himself fiercely upon it, but was met by as fierce a resistance.
The walls could not be forced, and yet there was no food in the country
round for his legions. The men were starving and dissatisfied.
What did it matter to them who was Emperor? Maximin was no better than
themselves. Why should they call down the curse of the whole Empire
upon their heads by upholding him? He saw their sullen faces and their
averted eyes, and he knew that the end had come.

That night he sat with his son Verus in his tent, and he spoke softly
and gently as the youth had never heard him speak before. He had spoken
thus in old days with Paullina, the boy's mother; but she had been dead
these many years, and all that was soft and gentle in the big man had
passed away with her. Now her spirit seemed very near him, and his own
was tempered by its presence.

"I would have you go back to the Thracian mountains," he said. "I have
tried both, boy, and I can tell you that there is no pleasure which
power can bring which can equal the breath of the wind and the smell of
the kine upon a summer morning. Against you they have no quarrel.
Why should they mishandle you? Keep far from Rome and the Romans.
Old Eudoxus has money, and to spare. He awaits you with two horses
outside the camp. Make for the valley of the Harpessus, lad. It was
thence that your father came, and there you will find his kin. Buy and
stock a homestead, and keep yourself far from the paths of greatness and
of danger. God keep you, Verus, and send you safe to Thrace."

When his son had kissed his hand and had left him, the Emperor drew his
robe around him and sat long in thought. In his slow brain he revolved
the past--his early peaceful days, his years with Severus, his memories
of Britain, his long campaigns, his strivings and battlings, all leading