The cold war with Maxentius was fought with metal no thicker than a thumbnail. By early spring of 312 the mints of Trier and Rome had become rival presses of ideology: Constantine's bright aurei, their high-relief Sol Invictus radiating spears of light, crossed the Rhine in merchants' pouches, while Maxentius's dark bronze folles, heavy and dull, clinked through Italian marketplaces beneath the boast CONSERVATOR URBIS SUAE. One coin promised sunrise; the other, a fortress.
Constantine studied both at a polished cedar table while Valerius set out fresh intelligence. "He hides behind old stones because he lacks the strength to project power beyond them," the emperor observed, rolling a Roman follis between scarred fingers. The strike was crude, the silver wash already flaking. "What else?"
