shall need a lot of equipment.”
I looked at Julius Optatus. “Well?” I asked.
He grinned. “It will be an expensive business, sir.”
“I will give you the money. Just get on with it.”
To Quintus, I said, “A good deal of the stores we need have been sent to Gesoriacum to await our coming. I will write to the Dux Belgicae to see that he gives you every assistance.”
He laughed. “You mean you don’t want him taking our supplies. I will see that he accounts for them all.”
The cavalry left on a wet morning at the beginning of the new year and the camp seemed empty without them—empty, certainly, without Quintus.
When summer came I had a surprise visit from the young Constans, who rode in one day with some brother officers. “I came to learn when you would be ready to leave,” he said carelessly.
I was not surprised. They were growing anxious at Eburacum, wondering, perhaps, what my intentions might be now that my legion was raised and partly trained.
“You may see how ready we are,” I said. “You can watch my men to-morrow at exercise. Perhaps now you would care for refreshment and then look over the camp.”
“Of course,” he said insolently. “It is my duty, on behalf of the Dux Britanniarum, to see that the funds of Rome have not been wasted.”
I was tempted to slap him again but restrained myself with an effort. What was Constans to me?
Yet, for all his swagger and his rudeness he seemed to know what he was about, and I could not have made a better or more thorough inspection myself. The next morning he saw the men parade and go through their drill. In the afternoon he watched a field exercise, saw the ballistae fired, saw the cohorts make an attack on a prepared position, and frowned as a signal tower was erected, a defensive ditch dug, and a light bridge thrown across a river by the legion’s engineers. He said little and I wondered what he was thinking. I was soon to know. He came into my office at sundown and leaned idly against a wall while I dictated a letter to my clerk. “Next, to the tribune of the factory at Treverorum. I am returning the armour you have delivered. I need it for use as well as smartness, and this consignment has been so highly burnished that it has lost weight and is, as a result, dangerously thin. A spear will go through it easily, as you will see from the tests we have carried out. Please keep in future to the specifications I laid down in my original orders.”
“I did not realise you were a soldier,” he said, softly. “With a sword like that in his hands a man could aspire to the purple.”
“I gather you approve,” I said.
“My father was wrong. He did not believe you could do it.”
“Neither did you.”
He flushed and rubbed his cheek. “I do not bear malice,” he said, with a flash of his teeth. “I have a good ala. And you need as much cavalry as you can get. I’ve half a mind to join you. I’m sick of Eburacum and those endless patrols along the signal forts, looking for Saxons. When they do come they arrive so half drowned that they don’t even give us a good fight.”
“You forget,” I said, “I might not take you.”
He grinned. “You would,” he said. “You would take any one who was a soldier. I know you now. Why don’t you try for the purple? The men would elect you.” He spoke as though it were a game of some kind.
“And what would you be?”
“Oh, your deputy, of course.”
“I see. Yes, of course.”
“Why not? The province is yours. You could take it like a ripe plum. With a strong army to keep out the Saxons and the rest it could become a rich land again. Yours and mine.”
“But it’s not mine. It’s a part of Rome.”
“Oh, well, if you want more you could have that too. Gaul, Hispania and then the empire. But why bother? They’re too much trouble to hold down. Magnus Maximus, your name-sake, found that out. Why not stick to this island. It would be so easy. Why bother about the rest?”
I
I looked at Julius Optatus. “Well?” I asked.
He grinned. “It will be an expensive business, sir.”
“I will give you the money. Just get on with it.”
To Quintus, I said, “A good deal of the stores we need have been sent to Gesoriacum to await our coming. I will write to the Dux Belgicae to see that he gives you every assistance.”
He laughed. “You mean you don’t want him taking our supplies. I will see that he accounts for them all.”
The cavalry left on a wet morning at the beginning of the new year and the camp seemed empty without them—empty, certainly, without Quintus.
When summer came I had a surprise visit from the young Constans, who rode in one day with some brother officers. “I came to learn when you would be ready to leave,” he said carelessly.
I was not surprised. They were growing anxious at Eburacum, wondering, perhaps, what my intentions might be now that my legion was raised and partly trained.
“You may see how ready we are,” I said. “You can watch my men to-morrow at exercise. Perhaps now you would care for refreshment and then look over the camp.”
“Of course,” he said insolently. “It is my duty, on behalf of the Dux Britanniarum, to see that the funds of Rome have not been wasted.”
I was tempted to slap him again but restrained myself with an effort. What was Constans to me?
Yet, for all his swagger and his rudeness he seemed to know what he was about, and I could not have made a better or more thorough inspection myself. The next morning he saw the men parade and go through their drill. In the afternoon he watched a field exercise, saw the ballistae fired, saw the cohorts make an attack on a prepared position, and frowned as a signal tower was erected, a defensive ditch dug, and a light bridge thrown across a river by the legion’s engineers. He said little and I wondered what he was thinking. I was soon to know. He came into my office at sundown and leaned idly against a wall while I dictated a letter to my clerk. “Next, to the tribune of the factory at Treverorum. I am returning the armour you have delivered. I need it for use as well as smartness, and this consignment has been so highly burnished that it has lost weight and is, as a result, dangerously thin. A spear will go through it easily, as you will see from the tests we have carried out. Please keep in future to the specifications I laid down in my original orders.”
“I did not realise you were a soldier,” he said, softly. “With a sword like that in his hands a man could aspire to the purple.”
“I gather you approve,” I said.
“My father was wrong. He did not believe you could do it.”
“Neither did you.”
He flushed and rubbed his cheek. “I do not bear malice,” he said, with a flash of his teeth. “I have a good ala. And you need as much cavalry as you can get. I’ve half a mind to join you. I’m sick of Eburacum and those endless patrols along the signal forts, looking for Saxons. When they do come they arrive so half drowned that they don’t even give us a good fight.”
“You forget,” I said, “I might not take you.”
He grinned. “You would,” he said. “You would take any one who was a soldier. I know you now. Why don’t you try for the purple? The men would elect you.” He spoke as though it were a game of some kind.
“And what would you be?”
“Oh, your deputy, of course.”
“I see. Yes, of course.”
“Why not? The province is yours. You could take it like a ripe plum. With a strong army to keep out the Saxons and the rest it could become a rich land again. Yours and mine.”
“But it’s not mine. It’s a part of Rome.”
“Oh, well, if you want more you could have that too. Gaul, Hispania and then the empire. But why bother? They’re too much trouble to hold down. Magnus Maximus, your name-sake, found that out. Why not stick to this island. It would be so easy. Why bother about the rest?”
I
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