Late winter fog draped Trier's high walls as Constantine dismissed the last clerks. Candlelight played across the surface of his cedar table, where each scroll spoke of an empire subdued to logic and order. From beyond the arched window came the music of labor-hammers striking marble for the new basilica, the Moselle's banks glowing with kiln fires and forges, every corner of the city alive with movement and resolve. Within the chamber, only the faint scrape of a stylus disturbed the stillness.
Claudius Mamertinus read his figures with the reverence of a priest. "Revenue from Gallic weavers is up nine percent. The new duties on Egyptian flax have killed the black market. In Hispania, the new aqueducts drained the silver mines for flooding, and output rose by a fifth. Even the grain speculators line up to pay tax now." He paused, laying his stylus on the ledger.