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Authors: Francine Rivers
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of a suitable marriage. Now it made sense. Father had a bigger topic to approach: Politics. A blood sport if ever there was one, to Marcus‘“ way of thinking.
The gods hadn’t been kind to his father the last few years. Fire and rebellion had cost him several warehouses and millions of sesterces in goods destroyed. He’d blamed Nero, despite the emperor’s efforts to blame the conflagration on the Christian sect. Those close to Nero had been aware of his dream to redesign and rebuild Rome, renaming it Neropolis. Instead, the madman had succeeded in the city’s destruction.
Rome staggered in rebellion over Nero’s mismanagement.
Emperor Galba had proven a fool. When he ordered all those who had received gifts and pensions from Nero to return nine-tenths to the treasury, he had assured his death. Within weeks, the Praetorian Guard had handed his head to Otho and proclaimed the bankrupt merchant the new emperor of Rome.
Rome stumbled.
Otho served no better. As Vitellius’ legions invaded Italy and swept away the northern garrisons of the Praetorian Guard, Otho committed suicide. Yet, once in power, Vitellius worsened the situation by relinquishing his responsibilities to the corruptions of his freedman, Asiaticus. Vitellius, foul pig that he was, retired to the life of a fat, slothful, epicurean gourmand.
As power washed back and forth like a tide, upheaval spread throughout the Empire. The Judean revolt continued. Another started in Gaul. German tribes united under the command of the Roman-trained Civilis and attacked frontier outposts.
Rome was on her knees.
It took Vespasian to bring her to her feet again. As word carried through the provinces the disintegration of government, the generals’ legions proclaimed Vespasian their emperor, and they upheld their proclamation by sending General Antonius and a great army into Italy to dethrone Vitellius. Defeating an army at Cremona, Antonius marched into Rome, killing Vitellius’ troops without quarter. Vitellius himself was found hiding in the palace and was dragged half-naked through the streets. The citizenry pelted him with dung and tortured him without mercy. Even with his death, the masses and soldiers were not satisfied. They mutilated Vitellius’ body, dragging it by hook through the city streets and finally discarding what remained in the muddy Tiber.
“You say nothing,” Decimus said, frowning.
His father’s words drew Marcus out of his reverie. He had seen too many die in the past few years to desire a career in politics. Young men, whose only mistake was to support the wrong man, were dead. Granted, Vespasian was an honorable and able man, a man accustomed to battle. However, to Marcus’ thinking, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t fall prey to a concubine’s poison or an assassin’s dagger.
“Many of my friends had political ambitions, Father. Hymenaeus and Aquila, for example. And what became of them? They were ordered to commit suicide when Nero suspected them of treason, based on no evidence other than the word of a jealous senator. And Pudens was murdered because his father was a personal friend of Otho. Appicus was cut down when Antonius entered Rome. Beyond that, considering the lives of most of our emperors, and their ends, I don’t find politics a particularly healthy or honorable pursuit.”
Decimus sat down, forcing himself to a calmness he was far from feeling. He knew the look on Marcus’ face. If only his son’s powerful will could be appropriately channeled to something other than selfish pleasures.
“Marcus, reconsider. With Vespasian in power, this is an opportune time for political ambitions. It is a good time to find a worthy path for your life,” he said. “Times have been turbulent, but they will now come under the reign of a man of intelligence and justice.” He saw the wry look on his son’s face and came to the point. “One million sesterces will buy you a place in the equestrian order and a seat in the
The gods hadn’t been kind to his father the last few years. Fire and rebellion had cost him several warehouses and millions of sesterces in goods destroyed. He’d blamed Nero, despite the emperor’s efforts to blame the conflagration on the Christian sect. Those close to Nero had been aware of his dream to redesign and rebuild Rome, renaming it Neropolis. Instead, the madman had succeeded in the city’s destruction.
Rome staggered in rebellion over Nero’s mismanagement.
Emperor Galba had proven a fool. When he ordered all those who had received gifts and pensions from Nero to return nine-tenths to the treasury, he had assured his death. Within weeks, the Praetorian Guard had handed his head to Otho and proclaimed the bankrupt merchant the new emperor of Rome.
Rome stumbled.
Otho served no better. As Vitellius’ legions invaded Italy and swept away the northern garrisons of the Praetorian Guard, Otho committed suicide. Yet, once in power, Vitellius worsened the situation by relinquishing his responsibilities to the corruptions of his freedman, Asiaticus. Vitellius, foul pig that he was, retired to the life of a fat, slothful, epicurean gourmand.
As power washed back and forth like a tide, upheaval spread throughout the Empire. The Judean revolt continued. Another started in Gaul. German tribes united under the command of the Roman-trained Civilis and attacked frontier outposts.
Rome was on her knees.
It took Vespasian to bring her to her feet again. As word carried through the provinces the disintegration of government, the generals’ legions proclaimed Vespasian their emperor, and they upheld their proclamation by sending General Antonius and a great army into Italy to dethrone Vitellius. Defeating an army at Cremona, Antonius marched into Rome, killing Vitellius’ troops without quarter. Vitellius himself was found hiding in the palace and was dragged half-naked through the streets. The citizenry pelted him with dung and tortured him without mercy. Even with his death, the masses and soldiers were not satisfied. They mutilated Vitellius’ body, dragging it by hook through the city streets and finally discarding what remained in the muddy Tiber.
“You say nothing,” Decimus said, frowning.
His father’s words drew Marcus out of his reverie. He had seen too many die in the past few years to desire a career in politics. Young men, whose only mistake was to support the wrong man, were dead. Granted, Vespasian was an honorable and able man, a man accustomed to battle. However, to Marcus’ thinking, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t fall prey to a concubine’s poison or an assassin’s dagger.
“Many of my friends had political ambitions, Father. Hymenaeus and Aquila, for example. And what became of them? They were ordered to commit suicide when Nero suspected them of treason, based on no evidence other than the word of a jealous senator. And Pudens was murdered because his father was a personal friend of Otho. Appicus was cut down when Antonius entered Rome. Beyond that, considering the lives of most of our emperors, and their ends, I don’t find politics a particularly healthy or honorable pursuit.”
Decimus sat down, forcing himself to a calmness he was far from feeling. He knew the look on Marcus’ face. If only his son’s powerful will could be appropriately channeled to something other than selfish pleasures.
“Marcus, reconsider. With Vespasian in power, this is an opportune time for political ambitions. It is a good time to find a worthy path for your life,” he said. “Times have been turbulent, but they will now come under the reign of a man of intelligence and justice.” He saw the wry look on his son’s face and came to the point. “One million sesterces will buy you a place in the equestrian order and a seat in the
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