Chapter 294
Rome was undergoing a massive transformation, overhauling everything from its brickwork to its marble, just as the old metaphor went.
The change was far from over; the city was already gearing up for an even greater leap forward.
To Marcus, returning after a long absence, Rome looked like an entirely different city.
It was incredibly rare for an ancient city to evolve so drastically from one year to the next.
This was especially true for a metropolis boasting centuries of history, rather than a newly built city like Marcopolis.
‘Thank the gods my father-in-law is here. Otherwise, I would have been stuck in Rome this whole time.’
If Marcus had remained in the capital, the Eastern Province would never have achieved its current prosperity.
Furthermore, he would have had to work much harder to avoid looking like an absolute dictator.
Having a competent and trustworthy partner was an absolute blessing in that regard.
As soon as he returned to Rome, Marcus appeared before the Senate and declared his intent to replenish the treasury, which was rapidly draining due to new civic projects.
There were still plenty of avenues left to secure funding.
The prime example was a portion of the massive gold reserves slumbering in the treasuries of Egypt’s Ptolemaic Royal Family.
Cleopatra and Arsinoe had agreed to part with the gold on the condition that their bloodline with Marcus would be guaranteed lasting authority over Egypt.
Even if Egypt were annexed into Rome in the distant future, the Ptolemaic descendants would still retain their positions, if only as governors.
Naturally, this meant they would remain under the control of Marcus’s official heir.
Regardless, with staggering amounts of gold flooding into Rome, the city’s grand reconstruction rapidly accelerated.
Temples were rebuilt with unprecedented luxury, while public facilities, arenas, and markets were all magnificently renovated.
Finally, the university—the cradle of learning—welcomed its first students, kicking off a historic inaugural semester.
The moment Marcus arrived in Rome, the Senate leaped into action. As if they had been waiting for him, they voted among themselves to bestow a myriad of titles upon him.
Even Cicero actively supported these motions, yet Marcus declined nearly half of the proposed honors.
He specifically and categorically rejected the title of Dux, meaning leader, despite the Senate’s relentless insistence.
It was already obvious to everyone that he was the supreme ruler of Rome, but he judged that the time was not yet ripe to reveal it officially.
In truth, Marcus could rule exactly as he pleased regardless of what the Senate said.
He held absolute control over the military and the treasury, wielded the authority of a consul, and possessed the sacrosanctity of a tribune.
Furthermore, since he could pass these rights down to his heirs, he had effectively ascended to the position of an Emperor in all but name.
While the elderly senators might not, the common citizens and the younger nobles certainly saw it that way.
This widespread perception was exactly why Marcus felt no need to rush.
The senators clinging to the old Senate-led republic were nothing more than dying old men with one foot in the grave.
The youngest among that faction was Cato, and he had already lost all public support and political power.
Brutus was burning with a mission to lay the groundwork for a true republic in the distant future, so he refused to side with Cato.
All that remained was to make this transition completely irreversible.
For the first time in a long while, Marcus gathered at Caesar’s residence to discuss the future.
Caesar, Octavian, and his aide Maecenas sat in a circle around a wide table.
“It really has been a long time since we last sat down to talk like this,”
Caesar noted, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth as he reclined casually in his chair.
His hair had thinned even further lately, to the point where he had finally surrendered and embraced the power of a wig.
Rumor had it that other men suffering from the same condition found a small measure of comfort in the sight, taking solace in the fact that even a man with the blood of gods couldn’t defeat hair loss.
“I’m glad to see you looking so healthy, father-in-law,” Marcus replied.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I can definitely feel my age catching up to me these days. I feel like a completely different man this month than I was last month—and not for the better, mind you.”
“You’re still remarkably fit for your age. Who would ever guess you were approaching sixty?”
“...They might if they looked at my hairline.”
At Caesar’s self-deprecating joke, Marcus and Octavian—both still blessed with thick hair—cleared their throats and awkwardly averted their eyes.
“Ah, speaking of which, Octavian, Maecenas. How have the two of you been getting along? I can’t help but feel a bit responsible, since I’m the one who introduced you.”
As Marcus awkwardly shifted the topic, Octavian smiled and nodded as if he had been waiting for the question.
“Splendidly. Maecenas has been an absolutely phenomenal advisor. Especially when it comes to dealing with artists, there is no one I would trust more.”
Maecenas bowed his head politely, looking deeply humbled.
“The honor is entirely mine. I am constantly amazed by Lord Octavian’s profound insight, making my work deeply rewarding. I can only offer my deepest gratitude to Lord Marcus for introducing me to such an exceptional patron.”
“I’m glad to hear you two are getting along so well. The work you did this time was flawlessly executed. Thanks to you, our future plans will go much more smoothly. Excellent job, Octavian.”
“It benefits me just as much,” Octavian replied. “Naturally, I gave it my absolute best.”
A satisfied smile spread across Marcus’s lips at Octavian’s reply.
Marcus’s goal was to ensure his children would one day wield an authority and prestige equal to his own.
However, there were complications. His son, Trajan, lacked both the ambition and the aptitude for the role. His daughter, Sophia, possessed the talent, but she was held back by the simple fact that she was a woman.
Therefore, Marcus had been using every method available to shift Rome’s societal perceptions—and fortunately, those efforts were slowly beginning to bear fruit.
Octavian was the key figure in this plan, and so far, he had executed every task flawlessly.
Just as the young man had said, this endeavor benefited Octavian himself, so it was only natural that he threw his full ability into the work.
“You both have much more work ahead of you, so I expect you to keep up this level of dedication. Now, let’s put the pleasantries aside.”
Marcus glanced around the table before slowly bringing up the true reason he had convened this meeting.
“Father-in-law, it is time you and I adopted new titles. And preferably, titles that do not overlap with each other.”
“Right. I know you aren’t particularly fond of titles like ‘King’ or ‘Leader’.”
“You yourself strictly forbade the Senate from calling you Rex.”
“That is because the title brings far more harm than good. But now that you mention it, creating an appropriate new title might nip these pointless debates in the bud.”
Caesar’s gaze lingered for a moment on a grand statue of Jupiter.
“What sort of title should we use? Personally, I would like the name Caesar to be preserved.”
“I wholeheartedly agree. They say the name Caesar is already evolving into a proper noun signifying leadership. Simply using ‘Caesar’ carries far more prestige and incites much less resistance than forcing a title like Dux on the people.”
“What should we add, then? Do you have something in mind?”
“I do. I’ve already decided on my own title.”
“Well, since you’ll be inheriting my name anyway once I step down...”
Caesar closed his eyes and fell deep into thought.
Meanwhile, Octavian carefully spoke up.
“How about Caesar Romulus?”
“That won’t work,” Marcus replied immediately. “The name Romulus blatantly evokes a king.”
Accepting Marcus’s immediate rejection, Octavian withdrew his suggestion.
“If names tied to kingship are off the table, we’re better off repurposing an existing title,” Octavian noted. “Instead of adopting the title of a king, we simply ensure the title we adopt eventually comes to mean ‘King.’ The meaning of language naturally shifts over time.”
“That really is the smartest approach.”
“In that case, rather than coining a brand new name, we should attach a position to the end of it. Lord Caesar is universally acknowledged as Rome’s greatest war hero. There is no one more suited to the military title of Imperator.”
“Caesar Imperator? That title is already fairly common,” Caesar said, blinking.
“It is exactly because it is already in use that it’s so perfect. No one will suspect our underlying intentions. After all, the only men in Rome who can rightfully be called Imperator are you and Lord Marcus, as you two are the sole holders of supreme military authority. And yet, Lord Marcus is rarely addressed as Imperator.”
“True, Rome usually just calls him the Great Mesopotamicus.”
“And in the East, he is revered as the Shahanshah. There’s no need for him to adopt the Imperator title. Functionally, that leaves the title entirely yours, Lord Caesar.”
“That sounds perfect,” Marcus agreed.
Marcus nodded, fully supporting Octavian’s logic.
The Imperium Maius held by both Marcus and Caesar granted them a command authority far superior to the standard imperium wielded by the acting consuls.
The current consuls and governors were only temporarily granted imperium to lead their armies; however, Caesar and Marcus could override those commands with their own authority at will.
This effectively meant that the exclusive right to hold a Roman triumph—Rome’s highest military honor—was concentrated solely in their hands.
By law, only a commander wielding imperium could celebrate a triumph, and the absolute peak of that imperium was vested in the two of them.
After calculating the political benefits in his head, Caesar slowly nodded.
“That works nicely. Even without making a grandiose public declaration, I can simply begin appending ‘Imperator’ after my name on all official state documents.”
The sheer weight of the title Imperator vividly projected the image of a man holding Rome’s absolute military might.
It was undoubtedly an authoritarian title, but it was still far more acceptable than Romulus.
“And what title were you considering, Lord Marcus? Will you retain your current Cognomen like Lord Caesar?”
Traditional Roman names were divided into three parts, a convention known as the Tria Nomina.
The first name was the Praenomen, a personal name given by the parents. The second was the Nomen, which distinguished the clan. The final component was the Cognomen, representing the specific family lineage.
In the case of Marcus Licinius Crassus, ‘Marcus’ was the Praenomen, and ‘Crassus’ was the Cognomen.
However, unlike Caesar, Marcus had little desire to continue using his current Cognomen.
“The name Crassus brings my father to mind far more than it does me. I’ve deliberately used my Praenomen more often since I was young to clearly distinguish myself from him.”
“That’s a fair point,” Octavian noted. “Did you have another title in mind, then? Claiming the title of Princeps, which the Senate recently bestowed, as your new Cognomen wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“‘First among Roman citizens’ is certainly a splendid title. But I want a Cognomen that no one in history has ever used. Though I admit, it contradicts what I just advised my father-in-law.”
From the very beginning, Marcus firmly believed there was only one name truly fit for the absolute ruler of Rome.
He felt the tiniest twinge of guilt toward Octavian, but no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn’t think of a more perfect title.
“Don’t keep us in suspense. Please tell us,” Octavian urged.
“Indeed. I’m growing quite curious myself,” Caesar chimed in.
Having deliberately let the anticipation build, Marcus finally spoke.
“It is a title no man has ever claimed as his Cognomen. A word that means the most dignified, the greatest among the great. I have decided to call myself Augustus.”