follow you." His flushed face as he spoke was almost level with
that of the mounted Roman.

"By the god of war, I do not know where in all the world I could find
such a servant!" cried the Emperor. "You shall be my own body-guard, the
one nearest to me of all."

The giant fell upon his knee. "My life and strength are yours," he said.
"I ask no more than to spend them for Caesar."

Crassus had interpreted this short dialogue. He now turned to the
Emperor.

"If he is indeed to be always at your call, Caesar, it would be well to
give the poor Barbarian some name which your lips can frame. Theckla is
as uncouth and craggy a word as one of his native rocks."

The Emperor pondered for a moment. "If I am to have the naming of him,"
said he, "then surely I shall call him Maximus, for there is not such a
giant upon earth."

"Hark you," said the Prefect. "The Emperor has deigned to give you a
Roman name, since you have come into his service. Henceforth you are no
longer Theckla, but you are Maximus. Can you say it after me?"

"Maximin," repeated the Barbarian, trying to catch the Roman word.

The Emperor laughed at the mincing accent. "Yes, yes, Maximin let it
be. To all the world you are Maximin, the body-guard of Severus. When
we have reached Rome, we will soon see that your dress shall correspond
with your office. Meanwhile march with the guard until you have my
further orders."

So it came about that as the Roman army resumed its march next day, and
left behind it the fair valley of the Harpessus, a huge recruit, clad
in brown leather, with a rude sheep-skin floating from his shoulders,
marched beside the Imperial troop. But far away in the wooden farmhouse
of a distant Macedonian valley two old country folk wept salt tears, and
prayed to the gods for the safety of their boy who had turned his face
to Rome.

II THE RISE OF GIANT MAXIMIN

Exactly twenty-five years had passed since the day that Theckla the huge
Thracian peasant had turned into Maximin the Roman guardsman. They had
not been good years for Rome. Gone for ever were the great Imperial days
of the Hadrians and the Trajans. Gone also the golden age of the two
Antonines, when the highest were for once the most worthy and most
wise. It had been an epoch of weak and cruel men. Severus, the swarthy
African, a stark grim man, had died in far away York, after fighting all
the winter with the Caledonian Highlanders--a race who have ever
since worn the