Just inside the compound a sentry leaned upon his spear talking to another soldier, but he paid no attention to Constantine until the youth started through the gate. Then the spear was lowered in a quick movement so close to the horse’s nose that the animal reared up and would have thrown his rider, had he not tightened the reins and pressed his knees quickly against the saddle.

Constantine’s first impulse was a quick rush of anger that almost made him leap from the back of the horse to that of the sentry. But recognizing that the soldier’s act was a deliberate exercise by a petty official of the small amount of authority granted him, he checked the impulse in time. Besides, in the week since he’d watched his father ride away from Naissus, he’d learned that much was expected from the son of a Caesar, most of all selfcontrol.

‘Where are you going, peasant?” the sentry demanded. “These are the quarters of the Imperial Guard and forbidden to anyone without authority.”

“I seek Centurion Dacius.”

“For what reason?”

“I bear a message for him.” Constantine removed from the breast of his tunic the small parchment roll upon which Constantius had written a brief letter to the MasteratArms charged with training officer cadets for the Imperial Guard.

“Let me see it.” The sentry reached out to take the scroll but Constantine drew it back, turning it slowly until the heavy waxed seal securing the end of the parchment to the roll came into view.

Constantius Caesar

“The seal of Constantius Caesar!” The soldier who had been talking to the sentry snapped suddenly to a position of attention and spoke from the side of his mouth to his companion. “Some day your impudence will cost you your head, Marcus.”

The butt of the sentry’s spear slammed against the ground at the sight of the seal and the weapon no longer barred Constantine’s passage. You will find the centurion in the second building on your right, ’ he said, his body as rigid as the wooden shaft of the spear.

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