September – November 483
Romulus Augustulus’ arrival in Rome was not treated as a return of imperial authority since, even when he had briefly been the Emperor in the West, he had reigned from Ravenna and had never graced the old city with his presence. Rome’s sudden restoration to imperial capital derived less from its prestige than its accessibility.
This was the first major city to be seized by the armies of Remus Macrinus which possessed imperial dignity. That it was the namesake of the Empire was no small factor either. Yet its defenses had been breached often over the past century, making it a relatively simple prize for a conquering army to take. Thus, in strategic terms, possession of Rome was a political benefit but quite illusory in military terms. Despite these limitations, Rome’s fall in August 483 marked a very real transition on the Italian peninsula with the restoration, at least in name only, of the very highest imperial institutions in the West.
Since perhaps the mid-5th century, the Roman Empire had increasingly resolved upon a single unity, with control from the East of lesser ‘shadow’ partners in the West. Though they took the name Imperator and Autokrator, these ‘shadow’ emperors were increasingly deferent to their cousins in Constantinople. And after Romulus’ own abdication in 476, even this imperial fiction had been swept away. Odoacer may have been a barbarian leader, yet he was also endowed with titular authority derived from Emperor Zeno himself. It would be an interesting question to see if Zeno would prefer to maintain this tentative relationship and how he would view the sudden revocation of Romulus’ exile. Whatever imperial rule Romulus Augustulus might reestablish in Italia, there loomed even greater imperial shadow over the whole of his affairs, one that would have to be contended with even if Odoacer, secure in Ravenna, was ever overthrown.
The clapping was sustained well enough and Romulus’ entry into the
Curia Julia drew far more spectators than the army had. They were present too, of course, a spearman every ten paces, lining the processional route from the
Saepta up the ancient streets to where the crowded entrance of the Curia seemed to open invitingly to the imperator. Emerging from the shadow of the two great columns near the
comitium, he appeared to the assembled Senate as a young man trying desperately to avoid the impression of boyhood, with straight shoulders and chin slightly raised. Perhaps the clapping was more encouragement than general enthusiasm, trying to sustain the timid will of he who had come to rule once more over them. None had ever seen Romulus before, and only the few who had survived the past seven years had even known of his rule, the distant unknown ‘boy emperor’ overshadowed by the very real and firm hand of his father, Orestes. He had never commanded an army in the field, and his name was perhaps less known than that of Remus Macrinus. Indeed, many wondered if the boy had returned, with the
Comes to take his place as the newest heavy-handed general behind the throne.
He was there, of course, standing tall and uncomfortable next to the raised dais in the center, where the ivory
curule chairs of the consuls used to be. They were all there, the officers of his staff and nearby, the pleased members of the
praestiti, or the ‘diligent’ faction of the Senate, which loathed Odoacer and welcomed anything else. While supporting the imperator, they were nervous about losing any more power to their rivals in St. Peter’s. Most of the assembled were benignly wary, eyeing the soldiers, eyeing the Imperator’s mother, standing near another clump of senators, with her household behind her, including the pale young man with the nervous eyes who wondered if he was observing a collective delusion doomed from the start. Surely no one had forgotten the armies of Odoacer in Ravenna, and the even larger armies outside the peninsula, east and north. For the moment, however, all eyes were focused keenly on the parading Romulus, who had opted for a simple procession, with appropriate music and only ten or so attendants trailing him.
This was no triumphal moment, and there were sensibilities that could not be offended with ostentation. Cages of white doves were opened as he crossed the threshold of the Curia, a nod to divine blessings. A more important nod to the divine was the final figure standing next to the dais, dressed in humble white robes and perhaps more conscious of his own dignity than that of the young Imperator – Felix, third of that name, Bishop of Rome. Though he would have no official role in the ceremony, his presence was useful as a political seal of approval, though it irked many in the room that he was needed at all. Thus far, save for the small church erected on the Capitoline, the political influence of the Roman See had been thought distant by the Senate even if they felt that institution’s presence. There was also talk that much had passed between imperator and Bishop that had led to this day. Certainly the
imperii, those Senators bound directly to Romulus, and who favored his treating with the Church, were delighted at the arrangement, though they were still few in number.
Nodding nervously to the assemblage, Romulus at last approached the throne, turning and nodding one final time before seating himself decisively on the marble chair, which was being used as a hastily contrived-throne. Clearing his throat, Romulus searched his mind for the agreed-upon verbiage.
”Conscript Fathers!” Slaves to habit, the Senate quieted instantly, perhaps feeling a pulse of anticipation behind the traditional words.
”Conscript Fathers. By Our Lord’s Grace and Divine Fortune” – Felix nodded with satisfaction –
”we have undone the forces which forced us from this proper place.” The words echoed out of the silent house into the Forum beyond, where perhaps two thousand citizens stood assembled, a significant portion of the reduced population of Rome at that time.
”Before we stand before you, we ask our esteemed amicus, Publius Markus, to speak on this. Senator?”
From his space on the bench near Remus, Markus cut a dignified picture in his senatorial garb. Wearing the long-hem, long-sleeve
tunica - eschewing the foreign trousers being adopted by some of the lower classes - only the traditional purple stripe around the torso and the purple belt differentiated him from the white-robed figure of Felix standing behind the throne. Holding up his hands in the accepted manner of opening an oration, he stepped forward into the well of the Curia, bowing publicly to Romulus before facing the Senators circled around them. From the traditional height of two thousand, scarcely one hundred sat in the Curia Julia, denuded by war, purges, and flight. Indeed, the size of the Senate had been diminishing gradually over the years even as the population of the city around them fell. A scant few had ran to Odoacer’s side yet many had simply been drafted into the incessant wars against the Ostrogoths, Illyrians, and Burgundians, losing their lives in distant service. It was a mark of the low regard in which the Senate was held that no replacements had been co-opted. The marble-faced building dwarfed them, a conscious reminder of loss. Markus struggled to cut through that, his sharp voice echoing off the walls, even more assured than Romulus’ words had been.
”My brethren! Seven years ago the hand of the barbarian was placed on the imperial throne de jure and Romulus, Imperator, Lord of the West and holder of the divine dignity, was made to abdicate under the auspices of this very body.” His hand was pointed dramatically at the enthroned figure, and many took the opportunity to glance at the young man once more, wondering if there was truly any divine dignity seated there. Markus sliced through the awkward pause.
”Having overcome the hand of the outsider, the oppression of the foreigner, he now returns to take up his divine office once more. Senators, I ask you, as faithful stewards of this trust, to join me in invalidating that Senatus Consultum of abdication, illegally coerced and not binding. I will see a division.” The result was no surprise, even in its unanimity. Neither was there any true power in the move, merely a simple form to give credence to the imperator’s return. The proximity of the army was far more persuasive than the votes of Senators or the presence of a Bishop. And yet, Remus thought quietly as he observed the proceedings, it was this deference to old customs that separated this rule from Odoacer’s. Didn’t it? And this was just the beginning, he knew, the easy part.
