lesson of Samarobriva would not be lost on them.

"Second, Hispania. My father's homeland, and a source of rich revenues and loyal recruits. Mamertinus, prepare a delegation. We will assert our claim there without delay. I anticipate little resistance once Gaul is firmly ours."

"Third, intelligence," he said, his gaze locking with Valerius. "I want every road into Italy watched. I want to know the strength of Severus's army when he marches on Rome. I want to know the true extent of Maxentius's support. I want to know how quickly Galerius reacts. Knowledge, in this contest, will be as vital as legions."

Crocus shifted. "And what of Maxentius himself, Augustus? An enemy of our enemy?"

Constantine considered this. An alliance was unthinkable – Maxentius was as much a rival as Severus or Galerius. But… "For now, Maxentius serves our purpose by distracting Severus and enraging Galerius. We will send no messages to him. We will offer no aid, nor any provocation. Let the fires in Italy burn. We have our own domain to secure and build."

He looked at the map again, not just at Gaul or Italy, but further east. The seed of a thought, planted long ago in a mind from another future by the study of empires rising and falling, stirred within him. A new capital, a new center of gravity for a reformed Roman world, far from the decaying heart of old Rome… It was a distant, almost alien concept amidst the immediate, brutal realities of civil war, yet it lingered, a cold, guiding star in the vast darkness of his ambition.

"Our immediate future lies here, in the West," Constantine declared, bringing his focus sharply back to the present. "We will forge a new bastion of Roman power from my father's legacy. Let Severus and Maxentius bleed each other in Italy. When the time is right, we will be ready to claim what is ours by right of strength and destiny." His orders were issued with swift precision. Gaul would be brought fully to heel. Hispania would be claimed. And all the while, his eyes would be fixed on the chaos erupting south of the Alps, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The ladder of chaos was before him, and he was already placing his foot on the first rung.