voice commanded him to inscribe the Chi-Rho symbol on his soldiers’ shields before going into battle. Constantine awoke, shaking and in a sweat, but determined to follow the divine instruction.
At dawn he summoned his officers, directing them to do as the dream had commanded, and within the hour hundreds of his soldiers’ shields bore in charcoal the Christogram that came to be known as the Labarum:
As he prepared for battle, and for the first time in his life, Constantine prayed to the Christian God: “Bring me this victory, and henceforth I shall worship none but you!”
By mid morning the two armies were fully engaged, Constantine himself leading one of the cavalry wings, the sign of Christos inscribed on his helmet. Constantine’s troops fought that day with a ferocity that put the defenders on their heels. His cavalry from the flanks and his infantry from the center relentlessly pressed Maxentius’ forces back toward the Tiber, which denied them the room to fall back and regroup, resulting in disorganization that gave the advantage to the invading army. As Maxentius’ cavalry was overwhelmed and his heavy infantry found itself pinned down, panic began to set in—for in destroying the Milvian Bridge, they had hindered their own retreat! Maxentius’ Praetorian Guard fought valiantly to the last man on the banks of the river, while his remaining troops rushed madly onto the pontoon bridge until it collapsed helplessly into the water. Maxentius himself drowned in the Tiber while attempting to escape, unable to swim the current in his heavy armor.
By nightfall what was left of the defending army had surrendered. Constantine’s victory was complete. When Maxentius’ body was found washed up on the river bank the next morning, his head was promptly mounted on a spear, and the victorious army marched into Rome with it that afternoon, a triumphant and elated Constantine leading the procession to the Capitoline Hill. He knew that the Senate was prepared to accept whoever emerged as victor, but the hearty cheers of the throngs of Romans lining the streets eight and ten deep gave him even more certainty that unity and stability would now come to the western empire—his empire.
Constantine kept the solemn bargain he had made prior to battle at the Milvian Bridge; he prayed in fervent thanksgiving to a God he did not know, convinced that he owed his victory to the protection of Christ. Although not then choosing to be baptized, he soon began to study in earnest the religion that had suffered such persecution at the hands of his predecessors.
Six months later he and Licinius, the Emperor of the eastern empire who had made the trip from Nicomedia to Milan in order to marry Constantine’s half-sister Constantina in a display of political unity, would sign the Edict of Milan, extending freedom of worship to Christians everywhere and directing provincial magistrates to restore them their property:
“And accordingly we give you to know that, without regard to any provisos in our former orders to you concerning the Christians, all who choose that religion are to be permitted, freely and absolutely, to remain in it, and not to be disturbed in any ways, or molested. And we thought fit to be thus special in the things committed to your charge, that you might understand that the indulgence which we have granted in matters of religion to the Christians is ample and unconditional; and perceive at the same time that the open and free exercise of their respective religions is granted to all others, as well as to the Christians. For it befits the well-ordered state and the tranquility of our times that each individual be allowed, according to his own choice, to worship the Divinity; and we mean not to derogate aught from the honor due to any religion or its votaries.
“Moreover, with respect to the Christians, we formerly gave certain orders concerning the places appropriated for their religious assemblies; but now we will that all persons who have purchased such places, either from our exchequer or from anyone else, do restore them to the Christians, without money demanded or price claimed, and that this be performed peremptorily and unambiguously; and we will also, that they who have obtained any right to such places by form of gift do forthwith restore them to the Christians: reserving always to such persons, who have either purchased for a price, or gratuitously acquired them, to make application to the judge of the district, if they look on themselves as entitled to any equivalent from our beneficence. All those places are, by your intervention, to be immediately restored to the Christians. And because it appears that, besides the places appropriated to religious worship, the Christians did possess other places, which belonged not to individuals, but to their society in general, that is, to their churches, we comprehend all such within the regulation aforesaid, and we will that you cause them all to be restored to the society or churches, and that without hesitation or controversy: Provided always, that the persons making restitution without a price paid shall be at liberty to seek indemnification from our bounty. In furthering all such things for the benefit of the Christians, you are to use your utmost diligence, to the end that our orders be speedily obeyed, and our gracious purpose in securing the public tranquility promoted.”
Chapter 4
“‘. . . In furthering all such things for the benefit of the Christians, you are to use your utmost diligence, to the end that our orders be speedily obeyed, and our gracious purpose in securing the public tranquility promoted.’”
When Alexander finished reading his just-acquired Greek translation of the Edict to the incredulous priests and deacons gathered before him in the great hall of the Alexandrian library, they could barely contain their exuberance. Cries of praise to God reverberated throughout the euphoric room. Watching them embrace each other, Alexander waited for the excitement to dissipate a bit before holding up his hands, palms outward, signifying that the clergy should restrain themselves and be silent once more.
“My brothers in Christ,” Alexander continued in Coptic with all the passion he could muster, “God has truly shown favor upon his faithful, and it is fitting that we give thanks. I therefore decree that tomorrow shall be a day of prayer and fasting in all of the churches throughout the city. It is regrettable that my predecessor, blessed Achillas, did not live to see this day, for his joy would have been boundless. And mindful of the honor that you have bestowed upon me in choosing me as your bishop, I pledge to all of you that I will work tirelessly to make the most of this opportunity to spread the gospel, now that it may be received and practiced by all without fear of persecution. I pray that each of you will rededicate yourself to the task as well.”
The chorus of solemn amens that rose from the gathering immediately gave way to renewed cheers and celebratory embraces. Even the usually staid Alexander could not suppress a broad grin as he clasped the shoulders and shook the hands of those nearest him. Then, across the noisy room, he spotted Arius, taller than the rest and difficult to miss, wearing the sleeveless tunic of the peripatetic philosophers that had become his trademark. The smile quickly left Alexander’s face. When their eyes met, Arius nodded coolly in acknowledgement, and promptly turned away to resume conversing with his jubilant colleagues. Alexander pressed his way through the boisterous crowd toward the priest, casually acknowledging others as he passed, but with more than a hint of preoccupation.
When he reached Arius, the two men hesitated for a brief awkward moment before embracing without emotion and quickly separating. “Come to my study room, Arius,” the bishop requested. “I would like to have a word with you.” Arius excused himself from the small group that surrounded him and followed dutifully.
Closing the door to the reveling behind them, Alexander sized up his priest with a keen eye, searching for any hint of defiance in his demeanor. The two had been rivals for the bishopric of Alexandria, and although Arius had been a presbyter for only a short time, the wide support he had garnered, a tribute to his charisma and rhetorical skill, had taken Alexander by surprise. In the end, Arius bowed out of the running, to Alexander’s great relief. But the strong following that Arius had garnered so quickly was still viewed by Alexander with suspicion, perhaps even a tinge of jealousy despite his office. This was not lost on Arius.
