“What do you mean?” I touched his arm and his other hand covered mine, gripping so tightly I winced with pain. “What did he say to you?”
“Diocletian has had an idea… a way to extend the imperial power equally across the Empire and secure a peaceful succession. He vows that when he and Maximian have reigned for twenty years, they will retire in favour of their Caesars, who will then take the title of Augustus, and appoint two more.”
I stared at him, amazed at the idea that a man would voluntarily give up the supreme power. But it might just work, if all four of the emperors remained loyal to each other. The idea of an empire that was not torn apart by civil wars of succession seemed like some fantasy.
“So he means to appoint two Caesars…” I prompted, when the silence had gone on too long.
Constantius nodded. “For the East, it will be Galerius. He’s another man from Dalmatia, a hard fighter. They call him “the Herdsman” because his father kept cows—” He realized that he was babbling, and paused. “For the West… he wants me.”
It seemed to me that I had known this even before he said it. It was the dream of a lifetime, this gift from the Emperor. Or perhaps it was not a gift, for why was Constantius so unhappy? I looked up into his dear face, permanently reddened by exposure to weather, the flaxen hair fading now to silver and receding from his broad brow. But to me he was still the fair lad I had met in Britannia.
“But there is a price,” he answered the question I could not ask. “He requires that both Galerius and I marry into the imperial families.”
I could feel the colour draining from my face, and reached out to the stone to keep from falling. Constantius had his eyes fixed on the horizon, as if he were afraid to see. I had heard that when a man is severely wounded, he feels first the shock, and only later, the pain. In that pause between the blow and my own agony, I found a moment to pity Constantius, who had had to bear this knowledge all the way from Mediolanum. And I understood now why Crocus had not come to see me. He was a man whose thoughts showed clearly in his face, and I would have read the truth of this disaster in his eyes.
“Galerius will marry Diocletian’s daughter Valeria,” he said tone-lessly. “They want me to take Maximian’s step-daughter Theodora.”
“I didn’t even know he had a step-daughter,” I whispered, and then: “They want you to take her? You mean you have not yet agreed?”
He gave a violent shake of the head. “Not without speaking with you! Even the Emperor could not require that of me. And Maximian remembers you with kindness—he gave me this much reprieve, that I should be allowed to tell you myself, before everything was arranged—” He caught his breath on a sob. “I vowed my heart’s blood to the service of Rome, but not my heart! Not you!” He turned to me at last and gripped my shoulders so hard that the next day I would find bruises there.
I leaned my head against his chest and for a long moment we simply stood, locked together. For more than twenty years my life had revolved around this man; I had wondered sometimes if it was because I had given up so much for him, that I dared not feel any other way. And surely he, with so much more to occupy his mind, must be less dependent on me. But now I realized it was not so. Perhaps because his career had required him to be a creature of mind and will, all his heart was given to me.
“At the end of that river lies the sea,” he murmured against my hair, “and across the sea is Britannia. I could take you there, offer my services to Carausius, and to Hades with the rest of the Empire! I have thought about it as I tried to sleep in the posting-houses on the way home…”