130 - Lost in Transition

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 130, Lost in Transition. When Diocletian and Maximian stepped aside in 305 AD, there was a great deal of hope that their abdication would be merely the first in a long line of voluntary imperial retirements. Going forward, the dream was essentially for future Tetrarchs to rule for ten years as a Caesar, and then for another ten years as an Augustus, before abdicating in favor of their junior colleagues, which would begin the whole cycle over again. The imperial regime would thus be perpetually renewed, perpetually refreshed, and perpetually free of dynastic struggles. The foundation for all of this had been dug and the concrete poured by Diocletian. The challenge now would be getting the cement to set, the challenge that would have to be met by the new set of four Tetrarchs, Galerius, Constantius, Severus, and Maximinus Dia.

That the Tetrarchy would eventually fall apart is perhaps predictable. That it would begin to fall apart after less than a year, however, came as a bit of a surprise. As I mentioned last week, there was tension right from the beginning, internally because the two new Augusti were not exactly best friends, and externally because Constantine and Maxentius had been left out in the cold. I'll leave the former issue for the moment, since the rivalry between Galerius and Constantius is about to become moot anyway, and instead focus on the two imperial sons who had been denied what they believed was their rightful inheritance, because their rivalry with the official Tetrarchy, and then their rivalry with one another, has a long way to go before Constantine will render all rivalries moot.

Marcus Aurelius Valerius Maxentius was born in the late 270s AD, and was the only son of Maximian, who at that time was still just a high-ranking general serving under the Emperor Probus. When Diocletian tapped Maximian to be his fellow Augustus in 285, the expectations for young Maxentius naturally skyrocketed. Diocletian had one daughter and no sons, and Maximian had two daughters and just the one son. The imperial daughters could and would be used to secure dynastic alliances, but Maxentius stood alone as the only blood son of an emperor. That he would become emperor himself one day was therefore practically a foregone conclusion. But as he grew up, Maxentius found himself not really being groomed for much of anything. He received a first-rate education and all that, but in his teenage years, just as previous heir presumptives had begun to receive the honors and assignments that had marked their path to power, Maxentius was instead granted no special favors, and given no extraordinary commands.

With the elevation of Galerius and Constantius in 293, Maxentius' future was clouded still further. There was no hope now that he would directly succeed his father, but that was okay, he was, after all, still young. If the tetrarchy as established was going to continue, then eventually there would be new Caesars appointed when Galerius and Constantius were promoted to full Augusti. That then would be his moment to shine. His marriage to Galerius' daughter certainly fanned the flames of his ambition, as that was exactly how Galerius and Constantius had been brought into the family before they were formally invited to become Caesars. But in 305, now in his mid-twenties and fully ready to fulfill his destiny, Maxentius was instead slapped in the face. He found out along with everyone else that he would not be named Caesar. Instead, two men from outside the family would be elevated in his place.

Some say that Galerius did not like Maxentius, and so used his influence to deny him the prize. But others say that Diocletian was explicitly trying to break the cycle of blood inheritance, and so made it a point to ensure Maxentius and Constantine were kept out. Whatever the reasons, Maxentius went into a slow burn. His counterpart in all this, and soon to be arch-rival in all this, is a man who needs no introduction, which is why it is about time that we introduced him, Constantine the Great.

Flavius Valerius Constantinus was born in the early 270s AD in Moesia, making him just about five years older than Maxentius. However, due to the career arcs of their respective fathers, Constantine's star would trail Maxentius's by a good eight years. With his father constantly away fighting alongside first Aurelian, then Probus, then Diocletian, and then Maximian, Constantine never really developed much of a relationship with his father. Not that they were in any way antagonistic towards each other, just that, you know, they didn't really know each other. As a result, Constantine grew close to his mother Helena, a low-born woman who was either Constantius's wife or mistress, depending on who you talk to.

The teenage Constantine was thus shocked when he was told one day that his father was marrying another woman, Theodora, the daughter of the western emperor Maximian. This turn of events was simultaneously a boon to Constantine and a potential death blow. On the one hand, his father was now the son-in-law of an emperor, and that has to be good news for your career, but on the other hand, any children born of Constantius's new marriage would almost certainly take precedence over the son he had already had with some peasant ex-wife years before. But whatever the new dynastic arrangement, Constantius never came close to disavowing Constantine, and quite the contrary, always declared him his rightful leading heir, doing everything he could to promote the boy's education and career.

When Constantius became Caesar in 293, the now roughly twenty-year-old Constantine was ordered to pack up his bags and head east, where he would join up with the court of Diocletian. For the remainder of the original Tetrarchy's run, Constantine would remain under the watchful eye of the senior Augustus, because, on the one hand, it was important for the son of Caesar to be protected and to learn what imperial life was like, and so on and so on, but on the other hand, well, hostage is such an ugly word. In Nicomedia, Constantine happily entered the social and intellectual circles of the cosmopolitan city, and he furthered his education there, beginning to form the worldview that would come to change the whole world. Beyond his intellectual abilities, Constantine also showed himself to be a ready and able soldier, and in the late 290s, he served on campaigns along the Danube, in Syria, and finally in Galerius' successful war with the Sassanids. By the end of Diocletian's run, it was crystal clear that Constantine was intelligent, personable, athletic, brave, and a natural leader of men, which is either something to be revered or something to be feared, depending on your point of view.

There is no doubt that from Galerius' point of view, Constantine was something to be feared, and as with Maxentius, the incoming Augustus is often blamed for Constantine getting frozen out of the Tetrarchy. But again, it could have just as easily been Diocletian wanting to table the idea of blood succession forever. But whatever Diocletian's wishes, it did not mean that anyone was going to take any of this lying down. The interests of the western half of the original Tetrarchy, for whatever reason, had just been blatantly ignored. If Diocletian and Galerius didn't think that was going to pose problems for them down the road, then they were in for a rude awakening.

Initially, however, there was little the two snubbed princes could do. Constantine was particularly helpless because the court that had been Diocletian's, the one he was presently attached to, was now controlled by Galerius, meaning that the new Augustus held the life of Constantine in his hands. Not only would this stifle whatever seditious ambitions Constantine might be dreaming up, but it would also serve as a convenient check on Constantius' activities. The new Augustus of the West fully understood this fact, and right away he began sending Galerius letters asking that Constantine be released, but Galerius ignored him. Constantine, meanwhile, petitioned the eastern Augustus personally, asking, begging, demanding, imploring that he be allowed to go west and serve with his father.

Legend has it that finally, in the midst of a drinking bout, a fed-up Galerius finally acquiesced and told Constantine he could go do whatever he wanted. Hardly pausing to pack, Constantine allegedly headed west that very night, crippling the horses at each post he passed along the way, convinced that as soon as Galerius sobered up he would realize the mistake he had made and come after the fleeing Constantine. This exciting tale is probably hyperbole, but at its core lay the key truth that Constantine was allowed to leave and that Galerius had blundered in allowing him to leave. All in all, it probably wasn't so bad for Galerius that people thought he was drunk when he made the decision. Better that than for people to think that he had been sober.

Whatever the real story, Constantine, now in his early thirties, arrived in Bologne in the summer of 305 where his father was preparing for a return trip to Britain. Together for the first time, really, a father and son made their way across the English Channel and waged a brief campaign against the Picts, who lived north of Hadrian's Wall. The fighting went well enough for the Romans that in January of 306, Constantius again took the title Britannicus Maximus. But in the background of all this, his ascension to full Augustus, his reunion with his son, his war with the Picts, was the fact that Constantius was a very sick man.

Probably the worst thing that could happen to the fragile Tetrarchy at that point was for an unpredictable illness or accident to take out one of the members before the new team could solidify. But unfortunately, that's exactly what happened. In July of 306, while working up plans for a second campaign against the Picts in York, Constantius suddenly died, leaving a big gaping hole where a solid leg of the Tetrarchic stool had once stood.

The life and career of Constantius is often lost in the confusing shuffle of the Tetrarchy, and when it's not busy being lost, it's busy being overshadowed by the sheer giganticness of his son. But Constantius led a good and noble life, and it ought to be remembered. He brought Britain back into the Empire, he kept the German tribes at bay, he ruled effectively over his territory, and though we don't have polls to confirm it, I would reckon that he was probably the most personally popular of all the Tetrarchs. It doesn't seem fair, then, that he is often listed as, quote, Emperor, merely for the years 305-306, making it look to a casual observer like he was just another transient and forgettable soldier-emperor. I think we should give him full credit for his whole imperial career, and say that Constantius was about 56 years old when he died, and that he helped to rule the Empire, well and good, for just over 13 years.

As is often the case, what happened in the aftermath of Constantius' death has been processed through enough propaganda and counter-propaganda that it's nearly impossible to separate truth from fiction. In the official version, that is, Constantine's version, one of his father's final acts was to recommend to the army that they proclaim Constantine Augustus when he was dead, and that when he died, that's exactly what they did. Other versions say that Constantius took no part in the decision to elevate Constantine, and that the army did it on its own, while still others state flatly that Constantine ambitiously engineered it all himself once his father was out of the way. So again, it's hard to tell what the exact cause and effect was, but the end result was that the troops stationed in York, along with the King of the Alamanni and his men who were present, went ahead and proclaimed Constantine Augustus in July 306 AD. News spread quickly across the west, and in no time, Constantine's claim was recognized throughout Britain and Gaul.

Now I know what you're thinking, and yes, you heard that right. The troops went ahead and named him Augustus, not Caesar. So not only was Constantine being unilaterally inserted into the imperial college, but he was being inserted at the top of the heap. This, as you can imagine, did not go over well with Galerius, his deputy Maxiministia, nor Severus, the man who was in line to actually become Augustus, should Constantius die. It also did not go over too well with Maxentius, who was suddenly in danger of being left behind completely in the now fast-paced world of the post-Diocletian Tetrarchy.

Constantine sent a letter to Galerius informing the Augustus of the East what had happened, swearing that none of this had been his doing, that his troops had nearly forced him at spearpoint to become their leader, so what was he supposed to do? Galerius flew into a rage at this upstart's presumption, not believing for a second that Constantine was somehow an innocent third party in all this. But it was also an impotent rage. There was, maddeningly enough, little reason to doubt that the legions of the West, along with the allied German auxiliaries, were indeed loyal to the son of Constantius. Galerius could fume all he wanted, but he understood that at this point, only a full-scale civil war would be able to dislodge Constantine if the young pretender chose to fight for his claim, and that it would be a civil war whose outcome would not at all be certain.

So after he calmed down, Galerius considered the realities of the situation, and decided to bargain with Constantine instead of fighting with him. He sent back a message saying that Constantine's entrance into the Tetrarchy would be accepted, that it would not be as an Augustus. Instead, Severus would properly receive the promotion that was coming to him, and Constantine would be ratified as the new Caesar of the West. Knowing that his position was strong, but not absolutely so, Constantine accepted the deal. He was playing a long game, and playing it for keeps. The first thing he needed was legitimacy, and that is exactly what Galerius was offering. Everything else would come in its own due time.

Meanwhile, down in Rome, Maxentius stewed unhappily over this development. It was one thing for both he and Constantine to be left out of the Tetrarchy, but with Constantine now in, why was Maxentius still out? It was a question that began to be asked not just within Maxentius' inner circle, but also within the Senate of Rome. Though their reasons for talking about it were a bit different from Maxentius'. Maxentius was reeling from a personal slight. The Senate, on the other hand, was looking for someone to carry them back to relevance. This disgruntled prince in their midst seemed like the perfect guy. So they stoked his resentment, and wondered along with him why noble Maxentius was being treated like a dog. Why they were all now slaves to this Severus, who nobody knew and who nobody really liked. How much better would it be if noble Maxentius combined his power with that of mighty Rome itself? Together, they could seize what was rightfully theirs.

By the autumn of 306, Rome was practically brimming over with revolutionary angst. And when Severus announced a new round of taxes—taxes, remember, that the Italians were not at all used to dealing with—the city exploded. Adding to this outrage, Severus also announced in October that the already much-diminished Praetorian Guard was about to be officially abolished. At this, officers of the Guard went to Maxentius and hailed him as their emperor, asking him to put a stop to the rampant injustices of the tyrant Severus. Maxentius was more than ready to accept the offer. Working with the Roman nobility, he quickly secured the loyalty of southern Italy, Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily, and most of the West African provinces. But unlike his counterpart to the north, Maxentius did not presume to have himself proclaimed either Augustus or Caesar, and instead decided the least antagonistic course of action would be for him to wait for Galerius, now unequivocally the senior emperor, to recognize his claim to power.

But whatever leaps of rationalization Galerius had been able to make when he recognized Constantine, he was unable to make for Maxentius. At least in Constantine's case, one of the four emperors had died, and a spot was vacant. But at present, there was no vacancy in the Tetrarchy, and so there was no room for Maxentius. Plus, Galerius had acquiesced to one pretender already. If he acquiesced to another, then every general in the empire would get it into its head that all you had to do was demand a promotion, and that that pushover Galerius would then be happy to grant your request. So, no dice for Maxentius. Instead, Galerius ordered Severus to crush him.

In early 307, Severus gathered up his army and marched on Rome, fully intending to return to Milan with the young man's head on a spike. But as it turned out, Maxentius was no pushover, and capturing Rome no easy task. This was the first real test of the Aurelian walls, and they performed splendidly. Severus could make no headway, and the Romans were able to fend off his attacks with ease. On top of that, the troops Severus led had just spent the last twenty-odd years serving Maximian, and their true loyalties were not hard to deduce, especially when they began to desert in droves to Maxentius's banner.

It was at this point that Maximian, living a comfortable retirement down in southern Italy, could contain himself no longer. Envoys from the Senate, from the Praetorian Guard, and from his own son, had already asked him to come out of retirement, but he had so far refused to break his oath to Diocletian that he was done with politics. But with Severus besieging Rome, and his old troops defecting to Maxentius, Maximian could stay on the sidelines no longer. He left his villa and headed north.

When word reached the capital that Maximian was on his way, Severus finally recognized that his position was hopeless. He withdrew with the troops he had left, and made for Ravenna, where he planned to regroup. When Maximian entered Rome, he was happily embraced by his son and the aristocracy, who both saw the usefulness of having the ex-Augustus on their side. The old man's first task would be to lead the army north to capture Severus and force him to abdicate, which would open the necessary spot in the Tetrarchy for Galerius to go ahead and insert Maxentius. This Maximian was able to pull off with ease. Severus really was an outsider in Italy. He had no friends and no stable base of power. When Maximian arrived in Ravenna, it was just a matter of time before the city was betrayed into his hands.

So when Maximian got word to Severus that if the western Augustus surrendered himself peacefully that he would be allowed to live, Severus reluctantly turned himself over, seeing no other way out. His mission accomplished, however, a Maximian revealed to the world that it was now dealing with a far less stable Maximian than it had grown accustomed to when Diocletian was around to moderate his vices. Once the Augustus was in hand, Maximian immediately broke the promise he had made and had Severus executed. We don't know exactly how old he was when he died, but Severus had reigned first as Caesar and then as Augustus for just about a year and a half.

Now whether it was the right thing to do is an open question. A good old-fashioned coup usually demands that the old ruler be ruthlessly exterminated, both to prevent him from coming back and to put everyone on notice that you mean business. But in this case, Severus was not the only ruler to be reckoned with, and killing him, especially after having used such a dirty trick to get him in hand, did not exactly make Galerius amenable to Maxentius's demands. Rather, when Galerius heard what had happened, he immediately mustered his own army and marched on Italy. There was going to be hell to pay for the murder of Severus.

Facing a war with Galerius, a war that he had hoped to avoid, Maxentius quickly sent emissaries north to meet and haggle with Constantine. Maxentius hoped to bring him over to his side, but barring that, to at least secure Constantine's neutrality in the coming fight. Constantine, again playing the long game, did not jump at the chance to join with Galerius, and instead his own offer was for neutrality and neutrality only. The price would be a marriage to Maximian's daughter and Maxentius's sister, Fausta. This would not only strengthen his overall claim to power, after all, he would now be directly tied to the Herculean dynasty, but it would also give him future leverage over Maxentius, should he ever need to leverage Maxentius in the future. The deal struck, Constantine was good to his word, and stayed on the sidelines when Galerius arrived in Italy in the summer of 307.

The Eastern Augustus may have been mad as hell and ready to blow Maximian and Maxentius off the face of the earth, but like Severus, he found this to be nearly impossible. Reinforced by all those troops that had been with Severus initially, Maxentius was now in an even stronger position than he had been before, and this time the whole of Italy was with him. As soon as he arrived on the peninsula, Galerius found nearly every city shut to him, munitions stockpiled behind walls, and hostile locals everywhere harassing his scouts and supply lines. Galerius pressed to within sixty miles of Rome, but was so frustrated in his advance that by the time he neared the city he was more than ready to come to some sort of agreement with Maxentius, and he sent envoys to Rome to feel the young man out.

But Maxentius was not as ready to deal as he had once been. He had bested one Augustus already, and it looked a lot like he was going to do it again. So why deal down? Had he not already proven himself to be the strongest of them all? The envoys were sent back with a no deal.

Now just spinning with rage, Galerius found himself in a position similar to Severus. Isolated in enemy territory, his own troops were getting itchy feet, enticed as they were by the lucrative promises Maxentius and his agents had been spreading among them. The eastern Augustus decided that his only course of action would be a humiliating withdrawal from the peninsula, but he refused to leave empty-handed. His men were clamoring for something to match the rewards promised by Maxentius, and so Galerius, maybe just to spite the Italians, let his men off the leash. They ravaged the countryside, burning and pillaging their way north. It may have felt good, and it may have lined their pockets, but if there was one thing that was going to be true from here on out, it was that Galerius, the senior Augustus of the empire, was now a supremely hated man in Italy and in Rome.

So that didn't take too long. Diocletian had retired in May of 305, and by the summer of 307, the Tetrarchy was in shambles. Two Augusti were dead, one at the hands of an ex-Augustus, no less. Constantine had snuck him through the back door, and Maxentius controlled Italy and Africa even though he operated in no legitimate capacity. As Galerius sulked his way back to Nicomedia, he tried to figure out how it had all gone so wrong so fast. He thought he had stacked the deck to his advantage, but when the hand played out, he wound up losing half the empire. It just didn't make sense. The only man he could think of who might be able to make sense of it all, and who could maybe figure out a way to get things back on track, was Diocletian, who had so far refused any invitation to get involved.

Next time, though, Galerius will finally succeed in convincing Diocletian to temporarily give up his cabbages. The old senior Augustus cannot have been happy with the way things had gone since he retired, and I guess he figured that the time had finally come for him to throw his weight behind some kind of settlement that would get the tetrarchy working again. I say next time because, unfortunately, there will be no episode next week, but we will be back in two weeks to cover the imperial summit that will solve all the problems that had cropped up since Diocletian's abdication, and in so doing, create a whole bunch of new ones.