Constantine's northern campaign was a phantom. He marched his legions out of Arelate with great ceremony, heading up the Rhône valley, but he never intended to go as far as the Rhine. He made camp near Lugdunum, a strategic central point, and began a series of grueling but pointless drills, keeping his army sharp, honed, and far from prying eyes. All the while, he waited. He had set the board and baited the trap; now he had only to wait for the serpent to strike.
The first report arrived via a dust-caked rider from one of Valerius's agents near Arelate. The rumor had been planted. A distraught-looking merchant, supposedly just arrived from the north, had spoken in a tavern of a disastrous Frankish ambush and the death of the young Augustus. The story, seeded in fertile ground, was spreading through the city.
Constantine listened, his face impassive, and dismissed the messenger. He continued the day's drills.
