Advent Calendar – 11 December
Nativity Stories: Augustus
They never thank you, the people. They eat nutmeg from Ethiopia, cardamom from India, wines from the finest vineyards above the Danube; they have temples of sacrifice to give meaning to their lives, and spectacles in the Circus and Colosseum; they have roads, bridges and ports, and, except at the recalcitrant fringes of the empire, among Picts and Persians, they have peace. But they’re never grateful. It’s complaint after complaint, of bad harvests and high prices, earthquakes and volcanoes, corruption and greed – as if I were to blame for every evil that crosses their path.
If only the people knew how hard I work. They think, because they see me once or twice in a lifetime, that I am idle otherwise. How wrong they are. I don’t know a being human or divine who works as hard as I, receiving reports from Gaul and Iberia, Asia and Africa, from governors, praetors, consuls, quaestors, vassal kings and the spies I keep in every court. These I must read and give response to, weighing this, judging that. And all the while aware of enemies who’d have my head in the blink of an eye, and replace it on coins with their own.
The people complain I use the Empire for myself, tolls and taxes, tributes and tithes for a villa here, jewels there, golden plate for banquets. But how can I impress, as Emperor of the World, with wooden cups or shrivelled fruit? How could I impose my will on some jumped-up senator who boasts a grander suite of homes than his Lord Caesar?
To rule is to serve. No-one really sees that save the ruler. It’s a costly business putting down rebellions, having the right intelligence, paying off opponents I’d rather have alive than dead. The people need strong leadership, but carp at the price. I’ve been too lenient. It’s time to make the world pay for the peace I bring to every corner. First, we must know whom we rule, how many they are, where they live and bring forth their offspring into our Empire. We’ll do it in the ways that suit each province: a census, a counting, a reckoning. And then, once registered, we’ll know exactly who they are, what needs they have, and how much they can bear. It’s quid pro quo.
The people will grumble of course, travelling, queuing, a bribe expected here and there. But they will never thank me, for all I do for them. They don’t know how fortunate they are.
Bust of Augustus with civic crown