Swung at the end of the strapas barbarians swung the spike studded iron balls attached to chains, called matteae, for close fighting the packet of scrolls struck the boy called Trophimus on the wrist, sending the knife spinning through the air. Following up his advantage, Constantine slammed into his opponent with the full weight of his body behind an outthrust shoulder, spinning Trophimus around and sending him crashing to the ground.
Who is next? Constantine taunted the others as, howling with pain, Trophimus scuttled crablike for the open door of the butcher shop, which belonged to his father.
“You, Sisca!” he addressed the boy who had gibed about his relationship with Emperor Claudius Gothicus. “How is it that you are among such as these, when I counted you as my friend?”
Trophimus said we would only make fun of you,” the boy mumbled. “None of us knew he had a knife.”
Constantine was stooping to pick up the knife, when a fat man, his jowls beetling with rage, charged through the door of the butcher shop with a meat cleaver in his hand.
Caught redhanded!” he shouted. “I’ll teach you to attack others with knives.”
Before Constantine could protest his innocence, the shorter of the two onlookers spurred his horse forward, drawing a long dagger such as travelers often wore for protection against thieves.
Drop the cleaver!” the man ordered and, when the butcher did not immediately obey, pricked his beefy neck with the dagger, bringing a howl of pain and rage, but also the release of the cleaver.
‘That boy attacked my son, sir,” the butcher bellowed. “See? He still has the knife in his hand.”
It was your son who drew the knife.” The second man spoke quietly and Constantine turned to look at him for the first time, a sudden look of happiness glowing in his eyes.
Do you give the he to Caesar Constantius?” The man with the dagger gave the butcher another prick.
The butcher spluttered
“That is a lie!” The butcher spluttered. “He still has the Cae ” The butcher goggled at the second rider and, his knees suddenly turning to water, sagged to the ground. “But noble” Hand him the knife, Flavius.” Constantius addressed his son in the same quiet voice. “And also his cleaver.”
Constantine picked up the cleaver and gave the two implements to the butcher, but the man’s fingers were trembling so much that he was barely able to hold them.
“Whose initials are carved in the wood of the handles? Constantius demanded of the butcher.
The man looked down at the wooden handles and the red tide of anger surged once again into his face, replacing the pallor of fear. “They are mine,” he mumbled. But “Your son drew the knife one of your butcher tools, I presume on my son,” Constantius said contemptuously.
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