raised Arian. Who am I to say whether they or their Orthodox rivals, such as you, are living a lie, based solely on semantic subtleties that I find incomprehensible? Half of Africa is Donatist, a type of Christian political party that Constantius has not prohibited, because it is not exactly a heretical view, though it is not Orthodox either; and only the other half of Africa is Orthodox. Should the Emperor tell half his subjects on that continent that they are wrong in their beliefs, and that they should be left to the murderous tendencies of the other half? And these are Christians, Caesarius! With divisions like these among the ruling religion, why would you have me stir up even greater tension by antagonizing the pagans as well, denying them a peaceful sacrifice? There will be plenty of time, when I am Emperor, to tread on toes and consolidate a state religion.'
'When you are Emperor?' I rejoined. 'With all due respect, Julian, you make it sound like a foregone conclusion. Any betting man seeing your situation and comparing it to Constantius' might think you had better spend your time elsewhere.'
Julian's eyes narrowed as he pulled his horse up short. 'I hope you are simply playing the advocate, my friend, and not speaking your true feelings.'
I paused to consider my words, realizing now that I was walking a path as fine as the blade of a dagger.
'I am saying,' I continued cautiously, 'that you should first attend to your immortal soul, and only then to the opinions of others. Don't make me belabor the obvious. No man is immortal, no man can know when his time comes, and if you promote paganism among your troops now, and then fall in battle-'
'And if I don't allow this sacrifice,' he interrupted darkly, 'I may still fall in battle — but by a shot from behind.'
'You exaggerate. These men would follow you to the ends of the earth.'
'You overrate their loyalty. There are currents among the troops which you know nothing about, Caesarius, holed up with your books all day long.'
I gaped at him. 'I holed up with my books!'
'I certainly don't see you training in swordplay and drinking soup with the men every morning.'
'I do not need to drink soldier's broth to know that by encouraging sacrifices you will offend every Christian in the army, and that when you become Emperor, you will offend every Christian in the Empire.'
At my frank words his face flushed and he wheeled his horse, startling my animal into a whinny and blocking me from moving forward. He stared at me sharply.
'I engender far less hatred,' he said coldly, by 'promoting paganism,' as you say — by allowing the harmless worship of Helios and Mithras — than by forcing Christianity, and thereby taking one side or the other in the Orthodoxy dispute. If you are worried about me dying, believe me, this course of action is far more prudent. Haven't you noticed? Christians are much more charitable toward pagans and nonbelievers, whom they hope to convert, than toward sects and heresies within Christianity. Pagans are tolerated. Heretics, however, are killed.'
'You're mad!' I exclaimed, not realizing at the time how presciently I spoke. 'Are you willing to lose your very soul for the sake of some primitive sacrifices to keep a few malcontents in the army from deserting? Julian, listen to me — this is madness! I know about Oribasius' leaflets — this whole campaign is madness!'
'Madness?' His eyes widened in astonishment. 'Then you don't believe, do you? All this is a lark! Madness lies with Constantius, in leading the Empire to the brink of ruin in Persia! That, my friend, is madness! Don't you see how my hand was forced? To you, is the survival of Rome only… secondary?' At my silence, his mouth broke into a thin, mirthless smile, though the rest of his face took on an impassive cast. 'Semel insanivimus omnis,' he intoned.
We have all been mad once.
Without a word, I backed my horse away from his, wheeled, and began trotting away. He paused for a moment in astonishment at my abrupt departure, and then cantered up to my side and again placed his horse directly in front of mine, stopping my progress.
'Caesarius!' he said loudly, his voice having regained the commanding tone he used when ordering his men. He had clearly taken offense at my brusque maneuver. For any other man, such rudeness to a superior officer, a Caesar no less, would have been grounds for demotion, or even dismissal from the service. At that moment, I didn't care.
I stared back at him in calm defiance. My horse stood still, even as Julian's danced and shied, eager to be away. Julian looked at me silently, as if debating with himself how best to judge or punish me for my treatment of him, weighing friendship against duty and protocol. Finally, he found his voice.
'The hecatomb will be lit, Caesarius. And I will be Emperor.' He then galloped off without further word. The matter was over.
I refused to watch the proceedings that afternoon, the very idea of which was repugnant to me, though I could not block from my ears the sounds of the priests, particularly the repulsive Gallic haruspex Aprunculus, as they chanted their infernal cries to the demons, and the men cheering when the omens were read. I was even told later, to my utter disbelief at the time, that Julian himself had participated in the role of a priest, personally slaughtering an ox. The odor of roasting meat wafting through the camp that afternoon rankled me, and at the same time made my mouth water uncontrollably, which rankled me all the more. I prayed to our Lord that He might make it as of a putrid stench in my nostrils, and I rode off alone into the cold and darkness of the surrounding scrub forests for the remainder of the day, out of ear- and noseshot of the offending ceremony.
IV
From the height of the Soucian pass, to which Julian rode every two or three days to check on his troops' placement and the progress of the fortifications, he had a clear view of the preparations being made in the valley below by the enemy. Constantius himself, of course, was nowhere near the vicinity; according to dispatches we read from several of his couriers our scouts had captured, he was still making his lumbering return home from the East after Sapor, the mighty King of Kings, had given up his impending attack on Roman territories without a struggle. The Persian justified the abandonment of his campaign by claiming unfavorable omens. Though not a drop of blood had been shed, nor an inch of territory gained or lost, Constantius had declared a great victory and was now returning to Constantinople in majestic, triumphal procession. From the comfort of his imperial city he planned to deploy all his unbloodied eastern legions to crush his disappointing upstart from Gaul once and for all.
He was reputed to still be as far away as Antioch when the valley below suddenly came alive before our eyes. Within a matter of days after our seizure of the heights, a large contingent of the Emperor's forces, part of the permanent Thracian legions under the command of Count Marcianus, marched leisurely in ominous procession into the head of the valley and halfway up the side of the pass. They set up camp on the bank of a stream, posted sentries almost within shouting distance of our own advance outposts, and began methodically cutting the surrounding timber for fortifications, to prevent us from surprising and overrunning their troops before further reinforcements could arise. The notion of such a thing happening was laughable, of course — even this initial contingent far outnumbered the troops we would ever be able to spare for a surprise attack. The only positive aspect to these preparations that I could see was that the enemy apparently felt us to be much more powerful, and Julian's reputation much more formidable, than was actually the case. Therefore if we were somehow able to strike soon, before the enemy's troops were reinforced, their unwarranted fears might somehow work to our favor.
Julian, however, for the first time in years, was paralyzed by indecision — no, not indecision, for what options did he have from which to decide? The result was the same, however, a lack of action, endless and inconclusive meetings with his military advisers, entire nights of restless pacing through his quarters and among the encampment. Reinforcements were out of the question — the word from our rear was that Jovinus had become hopelessly tied down in northern Italy with various local rebellions and was scrambling to prevent the uprising of the entire countryside at our back. Julian was clearly suffering, though for what it was worth, I made my own peace with him after our earlier dispute. This was no time to be engaging in personal quarrels, and at least my conscience is clear on that score.
Two weeks after the arrival of Count Marcianus' troops in the valley, we noted further activity.
Shouts of drovers and the cracking of whips that could be heard as far as our entrenchments suddenly floated to our ears, and the forward sentries clambered atop rocky outcroppings and craned their necks to see what might be emerging in the valley below us now. At first far in the distance, and then slowly becoming more visible, teams
