“Are you sure you aren’t spinning daydreams again?” “Centurions run the army and through it the Empire; you should know that by now. I have many friends among the cohorts stationed here in Rome and those that came from Milan with Maximian. They say it is common knowledge that he doesn’t plan to abdicate unless Diocletian forces him to keep his promise but will try to make himself sole Augustus. Your father is already married to Maximian’s stepdaughter and in that way is tied to the family. If you were to marry Fausta, it would be two very strong men against one moderately strong I’ll give Maximian that much and a drunken braggart, Maxentius. You can imagine how long Maximian and Maxentius would last under those circumstances.”
“What do I do then?”
“Obey orders like the soldier you are.”
Into Persian territory
“It was all much simpler when we were riding north into Persian territory,” Constantine said a little wistfully. “Battle is a lot better than politics.”
“True. But success in the first leads to an involvement in the latter.” Dacius shrugged. “Call it destiny, the will of the gods, or whatever you will, the result is always the same. My advice to you is to find another girl, one you can buy, and Rome is the place for it. I’ve never seen such a variety of slaves as they have here.”
“I’m not interested in another woman.”
“Have you told Lady Fausta that you are a widower, with an infant son?”
“Why should that make any difference? The boy is with my mother.”
“Crispus is still your son, just as you are still Constantius’ son and a stumbling block to the dream Maximian has of ruling the whole Empire.”
“Well, I can obviously never become an Augustus with so many forces arrayed against me,” Constantine said with a shrug. “So my son shall not have the same worries I’m having.”
“You aren’t going to try and see the girl again, are you?”
“No. Why?”
“I’d wager Maximian is hoping you will, and give him an excuse to break you. And, of course, Maxentius would like nothing better. Now cheer up and let’s get something to eat.”
But neither Dacius nor Constantine had properly evaluated the stubbornness of Fausta’s will. Barely had they returned from the noontime meal, when the door burst open and the girl herself ran into the room. Her cheeks were aflame, she was breathing quickly, and at first Constantine thought she was weeping. Only when angry words began to pour from her in a torrent, did he realize that rage, not sorrow at his going, had driven her to the unprecedented step of visiting his quarters.
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