Lucius Catullus put a finger on the map. “There is a ruined town here at Dura it’s sometimes called Europos nowadays. I’m sure you can cross there, though you may have to swim a bit.”
“We will turn northwest when we leave here in the morning then and try to learn more about where Galerius’ main force is located.” “You’ll need grain for your horses and men and extra skins for carrying water in that country,” Catullus said. “I will have everything ready for you at dawn.”
“Good,” Constantine told him. “I will see that word of your help here is entered on your record of service.”
“Whoever delivers my eulogy will thank you.” Lucius Catullus’ smile was without mirth. “He will have precious little to go on as it is.”
Two days of hard riding later, Constantine learned what he had been dreading to hear. The Roman army, which had launched what was to be a lightning attack at the heart of the Persian Empire only a few weeks earlier was now in full retreat toward the Euphrates and Antioch. Long before they reached the area of the Roman retreat, columns of smoke rising in the air and vultures wheeling in the morning sky told a graphic story.
Heart of the Persian Empire
Two roads connected Antioch with the heart of the Persian Empire. Galerius had chosen the southern and most direct for his drive into Persia, Constantine and his troop saw when they crossed it east of the Euphrates. The scene of almost indescribable carnage and horror that met their eyes proved beyond doubt that Galerius’ army had passed that way recently, in full retreat.
Baggage and weapons had been cast aside by the fleeing Romans. Banners lay in the dust, often stained with the blood of the men who had carried them. Bodies lay everywhere, many already beginning to decay in the hot sun, bellies distended, skin darkened and flesh tom by the vultures that rose in clouds, when Constantine and his troop rode across what had been the line of retreat.
There was no sign of any fighting, or of the “Stand Till Death” motto of seasoned Roman troops. Only here and there could a Persian body be distinguished by dark skin and strange weapons, for this had obviously been an utter rout under a vicious slashing attack by an enemy who had shown no mercy. Mercifully for the wounded, the throats of most of those who had fallen had been slashed with the deadly Persian scimitar.
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