"May God help you! May God help you!" he blubbered. "You alone have stood my friend--you and Constantia!"
"I hope that you'll save your skin, brother. You can wear a mask and keep your own counsel; I have always envied you that. May God succour you!"
Julian sincerely pitied his brother; he knew that he would not escape Constantius.
On the following morning Gallus left Constantinople with his former escort. At Adrianople he was only permitted to retain ten small chariots, and had to relinquish all his personal suite and baggage. The autumn was far advanced, the roads in fearful condition, rain falling continuously all day for a week. Peremptory messages reached Gallus to hurry on. He was given no time to rest or sleep, and had taken no bath for a fortnight.
One of his keenest discomforts was horror at close contact with dirt. All his life he had taken peculiar care to keep his body healthy and exquisitely groomed. It was with profound melancholy that he gazed at his uncut nails, and the purple of his travelling chlamys, befouled by dust and muddy roads. Scuda never quitted his side for an instant, and Gallus, not without reason, dreaded his assiduous companion. The tribune, years ago, had come as bearer of a despatch from the Emperor, and was but newly arrived in Antioch, when by an impudent remark he had offended Constantia, the wife of Gallus, who straightway in a fit of fury had ordered the Roman tribune to be flogged and afterwards thrown, like a slave, into a dungeon.
Foreseeing the probable consequence, Constantia had quickly ordered the tribune to be set at liberty. He then presented himself at the palace of Gallus, as if nothing had occurred, and, pocketing the affront, had never even reported it to his master; perhaps through fear that so degrading a punishment might besmirch the prospects of his career as a courtier.
During the whole journey from Antioch to Milan Scuda retained his seat in Cæsar's chariot, never quitting him, inviting his confidences, and treating him like some wayward child, who, being out of sorts, was not to be left to himself for a moment by a servant so devoted and affectionate.
Where, as in Illyria, there were dangerous river crossings to be made on frail wooden bridges, Scuda would put his arm around Gallus with the tenderest solicitude, and if the latter strove to free himself, swear that he preferred death to the risk of drowning his precious charge.