The Roman province of Gaul, modern day France, had suffered a particularly severe winter in 334 and for the first time in many years the poor had died on the streets of Ambianum. Some of the most desperate resorted to pleading for help from the garrison of Roman soldiers stationed in the city and this occasionally eased their plight.

On one of these winter’s days the clattering of hoofs on cobbles announced the arrival of a Roman cavalry column at the grey-stoned main gate. This phalanx of heavy horses and their riders made an impressive and intimidating sight. The soldiers who wore silver helmets topped with a cockscomb of red horsehair, were armed with broadswords and wrapped in large flowing cloaks. The troops had just completed a routine and uneventful patrol of the surrounding countryside.

Cold and hungry, the Romans would soon be inside their barracks with its promise of food and warmth. They were in good spirits, but it wasn’t the prospect of these creature comforts causing the jeering and laughter at the head of the column but a sight that should have evoked pity.

Standing by the city gate was an old beggar with long, unkempt hair, a straggly grey beard and wearing so few clothes he was almost naked. His rheumy eyes were wide open, terrified at the prospect of being squeezed to death by the invisible icy hand which was slowly but inexorably forming in the cold air of late afternoon. His weak pleas for help were drowned out by the sound of the horses’ footfall and the taunts of the soldiers.

“Pecunia, uictum, uestitum,” money, food, clothing cried the old man, three Latin words this Gaulish speaker had learnt out of necessity. Almost at the back of the column was the young Martin, an 18-year-old junior cavalry officer who just about heard these three words over the din of clanging armour and jangling equine tack.

He pulled at the reins of his 16-hand sorrel horse. It slid to a halt on the slick paved surface causing the horse to snort and send out two plumes of vapour through its flared nostrils. Martin had a reputation amongst his comrades as a man of charity but on this evening he was carrying neither pecunia nor uictum, yet he desperately wanted to ease the beggar’s hardship.

The only thing he had which would give succour to the old, scantily clad man was his cloak. This was a prized and necessary possession for a cavalry soldier, particularly in this cruel winter. He swiftly lifted the heavily lined garment, unsheathed his sword and cut the cloak in two, handing the bottom half to the beggar. Tears welled up in the eyes of the man as he wrapped this life saving gift around his near naked body. At least now he had a chance of surviving the bitter cold.

Martin smiled at the man when he saw the reaction. It had been a small sacrifice for him but had made the difference between life and death for another human being.

Little did Martin know, but at the precise second the sharp steel blade of his sword cut cleanly through the red woollen cloak, this act of charity would resonate down through 2000 years of history.

This gesture was just one example of Martin’s ever-growing commitment to dedicate his life to Christianity and the service of others. The religion had only been made legal in the Roman Empire in 313, three years before Martin’s birth. Despite the wishes of his parents, who were both heathens, Martin began attending Church. At the age of 10 he became a ‘catechumen’, someone who was being tutored in preparation for a Christian baptism.

His quest to lead a Christian life had started when he was living in Ticinum, now Pavia in Northern Italy, where his father was a tribune in the Roman Imperial Horse Guard. However, Martin’s ambitions were cut short when, at the age of 15 and the son of a senior officer, he was forced to join the Equites Catafractarii, a cavalry unit. Despite being the most heavily armoured soldiers in the Imperial Roman army their role was as much ceremonial as that of front-line combatants. This somewhat eased Martin’s conscientious objection to being in the military.

Although the hot meal and rough wine fermented that autumn had revived their spirits, the long, cold, gruelling patrol had physically drained the soldiers. Martin stored his armour, draped the remaining half of his cloak over his bedding and lowered himself into his body moulding, heather stuffed mattress.

He tossed fitfully in bed, not helped by the discomfort of woody heather stalks sticking in his back. In the twilight time between being awake and asleep he reflected on the incident with the beggar and his more general drift towards Christianity. The tenets of his chosen religion conflicted strongly with his military role and this was something he needed to resolve. His desire to lead a Christian life clashed with his loyalty to the Roman army. His mind was tormented by these thoughts, although he felt in his heart where his destiny should be.

Fatigue finally defeated the young soldier and as he descended into a deep sleep, he experienced the most vivid dream. He saw the image of Jesus Christ wearing the half-cloak he had given to the beggar. Surrounded by angels, he heard Jesus say loudly to them: “Here is Martin, the Roman soldier who is a catechumen, he gave me this cloak.” He then said to Martin “When you gave the cloak to the beggar you effectively clothed me. This is a sign of your humanity and kindness.”

Waking with a start, heart pounding and sweating profusely, Martin realised all the doubts and fears about following Christ had been swept away. It was at that moment he knew with certainty his future life would be in the pursuit of good, and he yearned to be baptised.

Strangely this incidence helped Martin settle into military life. He was regarded as generous to his fellow soldiers and was held in high esteem, and he was not tempted by visits to the brothel or the tavern.

Despite this acceptance of being a soldier Martin felt very isolated as Ambianum was not the most Christian friendly city. It was there only thirty years earlier St Fermin, on a mission to spread the word of Jesus Christ in northern Gaul, was beheaded. St Fermin evangelised his faith from the spot where Amiens Cathedral now stands. The Saint is still remembered in a series of reliefs on the walls of the cathedral describing his martyrdom.

After the death of St Fermin in 303 his followers went underground. The legitimisation of Christianity in the Roman Empire by the Emperors Constantine the Great and Licinius 10 years later allowed the Christians to gradually emerge and form a small commune. It was with these people Martin continued his studies of Christianity. When he was 20, and after an intense period of teaching, he was baptised.

On the day of his baptism Martin and a small party of Christians left the city early in the morning for the short walk to the River Somme. As he knelt naked in the shallow waters by the bank of the river and with special prayers being invoked, cold water was poured over his head. At that moment he felt a great surge of faith flow through his entire body which reaffirmed his unshakeable belief.

Although Martin’s desire was to leave military service, he still had a sense of duty and it would be a long time before he finally became free to follow his vocation. It was during this period of his life he had time to reconcile his faith within himself, one of the most difficult tasks of being a devout Christian.

Faith in itself is an act of trust, it means the maintenance of a strong belief without any evidence and many Christians struggle with this concept. Martin’s divided cloak, which he regarded as a sacred object, as it was an ever-present symbol of this faith. It was his protector and for him a constant reminder of his devotion. The act of clothing the beggar and treating others as equals had earned him the respect of his comrades and in Martin’s mind this was affirmation of his unwavering belief.

Gaining respect for his faith from his fellow soldiers had been one of his most difficult tasks. They were adherents to the mystical religion of Mithras. Open only to males, it had a strong following in the military. Mithras was a Persian God, born from a rock, in carvings he is invariably depicted in the act of tauronomy, killing a bull. This religion had a strong belief in the afterlife and the birthday of Mithras fell on 25 December.

Despite the theological similarities and differences between him and his comrades, Martin continued to explore the mysteries of Christianity and to allow his faith to grow to the point where he was convinced it was his protection from evil.