Gravel crunched softly beneath our feet as I led him to the garden and sat down on a bench carved from the local reddish stone. The summer had been a good one, as if the gods were blessing Diocletian’s reign, and the garden was bright with flowers.
But soon enough, they would fade. And in the morning my son would be gone. I had thought to have five years more before I lost Constantine to the army, time enough for Atticus to train his mind, and for me to awaken his soul. Con was tall for his age, his muscles developed by exercise. He would be able to meet whatever physical demends might come.
But he still viewed the world with a child’s rigid convictions regarding right and wrong. Diocletian might well be the most virtuous emperor since Marcus Aurelius, but his court would be a hotbed of intrigue. How could I armour my son against it without myself compromising his innocence?
“Don’t be sad, my mother—”
I had not realized how my face betrayed me. I managed a smile. “How can I not be? You know how much I love you. You are a man, and I knew that you must leave me one day, but this seems very soon.” I was choosing my words carefully, for it would not do to frighten the child, since this separation must be.
“When the letter first came, I was frightened too, but now I want to go,” said Constantine. “But I will not forget you, Mother. I will write to you every week, as surely as the sun shines above!” He lifted a hand as if calling on Apollo to bear witness.
I gazed at him in surprise, for that oath had been spoken with adult sincerity.
“It will not be easy,” I told him. “There will be new things and new people, exciting things to do…”
“I know—” He paused, searching for words. “But kindred are important, and since you have no other children, I must be your whole family.”
My eyes filled with tears. “Would you have liked brothers and sisters?”
Constantine nodded. “When I am a man I want a big family.”
“I am sorry I was not able to provide them,” I said with difficulty. “But I always thought that the purpose for which the gods had put me in this world was to give birth to you.”
His eyes rounded, for I had never spoken of this so explicitly before. “Do you believe that my stars have ordained some great destiny?”
I nodded. “I do. That is why I have been so concerned about your education.”
“Perhaps living at the court of Diocletian will be part of it,” Constantine said soberly.
“Oh, I am sure that it will.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my tone. “But will it be what you need? I had hoped to teach you something of the Mysteries in which I myself was trained when I was young.”
Constantine shook his head. “I do not think I am meant for a priesthood. When I am grown I will enter the army and command troops, or perhaps even a province, in time. I think I would do well at that, don’t you?”
I suppressed a smile. Certainly he did not lack for confidence. I wondered if he, too, saw himself wearing the purple one day. Carinus had been an appalling example of the dangers of gifting a man unprepared for it with imperial power. My son might well be right to think that he could learn much from the Emperor if that was his destiny.
“If you rise high, Constantine, you must never forget that the gods are still above you, and the Theos Hypsistos, the Power that is beyond the gods. You must seek to fulfil their will for the people you rule.”
“I understand that,” he said confidently. “The Emperor watches over his people as a father rules his family.”
I lifted one eyebrow. Apparently the boy had thought about it, and perhaps he had reason. His father had almost become heir to the Empire, after all. Constantine might well dream of an imperial diadem.
“The sun watches over me, just as He does my father.” Constantine patted my shoulder. “Do not be afraid for me.”