091 - Marcus and Lucius and the Parthians

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 91, Marcus and Lucius and the Parthians. From very early on, everyone knew that Marcus Aurelius was going to be emperor someday. Born Marcus Aeneas Verus, the future emperor displayed from a young age the serious and scholarly temperament that first recommended him to Hadrian and then cemented his reputation as Rome's great philosopher-emperor. But, of course, for the first eight years of his reign, Marcus did not rule alone. For the first time in history, at Marcus' insistence no less, there were actually two emperors ruling Rome at the same time. From very early on, no one knew what was going to become of Lucius Verus. Born Lucius Caeonius Commodus, the future emperor displayed from a young age the self-indulgent and fun-loving temperament that first led Antoninus in the Senate to dismiss him and then cemented his reputation as one of Rome's great hedonist emperors. The unlikely partnership between Marcus and Lucius, which Lucius managed to not screw up too badly, would prove to be a watershed moment in the development of the always-evolving imperial political apparatus, and in less than a century, multiple emperors would become the rule rather than the exception.

Marcus' family, like the families of Hadrian and Trajan before him, originated in Roman Spain, and though they had only risen to prominence the century before, by the time Marcus was born in 121, his family was rich and powerful, connected closely to the imperial court, and living fat off the brickworks they owned which Hadrian had used to build his architectural empire. The grandson of one of Hadrian's closest friends, Marcus was only six when Hadrian ordered the boy's enrollment in the equestrian order, and only seven when Hadrian appointed him to an ancient and exclusive priesthood for young men, even though Marcus, due to his age and the fact that his father was dead, did not qualify for the honor. Hadrian had clearly taken a shine to the boy, and from that young age a precedent was set that the rules would not apply to Marcus. After rising to the occasion and displaying a talent for leadership within the priesthood, the emperor arranged for the boy, now fifteen and ready to don the toga of manhood, to be wed to Caonia Fabia, daughter of Hadrian's newly adopted heir, Lucius Aelius Caesar. When Marcus' would-be father-in-law died in 138, Hadrian was forced to scramble for a new heir and, as you know, the burden-slash-honor fell to Antoninus, with the famous proviso that he must adopt both Marcus and Lucius Caesar's seven-year-old biological son, Lucius Caonius Commodus. Antoninus agreed, and Marcus Aenius Verus became Marcus Aelius Aurelius Verus, taking a name each from Hadrian and Antoninus. Marcus was reportedly unhappy with the arranged adoption, doubly so for having to move in with the unstable Hadrian, who historians and scholars have surmised Marcus did not particularly like. But whatever his own misgivings, Marcus was now clearly marked for high office, and Hadrian requested that the rules once again be set aside, so that the now seventeen-year-old boy could serve as quaestor in 139.

After Hadrian's death in July 138, Antoninus approached Marcus about cancelling the arranged marriage with Caonia Fabia, and instead asked Marcus to marry his own daughter, Faustina, despite the fact that technically the two were now brother and sister. The engagements thus shuffled around to better reflect the new dynastic realities, Antoninus made his nineteen-year-old adopted son-slash-future-son-in-law Marcus consul for 140, an honor made even more prestigious by the fact that the emperor himself served as Marcus' colleague. Lest anyone miss the point, Antoninus enrolled Marcus in every important priesthood he could think of, and then, as the topping cherry, added Caesar to Marcus' growing list of names. There was no doubt, Marcus was destined for the purple. This all might have gone to a lesser man's head, but Marcus, by this time, was already showing signs of the stoic character that would come to define him, and with each new honor, he cautioned himself against getting caught up in the power and the pageantry that now surrounded him, or succumbing to the sheer exceptionalism that seemed to radiate from his very being.

As I mentioned during the bid about Roman early education, Marcus himself had been home-schooled, a state of affairs he counted amongst the greatest blessings of his life. He had been taught, and, still a young man, was still being taught, by some of the most gifted orators and rhetoricians the empire had to offer, including the Athenian hereties Atticus and the Latin authority Marcus Cornelius Fronto. Both were considered masters of their respective languages, and Marcus was the ever-hard-working, if skeptical, student of their lessons. But by his early twenties, Marcus had grown disillusioned with the empty sophistry of mere rhetoric, and began moving towards the philosophy of Stoicism, guided by the most prominent Stoic of the day, Junius Rusticus. Fronto, in particular, warned Marcus against falling in with the wrong crowd, but the Stoic doctrine passed down to Rusticus from his grandfather, by way of Seneca himself, spoke to Marcus, and seemed to fit easily with his own native outlook on life. The rigid self-analysis appealed to the introspective Marcus, as did its emphasis on duty, which helped Marcus cope with the immense and largely unasked-for burden that was being foisted upon him. Indeed, it was likely this sense of Stoic duty that compelled Marcus, who seemed to be repelled by all things sexual, to help Faustina conceive each of the fourteen, yes, fourteen children they had together.

Marcus and Faustina were officially wed in 145, the same year that Marcus served as consul for the second time, and their first child was born in 147, the same year that Marcus was given tribunician authority to match that of Antoninus. Aside from these public honors, throughout the 140s, Antoninus included Marcus in just about every aspect of his daily administration. The emperor, admirably enough, wanted Marcus to learn how to rule, by staying by his side at all times, and Marcus subsequently became an expert in the day-to-day bureaucratic responsibilities of office. But there was a huge drawback to this right-hand man's status. Wherever Antoninus went, Marcus followed, but if Antoninus did not go anywhere, neither did Marcus. And as we know, Antoninus never went anywhere. This meant that the heir apparent never went abroad to help govern a province, or serve in the legions, or even visit the places he would one day rule. He was a kept man, locked up tight in a very small bubble. It was a rich bubble, and it was a powerful bubble, and Marcus learned a great deal while living in it, but there is no mistaking the fact that when it was his turn to rule, he lacked a great deal of the practical, worldly experience that helped all the really good emperors be really good. It is to his great credit, then, that he was able to overcome this rather gaping hole in his education.

However, if Antoninus neglected a part of Marcus's education, he neglected the man who would serve as Marcus's imperial colleague altogether. Playing the part of demission to Marcus's titus, the future Lucius Verus drifted along with only the title son of Augustus to keep him company for the first decade and a half of Antoninus's reign. I say the future Lucius Verus, because at this point he was called Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus. He had no responsibilities, no authority, and no expectation of either. Whatever Hadrian's wishes had been in forcing Antoninus to adopt Lucius, it was clear that Antoninus himself had no use for the boy. Nine years Marcus's junior, Lucius was raised in the shadow of everyone, his dead biological father Lucius Caesar, his living adoptive father Antoninus, and his favored adopted brother Marcus. On the surface, he was given the same rigorous, excellent education Marcus received, but as student to the same men who had taught his often brilliant brother, the intelligent but not nearly as focused Lucius was a bit of a letdown and it seems that early on the boy sensed that the scholarly life was not for him. While Marcus served as the right hand of Antoninus, the now teenage Lucius embraced the distracting world of chariot races, gladiatorial fights, theatrical productions, and that favorite of Roman vices, gambling. Where Marcus disdained all sport and thought taking sides unseemly, Lucius enthusiastically supported the green faction in the chariot races.

Lucius was finally brought into the imperial administration when he was made quaestor in 152 and consul in 154. Forever reminding him of which son Antoninus favored more, though, Lucius reached each office at the age of 22 and 24 respectively, compared to Marcus' 17 and 19. As Antoninus aged and Marcus more and more took the lead in imperial affairs, it seemed to everyone that Lucius was destined for a comfortable life as the emperor's brother, but not much more than that. But when Antoninus finally died in March of 161 after 23 years on the throne, a funny thing happened. The senate was readying an official proclamation, stating that all imperial authority would be transferred to and held solely by the dead emperor's capable heir, the newly dubbed Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus. Marcus himself, though, sent along word that there was a condition to his acceptance of authority and power. His brother Lucius, who Hadrian had clearly meant to join Marcus in the purple, must be granted the same authority and power. The senate, a bit bewildered at the request, agreed to the terms in order to avoid a crisis of political continuity, but it left everyone scratching their heads. Why would Marcus want to share power, especially with Lucius, whose reputation for good times was beginning to precede him? But it seems that out of some lingering sense of duty to Hadrian, Marcus was not going to leave Lucius behind. Or perhaps he saw what the later empire would see all too well. One man cannot govern the whole of the Mediterranean by himself. Whatever the reasons, Lucius took his brother's unexpected yes for an answer, and changed his name one last time to Lucius Aurelius Verus Augustus, taking up Marcus's discarded cognomen Verus out of respect for his elder brother, which is how we roundaboutly come to now calling him Lucius Verus.

Ironically, in 160, the dying Antoninus had arranged for his two adopted sons to serve a consulship together in 161. So when they jointly accepted imperial authority in March, they had likely just finished serving alongside each other as the years naming ordinary consuls, making 161 officially the year of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, which it very much turned out to be. In most respects, the two men were equals. Both held tribunician power, pro-consular authority over the provinces, etc. etc. But Marcus was clearly the first among equals. He was nine years Lucius' senior, had served one more consulship than his brother, and perhaps most pointedly, was the sitting Pontifex Maximus, an honor he declined to share with his brother. So in practice, their power sharing worked out a bit like the old dictator and master of the horse relationship, Marcus the dictator, whose authority was absolute, and Lucius the master of horse, who ruled everyone but Marcus, to whom even he deferred. The history books like to point out that this was the first time the empire was ruled by co-emperors, which would become the norm in the coming century. But I don't think that we should forget other critical power sharing agreements that served as well-known precedents, Augustus and Marcus Agrippa, Augustus and Tiberius, and in all but name, Trajan and Nerva.

Having been granted the senate's blessing, Marcus and Lucius went down to the Praetorian camp where they promised the largest ascension donative in history, equivalent to nearly three years' pay for the soldiers, and more than that for the officers. The guard had not been making any seditious noises and was not even challenging the elevation of either man, but, with the two new emperors lacking any experience or rapport with the legions, it was perhaps prudent to overwhelm any doubts that might creep into their heads down the road with an enormous chunk of cash up front. It did the trick. The provincial legions would be taken care of in due course, but Marcus and Lucius left the Praetorian camp secure in the knowledge that the only armed men within five hundred miles of Rome were firmly on their side. All in all, the new emperor's first day in power went swimmingly, and closed without any major disasters or crises erupting, and at least for that one day it seemed like their joint reign might turn out to be a pleasant continuation of Antoninus's.

For the scholarly, introspective Marcus and the fun-loving Lucius, an empire at peace meant that they would be left free to pursue whatever particular pleasures actually interested them. Marcus could read and think, Lucius could drink and gamble. But unfortunately, unbeknownst to them, the golden age of Antoninus was already dead. Day one may have come and gone without incident, but that would prove to be the exception rather than the rule. The joint reign of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus was one of near-continuous war, plague, and disaster. Right away, the peace was shattered by a newly aggressive Parthia. The Parthian king Vologases appears to have been biding his time, waiting for Antoninus to die, so he could jump the Romans while they were absorbed with the transfer of power. Marcus had tried to avoid just this sort of incident by leaving most of Antoninus's key eastern governors in place, so that there would be continuity of leadership on the frontiers. But it is possible that Vologases read this to mean that the new emperors were weak, and that now, more than ever, the Roman empire was a paper tiger, ready to be kicked around. So he led an army across the border into Armenia, deposed the Roman-approved king, appointed his own man, and dared the Romans to do anything about it.

With Rome once again on the verge of war with Parthia, I think we should stop for a second and answer one of the questions I couldn't get to last week, which was suggested by a few people, but first asked by Hans Delbruck. Can you give a brief historical outline of the Persian Parthian empire? Why yes, I think I can. The Parthians have been popping in and out of our narrative for a long while now, first appearing way back in episode 37, as Lucullus led the initial offensive of the Third Mithridatic War. But you're right, I never really stopped to tell you who the Parthians actually were. So I want to finish this week by correcting that oversight. The thing that makes it difficult is that the Parthians left us very little in the way of written records. We know far more about the Seleucids who preceded them and the Sassanids who succeeded them than we do about the Parthians themselves. That being said, here's some stuff that we do know.

The largest empire in the history of the ancient world had been the Old Persian Empire, or more properly, the Achaemenid Empire, founded in 550 BC and which, at its height, controlled all the territory between India and the Ionian Sea. This was the empire of Darius and Xerxes, and the empire that had tried to envelop the Greeks in the 400s BC, leading to some of the most legendary battles in the history of the Western world, Marathon, Thermopylae, Salamis. Though the Persians had, against seemingly insurmountable odds, been driven off, the Greeks never forgave or forgot the terrible destruction the invasion had caused. In the 350s BC, the Greek world became dominated by the Macedonian king Philip II, and then his son Alexander, yes, that Alexander. Still nursing the Greek grudge, Alexander launched himself east in 334 BC and took revenge on the Persians. Over the course of the next decade, he sliced through Persia like a hot knife through butter, tossed out the Achaemenids, and then pushed his way to India. When he died in 323 BC, the huge Macedonian Empire was divided, not at all amicably, between Alexander's generals. Most of the old Persian Empire was seized by the general Seleucus, who founded Antioch and forged an eastern Hellenic kingdom known as the Seleucid Empire, which ruled Persia until the rise of the Parthians in the mid-200s BC.

The Parthians took their name from the northeastern satrapy of the Seleucid Empire from which they arose. In or around 247 BC, a central Asian nomadic tribe called the Parni invaded and took control of Parthia, which was already in revolt against Seleucid domination. The Seleucids at this point were caught up in a war with Ptolemaic Egypt, and the Parni tribe were able to cement their power over Parthia unopposed. When things in the west settled down, the Seleucid king was able to turn east and attempted to reassert control over his lost satrapy, but by then it was too late. A peace settlement left the rising northeastern power nominally a client kingdom, but a high independent one. From the 160s to the 140s though, an ambitious Parthian king named Mithridates I of Parthia swept east, reaching, besieging, and conquering all of the territory up to and including Babylon. In 139 BC, Mithridates captured the Seleucid king Demetrius, effectively silencing Seleucid claims to anything east of the Euphrates. But the old Hellenic kingdom, now consisting only of Antioch and its surrounding territory, was left intact by the Parthians, who saw the territory as a convenient buffer zone between them and the rising Roman menace sweeping out of the west.

This was basically where things stood as Pompey led his legions around the bend into Syria during the eastern campaign of the 60s BC. Confident in the might of Rome, Pompey had no compunctions about sharing a border with the now firmly established Parthian empire, deposed the last Seleucid king, and turned Syria into a Roman province. For the next 300 or so years, the Romans and Parthians lived as sometimes hostile and sometimes peaceful neighbors. After the massive defeats of Crassus and Mark Antony, the Romans basically shelved the idea of expanding further east, and apart from their persistent attempts to gain the upper hand in Armenia, the Parthians never seriously contemplated further expansion west. The border between the two great powers was set at the Euphrates River, and each settled in to enjoying the fruits of their particular empires.

For the Parthians, the fruits of their empire were primarily harvested along the Silk Road. As I mentioned last week, just as the Romans were rising in the west and the Parthians were rising in Central Asia, the Han were rising in the east, and the great overland trade route known as the Silk Road began to form. The entire west-central leg of the Silk Road, including any and all spurs, passed through Parthian territory, and as a result, most of the revenue coming into the central Parthian treasury was derived from the taxes they charged traders to get from here to there. With their highly decentralized governmental apparatus, which left most provinces relatively autonomous, the money coming in from the import and export duties was the one steady source of income for the central government, and as a result, the overriding political and economic imperative for the Parthians was maintaining their monopoly of the trade roads. Of course, this meant that one of the overriding political and economic imperatives of the Eastern Roman Empire was figuring out a way to crack that Parthian monopoly, and some have argued that this is exactly what was on Trajan's mind as he headed off to invade Mesopotamia in 115. That campaign, you'll recall, eventually found the Romans in control of Cherix, a port along the Persian Gulf, which, had the Romans kept it, could have been one of the keys to breaking the Parthian monopoly. But Hadrian surmised that the benefits far outweighed the costs and retreated back to the Mediterranean. Some argued then, and argue today, that Hadrian should have shown stiffer resolve. But others point out that the Parthians had been caught up in one of their frequent dynastic struggles during Trajan's campaign, and once their internal disputes were settled, the Romans would have found the Parthians themselves showing much stiffer resolve than Trajan had encountered. When Parthia was politically fractured, as it frequently was because of their decentralized structure, it could be steamrolled easily. But united, it had obliterated some of the largest armies Rome had ever assembled.

In 161, the Parthians were once again united under the rule of Vologases IV, who had watched the Romans under Hadrian and then Antoninus undertake no meaningful military operations for decades. The eastern legions, by the Parthian king's estimation, had gotten fat and complacent after nearly forty years of inactivity. Emboldened by his own reunification of the eastern and western halves of the Parthian Empire, Vologases revived the ages-old Parthian dream of controlling Armenia. Perhaps it was time to test whether or not the legendary Roman invincibility, which had often met its match in the Parthians anyway, was still a living fact, or whether it was now simply a myth for the ages. And with the elevation of two military novices to the Roman throne, the iron was never going to be hotter.

Next week, the Parthians will strike, and Rome will quickly find itself embroiled in its first major foreign war in two generations. Following the pattern of so many Roman wars, things will go from bad to worse at the outset of the conflict, at which point the Romans will rally to victory and prove once again that while messing with Rome always seems like a good idea, it never ever pays. At least not yet.