“Cross over to Britain with you and help subdue the Piets.” “As my secondincommand? You’ve been kept from your just dues long enough.”
Constantine knew his father well enough to be sure the offer was tendered sincerely. Nevertheless, he did not consider yielding to the temptation to accept.
“If I am advanced over the heads of your regular commanders, it will only breed discord,” he pointed out. “As a tribune, I am entitled to command a legion. Give me one and let me see if I can prove myself.”
The light of approval in both his father’s and Dacius’ eyes told him he had made a wise choice. Constantius struck a small bell on the table beside him and the door opened almost immediately to admit a plump man of middle age, wearing the robe of a scholar.
“This is Eumenius, my magister memoriae,” Constantius said. “My son, Tribune Constantinus and Centurion Dacius.”
“I shall order a sacrifice of thanks to Jupiter for your safe arrival, Tribune,” Eumenius said warmly. “And for yours, Centurion. We have been awaiting your coming with some anxiety.”
Assigning my son to command
“Have an order issued today assigning my son to command the Twentysecond Legion, Eumenius,” Constantius directed the secretary and turned back to his son. “You will like this command. The best of the Gallic horse among the auxiliaries belong to it. I remember that you did well with such troops in Augusta Euphratensia. Dacius will be your aide, of course.”
“It’s time for you to rest, Augustus,” Eumenius said firmly. “I will find quarters for the new commander of the Twentysecond Legion and his aide and return to give you your medicine.”
“It’s a good thing you’re here to protect me from this tyrant,
Flavius,” Constantius said, but from his tone the younger man realized that his father was genuinely fond of the plump secretary. “We will have the evening meal here later and talk about the campaign against the Piets.”
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