I was born 7 April, 331 in Constantinople, then the capital of the Roman Empire.  My name was Flavius Claudius Julianus.  My father, Julianus Constantius was half-brother to the Emperor Constantine.  My mother was Basilina, my father’s second wife, the daughter of Julius Julianus, a pretorian prefect who had been a very savvy politician as well as soldier.  My mother died due to complications of my birth.  The first strike against me.  I should have realized even then, what that presaged.  But, well, one plays the cards one is dealt.

 When I was six, the Emperor Constantine had the effrontery to die suddenly, which let loose his vulture-like sons to fight over succession.  The winner was Constantius, who decided to cement his right to the throne by killing off any relatives with any sort of competing claim.  Sadly, some in the Empire thought my father’s line had even more claim than did Constantius. Constantius, being a practical sort, decided to nip any plans of treason in the bud by murdering all his relatives.  Smart fellow.  Ruthless, but, well, he did make one small mistake.  He didn’t have my elder brother Gallus, 11 at the time, and so ill he was expected to die anyway, or myself killed off.  My mother’s side of the family was still powerful and Constantius decided it would look bad to murder a six year old with my bloodline.  So, instead of offing me, he had me whisked off by his guard and held captive in a remote province where he could murder me at his leisure, once everyone else forgot about my existence.

My titles and inheritance were stripped away to further enrich Constantius, and I was sent off to a gilded cage in Nicomedia.  I was treated well enough, I suppose, but it was a bit stressful. The bright spot for me was that my tutor, a fine man even if he was a eunuch, Mardonius, was allowed to accompany me.  I was locked  up in a country house under the watchful eye of the local bishop, Eusebius, not to mention the guards who used to gamble over whether every messenger from the court carried the orders for my execution. I hated the look in their eyes.  Embarrassed, greedy, eager for blood.  Some of them though seemed sorry for me. They were the worst.

I was to be brought up a Christian.  My jailors'  mistake was to think I’d simply accept the religion that never said a word against the man who’d murdered my family. 

 To make a long story short, I survived, mainly by pretending to be Christian and by doing whatever else was required of me to stay alive.  I was a pretty determined child.

 My elder brother, the golden god, eventually went to court and was a hit.  With the Emperor as well as the ladies. Constantius  made him his heir, and Caesar and sent him off to govern the East.  He was an ass not to mention a cruel and stupid fellow. He eventually ended up beheaded for treason.  He deserved it, I've no doubt.

Except, when they charged him, they also decided I was involved and Constantius ordered my execution (this wasn’t the first time, either).  I fled from where I'd been studying philosophy,  hid in a nearby monastery and claimed sanctuary. I stayed there until Constantius agreed to let me live at least long enough to reach the summer court.  I didn’t really believe he’d actually stay true to that promise, but as I figured he was not above ripping down the walls of that monastery and killing all the men who’d sheltered me, Christian or not. So,  I agreed to go to see him.  This was the first time I’d ever met him. I was 20 or so at the time.

At any rate, he was in political hot water just then, so decided he needed me alive more than dead.  He exiled me yet again, sent me off to be Caesar of the West.  I was to re-take Gaul from the barbarians.  Of course I’d never ever held a weapon, and the army was ill-equipped and untrained and untested, and under his control anyway.  No generals had any respect for me and his spies were my servants (his best spy being his daughter whom he'd ordered me to marry).  I  suspect he hoped I’d get myself killed in battle, or, even better, the army would revolt against me and kill me for him.

Alas.  I  spoilt his plans.  So sorry.

I retook Gaul against all odds and the army came to love and respect me.  Later, when they saw that Constantius tried to take my best soldiers in an effort to make me less of a threat to his paranoia, declared me Emperor.  I wanted nothing to do with the Empire, I was happy as Caesar in Gaul. But as Constantius heard about my elevation by the army, he began plans to march against me. My only choices were to flee or to march against him and take the throne from him.  About that time my wife was murdered in an attempt to poison me.  And he'd already murdered my two sons. Since I do hold a grudge, I decided I wanted his balls for my dinner.

Constantius had the sense to die whilst I was still on the road to Constantinople.  I was bitterly disappointed by his cowardice as I'd looked forward to watching him die slowly. I entered Constantinople as the newest Emperor of the Roman Empire. 

I only lasted a bit more than a year as Emperor.  I was killed in battle in Persia, a Roman spear through my liver. Assassinated by the Christians who objected to my plans to remake the Empire and reinstate religious freedom. Poor planning on my part. I should have outlawed the bloody religion.

You can look me up in any encyclopaedia. Look under Julian the Apostate.  But don’t believe everything you read there.