Valeria's Cross. Kathi MaciasЧитать онлайн книгу.
Valeria shook her head with doubt that she would ever allow herself to be a prisoner of a baby like her friend had become since Babafemi’s arrival. Without Nanu as her constant companion, Valeria complained that the time crept by far more slowly and her longing for Mauritius to return had increased tenfold. Despite attempts by her mother and Eugenia to keep her occupied in lessons and her studies with the monks, plus endless social activities, Valeria moped around the palace so much the older women became worried about her.
As Babafemi grew older, Nanu came around more often, bringing her baby and her nurse with her, but not often enough as far as the emperor’s daughter was concerned. Valeria sulked until Babafemi began to walk and talk, and then she took more of an interest in the boy and grew to love him. Babafemi adored his aunt as well.
Although her relationship with Nanu had changed, Valeria soon became comfortable with the idea of a threesome. Eugenia smiled as Valeria’s conversation was filled with the news of Babafemi’s latest accomplishments, even as Valeria’s studies continued.
General Galerius scowled as he surveyed the battlefield and observed the Theban Legion. He figured that if he could persuade Diocletian to give him Valeria’s hand in marriage, he would divorce his wife, marry the emperor’s daughter, and ultimately succeed Diocletian as emperor. His plan had been infallible until his rival Mauritius had threatened it by first winning Valeria’s heart, and then Prisca’s favor. Now the young captain had won Diocletian’s respect on the battlefield, threatening Galerius’ future.
But Galerius had searched for the Egyptian’s Achilles heal, and he had found it—his allegiance to his God. Galerius kept a close watch on Mauritius when the Theban Legion arrived in Gaul. When Diocletian ordered that the entire Roman Army participate in pagan sacrifices so the gods would turn the battle in their favor, Mauritius, on behalf of the Theban Legion, had refused.
“You must punish them,” Galerius had insisted to Diocletian and his co-emperor, Maximian, the ruler of the Western Roman Empire.
Diocletian was adamant in his response. “I will not risk losing the finest soldiers in the empire.”
Sensing Galerius’ anger, Emperor Maximian stepped between the two men and voiced his opinion. “We need the Theban Legion to win the battle with Gaul. It is impossible to trust the loyalties of the local soldiers. Many of them are fighting against family members, and when there is a choice, a man will choose his brother.”
Galerius was furious but was forced to swallow his anger. After a few days, he reassured himself that this was only a minor setback. His ingenious plan would not only spoil Prisca’s matchmaking attempts but Mauritius’ military future as well. To seal his own fate, Galerius would stop at nothing—even if it meant destroying Mauritius. So Galerius watched and waited for the opportunity.
After weeks of a succession of crushing defeats on the battlefield, Diocletian summoned Galerius and his co-emperor, Maximian, to dine with him in his tent one evening so they could collaborate on their future plans. The last to arrive, a weary Galerius, removed his helmet and handed it to a servant. He reclined on a divan, surrounded by servants, who brought platters of food and decanters of wine for the leaders.
“We have suffered heavy casualties and lost the majority of our battles,” Galerius reported, dipping a hunk of bread into his porridge and stuffing it in his mouth.
“Not all of them are lost,” Maximian added. “Have you heard of the Theban Legion’s victories? They have yet to lose a battle.”
Galerius frowned, folding his arms. “All I know about the Thebans is their constant refusal to participate in the sacrifices.”
Diocletian nodded. “Their fierce allegiance to their God is rivaled only by their expertise as soldiers. Have you observed their military strategies?”
Galerius agreed, “Fine soldiers, indeed, but they have made the gods angry, and I am convinced this is why we are losing so many of our battles.”
Diocletian rubbed his chin. “But the Thebans have been victorious in their confrontations. How do you explain this theory?”
Consumed with jealousy, Galerius preyed upon both Diocletian’s and Maximian’s pagan paranoia. “The Thebans may be winning their battles, but since they arrived, our overall losses have increased tenfold.”
“So what are you saying?” a worried Diocletian asked as he set his wine goblet down on the table. “Their allegiance to their God is obviously working in their favor.”
“Perhaps that is true. Their God may enable them to win the battles, but we are losing ours, because our gods are angry that the Thebans are refusing to join in the pagan sacrifices.”
“Then we must demand their participation in our sacrificial rites,” Maximian insisted, with Diocletian nodding in agreement.
But the following day their discussion was quickly forgotten when the course of the battles abruptly changed direction in favor of the Roman Army. Within weeks they had won the bloody confrontation, defeating the rebels of Burgundy.
The Theban Legion went about the business of resting and refreshing themselves from the arduous campaign, awaiting their discharge orders to return to Egypt. All the army was celebrating in the large city of Octodurum situated on the Rhone River, except Galerius, who brooded in his tent. Time was running out for his plan to succeed, and he feared that Mauritius might rob him of his future.
The Egyptian Christians went to hear the victory speeches and partake of the feasting and revelry—so much as their faith and good conscience would allow. When Baraka entered the inn, where his legion was dining on platters of suckling pigs, beef, mutton, cabbages, and an array of other foods, Mauritius saw him and waved him over to his table.
“My brother, how soon can we leave for Egypt?” Baraka asked.
“Ah, are you so anxious to see my sister that you cannot greet me properly?” Mauritius teased him and stood to his feet. He embraced Baraka and said, “Congratulations on a battle well fought and superbly won. How are you, dear brother?” He held Baraka’s face in his hands and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Exhausted. The Barbarians were fierce competitors, but alas, I am grateful that God has protected us and blessed us with a mighty victory.” Baraka grabbed the goblet in front of Mauritius and drank from it.
“I thought this was wine,” he said, spitting it out. “What is this stuff?”
Mauritius roared with laughter. “Ale, a popular Gallic libation.”
“It’s terrible,” Baraka groused. “Is there any wine around here?”
Mauritius lifted a bottle with one hand and a goblet with the other and filled it with wine. He handed it to his friend and then lifted his ale in a toast. “To our Almighty God, our country, and the women we love.” The men’s goblets clinked.
Baraka soon rubbed his hands together as the wine warmed his insides, and then asked again, “When are we leaving?”
“As soon as we receive our orders.” Mauritius blushed. “I have also requested a private audience with Emperor Diocletian, and I am awaiting his reply. I hope he will see me before our orders are signed and we must depart. Pray for me, brother.”
Baraka grinned and slapped him on the back. “Aye, you are a brave man.”
Mauritius frowned. “You think the emperor will not grant it—his permission for me to marry Valeria?”
Baraka laughed. “Do not look so glum, my brother. I was only joking. Your leadership and the way you fought on that battlefield did not go unnoticed by anyone, including the emperor. He will be honored to have you for his son-in-law. No, he will not refuse you.” He laughed again and winked. “A fine emperor you will make one day!”
“I have no desire to become emperor,” he assured Baraka. “I wish only