"I think you're likely right," I answered. "They have to suspect everything and everyone now. If we can keep them afraid instead of bold, we shall win. If you are afraid, you do not deserve to rule."

Yes, I was parroting my father, but his words had struck deep into my soul. Theodore's hard features showed little expression, but I thought he looked on me with approval. And Myakes, who marched along with the rest of the excubitores, beamed and winked at me. He knew my nature: no one better.

When we got to the Forum of Constantine, we found it full of rowdy Anatolian soldiers, many of them so full of wine you could get drunk from their breath. The excubitores, a disciplined band in the midst of these wild men, cleared a path for Theodore and me up to the base of the porphyry column on which stood a great statue of the first Constantine decked in a gilded crown with sun rays spiking out from it as if he were the false god Apollo himself.

"Soldiers of the Empire, hear me!" Theodore shouted, and then, "Soldiers of Constantine, hear me!" That was clever, for it reminded the mob that the present Emperor bore the same name as the one in whose Forum they had gathered. Faster than I had expected, he got something close to quiet.

Into it, he said, "Soldiers of Constantine, I won't take up much of your time. I just want you to remember a few things. Who beat the Arabs? Was it Herakleios? No. Was it Tiberius? No. It was Constantine- the Emperor. Who got the followers of the false prophet to pay us tribute? Who got the Sklavenoi and the Avars and the Lombards and the Franks to pay us tribute? Was it Herakleios? No. Was it Tiberius? No. It was Constantine- the Emperor.