062 - Take My Wife...Please

This week's episode is brought to you by Audible. As you are now aware, Audible is the Internet's leading provider of audio entertainment, with over 60,000 titles to choose from. When you finish this episode, go to audiblepodcast.com forward slash roam. That again is audiblepodcast.com forward slash roam. By going to that address, you qualify for a free book download just for signing up for the 14-day trial membership. There is no obligation to keep continuing with the service, and you can cancel at any time and keep the book that you downloaded. You can also keep going with one of their monthly subscription options and always get great deals on future audiobook purchases. This week, I'm going to recommend picking up Roman Lives by Plutarch, which goes back a bit in time from where we are, but definitely was a source for information on Cicero, Julius Caesar, Mark Antony, and many other of our old friends. Just remember to go to audiblepodcast.com forward slash roam so that they know who sent you.

In the uncertain days after the assassination of Caligula, the people of Rome must have wondered whether or not they had now actually seen the worst the imperial dynasty could throw at them. They had, after all, thought the worst was behind them once before, after Tiberius, who had spent the last half of his reign as a paranoid recluse. But everyone soon realized that Caligula was a debauched madman who just took everything that made Tiberius' final years unbearable and times them by ten. So when Caligula was murdered, it is understandable that the Romans were a bit gun-shy about their next emperor. As the saying goes, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me, we can't get fooled again. So they held their collective breath as they waited for word from the Senate to come about who would be the empire's next princeps. It can't possibly be worse than Caligula, can it?

When word came that it would be Claudius, yes, Uncle Claudius, they must have let go their breath with a deflated sigh. How interesting, it actually can get worse. We went from a cruel old pervert to a raving madman, and now we are left with nothing more than a blubbering idiot. Truly, we have combed the far reaches of our mighty empire and drawn from the ranks of our citizen body the finest and most able men to rule over us. Uncle Claudius, sweet Jupiter, let's go get a drink. But once they had turned their backs in disgust, a funny thing happened. Claudius turned out to be not so bad, pretty good even. Did you hear that the campaigns in Britain are going well? That Claudius has successfully established a whole new province. Have you seen the new roads? They're not half bad. I was in court the other day, and Claudius not only presided over cases, but his judgments were measured and reasonable. I even saw him ignore the prescribed penalties after a man had been found guilty because, no, no, hear me out, because justice demanded it. I know, justice, damnedest thing I've ever seen. They always said Claudius was a stuttering fool, and that may well be, but Emperor Claudius seems like a pretty good egg.

I should pause here for a second and address something that popped up in the comment thread last week. Veronica was wondering if she had missed the part where suddenly the Romans switched and began referring to their rulers as emperors rather than princeps, as Augustus had preferred. The answer is that, well, no, technically you didn't miss that part. The title emperor is used commonly by historians to label the rulers of the Roman Empire after the ascent of Augustus, but the Romans themselves used a number of different titles for the man at the top, including princeps, Augustus, and simply Caesar. The technical meaning of imperator still carried with it a martial connotation, and, in fact, when Claudius ascended to the throne, he refused the imperator honorific because he had done nothing to earn it. Not that he didn't want it, just that he felt a little awkward being hailed as a great commander when the closest he had ever gotten to a battle was reading about it in a book.

Part of the rationale behind the invasion of Britain was to earn the street cred he would need to actually accept the title. After Claudius, the honorific imperator was accepted and not accepted, or, more accurately, granted and not granted, depending on the man in question. But eventually, the title did simply become hereditary, and thus we have come to refer to the whole lot of them as emperor, regardless of whether or not they had technically been awarded the title imperator or not. The reality of how power was consolidated and legitimized during this period is far more complicated than a man simply becoming emperor the way a man becomes a king. But the effect wound up being basically the same, so historians shorthand the whole convoluted mess into a single title, and that title is emperor. So, following convention, I have found myself calling these men emperors, even though the Romans themselves did not use the word the same way we do. I would say that it falls under the category of generally accepted principles and practices, not technically accurate, but acceptably descriptive enough for auditing purposes.

So we left off last week with Claudius overseeing the successful conclusion of what would prove to be merely the first phase of the Roman invasion of Britain. General Claudius had become Governor Claudius, and he set about quickly and efficiently absorbing the conquered portions of southeast Britannia into the empire. Usually there was a waiting period after territory is targeted for integration by the Romans, during which a local client monarch rules as an ally of Rome. But there was no beating around the bush in Britain. As soon as the Romans had a foothold, they began direct administration. Not that that foothold was at times anything more than a foothold, mind you. It would take until the end of the century before the rest of the island was pacified in any meaningful way, and even then, their dominance only extended so far north.

The emperor Hadrian finally decided to simply build a wall, rather than make a play at conquering the truly crazy barbarians up in the highlands of the far north. There is a funny line I heard about that once that I have always remembered, even though I have no idea who said it, that went something like, Hadrian decided to build his wall, so the Scots would be left undisturbed in their never-ending war against their mortal enemies, the Scots. Which I think sums up the whole situation nicely. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Claudius remained as governor until 47, and spent the majority of his time and energy consolidating the Roman position, building veteran settlements, and getting the locals to fall in line with his new tax policies. When Claudius was replaced by Ostorius Scapula though, the new governor decided to push west into Wales. The fugitive British leader Caratacus had fallen back to the defensible western quarter of the island, and was using it as a base to run a guerrilla insurrection against the Roman occupation. He spent years harassing and confounding the Romans, until he was finally drawn into a set battle in 50 AD. Though the king set himself up as best he could, taking the high ground and building a decent string of fortifications, the Romans were able to penetrate the defenses, and once inside the British line, cut through the locals with ruthless efficiency.

The Romans captured Caratacus' wife and brothers, but the chief himself managed to slip away. He fled north and tried to take refuge with a neighboring tribe, but the Roman allied queen of the territory immediately handed Caratacus over to the Romans as a show of loyalty to the new foreign overlords. With that, the most prominent and able leader of the British resistance was whisked off the island and taken back to Rome, where he was paraded around as a prized treasure. But unlike, say, Vercingetorix, who rotted away in a cell for years until Caesar found the time to have him strangled, Caratacus was dealt with immediately, and, surprisingly, after impressing the Romans with the utterly unrepentant way that he carried himself, they let him live.

He had requested and received an audience with the Senate, and when he stood before them, he gave a memorable speech that wound up saving his life. He said, I had horses, men, arms, and wealth. What wonder if I was unwilling to lose them. If you wish to command everyone, does it really follow that everyone should accept your slavery? If I were now being handed over as one who had surrendered immediately, neither my fortune nor your glory would have achieved brilliance. Then he asked them point-blank to spare his life, so that he could remain an eternal symbol of Rome's clemency. Really, it was a savvy bit of work for a man facing almost certain execution, and the audacity of the whole spectacle impressed Claudius, and the emperor spared the British king's life, allowing him to set up a nice little farm in Italy to live out the rest of his days.

Before he passes from our narrative, I will let Caraticus have one final word. Touring Rome, he was impressed with the splendor of the great capital, and remarked, And can you then, who have such possessions, and so many of them, covet our poor tents? Which, I think, is a question worth asking.

With his success in policy and in war, Claudius was cementing a reputation for overseeing a pretty competent administration. Like I said last week, though, more than a few Romans were unwilling to believe that Claudius was really calling the shots, so running parallel and in opposition to this reputation for running a pretty good ship was a reputation for having a pretty good ship run him. And it wasn't just his freedmen who were said to pilot Claudius around, it was also his various wives.

Claudius never had the best luck with women. His obvious physical defects made marrying him quite a bit more difficult than finding a suitable mate for his brother or sister. The first time the imperial family found somebody to say yes to an engagement, the match was soon after broken off for political reasons. His next fiancée lasted all the way to the altar, but then died on their wedding day. So, for Claudius, that would be 0 for 2. His third marriage attempt finally took, and he was paired with a woman named Claudia Ergolanilla, the daughter of a friend of Livia's. Basically, the Augusta was owed a favor, and she cashed it in.

The union produced Claudius' first child, a son named Claudius Drusus, who tragically died of asphyxiation when he was just entering his teens. The marriage was destined for a similar fate, and in 24 AD, Ergolanilla was not only accused of adultery, but also that she had conspired to murder her sister-in-law. After their divorce was finalized, Ergolanilla gave birth to a second child, a daughter named Claudia, who Claudius repudiated, as it was widely known that he was not even the father. So far, not so good.

A bachelor once more, Claudius was targeted by Sejanus as the perfect match for the prefect's adopted sister, Pitina. Floating like a leaf down the tumultuous river of Roman politics, Claudius no doubt saw the value in being related to the ruthlessly ambitious Sejanus as the prefect's star was rising. So Claudius allowed himself to be used as a conduit for Sejanus' entry into the Julio-Claudian family, and he married Pitina in 28 AD. Once Sejanus fell, though, Claudius couldn't afford any connections to the disgraced prefect, and he divorced his wife. While those around him drowned, Claudius continued to float downriver.

His next marriage came after Caligula ascended to the throne. Whether by luck or design, Claudius paired up with a regular and influential member of the young emperor's court, a woman named Valeria Messalina. Messalina was an ambitious woman, and while it sure seems to be the case that nobody really wanted to marry Claudius, Messalina was pretty excited to at least be marrying the uncle of the emperor. That that uncle was, well, Claudius was no great problem. Messalina wasn't planning on being tied down, if you know what I mean.

The match worked out well for both of them for a time. Messalina was married into the imperial family, and Claudius now had an additional layer of protection to get him through the crazy years of Caligula's reign. Messalina fit right in with Caligula's court and had some influence over the emperor. So, because Messalina needed Claudius to cement her ties with the family, she would always be a fierce advocate within Caligula's inner circle to not execute Claudius should the whim to do so crop up, which reportedly it did on more than one occasion. Together, if usually apart, Claudius and Messalina survived the random madness of Caligula, and after Claudius ascended to the throne, Messalina suddenly and surprisingly found herself empress, which was, I think, an ambition beyond her wildest dreams.

She bore Claudius two children, a daughter named Claudia Octavia, who will eventually marry Nero, and a son called Britannicus, named in honor of his father's recent triumph in Britain. Now, she was not only the wife of the emperor, but also the mother of the heir apparent, Britannicus. Not since Livia had Rome seen a woman in such a powerful position, and Messalina, like Livia before her, did not hesitate to use her newfound powers. No shrinking violet, Messalina jumped right into politics, and using Claudius as her instrument, the empress usually had her way.

Unfortunately, she did not whisper in the emperor's ear to turn his attention towards this neglected policy, or make him an advocate for that necessary reform. No, not anything so useful as that. The empress was an insecure woman, and well aware that Claudius was old, and had a history of physical problems. If he were to die, she knew that she would lose everything just as quickly as she had gained it. So the first and last order of business was securing her own position, and it was toward that end alone that she whispered in the emperor's ear.

Luckily, the political climate of the times allowed Messalina to operate, probably with the aid of Narcissus, a sort of shadow purge mechanism to deal with men and women and children she considered a threat to her personally. There were so many real plots against Claudius' life to be dealt with, that when the emperor's wife and most trusted advisor brought some new list of names, and assured him that they had discovered some new conspiracy, it did not really set off any warning bells. Consuls, ex-consuls, influential women, up-and-coming senators, academics, if Messalina thought they might cause her problems, it was exile or execution. Claudius did not ask too many questions.

But it was not just Messalina's concern about Claudius' health that drove her. It was also the fact that she daily flirted with disaster by making a persistent cuckold of her husband. The ancient historians are unanimous in their judgment of the empress. She was a cruel nymphomaniac who disgraced Rome and brought nothing but shame upon herself and her husband. Messalina cheated early and often on Claudius, with men born both high and low. Her activities were widely documented and well-known, but it seems that no one had the heart or the courage to tell Claudius what was going on, so he remained the one man in the empire who didn't know what his wife was up to.

In addition to her regular liaisons with senators and actors, poets, slaves, and soldiers, there is a famous story of her competition with a well-known prostitute to see which of them could sleep with the most men in a single day. Messalina won.

So the empress needed to make sure her power had a base independent of Claudius, because who knows when her dalliances are going to finally catch up with her and trigger a divorce. Eventually, Messalina got careless or grew emboldened, if there is a difference between the two, and began to move away from simply running around behind Claudius' back. Her marriage was obviously a sham, and she knew that eventually Claudius would find out and that would be the end of her.

Plus, Germanicus' daughter Agrippina the Younger had been recalled from exile with her son Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, the future emperor Nero. The people had always had a soft spot in their hearts for Germanicus' family, and when she arrived, Agrippina was greeted warmly by the people. At the secular games held in 47 AD to celebrate the 800th anniversary of the founding of Rome, Agrippina and her son received much more applause than Messalina and her son. The implication was clear. Agrippina and Lucius were full Julians, descended directly from the divine Augustus. Messalina, meanwhile, had no blood ties to the clan, and her son was merely a Claudian.

Agrippina, as ambitious a woman as Rome had ever known, was clearly laying the groundwork for her son, the grandson of Germanicus, to ascend to the throne when Claudius was gone. With a ready alternative heir, perhaps even a more desirable heir standing by, Messalina could feel her leverage slipping. She was no longer as indispensable as she had once thought herself.

Her solution to this problem was not to reform her ways and devote herself to Claudius and make sure that Britannicus was always the first and last name on the list of heirs, but instead she schemed to get rid of Claudius altogether before he had a chance to turn on her. She had powerful friends and more than enough of them wanted the Julio-Claudians expelled from power that she decided to ditch the stuttering emperor and, with senatorial support, find a new husband and elevate him to the throne. The Julio-Claudians would be out. How exactly she thought this was going to work is sort of an open question, as in hindsight the whole plot looks not even half-baked, but more like the mix is still sitting in a bowl on the counter.

Messalina had hooked up with a consul-designate named Gaius Silius, an attractive, intelligent, and well-bred man who Messalina hoped would make a fine emperor. They carried on an affair behind the backs of both of their spouses until Messalina demanded, in some sort of test of love and loyalty, that Silius divorce his wife. The senator complied and then began to exert pressure on Messalina to do the same. They were both way beyond the point of no return. Everyone knew that they were lovers and why Silius had divorced his wife, so they may as well go all in. Finally, Messalina agreed that it was time for them to make their move. They would wed first and then kill Claudius. Silius, the husband of the empress, would step into power and everything would be super-duper.

Except, what? Did they really think that they would be able to get married without the emperor finding out about it? And that once he found out that his wife had, you know, openly left him for another man, that her position of empress would not be compromised? Regardless, in 48, when Claudius was in Ostia overseeing a construction project, Messalina and Silius got married. And not some secret wedding where the witnesses are sworn not to reveal what they have seen and the priest is killed afterwards. No, a big, lavish ceremony. Drinks, dancing, the works, all right out in the open.

Narcissus finally decided at this point that things had gone far enough. Way too far, actually. And resolved now to tell the truth to Claudius about his wife. Though Narcissus had formed a convenient alliance with Messalina, his first loyalty was to Claudius and it was pretty clear that a major coup was in the works. It was time to throw Messalina under the bus. Narcissus induced two of Claudius' mistresses, yes, Claudius had mistresses, which was different, Once the code of silence was broken, everyone that Claudius turned to for confirmation confirmed the stories.

The emperor headed back to Rome, but before he arrived, Messalina got word that the jig was up and that her husband now knew everything. She packed up the children and headed out on the road to Ostia to intercept Claudius and hopefully talk to him alone before he turned on her completely. Narcissus, riding with Claudius, openly denounced her and forbade her from speaking with Claudius privately. Messalina tagged along as the entourage made its way back to Rome, but was never able to crack the perimeter Narcissus had set up around the emperor's carriage.

Back in the city, Claudius was taken straight away to the home of Cilius, which Narcissus told him he would practically be able to recognize as his own. Messalina had been transferring imperial furniture and art into the home of her lover for some time, and as soon as he walked in, Claudius knew that all the accusations were true. Messalina tried to deny everything, especially the crazy notion that she had openly married Cilius I mean, how stupid would that be? But the literally hundreds of witnesses to the ceremony were hard to argue with.

Even still, Claudius, who was naturally inclined towards forgiveness, wavered over the fate of his wife. Narcissus, Pallas, and the other influential freedmen were adamant that she must be executed, and that what she had done was nothing less than treason. But Claudius hesitated. The story then goes that Narcissus used the emperor's seal to send the execution order himself. A soldier knocked down Messalina's door and presented her with the warrant, giving her the option of committing suicide if she chose. But when she could not bring herself to do it, the guard stabbed her to death.

Claudius was informed after the fact, and is reported to have taken the news without showing much sign one way or the other that he cared, which seems a bit out of character, as he seemed genuinely devoted to her, but that's what they say. Tacitus closes his chapter on the fall of Messalina with the line, The vengeance on Messalina was just, but it had terrible consequences.

There will be no episode next week, but when we return in two weeks, we will get into those terrible consequences. The emperor couldn't remain a bachelor for long, and in the search for a new empress, each of his freedmen ministers backed a different candidate. Narcissus advised remarrying Pitina. Her daughter with Claudius, Claudia Antonia, had married a fine young man named Faustus Cornelius Sulla Felix, a descendant of the original Sulla, who was also a cousin of the central Julio-Claudian dynasty. Narcissus had begun to have his doubts about the worth of Britannicus as an heir, and hoped that the older and more experienced Faustus would win the emperor's favor.

Callistus, on the other hand, advised marrying Lolia Paulina, an ex-wife of Caligula, who he knew from the time they had spent together in the previous emperor's court. You can see that each of the freedmen was backing a different horse, not just because they thought that their preferred candidate would be better for Claudius, but also because they thought that she would be better for them personally.

The secretary of the treasury palace, though, would eventually win the argument. He pushed for a union with Agrippina. The Julians and Claudians had been split from the time of the rivalry between Tiberius and Germanicus, and it was time to heal the rift. Plus, Agrippina and her son would always be a rallying point for dissidents as long as they remained outside the dynasty. Co-op them, and a major threat to Claudius would be instantly eliminated. Claudius was moved by these last points and decided to marry Agrippina on New Year's Day of 48 AD.

Now, this decision was not without controversy. We have covered a few marriages so far that would be considered incestual by our standards, but did not raise an eyebrow in ancient Rome. But a man marrying the daughter of his brother? That, my friends, is incest. The people were shocked, scandalized by the news, and they hated it, hated it, hated it.

But it was not the scandalous nature of the marriage that was the terrible consequence that Tacitus referred to. Rather, it was what happened once Agrippina got into power. Like Livia before her, she strove with a single-minded purpose to place her own son on the throne, and there is no arguing that Nero, becoming emperor, was a terrible consequence indeed.