Chapter 17: Back to Rome
Chapter 17: Back to Rome
A week after leaving the Rhine fortress, we passed through a small city in central Gaul—Lugdunum (modern Lyon).
It was General Comazon, me, and five trusted centurions.
Ten days after that, we began crossing the Alps.
The steep mountain roads were not easy, but it was the fastest route to Rome.
When we reached a checkpoint near the summit, two messengers were waiting for us.
“General, we have important news.” The messenger reported urgently. “Macrinus has signed a peace treaty with Parthia.”
“What? A peace treaty?” Comazon shot to his feet in shock. “Caracalla was in the middle of trying to conquer Parthia!”
“Yes. Parthia gathered a powerful army to repay what they suffered under Emperor Caracalla, then marched with a large force toward the Roman bases. But it seems Macrinus had no capacity to continue the war.”
“Then what are the terms?”
The messenger explained. A Roman withdrawal from Mesopotamia, and an enormous payment under the name of a “peace maintenance contribution.”
“How much did he pay?” I asked.
“Two hundred million sesterces, in brass coin.”
“He paid that kind of money? This is humiliation!” Comazon smashed his fist into the wall. “He’s staining Rome’s honor!”
“And he even gave up occupied territory. That’s outright disgraceful.”
“And because of that, the eastern legions’ response is extremely negative,” the second messenger added. “Rumors are spreading through the camps that Macrinus is a coward.”
That night…
In a freezing mountain barracks, Comazon and I talked at length.
“This is an opportunity, Varius. Macrinus is digging his own grave. He struck at the military’s pride.”
“It certainly looks that way. It feels like a self-inflicted blunder. The Senate and the citizens will push back hard too.”
After crossing the Alps and reaching the northern plains of the Roman homeland, another messenger arrived.
This time, it was Senate-related news.
“Macrinus is behaving very politely toward the Senate.” The messenger continued. “He promised multiple concessions. He said he would restore part of the Senate’s authority that was suppressed under Caracalla. In particular, he promised to strengthen the Senate’s advisory role in appointing provincial governors.”
“Public opinion worsened after the Parthian peace treaty, so he dangled bait to soothe the Senate.” I muttered.
“Yes. And a significant portion of the senators took the bait. Many who resented Emperor Caracalla have begun viewing Macrinus as a ‘reasonable emperor.’”
“Not all of them,” Comazon said.
“Of course not. Some senators are suspicious—especially eastern-born senators, and those who remained loyal to the Severan dynasty. They refuse to acknowledge Macrinus.”
When we reached Ravenna on the Adriatic coast, a messenger with the most detailed intelligence was waiting.
He was a high-ranking intelligence officer sent directly from Rome.
We rented a small house overlooking the harbor and held a long meeting.
“I will report on the financial situation.” He spread out several documents. “Due to Emperor Caracalla’s reckless spending, the treasury is nearly empty. Macrinus is responding through several measures.”
“Specifically?” Comazon asked.
“He has significantly lowered the silver purity of the denarius.”
“So he debased the currency.” Comazon frowned. “It helps in the short term, but in the long term it will cause inflation.”
“The signs are already appearing. Grain prices have begun to rise,” the officer confirmed. “He has also drastically reduced public works. He halted the large construction projects Caracalla began, and even the expansion work on the Baths of Caracalla in Rome has been put on hold.”
“Public resentment will grow,” I said.
“You’re exactly right. Rome’s citizens are used to ‘bread and circuses,’ but with even public entertainment budgets being cut, complaints are rising in the forums.”
Watching the Adriatic as the sun sank, the officer finally delivered the most important information.
“News about Lady Julia Maesa.” His voice lowered.
I leaned forward, tense. “Macrinus has expelled Lady Maesa from Rome. Officially it’s ‘to rest in her Syrian homeland,’ but in truth, it is exile.”
Huh? Why is this completely different?
Last time at the Rhine fortress, the messenger said she was already in Emesa.
Had that been distorted?
In ancient Rome, unlike the modern world…
Was it just unavoidable misinformation?
“Where is my grandmother now?” I asked urgently.
“She has arrived in Emesa. And…” The officer paused. “She has begun moving quietly.”
“What kind of moves?”
“She is meeting commanders of the Syrian Third Legion Gallica. She is also holding gatherings with local power holders, and coordinating closely with the priests of the Temple of Elagabal.”
Comazon and I exchanged glances.
She was moving exactly as we discussed.
“As expected… Lady Maesa hasn’t given up.” Comazon smiled. “She’s preparing to strike back.”
When we reached the port of Brundisium, the final messenger was waiting.
His expression was grim.
“Urgent news regarding the Empress Dowager Julia Domna.”
My heart dropped.
“The Empress Dowager… has passed away. She was in Antioch, and by refusing food…”
“Ha… Is that true?”
The image of my dignified great-aunt—the last time I saw her, reading Plato in her study—rose in my mind.
“So it was suicide in practice. Macrinus drove her to it.” Comazon’s voice was low. “Her privileges and honors were stripped, her wealth confiscated into the treasury… and she chose to starve herself.”
“Treating Lady Julia Domna like that…” I clenched my jaw. “That’s Macrinus’s decisive mistake.”
“That’s right. His foundation is weak this early in his reign, and he’s only enlarging the opposition.”
“Taking all of that into account, I submit the final analysis of Macrinus’s power base.” The messenger produced the last sealed letter. “In conclusion, it is extremely weak. Lack of legitimacy, military dissatisfaction, financial crisis, and the existence of the Julia family… all of it functions as vulnerabilities.”
Comazon looked out at the sea beyond the window. “No matter how much he thought he prepared… Macrinus is like a fortress built on sand. It may look solid, but the foundation is weak—so when the waves hit, it collapses.”
“Discontent with Macrinus is rising across the empire,” the messenger added. “Especially in Syria and the eastern provinces—there are even rumors that people are ‘waiting for the rightful emperor.’”
“And who that rightful emperor will be…” Comazon looked at me meaningfully. “That’s the story we’re going to make from here, isn’t it?”
The next morning…
We boarded a ship from Brundisium and headed for Rome.
Over the long journey, the information we gathered sorted itself out in my mind—
Macrinus’s weaknesses, Lady Julia Maesa’s movements, and the empire’s instability.
**
We arrived in Rome in the late afternoon.
The moment we crossed the Tiber and entered the city, I felt the atmosphere had changed.
The streets were crowded as always, but unease and doubt sat on people’s faces.
Comazon’s longtime friend—Senator Julius Sabinus—received us.
“You’ve had a hard journey. I’ll start with what’s urgent. The Senate has already formally recognized Macrinus as emperor.” Sabinus explained, looking between Comazon and me. “There was no real choice. The empire needed an emperor, and there was no alternative.”
We moved to Sabinus’s residence.
There, he laid out Rome’s current situation in detail. “The senators’ reactions are split. Some support Macrinus—relieved to be free from Caracalla’s tyranny. Especially those whose property Caracalla confiscated welcomed Macrinus.”
“But not all,” Comazon said.
“Of course not. The conservative senators consider it a disgrace that someone from the equestrian class became emperor. They lament that ‘Rome’s traditions have collapsed.’ And eastern-born senators—especially from Syria and Egypt—refuse to acknowledge Macrinus out of loyalty to the Severan dynasty.”
“What’s the balance?” I asked.
“Roughly in thirds—supporters, opponents, and neutral observers.”
“And the citizens?” I asked.
Sabinus sighed. “Hoo… not good. Many lost jobs when public works stopped. Construction laborers in particular are furious.”
“What about grain distribution?”
“It’s still being maintained, but the amount has been reduced. With currency value dropping, grain prices rose. The price of a loaf doubled in a month.” Sabinus lowered his voice. “But the more serious issue is Parthia.”
“The peace treaty?”
“Exactly. Rome’s pride took a heavy hit. As rumors spread that ‘Rome paid barbarians to buy peace,’ anger is boiling. Retired soldiers and military families are especially enraged.”
“So are there riots in the streets already?”
“Not yet. But in the Forum and the plazas, complaints are getting louder. People are even saying, ‘Caracalla was bad, but at least we had bread.’” Sabinus pointed out the window. “Go to the Forum this afternoon. You’ll understand when you see it.”
That evening, we went to the Forum Romanum.
The sun was setting, but the square was still packed.
People stood in small clusters, whispering.
“Macrinus isn’t even a soldier. He has no right to be emperor.”
“The Severan family is Syrian, sure, but at least they made Rome great. What has this emperor done? He tucked his tail to Parthia!”
“My son died fighting in the East—so what was that for? In the end we paid money and surrendered!”
“He gave up lands Emperor Trajan conquered. Rome’s disgrace!”
An old man who looked like a retired soldier shouted, voice burning with rage.
“My son fought in Mesopotamia! Victory was right there, and then a withdrawal order! And two hundred million sesterces handed to the enemy? Is this Rome’s way?”
The crowd murmured in agreement.
“My son enlisted too, but he says his pay is far less than before. It’s unfair.”
“Taxes are up, bread is up, jobs are down… is this the new emperor’s ‘gift’?”
Listening to them…
I felt, directly, just how unstable public sentiment was.
Economic hardship combined with wounded imperial pride—And together they were creating a dangerously volatile atmosphere.