098 - Purchasing Power

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 98, Purchasing Power. After numerous failed attempts, foiled plots, and exposed conspiracies, someone finally managed to kill Commodus. That someone was a young athlete named Narcissus who had been promised a huge reward by the Emperor's inner circle if he successfully strangled Commodus to death. With the deed done and finally done right, phase two of the plan was then initiated. One of the key conspirators, Praetorian Prefect Quintus Letus, went and retrieved Publius Helvius Pertinax, who had been pacing around his house all night, waiting for either the good news that the Emperor was dead, or the bad news that the plot had failed and it was time to get caught up in the never-ending cycle of purges. When the knock on the door finally came, it was Letus announcing that the Emperor was in fact dead, and phase two was at hand.

Phase two was hustling Pertinax to the Praetorian camp, where Letus had arranged for the old senator to be immediately proclaimed Emperor. The troops were told that Commodus had died of an embolism, that Pertinax was already the consensus choice to succeed him, and that it was up to the rank-and-file Praetorians to make it official. They were uneasy about all this, and were probably one of the few groups in the Empire ready to shed tears for Commodus, but Letus promised them the world if they backed Pertinax, and so they did. The point of all this was to present the Senate with a fait accompli, so that when the Senators awakened on New Year's Day and found the old Emperor dead, a new one would already be in place. All night the conspirators fretted over how the Senate would react, but they were worried over nothing. Most of the Senate, after finally being convinced that this wasn't one of the hilarious Emperor's practical jokes, were thrilled at the news that mad-as-a-hatter Commodus was dead, and that Pertinax—wise, capable, and experienced Pertinax—was the man the Praetorians were demanding they accept as the new Emperor. The choice of Pertinax was ratified immediately, and in almost the same breath, the memory of Commodus was officially damned. All his crazy pronouncements about renaming Rome, and the months, and the legions, they was well nullified, and across the city, his statues were toppled. At the dawn of a new year, a new day was dawning for the Empire—kind of, sort of, not really.

So a few episodes ago, I just sort of slipped Pertinax into the narrative, and have referred to him off and on ever since, but other than the fact that he was an able military officer, and that he did his damnedest not to get involved in plots against Commodus, I haven't really told you that much about him. By far the most interesting thing to note is that, unique among Emperors, at least up until this point, he was the son of a mere freedman. Born in 126, he had planned on becoming a grammar instructor, but in his late teens, he decided to have some strings pulled for him, so he could be commissioned as an officer in the legions instead. Once in uniform, he immediately proved that he was a hard-working soldier and a natural leader of men, whatever his lowly background said about him. He came to the attention of Claudius Pompeianus, who was himself of lowly origin, though not as lowly as being the son of a freedman, and he became attached to the older man's staff. As Pompeianus' star rose during the reign of Marcus Aurelius, Pertinax rose along with it. Eventually, his undeniable talent won out, and Marcus decided to enroll the young man as a senator, so he could grant Pertinax a full command. In 175, he was granted a Suffet consulship as a reward for his excellent service—a consulship he would coincidentally share with Didius Julianus, who we will get to in a second.

His rise was not without setbacks, though, and for his entire career, he would have to deal with aristocratic bigotry against this son of a slave, who had had the temerity to order around his social betters. During the reign of Marcus, he was briefly blacklisted following the machinations of some officials close to Faustina, who hated Pertinax for, among other things, his close relationship with Pompeianus, who she detested. During the early years of Commodus' reign, Pertinax essentially retired from public life rather than attempt to get into a political flame war with Perennis, but once Perennis was out of the picture, Pertinax found himself back in favor and back in demand. In all, during his long career, he served with distinction in the Parthian War and the Marcomannic Wars, and at one time or another governed the provinces of Upper Moesia, Lower Moesia, Dacia, Syria, Britain, and Africa. Far from being honorary postings, these were among the most critical territories the Empire had to offer. Throughout his career, there was only one real lingering flaw in his character, at least according to the troops who served under him. Unlike many other commanders, particularly those who served at Commodus' pleasure, Pertinax was not indulgent of his troops. He demanded strict discipline in the camps, and had no time for whiners or complainers. They were soldiers, and they ought to act like it. There was nothing more to say on the subject. Unfortunately, this reputation would come back to haunt him once he was Emperor.

Strict discipline was not, for example, what the Praetorian Guard had in mind when they went and did the old man a pretty huge favor by making him Emperor of the whole Empire. While the Senate needed no prodding to be ecstatic about the elevation of Pertinax, the Praetorians had to be bought off. In securing their support, Pertinax had been forced to promise a huge donative to every man in the Guard. Now, more than ever, the men of the Imperial Bodyguard didn't care who was in power, as long as they got paid. In a few short months, the crass financial underpinnings of their morality would be displayed in a way never before imaginable. But for now, they accepted the promise of money from Pertinax, and so they supported Pertinax.

Out in the provinces, word spread of Commodus' demise, and though there was no political unrest following the death of the erratic and dangerous Emperor, the fact of his murder, and the fact that a man who had no connection whatsoever to the now-dead Antonine dynasty, had to have sparked the imaginations of more than a few powerful Governors. Shortly, we will deal with three such powerful Governors, who between them, commanded a majority of the Empire's legions. They all knew and appreciated the service and stature of Pertinax, and so there was no immediate uprising. The new Emperor was awfully long in the tooth, and when he went to meet his maker, who exactly would succeed him, was the question on all their minds. The answer came much sooner than anyone thought.

You see, when Pertinax promised a huge bonus to the Praetorians in exchange for their support, he had done so at the behest of Letus, who told him it was the only way. Once the crisis of succession was in the rear-view mirror a bit, though, Pertinax re-evaluated the wisdom of paying the Praetorians such an ungodly sum of money. He came through with half the amount, but declined to pay the rest, arguing that what he had already given them was more than most soldiers make in a lifetime. Besides, the Imperial treasury is empty, so there is really nothing left to pay you with. But the Praetorians couldn't have cared less about where the money came from, or what the average soldier made in a lifetime. They just wanted what was theirs. Pertinax considered the matter closed, though, and shifted his focus to seeing what could be done to get the Empire back on track after so many years of mismanagement. The Praetorians, however, did not consider the matter closed. They were the only reason this stuffy old man was on the throne in the first place, and now he was stiffing them when the bill came due? Who did he think he was? They made him, and they could break him.

In March, Pertinax visited the port of Ostia to inspect incoming grain shipments, and while there, he was given evidence proving that one of the year's consuls, a senator named Quintus Falco, had gone in with a few key members of the Guard on a plot to kill Pertinax. The Guard promised to make Falco Emperor if he promised to pay up promptly and in full. Unwilling to be held hostage by a bunch of greedy bodyguards who did not know their true place in the world, Pertinax continued to refuse them the second half of the donative, but now did so knowing full well that he was putting himself in a very dangerous position. But whether out of principle, obstinacy, or something else, he refused to back down on the issue. He went so far as to avoid passing out Imperial titles to his wife and children, perhaps suspecting that if and when a final showdown came, that they would be safer on the sidelines than carrying around dangerous titles like Augusta and Caesar.

There was a hope prevailing in Rome early in 193, that maybe the reign of Commodus had just been a hiccup, and that with Pertinax now in power, that things could go back to normal. Commodus aside, no one living had any memory of a bad Emperor. Even the oldest of the old men had been born during the reign of Trajan. Pertinax himself, a venerable elder statesman, had been born during the reign of Hadrian. The point is that for most Romans, the default setting was good Emperors reigning for a long time over a relatively quiet and stable Empire. So the reasoning went that since Pertinax was obviously not a crazy person, that maybe the detour through Commodus would prove to be just that, a detour. Pertinax would reign for a bit, then hand power to some worthy successor, and then he would pass power to some other worthy successor, and just like that, the memory of Commodus, already damned, would be truly forgotten. But it was not to be. Commodus was not a detour. He was the new way forward. The Romans would never again return to the road they had traveled for the last century, the one paved in wisdom, luck, and competence. No, they were on a different road now. And in late March 193, the people of Rome discovered how far they had already strayed from that good solid road they had enjoyed for so many years.

The Praetorians had been indulged for too long to simply take Pertinax's stiffing lying down. Well, it wasn't just the case of the missing donative. It was also the fact that Pertinax was trying to impose a level of discipline on the urban troops that they were totally unaccustomed to. What were they, provincial infantry? They had never been hip to Pertinax to begin with, but Letus had been persuasive on the night of Commodus's death, which they had always suspected had been murder, not an embolism, and so they had gone along with their prefect. But if the past few months had proved anything, it was that this relationship just wasn't going to work. It was time for the Praetorians to break up with Pertinax. On March 28, a collection of about 300 soldiers and officers of the Guard stormed the palace to confront the Emperor. None of the soldiers or officials surrounding Pertinax had any desire to get in the middle of what was about to go down, so this armed company of Praetorians was allowed to pass unchallenged. Well, not totally unchallenged. Pertinax heard the commotion and dispatched Letus to go talk his men down. But when Letus, not exactly the most scrupulous guy in the world, confronted the incoming troops, he decided that joining them would be safer than trying to stop them. So he promptly about-faced and led his men straight to the Emperor. Pertinax faced down the 300 Praetorians—well, 301, I guess, at this point—and attempted to explain his position and reasonably diffuse the situation. Whether or not his words were starting to dissuade a majority of the men became irrelevant when one of the soldiers—who was obviously not being dissuaded—stepped forward and slashed Pertinax with his sword, killing the Emperor instantly. Pertinax was 66 years old and had ruled the Empire for 86 days.

This rash act of violence left Letus and the Praetorians in a dilly of a pickle. As I'm sure Letus calmly explained without raising his voice or cussing anyone out, you don't just kill an Emperor. At least, you don't kill an Emperor without having a replacement ready to step in. Because as it stands right now, there is no Emperor, and no generally agreed-upon mechanism for selecting a new one. The Senate will argue that they have the right to elect the Empire's new leader. The armies out in the provinces will almost certainly ignore the Senate and acclaim one of their own generals. Hell, every man in the Empire will have his own pet candidate and be more than willing to fight to the death to win this highly valuable and suddenly available prize. This, he explained, is why you don't just kill an Emperor. Keeping his wits about him, though, Letus thought fast and determined that at the end of the day, the Praetorians still really held all the cards here. We'll just pick whoever we want, bully the Senate into ratifying the choice, and have everything wrapped up before the provincial governors even hear that Pertinax is dead. But who did the Praetorians want? At that moment, what they wanted was someone who would pay up when he was supposed to pay up. That was their whole beef with Pertinax, and the reason why they were standing over his bloody body trying to figure out who to replace him with. So Letus hit upon a great idea. A really, really great idea that was just really, really great. They would auction off the job to the highest bidder. Letus ordered his agents out into the city to spread the news that Pertinax was dead and that the Praetorians were entertaining bids to be his replacement.

What followed obviously became one of the most notorious incidents in Roman imperial history. No self-respecting Senator was going to get into a bidding war to win the honor of becoming the Praetorians' puppet, which meant that only Senators of a more morally ambiguous nature were going to enter into the auction. But then again, if only morally ambiguous men entered in the bidding, then maybe it was the duty of a self-respecting Senator to step in and outbid the bad seeds. It was quite a conundrum. In the end, events moved so quickly that the bidding came down to two men, who were neither inflexibly virtuous nor necessarily terrible men. They just acted on their instincts, their vanity, and the belief that someone was going to get the job, so it might as well be them. The first was Pertinax's father-in-law, a man named Titus Flavius Sulpicianus. Sulpicianus had been appointed city prefect upon his son-in-law's ascension, and when the company of Praetorians had invaded the palace, Pertinax had dispatched Sulpicianus down to the Praetorian camp to hopefully quell any further unrest. So he found himself physically present when the murderous company returned base with his son-in-law's head on a spike, and was the first to hear their plan to auction off the imperial throne. Sulpicianus, probably first out of a desire to simply restore order as quickly as possible, put in a bid, but the Praetorians decided it was too low, and shouted from the ramparts that anyone who could do better ought to come down straight away and do better.

The second man involved in this infamous auction, and the one who would eventually win the dubious prize, was Marcus Didius Julianus. He was enjoying a lavish dinner with his family when the news came that the imperial throne was up for grabs. According to most sources, Julianus was pushed into making a bid by his wife and daughter, who were themselves hungrier for power than Julianus himself was, but sometimes I can't help but take these portrayals of shrewish Roman women with a grain of salt. If Julianus needed to be pushed into it, I doubt he needed to be pushed very hard. But whether he jumped at the chance, or had to be pushed, or pulled, or nudged, or whatever, Julianus rushed from his banquet table down to the Praetorian camp. He was barred from actually passing through the gates by suspicious guards, but, undeterred, he shouted his offer over the walls. The men on the ramparts dutifully relayed Julianus' bid to their comrades in the center of camp, and Silpicianus upped his bid accordingly. The men raced back to the wall, where they told Julianus what the new prize was, and Julianus upped his own bid accordingly.

Now this is what the Praetorians had in mind. Finally, Silpicianus offered 20,000 sesterces ahead for the privilege of becoming emperor, an absurd sum that equaled something like eight times the annual salary of the average Praetorian. But Julianus, caught up in the moment and determined not to lose, promised 25,000 sesterces ahead. At this last offer, the Praetorians were satisfied, and, maybe worried that continuing the auction would lead both men to walk away from the table, declared Julianus the winner, ushered him into camp, and acclaimed him emperor. Proving that he was not totally morally bankrupt, which he really wasn't, Julianus stipulated that his promised donative was contingent upon no harm coming to Silpicianus. The Praetorians agreed, and let the losing bidder go, though he had to see himself out, because the soldiers were all temporarily blinded by the massive dollar signs in their eyes. They were all about to be rich men. They should really do this more often.

The Praetorians then marched out into the streets to rouse the Senate, and demand that they assemble at once to make their choice official. They came down to the forum, and after listening to Julianus make a speech about how all of this wasn't nearly as dishonorable as it appeared, and reminding them that they all knew him and knew him well, that he was a good man, and he would lead the empire back to glory. With armed soldiers literally standing over their shoulders, the Senate nodded in agreement, and Didius Julianus became emperor.

Now what he had said was basically true. Marcus Didius Julianus had been around a long time, was well known, and not for infamous reasons. He had been born in the 130s, the exact date is under dispute, to an Italian father and a Roman African mother, both of whom came from distinguished senatorial families. By a stroke of luck, he wound up being raised in the home of Domitia Lucilla, the mother of Marcus Aurelius. He didn't have much contact with Marcus, who was at least fifteen years his senior, but when Marcus became emperor, it did not hurt Julianus' career one bit that he was a favorite of the emperor's mother. He climbed up the Cursus Honorum in brisk fashion, and when the Marcomannic Wars broke out, he found himself the governor of Upper Germany, which, while not exactly the front lines, was still a key theater of the war. Julianus and his fellows along the Rhine were tasked with fending off attacks on the Lyme's Germanicus and preventing the Germans from even thinking about expanding the conflict. Julianus was completely successful in his mission, and deftly deflected numerous attempts at invasion from local tribes allied with the Marcomanni. As a reward for his good work, as I mentioned before, he was given a consulship in 175 along with Pertinax. During the reign of Commodus he mostly kept his head down, and despite being accused of involvement in one of the various plots against the emperor's life, he was acquitted and wound up serving as provincial governor in Bithynia, and then later succeeded Pertinax as proconsul of Africa. He was back in Rome and enjoying the life of a wealthy aristocrat during the last year of Commodus' reign, however much a wealthy aristocrat could enjoy his life with Commodus' mad whims hanging over his head all the time, and was finally, as I said, enjoying a nice dinner when Pertinax was murdered. Before the sun rose the next morning, he was in the imperial palace, and likely wondering if the night's events had been a strange dream. But it was no dream, Julianus was emperor.

It was time for the Praetorians to initiate the final phase of their brilliant plan, kick back and live like kings. But this final phase was premised on the assumption that there would be no repercussions for the double crime of murdering Pertinax and selling off the throne. This was, as you can imagine, as faulty an assumption as there has ever been in the long history of faulty assumptions. In the full light of day, the magnitude of how faulty that assumption was became all too clear. When Julianus traveled through the streets, he was hissed at and booed at by the people who called him names and pelted him with rocks. The Senate, with swords in their faces, had agreed to honor his claim to the throne, but to a man they now reviled Julianus, and considered his residence in the imperial palace a mockery. If Pertinax's mistake had been ignoring the Praetorians, Julianus' crime was in paying them exclusive attention. Because outside the couple of thousand members of the guard, no one else supported him. And there was a lot more men in the provincial armies than there were in the urban cohorts, if you catch my drift.

Next week, the chickens will come home to roost. None of the governors out in the provinces had any intention of offering fealty to this imperial imposter. And the three most powerful, Septimius Severus in Pannonia, Claudius Albinus in Britain, and Pescennius Niger in Syria, will each further intend not only to brush aside Julianus and his ridiculous claims to the throne, but to step in and take power for themselves.