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of people vying for the diadem and if I can see how fast our emperor is fading so can they, not least his own discredited nephews.’
    Having been part of the military disgrace of the best of them, Hypatius, Flavius could only nod; the other two, Pompeius and Probus, were held to be so unsuitable for high office as to be a laughing stock, though Flavius silently admitted to himself, as Petrus kept speaking, a serious look on his face, that such things were beyond the comprehension of a mere junior officer.
    ‘There is one courtier who not only aspires to decide on the wearer of the purple but seeks my aid to gain the throne for his man and the price of that aid will, of course, be paid for in consideration for us.’ Seeing Flavius’s eyebrows go up and in conclusion, Petrus added. ‘If my uncle prospers, so will you.’
    To avoid alluding to the evident fact that Petrus cared more for his own advancement than that of himself or perhaps even his own relative, Flavius ask the obvious question. ‘Who is this aspirant?’
    ‘One thing at a time, Flavius. Can I rely on you to aid me?’
    ‘You can rely on me to do anything that will protect your uncle, a man who has shown me nothing but kindness.’
    ‘One day, perhaps,’ Petrus sighed, ‘you will hold me in the same light as that paragon.’
    Tempted to deny the possibility, Flavius just smiled.

C HAPTER T HREE
    T o go from being a fighting soldier to a member of the elite imperial unit required such a degree of change that Flavius, for several days, felt lost. He had been greeted warmly by those he knew from his original induction into the Excubitors, sensing that only a few, as had many on the frontier, resented his connection to their commander. Yet everything in the palace was so different and not just because of the sheer number of functionaries that staffed the various bureaux that ran the empire.
    As a breed these were so very different even from the civilian officials at Dara, having about them a guardedness that even manifested itself in their way of movement. Few came striding through the endless corridors with the confidence their eminence should provide. Most were silent and wary, the worst adopted a sort of slinking way of walking, accompanied by many an over-the-shoulder look as if they feared immediate arrest, which made Flavius wonder how much they were stealing or taking in bribes, these being the methods, and it was no secret, by which such people enriched themselves.
    He had to assume the atmosphere was more troubled than normalgiven the Emperor was fading, albeit lingering by rallying in a way that increased the tension. There would be all sorts of conspiracies and manoeuvres being initiated, alliances made and broken, with many a pledge examined to seek to find if it was true or false. To meet any eye other than that of a fellow soldier was to feel as if one was being weighed as an asset on a set of unknowable scales.
    Who are you, what are your connections, should I acknowledge you or guard against you? That was the commonplace, yet to accompany Petrus down those same pillared corridors was doubly instructive, he obviously being someone whom these functionaries reckoned to either guard against or to seek to impress and he was not slow to relate the reasons why.
    ‘Friends are necessary, enemies more numerous and care is required when the man promising to aid you is secretly preparing to bring you down. It is hard to rise in imperial service, Flavius, and too easy to fall, and when you do there is no bottom.’
    There was a pause as Petrus nodded a greeting to a gorgeously clad fellow passing in the other direction, followed by several slaves carrying baskets of scrolls.
    ‘You are a soldier and like my uncle you take death, even a painful one, to be the risk of your chosen path. Many of those we pass have crawled on their knees or paid out in gold to attain a position at court only to find they are surrounded by others who will embrace them just