The massive bulk of Diocletian’s palace had restricted Constantine’s view until now. When they rounded it on the way to the barracks, where the legions were quartered, he saw that a number of new and splendid buildings had been erected beyond it against the background of a wooded hill, including an amphitheater for the games which were such an important part of Roman life. Behind the palace too were the quarters of the garrison, including the elite troops of the Imperial Guard.
A similar organization was stationed, Constantine knew, in Rome, the famed Praetorians, who had acted as kingmakers on more than one occasion, assassinating emperors who did not please them and raising up others instead. But with the capital of the Senior Augustus now in the East, the influence of the Praetorians in Rome had waned markedly.
At the gate of the military compound Marios reined in his horse. “It was your father’s wish that I go no farther,” he told Constantine. “But I will see that Diocletian learns you are here. His chamberlain, Plotinus, is an old friend of mine.” He smiled briefly. “After all, we Illyrians have to support each other. Too many toadies from Rome are trying to gain influence here in the East.”
“I shall walk carefully, Uncle Marios,” Constantine promised, “and none of you will be ashamed of me.”
Centurion Dacius
‘I’m sure of that,” Marios told him. “Ask inside for Centurion Dacius and don’t be fooled by his manner; he would give his life for your father. Obey him to the letter, no matter how hard the tasks he puts upon you, and you will one day be worthy of the title of Caesar.”
“Augustus,” Constantine corrected him gravely.
Marios looked deeply into the boy’s eyes for a long moment, then, pleased by what he saw, smiled. “I shall be very much surprised if you don’t one day bear the title! But you will have to earn it. As the son of a Caesar, you will be barred from the normal paths of advancement beyond perhaps the rank of tribune as long as Diocletian is alive. And afterwards, your life may even be in grave danger.”
As he watched the erect military figure of his greatuncle disappear down the street leading away from the palace, Constantine felt a deeper loneliness than he had ever known before. For a moment the urge to retrace the road they had followed from Drep anum, where his mother’s love would confidently protect him as it had all through his childhood, was so great that he had to resist forcibly the impulse to spur the horse away from the forbidding walls of the army barracks. But the impulse lasted only a moment; then, lifting the reins, he urged the horse through the gate.
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