THE USURPATION AND FALL OF MACRINUS, 217-218
_Steps to Empire_
As we have suggested, Maesa saw more possibilities in living than in
assaying that better part which can never be taken from men, which
circumstance shows that she at least was not tainted with the growing
superstition that a mythical eternity is preferable to a certain present.
She promptly obeyed the edict of banishment which Macrinus had published
against the relations of the murdered Emperor, and, as we have said,
took with her to her native city the whole of her wealth and belongings.
It was some time during the winter of 217/18 that Macrinus ordered the
family of Bassianus to leave Antioch, and it was this very departure that
eventually cost him his throne and life. Certainly he must have known
that plans for replacing the house of Antonine on the throne were rife.
The final result shows months of work, effected only by hosts of agents.
In fact, we may almost surmise that government servants all over the
Empire had never acquiesced in the usurpation of Macrinus at all, and
were merely biding their time. There was only one safe plan for Macrinus,
if he wanted the loyalty of the civil and military parties in the state,
namely, to extirpate the whole house of Antonine. Instead of taking
this sensible and necessary measure, he merely banished the relations
of Caracalla, whom the soldiers regarded as their natural allies, most
especially the son and impersonator of that Emperor, the young Bassianus,
now aged about fourteen years.
They had more than one grudge against Macrinus. First, they felt the
utter disgrace of the Parthian campaign, and were disgusted at the lying
medal to celebrate a victory which all the world knew to have been a
colossal defeat. Next, they were righteously annoyed at the restrictions
put on their usual liberty. Third, they were quite unnecessarily
relegated, on half rations, to uncomfortable winter quarters, their pay
reduced, and their privileges stopped.
It is easy to imagine the soldiers’ disgust at finding themselves
subjects to a mere legal pedant, in the place of their popular idol and
born leader Caracalla, subjects of a man whose prime object seemed to
be the infliction of harsh and unnecessary punishments in all matters
concerning the ordinary enjoyments common to their state and life—a
ruler whose first reforms were to make criminal offences those natural
pleasures which were alone considered to make the strenuous military life
endurable. Tristran, quoting from Dion, recalls a law which ordained the
burning alive of a soldier and his mistress (_junctis corporibus_); or,
as an act of grace, their walling up together (in the same interesting
condition), and their being left to die of hunger and suffocation. This
feeling of rebellion was by no means lessened when men knew that the
new Emperor was taking his ease at Antioch, the Queen of the East, and
they compared this treatment with what they had received from their
friend and comrade the late Emperor. Macrinus was full of regulations
for others, but fully impressed with the legal maxim that the lawgiver
is above the law. It is small wonder, all things considered, if the
prayers of that host were that the Gods would favour their suppliants
both in their hatreds and in their lusts, prayers that were offered in
such right Davidic fashion that Forquet de Dorne thinks the attempts
made even during this period against the Emperor’s life would have been
successful, if it had not been for the fidelity of his fellow Moors.
Macrinus, like other amateur soldiers, did not recognise the power of the
army in the government of a military empire. He seems to have thought
that the best way to play up to his electors was to adopt a title of
Severus and display it towards them in all its rigour. Not that Macrinus’
incapacity as a statesman and military leader ceased here; he made a
yet greater mistake in leaving a large and discontented army in winter
quarters in Syria, partly at Emesa itself. These legions were nominally
for the protection of Phoenicia; actually, they kept Maesa in touch with
the outside world, and were under the direct influence of her active
brain and limitless treasure, for to such Herodian gives us to understand
that her spoils approximated. Little could the Moor have imagined
what a volcano he was preparing for himself when he left together the
discontented legionaries, the aunt of Caracalla, and the representative
of the house and name of Severus: whose title to bastardy henceforward
became of prime importance to the family and their fortunes.
Julia Maesa had not lived for twenty-five years at the Roman Court for
nothing. She knew the men with whom she had to deal, she was accustomed
to observe and meditate; further, she had gold which openeth the heart of
man, and an intelligence quite acute enough to know where it could best
be spent in order to yield the largest return. Besides this, she had a
grandson celebrated for his remarkable beauty, his vivid intelligence,
and his admirable gaiety. For such a youth employment must be found
immediately. Here at Emesa was the very thing ready to hand, the
sacerdotal position which was the property of the family. Maesa knew that
a high position in the Church is an acquisition which, even in this life,
is of lucrative and social advantage to the holder. The High-Priesthood
of one of the most important religions of Syria was Bassianus’ possession
for the mere trouble of undergoing the ordination rite, while with it
there still went a certain amount of the former princely kudos of that
house. No sooner had the family, with apparent grief and tribulation,
covered the intervening miles, than Bassianus was endowed with the
family offices, dignities, and emoluments, while his cousin Alexianus
was most probably associated with him as a sort of priest or acolyte. A
very fitting figure the boy made as High Priest of the Semitic Elagabal
or Sun God, the God of Gods made without hands, supreme, fecund, potent,
and glorious. Elagabal was worshipped under the symbol of a great black
stone or meteorite, in the shape of a Phallus, which, having fallen from
the heavens, represented a true portion of the Godhead, much after the
style of those black stone images popularly venerated in Normandy and
other parts of Europe to-day. The temple itself was of great renown;
its celebrity was gained from the fact that it represented the greatest
natural force of all time, and its magnificence was in proportion to
its renown. Gold, silver, and precious stones had poured into it, not
only from the countryside and from Judea, but from kings, satraps,
and vassals all over the Eastern provinces. Solomon’s temple, though
nominally the last word in barbaric ostentation, was easily surpassed
in taste, richness, and splendour at Emesa. Herodian paints vividly the
sensuous beauty of the worship, the vestments, the music, the dances, the
sacrifices, and the mysteries, till one has only to substitute Jehovah
for Baal, and one has a familiar scene; rather more splendid, rather
more cosmopolitan than the Jerusalem mysteries, but equally designed to
entrance the beholder and to mystify the devout. But whereas Baal drew
all men within his warm, natural, fecund embrace, Jehovah was at best
a local deity whom no one—save those urged on by tribal necessities—had
ever thought it worth while to propitiate, let alone to serve, at least
if we can form any idea of his importance from the Semitic literature and
philosophy when compared with that of the Western Empire.
Into all this power and sensuous beauty Bassianus stepped proudly, as
supreme lord, knowing how well it became his own splendid magnificence.
He must have been warned that it was but a means to an end, that here he
had no abiding city; but unfortunately he had a strong strain of mystical
devotion in his blood, and immediately became an enthusiast for his
deity. From the first moment that he appears upon the scene the boy is
always the same, impulsive, enthusiastic, mystical, continually dominated
by that effete neuroticism which still trades under the name of religion.
Thus Bassianus gloried in the beauty, which to his mind expressed,
however inadequately, the potency of his ineffable deity. Here was a God
who was able to make men happy, and had taken him into a very specially
protective embrace; a God who was evidently supreme, only, and alone, the
God of the Universe. Further, Bassianus gloried in his own beauty, the
perfection with which he had learnt to dance that indolent measure to the
kiss of flutes, robed in garments the like of which he had not imagined
during his residence in the city of the Caesars.
Now, it will be remembered that Caracalla’s soldiers were wintering,
half-fed, loveless, and discontented in that place, and, as is not
uncommon with simple men of that profession, they were easily attracted
by the mysterious and the unusual. Soon they heard of this wonderful boy,
in whose face was the enigmatic beauty shared by Gods and women; and
further, it was rumoured that, unlike most religious functionaries, this
priest was more ready to give than to receive. They came in scores to
watch and worship, and found, when they came, that he possessed the charm
of the dissolute and the wayward, heightened by the divine. On his head
was a diadem set with precious stones, whose iridescence sparkled like a
luminous aureole about his brow. His frail tunic was of clinging purple
silk diapered with gold, the sleeves were wide, after the Phoenician
fashion, and fell to his feet, and he was shod with fine gilded leather
reaching to his thighs. Many of those who gazed upon him must have seen
and remarked his beauty in the great City of the Empire, whilst those
who ascended to the temple and beheld its rites believed each day more
strongly (assisted, of course, by Maesa’s well-spent incentive) that they
beheld the child of destiny. Never had his beauty appealed as now; never
had the soldiery felt the need of a deliverer as much as at present.
Still the numbers—attracted by rumour—grew greater till the lad, feeling
the return of Rome to himself, ceased to dance, and strolled amongst his
beloved soldiers, surveying them with the bold feminine eyes they loved.
Amongst the troops was a certain Eutychianus, called by Xiphilinus,
Comazon, because he took part in mimes and farces. He was a soldier of
some age and renown who had served in Thrace under the Emperor Commodus,
and was a man of growing influence and ability. Publius Valerius Comazon
Eutychianus was the full name of the man, who was highly honoured for his
part in the subsequent proceedings. It is impossible to believe that this
man was merely an actor, indeed it is most probable that the abridger
of Dion has thought fit to introduce a bit of gratuitously impossible
information when he remarks that Eutychianus was only a freed man of the
Emperor and an actor. During the reign of Elagabalus he was once Consul
and twice City Praefect, and was again appointed to this same office
under the Emperor Alexander.
This man and the tutor Gannys seem to have been the means of forcing home
on the neglected legionaries two most important items of information.
Through them the soldiers were reminded that Bassianus was their murdered
comrade’s son and heir, issue of the Emperor and his equally popular
cousin Soaemias—that fiery-eyed woman of superb bearing, before whom
fire had been carried as before an Empress, and yet one whose favours
had ever been for the strong, whose predilections were for the military.
Here they found her again, passionate as ever, banished on account of
her relationship to their dead leader, and banished by the man they now
knew to be his murderer. And further, they found her rich. Sedulously
she caused the rumour of her generosity to circulate, until all men
knew about the lumps of gold she was ready to give to any one who would
place her Antonine on the throne of his father. It may have been that
more than one in that camp could have traced a resemblance to himself
in the young priest’s features, but none did, the lumps of gold had a
language all their own, a persuasive power so potent that not only was
Bassianus recognised with a frenzy of loyalty, but his less attractive
cousin Alexianus was accepted as his half-brother, a youth whose imperial
paternity was at least as possible as his own.
Now the question was, could anything be done to put these protestations
of loyalty to some practical use? Bassianus was certainly accepted by the
legionaries early in the year 218 as the legitimate bastard and heir of
Caracalla; the true Augustus, deprived of his throne and heritage by the
hated Moor,—the man who had killed their idol, and was now oppressing
them (which was perhaps more to the point) with the multitude of his
civilian parsimonies.
Already Maesa’s plans (or were they those of Julia Pia?) were taking
shape in a manner almost too good to be true, when, to the help of
the youth and his relatives, came the divine portents, which were the
accustomed foreshadowings of important events. The great God veiled his
face. Elagabal signified his displeasure at the rule of the murderer by
an eclipse, and following on the eclipse came a comet, a daystar from
on high (another frequently recurring sign of the rise of a redeemer
and of the rejuvenation of the world). These signs and portents were
doubtless adequately explained to the soldiers, and seem to have decided
them to redeem their promises. Within four days, according to Wirth, it
was decided that Bassianus should repair to the camp with his treasure,
and be proclaimed Emperor by the whole army in that province. Of course,
all this took time. Authorities differ, not only as to the method
adopted, but also as to the month in which the proclamation took place.
Dion states definitely that Bassianus was proclaimed Emperor at dawn on
16th May 218. Wirth, criticising Dion, decides that the proclamation
took place almost immediately after the eclipse, which we know from
Oppolzer took place on 12th April. He quotes Dion’s own words that the
proclamation took place ὑπὸ τὰς ἠμέρας ἐκείνας of the eclipse; therefore
16th May is obviously a scribe’s error for 16th April, as the phrase is
quite incapable of bearing the meaning within thirty-four days. Further,
Wirth goes on to explain that haste was an obvious necessity, as no
troops would ever be left in winter quarters till the middle of May. The
middle of April, in that province, was more than late enough to account
for Dion’s statement that the troops had been unduly delayed in winter
quarters that year. Undoubtedly, Wirth’s suggestion as to an earlier date
of proclamation than that stated in the present text of Dion is the most
likely; the difficulty lies in the fact that from 16th April to 8th June,
the date of the battle, there is a period of seven weeks in which the
active Maesa apparently did nothing; but more of this later. To continue
with the story. When the preparations were ready, and the portents of the
eclipse had decided the superstitious, Dion says that Bassianus, Maesa,
and the family of the Bassiani, with wagons bearing their treasure, the
ransom of the Empire, left the city, and took up their quarters within
the camp on the night of 15th April (or 15th May) 218. Herodian says
that only Bassianus and Eutychianus went, and by stealth, as Maesa was
ignorant of the final plans, though both agree that at dawn on the next
day the High Priest, Bassianus, was brought out, shown to the soldiers,
habited in the clothes that Caracalla had worn, and then, Macrinus having
been deposed, Bassianus was elected Emperor in his stead, under the title
of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Antonini Filius, Severi Nepos, Augustus,
Pius, Felix. Herodian adds that the camp was at once fortified, both to
protect the young Emperor—who, like his putative father, preferred the
camp to the palace—and also to withstand the punitive expedition which
Macrinus was bound to send as soon as he heard of the revolt and mutiny.
The news would take at least a couple of days to reach Antioch, if not
considerably longer, considering that the soldiers had taken care to
keep the proceedings within the camp. In due course Macrinus heard of
their audacity. He was astonished and disgusted, and frankly said so.
The account which he sent to the Senate was not pleasant reading for any
of those it concerned; but except by means of the pen, the nominally
deposed Emperor did not think that much need be done. Still, that a
mere boy, with a handful of women, should have seduced the defenders of
a province was preposterous. Something must be done to show the soldiery
that, though Caracalla might have stood such freedom of choice (which
by the way he never did), he, Macrinus, was now master of the Empire,
and incidentally their master as well. It was a veritable storm in a
tea-cup, of course, but really upsetting to the man who thought that his
troubles were now over, that rest remained for the elect of the Gods. The
remarkable thing about Macrinus is, that he seems to have been absolutely
in the dark as to the state of public opinion, and the extent of the plot
for replacing the Antonine House on the throne. As we read the history
of Bassianus’ phenomenal rise to power, there is a ring of the English
Restoration. It is impossible to account for his universal success except
on the grounds that the government officials everywhere as well as the
soldiers recognised in him a legitimate sovereign and an obvious ruler.
From the moment at which he set up his standard there seems to have
been no sort of adequate opposition either from the civil or military
government of Macrinus; while, on the other hand, Bassianus obviously had
a party organised in every city and province, which was sedulously kept
informed of his progress from day to day. Not only _a_ party, but _the_
party, as there is no instance—except at Alexandria, where the Antonines
were scarcely popular—of Bassianus’ legates being received otherwise than
with open arms. None of which facts argue well for the position of the
Moor in the state. Macrinus was inclined to overestimate his popularity,
and he certainly underestimated the influence of youths and women.
Perhaps he had no experience of female tactics, and the persistency
with which they prosecute their own designs; he obviously thought a
sententious letter to the Senate, full of smug platitudes, abuse of the
army and the house of Antonine, was what that august assembly wanted.
So far he had not missed his mark; but when he went on to inform them
that they would never have any desire to wish him any hurt, one of the
Senators, Fulvius Diogenianus by name (who was obviously better informed
than the majority as to the likelihood of their having to put up with
Macrinus much longer), answered immediately and with surprising candour,
“But that is what we are all longing for”; whereupon the Senate sent
word to the army that their general and Emperor was not to be trusted on
several counts.
Macrinus, however, was not entirely idle; he had at least begun to think.
True, he had, for himself, preferred the pen to the sword, and then found
that the pen was a double-edged weapon like the sword, only rather more
dangerous, because it constituted documentary evidence. Still, he would
not let others err in the same way. He sent for his Praetorian Praefect,
Ulpius Julianus, to attend at his silken couch and talk business. The
result of this conference was that Macrinus resolved to strike fear, by
proxy of course, into the hearts of that “child and idiot,” his two
women, and the legion who supported him; and where, he argued, would the
revolt be when their hopes, centred in a child, too young to know even
the rudiments of politics, were suddenly blighted? Of course, he would
like news, and yes, he thought he had better say it, the boy’s head in a
charger—stone-dead hath no fellow. It would put the Emperor quite at his
ease once again to know that his rival was dead. It was perhaps foolish
to be concerned about so effete a crew, nothing could come of it all; but
still he would feel relieved if Julian would go at once to Emesa.
We are not told how long Julian took in his preparations, or on the
journey. From Macrinus’ attitude of disregard, probably he was not
specially pressed, though from his selection of troops Julian must have
thought the rising more important than Macrinus had pretended in his
letter to the Senate. Julian’s chief anxiety was to secure loyalty to
Macrinus amongst the men he took for the suppression of this revolt.
Certain incautious speculations amongst the men led to the execution of
several before the expedition started. From his position as Praetorian
Praefect, Julian would take a fair contingent; his dignity demanded it,
and probably his knowledge of the state of politics would tell him that
a strong movement was necessary at the outset. Apparently about three
legions went in all. Julian added to his forces a large number of Moors,
unless Herodian means that he took the Moorish cohorts of the Praetorian
Guard as main body, and added other men to these; in any case, it seems
obvious that, even if the government had not got wind of what was going
forward, the army had, and in consequence the Moors, as Macrinus’ own
countrymen, were considered the most trustworthy soldiers for the work,
besides which they were never over-particular in their methods. There
is evidence that, no matter how much he might belittle the movement in
public, Macrinus knew that the “Idiot” and his two women were likely to
have a full dog’s chance, and get a good run for their money.
The journey from Antioch to Emesa is, as we have said, a matter of 125
miles. The report of the meeting _inside the camp_ had to reach Macrinus;
he had to get his mind attuned to the extraordinary circumstances; then
appoint Julian, who had to make his inquisition and other preparations,
and then get to Emesa. Conjecturally, he could not have arrived with an
effective force much before the 28th of April, or settled down to attack
the fortified camp outside the city till that day. On the first day, Dion
tells us that Julian all but took the camp in a long day’s fight; but
it was heavy work, and, contrary to Macrinus’ expectation, the arrival
of Julian had not struck fear into the heart of the “effeminate and
debauched Syrian lad,” who was still with his soldiers, and showed no
intention of giving way even when the sun began to decline in the west.
[Illustration: Coin of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (Caracalla) (British
Museum).
Coin of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (Elagabalus) (British Museum).
Coin of Macrinus recording Victoria Parthica, A.D. 218. (From a woodcut.)
Coin of Diadumenianus as Emperor, A.D. 218 (British Museum).
_Face page 60._]
Unfortunately for Julian—and incidentally for his master also, as things
turned out—the Praefect thought that “the night cometh in which no man
can work,” and gave his Moors leave to retire to their lines at sunset.
With them went certain of the Emesan legionaries, displaying a hardihood
truly heroic, unless they were fairly sure of their ground. All that
night they worked, spreading their evangel, talking, persuading, and
promising on behalf of Antonine and his gold; talking until even the
besieging Moors knew full well that those walls held not only the son of
Caracalla, but the limitless wealth which he was ready to give to all
those who would assist him in reaching the throne of his father and their
hero. It was enough. When morning broke, the vision of his Augustitude
was seen above the walls of the camp, dressed in garments which they
could recognize from their colour and shape as having belonged to
Caracalla, and surrounded by his money bags. There he stood, boldly and
proudly, certainly in imminent danger of death from the besiegers, but
without fear, while all around him rose a great shout, “Behold the image
of your benefactor! can you fight against him and us, who stand by him
for his father’s sake?” Now, the resemblance, as shown on the coins given
by Cohen (_vide_ coin 8, p. 324, and coin 1, p. 243, vol. iv.), is quite
remarkable; whether it was merely a family likeness or entirely paternal,
it was quite good enough for men who at some little distance were already
convinced, and entirely anxious to share in the largess that they had
seen was already the prize of others.
There was no further fighting, for all Julian’s orders. The soldiers
threw down their arms and refused battle against the popular idol. True,
there was still a question of heads, but the head of the “Idiot” was not
thought about in the old connection; it was too valuable where it was.
It was the officers of Macrinus who suffered at the hands of those who
were candidates for their offices, and to whom the position and property
of the defunct had been promised by the new Emperor. The last to fall
was Julian. That trusty favourite of the deposed Emperor had managed to
escape when he saw the way that the tide was flowing, but for a general
commanding-in-chief to escape is not easy, and there were doubtless many
aspirants for his responsibility and position. Herodian tells a dismal
tale of the Praefect found in hiding, where he was given a short shrift,
because his head was wanted for a use other than that of commanding the
Praetorian Guards. The ingeniousness of the conquerors had designed it as
an evangel, or announcement of good tidings to Macrinus, impersonating
the head he wanted, that of Bassianus the Impostor.
But to return to Macrinus. Julian departed on his mission, the Emperor
seems to have got more and more worried; people must have told him things
which he had never heard before, and he appears to have worked himself
into a fever of excitement, a simple longing to do something, no matter
what, to get on the move, to propitiate somebody, chiefly the soldiers
whom he had neglected, and well, perhaps, just a bit persecuted. It had
all been for their good, of course, but now he had to think of his own
good; and so he set out towards Emesa. Not that he had any intention
of endangering his precious person by going anywhere in that vicinity
himself; but there was the second Parthian Legion, enrolled by Severus,
and very loyal to the house of Antonine, which was wintering at Apamea,
about half-way between Antioch and Emesa. Perhaps it would be as well
to modify that precious title of his by gifts, largesses, and other
privileges, especially in the case of this particular legion of Albano,
as it was called, a legion which was so near the danger zone, and whose
defection might simply mean flight for Macrinus. Gold had worked miracles
at Emesa, but Macrinus was not so foolish as to expect miracles, he only
wanted mercenary service; neither did he want any more talk of bribes,
which every one would accept very readily, and would as readily repudiate
the responsibility thereby incurred. But surely what had paid at Emesa
ought to pay at Apamea too. If a boy Emperor Bassianus was popular there,
why not set up a child yet younger than the impostor; in fact, why not
make his own son, Diadumenianus, Associate Emperor with himself? The
boy was quite ten years of age, and would make a fitting set-off to the
“Idiot” of fourteen, whose youthful pretensions he had just derided so
conclusively before the Senate. Besides which, it would be an additional
security for his family if anything untoward should happen, and would
furnish the occasion for a largess, which Macrinus was wanting. It would
be an occasion at which no one could cavil, no one pretend to sneer.
Neither would it be a craven act, such as the late dealings with Parthia
had been stigmatised. It was quite a budget that the ponderous lawyer had
thought out in so short a space of time. Travelling, he knew not quite
whither, had sharpened his wits wonderfully, and he did more than plan;
he executed his design without delay. The legions rejoiced once more in
their demoralising privileges, and in more than they could have hoped
for in the way of extra pay. Dion tells us that on the day when Macrinus
declared his son Antonine and Augustus (with no senatorial patent, of
course) he promised to each legionary 5000 drachmae, of which 1000 were
to be paid down. Further, in the letter to the Senate which announced
his son’s elevation, he promised to each Roman citizen a congiary of 150
drachmae. Obviously Macrinus was changing his views; in his last letter
he had played up to the Senate and despised the army; he was now playing
up to the army, and showing the Senate and sovereign people of Rome that
he estimated their worth at just one thirty-third of the amount at which
he valued a base soldier—a man who would continually suffer himself to be
bribed, to the enormous hurt of the state, as he had so recently enforced
upon the senatorial attention.
Macrinus was certainly not clever, his acrobatic feats were never
graceful, never gained him much applause even from the gallery. The
occasion of this congiary and donative was certainly a good bid for
general popularity; rejoicings went on apace; the obedient Senate,
having taken their bribe, poured contumely upon the house of Antonine
with a hearty goodwill, and declared its members enemies to the state and
commonwealth of Rome. But somehow no one was quite satisfied, certainly
not Macrinus; the news he was expecting did not come; the head he wanted
had not yet been sent.
There is a certain difficulty about the date of Diadumenianus’ elevation.
Neither Dion nor Herodian state definitely when it was effected. Mommsen
postulates that it must be late in May on account of the scarcity of
evidence on the point. There are several known coins which call him
Emperor, one struck at Antioch, another at Thyatira in 218; a third
obviously earlier in the same year omits the title. Certainly the writer
of Macrinus’ letters to the Senate places it after the proclamation of
Bassianus, and leads one to suppose that it took place as given above, at
Apamea, and was the means adopted to conciliate the legionaries.
Meanwhile at Emesa busy brains had been busily at work. A gentle reminder
of his perilous position was on the way to Macrinus. By way of showing
him that Julian had forced a battle, and was sending the spoil to grace
the festivities arranged for the Child Emperor’s elevation, Eutychianus
Comazon, the soldier whose persuasive power and influence had been of
such use to Maesa, bethought himself of a pleasant surprise. He took the
Praefect’s head and wrapped it in linen cloths, tied it with many and
elaborate cords, then, taking Julian’s own signet, he sealed the bundle
carefully and sent it by the hands of a trusty and cunning soldier. “From
the victorious Praefect Julian to his august Emperor, with greeting. The
head and source of our offence, according to the commandment.” Judge
of the fright and disgust which arose in the breast of that Moor on
discovering, when the bundle was opened, not the features of his despised
enemy, but the death-mask of his trusty and well-beloved lieutenant, the
man who had saved him from Caracalla’s vengeance at the outset of his
own plot. Merely that, and no further news to hand, because the bearer
of the tidings had departed without waiting for a reward. Bit by bit the
news trickled through: at least four legions had deserted, and, greatest
blow of all, the very Moors in whom he had trusted. The hated Antonine
was triumphant and in the ascendant. It was enough to wake even the
comatose parody of the great Marcus Aurelius. After waiting to recover
his senses, he took to his heels and ran—discretion being the better
part of valour—not, however, as Herodian suggests, with characteristic
untruth, towards Emesa, but back to Antioch, as Dion discreetly remarks,
with Bassianus and his paltry, though rapidly augmenting, forces soon
to follow. The boy and idiot was ready to fight the Praetorian Guards,
ready even to face the brunt of opposition from the conciliated legion at
Apamea if necessary.
Bassianus’ army must have been enthusiastically loyal and keen. It was a
motley crew of men, with new officers and a disorganised commissariat;
certainly it had no adequate head. Indeed, had Macrinus taken the bull
by the horns at once, he was bound to have cut up Antonine’s forces and
silenced the revolt; but he escaped, hoping to fight another day, and
Bassianus instead came to Apamea. Here Severus’ legion of Albano was in
no mood to offer opposition to the heir of Severus, and promptly took
the suggested oaths, which added yet more strength to the rush that
was about to be made on Antioch, where Macrinus was sheltering himself
and shivering with apprehension, having left the field clear to his
adversary, and given him just what he wanted, time for accession of
strength.
To return for a moment to the length of time during which this campaign
lasted. If we accept Dion’s date of 16th May for the proclamation, there
will only be three weeks left before the battle, in which time much has
to happen. First, The news has to be brought to Macrinus 125 miles away.
Second, Macrinus has to appoint Julian, who has carefully to choose his
men, to reach Emesa, and lose his head in the effort to take Antonine. In
the meantime Macrinus has written to the Senate to announce the revolt,
and get that body’s condemnation of the Antonine house. He has then gone
to Apamea with the court and baggage, declared his son Emperor, and, as
he thought, pacified the legion and organised festivities, during which
festivities he receives ocular demonstration of the failure of Julian’s
attempt. He then writes to the Senate a hurried letter announcing his
son’s accession, and receives an answer to his first letter condemning
the house of Antonine. He then retires to Antioch, and here there seems
to be a lull, during which time the patrolling parties, for whom Macrinus
has sent, come in to Bassianus’ standard, not Macrinus’. Herodian says
that this happened in driblets, but that these amounted to such a number
before the 1st of June, that Antonine’s generals advised him to tempt a
battle. All this, especially the wait for gradual accessions of strength,
would have been impossible to fit into less than a fortnight.
But there is further evidence. According to Henzen, the Collegio Fratrum
Arvalium were concerned on 30th May with the “precatio cooptionis
Antonini,” to be admitted a member of the College. If the proclamation
had only taken place on 16th May, the Brothers could not have known
about it and arranged a meeting by 30th May, especially when we consider
that (according to Dion) Macrinus’ letters to the Senate had caused that
august body to declare war on the family of Antonine after that time. Had
Bassianus been proclaimed on 16th April and the Brothers heard of his
phenomenal success, they would naturally hasten to be on the safe side
by 30th May. Within a month from that date they would have heard of the
defeat of Macrinus, so that in all probability the meeting which admitted
Bassianus and sent Primus Cornelianus to announce his admission was held
about 28th June. On 14th July there is the record of a third meeting,
which merely takes further vows for Antonine’s safety, as the Emperor,
who has been already admitted a member. Dion’s date is, therefore, simply
impossible. Neither Macrinus nor Antonine could have accomplished what
they did in a fortnight, even three weeks. Rome could not possibly have
heard and answered under five weeks, even by express post. Bassianus
could not possibly have got together forces enough to assure success
under that period. We must therefore conclude that Dion’s date, 16th May,
is a mere slip for 16th April, as Wirth has postulated.
This is very forcibly brought home to us when we realise (as Herodian
tells us) that when Bassianus did move on Antioch, it was with forces
scarcely inferior in number to those with Macrinus, and by so doing
he managed to frighten the Moor out of his lair, because there was a
fear that Antioch might fall and he would be caught like a rat in a
trap. Thus was Macrinus forced out to meet the child. Again the ancient
Procurator-Fiscal made an error of judgment by taking command himself.
He would have done better to stay in the city and give the command to a
trained general; but not a bit of it, he was too anxious, too worried to
trust any one. When he heard that Antonine was nearing Immae or Emma, not
twenty miles from Antioch, he went out suddenly, resolved to trust to his
Moors and Praetorians for the result.
In this battle the valour of both armies seems to have been indifferent.
Herodian tells us that the soldiers of Antonine fought like lions,
fearing the results of doing anything else; preferring to die like men
than to be hanged like dogs; a report of valour which was probably picked
up from that army itself. But the stars in their courses seem to have
fought against Sisera in the person of Macrinus, while Deborah and her
leman Barak, otherwise Maesa and her similarly related Gannys (neither
of whom had ever seen red blood before save in the circus) managed so
to shut up the forces of Macrinus in the narrowness of the village,
that their numbers and superior agility, divested as they were of their
cuirasses and bucklers for that end, were of small effect. Nevertheless,
the issue of the battle would have been not a little doubtful if Macrinus
had not given it away by his cowardice. The guards made so vigorous a
stand, that Antonine’s army turned to fly. It was then that Maesa and
Soaemias showed their bravery, according to both Dion and Herodian,
for, having leapt from their chariots, they rushed into the midst of
the failing troops, and with tears and entreaties urged them to return.
The palm of victory seems, however, to lie with the boy Emperor. Both
Dion and Herodian tell us of his bravery and the mighty fury which
(like a divine inspiration) breathed from him, when, sword in hand, he
galloped through the failing ranks and cut down all those who showed an
inclination to turn from the fight. It was a good beginning, and shows
that the boy was not entirely what his biographers have painted him—the
craven, miserable, religious sensualist known to common report. He showed
in this battle that he could glory in his manhood, could forget that
salvation was by faith and prayer alone; could forget that only the
Gods can settle the great issues. It was thus that Antonine carried his
successful arms right into the opposing camp, hoping to find the Moor;
but to the disgust of all that host, the Emperor had vanished; being
tired, he had gone home. His Praetorians had sought for some time for the
ensigns that announced the presence of the Emperor, but they had sought
in vain, and deserters had told Antonine the story.
Antonine now made a proposition to the opposing host, namely, that they
should turn and become his guards, should retain the privileges granted
by Caracalla, and above all, should fight no more for the craven. Nothing
loath, they did as they were bidden, and by nightfall on 8th June 218
the proclaimed Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus was the acknowledged
head of the greater part of the army, and ruler of the Roman world which
acknowledged Antioch as its capital. Maesa’s bold attempt had succeeded
beyond all her hopes. The one source of trouble was that Macrinus was
still at large.
The Antonine policy had never been that of Macrinus. They had always
eradicated the source of their offence as far as they were able, and
to that end Marcus Aurelius sent messengers to take the ex-Emperor’s
person. From the battle-field that caitiff had gone, first to Antioch,
sending heralds on ahead to announce their master’s victory and the
destruction of the Antonine host, lest the populace should seize the city
for Antonine and kill him, or, as Xiphilinus puts it, in order to induce
them to receive him into their city at all. Had there been time, we
might have had another medal, in correspondence with the Parthian fraud,
announcing the victory of Macrinus at Immae; but stragglers began to come
in, and with them the news that Antonine would arrive shortly at the head
of the whole army, an announcement which caused bloodshed and strife in
the city, and decided Macrinus to reconstruct his plans. He would not
stay, he decided, where he was not wanted; he would make his way to Rome,
in the hope that his kindness to the Senate would at least secure them
as a bodyguard—though what use some 600 portly and middle-aged gentlemen
were going to be to him against the legions of a military empire was a
question that had not yet occurred to his distracted mind; but at any
rate Antioch was no place for him or his son. The latter he entrusted
to Epagathos, one of the few men on whom he could rely, with orders to
take him to the King of Parthia for safe keeping; whilst he himself,
having cut off his hair and beard, and laid aside the purple and imperial
ornaments for his successor’s use, set out for the capital city by the
route used for the ordinary post. It is a most significant fact that
this man, the acknowledged Emperor, should on the very day of the battle
itself have distrusted all his own lieutenants, governors, and civil
officials to such an extent that he felt the only safe mode of progress
was, disguised as a countryman, to travel by the public carriage. It
presupposes that by this time all men were merely waiting for his fall,
which was anticipated everywhere as a foregone conclusion, the inevitable
result of a weak usurper’s unsuccessful attempt.
It is incredible that all the government servants and other accredited
agents of Macrinus would have dared to give credit immediately to the
ambassadors of an unknown pretender, and only in Alexandria (where the
name of Antonine had acquired an unenviable notoriety and there was a
personal friend of Macrinus as governor) were Antonine’s ambassadors put
to death as upstart traitors. True, there have been fugitive kings before
and since, but never after one battle and to make way for an utterly
unknown child, who by some miracle has got the whole functionaries of
imperial government, both civil and military, into his own hands in less
than a couple of hours, without even the use of the field telegraph.
From Antioch, Macrinus went on horseback to Aegae in Cilicia, and thence
by the public post through Cappadocia, Galatia, and Bithynia, with great
expedition, giving out that he was a messenger from the Emperor Macrinus.
He intended to cross into Europe by way of Eribolus, and thus to avoid
Nicomedia, where the Governor Caecilius Aristo was seeking his life
to take it from him, in favour of the new Emperor. The distance that
Macrinus travelled was, so we learn from the _Itinera Hierosolymitana_,
750 Roman miles, covering in his haste, so Friedländer thinks, about
130 Roman miles per diem, which would bring him to Eribolus (barring
accidents, of course) about 15th June. Thence, we are told, he took
shipping and attempted to reach Byzantium; but the battle was not to the
strong; the attempt was rendered abortive by the avenging deity in the
shape of a great north-west wind, which threw him back upon the coast
near Chalcedon. There the well-informed agents of the Emperor Antoninus
came up with him, and discovered his whereabouts by means of Macrinus’
imperial procurator, to whom, being short of funds, the Moor had
foolishly sent in his extremity.
The discovery was tragic; the lord of the world, the man whose sceptre
threatened the Gods and commanded the sun, was discovered by his pursuers
hidden in a small house on the outskirts of Chalcedon, trembling with a
fever and fright, brought on by the fatigues and emotions of his hurried
journey. He was promptly put into a chariot and taken back towards
Antioch by his captor Aurelius Celsus. By the time the party reached
Cappadocia news was brought that Epagathos had failed in his mission, and
that Diadumenianus was killed, which so utterly upset the poor gentleman
that he deliberately threw himself from his chariot, in the hope of
ending his disappointed existence and escaping a worse fate. In so doing
he broke his collar-bone instead of his neck. There was certainly no luck
for Macrinus till he reached Archelais, about 75 miles from the frontier
of Cappadocia, when, presumably acting under fresh orders, the Centurion
ordered him to be put to death, a merciful release from the sufferings
which his stupidity and incapacity had brought upon him. The date is not
known, though it was in all probability some time before the end of the
month of June. Dion allots fourteen months less three days to his tenure
of power, counting to the day of the battle.
As far as we know, he left neither friends, enemies, monuments (except
the arch at Tana in Algeria, erected by his compatriots), children, nor
evils to live after him. Certainly he meant well, and acted in a manner
more futile and less imperial than any of his predecessors. There was
no attempt of any sort made to revive his memory; no resuscitation of
any party in favour of his rule; no enthusiasm or even loyalty betrayed
towards him from the moment that Antonine claimed the throne. Antonine’s
campaign, on the contrary, was one triumphal procession, feebly resisted
by a counter-march on the part of the reigning Emperor; after which time,
and without even waiting to hear of their Emperor’s death or abdication,
the whole governmental world settles down without the least suspicion of
disloyalty under the headship of Antonine. Nothing is disorganised. In
less than half a day everything is absolutely at his disposal throughout
the empire, and no further question is asked as to where the late Emperor
may be. Travel quickly as he will, Macrinus was not able to take from
men’s minds what must have been a foregone conclusion, namely, that he
was doomed, and another was reigning in his stead. It was an obvious
case of a usurper about whom no one cares sufficiently to make further
inquiries.
The Roman world had wearied of Macrinus and his pretensions, just as it
had wearied of Claudius; both were fantastic, vacillating, abstracted,
and cowardly tyrants, declaring themselves to be of the opinion of those
who were right, and announcing that they would give judgment in favour of
those whose reasons appeared the best. Slipshod and tattered they both
went through life; Emperors whom no one obeyed and at whom every one
jeered; men who, when they heard that conspirators were abroad, were not
indignant, but merely frightened. Perhaps it was the purple which had
driven so many Emperors mad, that made Macrinus an idiot; certainly he
acted like one, and made way for yet another Phaeton for the universe:
a prince for whose sovereignty the world was too small, as Tiberius had
remarked of his nephew Caius, nicknamed Caligula, the man without whom
neither Nero, Domitian, Commodus, Caracalla, or Elagabalus could have
existed. The lives of all are horrible, yet analyse the horrible and you
find the sublime. The valleys have their imbeciles, from the mountains
poets and madmen come. Elagabalus was both, sceptred at that, and with a
sceptre that could lash the earth, threaten the sky, beckon planets, and
ravish the divinity of the divine.