"The Sun only is my crown, the Sun alone!"
Then he stamped on the acanthus, and lifting his arms skyward repeated
a third time--
"Now, until death, my crown is the Sun!"
The mystery was over. Maximus kissed the initiate. On the face of the
old man as he did so hovered a gleam of strange significance.
While they were retracing their steps through the beech-forest the
Emperor spoke to the enchanter--
"Maximus, I think you are hiding from me some secret deeper yet." He
turned towards the old man his pale face, on which, as was the custom,
the traces of the sacred blood were not yet wiped away.
"What do you wish to know, Julian?"
"What lot shall fall to me?"
"You will conquer."
"And Constantius?"
"Constantius is no more."
"What mean you?"
"Wait! the Sun shall reveal your glory!"
Julian dared not question further. Both men regained the camp in
silence. In Julian's tent a courier from Asia Minor, the tribune
Cintula, stood waiting. He knelt and kissed the edge of the Imperial
paludamentum--
"Glory to the divine Augustus Julian!"
"Do you come with a message from Constantius?"
"Constantius is no more!"
"What say you?"
Julian trembled and threw a glance at Maximus, whose face remained
inscrutable.
"By the will of God," continued Cintula, "your enemy departed this
life in the town of Mopsucrenam, not far from Macellum."
That evening the army assembled on a hill. The death of Constantius
was already made known to them.
Augustus Claudius Flavius Julian took his station on a hillock so that
all the soldiers could see him; crownless, weaponless, unarmoured, and
enswathed head to foot in purple. To conceal the traces of the blood,
which might not be washed off, he had enveloped his head and veiled
his face in the purple silk. In this attire he bore the appearance
rather of a sacrificial priest than of an emperor. Behind him rose the
ruddy forest wrapping the base of Mount Hæmus. Above his head hung,
like a golden banner, the yellow branches of a maple. Far as the eye
could see, the plain of Thrace lay below, crossed by the white marble
pavement of the Roman road stretching victoriously away to the
Propontic Sea. Julian gazed at his army. When the legions moved their
stations, red flashes from the sunset were reflected upon burnished
helmets, breastplates, and eagles; the lances above the cohorts seemed
like lighted tapers. By Julian's side was Maximus, who spoke in
Cæsar's ear--
"Look forth upon this sight of glory! your hour is come! Act now!"
The magician pointed to the Christian banner, the Labarum, with its
crest of the monogram of Christ, the flag made on the pattern of that
fiery standard bearing the inscription, "Through this shalt thou
conquer," which Constantine the Great had seen miraculous in the
heavens.
The troops made no stir. Julian in a clear and solemn voice addressed
them--
"Comrades, our work is finished. Now we will go to Constantinople!
Give thanks to the Olympians, who have given us the victory!"
These words were only heard by the first ranks, but there were
numerous Christians among them. These were roused by the last
startling expression.
"Lord have mercy on us! what is it he says?" cried one.
"Do you see that old man with the white beard?" said another to his
comrade.
"Yes."
"That's the Devil, who, in the body of Maximus the enchanter, is
tempting Cæsar!"