’"Don’t think yourself Emperor of Britain already,” a fellow shouted.  I knocked him over with the butt of my spear, and explained to these Roman-born Romans that, if there were any further trouble, we should go on with one man short.  And, by the Light of the Sun, I meant it too!  My raw Gauls at Clausentum had never treated me so.

’Then, quietly as a cloud, Maximus rode out of the fern (my Father behind him), and reined up across the road.  He wore the Purple, as though he were already Emperor; his leggings were of white buckskin laced with gold.

’My men dropped like—­like partridges.

’He said nothing for some time, only looked, with his eyes puckered.  Then he crooked his forefinger, and my men walked—­crawled, I mean—­to one side.

’"Stand in the sun, children,” he said, and they formed up on the hard road.

’"What would you have done,” he said to me, “if I had not been here?”

’"I should have killed that man,” I answered.

’"Kill him now,” he said.  “He will not move a limb.”

’"No,” I said.  “You’ve taken my men out of my command.  I should only be your butcher if I killed him now.”  Do you see what I meant?’ Parnesius turned to Dan.

‘Yes,’ said Dan.  ‘It wouldn’t have been fair, somehow.’

‘That was what I thought,’ said Parnesius.  ’But Maximus frowned.  “You’ll never be an Emperor,” he said.  “Not even a General will you be.”

’I was silent, but my Father seemed pleased.

’"I came here to see the last of you,” he said.

’"You have seen it,” said Maximus.  “I shall never need your son any more.  He will live and he will die an officer of a Legion—­and he might have been Prefect of one of my Provinces.  Now eat and drink with us,” he said.  “Your men will wait till you have finished.”

’My miserable thirty stood like wine-skins glistening in the hot sun, and Maximus led us to where his people had set a meal.  Himself he mixed the wine.

’"A year from now,” he said, “you will remember that you have sat with the Emperor of Britain—­and Gaul.”

’"Yes,” said the Pater, “you can drive two mules—­Gaul and Britain.”

’"Five years hence you will remember that you have drunk”—­he passed me the cup and there was blue borage in it—­“with the Emperor of Rome!”

’"No; you can’t drive three mules.  They will tear you in pieces,” said my Father.

’"And you on the Wall, among the heather, will weep because your notion of justice was more to you than the favour of the Emperor of Rome.”

’I sat quite still.  One does not answer a General who wears the Purple.

’"I am not angry with you,” he went on; “I owe too much to your Father——­”

’"You owe me nothing but advice that you never took,” said the Pater.

’”——­to be unjust to any of your family.  Indeed, I say you may make a good Tribune, but, so far as I am concerned, on the Wall you will live, and on the Wall you will die,” said Maximus.