Had he been truly certain of that, what need would he have had to go to Constantinople to ask Maurice for replacement troopers? There were times when George thought he should have become a priest; his mind was made for logic-chopping. As usual at such times, he shook his head. He enjoyed the trade he’d learned from his father. A logical shoemaker might be an uncommon beast, but by no means an unnatural one.

Such musings did not keep him from joining in the applause Victor got. Being a member of the militia himself, he recognized its shortcomings. Professional soldiers were bound to know their craft better than amateurs like himself. The sandals he turned out, after all, were better than the ones rustics made for themselves. Had that not been true, he wouldn’t have been able to feed his wife and children. The way Theodore ate these days, George needed to be good at his trade.

Bishop Eusebius’ face was a study in mixed emotions. He took Victors getting applause almost as a personal affront; his model was his predecessor Ambrose, who had made the Emperor Theodosius do penance for a massacre his men had carried out in the hippodrome of Thessalonica. On the other hand, with Victor and other secular notables departing for Constantinople, Eusebius would be the most important man in Thessalonica for a while. That he liked fine.

Victor said, “I am certain the holy bishop here will pray for the success of my mission and for my safe return.”

“What?” The prefect had succeeded in startling Eusebius. Like George, the bishop must have figured out that much of what Victor said wasn’t worth listening to. Eusebius did recover quickly. “Yes, of course. I shall pray for your safe journey, your success, and your eventual safe return.” Did he place a little extra stress on that eventual? George wasn’t sure.