tunics and rain hats, shorn
of their uniforms as well as of their weapons, and looking not only
humbled but frightened. It was rumored that all of those directly
concerned with the murder of Pertinax had been not only disarmed and
stripped of their uniforms, but actually stripped naked and scourged out
of the camp by the Illyrian legionaries who had surrounded and cowed them,
and ordered to flee the neighborhood of Rome and never again to approach
within a hundred miles of the capitol.

From noon of that day the whole city was in a ferment, preparing for the
entry on the morrow of our new Emperor. This was acclaimed the most
magnificent spectacle ever beheld in Rome; certainly I was never spectator
of anything so impressive. The day was fair, almost cloudless, mild and
warm, but pleasant with a gentle breeze. From where Falco and I viewed the
procession, nearer the Forum, we gazed about on a wondrous picture: the
blue sky above, under it a frame of roofs, mostly of red tiles, some of
green weathered bronze among them giving variety, and here and there a
temple roof of silver gleaming in the sun, not a few gilded and flashing.

As far as we could see about us every balcony was hung with tapestries gay
with particolored patterns, every doorway and window was wreathed in
flowers, countless braziers sent up columns of scented smoke. The streets
were lined with throngs habited in togas newly whitened; spectators of
both sexes, the men in white togas, their women in the brightest silks,
crowded every window, loggia, balcony, roof, and other viewpoint. The
chattering of the crowds ceased when the head of the procession appeared,
and, in a breathless hush, we saw leading it on horseback, with two
mounted aides, Flavius Juvenalis, who had been third and last Prefect of
the Praetorium to Julianus and who, as an honorable gentleman and loyal
official, had been confirmed and continued in this post by Severus. Behind
him tramped, in serried ranks, an entire legion of the Pannonian troops,
in full armor with their great shields gleaming and the sun sparkling on
their gilded helmets and their spear-points.

Behind them came ten of the elephants with which Julianus, in his futile,
bungling attempts at preparations for resistance, had had some of his men
drill. Each now carried in his tower eight Danubians, four tall Dacian
spearmen and four Scythian archers, bow in hand, leaning over the edge of
the howdah.

Behind the elephants cam