By early spring of 312 the cold war with Maxentius was fought with metal no thicker than a thumbnail. In Trier and Rome, rival mints worked day and night, striking the ambitions of two emperors into the world's pocket. Constantine's bright aurei, their high-relief Sol Invictus radiating spears of dawn, crossed the Rhine in merchants' pouches and soldier's purses. Maxentius's dark bronze folles, dull and weighty, clinked through Italian marketplaces beneath the boast CONSERVATOR URBIS SUAE. One coin promised a new sunrise. The other offered only walls.
Constantine studied both at a polished cedar table as Valerius entered with a dossier of fresh intelligence. The emperor rolled a Roman follis between scarred fingers, frowning at the crude strike and the silver wash already flaking from the surface. "He hides behind old stones because he lacks the strength to project power beyond them," he said, voice flat. "What else?"
