Then I rearranged my palla and made my entrance into the dining room.
A strange officer was sitting by the window, positioned where his moulded bronze cuirass would catch the morning sun. At least he had had the courtesy to remove his helmet. I noted the fair hair, worn rather long with a hint of curl, and my view of him doubled suddenly into the image of a stranger and the recognition that this was Constantine. He had opened the window, and was looking out at the birds splashing in the bath I had set up for them in the atrium, and had not heard me come in.
For a moment longer I indulged myself with the sight of him. A long-sleeved tunic of white wool edged with crimson showed beneath the armour, and well-worn breeches of tan suede. In fact the entire outfit, though it was of the best quality, showed the effects of long use. Perhaps Constantine had not intended to show off, but had come to me in his armour because he had nothing else decent to wear. But I must, I thought then, allow him his pride.
“Uniform becomes you, my son,” I said softly.
He turned swiftly and jumped to his feet, surprise changing swiftly to joy that lit his face as if the sun had risen in the room. In the next moment I was being crushed in a hard embrace, held away so that he could look into my face, and hugged again.
“I trust that cuirass is more comfortable from the inside.” I smiled ruefully when he let me go, rubbing my flesh where the edges of the armour had dug in.
“One becomes accustomed,” he said absently, still holding my hand. After a moment I felt myself flushing beneath that intense gaze. “Oh, my mother, do you know how often I have dreamed of this day? And you have not changed at all!”
That was not so, I thought, smiling back at him. Was the image he had of me so strong that he could not see what I looked like, or was it that most of my changes were inside?
“Sit down, and let Brasilia bring in the breakfast she has been cooking for you,” I said at last. “What are you doing here, and how long can you stay?”
“One day only,” he said, answering the last question as he sat down. The chair creaked beneath his weight, for he had grown as tall and big-boned as my own father, everything about him just a little larger and more solid than other men. Surely, I thought with satisfaction, watching him, he is worthy to be the Child of Prophecy!
“Father gave me special permission to land here instead of at Eburacum, and tomorrow I must be on my way north to rejoin my legion. The Picts will not wait on my pleasure.”
I felt my heart pound suddenly in my breast. Constantius was in Britannia! I suppose I should have expected it. After several years of peace, the wild tribes of the north were trying once more to break the border, and in several places they had overwhelmed the troops stationed on the Wall. It was the responsibility of the ruler of the West to defend Britannia.
I shook my head, trying to deny the sudden, traitorous wish that Constantius had come with his son to Londinium.
“But how do you come to be here at all? I thought you were serving in the East with Galerius—”
Constantine’s face grew dark, but clearly, he had learned to control his temper. If he had not, I told myself, no doubt he would not have lived long enough to be sitting in my dining room now.
“Oh, I was,” he said grimly. “I was on that dreadful march across the plain east of Carrhae, the one that killed Crassus and ten legions two hundred years ago. Scarcely a tithe of our men made it home again from that campaign. I was surprised Galerius himself survived Diocletian’s wrath when we reached Antiochia—did you know he had to walk for a mile behind Diocletian’s chariot?”
I shook my head. I was glad now that I had not even known my son was involved in that disaster.