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Necessary to his prestige

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JUSTICE FOR SALE

Everything was done the wrong way, and of the old customs none remained; a few instances will illustrate, and the rest must be silence, that this book may have an end. In the first place, Justinian, having no natural aptitude toward the imperial dignity, neither assumed the royal manner nor thought it necessary to his prestige. In his accent, in his dress, and in his ideas he was a barbarian. When he wished to issue a decree, he did not give it out through the Quaestor’s office, as is usual, but most frequently preferred to announce it himself, in spite of his barbarous accent; or sometimes he had a whole group of his intimates publish it together, so that those who were wronged by the edict did not know which one to complain against.

The secretaries who had performed this duty for centuries were no longer trusted with writing the Emperor’s secret dispatches: he wrote them himself and practically everything else, too; so that in the few cases where he neglected to give instructions to city magistrates, they did not know where to go for advice concerning their duties. For he let no one in the Roman Empire decide anything independently, but taking everything upon himself with senseless arrogance, gave the verdict in cases before they came to trial, accepting the story of one of the litigants without listening to the other, and then pronounced the argument concluded; swayed not by any law or justice, but openly yielding to base greed. In accepting bribes the Emperor felt no shame, since hunger for wealth had devoured his decency.

Often the decrees of the Senate and those of the Emperor nominally conflicted. The Senate, however, sat only for pictorial effect, with no power to vote or do anything. It was assembled as a matter of form, to comply with the ancient law, and none of its members was permitted to utter a single word. The Emperor and his Consort took upon themselves the decisions of all matters in dispute, and their will of course prevailed. And if anybody thought his victory in such a case was insecure because it was illegal, he had only to give the Emperor more money, and a new law would immediately be passed revoking the former one. And if anybody else preferred the law that had been repealed, the ruler was quite willing to reestablish it in the same manner.

Under this reign of violence nothing was stable, but the balance of justice revolved in a circle, inclining to whichever side was able to weight it with the heavier amount of gold. Publicly in the Forum, and under the management of palace officials, the selling of court decisions and legislative actions was carried on.

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Military gear the slave shortly

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The cubicula assigned to Constantine was barely large enough to contain a sleeping pallet which could be rolled up in the daytime, enlarging the living space somewhat and the military gear the slave shortly brought him. Pegs had been set into the walls upon which to hang the gear and a closet at one side afforded room for the clothing he had brought. A basin of earthenware stood upon a table in the comer, and beside it a bucket in which water could be carried from a nearby fountain filled by a pipe connected to the aqueduct bringing water into Nicomedia from a lake in the hills.

Constantine had no illusions about the program upon which he was embarking. At the age of seventeen, strong and healthy Roman youths undertook an obligation for military service which they bore with time out, in periods of peace until they were sixty. The last fifteen years of service were usually devoted to garrison duty, though not always in the neighborhood of their homes. Campaigns in the north were largely carried out in summer, so a soldier was often at home during the cold weather and obliged to fend for himself.

Outer garment by day and blanket by night

As an officer candidate, or cadet, Constantine could look forward to a somewhat less rigorous life than the common soldier, if he won his commission at the end of the training period. Once commissioned, he would have his own servant and sleep in a tent during campaigns, while the common soldier merely rolled up under a shelter of boughs, if he were lucky, in the heavy cloak that was both outer garment by day and blanket by night. But commissioned or not, he would share the food of the legions, unless he was fortunate enough to have private funds for purchasing something better. And even though an officer, he could not escape the rigors of a campaign and the dangers of battle.

Since he had learned to walk, Constantine had followed the routine prescribed by custom for young Romans, with emphasis upon running, jumping, climbing, and swimming. In Naissus, these activities had largely been pursued in friendly competition with his fellows, both in school and out. But now that he was enrolled for actual military training, he knew the program would be far more rigorous.

His initial military equipment was much less, however, than the some seventyfive pounds of weight carried by a soldier on the march, consisting of weapons, axe, spade, shield, armor, helmet, scythe, cooking pot, rations for a week or longer, and two stout palisades, or sharpened staves. The latter not only formed part of the framework upon which the pack was carried but were also used in building breastworks and other fortifications, as well as setting up a wall of wood around a night’s encampment.

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Penetrating gray eyes of the Master at Arms

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Centurion Dacius was seated behind a table in a room at the end of the long barracks building. His skin was burned to a leathery hue by the sun and wind, his hair was an iron gray, and his craggy face was scarred from the wounds of a hundred campaigns. When Constantine stood before him, the boy felt his very soul was being probed and appraised by the penetrating gray eyes of the Master at Arms. He met the scrutiny silently, however, and finally Dacius unrolled the scroll and began to read it slowly, his lips moving silently as they formed the words. Letters were not the grizzled officers strong point, Constantine decided, and felt an immediate kinship of spirit, for neither were they his.

“So you are Constantius’ get,” Dacius said at last. “He and I fought together in many a campaign, but now that he is a Caesar, I suppose you expect me to prostrate myself before you and crown you with the plumed helmet of a tribune.”

My father sent me here to learn to be a soldier. I want nothing I cannot earn for myself.”

Spoken like Constantius’ son,” Dacius approved. “But still not quite the truth. You were sent here because Caesar Galerius persuaded the Emperor that a hostage is needed to keep Constantius from proclaiming himself an Augustus as soon as he gets to Treves in Gaul. The legions already know your father is the greatest soldier in the service of the Empire.”

“I hope to be his equal, sir.”

Dacius studied him again for a long moment without speaking. “You may be. We shall see. Flavius Valerius Severus commands the Imperial Guard, and the cadets, at the moment. You will find him fair, but he is a close friend of Galerius, who is also the Emperor’s soninlaw, so you’ll get no favors here. A wintry smile showed briefly on his weatherbeaten face. “But a true son of Constantius Chlorus should not need them. How did you come to Nicomedia?”

“On horseback.”

“Then at least you can ride. Did you use the Imperial Post? The seal on this scroll would have entitled you to it.

“I we rode our own horses.”

“I’ll have your mount sent to the stables of your Uncle Marios, Dacius told him. “The Persian curved sword that crippled him cost Rome a fine officer, but very likely did him a favor. No soldier ever got rich, unless he was a general.”

He shouted an order and a slave wearing a short tunic of rough homespun appeared in the doorway.

Flavius Valerius Constantinus

“Find Cadet Flavius Valerius Constantinus a cubicle, a sleeping pallet, and some gear,” Dacius ordered, and turned again to Constantine. “Your training will begin tomorrow; the exercises are finished for the day.” The wintry smile appeared again momentarily. “May Jupiter give you luck. My guess is that you’ll need it.

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No attention to Constantine

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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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