Praetorian Prefect (3)
A few days after the triumph, the emperor formally appointed me as Praetorian Prefect. The Senate raised some mild objections to the decision.
"We are not unaware of Commander Ain's achievements, but he is too young. There are concerns about whether a commander who has only served on the frontiers can handle the duties of Praetorian Prefect."
It was just as I'd expected.
But the emperor dismissed the Senate's objections with a single sentence.
"For the position of Praetorian Prefect, I need someone I can trust implicitly. Rather than a traitor like Bellius, who is versed in politics, I prefer a loyal frontiersman without such experience."
With the emperor speaking so firmly, the senators had no choice but to hold their tongues.
I received from the emperor a black cloak and sword symbolizing the office of Praetorian Prefect, along with a helmet adorned with a duke's feathers.
But all I had been given was the title.
The Praetorian legions I was to command had been shattered by civil war and invasions, reduced to virtual annihilation. I would have to start by rebuilding the Praetorian Guard from scratch.
I resolved to restore the Praetorian Guard—once called the empire's strongest force—to its full glory.
My goal: 10,000 men.
To reach the scale of its heyday, I needed to secure funding and manpower first.
To that end, I made several requests to the emperor to obtain the necessary funds.
My first demand was the sale of Praetorian Guard assets.
Having ruled as the empire's mightiest force on the home soil for centuries, the Guard had bloated beyond measure, more engrossed in playing with wealth than fulfilling its true duties.
It owned countless unnecessary real estate holdings, brick factories, glassworks, and more.
Politically speaking, these served as "guarantees of loyalty"—providing pensions and slush funds to the Guard's soldiers loyal to the emperor.
But such perks didn't ensure the Guard's unwavering loyalty to the emperor.
On the contrary, that independent wealth and power bred the audacity to topple emperors.
I had no desire to see the Guard revive as such a dangerous entity.
I demanded permission to sell them off. After review, Marius approved.
My second request was for donations.
Since the days of the consular system, the empire had relied heavily on "donations" from the upper class.
From public administration to emergency budgets, these contributions had been pillars supporting the empire.
But in these times of rampant individualism and crumbling communal spirit, finding people willing to give for the empire was rare.
As a solution, I asked the emperor to lead by example.
If he donated, the Senate—already on thin ice with us—would have no choice but to follow suit.
I planned to fill the funding gap this way.
The emperor approved this request as well.
Thanks to that, the Senate and the empire's noble houses grudgingly followed his lead, donating with bitter resentment.
Third, I requested permission to recruit frontier-born soldiers into the Guard.
Last time, in hastily forming the Praetorian legions, we'd filled ranks with slaves and gladiators.
So I figured the emperor would readily accept this.
But unexpectedly, he seemed somewhat troubled by it.
"It's the empire's Praetorian Guard, after all. Wouldn't it be better to fill it with natives from the empire's heartland, if possible?"
That was the emperor's subtle hint to me.
Fair enough—the imperial government naturally preferred heartland recruits over frontier ones.
Last time, urgency had forced a pass, but this was official formation. It wasn't unreasonable for him to think differently.
But heartlanders won't be suited for combat.
Those raised in the core had never endured the brutal frontiers.
Without rubbing shoulders with savage barbarians, they were bound to be softer, more fearful of battle.
Hadn't the Atillca legion nearly mutinied at the mere mention of frontier posting?
Still, it was the emperor's wish.
After some thought, I decided to try using heartlanders.
But the standards would follow the strict regulations of the golden age.
Once I finalized the recruitment notice and posted it across the capital, the city's day-laboring poor showed immediate interest.
Unlike frontier legions, the Praetorian Guard had a reputation for parading in fine uniforms without much frontline action, so applications flooded in.
The pay was incomparably better than frontier legions, too—of course it was popular.
I sifted the applicants through "strict criteria."
Anyone under 160 centimeters tall: rejected!
Anyone under 60 kilograms: rejected!
Anyone unable to run 100 meters in under 15 seconds: rejected!
After filtering for basic physique and stamina, the crowds grumbled in complaint.
But I had no intention of building a parade-ground army.
This was to be the empire's strongest Praetorian Guard.
They had to meet minimum standards. Paid top wages to embody the emperor's might, they should at least match frontier legions, right?
My rigorous standards eliminated countless applicants.
Only a few hundred remained.
Rikius asked if we shouldn't lower the bar a bit, but I shook my head. Better no legion than one filled with dandies.
I refused to accept show-offs even if manpower was short.
Not even all these survivors were hired outright.
Following old Praetorian regulations, I imposed a three-month probation with grueling training. Failures were expelled without mercy.
Many applicants cursed and quit, unable to endure.
But I had no plans to relax the rules. For elite pay, the Guard had to set an example with ironclad standards.
As I slowly built the force this way, the emperor sent a messenger midway.
"Lord Ain, His Majesty worries that the Praetorian Guard's reconstruction is progressing too slowly."
"Tell him not to worry. I'll forge a hundred sturdy, loyal men to stand at his side rather than ten thousand posers."
The emperor's envoy clicked his tongue at my reply.
I posted recruitment notices not just in the capital but across the empire's heartland. If the city couldn't provide enough, gathering from the whole core was the logical next step.
Notices went up everywhere, drawing hundreds daily from jobless heartlanders eager to try for the Guard.
But few met the requirements, and fewer still survived training.
Sieving them like this, after four months, my Praetorian legions totaled under two thousand—even including trainees.
Absurd, considering the fortune poured into training.
The Senate was delighted by my slow buildup.
They relished the capital's sole armed force remaining weak.
The Guard—the emperor's blade for emergencies—was a dagger at their throats.
No power holder welcomed a mighty Guard.
Some even suspected I was colluding with Senate hardliners to deliberately delay reconstruction.
A pathetic delusion.
But it wasn't bad for me. Senate whispers against me quieted down.
After all, a "pliable" Praetorian Prefect dragging his feet on rebuilding suited them fine—no need to badmouth that.
And so I quietly passed my first year as Praetorian Prefect. But the gods granted me no prolonged peace.
Soon, events arose in rapid succession to test my abilities as Prefect.
The empire held grand chariot races on New Year's Day, hosted by the emperor.
Through them, he provided bread and spectacle to the citizens while gauging popularity to fuel his year's governance.
No matter how strained central finances, these races were never canceled.
Ahead of the New Year's morning races, I stationed Praetorians around the Colosseum and filled the emperor's seating area with guards without gaps.
After thorough precautions against mishaps, I escorted the imperial family's chariots on horseback to the venue.
Up to here, it differed little from prior years. With ample bread and coin distributed, the crowds had no cause for complaint.
I accompanied the emperor to the prepared VIP seats.
"You must have had a hard ride here."
"Not at all, Your Majesty."
I seated the imperial family and stood watch beside them as the races began.
I found no thrill in chariot racing, but duty kept me at the emperor's side—no choice but to watch.
Soon, the presiding senator dropped the starting handkerchief.
"Run!"
Amid cheers, charioteers whipped their horses from the line. The teams—red and blue—competed fiercely, trading the lead.
I watched, taking a sip from my drink as thirst struck.
I had little passion for the races, but capital citizens were obsessed. Even senators and the emperor had favorite teams.
One prominent political scholar even explained imperial politics thus:
"The empire has two parties: the Red Party and the Blue Party."
Seeing the crowd's frenzy, it was no exaggeration.
Soon, chariots neared the finish.
Anticipating excited surges, I summoned Rikius to tighten the Praetorian wall.
As I issued orders, spectators leaped to their feet.
The lead chariots raced neck-and-neck, an arm's length apart. Victory hung in balance.
Then, the blue leader's wheel jolted sideways, tumbling off. It crashed, kicking up dust.
As blue slowed, the trailing red surged past in a flash.
Moments later, red crossed the line.
"Woooaaah!"
"Red Party" cheers filled the arena. The emperor, pleased by his team's win, stood applauding.
Then, from the "blue" fans came shouts.
"Conspiracy!"
"It's a fix!"
"Apologize for the conspiracy!"
Suddenly, curses flew, followed by hurled bread and coins.
The victorious red charioteer, parading triumphantly, fled in shock to the tunnel.
That only inflamed the crowd further.
"Apologize for match-fixing! Show your neck, you cowards!"
As the mob's roar swelled, I stepped before the emperor.
"Your Majesty, this disturbance is turning ugly. We should withdraw."
"Very well."
As the emperor rose, eyes turned our way.
"Emperor! Punish the culprits!"
The crowd bellowed.
"What nonsense! It was a fair win!"
Shouts escalated to brawls, grabbing collars. Amid the chaos, I called for Rikius.
"Rikius!"
"Yes, sir."
"Escort His Majesty back to the palace. Not a crumb of bread must touch him. If a stone flies, block it with your body."
"Understood."
Rikius replied briskly. As he led a squad guarding the emperor away, I drew my sword.
"I am Praetorian Prefect Ain. By His Majesty's command: no more riots. Those causing disorder or mayhem will be punished severely. Praetorians, to positions!"
At my order, Guards charged into the stands with shields, mercilessly battering bread- and coin-throwers, kicking them with boots toward the exits.
Rough, but words wouldn't sway a frenzied mob.
That day, I injured over five hundred in the Colosseum.
But the uproar didn't end there.
(To be continued)