’Indeed, they permitted the corn-ships which I sent to the Picts to pass North that season without harm.  Therefore the Picts were well fed that winter, and since they were in some sort my children, I was glad of it.  We had only two thousand men on the Wall, and I wrote many times to Maximus and begged—­prayed—­him to send me only one cohort of my old North British troops.  He could not spare them.  He needed them to win more victories in Gaul.

’Then came news that he had defeated and slain the Emperor Gratian, and thinking he must now be secure, I wrote again for men.  He answered:  “You will learn that I have at last settled accounts with the pup Gratian.  There was no need that he should have died, but he became confused and lost his head, which is a bad thing to befall any Emperor.  Tell your Father I am content to drive two mules only; for unless my old General’s son thinks himself destined to destroy me, I shall rest Emperor of Gaul and Britain, and then you, my two children, will presently get all the men you need.  Just now I can spare none."’

‘What did he mean by his General’s son?’ said Dan.

’He meant Theodosius Emperor of Rome, who was the son of Theodosius the General under whom Maximus had fought in the old Pict War.  The two men never loved each other, and when Gratian made the younger Theodosius Emperor of the East (at least, so I’ve heard), Maximus carried on the war to the second generation.  It was his fate, and it was his fall.  But Theodosius the Emperor is a good man.  As I know.’  Parnesius was silent for a moment and then continued.

’I wrote back to Maximus that, though we had peace on the Wall, I should be happier with a few more men and some new catapults.  He answered:  “You must live a little longer under the shadow of my victories, till I can see what young Theodosius intends.  He may welcome me as a brother-Emperor, or he may be preparing an army.  In either case I cannot spare men just now.”

‘But he was always saying that,’ cried Una.

’It was true.  He did not make excuses; but thanks, as he said, to the news of his victories, we had no trouble on the Wall for a long, long time.  The Picts grew fat as their own sheep among the heather, and as many of my men as lived were well exercised in their weapons.  Yes, the Wall looked strong.  For myself, I knew how weak we were.  I knew that if even a false rumour of any defeat to Maximus broke loose among the Winged Hats, they might come down in earnest, and then—­the Wall must go!  For the Picts I never cared, but in those years I learned something of the strength of the Winged Hats.  They increased their strength every day, but I could not increase my men.  Maximus had emptied Britain behind us, and I felt myself to be a man with a rotten stick standing before a broken fence to turn bulls.

’Thus, my friends, we lived on the Wall, waiting—­waiting—­waiting for the men that Maximus never sent.