Throne of the Caesars 01 - Iron and Rust by Harry Sidebottom Read Free Book Online

Ocean, they would bow their heads to the majesty of Rome.
    With his victory won, great Caesar would return to Rome. In the metropolis the antique virtues bred in his rustic home – piety, frugality, self-control – would cleanse away the stains of recent luxury and wickedness. A second Romulus, he would scour away the filth of corruption to bring forth another golden age. Justice would return to earth. All would salute him: the lands, the stretching leagues of the sea, the unplumbed sky. Let us salute him. Let Gaius Iulius Verus Maximinus become Emperor!
    A roar of approval went up to the high ceiling, startling a pair of sparrows and sending them racing out over the heads of the spectators at the open doors. Old Celerinus sat down. His neighbours congratulated him. Pupienus walked over to join them. It had been a good speech, with echoes of Livy and Virgil, the patriotism of both suitable to the occasion.
    In order of precedence, the Consuls asked the opinion of the assembled Senators: I agree. I agree. One after another, the four hundred or more assented. The Consuls put it to the vote.
    With much shuffling and even a little barging, the vast majority of the Conscript Fathers rushed to arraign themselves on the indicated side of the Curia. They packed themselves together like herd animals threatened by a predator. Some were slower, through age or infirmity, or overtly paraded independence. Gallicanus and Maecenas moved tardily and but a little. Gallicanus barely crossed the middle of the floor.
    Perhaps, Pupienus thought, I should have given you to Honoratus. The handsome friend of the new Emperor knew Gallicanus had visited, and must surmise that he talked treason, although possibly not the fanatic scope of it. The free Republic had been dead nearly three centuries. To revive it was a fool’s dream. But Gallicanus was a fool. A yapping Cynic dog of a fool. Like an undermined bastion, his arrogance could bring ruin on those around him at any moment. Perhaps indeed he should yet be handed over to Honoratus. But no, an oath was an oath. The gods were not to be mocked. Yet, if a way could be found, it might not stand to the discredit of Maximinus and those around him if an example were to be made of Gallicanus.
    ‘This side seems to be in the majority.’ The formal words of the Consul were an understatement. No one, not even Gallicanus, was fool enough to vote openly against the accession.
    The Senators began to chant their thanks to the gods for their new Emperor: ‘ Iupiter optime, tibi gratias. Apollo venerabilis, tibi gratias .’ It echoed around the marbled walls of the Curia like plainsong.
    ‘ Iupiter optime, tibi gratias. Apollo venerabilis, tibi gratias .’
    Singing with the rest, Pupienus wondered how long the gratitude to Jupiter the best, to venerable Apollo, to the other gods not yet thanked, would last. Could Honoratus, Flavius Vopiscus and Catius Clemens control the creature they had elevated? Could they mould Maximinus into something acceptable to more than the soldiery? Perhaps they could. They were men of ability as well as ambition. And there was Paulina, the wife of Maximinus. She was from the nobility. The Thracian was said to love her. She was reckoned a good influence.
    Yet, no matter how he behaved, would the Senators ever truly accept Maximinus? They had fixed views on the person and role of an Emperor. He should be chosen from the Senators. He should respect the Senate and share the lifestyle of its members. Above all, he must be a first among equals, a civilis princeps . A shepherd boy from the North risen to equestrian rank via the army could not be such a primus inter pares .
    Pupienus debated the wisdom of his actions the previous night. There was nothing else he could have done, nothing reasonable. But it might not pay to be too close to this new regime. Circumspection was the order of the day. Information should be gathered, a keen ear kept open for hints and whispers. He should be