When Constantine woke up, he was greeted by a slave who scurried out of the tent as if burned. He heard a wail and saw the crypt of his brother next to him. On shaky legs, he stood and scooped up Franconia.

“Hey, baby brother. It is I, your big brother, Tine. Nothing will happen to you,” spoke Constantine to the baby, who quieted down. “Hungry?”

Constantine looked around for the milk in a wine skin that was always kept for Franconia, and he found it hanging by the tent exit. He took it, tasted if it was poisoned, and then brought it slowly to the baby’s lips.

“Here now. Drink so you can become strong and big. Meanwhile, big brother Tine will look after you,” Constantine sat down, his legs being too unstable to support him and his brother both. The tent flap opened and Constantine saw his distressed father.

“Constantine!” Exclaimed Rome upon seeing him, and Constantine attempted to smile, but then his father frowned.

“You talked your way into the battle when you could have died!” Snapped Rome. So, Julius Caesar had let Constantine take the fall for that. So be it.

“I don’t regret my decision, father,” Constantine looked straight in his father’s eyes, not blinking once. He was going to become a nation, and nations were brave.

“What was Beshter teaching you for you to be so reckless? Give me Francis,” Constantine blinked and then looked down at the baby. So, he had a human name now too? Constantine reluctantly stood up and handed Franconia to Rome.

Rome patted the baby’s back and blew a raspberry at him, and then placed him in the crypt again. Then, he opened the tent flap and looked at Constantine expectantly.

“I am sorry, father, but I wish to fight,” as they walked there were many shouts of “Berserker,” coming from the legionaries. Constantine wondered why that was.

“That is your new nickname. Good thinking about the cavalry. Publius Crassus took the idea for his own, but he told me in private that it was yours,” then Rome hit Constantine over the head. “Never pull your non-existent rang over my commanders.”

Constantine rubbed the hit spot and looked around at the now laughing legionaries. He cracked a smile too. It was better to laugh with the rest than to think you are laughed at. Even if you are laughed at.

“So, what is my punishment?” Rome stopped walking and turned to him.

“You will be the nurse maid to your brother. You will feed him, bathe him, clothe him and put him down for naps. While he naps, you will go and be drilled with the legionaries. I think all the pain you are in is punishment enough, even if Caesar doesn’t agree,” Constantine nodded. He should have expected for the commander to be angry at him for pulling rang…when he didn’t have one.

“Beshter tells me you have a friend from the East?” Constantine didn’t like the teasing lilt to Rome’s voice.

“Kyla knows a lot and has been gracious to gift me with some of his knowledge,” said Constantine as his father snickered and murmured, “puppy love.”

“It is not like that!” Protested Constantine, cheeks tinting pink.

“Sure, it is not. He keeps the company of a vampire, sonny. You have a lot in common,” Rome wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Constantine swatted him on the leg. “Just for that, it would be two weeks without desserts.”

The two burst out laughing and Constantine swayed to the side. Then, his father did something that he hadn’t done since Constantine had been about four. He positioned his son on his back and began to carry him around.

“Father, you are embarrassing me in front of the entire legion!” Said Constantine as Rome chuckled.

“You are the future of this legion, Tine,” spoke Rome softly. “The future of the Roman people. Of all of my children, you are the one who is most like me. I pity Kyla Bolgar for all the horns he is going to get.”

Rome turned around and began to walk towards the tent, head held high, despite the snickers that came from all directions. Constantine hid his face in his father’s neck.

“For the last time, father, we are not like that,” Constantine’s mounting mortification was too big to bear. He was losing all the face he had gotten from the battle.

“When you grow up,” continued Rome as if he hadn’t heard his son. “I won’t be there for you. I am sick, Tine. I have gotten too big, and now I don’t have much time left. Perhaps another ten or so years. And no more.”

Constantine looked shell-shocked at that. His father was dying? Why was he on the battlefield then and not home?

“You need a healing spring! A quiet place and physicians! All these dirt and mud will just worsen your state!” Rome shook his head.

“I will not hide in a manse while my people die for me, for my sons,” Constantine gripped his father’s shoulders tighter. This was not happening.

“Julius Caesar will be your first ruler,” spoke Rome with certainty. “Your first Emperor.”

“You have planned this?” Whispered Constantine as his father snorted.

“I can’t leave you with the greatest territory ever without any backing. I have come clean with Caesar. He will make sure you build a name for yourself before I die. I just ask you to keep my name for as long as you can. Bring a golden age to my people. After all of my wars, they deserve it.”

“I promise, father,” Constantine blinked back tears and hugged his father tighter. They entered the tent and Rome placed Constantine down on the furs. “Stay with me?”

“Are you afraid of the dark now, son?” Joked Rome, but he sat down next to his son and scooped him up. He began to sing, a jolly song that he hadn't sung to Constantine since he was but a baby, not that the boy knew it. The two heard a giggle and Constantine smiled. Here, together with his father and baby brother, he wanted to remember this moment.