More than two years after the victory of Argentoratum, when Julian had delivered all Gaul from the barbarians, he received an important letter from the Emperor Constantius.

Each new victory in Gaul had maddened the soul of Constantius, and smitten his vanity to the quick.  He writhed with jealousy, and grew thin and sleepless and sick.  At the same time he sustained defeat after defeat in his own campaign in Asia against the Persians.  Musing, during nights of insomnia, the emperor blamed himself for having let Julian live.

Finally, Constantius decided to rob Julian of his best soldiers, and then, by gradually disarming him, to draw him into his toils and deal him the mortal blow.

With this intention he sent a letter to Julian by the tribune Decensius, commanding him to select the most trusted legions, namely, the Heruli, Batavians, and Celts, and to dispatch them into Asia for the emperor’s own use.  Each remaining legion was also to be deflowered of its three hundred bravest warriors, and Julian’s transport crippled of the pick of the porters and baggage carriers.

Julian at once warned Decensius, and proved to him that rebellion was inevitable among the savage legions raised in Gaul, who would almost certainly prefer to die rather than quit their native soil.  But Decensius took no account of these warnings.

On the departure of the first cohorts, the soldiers, hitherto only restrained by Julian’s stern and wise discipline, became excited and tumultuous.  Savage murmurs ran through the crowd.  The cries came nearer; wild agitation seized the garrison.

“What has happened?” asked a veteran.

“Twenty soldiers have been beaten to death!”

“Twenty!  No; a hundred!”

A legionary, with torn clothes and terrified appearance, rushed into the crowd, shouting, “Comrades, quick to the palace!  Quick!  Julian’s just been beheaded!”

These words kindled the long-smouldering flame.  Everyone began to shout, “Where is the envoy from the Emperor Constantius?”

“Down with the envoy!”

“Down with the emperor!”

Another mob swept by the barracks, calling out, “Glory to the Emperor Julian!  Glory to Augustus Julian!”

Then the cohorts, who had marched out the night before, mutinied, and were soon seen returning.  The crowd grew thicker and thicker, like a raging flood.

“To the palace!  To the palace!” the cry was raised.  “Let us make Julian emperor!  Let us crown him with the diadem!”

Foreseeing the revolt, Julian had not left his quarters nor shown himself to the soldiers, but for two days and two nights had waited for a sign.

The indistinct cries of the mutineers came to him, borne faintly upon the wind.

A servant entered, and announced that an old man from Athens desired to see the Caesar on urgent business.  Julian ran to meet the newcomer; it was the high-priest of the mysteries of Eleusis, whom he had impatiently expected.