Livia, Empress of Rome

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Two weeks ago, I sat in Livia’s dining room.

Not her actual dining room, but within the four painted plaster walls that lined her dining room two thousand years ago and now are located at the Museo Palazzo Massimo in Rome.  And as I sat there surrounded by those four walls, I wondered what those walls had heard, what they had seen.  I wondered about the woman who called upon the Imperial painters to create a dining space that gave the illusion to her guests that they were eating al fresco.  I was mesmerized by the paintings; drawn to this woman whose taste was so much like my own.  Who was she?  What was she like?  What did she and her women friends discuss in this room?  Their children?  Their men?  Their joys and their sorrows?

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And so I decided to write about Livia, one of the most famous women in Roman history.  Wife to Augustus, first emperor of Rome, mother to the emperor Tiberius, grandmother to emperor Claudius, and great-grandmother to emperor Caligula.

When she married Augustus (at the time, Octavian), she already had a son (Tiberius), and in the fifty-one years of marriage to Augustus, she had no other children.  Her role, however, was that of counsel to her husband, and she gave him wise political advice and support throughout his reign as emperor.  This was wildly unusual for the times, as women were considered to be outside the sphere of politics for much of the span of Roman history.  For this alone, we should admire Livia.

Livia lived humbly, despite her status as empress.  She was the role model for the Roman “matrona” or matron.  She wore very little jewelry or makeup, often made her own clothing and that of her husband.  Augustus even gave Livia the (then) outlandish right to govern her own finances and dedicated a public statue to her.

When Augustus died in AD 14, he bequeathed one-third of his estate to Livia, and he also adopted her into the Julian family dynasty, giving her the honorific title of Augusta.  All of these things meant that Livia was able to maintain her power after her husband’s death, and as the mother of the new emperor, Tiberius, she still maintained a position of importance in the empire in any case.

There are tales from ancient sources that tell of tensions between Livia and her son Tiberius during his years as emperor.  It is even said that Tiberius’ retirement to the island of Capri was an attempt to get away from his mother.  At Livia’s death in AD 29, Tiberius refused to return to Rome and vetoed all the honorifics the Senate wished to bestow upon Livia.  However, thirteen years later, during the reign of Livia’s grandson Claudius, all of her honors were restored and her deification was completed.

Women spoke her name during their sacred oaths, her statue was erected beside her husband’s at the Temple of Augustus, and races were held in her honor.  Her ashes remained beside her husband’s in his temple until the Sack of Rome in AD 410, when they, like his, were scattered.

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Painted wall from Livia’s dining room, Palazzo Massimo, Rome, Italy.  Author’s photo.

 

Read More: Empress of Rome: The Life of Livia by Matthew Dennison.

Book Review: “Field of Mars” by David Rollins

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I was recently told by a literary agent that ancient Roman settings were “a very tough sell” in the publishing world.  Perhaps said agent should read David Rollins’ Field of Mars and reconsider her opinion.

If you want to be thrust backward full-force into the drama, order, chaos, smells, tastes, and sensations of the Roman Republic, then this is the novel for you.  This reader (and writer) of historical fiction has fallen in love with the genre all over again thanks to Rollins’ masterful work.

The premise is irresistible: In the far west of China today, there are men and women who have blond or red hair and blue or green eyes.  How did this happen?  The author connects this modern mystery to an ancient one — the disappearance of 10,000 Roman legionaries after a devastating defeat at the hands of the Parthians in May of 53 BC.

I hesitate to even give away the slightest bit of the story lest I ruin it for you, but it must be said that Rollins captures the details of Roman city life and Roman legionary life exquisitely.  From the very start of the novel, when a white bull is being sacrificed in the streets of Rome for the god Mithras, the reader is hooked.  Having written a similar scene  myself, I know how difficult it is to convey a scene which is unheard of in modern times, and thus impossible to observe and write down details of in order to use in one’s own novel.  But Rollins paints the scene perfectly — it’s as if the reader is in the streets with the narrator, seeing every detail of the sacrifice, every smell, every sound, every ripple of the hot Roman air through the surging crowd.

And then there are the battle scenes, of which there are two major ones.  Rollins obviously has an expert’s grasp on the armament and stratagems of the Roman army, and he uses his knowledge to great affect in the great battle between the Romans (under Proconsul Crassus) and the Parthians.  The author isn’t shy about the ravages of war, providing the reader with a realistic look at what life in the midst of battle would have been like for a legionary.  But he does not go over the top with graphic violence, as lesser authors might do.  He finds a realistic middle ground and sticks to it.

The characters are varied and well-fleshed out, each with their own motivations and story arcs.  We are sad, even, when a Parthian character dies, because Rollins has us so invested in his story.

The women in the novel hold the traditional roles of women in an ancient history tale, which is unfortunate.  They are a witch and a prostitute, both of whom seem to exist only to serve the male main characters.  But if you can will yourself to ignore these imperfections in the storyline and characterizations and forgive the author for falling into this traditional trap, you will be able to enjoy the novel.  It is, after all, difficult to create more positive roles for women when you are writing about such a male-dominated topic as a Roman legion.

This is a story about Rome, but it is also a story about the world beyond Rome, and about the weakness of Rome — about Rome’s arrogance.  And yet the characters are so real, one can separate the Roman legionaries from their leaders — from Crassus, from Pompey, from Caesar — and see the legionaries for what they probably were:  simple men doing a difficult job serving their country.

This is a marvelous book.  Highly recommended.  My only wish is that the author would continue on and write a sequel, as I am dying to know the rest of the story!

Buy it on Amazon (Kindle Edition)

Antonia Minor

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In honor of my recent trip to Rome, I’d like to profile an ancient Roman woman whose sculpture I found tucked away in a hallway at the Palazzo Massimo museum. It’s a museum not heralded much in my guidebook, just one line, and I was intrigued by the description of a “museum of Ancient Roman Art.”

I found her statue in a long, brightly-lit hall lined with the marble busts of many women – women of influence in Rome.  Daughters, sisters, nieces, wives, mothers, aunts, and grandmothers. But she struck me as separate from the others. Separate because she was all seven of these things – a woman who played a significant role in the lives of some of the most influential men in Roman history. A daughter, a sister, a niece, a wife, a mother, an aunt, and a grandmother to emperors and generals.

Her name was Antonia Minor. She was born on January 31, 36 BC, the youngest daughter of Marc Antony and Octavia, and the sister of Octavian – the man who would become Augustus, first emperor of Rome.

Her parents’ marriage had been a political one, meant to link her brother Octavian with Marc Antony during a time known as the Second Triumvirate following the murder of Julius Caesar.

Marc Antony had been a close confidante and military commander under Julius Caesar. Following the dictator’s murder, Marc Antony and seventeen-year-old Octavian – Caesar’s named heir and adopted son — split Rome’s provinces in half between them in an alliance called the Second Triumvirate. Octavian ruled the west and Antony ruled the east while a third man, Lepidus, ruled Roman Africa. Within a year, Antony had defeated Caesar’s assassins Brutus and Antonius at the Battle of Phillipi.

But in the end, the Second Triumvirate alliance was doomed to fail. The Roman Republic was on its last legs and empire loomed.

As any fan of the great epic Hollywood films knows, Marc Antony ended up with Cleopatra, the Greek queen of Egypt. The Roman Senate grew nervous at this new alliance between Antony and Cleopatra, and forced Antony to return to Rome and marry Octavia, sister of Octavian, in a political move meant to strengthen the Triumvirate. Antony did as he was ordered, and Antonia Minor was the second daughter of this union.

Eventually, Marc Antony and Octavian went to war with one another, rivals for control of Rome. Octavian and his forces marched on Egypt, and both Cleopatra and Marc Antony committed suicide.

For her part, Antonia never knew her father, as he had left his family for Egypt and Cleopatra when Antonia was still a toddler. Antonia was raised by her mother Octavia and her uncle Octavian, the eventual emperor Augustus. Antonia was just one of a collection of important children brought up within Octavian’s oversight — the children of family, friends, and enemies alike. Growing up in such an influential sphere, Antonia likely learned the political ways of Rome from an early age.

Octavian, once he became the emperor of Rome and took the name Caesar Augustus, began working on the consolidation of the influence of his extended family and worked to strengthen his family’s dynasty by means of marriage alliances.

Augustus’s second wife Livia – herself an influential woman — brought two sons into her marriage with the emperor. Her second son was Nero Claudius Drusus, referred to simply as Drusus, and Augustus chose him as the husband for Antonia Minor.

By all accounts, this arranged marriage was a successful one. Antonia followed her husband on his military campaigns and was so loved by his soldiers that they called her “Mother of the Legions.”

Antonia and Drusus had three children who lived to adulthood — Germanicus, Livilla, and the eventual emperor Claudius. Antonia was also grandmother to the emperor Caligula.

Antonia’s husband Drusus was killed while campaigning in Germania in 9 AD, and was given great honors in death, honors which were also bestowed upon Antonia.

Left the widow of a great hero, Antonia did not shrink from public life, but remained a significant presence at court. She continued to impart broad influence within the imperial family.

As she was only twenty-seven when Drusus died, a new marriage and therefore an additional opportunity for a political alliance for Augustus was possible through her possible marriage. And although Augustus is said to have encouraged this, Antonia never remarried. In remaining an unmarried widow, Antonia embodied the Roman ideal a univira, a chaste woman who had only one husband throughout her life. It was an ideal not often realized, and made her a unique figure within the imperial family and Roman society.

The Senate honored her and offered her the title Augusta, a title given to only one other woman previously – her much beloved aunt Livia, wife of Augustus.

When Livia died, Antonia became the senior woman in the imperial household and inherited the highly respected role of queen mother.

Like her uncle Augustus, she gathered around her the children of dead relatives and raised a household of other people’s offspring, influencing them in the ways of Augustus’s dynastic court.

Antonia inherited a great deal of property and money from both her father and husband, and she managed it on her own, working with men on terms of equality as an independent businesswoman, rare for a Roman woman of the times.

Her son Germanicus died young, and Antonia’s unwavering loyalty to her deceased husband Drusus was noted in her son’s death decree:

“Antonia, mother of Germanicus Caesar, who, having experienced a single marriage . . . has shown by the integrity of her character that she was worthy of such close kinship with the deified Augustus.”

Her most important action regarding political matters was in 31 AD when she informed the emperor Tiberius of a conspiracy against him. She sent a letter of warning to the emperor, who was in self-imposed isolation on the island of Capri. Tiberius quickly removed the conspirator from power, and had him killed. Antonia’s daughter Livilla had become involved in the conspiracy, as well. Some sources say that Tiberius was willing to spare Livilla, but that Antonia had her killed in order to be loyal to the dynasty. The dynasty was above all things for Antonia, even above the fate of her own daughter.

At the age of 73, Antonia Minor committed a final act in honor of the dynasty. When her grandson, the emperor Caligula, refused her advice and acted in a way that brought dishonor to the family, Antonia committed suicide as an act of protest.

After Antonia’s death, Caligula made her a priestess of the cult of Augustus and gave her the privileges of the Vestal Virgins. When her son Claudius became emperor in AD 41, he also gave her the name of Augusta (which the Senate had already conferred), added a ceremonial carriage in her honor at the Circus Maximus, and established a series of games to honor her birth. Antonia was also remembered by means of scores of inscriptions, coins, portraits, and statues throughout the Roman Empire.

In Ancient Rome women were excluded from holding official positions, but many women were there, wielding power behind the scenes. Antonia held traditional roles — daughter, sister, niece, wife, mother, aunt, and grandmother. But she fulfilled these roles in relation to some of Rome’s most powerful men – great emperors and military leaders.

And through her position, she became in her own way one of the most powerful women in Roman history.

 

Sources:

Unusual Historicals

Encyclopedia.com

RomanEmperors.org

History.com