The Edge of Water

Constantine entered Augusta Taurinorum not as a marauder splattering blood on marble, but as a man reclaiming ground he had never truly relinquished. There were no wild cheers, no orgy of violence, no looting behind closed doors. Instead, the entry came with a single clipped trumpet call, then silence. The legions filed through the western gate, boots thudding on stone, banners muted against the morning sky. Citizens lined the streets in silence, faces tight with expectation, bracing for the sack that always seemed to follow a Roman victory. Yet the emperor's orders ran ahead of every cohort. Centurions nailed tablets to market walls, crossroads, and temple doors: PILLAGE FORBIDDEN ON PAIN OF DEATH. Grain stores were sealed under imperial sigil, and anyone found breaking the law was marched through the streets, stripped, and sent to labor gangs with their backs marked. The amphorae of oil and wine, untouched, became proof of the new regime.