“Rome would never have need of a dictator if she had such men in office, men so united in heart, as ready to obey as to command and contributing glory to the common stock rather than drawing from it in their personal interests” – Titus Livy The History of Rome, Books 6-10
Some made way, others, stood still. As if navigating a dense jungle, Julius finds himself ducking and weaving across the disgruntled crowd of people. At times he gets pushed, at times he gets pulled, always being accompanied by either a question, or insult.
“Consul Julius! What happened?”
“Disgusting f****** dog!”
Julius, treads along. His toga ripped by the hands of the desperate, his body bruised by the fists of those wronged, his face spat on by the whims of the doubtful. He bore no mind to these happenings. As he believes that whatever happens to him is a form of payment for the debts of the senate to the people. He knew that his anger, his pain, his…fury. Should not be directed to those that have been wronged, to the people who have suffered the follies of the senate. To Julius, it was only right for them to take whatever act of justice they could get from him, pulling his hair, shoving him aside, punching him, kicking his legs. HE would take them all, he was WILLING to take them all.
There are many things that the modern world enjoys over the past, privy to most people is the unending opportunities one gets to feel compassion. There is not as much urgency needed worry of starvation, disease, or war. The people of our time live in a world of development and relative peace. As such, the people of our time, are by far, the most compassionate generation of humans…Julius being one of them.
So he took it, he took the pain…the anguish…the desperation…the loss, that these people threw in the form of their actions. He understood why they were like this, he understood what caused them to be like this, he knows who were responsible for this, the only thing he didn’t know, was how… how he could fix Rome…how he could help the people…
Julius was looking at the ground, his head tilted down, almost bowing his head in shame as he marches through the crowd. He then found himself at the foot of the stairs that leads to pillars of the curia. Just like yesterday, he marvelled at the architecture, but only for a fleeting moment. His wonder, turning it conviction, Julius knew what he must do, who he must confront, in order to get to the bottom of everything. As he ascended the “honored” flight of stairs, he hears the shouts and quarrels of the now familiar voices of the senators. Worried, chaotic, and broken. Arriving at the top, through these doors lie the root of all of Rome’s problems…the cancer that fed on the noble people of Rome…The senate…
Behind him, Julius heard the voices of his lictors. Mark Anthony, notably, not being one of them.
“Consul Julius!”
One one screamed, all seemingly tired from waving past the rioting mass.
“My consul, your toga! Its in tatters!”
Remarked one lictor, as he motioned to offer his own toga for Julius to wear.
“There is no need…”
Julius replied, as he waved his hand, denying the lictor’s gesture. Instead, his eyes got attracted to the worn down piece of lorica musculata, leaning against the walls of the curia. One wonders how this piece of equipment found itself here, maybe, a general returning from this morning left it here to be scrapped, or perhaps, the senate considered it as junk and threw it out. But whatever the case may be, almost as if guided by the arms of fate, this piece, rendered down like a sick depiction…mirroring the current state of Rome…found itself in the gaze of the eyes of Julius.
In an effort to adhere to his cursus honorum, Julius dons the withered chest piece, covering his torn toga tears as well has his bruises. He looks towards his lictors and says.
“Let us proceed…”
Swiftly his lictors nod and went on to push open the wooden doors in front of him. Releasing the chaotic discourse of voices from within the curia.
“What should we do now?! We have nothing left!”
“The people are rioting! and we only have a handful of triarii left!”
They scream, in a state of panic, as they ponder upon the recent news that has reached their ears. The members, who have aligned themselves to Quintus, cynically points out…
“The great Pompey is dead! it is time we surrender ourselves to capitulation!”
“Three times we have tried, and THREE times we have failed! why do you all still insist in resisting?!”
The members aligned with Crassus, rebut almost in unison.
“Have you no honor?!”
One continued…
“It is better to fight on to the very end than to present our bellies to them like a stray dog!”
Tired of this reasoning, a member of the opposition sneers.
“Bah! what of honor?! we lost it all ages ago!”
“Even the people no longer want to fight YOUR wars!”
In an attempt to fish for their flawed remarks, the member seeks to take advantage of the clear hypocrisy present from within the camp of Crassus.
The back and forth continues, reply after reply, excuse after excuse…nothing of worth was reached from this discourse, while Crassus himself sat in silence seemingly dismissive of the arguments. Even Quintus just sat in silence, his head resting upon his fist as he ponders upon something, his leg restlessly bobbing up and down. It was then that both men notice the presence of Julius, Crassus motioned to announce and welcome the consul yet again, but this time, Quintus beat him to it…
“Everyone, SILENCE! The gracious consul has arrived…”
He declared, almost like a rat that has found his next scheme, he snickers and puts on a fake smile as he welcomed Julius to the meeting. Quintus laid his eyes upon the beaten consul, he notices the torn toga under the lorica, and the bruises visible on the face of the consul. He became even more elated…
Julius’s mark on Rome has now spread to the senate…
The senate was silenced, all could not put into words the surprise they felt when Quintus himself eagerly announced the presence of the new consul. This was not just unusual, this was neigh unreal, members from both sides look around in confusion, unable to fathom the madness that has happened in front of them, the only one to through him was Crassus.
His eyes widened while raising his brows, Crassus thought to himself…
“No he can’t be suggesting we-“
It was then that Quintus pounced like a starving predator, desperate for anything. He latched on to the only thing he had left available to him, his only hope, his scapegoat, Julius…
“The man of the hour has arrived, come consul Julius! grace us with your presence!”
Quintus claps his hand, urging everyone who followed him to clap along. While the rest seem apprehensive.
Julius looked towards the senate, his eyes filled with rage and conviction. Presenting himself now to the whole senate, the members take notice of his rather thrashed appearance. As he motioned to respond, Quintus quickly cuts him off…
“Oh lord consul! what a massive misfortune has befell upon us today!”
“Your fellow consul, Pompey the Great has died in battle, glory be to his name!”
His theatrics seem uncanny to everyone but Crassus, and for a moment, Julius as well. He thought…
“What is this farce?”
“Why is he-“
It was then that Julius realized what Quintus was planning, he wanted to make him dictator, he wanted to make Julius a true martyr…
“It is truly a sad day for both us and the people of this city!”
“Oh great consul! No, oh great and compassionate Julius!”
“Will you lead us in this time of need!”
“Roma, needs you as its dictator!”
The bewildered crowed was silent again, but one after the other, they clap, they scream and shout in glory of Julius. They realized, that the answer to all their problems was him, Julius. One could say, that any one of them could have just stepped up and be hailed as a new consul, but no one would even dare take up the mantel. Nobody wanted to take any of the blame, and so they all collectively thought…If Julius became dictator, all of the blame could be shifted on to him, everything would be his fault, everything…would be on him. So, they cheered like they never cheered before, they urged him to take up the title, they urged him to accept his fate. All members, from either side, showed their emphatic support for this call, they did not care for the consequence…they didn’t need to care…they cared only for themselves, in their mind, these problems will no longer be theirs, it will be Julius’s, and ONLY Julius’s…everyone in that room wanted to sacrifice Julius…
Never before has the senate been so unified under a cause, Crassus accepts this reality and readies himself for what’s to come. Quintus finally opens the vote…
“All in favor to award the title of dictator to consul Julius!”
Everyone present in that room raised their hands, it was unanimous. In a way, it was quite glorious to see so many people with vastly differing opinions agree on one singular thing.
Among the hands, was the lone closed and bloodied fist of Julius held up high. He barely got to speak again in that accursed curia, but he did not need to, he got what he wanted. Julius only needed to respond with one sentence…
“I…accept…“
