I guess the movie ended where it ended because Rome's post Emperor Commodus life (heretofore, to avoid confusion, we'll call Commodus the easier to remember, "Phoenixus") was not bound for beautiful rainbowy dreams. It's "republic" would never return... Well, maybe it kinda would... but Didius Julianus is here to tell us how well it went!
Here we go.
Emperor Phoenixus was crazy. No one was more aware of it then his elite military security unit, known as the Praetorian Guard. So, as the story goes, several high ranking officials, in collusion with this Praetorian Guard, had incestually-leaningly Phoenixus murdered in the middle of the night. Sorry to ruin all our vested beliefs, but in fact, Russell the Maximus Crowe did not actually kill Pheonixus in the Coliseum. It just didn't happen that way.
 |
| too cool to be true. |
The powers that be weren't stupid, however, and they sincerely thought they could learn from history. After the equally insanely evil Emperor Nero offed himself a hundred years prior, there was a horrible power vacuum in Rome that resulted in horrendous civil wars, as well as four emperors in one year. So, the Praetorian Guard mandated that the Emperor be replaced before dawn. They needed someone who could wear the ring of power immediately and stabilize the kingdom, lest every general gather up his roots from Londonium to Timbuktu in expectation of sporting royal purple. The Praetorians evidently chose a dude named Pertinax for the throne, apparently because he offered to pay the Guard handsomely.
So, Phoenixus is killed in the middle of the night.
By dawn, Pertinax the successor is crowned.
He would last three months in office.
The problem with old Pertinax is that he was old school. He wanted to govern with calm, calculated decisions. Scribbling the Praetorians a "thank you for making me Emperor" check was not a calm, calculated decision... so Pertinax refused to pay up.
The Praetorian Guard is like a big bully that just so happens to cry a lot when he doesn't get his way. They cried and cried and cried. For three months Pertinax could barely hear himself think over the deafening sobbing of his childish Praetorians. But he was a resolute man.
As the old saying goes, "...try try again," the Praetorian Guard wiped away their tears and figured, "Heck, we did it once, why not twice?" Thus ended Pertinax. Three hundred members of the Guard bum-rushed old, stubborn Perty. The King is dead.
Long live the King. Once again the Romans desperately tried to learn from history. The Praetorian Guard wanted to make sure this time they put a man on the throne that paid them what their sweet tears were worth. So they did the most entrepreneurial thing to do: they put the Emperorship up for auction. Whoever promised to pay the Guard the most money would get the crown. It's so simple! -- why hadn't anyone tried it before???
One bored senator (who I can only assume led a boring life) heard about this, ran to every family member he knew, deciding to buy the office for his son. After a lively auction, the senator promised to give the Guard what amounts to about two-thirds of all the money that Rome had to the few hundred men that made up the Praetorians. Things were working out splendidly. Obscure Didius Julianus received the most powerful position in the world that day... because his Pa was a betting man.
A recap:
Pheonixus killed by Praetorians.
Praetorians replace Phoenixus with Pertinax.
Praetorians become Crybabies.
Pertinax ignores Crybabies.
Crybabies kill Pertinax.
Crybabies auction off the throne.
Julianus is crowned Emperor.
2 months and 4 days later, Crybabies kill Julianus.
Oops... getting ahead of ourselves...
The day that Julianus became Emperor, the news infected all four corners of the kingdom. Every General fighting every German, Persian or whatever people group, felt his blood spurt green with envy. Soon, a whole gaggle of Roman generals alongside Roman armies found themselves marching on Rome itself with eyes set on the awful prize of power.
By all accounts Didius Julianus was a cool guy; that is, a cool guy that never had a chance. I'm sure once upon a time he sat on his Father's lap, looked into his Dad's clear eyes and said boldly, "When I grow up I'm going to be the best Emperor Rome has ever seen." Surely that conversation happened. And surely, Didius never lost his naive posture and hopeless romanticness. His Father clearly saw to that.
Of all those green blooded generals, General Severus was the greeniest. And severest. And Generalest. He had to beat up a few other punk armies on his way to Rome, but he marched straight for the crown, only to knock on Rome's door in less than two months time. The Praetorian Guard took one look at the mountainous Severus, soiled themselves, and plunged swords into the small of Didius' back. They did this in the hopes that Severus would forgive them for selling Rome to the highest bidder.
Severus, being smart AND severe, forever disbanded the Crybabies and successfully ruled Rome for another two decades.
But let's back-peddle. According to Roman historian Cassius Dio, when the Crybabies killed Julianus, his dying words were:
But what evil have I done?
Whom have I killed?
What amazes me about the quote is its worldview narrative. It would seem that this senator king believed in his very bones that the world is just. Who in this world lives their whole life while still believing that all (in this life) come to a just end? Surely no king! Surely no man who knows politics! Surely no person who's experienced persecution! Surely no man who knows of the blood of Abel screaming up to God! Surely no man who's stubbed his toe and suffered for no good reason! Right?
I ask all those questions to the lifeless memory of Emperor Didius Julianus. I ask these questions... and shudder. Would I do the same on the day of my death? Would I suddenly demand justice for my blood? Would I reject what experience has taught me to be truth in place of a karmic fantasy?
Perhaps Julianus knew the truth, knew the depths of the darkness of the Earth, but still hoped for something better for himself. Maybe, in the deepest places of his heart, he held a conviction that he was different. He was the auctioned King, a man destined, despite his birth, to the throne room over all the known world. He was special.
Didius Julianus believed he was different.
He wasn't.
