At Galerius’ word the battered prisoner was halfmarched, half dragged across the cobblestoned square and up the slight elevation upon which the church stood. There he was quickly bound to the post and faggots of dry wood were piled about his feet. A hush fell over the square as the crowd waited for the next act in the drama, but Galerius had no intention of hurrying it. Rising to his feet, he addressed the people.
“You see before you a condemned heretic,” he said, “worshiper of a false god who demands a loyalty greater even than to the Emperor and to the gods of Rome. He has been tried for his crime by me, a magistrate according to Roman law, and found guilty. But Emperor Diocletian is merciful and the flames that consume his body will be a swifter death than the one he deserves, which is to be nailed to a cross until the vultures pluck out his eyes and the flesh begins to drop from his body. Let everyone watch the flames, so any who would follow the false god of the Christians may recant before the patience of our beloved Augustus is tried beyond its limits.”
Galerius paused and swept the square with his eyes, giving his words time to sink into the minds of those who were watching before ordering the next act in this grim drama. A soldier bearing a flaming torch had stepped forward and, when Galerius’ gaze came to rest upon Constantine, the young officer tensed himself, for he knew what was coming next.
Imperial Guard ordered
“I am told that Tribune Constantinus of the Imperial Guard ordered the arrest of this miscreant,” Galerius said. “Let his be the honor of applying the torch that will carry out the sentence of the court.”
For a moment Constantine felt as he had on the bodystrewn battlefield that day east of the Euphrates, with the evidence of a Roman defeat before his eyes and the knowledge that he had possibly led his men into a trap from which they might not escape.
It was a feeling of panic, a powerful impulse to run away, and his muscles actually tensed in readiness, until a familiar voice spoke beside him.
“Galerius is hoping you will draw back,” Dacius warned. “Seize the torch. If your hand doesn’t set the fire, another will.”
The moment of indecision passed as quickly as it had come and Constantine stepped out to meet the soldier. Taking the torch he strode forward to thrust the flaming end deep into the pile of wood, holding it there until the faggots caught fire well and the flames licked up to scorch his hand before he dropped the torch.
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