055 - Teutoburg Nightmares

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 55, Teutoburg Nightmares. When we left off last week, Augustus was overseeing the rise of his two grandsons, Gaius and Lucius, and dealing with the fallout from the sudden retirement of his stepson Tiberius in 6 BC. The next decade will bring even more hardship for the imperial family, as the fates intervened to visit every misery imaginable on the house of Caesar. But beyond the internal problems of the first family, the whole empire will soon be visited with the disaster to rival the massacre at Cannae and the Parthian annihilation of Crassus' eastern legions.

Rome had spent its life expanding, always and ever outward. Augustus could already see, though, that the endless growth could not continue forever, that future generations would not be tasked with winning new territory for the empire, but rather keeping what had already been seized. But even he was not ready to be done with imperial conquest just yet. That was why the disaster in the Teutoburg Forest was such a heavy blow. Germania was supposed to be the last province the empire would ever need, but instead it was never taken, the final piece of the puzzle never put into place. Instead, the land beyond the Rhine would forever whisper in Rome's ear like the slave standing beside a conquering general in his triumphal chariot, reminding him that he is mortal.

But before we get into all that, we need to unpack some more of the drama of the Julio-Claudian family, as events during these middle years of Augustus' reign will set the stage for the future path of the imperial monarchy. Augustus had always taken pains to have his family live exemplary public and private lives, to lead by example as the emperor tried to simultaneously renew the old Roman spirit while strangling off its republican roots. As I mentioned previously, the princeps was heavily invested in legislating sexual and marital relations to create a healthy environment within which to raise the new generation of Roman children. The only problem was that as hard as it was to legislate morality, it proved even harder to keep his own children and grandchildren in line. Behind Augustus' back, the house of Caesar was fast turning into a house of ill repute. Everyone knew it, everyone except the princeps himself.

But in 2 BC, that all changed. After years of treating the back alleys of Rome as her personal playground, the exploits of Augustus' daughter Julia finally reached the princeps' ears. He had been kept in the dark, thinking her a paradigm of virtue, while all the while she carried on numerous affairs with men born both high and low, from the lowliest slave to men of the highest rank, including a member of the Gracchi family and, perhaps most famously, Marc Antony's second son, Aulus. The shock of the revelation caused Augustus to perhaps overreact. But with clamping down on libertine sexual attitude such a personal crusade for him, it is understandable that when his own daughter was revealed to be a prime contributor to the problem that the sense of betrayal must have run deep. Deep enough, anyway, that against the advice of nearly everyone, he banished Julia from Rome and never allowed her to return. Her identified lovers were banished themselves, or forced to commit suicide. The scandal rocked Rome, as men of the most prominent families were suddenly exiled or killed. The common citizens of Rome were overcome with sympathy for Julia and her lovers, and when Augustus took to the streets, they begged him to allow them all to return. But he was not having it. The cold, cruel streak that had run through Augustus since the beginning resurfaced. Julia was dead to him.

Still very much alive, though, were her two sons, Gaius and Lucius. Raised by the princeps himself, the two boys were growing fast into smart and capable teenagers. They were not perfect, though, and both earned reputations as haughty, self-indulgent, spoiled children. Augustus had tried mightily to prevent this from happening, but he could not watch them all the time, nor prevent Rome from lavishing them with their every desire practically from birth. But as the sons of Agrippa and the grandsons of Augustus, the princeps figured that there was enough noble, pragmatic, and talented blood running through their veins that as they matured, they would, well, mature.

Even though Augustus wanted to accelerate the career paths of the two boys, there were limits to how far he would go. When Gaius was only fourteen, there was agitation in the streets in favor of Augustus appointing the boy consul. Augustus himself stood for the consulship that year, so he could oversee Gaius's ceremonial transition into manhood, which took place traditionally at the age of fifteen. Of course, the people voted overwhelmingly in favor of the princeps, but in a surprise move, they also went ahead and elected young Gaius as his colleague. Unwilling to go that far that fast, Augustus vacated the decision, and announced that Gaius could serve as consul as soon as he turned twenty, but not a day before. He was, after all, not even a man yet. He also promised the people that Lucius would be able to follow a similar path, and slated him for a consulship when he turned twenty.

With Tiberius now gone, Augustus needed to get both boys up to speed as soon as possible, but he didn't want to overdo it. The false-started campaign in Armenia, though, which Tiberius was to have spearheaded, left Augustus in another quandary regarding the rapidity of his grandson's rise. Specifically, he saw Armenia as the perfect opportunity to give Gaius command experience, but if he put the teenager in charge, would the whole thing backfire? The people were certainly ready enough to give the young heir a position of authority, but was Gaius ready to take it? Swallowing his misgivings, Augustus decided to appoint the boy to deal with the situation in the east. The situation being that the Parthians were once again meddling in Armenia, which interfered with Rome's own meddling, something Augustus could not tolerate.

In 1 B.C., eighteen-year-old Gaius went east and set up a base of operations on the island of Samos, from which he would project Rome's imperial power. Not far from Samos was, of course, the island of Rhodes, home these past five years to Tiberius. The melancholy stepson of Augustus, now well into middle age, seems in those five years to have grown disenchanted with his exile. Perhaps because he realized that he was not, after all, indispensable. Or because, after Julia's affairs became known, Augustus had unilaterally declared her unhappy marriage to Tiberius void, freeing him of the woman he hated. Tiberius began to ask his stepfather for permission to return to Rome, a request Augustus refused to even consider, despite heavy lobbying from Livia. So Tiberius's exile transitioned almost overnight, from self-imposed to forced.

With Gaius taking on his first foreign assignment, and ready to step into the consulship in 1 A.D., Tiberius found himself forgotten, left to wither on Rhodes, homesick, and ignored. But we all know now that it was not Tiberius's destiny to die in obscurity. No, he was destined to succeed Augustus to the throne. So how did he get from exile back into the center of Roman power? Augustus clearly wanted nothing more to do with him, and with Gaius and Lucius progressing nicely, it would take quite a chain of events for the princeps to accept Tiberius back into his good graces. But the ancient world was a cruel and sudden place, and in the span of eighteen months, Tiberius went from hated exile to heir apparent.

In 2 A.D., Lucius, then nineteen years old and set to hold the consulship the next year, was traveling to Spain on assignment for Augustus. While he was passing through Gaul, Lucius was stricken by an illness, and before anyone could even be notified that anything was amiss, he died. Augustus was devastated. Without any sons of his own, he had raised Lucius as his own. And now, just like that, the young man Augustus had poured his heart and soul into was gone. Beyond the emotional blow, this meant that all of Augustus' hopes for a permanent Julian dynasty now rested on Gaius alone. If anything were to happen to the elder brother, Augustus did not know what he would do.

A year and a half later, though, he found out. After helping resolve the situation in Armenia, which involved forging a compromise with the Parthians whereby Rome allowed Parthia's chosen candidate to ascend to the Armenian throne in exchange for the Parthians recognizing that Armenia was firmly in Rome's sphere of influence, Gaius was acting as a tourist in the east when news came that not everyone in Armenia was happy with the compromise. A revolt had broken out, and Gaius led the legions in to help quell the disturbances. In 4 AD, while laying siege to a small town, Gaius was wounded. The wound never healed properly, and as he traveled back to the west, the infection became worse. He died on the southern coast of Anatolia at the tender age of 24.

If Augustus found the death of Lucius hard to take, the death of Gaius was absolutely devastating. The two boys he had groomed for power, who he expected to one day rule the empire, were dead. Just like that, dead. Who else could he turn to? Finally, the endless stream of letters from Tiberius would have to be opened. His requests to return from exile would have to be granted. The reality that he was now the only man alive who could succeed Augustus to the throne would have to be acknowledged. Tiberius was now once again the heir apparent.

Now I suppose this is a good time to address a rumor that has been kicking around since the days of antiquity. I speak, of course, of the Livia Killed Everyone theory of Roman imperial history. In this theory, Livia takes on the persona of the wicked stepmother, a familiar archetype that was well known to Roman dramatists, who, in her single-minded push to drive Tiberius into power, poisoned anyone who got in their way. First Marcellus, then Lucius, then Gaius. She arranged the banishment of Julia, and will soon enough arrange the banishment of young Agrippa Posthumus and his sister Julia the Younger. She was even accused of eliminating her own son, Jerusalem, who was suspected of having Republican sympathies.

These accusations have been around since it became clear that young Julian men in line for the throne had a habit of dying young and suddenly, but are of course given their fullest voice in the BBC miniseries I, Claudius. Having somehow gone my entire life without ever actually seeing the show, I decided to right that particular wrong and have recently been watching it with the utmost enjoyment. I, Claudius is of course awesome, and anyone who is listening to this podcast will thoroughly enjoy it, but all I can say is, Robert Graves really, really didn't like Livia. She is portrayed as evil and manipulative right down to the core. I don't think there is a sympathetic moment for her in the entire series.

All I can say about this is that we should remain skeptical about such portrayals. Even the Latin historians, Suetonius especially, who specialized in gossip, acknowledged that there is no proof of anything and that the rumors were likely concocted by enemies of the regime, particularly enemies of Tiberius, who wished to discredit the entire Claudian half of the Julio-Claudian dynasty. We should also keep in mind that in the ancient world, sudden death was not exactly unheard of, disease ran rampant, and medicine was barely out of its infancy. There is no need to concoct a tale about a diabolical woman secretly assassinating her son's rivals to explain the fact that Lucius got sick and died, or that after being stabbed with a sword, Gaius's wound never healed properly and he died.

This is all to say that basically, I am not going to go there. To me, Livia will remain a staunch promoter of her son's interests and a ruthless defender of the new imperial regime, but I will not be portraying her as the embodiment of pure malevolence. But go check out I, Claudius. Not for nothing is it regarded as some of the finest television ever produced.

So moving on, after the death of Gaius, Tiberius returned to Rome. He was quickly adopted by Augustus and his at-large powers, which had lapsed during his exile, were renewed and extended by the Senate. As a condition of his adoption, though, Tiberius was required to adopt his now 20-year-old nephew, Germanicus. With Germanicus having blood ties back to Augustus through his mother, Antonia, the princeps hoped that after a temporary diversion through Tiberius, power would wind up back in the hands of a Julian, doubly ensuring that in the future, power would remain in Julian hands, Germanicus was married to Augustus's granddaughter, Agrippina. When the princeps died, Tiberius would reign by necessity, but then the family of Germanicus would take their rightful places on the throne.

It was lucky that Germanicus was turning out to be such a promising young man, because the rest of his family was a disaster. Agrippa Posthumus, the last surviving son of Marcus Agrippa and Julia, had grown into a violent and cruel young man. In 7 AD, after numerous complaints and indiscretions, Augustus finally had to give up, and Posthumus was forced into exile, banished to a tiny island that was little more than a rock. The next year, Julia the Younger followed in her mother's footsteps, first into a life of moral flexibility, carrying on her own series of infamous affairs, and then exile at Augustus's orders. Rumors held, though, that she was not banished simply for immorality, but that she was also taking part in a plot against the Augustan regime. Her first husband had been executed on charges of treason, and some suppose that his wife had more than a little to do with the whole affair.

Whenever his daughter or grandchildren popped up in conversation, Augustus was known to quote from the Iliad, Ah, to have never married, and childless died. Rounding out the hall of shame were Germanicus's sister, Lovilla, who will eventually commit suicide after being implicated in the murder of Tiberius's son, and his brother Claudius, a stammering idiot who everyone knew would never amount to anything.

While Augustus was dealing with his internal family dramas, an external disaster shook the regime right down to its core. Over the years, between the campaigns of Jerusalem and the subsequent campaigns of Tiberius, the Roman grip on Germania had slowly tightened. By 7 AD, the Romans were moving with relative impunity through the country, and had established alliances with numerous Germanic tribes. Bases and forts had been erected on the far side of the Rhine, and, by all accounts, it was looking like Germania would soon be formally annexed. The only problem was that despite the appearance of goodwill and friendship, the majority of German tribes had no love for Rome whatsoever, and were not going to sit by while their country was enveloped into the empire.

Into this dynamic stepped two men, Publius Quintilius Varus, then governor assigned to the task of consolidating Roman control of the country, and a German chieftain known by his Latinized name, Arminius. Arminius was well trusted by the Romans, and played the part of a staunch Roman ally to the hilt. He had served in the legions, leading German auxiliary forces in numerous battles, and had even been granted citizenship for his service. Varus trusted the German leader implicitly, and considered him a key to bringing the Germans in line with Roman rule.

But despite outward appearances, Arminius hated the Romans. His real dream was not helping Rome conquer Germania, but rather uniting the independent German tribes under his single banner, and leading them to victory against the legions. For two years, he ostensibly advised and aided Varus in his labors, but secretly was organizing a massive resistance effort. By 9 AD, Arminius had convinced enough of his countrymen to join him that he felt strong enough to strike.

But being strong enough to strike did not mean simply declaring his break from Rome and attacking in a set-piece battle. No, that would never work. The German chieftain knew from his years of serving in the legions that his fellow tribesmen were no match for Rome's armies, all things being equal. So he set about making sure that all things would not be equal. He devised a trap for the Romans, and then leveraged his influence with Varus to make sure that the Roman leader walked right into it. Arminius was so trusted, in fact, that even when evidence of his intentions was brought to Varus's attention, the Roman general dismissed it as slander. But it wasn't slander. It was the truth.

The trap was set for September, just as the weather was turning sour and the Romans were thinking more about holing up for the winter than dealing with a massive Germanic uprising. Arminius brought word to Varus that a revolt had broken out northwest of the main Roman camp, and that it would be best to go in with a show of force and remind the locals that their new rulers did not tolerate insurrection. So Varus led the three legions under his command, the 17th, 18th, and 19th, out of the camp, marching them northwest towards the alleged revolt. But of course, there was no uprising. Using the excuse that he was leaving to go raise more local soldiers to help Rome quell the unrest, Arminius left the Roman camp, met up with the massive army waiting to ambush the marching Romans in the Teutoburg forest.

Completely unaware that anything was amiss, and believing himself far from any trouble, Varus marched his men in sloppy fashion. He declined to send out any advance scouts, and allowed thousands of camp followers with their slow-moving baggage trains to travel alongside his forces. Believing his men to be in no danger, Varus also neglected to march in battle-ready order. Arminius had pointed them down a narrow and muddy road, and with heavy rain starting up, the going was slow.

At a location that archaeologists have identified as just northeast of modern Osnabrück, the legions were forced to pass through a narrow strip of land, cutting between a sharp hill to the south and marshland to the north. I have a map posted of what the likely site looked like that was based on a map posted by Yonah Lendering of Livius.org, whose careful analysis of the battle forms the basis for most of my own recounting of the disaster. At the narrow pass, Arminius waited to ambush the Romans. The Germans had fortified a position along the slope of the southern hill, and after allowing a good portion of the Roman train to pass, launched an assault on the middle of the Roman army. Varus and his men were taken totally unaware. The army was cut in half and suffered heavy losses. An attempt was made to storm the fortified wall the Germans had erected, but to no avail. The lead group, with the Germans now behind them, either escaped or were themselves annihilated after being forced into the marshland. The other group, with Varus still in command, fought their way out of the trap and managed to build a camp just west of the ambush site.

After spending a sleepless night holed up behind their hastily erected fortifications, the remaining Romans broke out the next morning and headed southwest. But having to fight their way through hordes of German tribesmen, the breakout caused significant casualties. Between the initial ambush and the morning breakout, the three legions of Varus were, by this time, essentially destroyed. No longer were they an army fighting a battle, these were survivors fighting to escape. Varus led his men southwest, probably trying to make for a Roman base situated upon the Lipa River, but they would never make it. Between the heavy woods and the heavy rains, the Romans were unable to use their archers, unable to even hold up their waterlogged shields. Arminius sent a force ahead of Varus, and the confused Romans were ambushed for a second time. Surrounded, Varus recognized that continued fighting was hopeless. The Roman governor, along with most of his remaining officers, committed suicide. Some Roman soldiers were able to slip away from these repeated ambushes and make their way to the fortress along the Lipa, but they were an insignificant minority of those who had set out with Varus in search of a non-existent revolt just days before.

The 17th, 18th, and 19th legions, plus accompanying cavalry and auxiliary troops, all told accounting for some 20,000 men, had been slaughtered. The battle in the Teutoburg Forest is widely recognized as one of those earth-shattering events that alters the course of history. Perhaps in constructing a narrative about why the Romans settled on the Rhine as their chosen frontier, historians have allowed the battle to take on outsized importance. But there is no doubt that it was a monumental disaster for Rome. The 17th, 18th, and 19th legions, for example, pass now from the historical record, their numbers never again used by any future legions, sort of like retiring the number of a beloved sports hero. Augustus was reported to have stopped shaving for months after news of the massacre reached Rome, a traditional step in the Roman mourning process. For the rest of his life, Augustus is also reported to periodically and without warning shout, Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions.

Whether there was a one-to-one relation between the battle and the session of permanent expansion into Germania or not, the two events coincide so neatly that the formation of a legend was inevitable. 19th century German nationalists made a hero of Arminius, calling him by his German name Hermann. They built statues to him and used the battle in the Teutoburg as proof of their racist superiority over the decadent Latins they had easily defeated. In concluding his article on the battle, Jonah Lendering also points out that if the slaughter in the Teutoburg did indeed cause the Romans to abandon Germany, then Arminius deserves credit for the remaining existence of both the German and English languages, both of which would have been overwhelmed by Latin had the Romans successfully annexed Germania, just as the local dialects in France and Spain were supplanted.

Whether fully justified or not, the battle in the Teutoburg forest is one of those major mileposts along the road of Roman history, and it will definitely be on the test. Now obviously, the Romans were not ones to simply tuck tail and run, so in the aftermath of the disaster, Augustus sent Tiberius to the Rhineland to execute punitive expeditions against the Germans. Tiberius would spend the next few years marauding around the countryside, laying waste to settlements and enslaving the natives. But there was no more interest shown in establishing permanent outposts east of the Rhine.

Tiberius himself, when he became emperor, never pushed for any substantial war-making in Germania, Germanicus' campaigns notwithstanding. It is likely that in the final calculation, the Romans realized that the only thing capable of unifying the disparate German tribes into a force that could actually threaten the empire was the presence of Romans on their land. By remaining west of the Rhine, the Romans gave the Germans no cause to abandon their eternal squabbling. In fact, the breakdown of German unity happened almost immediately after their greatest victory over Rome. After the Romans withdrew, Arminius sent the head of Varus to a rival chieftain to prove that together, the Romans would not stand a chance against the tribes of Germania. But the rival leader simply passed the head along to Rome for burial, suspecting that Arminius was trying to make himself king and seeing no reason to allow such a thing to happen. Self-interest trumping all. Lacking unity, the Germans could no longer threaten Rome. But just to be careful, eight full legions were forever stationed up and down the Rhine. These troops would guard the new frontier for hundreds of years, keeping Rome safe from the unconquered barbarians in Germania.

There will be no episode next week, as I'll be traveling around for Memorial Day weekend. Unfortunately, the Mets blew up Randy Johnson yesterday, so he won't be going for his 300th win next Friday in Seattle, but I'll be at Safeco anyway, basking in the fading glow of the greatest left-handed pitcher in baseball history. We'll return in two weeks to follow Augustus' last great test, transferring power to Tiberius. Many believed that when Augustus died, the regime would die with him. But the old princeps arranged things as best he could to ensure that this wouldn't happen. The transition of power from Augustus to Tiberius was fraught with danger. But in the end, it would be pulled off without a hitch. Imperial Rome was off and running.

Thanks for watching!