As a cadet, his equipment consisted of a pair of rough tunics for training and a supply of loin cloths and cotton shirts as undergarments, leaving his own clothing for wear otherwise. Heavy sandals with wooden soles were provided as foot gear, while a round helmet sufficed to ward off blows on the head during sham battles. A small training shield, the inevitable short and rather dull sword, and a stout staff which would later be replaced by a spear, when he became more skilled in its use completed the list.
He was wondering how long it would be before the evening meal, when a somewhat stocky young man of, Constantine estimated, perhaps twentyfive stepped through the open doorway into the room without announcement, a custom which he was to learn prevailed throughout the barracks. The newcomer wore the insignia of a decurion and his tunic was of a beautifully woven rich material, much more colorful than the usual garb of a young officer of that rank.
“I am Crocus, from Noviomagus,” he announced.
“In Gaul?” Constantine exclaimed.
“My father is king of a province bordering on the Rhine frontier.” Crocus grinned. “Did you expect a Gaul to have horns and a tail, like the Christian devil?”
“I’m sorry.” Constantine was attracted to Crocus at once for there was an easy naturalness about him that seemed to invite friendship. “My name is Flavius Valerius Constantinus.”
“So Dacius told me. I’m sure half of those who aspire to high place in the army and the Empire are named either Flavius or Valerius, so you have a head start.”
“Are you a cadet?” Constantine asked.
Persuaded General Severus
Crocus shook his head. “Few of the officers commanding even the Gallic legions are from Gaul. My father sent me here for training, but when Dacius discovered I am part horse, he persuaded General Severus to make me the instructor in riding and cavalry tactics. Four of us will share the services of a slave here in the barracks, but I only get the same consideration as the cadets because my father is a king and our mounted troops the best in the Empire.”
“You spoke of four. Who are the others?”
“A couple of Caesar cubs: Maxentius, the son of Emperor Maxim ian, and Maximin Daia, a nephew of Caesar Galerius from somewhere in the East.” Crocus’ eyes widened suddenly and he clapped his hand to his mouth with such a look of comical horror that Constantine burst out laughing.
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