Chapter LXXXIIThe approaches to Rome were slicked from recent rain and pedestrian and animal drawn transports were minimal. The Flaminian way was particularly quiet, with the occasional dawdling oxen cart lumbering out of the city as cold wind swept the birthplace of Rome, pushing swollen clouds which dumped intermittent showers. Trees stood naked to the elements, with raindrops hanging like tiny crystals on the branches. Small tombstones dotted the approaches, dedicating the memories of many unknown and forgotten people that called this city home. It was an ancient city, of many traditions, buried by time and recounted in myths and semi truths. So old….so irrelevant today.
Corialanus Phocas noted to himself the sweep of history, which he so studiously devoured in his spare time, of the Empire, in particular the shifting importance of its old capital which had slowly but inexorably drained away eastwards to Constantinople. Hardly anyone of significance spent much time here, not even Julian had stepped foot in Rome, even when it was the heart of the cults of old that had been ferverously worshipped and sacrificed to by the superstitious Romans. For Phocas, God was in ascendance, no matter the efforts of this Pagan on the throne. Try as he might, he did not believe that the Emperor could ever turn public thought back to the way things used to be. Phocas did not really think of ill of the Emperor but felt he was at least two hundred years too late. He recognised his intelligence and hard working nature and thought he may have been a fine Emperor to follow on from Marcus Aurelius but in these times, he was like an ancient monument to a past that the Empire had left behind, which everyone else marched pass and did not offer much more than a passing glance.. The Phocan dynasty he was preparing to leave would ensure that these notions, policies and ideologies would be confined to the past permanently. Even when he suffered his intermittent crises of faith, he still held firm to the Christian God, whom all would come to see as the one true God. The pagans, those who were unashamedly so, would soon die off, they couldn’t live forever, no matter their slaughtering of oxen and the lighting of candles and other offerings.
Still, the Senate resided here in Rome, even in its irrelevances still constituting a large body of extremely wealthy men and it was here that Phocas needed to come. Even after its castration in the reforms of Diocletian, a man Phocas regarded as a tyrant for his futile persecutions which he noted that Julian had not resorted to such bloody and useless endeavours...yet, to his credit, the Senate still represented a large body of men capable of been difficult in the right circumstances. He hoped that the letters he had distributed prior to his arrival had sown enough doubt in these men’s minds that they’d see that Corlianus Phocas ’Germanicus’ was correct in his actions. Though he didn’t exactly know the Senate’s views on Julian, he could reasonably believe that they would be supportive of him. It would be a tough sell but he was confident of success...backed with a threat or two.
Through the Porta Fontinalis they went, as a formidable and obvious display of power and wealth, drawing many gazes and outright stares from those in the haphazard streets and crowded insulae and other buildings that made up the architect's nightmare that was Rome. Phocas and his candidati found the Curia lulia a hive of activity, with men waiting outside and men seated inside. As Phocas exited his carriage and begun walking towards the Senate house, the show of arms was unmistakable.
As Phocas entered, the Senate quietened. Though forewarned of Phocas’ intentions in the carefully distributed letters, it was still an unpredictable moment for all involved. The most esteemed among them Marcellinus Pulcher, stood forth and greeted Phocas with as much flattering terms as could be dredged from his mind, without going so far as to call him “Germanicus”
‘Esteemed men of Rome, I thank you for assembling at such limited notice. I can sense amongst you anxiety and worry but be assured among you, that I mean no ill, I desire no troubles for Rome or for our dear Augustus Flavius Claudius Julianus. I only come here seeking what is rightfully mine. To march through the streets of Rome in triumph, for I have quietened the frontiers of Rome for the safety of all. The might of the barbarians has been utterly quelled through my utter diligence and patience and martial vigour…”
One wag among the crowd had no desire to be flattering to the Caesar. ‘What of the diligence to your troops? How does such rashness flourish from a supposed care towards the attitudes of your men. Have you not written of it many times?’ A number of murmurs rippled amongst the Senate, others blanched at the open defiance and few called out to him to be quiet.
‘Life for the soldier is difficult, dirty and extremely violent, Senator. It is hardly surprising that in such times they may give themselves over to excitability and hasty outbursts...you speak as one who has never endured the tumult of battle...the terror of the moment when lines clash!” Phocas glowered at the outspoken man. ‘If you had even made a cursory examination of “De Re Militaris” then you will realize that those words relate to the actions of soldiers in the field. Do not twist my words!”
“How do we know that YOUR words are not twisted, the ones you have so carefully disseminated among us?” the senator continued unperturbed, a large calloused hand pointing in his direction..
‘I am a man of honour Senator. I have no wish to lie and manipulate you or others for my heart is always beating to the interests of the Empire. Do you not have the interests of the Empire at your heart?”
Another man stood up and pointed. “I feel you protest your loyalty a little too often Caesar. Be wary of those who loudly trumpet their loyalties”
One other man stood up, ‘It must be at the behest of the Emperor, Caesar. No matter your words to us, your explanations to the Emperor, the decree must come from him. I cannot abide this!’ his voice quavered with age. A few others murmured in agreement. The majority however sat silently. Marcellinus Pulcher had gone a slightly pale shade. Amongst his allies he had been informed of a cautious support for Phocas’ actions however he had not anticipated such sudden fierce objections.
Phocas grew ever slightly red in the face at the resistance, having been used to unquestioning obedience on the frontiers. The objections though were small and he brushed aside the aging Senator’s refusal. ‘You can wait if you wish for the Emperor’s approval but...’
‘Then I would wait for it!’ one senator called out, which brought murmurs of approval. Phocas raised his hands for silence, steadily growing hotter at the increasingly haughty congregation. ‘I do not ask for much! It is not like I am demanding your support to be the Emperor. I have served Rome in her darkest hour and met her needs. I am absolutely certain that the Emperor would understand the current situation, for he is not hasty in his deliberations. It has been many a year since such a wise man has worn the purple” He attempted to appeal to those who supported the Pagan Emperor.
A number of Senators abruptly stood up, no longer interested in the Caesar’s attempts to sway them. They begun to make their way to the floor of the building. Phocas realized then that for all his abilities with the penna, his political skills put in word, his oratorical skills were inadequate. Inspiring or placating soldiers was one matter but swaying men of wealth to his ways was an entirely different matter. Damn them! Words would not be enough. Phocas glared at Pulcher who could only look back helplessly and then turned to the entrance and called out the name of the captain of his guard. Marching inexorably onto the Senate floor were Phocas’ own domestics. Swords were drawn, held menacingly, their boots stomping rhythmically as they formed a tight ring around the bottom seating of the Senate. A number of them marched up the stairs and flanked the terrified Senators.
Pulcher remained the only Senator on the floor. ‘Please Caesar, be reasonable!’ he stammered. ‘It is you who should be reasonable!’ Phocas shouted at him and to everyone else. ‘Cease quoting legalities at me, I carry weapons! I have been reasonable you bloated fools!’
‘Caesar, please, think of how the Emperor would see this...the Senate massacred in Rome...an, an act of unforgivable horror...it would be an usurpation...he would surely destroy you!’ Pulcher went on. The red mist that coloured Phocas’ vision slowly receded at Pulcher’s words and here the reality of his own impertinence and arrogance slapped him across the face. How could it have so badly spiralled out of control? Again, soldiers and Senators were two very different creatures. Still surrounded by the menacing domestics, a number of the old men called out pleadingly to Phocas. Desperate to escape with their lives, they implored Pulcher to accept the acclamation and allow the triumph. Pulcher did the only thing possible in the situation and gave Phocas what he wanted. His racing heart started to slow and the shades of anger in his complexion slowly faded. Phocas ordered the domestics to stand down and, with some reluctance, they backed away from the Senators and left the floor.
‘You will not regret this!’ Phocas said, attempting to regain a measure of self control as the Senators begun to grovel and flatter the Caesar, still fearful of what Phocas may do even though the immediate threat had passed. A glorious triumph would be arranged, the spoils of victory paraded through the streets of Rome and its people thronging the streets to see a glimpse of the heroic Phocas. Phocas had in mind a spectacle unlike no other, to suit his own self importance. However as he left the Curia, a gnawing thought nibbled away at his conscious. ‘They may not regret this….but will I?