“Why not, if Bonar can be brought to terms? After all, Carausius ruled for a while there. If he hadn’t wanted Gaul too, and seized Gesoriacum, he might still be Augustus of Britain.”
Crocus’ words were a striking confirmation of what Fausta had said. And having studied the map of Britain from Dacius’ precious roll during the voyage from Neapolis to Gaul, Constantine was inclined to agree. If he distinguished himself during the coming campaign, Constantius would be quite ready to appoint his eldest son as Caesar of this area and send Severus packing, when the move from Treves to Milan was consummated. And then only a few years might be needed for the whole plan which had seemed so fantastic when Fausta outlined it to come true.
“What about the Germanic tribes north of the Rhine?” he asked Crocus.
“Your father secured that frontier first through treaties with Ascaricus and Regaisus, the two most important and Germanic kings. I suppose you know why this campaign against the Piets is being carried out just now, even though your father’s illness forced us to postpone it until the best season for crossing the channel to Britain is almost gone,”
Galerius
“I can guess,” Constantine said. “If Galerius should try to put Italy under his own rule, our rear and flanks will already have been secured so we can move eastward in force.”
“You’ve come a long way from the boy who came to Nicomedia for training some ten years ago,” his friend said admiringly.
“And so have you.”
“No,” Crocus demurred. “I was a king’s son already, so Galerius could hardly do much to me for fear of stirring up an uprising in Gaul. But even while you were a hostage in Nicomedia for your father’s good behavior here in the West, you managed to become a hero of the legions and take a long stride toward earning the purple cloak of a Caesar for yourself.”
“Now who’s dreaming?” Constantine scoffed.
“I’d wager my kingdom on it.” Crocus was all seriousness now. “And on your becoming Augustus of the West one day.”
“You’re a little late on two counts, Your Majesty,” Dacius said dryly. “The day he came to Nicomedia he’d already decided to rule the Empire alone.”
Crocus gave Constantine a startled look. “Is that true?”
“I was a boy groping for the moon.”
“How is it then that you have already chosen your Empress?” Dacius retorted. “Or should I say she’s chosen you?”
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