While they were retracing their steps through the beech-forest the Emperor spoke to the enchanter—
"Maximus, I think you are hiding from me some secret deeper yet." He turned towards the old man his pale face, on which, as was the custom, the traces of the sacred blood were not yet wiped away.
"What do you wish to know, Julian?"
"What lot shall fall to me?"
"You will conquer."
"And Constantius?"
"Constantius is no more."
"What mean you?"
"Wait! the Sun shall reveal your glory!"
Julian dared not question further. Both men regained the camp in silence. In Julian's tent a courier from Asia Minor, the tribune Cintula, stood waiting. He knelt and kissed the edge of the Imperial paludamentum—