Augusta: The First Ladies of Imperial Rome, Parts III-VI

It’s 19 CE, and a packed crowd waits under a steely sky at the port town of Brundisium for one of Rome’s favorite imperial daughters to appear on their shore.

Sixty years before, this place saw Mark Antony and Octavian strike up an important Treaty, one sealed by our old friend Octavia. That was a day of feasting and celebration, but this is a day of sadness. They watch as a ship arrives and a woman disembarks. Two of her children stand beside her, eyes cast down in sadness. The woman’s eyes brim with grief for her husband, whose ashes lie in the urn she holds out before her. She doesn’t bother to hide it: she wants everyone to see. And as to the rumors that her husband didn’t just die, but was murdered, she will do nothing to quell the flames of them. In fact, she’s going to fan them. Because she believes that emperor Tiberius is responsible for her husband’s murder. She’s going to make him pay for what he’s done.

Daughter of Rome’s most venerated war hero, favorite granddaughter of its first emperor, wife of one of its most shining imperial stars, Agrippina the Elder was born to be famous. She was born at the Empire’s very beginning, into its ruling dynasty, thrust into the spotlight, whether she wanted to bask in it or not. But she also made her own spotlight, always fighting for what she believes in - and against those who would do her family harm. But in the early days of the Roman Empire, a spotlight can also be a target on your back. Her fame and her name gave her real influence, but often came at a mighty cost...to her, to her husband, AND their children. This is the story of a very public life, full of drama and heartache, restriction and adventure, anxiety and a fury she couldn’t contain. It’s the story of some of Rome’s most formidable women, doing things that women had never done in Rome before.

Lucky for us, we have some familiar time traveling companions.

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: I am Dr. G. I am a Roman historian who specializes in the Vestal Virgins. And I am Dr. Rad and I specialize in all things historical filmy…and we're very pleased we are joining The Exploress on this journey through the lives of Roman women.

Grab your purple silk, a shiny sword, and a marble urn. Let’s go traveling.

i will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.

Agrippina Landing at Brundisium with the Ashes of Germanicus, circa 1765, by Gavin Hamilton

my sources

BOOKS

If you’re interested in purchasing either of these you can find them on my Bookshop.org bookshelf!

• Agrippina: The Most Extraordinary Women of the Roman Empire by Emma Southon

• Caesar’s Wives: Sex, Power, and Politics in the Roman Empire by Annelise Freisenbruch

PODCASTS

• The History of Rome by Mike Duncan. I listened to all of his episodes about this period to try and wrap my head around the politics.

• Ancient History Fangirl. They have a whole series called “The Ancient-World Stark Family” that covers over all of this juicy drama and I highly recommend it.

• Queens Podcast, who has episodes on Aggie the Elder AND Younger. Laugh and learn.

• The Partial Historians. Not only did they help me out with this episode, but they have TONS of great content waiting for you to listen to.

• Emperors of Rome. I’ve learned a LOT about Ancient Rome from this one, and Dr. Rhiannon is a fount of knowledge.

ONLINE

• “Tiberius.” Donald L. Wasson, Ancient.eu.

• “How to Poison Like an Ancient Roman.” Nicol Valentin, Medium.com

• “Agrippina the Elder: A Woman in a Man's World.” David C. A. Shotte, Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte Bd. 49, H. 3 (3rd Qtr., 2000), pp. 341-357.

• “Meretrix Augusta: A Literary Examination of Messalina in Tacitus and Juvenal (thesis)” Nicholas Reymond, McMaster University, 2000.

• Suetonius, Life of Augustus

• Tacitus, The Annals

• Juvenal, The Satires

Do i look sad? I am, but i am also out for blood.

Agrippina Landing at Brundisium with the Ashes of Germanicus, Alexander Runciman, 1871. Courtesy of the National Galleries of Scotland, Scottish National Gallery

transcriptS

keep in mind that this was written for audio, so there are bound to be a few typos. It makes me cringe, too. the text in bold is either a quote I made up (so, not historically accurate) or a quote from The Partial Historians, our special guests.

BACK UP: AN AGRIPPINA ORIGIN STORY

To get this story started, we need to back up and rake over some of the coals we burned through in our last couple of episodes. You didn’t think we were done with Livia yet, did you? 

So if you haven’t listened to the first two episodes in our Augusta series, then get outta here and do that. This is also the place that I need to remind you that to talk about these women we have to talk a lot about the men around them. The sources on these women are scanty to begin with, and we’re forced to see them through the lenses of writers trying to tell tales about the emperors they’re connected with, using them as a tool for comment on their fitness as leaders. There’s a real lack of sources, but the ones we have are...judgemental. We’ll come back to this as we travel, but it’s important to keep tucked in the back of your mind.

Let’s touch down in 14 BCE. Thirteen years ago, the Senate handed Octavian some extraordinary powers, gifting him the title “Augustus.” He’s been basically running the Roman Empire ever since. In 21 BCE he married his only natural-born child, the wily Julia, to his best friend Marcus Agrippa. Since then, Julia has been dutifully popping out babies, mothering the next generation of the Julio-Claudian clan. Julia sometimes travels with her wayfaring husband, and in October of that year she joins him in Athens. It’s there that she gives birth to a girl named Vipsania Agrippina. Well that’s a mouthful!

Let’s talk about Roman names for a minute. We’ve covered this before, but a little refresher will only help us as we bushwhack our way into the Julio-Claudian tree. Roman men have three to four of them: there’s the nomen, or family name, which tells everyone which gens you’re from. There's the praenomen, which is kind of like a first name: the one only your family will call you. There’s sometimes a cognomen, or nickname, that speaks to a physical characteristic: Maximus, for example, means tall or large. And sometimes there’s a fourth name, the agnomen, an honorific title. Remember Scipio Africanus, Cornelia’s dad? His full name was Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus: first name, family name, nickname [Scipio means ‘he who bears the staff of authority’, which is impressive sounding], and the honorific, Africanus, given to him because of military successes in Africa. 

In ancient Rome, names aren’t just for decoration. They identify where you come from and who you’re connected to, and so they hold a special kind of power. In this patriarchal world, children take on their paterfamilias’ gens name, which is why we have so many same-named children, especially with the ladies. Women tend to get only two names, both related to her father. Agrippa’s full name is Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, and that’s how she ends up “Vipsania Agrippina.” Lucky her! Since we’re going to spend a lot of time with her daughter soon, who is ALSO named Agrippina, we’re going to call her Agrippina the Elder.

She grows up surrounded by her many siblings: two older brothers, Gaius and Lucius, an elder sister Julia, and an annoying younger brother named Agrippa Postumous. 

They are children of the post-Republican era, who have only ever known a Rome in which one man rules, and that man just so happens to be your grandpa AND your paterfamilias. Life as an imperial child has definite benefits and particular perils. Augustus is the richest man in the Empire, and by far the most powerful. And as one of his favorite grandchildren, Agrippina grows up surrounded by attention and interest, basking in the glow of his reflected light. Given all that, you’d think she would have a fairly easy childhood...but it’s full of painful drama from pretty much the very start. 

ABOUT TIBERIUS

Augustus thinks a lot about who is going to fill his shoes when he bites it. Sure, Rome isn’t technically a monarchy, but after almost forty years as imperator most Romans can’t remember life being any other way. There’s still a Senate - even if, by this point, it’s more lazy, rich boy’s club than anything like a governing body - but even without it, few people would be likely to complain. After decades of civil war, Rome is peaceful. Under Augustus it’s cleaner, better organized, better fed. But if he doesn’t organize a well-placed and prepped successor, everything he’s built could fall apart when he’s gone. He could die at any time...and if he does, who will carry his mantle? No sons, that’s for sure...he hasn’t managed to have any. So he’s always on the lookout for potential heirs to adopt. Livia is forever campaigning for her son Tiberius, and though Augustus has been his stepdad for pretty much as long as Tiberius can remember, he doesn’t seem to like him much at all. 

We met Tiberius in our last episode, but let’s turn the spotlight up on him for a minute, because he’s going to play a major part in Agrippina’s life.

TIBERIUS: I don’t date, so I’m not sure why I’ve been required to write this, but here we are. I’m something of an underdog: the one everyone’s always trying to kick under the table. I don’t know why they’re all so hateful: I’m perfectly charming. I like long, contemplative walks, island vacations, and reading quietly. My perfect Saturday night is me curled up with a book. But instead my world is full of loud, overbearing females. So what if I exile a few of them to islands? So does my stepdad, and everyone loves HIM anyway. It’s so unair, and everything is terrible. 

Livia’s son Tiberius (being mopey, as per usual).

From the Romisch-Germanisches Museum, Cologne. Wikicommons.

When Agrippina is born, Tiberius is in his late twenties, in a position of supreme power and privilege. But still, he hasn’t had the easiest time. He lived most of his early life in exile, on the run with his parents. “His childhood and youth were beset with hardships and difficulties,” wrote Seutonius, “because Nero (his father) and Livia took him wherever they went in their flight from Augustus.” Remember that part: his parents were running from AUGUSTUS. The man that, years later, his mom would leave her husband and for. Then at age nine, his dad dies, leaving Augustus as his only father figure. And though his stepdad let Tiberius ride beside him in one of his military triumphs, he never fully takes him under his wing. Instead he favored another boy, Marcellus: he was bright and lively, while by all accounts Tiberius was unhandsome, sour faced, slow of speech, and an all-around Eeyore type. He lives forever in Augustus’ shadow, suffering from his constant disappointment and indifference. At least he has his mom, Livia, though we get the sense that she’s a little bit of a hoverer. More on that later.

It’s not all doom and gloom. Back in 20 BCE, Augustus threw a 22-year-old Tiberius a bone by sending him to Armenia to replace a monarch there. He proved a good commander, but even then Augustus didn’t seem enthused about him. At least he had a lady in his life to soothe his troubles. In 19 BCE, he married Vipsania Agrippina. Wait...our Vipsania Agrippina? Nope: she isn’t born yet. This is one of Agrippa’s daughters from his first marriage. I told you Roman names are confusing! Let’s just call her Vipsania for clarity’s sake. Though probably not of Tiberius’ choosing, it’s a happy marriage: something to distract him when, two years later, Augustus announces he’s adopting some sons, and it isn’t him. It’s young Agrippina’s older brothers, Gaius and Lucius, whom he is grooming as his successors. The emperor pulls his grandsons close, teaching them to read, and swim, and sign documents in the same style as he does. But young Agrippina is much beloved, too. Augustus writes her affectionate letters, praising her intelligence, though he also advises her to cultivate a simpler writing style. Augustus: king of the micromanage.

How does Livia feel about all this? Behind the scenes, she has to be pursing her lips and biting her tongue about her husband’s cold shoulder toward Tiberius. Or maybe she’s just biding her time.

A BRIGHT FUTURE DARKENS

So that’s Tiberius’s situation. All is going pretty well for Agrippina the Elder…until her dad Agrippa dies in 12 BCE. She never has the chance to get to know him. What’s worse, his death means she’ll spend the rest of her childhood in Augustus’ house, under his extremely controlling thumb and exacting standards. He has his granddaughters taught to spin and weave, like proper matrons. He also keeps them quite isolated, separate from most people, but still forbids them from doing anything that can’t be witnessed by a crowd. Someone is always watching, he taught them. Nothing about your life is yours alone.

Augustus is devastated to lose his oldest, most trusted friend. If Augustus died, he was supposed to help Gaius and Lucius out as a sort of regent until they were old enough to take care of things themselves. So now what? He needs another, older heir to groom, just to cover all his bases. Cue Livia sidling up to him for the millionth time to say: have you thought about Tiberius? Augustus is reluctant to entrust his legacy to a boy with, as he put it, such “slow-grinding jaws,” but he’s running out of options, and he trusts Livia. He can’t do much else but agree.

To tie his stepson into the family more tightly, he forces Agrippina’s mom Julia to marry him. Agrippina is only a few years old when her mom is married off, again, to a man not of her choosing. Suetonius tells us that Julia “had a passion for him” even while Agrippa was still living, but truth to tell I think she’s unhappy about this development. By law, she should have been allowed to retire with her trust fund and enjoy life as an independent lady, but her dad Augustus sees her as a tool - one that it’s his right to use. He’s forced to divorce Vipsania, and he is NOT okay with it. It’s said that after, when he sees Vipsania in the street one day, he almost bursts into tears. Oh, Tiberius. 

So now Tiberius is technically Agrippina the Elder’s stepdad. How much time does she spend with him? Not much, I’d wager. Between 12 and 6 BCE, he’s sent off to achieve some military greatness in Rome’s provinces, leaving Julia back in Rome to raise the kids alone. He never asked for an adoptive daughter. And why try, when he knows he could never measure up to Agrippa in the eyes of either Julia or Augustus? This guy is already bitter. He’s going to get bitterer still.

As far as we know, Agrippina doesn’t feel any real connection with this man who all but abandons her mother. “I sure don’t. That guy sucks.” But she grows up watching a growing resentment simmering under her mother’s skin, working its way slowly to the surface. She is sick of being caged by her position and her father’s stringent expectations. So she escapes when she can, becoming the star in her own version of Roman Holiday, except featuring a whole lot more nudity. By 7 BCE, she is causing a heaping helping of scandal, indulging in affairs and not bothering to hide them. And then in 6 BCE, Tiberius drops a bomb that blows the family up. “You know what? I don’t even want to be your successor. I’m going to go to Rhodes, kick back with a fat stack of good books, and just chill.” Why the bold move? Perhaps he was sick of being Augustus’s consolation prize successor, but most ancient lay the blame at Julia’s feet. Tiberius really cannot handle her scandal. “I’m a pretty laid back guy,” I imagine him saying, “But I draw the line at my wife having sex with other men in public.” 

We can’t know how much Agrippina knew about her mother’s behavior. But she must be shocked when, around the tender age of 12, grandpa Augustus publicly shames Julia, accusing her of adultery and exiling her to a tiny island. She will never see her mom again. Imagine life for Agrippina, living in her grandfather’s house in the wake of her mother’s exile. 

As she hovers on that line between childhood and adulthood, she has learned a harsh lesson: blood ties and privilege aren’t enough to protect a woman from the emperor’s judgement.

AGRIPPINA: “I’d really rather not die on an island. Especially if there aren’t any infinity pools or buffets.”

Augustus was controlling of his family before, but now? He’ll do anything to keep them from embarrassing him. Everything Agrippina does is watched and controlled. You have to wonder if she chafes at the confinement, wanting to rage against it. Longing for a way she can be free.

And then in 2 CE, these dark clouds turn into a hale storm. Her brother Lucius dies in a training accident, and two years later brother Gaius follows suit. In her late teens now, Agrippina must be devastated by these losses. But no more so than Augustus - he’s just lost the heirs he poured so much of his time and heart into. He’s going to have to rebuild his succession plans from scratch. Livia may well be sad, too, but there are plenty of rumors that she actually poisoned the boys somehow to make way for her son Tiberius. Augustus has no choice but to call him out of self-imposed exile and line him up to become Rome’s next emperor. And Livia will do whatever she can to help him find his way.

Augustus officially adopts Tiberius at last in 4 CE. But remember, they’re still not blood related, and in Rome that really matters. Augustus himself was adopted, sure, but he was a member of Julius Caesar’s gens to begin with. Tiberius doesn’t have that advantage. So keen for a backup, Augustus also adopts his last living grandson, Agrippa Postumus. And then he looks to his sister’s branch of the family, and his eyes land squarely on a boy named Germanicus. 

ENTER ANTONIA AND THE HUNKY GERMANICUS

As we started to discover in our last episode, the Julio-Claudian family tree is a vicious tangle of adoptions and multiple marriages. Add to that the “everyone has the same name” issue and a headache is bound to ensue. I find that visuals help, so I’ve made one of the family tree and posted it in the show notes for you, but let’s skate over it quickly. It’ll help us make sense of what comes next. At the top of the tree are Augustus and his sister Octavia, who form the tree’s two main branches. They’re both Julii. Then there’s Augustus’ wife Livia, who’s a much-revered Claudii. Augustus has one daughter, Julia; Octavia has kids with several husbands; and Livia has Tiberius and Drusus with her first husband, so they’re in the mix as well. It gets confusing when Livia, Octavia and Augustus start marrying their offspring off to each other’s. It’s not just tangled, but also increasingly dangerous for members of the family.  The more descendants there are, the more competition there is, and the more factions might form between its members. These alliances and rivalries will shape all of what’s to come.

Germanicus, saying “gather round, ladies, like moths to my flame.”

From the Musée Saint-Raymond (Toulouse). Wikicommons.

So which branch does Germanicus come from? Well, it turns out that Octavia and Livia aren’t the ONLY matriarchs running this show. When Octavia dies, her daughter ANTONIA becomes an important player in the family dynamic. Born in 36 BCE, just before Octavia and Mark Antony broke up, she never got to know her wayward father. This seems to be a recurring theme. She grew up in Augustus’ household with plenty of cousins and siblings: Tiberius, his brother Drusus, wild child Julia, and Antony’s many other kids. Always watched and bound by expectation, she went on to marry Drusus, Livia’s youngest son. And unlike her cousin Julia, Antonia reflects well on her family, dutifully popping out three children without causing any scandals. Then Drusus dies, leaving her a widow at the tender age of 27. She doesn’t remarry, choosing instead to be a univira, or “one-man woman,” just like our old friend Cornelia. She’s borne three children, which means she finds herself in that legal sweet spot those Julian Laws created, allowing her a rare kind of emancipation. The freedom Julia longs for, but never finds. But Antonia doesn’t retire to the country to eat plump figs and read by the pool, though. She stays on the Palatine, acting as Livia’s companion and the family’s other matriarch, though it’s clear she doesn’t quite have Livia’s level of power. They raise the Julio-Claudian brood between them, including her children with Drusus: Claudius, Livilla, and Germanicus. All three will have big parts to play in what comes next.

Claudius is no doubt the little black sheep of the family. Burdened by illness and what scholars now guess was cerebral palsy, Augustus worries a lot about him embarrassing the family. When it comes to any perceived physical frailty, the Romans aren’t kind. As emperor and paterfamilias, Augustus takes the rearing of ALL these kids quite seriously, as we see in this letter he writes to Livia. “As you have suggested, I have now discussed with Tiberius what we should do about your grandson Claudius...the question is whether he has...shall I say?...full command of all his senses...I fear that we shall find ourselves in constant trouble if the question of his fitness to officiate in this or that capacity keeps cropping up…...my dear Livia, I am anxious that a decision should be reached on this matter once and for all….you are at liberty to show part of my letter to our kinswoman Antonia for her perusal.” 

This nice thing to note here is that he is making decisions about these kids in close consultation with Livia. The less nice thing is how he treats Claudius like a disease. Livia, too, looks down on him. Antonia, his own mother, is reported to have said that he is “a monster: a Man whom nature had not finished but had merely begun.” Yikes, mom. But remember that in Rome, matriarchs aren’t praised for coddling their children. They’re praised for guiding them toward the areas of study that best suit them and for getting them ready for the adult world that will come. Germanicus, though: he is everybody’s favorite. The name Germanicus is an agnomen, awarded to him because of his deceased dad’s victories in Germania. But given his military future in that region, it’s pretty fitting. Boisterous, strapping: now this is a boy Augustus can get behind.

Hey, watch it there small person clinging to my ankle! You never know when I might exile you to an island. xo Augustus

A statue of Augustus. Wikicommons.

In 4 CE he is 19 years old and full of promise. Tiberius is 44, he’s been pulled back to Rome against his wishes, and yet his stepdad STILL doesn’t trust him to run the Empire without some young upstart attached to the deal. He suffers in silence when Augustus makes him adopt Germanicus despite the fact that his own son, Nero Claudius Drusus, is just a few years younger than the boy is. It’s Augustus’ way or the highway, as usual. You have to wonder if the emperor knows that he’s planting seeds of resentment and tension that will grow into choking vines, poisoning his dynasty from within.

From the start, Tiberius sees Germanicus as a rival - for Augustus’ love, for his own son’s prospects, for the Empire’s appreciation. That sour taste must turn into acid when Augustus makes his next move. He decrees that Germanicus will marry his granddaughter, Agrippina, much-loved daughter of Rome’s favorite general, apple of Augustus’ eye. Germanicus is part of the tree already through Octavia, but marrying him to Aggie the Elder will strengthen his ties to the Julii side of the family. This move is clearly meant to mark him as next in line after Tiberius. Augustus can dust off his hands with his legacy assured. Right? Right?!

Does the now 18-year-old Agrippina WANT to marry Germanicus? As per usual, we don’t know, but she will be pretty familiar with him - they probably played together as children. And he’s her own age, so that’s a massive plus. Add the fact that he’s charming, ambitious, strong, and totally swoonworthy, and it seems her paterfamilias could certainly have chosen worse. Plus, marrying him means getting out from under grandpa’s thumb and going on her own adventures.

EXILE ISLAND

You’d think a big ole wedding would help heal wounds and bury old grudges, but Augustus just can’t stop exiling family members. In 6 CE Agrippina’s remaining brother, Agrippa Posthumus, is exiled for his “low taste and violent tempers.” And then her sister, Julia, is exiled as well. Back in 5 or 6 BCE, Augustus married her off and she dutifully had babies for the dynasty, but apparently she inherited their mother’s wild streak. First she built a big, flashy house in the country, which Augustus disliked so much that he had it torn down. Come on, man! Then she has an affair with a senator named Silanus. True to his conservative stance, Augustus sends her off to a lonely island….where she gives birth to her lover’s child, all alone.

Poor Julia(s).

This image comes from a coin, which represents one of the only images we have of Julia the Elder, Augustus’ daughter.

Seutonius tells us that Augustus ordered the child to be exposed, or left out in the elements. Her lover, meanwhile, goes into self-imposed exile, but he’s allowed to return to Rome years later. Agrippina’s sister, though...she’s left to die in exile, like her mother before her. In case you weren’t counting, here’s a little tally for you: Agrippina’s father is dead; her mother is dead, because exile; her sister is dead, because exile; her brother is exiled. She’s the only member of her family left standing.

His harsh decisions do make waves, though, and they’re ones that can’t be easily smoothed over. There are several petitions to let Julia come home again, all of which Augustus refuses. There are several plots to take Julia and Agrippa Postumous from their islands by force, but they’re all put down. All the while, Augustus loudly curses his female offspring. Every time they’re brought up it’s said he sighs, lamenting: "Would that I never had wedded and would I had died without offspring.” He alternates between calling them either his ‘three boils’ or his “three ulcers.” You know what, Augustus? I’m starting to hope that Livia does poison your figs. Agrippina must hear the message loud and clear.

ROME’S CUTEST COUPLE

Luckily the Roman people are over the moon in LOVE with her and Germanicus. If Rome had a Cutest Couple award, they would most certainly win it. They’re young, they’re beautiful, they’re personable: perfect poster children for the next generation of the Empire, shining enough to wipe away the scandals of the past. The uber-hunky Germanicus is put on the political fast track, becoming quaestor in 7 CE some five years before he’s of legal age to do so. He must be a winning orator, because in that post Augustus lets him read some of his speeches. Then he rises to consul in 12 at the very young age of 26, given command of some eight legions - that’s about a third of the army - stationed in Gaul and Germania. He’s about to earn that nickname. I can just feel Tibeirus burning with indignant, mopey rage.

His successful campaigns over the next few years will make him much loved. The ancient writers blow his greatness up to giant, billboard-sized proportions. Tacitus says that his peers believed he “outdid Alexander the Great in clemency, self-control and every other good quality.” Suetonius gushes about Germanicus: he’s smart, he’s funny, he defeats all his rivals and never brags. And through most of it, Agrippina travels with him, impressing everyone she meets. 

It helps that she is incredibly fertile. Agrippina must like some serious tent time with Germanicus, because they will have nine kids in total, six of whom will live into adulthood. This is something I’m not sure we dwell on enough in these histories. She has - count it - nine births, often in military camps, and lives through every one of them. She buries three of these children, mourning their loss, while also having to soldier bravely on. This gal has got a bun in the oven pretty much ALL the time. Three boys come first: Nero (though not the one you’re thinking of), Drusus, and Gaius. At least two are born out on campaign, but it’s Gaius who becomes the troops’ favorite teeny mascot. They dress him up in a pint-sized military uniform and tote him around camp, earning him a cute little nickname: “Little Boot,” though in Latin the name is Caligula. A name, it turns out, the boy will never shake.

This is a huge point of pride for Agrippina AND her grandad. And he isn’t above using his great grandkids to prove his own points. When a bunch of equestrians come before him, complaining about the strictness of his Julian Laws regarding its mandate to get married and have a lot of babies, Suetonius tells us he “sent for the children of Germanicus and exhibited them, some in his own lap and some in their father's, intimating by his gestures and expression that they should not refuse to follow that young man's example.”

But things aren’t all roses back in Rome. In Augustus’ final years, he starts to really clamp down on the kinds of things people can write and say about the emperor and his family. Little black sheep Claudius writes a whole history of the Civil Wars, which promptly gets pumped because it’s seen as too real, and potentially embarrassing. And then Augustus makes a trip out to that island where Agrippa Postumous is being kept. We don’t know why: is he looking to see if his grandson might be fit to get back in the line of succession? To see if he’s a threat? We don’t know whether Livia knows about it. Some sources say that Augustus tries to hide the trip from his wife, but she uncovers it. Perhaps she becomes worried that Augustus is angling to change his mind about Tiberius being his successor and starts to hatch some secret plans of her own...

It’s 14 CE now, the year Augustus leaves this earth forever. And that means that, for Livia and Tiberius, for Agrippina and her family, everything’s about to change.

LIVIA’S SON TAKES THE REINS (SORT OF)

The Germanicus clan are stationed in the Rhine when the news comes: Augustus is dead. There’s a lot of shady rumor surrounding this moment: does Livia poison her husband before he can change his succession plans? Does she poison the figs at his request, because he wants to control when and how he goes out? How much does she stage manage the whole thing? The sources love to paint her as cool and ever calculating, but I just don’t buy her offing Augustus. And it’s fair to say she must feel a lot of sadness in this moment, watching her life partner slip away. 

But there’s also this: just a day after Augustus passes, someone goes to Agrippa Postumous’ island and murders him. Does Livia give the order, not wanting her son to have any rivals? Does Tiberius give the order himself? Regardless, someone kills Agrippina’s last remaining brother. She is now the only one of his grandkids left alive, and Germanicus is one step closer to being the emperor. It’s a position that they’ll both have to navigate with care. 

As Rome goes into mourning, and Livia with it, there is no uproar about going back to a Republic - no rebellion against the idea of having one man in charge. Augustus made sure that Tiberius and Germanicus were the public face by the time he died, with everything they needed to step into power. But still, this moment puts Rome on a knife’s edge. Can Tiberius step up and fill Augustus’ boots? Can anyone? The Senate votes Tiberius princeps, along the title of "Augustus." And Livia becomes Rome’s first dowager empress, entering a political wilderness not yet explored by any Roman woman. Imagine Tiberius reading Augustus’ will out loud to the Senate, only to stumble on this gem: “since fate has cruelly carried off my sons, Gaius and Lucius, Tiberius must inherit two thirds of my property.” One last kick in the teeth from old stepdad. Augustus’s fortune is ridiculously vast - 150 million sesterces - and a third of that wealth goes to Livia.

This is still a HUGE inheritance for a Roman woman. According to the Lex Voconia, a law that’s been on the books since 169 BCE, a women can’t inherit bequests from people with fortunes of more than 10,000 asses (‘As’ as in A-S, a unit of Roman currency, NOT as in donkeys...too bad.) But since it’s Livia, the Senate gives her a special dispensation, so now she’s one of the wealthiest women in the Roman world. This windfall is on TOP of all the farms, brickworks, copper mines, wine presses and Egyptian olive groves she already owns AND the lands her old friend Salome of Judea bequeathed to her. Livia’s already respected and powerful, but in a client-run culture where everyone’s always looking for a benefactor, this wealth makes her more powerful still. But Augustus’ will also gives her another honor: she’s adopted posthumously into his family clan and given the name Julia Augusta. This makes it clearer than ever that Augustus loved his lady: in some ways, this move elevates her status on par with his own. 

The Senate also decides to deify the late emperor, creating a cult of the “Divine Augustus.” I’ll bet Julius Caesar would be pleased as punch. And then the Senate is like, “hey, you know who else we think is great? Livia. Let’s make her the priestess of Augustus’ cult.” As we discussed with the Vestal Virgins, religious roles give women power, prestige, and agency in Rome’s official business. Rarer still is a woman actually placed in CHARGE of such a cult. 

mom and son ruling together? tiberius does not approve.

Livia and her son Tiberius, AD 14-19, from Paestum, National Archaeological Museum of Spain. Wikicommons.

But they aren’t done. They also want to grant Livia the title of mater patriae, or “Mother of Our Country,” and change Tiberius’ official title to include “son of Livia.” Say what? And Tiberius is like, “ughhhhh. Ball OFF me, mom!” He uses his imperial veto to smack that one down, saying that “only reasonable honors must be paid to women.” Whatever, Tiberius. Jealous much? 

What is the deal between mother and son at this point? Livia is his strongest legitimate link to the emperor’s seat, so he can’t exactly push her to the sidelines. But there’s a fine line between publicly venerating a female family member, thus pumping up your own image, and having that female cast too big a shadow over yours. As Cassius Dio said :

“…in the time of Augustus she possessed the greatest influence, and she always declared that it was she who had made Tiberius emperor; consequently, she was not satisfied to rule in equal terms with him, but wished to take precedence over him.”

— Cassius Dio on Livia (aka The Augusta)

True or not, this marks the beginning of some serious tension between Tiberius and his mother. She’s always trying to guide him and the Empire to continued greatness; he’s always trying to confine her role. “I’m a grown-ass man, alright? I’m going to be my OWN emperor.” 

Perhaps that’s why he turns more and more to his advisors. One of them is a guy named Sejanus. The year he becomes the new emperor, Tiberius appoints him as praetorian prefect, which is the head of the emperor’s personal guard. This is important to the Agrippinas, so stick with me. The Praetorian Guard is an elite unit of the Imperial Roman army that’ve been around since the Republic, serving as bodyguards for high-ranking officials. During the civil wars, they became important in protecting important guys like Mark Antony. Augustus turned them into his own official security: nine cohorts - each of which usually held about 420 men - tasked with guarding his house and everyone in it. With time, their roles expanded: they stepped in to help with firefighting, did crowd control at gladiatorial games and even sometimes fought within them, and acted as a kind of secret police. Augustus spread them out around the city, never wanting them to seem like an overwhelming presence. But as the years go on, these bodyguards become confidants as well as protectors, wielding increasing power and influence. Eventually they will become powerful enough to murder emperors and replace them without fear of punishment. But right now, guys like Sejanus are just bodyguards. Trusted bodyguards. Bodyguards who happen to offer advice, now and then, to an emperor who has spent his life being dismissed and discarded. Sejanus wants Tiberius to succeed - he wants to help him. Doesn’t he? This is a guy who will feature prominently later, so let’s leave that dangling for now.

TROUBLED WATERS

This transition of power is not all running smoothly. Mad about the conditions they’re forced to live under, and wanting the promises that Augustus made to them honored, some of the legions out in the field start rioting, refusing to be quiet until their demands are heard. These troublemakers know that Tiberius needs their support, and they’re going to twist his arm as far as they’re able. They’re poking the new bear to see if it has claws. When some legions take over their camps, then start looting the countryside, going on a big ole riotous bender, he goes so far as to send his son Drusus out to bargain with them. That works for a little while, but soon there are mutinies happening on Rhine, and that means that the hunky Germanicus is responsible. He goes over to the mutinous camp, where the leaders say something rather treasonous: they’ll take out Tiberius for him and put Germanicus in the top spot if he promises to help them. Germanicus puts that down fast, saying he’d rather kill himself, probably hoping that Tiberius’ spies will report THAT back to him. No coup fomenting here, adopted dad! Then he settles all the troops’ demands...WITHOUT waiting for Tiberius’ permission. Oh damn.

Things get so crazy that a teary Germanicus - it seems he did a lot of crying - begs his pregnant wife to flee for her own safety. She’s insulted by the suggestion, saying something along the lines of:

“I am of the blood of the divine Augustus and will live up to it, no matter the danger.”

— Agrippina the Elder (apparently)

Eventually she gives in - or, ever Augustus’ granddaughter, does she decide this is a time for some image making?  She makes a show of walking through the sea of soldiers in camp, head held high and baby “Little Boot” Gaius clutched in her arms. Seeing her make her way out of camp shames the rioting soldiers: to think, the granddaughter of Augustus has to leave camp because THEY are making it unsafe for her. For shame, boys! And so she does something neither Tiberius or Germanicus could quite muster: she puts the riots to rest without having to promise one damn thing. “Agrippina’s position in the army already seemed to outshine generals and commanding officers,” Tacitus tells us. “And she, a woman, had suppressed a mutiny which the emperor’s own signature had failed to check.” She steps into a role held by Octavia before her: that of the brave, stalwart peacekeeper. A role tailor made for a woman to play. And though she shares Octavia’s loyalty and steadfastness, Agrippina is much more openly passionate, unafraid to fight for what she believes in. She isn’t going to be sent back to Rome, bound up in propriety and silence. This lioness is going to stay at the front, where she belongs.

The problem, Germanicus decides, is that the troops are bored. They need a task to keep them busy. So he takes them across the Rhine to do some pillaging in Germania. 

Specifically, he takes them back to the Teutoburg Forest. In 9 CE, the legions had suffered one of their most humiliating defeats of all time in this forest. It was one of the Empire’s greatest sore spots, and one of Augsutus’ greatest shames. It’s a big part of the reason that before he died, he put a stop to expanding the Empire’s borders any further. But in a brilliant PR move, Germanicus takes them back there, again without Tiberius’ permission, skirmishing with the Germanic chief responsible for that great defeat. It isn’t a resounding success, but he manages to kill a bunch of Germans and recapture some of Rome’s golden standards, which they took into every battle. This made him an absolute legend.

That’s right. Bow down.

Agrippina the Elder with her kids on campaign, Philadelphia Museum of Art.

But it has its touchy moments. Once ,when enemy forces threaten to surround and overwhelm his troops, they hightail it toward the bridge the Romans built across the Rhine. The once-again-pregnant Agrippina has set up a field camp nearby, where she’s been nursing the wounded. When the panicked troops suggest burning down the bridge to keep the enemy from getting across it, she stands up, brushes some of the blood off her stola, and is like “now, boys. Let’s get it together.” They can’t destroy the bridge with her standing on it, which she does, welcoming the returning Roman soldiers as they cross it. Now that’s impressive. As Tacitus tells us: 

“In those days this great-hearted woman acted as a commander.”

— Tacitus on Agrippina the Elder

But not everyone is pleased with a woman in the field, traveling freely and engaging in military action. There are plenty who don’t think Agrippina should be there at all. A few years from now, a man named Severus will argue before the Senate that wives shouldn’t be allowed to follow their husbands to military postings. “A female entourage encourages extravagance in peacetime and timidity in war,” he says. Mk, Severus. The issue isn’t just that they’re frail and easily tired, slowing everyone down. No: it’s something much more sinister. “Relax control, and they become ferocious, ambitious schemers, circulating among the soldiers, ordering company-commanders about.” They haven’t forgotten Fulvia, the women who helped raise and command an army against the beloved Augustus. This behavior isn’t womanly. And what if her move into the military sphere turns into a move into politics? What’s to stop Agrippina from wielding that kind of power? And yet she stays with Germanicus, warrior, wife, and mother. Her naysayers aren’t about to stop her. 

PARTIAL HISTORIANS: ...she's also coming behind a bunch of other women that have made similar moves. I definitely think of people like Fulvia when I think of Agrippina, you know, as being similarly challenging what is acceptable behavior and what is okay and also fighting for your family. And there's a lot that you can get away with when you're fighting for your family.

Her children will inherit that fire, determination, and her name. In 15 CE, she is born Agrippina Minor. Or, as we’ll call her, Agrippina the Younger.

LIVIA: HOSTESS, DOWAGER...QUEEN?

Back in Rome, Tiberius is getting more anxious about Germanicus’ power by the day. It seems like Livia isn’t too thrilled with Agrippina’s behavior, either. Some sources say she doesn’t like Agrippina--this young woman brazenly stepping out into the public sphere and shaping it to her liking. She and Tiberius are worried by the kind of sway she seems to have with the troops. 

It’s just a year into his emperorship and Tiberius is already unpopular. If ancient Rome had popularity polls, Tiberius’s numbers would be in the toilet for sure. But Livia’s power only seems to grow with her position as imperial gatekeeper and hostess. Much like certain first sisters of American presidents will step in to serve as unofficial first ladies if the president is a bachelor, Tiberius’s continued unwedded bliss means that Livia acts as both empress AND a sort of dowager queen. She conducts her own official correspondence, writing to client kings on official business. Sometimes Tiberius’ letters arrive addressed to both him AND Livia. One time the Spartans write Tiberius to say that they’re starting up a cult of the Divine Augustus - and they also write one to Livia separately. As if to say that, look, Tiberius is the emperor, but we all know who really wears the pants around here. 

More than that, Livia has become an important patron to Rome’s most powerful senators. She does her own version of the morning salutatio, when Roman men go over to each other’s houses for meetings, striking deals and asking for favors. Let me stress: This is NOT usually a female-run activity. Livia may not be able to go to the Senate, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t pulling serious strings. 

Dr. Rad makes this point about Agrippina the Younger, but it’s worth sharing here as we chat about the gal who comes before her. 

PARTIAL HISTORIANS: I think her clients are incredibly important. And it's something that could be very easily overlooked, in a way, because…I don't automatically think of women as having clients, because they are still disadvantaged in this society in terms of the rights that they have. But they do, you know, these important women like Agrippina and other wealthy elite women, they absolutely have their own clients. And that takes on a whole new dimension when you're part of the imperial family. 

They come in droves, because there isn’t any better patron to score than rich and influential Livia. She gives them money for their daughters’ dowries and sometimes adopts their sons, lending them her lofty status. Ovid, who Augustus had exiled for writing some satire a little too sassily for his liking, writes home to his wife to go see Livia and beg his case for him. “If she’s busy with something more important,” he says, “put off your attempt and be careful not to spoil my hopes.” But he also adds that Livia is no “wicked Procne or Medea or savage Clytemnestra, or Scylla, or Circe…or Medusa with snakes knotted in her hair!” If you met some of these mythical lady monsters in my bonus episode on Greek mythology, then you’ll know this is a not-that-subtle dig at Livia. Especially, at what is seen as perhaps a monstrous kind of womanly power. 

PARTIAL HISTORIANS: I think we need to appreciate that women had managed to accrue a certain level of soft power in the late Republic, particularly, and the early Empire already. You look at your you know your Clodias, your Fulvias, your Livias: people who had managed to accrue some serious soft power. So whilst it's obviously a bit of a tightrope walk in terms of how women manage that position, I think you need to understand that it is possible to have a relative amount of power in a system where you are actively disadvantaged officially. 

Tacitus seems to think there’s something monstrous about how she uses that power to help her favorite ladies. When her friend Plautia Urgulania finds herself called to a court she owes money to, she refuses the summons and takes refuge with Livia, creating a scandal that only ends when Livia steps in and pays her debt. Is this a female power move or an abuse of her position? The ancient sources say the latter, but I think it shows that Livia isn’t afraid to use her unique position to help women in a system that doesn’t give them much of a voice to speak with. That said, she doesn’t speak up for them all.

Of course, not everyone loves this turn of events. A woman pulling the strings? No thank you. “She had become puffed up to an enormous extent,” wrote Cassius Dio, “surpassing all women before her...” Cassius isn’t the only one feeling salty. Tiberius, too, is growing weary of his overbearing mom. Tiberius vetoes a push to rename the month of October “Livius” - yas, honey - but he does allow her birthday to be celebrated as an official Roman holiday. He knows how important a role she plays in keeping the myth of Augustus alive, legitimizing Tiberius’ place within it. It’s around this time that statues of her start becoming softer, younger, more goddess-like, and she appears on Roman coins. An emperor has to be careful about having too many statues of himself looking godlike, but the women of the family are a different story. By taking likenesses of the goddesses of fertility, the harvest, and motherhood, and carving them with Livia’s face, she becomes more an idea than a threatening reality. But she also becomes more than just the emperor’s mother. They blow up her image and make it larger than life. Idealized and eternal, she becomes as much a symbol as an actual person. A mother not just to Tiberius, but to us all. 

Though troublingly for Livia, Agrippina’s likeness is ALSO finding its way into sculpture. The more children she has, the more prevalent her image becomes, her representations looking less and less like Livia’s. They show a strong, striking woman, with thick waves and curly locks, a symbol of youth - here’s the NEW mother of the Empire. And ancient sources suggest that she doesn’t like it...not one little bit.

TOURING THE EAST IN FUN (UNTIL IT’S NOT)

But also, the ever-more-paranoid Tiberius has had it up to HERE With Germanicus. What are we going to do about his growing fame? Well first, he has to suck up his feelings and celebrate it. So he calls Germanicus back in 17 CE in order to throw him a big old triumph. These military parades-slash-raucous street parties aren’t thrown for just anyone: they’re a big deal, meant as a celebration of one’s military greatness. Another great thing - by custom, the great general’s sons get to ride in his triumphal chariot alongside him. But in a new move that suggests some interesting things about a woman’s place in the Empire, his daughters Aggie the Younger AND Drusilla get to ride with him too. 

Then Tiberius slaps Germanicus on the back and says: “Great job, Germ. I think it’s time we gave you a promotion.” He sends him out into the East with a Senate-approved “supreme authority.” This sounds good, but really it’s a kind of demotion. It gets Germanicus out of the field, getting him out of the heart of the action, and into what’s essentially a diplomatic tour, where Germanicus and Agrippina are meant to meet with governors, kiss babies, and generate goodwill. In some ways, you could say that Germanicus just got benched beside the water cooler. BUT then again, remember what happened the LAST time we sent a popular Roman into the East with this kind of authority? Oh, right...Mark Antony and Cleopatra totally blew up everything. 

Since he’s being forced away from Rome, Germanicus and Aggie decide, they might as well make it a fun family vacation. They stop in at the site of Actium to pay tribute to Germanicus’ fallen ancestor, Mark Antony. They stop in at Lesbos, Sappho’s old island home, where Agrippina gives birth to ANOTHER daughter, Livilla. You have to wonder if she thinks of her mother Julia...she, too, went with her husband on a tour of the Mediterranean. She, too, gave birth while traveling not so far from here. And now it’s HER name that is being carved into placards praising her childbearing prowess. Oh, the intoxicating freedom and power.

The family heads toward Egypt. They take a cruise down the Nile and a walking tour through Alexandria, inspiring love and statues and all sorts of great PR. And then they get a call from Tiberius.

*ring ring*

TIBERIUS: “I distinctly remember saying that no senator can enter Egypt without my permission.”

GERMANICUS: “Sorry, what? I can’t hear you. The line’s pretty bad.”

Egypt is Rome’s crown jewel, providing much of its grain supply. Since Cleo died, it’s basically belonged to the emperor Augustus. If any one general were to take it, they could take everything. Hence the order that no one can go without the emperor’s permission. There’s nothing to SAY that Germanicus and Agrippina do this to piss Tiberius and Livia off, BUT...they must know it’s going to. But this trip isn’t all lotus flowers and pyramids. Trouble is brewing.

BYE, GERMANICUS

In Syria specifically, which is one of the areas that Germnicus is supposed to be running. The governor there, which Tiberius just so happened to appoint at the beginning of Germanicus' journey, is a guy named Calpurnius Piso. His wife, Munatia Plancina, is a good friend of Livia’s. Coincidence? Many think not. The official line is that the emperor sends them to help Germanicus out and support him in the region, but the whispers say their real task is to watch the pair and cause as much trouble as possible. Tacitus says that Plancina is sent specifically by Livia, “whose feminine jealousy was set on persecuting Agrippina.” Yes, Tacitus: blame it on irrational emotion! If true, I think the ever-calculating Livia makes this move hoping to slow down Germanicus and Agrippina’s rise to power and give her unpopular son some room to move. This whole episode is clouded with rumor and supposition, but one thing is clear: Piso, Germanicus and their wives do NOT get along. 

When they get back to Syria after their Egypt trip, Piso refuses to follow any of Germanicus’s instructions. Plancina steps into roles meant to be Agrippina’s, openly berating her in front of the troops. Tensions are high, the atmosphere is sour, tempers are fraying. And then, all of a sudden, Germanicus gets sick--REALLY sick. We have no idea what he really dies of, but Germanicus immediately suspects that Piso’s poisoned him. They even find evidence of black magic in their house where they’re staying: potent evidence. Remember that Romans take their curses quite seriously.

PARTIAL HISTORIANS: And curses also sort of function a bit like gossip…So we know that they're given quite a bit of credence. And we know from the evidence that we found for curses that they can get pretty petty, as well.

We can only imagine Agrippina’s feelings as she clutches his hand, watching her husband and protector waste away, powerless to stop it. We can imagine her rage when he looks at her with fading eyes and says to “forget her pride, submit to cruel fortune, and, back in Rome, to avoid provoking those stronger than herself by competing for their power.” Privately, he begs her to beware of Tiberius and Livia. 

“They’re behind this,” he croaks. “If you’re not careful, they will come for you.”

At just 33, Germanicus dies, leaving his wife and six children behind him. As she burns his body, his words must ring in her ears: don’t act up. Keep your head down. Don’t get angry. But Agrippina IS angry. There are two roads before her: one would have her a good and proper Roman matron, like Octavia, quietly submitting to her fate. The other is paved in her own desires, her own ambitions, her own desire to see vengeance done. She knows that Tiberius was behind her husband’s murder, and she wants something done about it. She’s used to being adored, and she’s grown used to being powerful. And quiet submission has never been her style.

miss you, germanicus.

Agrippina the Elder Landing at Brundisium with the Ashes of Germanicus, Benjamin West, Yale University Art Gallery

I WILL HAVE MY VENGEANCE 

In 19 CE she packs up her kids and her husband’s ashes, then makes her way back to Rome. The journey takes about three weeks, and during it, the news travels ahead of her: Germanicus is dead. The level of mourning for Rome’s favorite hero is off the charts, and just keeps picking up steam.

He’s been poisoned by Piso and Plancina. Plancina even put on colorful clothes, they say, as if in celebration. But who else would want Germanicus dead? The dowager empress, perhaps? Definitely the emperor. So by the time she steps off that boat in Brundisium, Agrippina is tired, grief-stricken, but also full of an undying fury. It burns in her like the hottest kind of flame. She doesn’t bother hiding it from the crowds she’s picked up along her journey. Agrippina the Elder shares many things with her grandpa, and one of them is a genius for optics. She wants Rome to rally behind her, and so she gives them a vision to rally behind.

It doesn’t help that neither Tiberius or Livia show up at the port to welcome her and offer their condolences. It’s conspicuous. And of course all the people on Team Livia Poisoned Everybody Ever thinks that she had some hand in his death. But no matter. As Tacitus says, Aggie is “impatient of anything that postponed revenge.”

Back in Rome, Agrippina has plenty of friends and she makes NO secret of her suspicions. She had her faction want Piso brought to trial, and the hatred for him is so intense that Tiberius can’t save him. But Plancina...now that’s a different kettle of fish. She’s hated, too, but Livia then starts making calls, pulling strings, taking senators aside for a little private talking to. Again, it seems like Livia might just have more power than her son does, because after two days of questioning, Plancina’s let off. Though she has no official power, her word truly matters. And we don’t know how Aggie and Livia feel about each other really, but Agrippina cannot be happy about it.

There’s evidence that Livia, Antonia, Agrippina the Elder, and Germanicus’ sister Livilla are all given some power over the list of honors to go to Germanicus. Though Tiberius has the final say, they’re actively involved in what is in many ways a senatorial duty. One of these is a triumphal arch to be put up in the city, which will feature not just Germanicus and the men in his family but ALL the women. It’s the first evidence we have of a woman other than Octavia and Livia being immortalized in stone within the boundaries of the city. But this collaborative project does nothing to heal the festering wounds within the family. On the day of the funeral, Tiberius is forced to endure a raucous roar of love and approval not for him, but for Agrippina. We’re not just talking about some really loud clapping. They’re shouting out her name, calling her “the glory of her country, the only true descendant of Augustus.” Oh my. This is NOT keeping her head down, and Agrippina knows it. She isn’t ready to step into obscurity; she is Augustus’ descendant, dammit, and basically a princess.  “Nobody puts Agrippina in a corner.” 

sejanus starts creepin’

The Julio-Claudians being the Julio-Claudians, they all act like they’re still friends in public. But we all know that’s not how it is behind the scenes. And so we circle back to that Praetorian named Sejanus. Picture Iago from Othello, or Jafar from Aladdin: that’s this guy, forever skulking around in the background, poisonously crafty and ambitious as hell. He wants nothing less than to be emperor himself. Over the years, Tiberius has come to rely on him. He’s made sure of it, worming his way into the lonely emperor’s life, cutting him off from friends and family, trying to alienate him from anyone who might burst his cunning plans. He sets about clearing away any obstacles to his own ambition. That includes Tiberius’ son Drusus AND Agrippina’s entire clan.

It doesn’t help that relations between the now 80-year-old Livia and Tiberius are strained to breaking point. They fight more and more, and Tiberius seems increasingly reticent to give her any influence. When he refuses to put forward her chosen candidate for a judges’ position, she gets out some of Augustus’ old letters, full of mean words about Tiberius. After that, he essentially stops speaking to her, removing her from public affairs and forbidding her to hold a banquet in her husband’s memory. Now that’s just petty.

In 23 CE, Sejanus makes some major moves. First, he starts an affair with Germanicus’ sister Livilla, who is currently married to Drusus, Tiberius’ son. He and Sejanus have long loathed each other. Drusus once punched Sejanus right in the mouth, and you know what? I get it. So one night while they’re lounging in bed feeding each other dormice, Sejanus says: “You know what would be great? If we killed your husband. Then I could be emperor when Tiberius dies and you could be my empress. Good idea?” Or so the ancient rumors go. Not long after that whole punching thing, Drusus dies, and Tiberius is heartbroken. Then Sejanus asks if he can marry Livilla, an honor which he’s denied. No marrying into the imperial family for you, Sir! No problem. Plan B: destroy Agrippina and all of her children. Especially her 16 and 17 year old sons, who it looks like Tiberius might just adopt as his successors. Then there’ll be no one left but him to take the throne.

But Agrippina has plenty of friends. She fights Sejanus at every turn, using male proxies in the Senate to fight against laws that don’t suit her. She has a whole network of people working for her family’s interests and doesn’t give one poisoned fig what Tiberius might think. She also refuses to keep a low profile. On New Year’s Day in 24 CE, there’s this religious event where priests publicly pray for the health and wellbeing of the emperor. Somehow, Agrippina manages to arrange it so that the priests pray not only for Tiberius’ health, but also for her sons Nero and Drusus III, without asking Tiberius first. And he is PISSED.

Sejanus uses the opportunity to remind Tiberius just how uppity and terrible Agrippina the Elder is. He also stirs up a lot of legal trouble, drumming up a bunch of lawsuits against her friends and supporters that cost a lot of money and make them all look pretty bad. Around 26, her cousin Claudia Pulchra is charged with immorality, witchcraft, and conspiring against the emperor. Agrippina sees this as a personal attack and is like “I don’t THINK SO.” She marches over to Tiberius, interrupting him in the middle of a religious sacrifice to Augustus. “The man who offers victims to the deified Augustus ought not to persecute his descendents,” she supposedly said. “It is not in the mute statues that Augustus’ divine spirit is lodged--I, born of his sacred blood, am its incarnation!” Damn, girl! Tiberius, apparently, answers her tirade with a Greek epigram: “it is not an insult that you do not reign.” And make no mistake: she would rein if she could. In fact, I think she believes she deserves it. 

Her fiery speech makes no difference: Claudia is condemned. And Agrippina can do nothing. She’s once again under constant surveillance, dogged by the shady Sejanus, with all the public love but so little of its power. She’s around 40 now, and her daughter Agrippina’s around 12. It’s from her memoir that we get the following story. Agrippina the Elder gets ill, and so Tiberius comes to see her. Silent tears stream down her face as she begs him to let her remarry. She is sick of being alone--she wants a fresh start, a new champion for her and her children. Imagine the bitter sting of this proud woman, so sad that she allows herself to beg her enemy for mercy. And Tiberius just sighs, gets up and walks out. He will never let her remarry. She will have to fight all her battles alone. Aggie the Younger will never forget it. 

Dr. Rad and Dr. G: Yeah, for sure. And it's also the fact that we know what we think we know. There is this bit in Tacitus where he talks about having read her memoirs. And one of the little snippets he gives us is Agrippina the elder crying because Tiberius won't let her remarry and find a new husband and someone else to obsess about other than Germanicus. And the fact that A chased her this. It just shows that she must have written something down about, you know, this whole I mean, really, it's like a decade of family tension after I mean, over a decade, really, if you go all the way to the point where, you know, all of them are dead, as in her mother and her two older brothers, it's such an insane thing that she basically spent, you know, so much of her life with all of this going on around her. And yet we just have so little from her perspective. 

And Livia, it seems, does nothing to stop it. It’s easy to get mad at Livia here. You have power, and you’re supposed to be a champion of women. You’re really going to let your husband’s granddaughter languish, essentially under house arrest? Behind the scenes, we don’t know what relations are like between Livia and Agrippina. But the fact remains that, as long as Livia lives, Agrippina and her children do too.

Aggie becomes increasingly paranoid, with Sejanus always whispering that Tiberius is going to poison her, just like he did with Germanicus. One night Tiberius tests her by throwing her an apple, which she places untouched on the table. She might as well have shouted, “I don’t want your stupid poison apple!” After that, things really start falling apart.

In 28 CE, Tiberius decides he’s totally over Rome, and the Senate, and having everyone hate him. It’s time to remove himself to Capri to do some sunbathing, dammit! So that’s what he does. And who does he leave to basically run things in his absence? Sejanus. The guy that killed his son….though he still doesn’t know that. No one does.

That same year, Tiberius arranges for thirteen-year-old Agrippina the Younger to marry a guy named Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus. He’s 20 years older and most definitely not of her choosing. He’s rich, and definitely prestigious. But it also sounds like he’s a real piece of work. Suetonius calls him “Hateful in every walk of life.” Some choice anecdotes about him are that he killed an ex-slave because he was too sober. He ripped out someone’s eye in the middle of the Forum. And he ran over a child in the street with his chariot, just for funsies. And that’s on top of a whole lot of cheating, lying, and generally being a terrible person. He might not be as bad as Tacitus claims - that guy LOVES recording wild pieces of gossip. We don’t know what Aggie the Younger’s experiencing in the private confines of her first marriage, we can’t imagine it’s all good. We’ll circle back to this later.

A year later, still in Rome, Livia’s well into her eighties: outrageously old by Roman standards. But now she falls ill, and then she dies. As wife of the emperor, and then as his mother, she helped shape the budding Empire for some half a century. Was she a cold and calculating woman? A secret poisoner? A manipulative harpy? A loving wife and clever strategist? Perhaps she was all these things, because women are ALSO complicated figures who make complex choices and contain many multitudes. There’s no doubt that she stayed relevant, powerful, and influential for decades. She helped shape a world where Agrippina and her daughters could become powerful in their own right. 

Some historians say that Tiberius is sad about his mother’s passing. Others say he’s like, “ugh, FINALLY. BYE.” “...Tiberius neither paid her any visits during her illness nor did he himself lay out her body,” Cassius Dio tells us. “In fact, he made no arrangements at all in her honour except for the public funeral and images and some other matters of no importance.” Yikes. But the Senate is all about honoring Livia: they want to deify her and make all the women of the Empire enter into a full YEAR of mourning. But Tiberius is having none of it. He doesn’t even come to her funeral. Instead, Gaius is the one who gives her funeral oration: that kid otherwise known as Caligula. 

And regardless of whether or not she liked Agrippina, Livia clearly had some influence in keeping her alive. Because the minute she’s gone, Sejanus no longer sees any need to be discreet. He writes to Tiberius accusing Agrippina and one of her sons of “unatural love and depravity” - otherwise known as incest. The people make effigies of Aggie the Elder and Nero, marching them over to the Senate to protest in defence of their beloved family. And so they manage to get away, but only barely. Then comes the missing piece of the Annals - who knows what happens in the two years THEY cover? But when it picks up again, Agrippina the Elder and Nero have both been exiled to islands, and Drusus is in jail on who knows what charges. The younger kids move in with Antonia, who you’ll remember is Germanicus’ mother. She is pissed about this whole mess and writes to Tiberius all about Sejanus’ many schemes to try and undermine him. Finally, in 31 CE, Tiberius finally gets wise to Sejanus’ treachery and he’s executed, along with his entire family. Bye, Sejanus! But it’s too late for Agrippina and her sons.

IMPERIAL DOMINOES FALLING

Drusus is reduced to eating the straw of his mattress stuffing, and eventually starves to death. Nero is given a choice to stab himself with a sword or have someone else do it for him. Agrippina is beaten again and again, once so badly that it’s said she loses an eye. Finally, in painful agony and unwilling to let her humiliation go further, she starves herself to death. This proud, headstrong woman who refused to bow to anyone. It’s easy to admire her, even if we wouldn’t have made the same decisions she did. And her end begs the question: what is going to happen to her one remaining son and three daughters? What must Agrippina the Younger, now 16, be thinking as she sees Tiberius burn her family to the ground? Who will she be without them? How will all this darkness shape the woman she becomes?

Here’s Dr. Rad and Dr. G: ...So Agrippina the Younger is only very young. Very, very young indeed, when her father dies. And then she has to grow up amidst all this tension. But by the time she's getting to be a sort of young teenager – a tween, if you will - things have escalated to such a point that her mother and two older brothers are falling afoul of the Emperor Tiberius. And they're being brought up on all sorts of crazy charges like, you know, homosexuality potentially. Definitely some sort of conspiracy....I mean, that has to be super traumatic for your mother and your two brothers to be sent off into exile. And then to die years later, never coming back...And the drama of all of that happening around her...and yet we have nothing about her reaction to it, but it has to have affected her. And I think we have to assume that seeing these kinds of events play out is both a warning and maybe also a bit of a training in what is possible and what is not possible as a woman in this time period in history.

This canny young woman will learn many lessons from her mother’s mistakes - for one, that confronting men head on isn’t a wise path to power for a woman. And after a lifetime of being told she is the blood of the divine Augustus, she does want power; she feels it’s owed her. Without it, men can hurt you. Even the men in your family - the ones who are supposed to protect you. A woman has to find a way to protect herself. But she wants more than protection; she wants to be the hand that wields authority. To get there, though, she will have to walk along a very thin razor’s edge. She is ready to figure out what she needs to do to stay alive, and take her place in the Empire’s ruling dynasty. Perhaps she looks to Livia’s memory for tips on how to keep it.

In terms of Agrippina’s moves and thoughts during this period, the sources are mostly silent. Of course they are: she’s a matrona, not an emperor or a general. Why would we need to write anything down about her? All we know is that she’s still married to that guy Domitius, and that she’s dealing with two sisters in law that she most certainly doesn’t like. One’s Domitia Lepida, and the other’s usually just called Lepida. By the time Agrippina joins the clan she’s had a daughter by her first husband: a girl called Messalina. Remember her, as we’ll be coming back for her later. We know for sure that Agrippina doesn’t have any children with her husband in these years, which seems strange for a young matrona from a very fertile family. Is it that her husband is the horror that certain sources paint him as? Does she have trouble conceiving? Or is it that, for a woman in her family, having a child is actually a politically dangerous thing? Under Great Uncle Tiberius’ reign, any boy child she has would enter the world with a target on its back. The last thing she wants right now is THAT guy’s attention.

Without much else to say about Aggie’s current existence, we turn back to Tiberius and Aggie’s one remaining brother: Gaius, aka Caligula. Let’s meet this teenager properly, shall we?

GAIUS: Well hey there. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m kind of a big deal. People know me. Some women can’t handle my baggage, and it’s true I have a lot of it. You watch most of your family murdered by your Creepy Uncle and see how well adjusted you are, mk?! But I also have a lot of charm, when I’m not trying to kill anyone, and a lot of power, which I only sometimes use to make other people feel bad. At least I love my sisters, which I think should win me some brownie points. And for real, don’t call me little boot. I’ll probably cut you if you do.

I’m going to keep calling him Gaius, except when he’s being especially terrible, because I wouldn’t want to be known by my childhood nickname for eternity. We already know that Gaius was the youngest boy in the Germanicus clan - a great favorite with his parents and Germanicus’ loyal troops. He’s lived through all the same horrors as his sisters: his father’s suspicious death, his mother’s exile, and then the deaths of his two older brothers, punished for what is likely nothing more than having a too-powerful name. He’s too young to be suspected of anything at the time, so he is spared their fates. He moves with his youngest sisters into grandma Antonia’s house, where he lives in relative isolation, kept forcibly out of public life by the great uncle, whom he feels sure is responsible for the demise of his parents; Tiberius should probably have thought twice before leaving this angry young man alone to stew. The emperor also refuses to grant him his toga virilis, and that’s a big and humiliating deal. Remember that in Rome, your clothes say a lot about you. Roman children wear a bulla, a kind of protective amulet, that shows everyone who looks that they’re still considered kids. But when a boy becomes a man, he’s granted his toga virilis - or the “toga of manhood” - gaining all the rights and privileges that comes from being a Roman citizen (and male). It’s a big deal, usually ushered in with much pomp and ceremony. Augustus got his toga virilis at 15, but Gaius won’t get it for many years after that. He is forced to watch all the other boys become men as Tiberius, nervous about the threat he might pose, keeps him safely tucked into the clothes of childhood. It’s humiliating, and it’s rage inducing, and it’s a good thing to remember as we walk through what comes next.

And then, very suddenly, he’s thrown out of his sheltered life into the manhood no one’s really prepared him for, sent to stay with Tiberius on the island of Capri. There are a lot of wild stories about what goes on at Tiberius’ beautiful cliffside abode, called Villa Jovis. Suetonius gives us lots of lascivious details about what Creepy Great Uncle Tiberius gets up to, and none of them are suited to young and impressionable ears. “On retiring to Capri he devised a pleasance for his secret orgies,” he tells us, “Teams of wantons of both sexes, selected as experts in deviant intercourse, copulated before him in triple unions to excite his flagging passions.”

It gets worse from there, with stories involving children that I’m just not going to detail here. Sometimes, if his victims complain, he has their legs broken. When someone displeased him, he has them flung off a cliff into the sea. 

GAIUS: Damn, Uncle T. That’s crazy! 

The ruins of Villa Jovis, built by Tiberius on Capri. Who knows what kinds of sexcapades went on up in here…

Wikicommons

Is any of this true? A lot of people dislike Tiberius at this point - he’s basically turned his back on Rome and its people - so there’s every reason to blacken his reputation. And our writer Suetonius is Rome’s biggest gossip, so probably not...at least we hope not. But even without all of the debauchery, we can imagine what these years might be like for young Gaius. He’s been cut off from what remains of his family, forced to smile and nod at the man whom he must hate more than anyone in the world. The man that holds his fate - his very life - in his hands. One wrong move and it might be HIM flying over the clifftop. And then there’s young Tiberius Gemellus, Tiberius’ grandson, who is also on the island. Tiberius is either grooming them both as his potential heirs, or playing them off each other, making them both bow and scrape for his approval. Gaius must know he is on dangerous ground. In the years when his father Germanicus was learning how to lead, how to fight, how to serve in Rome, Gaius is trapped in a situation that is, at best, tense and occasionally very boring, and at worst corrupt and abusive. He’ll spend eight very formative years here, and they likely have a lot to do with the man he becomes later on in our story. But let’s fast forward and get back to Agrippina.

In 37 CE, back in Rome, Agrippina’s husband gets embroiled in a nasty court case. A woman is accused of impiety and adultery, and Domitius is called out as one of her many consorts. The list of people pulled into this very public drama is a who’s who of the Roman aristocracy, and so the new Praetorian Guard steps in personally to interrogate them. This is the position Sejanus once held, remember, so it’s got the potential to be a powerful one. Now it’s held by a guy named Macro. 

Before the case can really get going, the 77-year-old Tiberius dies. It isn’t clear how he dies: Gaius will later claim he at least THOUGHT about murdering him. Many people whispered foul play, but really, the guy was 77. It also isn’t clear whom he meant to follow in his footsteps. Though we think he wanted his grandson Gemellus to rule, he wasn’t stupid: he would have known the people wouldn’t accept him unless he was attached to the much-loved son of Germanicus. He must also have died knowing that, back in Rome, people have grown to HATE their emperor. In fact, when he croaks, the people basically throw a party. Instead of mournful processions and prayers, there are cries of “To the Tiber with Tiberius!” suggesting they should throw his body in the river rather than give him a proper funeral. Oh my. This cannot be what Livia was hoping for! But then there is also little black sheep Claudius, Tiberius’ brother, but no one’s feeling enthused about that one. And finally there is Gaius, much beloved son of Germanicus, and descended from the Divine Augustus himself. But then there’s also Agrippina and her husband Domitius, who just so happens to be a grandson of Augustus’ sister Octavia. He’s got about as much claim to the throne at this point as anyone. All of a sudden, the accusations against Agrippina’s husband are escalating quickly. He’s accused of incest with his sister, Domitia Lepida. Suddenly the case seems less about the woman who started it and more about a means of nailing Domitius to the wall. Given that Macro becomes a very chummy, very vocal support for Gaius, we have to wonder if he uses the trial to get Domitius out of the path to succession. Is Agrippina involved in these goings on? We have no idea, because nobody wrote about it that we know of. But given how canny she will show herself later - how ambitious, how resourceful - you have to wonder.

BLINDED BY THE LIGHT

On 16 MARCH 37 CE, Gaius sails back into Rome to take up his place as emperor. The city is generally elated by this 27-year-old beacon of youth and beauty, and a tangible piece of the old Rome that everyone wants back. He’s become buddies with that Praetorian Macro, so he has a personal guard to protect him, and the people welcome him back with open arms. Parades are thrown and wild parties are had. Agrippina, now 21, must be elated: their beloved brother is back in the city, and she and her sisters have just become proper royals again. Sure, Gaius is completely inexperienced, with no idea how to run much of anything. But he’s Germanicus’ boy, and a direct link to Augustus, so everyone’s willing to step back and let him find his way to greatness. But the Senate is going to need some convincing. So as soon as he arrives, he takes pains to build up both his readiness for rule AND his family’s greatness. First he sails off in harsh weather to the islands where his mom Agrippina the Elder and his brother Nero died in exile, collects their ashes, and brings them back to be interred in Augustus’ mausoleum. It’s very reminiscent of his mom’s long and public trek to bring Germanicus back to Rome, and everyone can see the parallel. Oh, how happy Aggie would be to see her children now. He buries her with much fanfare, casting away the shameful stain that Tiberius cast upon her and even throwing a series of games in her honor, during which he has a statue of her carried in a special litter to the festivities. These are all lovely gestures from a son to his mother, but it’s also GREAT optics for Gaius. It proves he’s a great son and reminds everyone that he’s a direct descendent of Augustus on his mother’s side.

Caligula honouring his mother’s ashes. At least the guy did SOMETHING right.

“Caligula Depositing the Ashes of his Mother and Brother in the Tomb of His Ancestors,” Eustache Le Sueur (1647)

But it isn’t just his mama who's rising on Gaius’ imperial tide. He’s also heaping honors on his sisters, elevating them in ways few women have ever been elevated before. 

GAIUS: “Come on, girl! Climb on up onto my lofty pedestal!” 

Sorry, did that sound just a little bit sexual? We’ll circle back to that a little later.

He gives them the same honors as the Vestal Virgins, for one. That means special, very visible seats at any gladiatorial games, and, they’re given a lictor for when they go out and about. Their bodies become sacrosanct and cannot be touched. But Gaius then goes even further. He has their names added to the oath of allegiance every Roman citizen is supposed to swear to their emperor. He also has their names added to the official lines that have to be said in order to introduce a motion in the Senate. So instead of concluding every motion with ‘favor and fortune favor Gaius Augustus,’ they now have to include the words ‘and his sisters.’ Agrippina and her sisters are now embedded in the heart of Roman politics, at least in name. He also has all of their names and faces put on coins, which is HUGE, and ties them even more into his emperorship and all that comes with it. And all of this family propaganda works a treat: the Senate is charmed, the people are elated. Agrippina, Livilla, and Drusilla now have a kind of symbolic power that few women in Rome have had before them. 

That same year, Gaius holds the official dedication of the Temple of the Divine Augustus. It’s his 28th birthday, too, so he turns Rome into one big celebration. 

GAIUS: It’s time to parrrrtyyyy!

There are festivals and games, at which Agrippina sits beside her glowing brother as they watch teams of chariots race by. It’s easy to imagine her elation - her triumph - as she sits with her siblings, basking in the public’s love. Against all odds, they survived Tiberius’ reign. They are young, and beautiful, and much beloved. From where she sits, the future’s looking pretty bright. And she has a secret: she’s pregnant, and now she doesn’t have to worry about what will happen to her child. His place in Rome is assured, and so is hers. For now.

IN WHICH CALIGULA GOES CRAZY

So here we are, back in Rome, which is in love with its new, young emperor. Hopes are running high. But the storm clouds arrive very suddenly in the autumn of 37 CE, when Gaius falls suddenly and seriously ill. We don’t really know what his illness is, but it seems to incapacitate him for months on end, which worries his family deeply. He withdraws from public life, and thus his sisters do as well. This isn’t the first time an emperor has absented himself like this - remember Tiberius and his faraway island - and it didn’t mean anything good for the people. Without being able to see their emperor, they start to worry about how serious his illness might be. What happens if the emperor dies so early into his reign? Who will replace him? There’s Gemellus, Tiberius’ grandson, whom Gaius adopted as his son not so long ago. But the sicker he gets, the more paranoid Gaius gets. He senses threats on every side, and he won’t let anyone threaten him. He was powerless once, but doesn’t want to be ever again. So when some people start rallying behind Gemellus, Gaius isn’t about to smile and nod about it. 

CALIGULA: Sup, loyal praetorians. Would you do me a solid and discreetly get rid of Gemellus? Thanks, that’d be super. 

And so Gemellus ends up dead for nothing more than being a figurehead. Being high in the line of succession is a dangerous place to be.

Meanwhile, in December, Agrippina gives birth to a son. In classic Roman style, he’s given a name that follows the line of his father - Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus - but we’ll call him by the name he takes on later: Nero. We happen to know a lot about this birth - specifically how horrific the whole thing is - because Agrippina writes about it in her memoir. A memoir that we no longer have...more on that later. Pliny the Elder writes about it, too, because it’s a breech birth - something he considers a bad omen, and that posed a major danger to both mother and child. Pliny tells us that Agrippa, Aggie’s father, was also a breech birth. What’s fascinating here, though, is that in a book being written for public consumption, Agrippina chooses to write about an intensely feminine, extremely private act. Does she include it because she thinks the birth was momentous enough to be worth sharing? 

AGRIPPINA: Absolutely. Giving birth is hard work: I deserve a medal or something.

She’s writing the kind of book that only men pen at this time, so if that’s the case, good on her. Or is she pulling a Spartan woman, linking the courage and grit of giving birth to that of a soldier facing battle? To show she is as tough as any man, but also underscore her motherhood. Whatever the reason, I wish we had this piece of writing to draw from, because it is breaking serious ground.

Like most Roman elite women, she will hand little Nero off to probably enslaved wet nurses and servants. Super engaged and hands-on motherhood is not the thing in ancient Rome. But make no mistake, she is very invested in Nero’s future, because it’s also HER future. She loves her son, and in Rome a woman’s number one job is to educate him and make the most of his prospects. But also, he is her best and clearest path to true power.

Back to the ever-sickly Gaius. It’s 38 CE now, and while he has managed to get out of bed enough times to harass his uncle Claudius, marry several girls and then divorce them minutes later, his behavior is getting...well. Very odd. He goes around dressed up as different gods and seems convinced he truly is one. And he’s increasingly paranoid about people trying to take his throne away. People who served him before he ascended - his ex father in law, for one, and that Praetorian Guard Macro - keep turning up suspiciously dead. 

Caligula’s court was not an easy place to thrive.

“The Court of Caligula” by Virgilio Mattoni de la Fuente

Historians have argued about whether his illness made him lose his marbles or his madness was there all along, tucked into the folds of his tense and often traumatic childhood. Many potential causes have been proposed: the ancient sources give us the bizarre idea that his last wife is so unattractive that she has to feed him love potions to win his attention, and that it’s those potions that drove him off the deep end. Yeah, okay, misogyny. There’s no way to know what Gaius is suffering from, but it seems to turn him into an unhinged tyrant. Suetonius puts it best in describing this turning point in our story: “So much for Caligula as emperor; we must now tell of his career as a monster.” We don’t know how Agrippina feels about his behavior, but we can imagine it makes her very nervous. It pays to remember that while he’s her brother, they’ve spent very little time together since they were young children. She can’t be sure what he might do or not do. He’s already turned on some of  those who were once close to him. What’s to say he won’t turn on her, too?

It doesn’t help that her family is starting to attract some strange and unfortunate rumors. Rumors that include a healthy dose of incest. Of his three sisters, it’s said that Drusilla is Gaius’s favorite. He dotes on her and her husband, a guy named Lepidus. He likes Lepidus so much that he has him added to many of the family statues; an honor Agrippina’s husband does NOT receive. They’re very close...so close, in fact, that the rumor mill starts whispering that maybe they’re all MORE than just friends, if you know what I’m saying. But the rumors go further, saying that maybe his other two sisters like to join in on the fun. Our favorite gossip, Suetonius, does not mince words on the subject: “He lived in habitual incest with all his sisters, and at a large banquet he placed each of them in turn below him, while his wife reclined above. Of these he is believed to have violated Drusilla when he was still a minor, and even to have been caught lying with her by his grandmother Antonia, at whose house they were brought up in company.” In other words, he’s been sleeping with Drusilla since they were kids. Oh, I hope not. Suetonius goes on to suggest that he didn’t love Agrippina and Livilla quite as overtly, so instead he pimped them out to all of his favorite friends. Is any of this true? 

Agrippina: Of course not. This is clearly slanderous lies meant to make us look bad. Honestly: get your mind out of the gutter.

Suetonius wasn’t even born when this all goes down, and we don’t have any contemporaries writing about incest. And given how strong-willed Aggie will turn out to be, I just can’t picture it...and frankly, I don’t want to. So let’s move on. One concrete thing that does raise eyebrows is what happens when Drusilla suddenly dies in June of 38 CE. It’s perfectly acceptable to mourn a lost loved one, but Gaius really loses his mind. He flees Rome, stops shaving, and institutes a period of public mourning, which means that no one can celebrate festivals or conduct business. Suetonius tells us that he made it “a capital offence to laugh, bathe, or dine in company with one's parents, wife, or children.” That’s some intense and smelly grieving.

He throws her a giant funeral, during which it’s said he gets so upset he has to stop reading her eulogy and let Drusilla’s husband do it. He also asks the Senate to bestow some unprecedented honors upon her, including making her a goddess. She gets a shrine and priests - over in Egypt, she even gets a month named in her honor. Suetonius tells us “...he never afterwards took oath about matters of the highest moment, even before the assembly of the people or in the presence of the soldiers, except by the godhead of Drusilla.” Now that’s a statement. 

We don’t know how Agrippina feels about all this sister worship, but I imagine she’s sad to have lost her sister. A woman who has, perhaps, been a confidante and ally. Especially given the drama that’s about to unfold.

Thinking great thoughts and planning grand plans.

An engraging of Agrippina from well after her lifetime. Courtesy of the New York Public Library.

This next chapter in Agrippina’s life is frustratingly murky. We know that things start to turn sour in 39 when Gaius has a blowup with the Senate, accusing them of having aligned with Sejanus back in the day - that guy responsible for the deaths of his mother and brothers. His speech can be summed up with the following: 

CALIGULA: “You’re all sniveling, lying suck ups, I don’t trust any of you as far as I can throw you, and you’re all cancelled, so stop calling me.” 

He also brings back the maiestas trials that Tiberius was so fond of, which make it so that the emperor can condemn pretty much anyone who does anything he finds offensive. This period of his reign is marked by cruelty and excess. At the spa town of Baiae, he throws a huge party, building a huge bridge out of ships just for the expensive fun of it. We can only hope that Agrippina is there having a grand old time.

Gaius marries again, this time to a woman named Caesonia, and has a child - his only child, a daughter whom he names Drusilla. It’s said he adores this new wife so much that he stops sleeping with loads of random babes. He even puts her on coins, which has to be a real red flag for Agrippina. Any children Caesonia bears threaten to push her son Nero to the sidelines of the imperial succession plan. We think Agrippina’s husband might be ill by this stage, too, as he’ll die in 40 CE. Agrippina is wise to worry about what her paterfamilias, the increasingly crazy Gaius, will do once she’s back on the marriage market. This guy is not making great decisions. And if we know anything about Agrippina, it’s that she isn’t one to sit on her hands and let fate take the wheel.

EXILE ISLAND (HERE WE GO AGAIN)

From here, things get crazy quickly. Caligula fires several people, even putting one of them on trial for letting his wife oversee some troops. A prefect gets beaten to death for no clear reason. Then he grabs some troops and marches into Germania, maybe to follow in his dad Germanicus’ footsteps, or maybe to put some new legions there. On the way, he stops off at Mevania at the house where Agrippina, Livilla, and Drusilla’s widower Lepidus are staying. We don’t know what happens there, but we know what happens next: the Senate gets a note out of the blue condemning his sisters and Lepidus for “immoral acts” and saying all three have been arrested. When he gets back to Rome, a trial is held, during which letters between Lepidus and the two women are read aloud as evidence. Lepidus - once Gaius’s very best friend - is put to death, and Caligula’s like “Mk, sisters, we’re done, and I hate you. So off to exile islands you go.” Almost overnight, Agrippina and Livilla go from imperial darlings to shamed outcasts. Agrippina is forced off into exile, made to carry Lepidus’ ashes with her to her new island home. Wait...what?

There’s a lot of mystery about this whole situation, but we can assume that Agrippina and her sister were involved in some plot to take Gaius down - or at least he thought they were. And why not? After all, Caligula’s clearly a giant bundle of crazy, and they aren’t about to let him run the family name into the ground. The sources are garbled about their potential motives, but one thing that gets repeated is that Agrippina and Lepidus had been having a steamy affair. They even suggest that Agrippina, Livilla, and Lepidus have a polyamorous situation. Because if a woman is involved in political intrigue, sex must also be involved! Sound logic.

This story has all the hallmarks of the kind of thing ancient men love cooking up years afterward to throw shade on women acting in ways they shouldn’t. But it seems likely that Lepidus did indeed form a plot against Gaius, and that Agrippina and Lepidus were romantically involved, which means she knew about it. Why else would Caligula make her carry Lepidus’ ashes into exile? It wouldn’t be a punishment unless she cared about the remains in that urn. 

We have no idea if she was really involved in a plot to have her brother murdered. But if she was, it means that she must have felt she and her son would be safer if Gaius was no longer in the equation. Maybe she’s threatened by his new, seemingly fertile wife. Or maybe she just sees the monster her brother has become and doesn’t want him to ruin her family’s legacy. This is a guy who’s rumored to have sawed people in half who displeased him and had torture trials held while he ate a lavish lunch. Perhaps it was a heart-wrenching decision for her, this coup attempt; even if I hated my brother, I’d have some complex emotions about offing him.

CALIGULA: “Well that’s rude.”

Don’t worry, John - I mean, Gaius - I would never do you like that!

But this is the first time we see Agrippina acting with real agency on an issue that isn’t just personal, but political. It’s her first big power move, but it’s far from her last.

And so Agrippina stands on the shores of her island, exiled from the world she holds dear. Whatever play she’s tried to make, it’s blown up spectacularly. Her lover is dead and she’s in exile, taken away from her precious son. We aren’t sure which island she ends up on, but it’s either Pondateria - a two-mile-long spit of land - or the five-mile-long Pontia just a stone’s throw away. No matter which it is, she is standing on the ground where her mother died, or she can see that land on the horizon. And other family members, too: her grandmother Julia, her aunt Julia. She is surrounded by other women's ghosts. She must know that this stay could very well be a death sentence. She is 24 years old, with so much to live for, stuck hoping that her brother will have a change of heart. 

But in some respects we needn’t weep for her. She’s probably living in a lovely villa with servants. In Kasey Morris’s thesis on Roman exile, which she kindly let me read, she posits that perhaps Agrippina and her sister are exiled together, which would mean she has someone to lean on. She might take to the blue waters to keep fit; given what a great swimmer she turns out to be later, I can totally see it. But make no mistake: being exiled isn’t lounging by the seaside reading Sapphic poetry. It’s imprisonment. While the three months I just spent in Extreme Australian Coronavirus Lockdown is not the same thing, I can’t help but feel a connection: staying at home is only fun if you choose to do so. When you have no choice, it feels like imprisonment. And for Agrippina it’s ACTUAL imprisonment. It’s all her power and prestige stripped away, living with the constant threat of violence. And she doesn’t have the resources we do - no way of checking on the outside world. She must feel the same burning rage that her mother did. She’s going let it burn, low and slow, until she gets a chance to use it.

Back in Rome, Gaius is behaving badly. There are many salacious stories from this period, and we don’t know how many are actually true. The ancient rumor mill tells us that he plans to chop off the head of the statue of Zeus at Olympia - one of the wonders of the ancient world - and stick a likeness of his own head up there. He gives his horse a house and then tries to make him a consul. He’s self-conscious about his thinning head hair and overall hairy body, so he makes it illegal to say the word “goat” in his presence. By January of 41 CE, people have had quite enough. Agrippina’s brother is assassinated by his own Praetorian Guards. Sadly, his wife and child are killed alongside him. RIP, you PTSD poster child. 

Bye, caligula. Also, claudius, not a flattering angle!

“A Roman Emperor (Claudius),” Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Courtesy of the Walters Museum

So who’s going to step into the emperor’s shoes? Who is left to do it? Germanicus’ brother, the now not-so-little black sheep of the family, Claudius. Remember him?

CLAUDIUS: Of course you don’t. My family spent most of my youth trying to hide me. And yes, I may have some physical setbacks, and I may spit when I laugh and make inappropriate jokes, but I’m actually quite capable. Just you wait and see.

But still, this whole thing is kind of shocking. This is the first time a Roman emperor has ever been assassinated, with another one taking his place by force. Not everyone hated Gaius - the army and the people still kinda loved him. A lot of people aren’t happy to see Claudius in his place. But Claudius gets big points for swiftly deifying our friend Livia - he does this mostly for personal reasons, but still. Hey there goddess! He also wins for another thing: one of his first acts is to recall his nieces Agrippina and her sister back from exile, then gives them all  their property and prestige back. And we can imagine her saying, just like her mother before her:

AGRIPPINA: Nobody puts Agrippina in a corner. 

She and her sister exhume their brother’s ashes from the garden they were unceremoniously dumped in and give him a very public funeral, burying him in Augustus’ mausoleum. This seems...odd, given what he did. But Agrippina is doing something similar to what Gaius did when he retrieved his mother’s ashes: in death, she wants to take her brother from shamed to revered, or at least respected. Her family’s name and reputation is everything, and she isn’t about to let Gaius’s choices stain it any further. It doesn’t hurt that it’s a great show of pietas, a Roman concept that has to do with honoring one’s family, showing that she’s willing to accept her responsibility regardless of what he might have done. This, for the sisters, is some really good PR. 

But it’s not all good news. Not long after getting home, Livilla is exiled - again. This time, it’s said, because she has an illicit affair with a man named Seneca. Agrippina’s last sister will never make it off of her island. While we don’t have much evidence on the relationship between them, we can imagine that Agrippina must be devastated to lose her. She is the last of her siblings left standing.

AGRIPPINA RISES AGAIN

Claudius doesn’t have a lot of friends in the beginning; the senatorial class is not best pleased by his being put in charge of the Empire. So he pulls his household in around him, creating a court of sorts. The people in it are very close to the emperor, and it seems they have more power than the Senate does. It’s around now that we start to see ex-slaves turned assistants and family members gaining a lot of power and influence. But if we learned anything from our episodes about Olympias, it’s that courts can be dangerous places, their sands constantly shifting as people whisper behind hands. Given that her son is the only direct Julio-Claudian boy right now, she has to be very careful. Especially when it comes to the emperor’s catty, bloodlusty wife.

Back in 38 or 39, Claudius got hitched for the third time, to a young woman named Messalina. She’s part of the family tree already, descended from Octavia’s branch - his first cousin once removed, or...something. She is also the daughter of Lepida, Agrippina’s old sister-in-law. Woo, this family tree hurts my brain. When they marry, he’s in his early fifties and she’s somewhere between 18 and 21. Yikes, but then, what else is new. 

Agrippina has a couple of reasons to be wary. First, if the ancient rumor mill is to be believed, because she’s the one who got Claudius to exile her sister Livilla. Also because she’s proving quite fertile, introducing competitors for little Nero. She’s had a daughter AND a son in quick succession. The boy in particular is worrying, because it’s likely that Claudius will see him as his eventual successor. That makes Nero his potential rival, and we all know what happens to boys who have a clear claim to the emperor’s seat. Aggie’s son is going to be in danger pretty much from here on out. But this is a woman hardened by grief, familiar with violence, and very aware of the threats against her side of the family. But she is smart, too, with a very finely tuned ear for the swaying winds of politics. She is clearly ambitious, too. And she will not let ANYONE control her or ruin her son’s chances. It’s time to slip on her strategic thinking cap.

First, she turns her mind to finding herself a new husband. As we know, very few Roman women stay single for long, and the good thing about husbands is their ability to protect their wives from threats against them. Our ancient sources, forever made anxious and upset by a powerful woman who openly expresses desires of any kind, make it seem like she’s a bit of a manhunter. Suetonius tells us that she goes on a VERY aggressive campaign to win the heart of the rich and powerful Galba, a guy who apparently has zero interest and is also already happily married anyway. “No matter,” says Aggie - “I enjoy an amorous challenge.” Apparently, she gets so intense about it that Galba’s mother-in-law chastises her in public and slaps her across the face. True? Unlikely. It sounds like a bit of revisionist history meant to chastise Agrippina - to make the power she’ll accrue later look like something corrupt and ugly. Ancient Roman men just don’t know what to do with a strong lady, do they? If Agrippina is husband hunting, she’s more likely to be doing it discreetly - it’s not like she wants Claudius getting involved, if she can help it. She’s already been married off once to a man she didn’t choose: who’s to say Claudius won’t force her to marry another? 

But in the end, the paterfamilias rules the day. The lucky guy is Passienus, who used to be married to that sister-in-law she detested, Domitia Lepida. He seems like something of a kiss ass, having managed to stay friends with Tiberius, Gaius AND Claudius mostly by telling funny and unthreatening jokes. He’s also well known for loving a particular tree so much that he’s often seen fondling and kissing it. Mk. He has money and influence, this tree-hugging fellow. But he isn’t part of the Julio-Claudian clan, and he isn’t all that distinguished. For Agrippina, this match feels like a real step down. It also feels like Claudius giving his VERY popular niece as a present to his buddy, and at the same time shoving her to the sidelines. He wants her alive, as their connection heightens his own position, but he also wants her tamed and tucked away from public life. In 42, Passienus is sent off to be a proconsul in Asia - or, more precisely, the southwestern portion of modern-day Turkey. “Make sure to take dear Agrippina along with you,” he might say. “Take her away. FAR AWAY.”

We don’t know what her life in Asia is like in these years - quiet, probably, as we don’t have even a whiff of scandal. Perhaps she wants to keep off Claudius’ radar for now. But by 44 CE her husband has returned to Rome and been made a consul, which as we know is a pretty big deal. He also makes Agrippina the heir to his very large fortune. He then promptly drops dead, and the timing of those two things gets some tongues wagging. Does Agrippina manulate Hubby #2 into leaving her his fortune, then inject his figs with something toxic? 

AGRIPPINA: I’m not saying I did. But honestly, would you blame me? 

In the ancient world, husbands die with startling frequency. Here’s Dr. Rad and Dr. G:

PARTIAL HISTORIANS: So the attachment of an accusation of poisoning to the fabulously wealthy husband is in our source material. But it's famously been discredited, you know, as something that is not really it's like one you know, one document that had these insinuations. And it's clearly a bit of a mistake, a case of mistaken identity. I think so. Yeah. I don't believe for a second that she did poison her second husband. But he dies, it has to be said, die at a relatively opportune moment. 

What we know for sure is that Aggie is 28 years old, twice widowed, and monied up to her eyeballs. Unlike her first husband’s money, which is tucked away in a trust for Nero, this is money she has full and ready access to. And that matters when it comes to securing her future. 

PARTIAL HISTORIANS: How do you think she was able to claim the power she did? 

Well, I actually think this is a fairly straightforward one. And I think, first off, as we've been highlighting, family. So she's got this connection to Augustus. She's got those connections to Germanicus: direct descent. But then I also think clients and wealth had a lot to do with it. She does do really quite well out of her marriages. Yes. In terms of inheriting some wealth, which helped set her up nicely for the sort of political plays that she wants to make. There's no way that she could be making the kinds of political moves that she does without being able to back it up with some cash.

But then she vanishes from Rome for five years. Why does she decide to pack up, leave Rome and its public eye, and hunker down somewhere with Nero? Maybe she’s tired of all the drama and just want to bathe in a seaside pool. Or maybe she doesn’t want Nero to have the same childhood she had, always watched and always threatened. She has every reason to want Nero out of Claudius’s eyeline for the moment--or maybe it’s empress Messalina whose attention she doesn’t want. 

The ancient sources paint Messalina as a lot of things, which we’ll get into shortly, but one of them is exceptionally jealous. She makes a point of systematically destroying other royal women, which is why some think she’s the one who got Livilla exiled. Agrippina has a stronger tie to the divine Augustus than either she or her husband and is as much loved as her mother was. Of course Messalina sees her and her son as a threat. And so she vanishes, getting out of the danger zone. If our Aggie knows anything, it’s how to bide her time.

But don’t worry: there’s plenty of drama to keep us busy until Agrippina joins our story again. In 43, Claudius sails over to the isle they call Britannia and conquers it - well, he conquers a bit of it, which is more than any emperor has been able to do before. Claudius thinks it’s impressive enough that when he gets home he throws himself a triumph. I can just see him whispering up to the heavens to Augustus: “Stick THIS in your godly pipe and smoke it!”

Messalina gets to ride in a chariot in her husband’s parade, along with their son - this is when his son will get the name we call him by - Britannicus. Aggie is probably in town for the party, too, as she’s part of the family and thus would have to show her face. We can’t know what she thinks, watching Claudius laud himself as a conquering hero, but it’s fair to say she’s fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Especially when he publicly honors his sons-in-law and NOT her son Nero. But then she vanishes again, probably back to one of her country houses, while in Rome, Messalina is making a very public mess.

A portrait of Messalina

Messalina, 1881, by Peder Severin Krøyer, courtesy of the Gothenburg Museum of Art.

Messalina's infamy and fall inspired plays many years later.

Hans Makart's painting of Charlotte Wolter in Adolf Wilbrandt's tragedy, Arria und Messalina. Wikicommons.

MESSY MESSALINA

Messalina is a fascinating character worth side-stepping for - a riddle wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a whole bunch of Roman male rage. It’s important to remember here that she is only Rome’s fourth empress. The first was the outrageously talented Livia, who managed to appear as the ideal Roman matrona while also influencing policy behind the scenes. But as we’ve already explored, she also understood that she was, as author Emma Southon puts it, “the woman behind the emperor, and never the woman next to him.” Skip over bachelor Tiberius, and then we have all of Caligula’s wives, who were all too short-lived to have much of an impact. And so the very young Messalina is the first empress Rome’ had in quite a while, and she is...well...something altogether new. She is given many of the same honors as the Agrippina before her, but when the Senate offers to make her an augusta, Claudius refuses.

CLAUDIUS: She’s quite attractive, I know, but...let’s not get carried away.

If the ancient sources are to be believed, and I’m not at all sure they should be, then Messalina quickly pushes way beyond appropriate boundaries, abusing her position to kill people she doesn’t like, bullying the weak and chinless Claudius into doing her bidding. If she sees some pretty gardens she’d like to call her own, she has their owner accused of conspiracy. Boy, bye.

She’s also a humanoid Venus fly trap, eating men as she pleases. She has a voracious sexual appetite, and gods help any man who doesn’t cave to her advances. According to Tacitus, Messalina also masterminds the execution of a guy named Decimus Valerius Asiaticus - who’s twice served as a consul, so no political slouch - because she’s upset by his affair with one Poppaea Sabina AND because she covets his beautiful gardens. Using the law for personal gain wasn’t SO bad when Julius Caesar was doing it, but a 20-something-year-old woman? Ugh.  

And she is, of course, a perverse and shameless hussy. There’s a rumor that she likes sex SO much that she goes to work in a brothel just to try and scratch her insatiable itch. Pliny tells us that she outdoes a notoriously enthusiastic prostitute by having sex with twenty-five men in one day. Well that just sounds tiring. In his Satires, Juvenal recounts how “with a blonde wig hiding her natural Hair, she’d enter a brothel that stank of old soiled sheets, And make an empty cubicle her own; then sell herself, Her nipples gilded, naked, taking She-Wolf for a name…” True or not, I am really into “She-Wolf.” If I were to start a magazine, I think I’d call it that. He goes on, saying that “Later on, when the pimp dismissed his girls, she’d leave reluctantly, waiting to quit her cubicle there till the last possible time.” And then, of course, he throws in some magic and murder. “Shall I speak of spells and love-potions too, poisons brewed, and stepsons murdered? The sex do worse things, driven on by the urgings of power: their crimes of lust are the least of it.”

For Messalina, Juvenal takes a slur an earlier writer made up for Cleopatra - meretrix regina (or harlot-queen) and twists it into meretrix Augusta - her Highness the Whore. Classy. They portray her as a rapist, a tyrant, and even worse, unwomanly. While all that is supposedly happening, Claudius is either uncaring or completely oblivious, going off on little vacays and letting his ex-slaves run the empire for him. These three men aren’t just freedmen servants - in his tight-knit household, they are powerful secretaries and advisors...a trend we’ll see continue in the imperial household for generations to come.

This is a good place to stop and remind you that when our ancient writers devote precious page space to imperial women, it’s to use them to make a certain point. Often that point is about how great or how horrid a man was. Cornelia reads like a demi-goddess partially to laud her two heralded sons. Messalina gets painted with the wanton brush of corruption not necessarily because it’s accurate, but to play up what a gutless wonder Claudius is. Which is a little unfair, because Claudius isn’t a bad emperor, all told. But our views of Messalina also show a fear and loathing of powerful women - of the threat they pose to law and order. We’ve seen some version of ALL of these stories before, though perhaps never to this level of drama. Perhaps there’s some truth at the core of the stories - she is certainly not playing the part of the traditional matrona, that much is clear - but it’s hard to get a clear picture through all the ancient hate. She is horrifying the men around her. Of course it is, when men like Seneca believe, as he will write to his mother, “Your only ornament, the kind of beauty that time does not tarnish, is the great honor of modesty.”

She’s worth talking about, too, because of how she sets the stage for Agrippina’s return. Aggie has got to be watching all of this from the sidelines, taking furious notes as she plans her reentry. Because she and her son ARE making a comeback - it’s her destiny. But knowing when to do it is like calculating the right moment to jump into a double Dutch jump rope situation: hop in too early, or too late, and you’re likely to get all tangled up in the game.

Her moment comes in 47, when she’s called back for the Secular Games - a huge-deal party that Claudius is throwing. During it, the sons of Rome’s most distinguished families participate in a reenactment of the battle at Troy, including ten-year-old Nero and six-year-old Britannicus. Nero most definitely steals the show. And the people go WILD for Agrippina - they love her just as much as ever, this daughter of Germanicus. She and Nero are, in their eyes, tragic heroes, and full of the divine blood of Augustus. They are the ones the people want. And apparently Messalina is having NONE of it. 

Suetonius tells us she goes so far as to try and have Nero killed as he sleeps. But as the would-be assassins approach the sleeping boy, a snake slithers out from under it - a godly omen, scary enough that it chases them away. Agrippina will later have this snake encased in a gold bracelet and give it to her son to remind him of the greatness he is destined to. And then when Messalina starts coming at her with lawsuits and whisper campaigns, she deals with them calmly without getting worked up over it. She has friends, patience, and political savvy. Agrippina isn’t an easy woman to break.

And then Messalina does something bizarre. While Claudius is out of town on an errand, she up and marries a guy named Gaius Silius. Marries a guy who is not her husband, without his approval...how does she think this is possibly going to end? Why she does this is an utter mystery. All sorts of theories have been thrown around - that it was part of some great political conspiracy to overthrow Claudius, that Messalina was bored, etc, etc. Maybe the pair just really, really liked each other. Narcissus, one of Claudius’ freedmen advisors, is VERY quick to ride out and let the emperor know. And though he agonizes over the decision, he lets Narcissus send soldiers to kill his wife. She flees to safety in the gardens of Lucullus - those gardens she took through her own treachery. And there she dies as her mother Lepida holds her, crying as a praetorian guard runs her through. 

Though it’s hard to know the real Messalina, we can feel sorry that she dies so young, and in this terrifying way. And while some of her behavior is puzzling, I can believe that at least SOME of her actions are done in service of Britannicus. The imperial women of this age remind me more and more of Olympias, cutthroat when it came to promoting and protecting her son. And just like over in Macedonia in her time, keep an imperial son alive and thriving is becoming an increasingly bloody and competitive sport. 

We don’t know how Agrippina feels about any of this, or if she knew about it as it unfolded. At least one of Claudius’ main guys, Pallas, is already very much on Team Aggie. But regardless, Messalina is gone, and there is no one to rival Agrippina’s position and lineage. It’s time to take center stage is a high-stakes game where the rules are only this: all or nothing. She has to push back whatever fears or uncertainties she might have and play the game with all she’s got.

ALL HAIL EMPRESS AGRIPPINA

It’s 49 CE, and the aftermath of this whole affair is messy. A bunch of men are put to death without trial and Messalina’s name and images are struck from the Roman record. And THEN - just three months after Messalina’s stabbing - Agrippina and uncle Claudius get married. Wait...WHAT?! 

If you’ll allow us to step back from the incest for a second, this match makes a lot of sense for Claudius. The people love Agrippina, and she has flawless lineage that will only make him look better. As far as Agrippina is concerned, this might be gross, but it means she’ll finally get to be empress, maneuvering her son Nero into prime position. 

AGRIPPINA: You see all of your family die and get exiled by your brother to a tiny island. Then you can judge me for wanting a position of power, alright?

Ancient sources have it that Claudius’ three main men all put lady candidates forward to fill the position, and it’s Pallas who suggests Agrippina. This emperor needs an empress: who better than the last, noble daughter of Germanicus and the much-loved, much-wronged Agrippina the Elder? Others make it out like she takes every opportunity to sit in Claudius’ lap and bite his earlobes to make him fall in love with her. I mean...I just don’t see it. We don’t know how much of a hand she has in this marriage, but we can assume that it’s a healthy amount. Especially because Claudius has to get some laws bent to get it done. Regardless of how she might feel about Claudius personally, she doesn’t want some other empress taking the position only to plague Agrippina and Nero later. This is closer to true power than her mother ever got - she has to take it. Livia influenced from behind the scenes and shaped the budding Empire. Why shouldn’t she be able to pick up that torch and do the same? 

PARTIAL HISTORIANS: Generally speaking of the Roman people, because this is the thing that I think is easy to forget as well. Is that the Roman population as a whole is now a very different entity in the way that it understands reality from the republic. And even though we've been in what seems like this transitional phase from like Late Republic through Augustus and the Julie Accordion's, we're now pretty entrenched in what is imperial rule. Yeah, and people on the ground. This is what they understand and have lived with and what they know. It's a couple of generations in now. 

Yeah. So people were like, OK, this is how the world works. Agrippina knows this is how the world works. She's seen her family being torn apart in many respects by the nature of this kind of polity. Absolutely. And I think one of her greatest strengths is her resilience to bounce back.

Though Romans are fine with cousins once removed getting married, this whole uncle-niece business is a bit too much. Claudius has to get a special dispensation from the Senate, but it gets the job done in the end. And so, on New Years’ Day, she and Claudius are married. As she steps into her third and final marriage, she also slips on some armor that only she can see. From now on, she will stop at nothing to keep her and Nero safe, but also to win them everything she feels they were promised. Everything that they are owed. “From that moment the country was transformed,” Tacitus tells us, "Complete obedience was accorded to a woman."

For the first year of her new married life, she behaves in every way as the supportive empress. But make no mistake: she’s wasting no time in solidifying her role, her place, and her ability to hold onto it. One of the first things she does is get Seneca recalled from exile - you know, that guy that her sister supposedly had an affair with? - and installs him as Nero’s tutor. She is in the business of not only making friends, but in having men like Seneca indebted to her. 

AGRIPPINA: That’s right, boys. Bend the knee.

This is the ancient Roman way, and it’s smart. She also channels her energies into making friends with guys like Pallas, that ex-slave turned influential advisor, and a consul named Vitellius. She can’t actively participate in politics, so she cultivates friends who can, just like Livia. But she will push it further than Livia ever did. 

Here's Dr. G and Dr. Rad:...if we're thinking about how is the Julio-Claudian system operating at this point, it is becoming increasingly about palace politics. And your relationship with key slaves and freedmen is really important for how things unfold. You've got to play some pretty deep politics in terms of relationship building. Like, how are you going to pay people? What's their price? What are they willing to do for it? Have they actually gone through with it for you? And you can’t always have your hand on the knife. So I think about how strategic she would have to be all the time, particularly because as a woman in a patriarchal society, you're immediately on the outside. There is a point at which her blood connections in the Julio-Claudians, deep as they are, are not going to be enough to get her in the door for a whole bunch of things. ...So I think she's going to be very…she's going to be good at building relationships because she needs a network that's really going to pay off for her. And if we're looking at something like the relationship with Pallas, that's really focused on this key figure inside the court, it seems like, you know, at the very least, she's got some pretty solid figures in her corner willing to do stuff for her...

I’ll remind you here about those three ex-slaves turned advisors who have become so influential during Claudius’ reign. One of them is a guy named Pallas: he’s totally Team Agrippina. Then there’s Narcissus, who is, well, definitely not. Of course our sources make it out like she’s sleeping with all of them, using her sweet feminine wiles to get her way. Over the course of her life, she’ll be accused of sleeping with pretty much everyone close to her. Again, these rumors are meant to degrade her, writing her off as a wanton woman because that’s much less scary than a calculating politico. Does this remind us a bit of Cleopatra? Yes...interesting.

And of course, the rumor mill also hands us stories about her behaving badly. One of the weirdest is that she has one of her rivals for the empress-ship exiled, and then, Dio tells us, has some soldiers sent over to her house. They kill her, then bring back her head, which is so decomposed by the time it arrives that Agrippina can only identify her by opening her mouth and checking her teeth. I bring this up not because I think it’s true, because come on now, but to point out how awfully similar it is to another wild rumor about a powerful woman. Remember how Fulvia supposedly asked for Cicero’s head, then stabbed his tongue with a hairpin? These stories make their power monstrous. This is what happens when matronae start stepping into realms meant for men.

There, there, son. I’m SURE you would have gotten there eventually without me.

Roman marble frieze of Nero and Agrippina from the Sebasteion, Aphrodisias. Agrippina crowns her son Nero with a laurel wreath, suggesting she’s the one providing his power. Wikicommons.

By 50 CE, Agrippina’s solidified her position and her power base. Now it’s time to take a step away from her role as influencer and into that of actor. For one, she pushes for Claudius to adopt her son Nero. The fact that this whole adoption flies smoothly through the Senate speaks to Agrippina’s powers of persuasion. She also sends jaws all over Rome dropping when she’s given the title of Augusta - she’s only the third woman ever to get it, and the only wife of a still-living emperor to do so. It’s not an official role, per se, but as we know, it is a powerful title. She sits beside Claudius during his morning salutatio, positioning herself as his equal. She is now the most powerful woman in the Western world.

That same year, she founds a city in the place where she was born. Colonia Agrippensis, which we call Cologne in our era, is founded as a military colony - a place where retired soldiers can go and live out their golden years. As its patron, Agrippina advocates for the soldiers who live in it, making sure their settlement is the height of Roman sophistication and enjoys all its amenities. It becomes a hub of trade and art in her name. And the soldiers, obviously, adore her for it. They even refer to themselves as Agrippinians!

At home she still can’t sit in with the Senate, but she does the next best thing: she sits behind a half-closed door and calls out instructions, which the Senate mostly take on board. Sit with that for a second: a woman shouting opinions at the all-male Senate, and them listening. Perhaps it’s because she has good ideas, or because they all want to advance themselves and know she has the power to make it happen. But here’s the thing: the imperial situation seems to improve a LOT after she steps onto the scene. Claudius must appreciate her ideas, too, because he does something wild with his coinage: he puts him and Agrippina BOTH on the front, looking very much like equals. Agrippina has some of her own made, too, which show her wearing a diadem - essentially her very own crown. These are only minted and passed around in territories outside of Rome - I mean, let’s not push it - but we can see that Agrippina is very much a political presence. She is breaking some serious ground.

For the next couple of years, Agrippina’s really crushing it - a powerful empress who no longer feels the need to hide her influence or disguise her opinions. 

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: There is this instance where there's problems in Judea. Now, that's nothing new. There's often problems in Judea. But Claudius was invited to weigh in on the dispute and he seemed to be going one way, but then Agrippina intervenes, and he ends up siding with the Jewish people against the Samaritans in this dispute. And it seems to be because Agrippina convinced him that that was the right way to go…

 Her son’s star is rising, too. Now that he’s old enough to have some opinions, let’s meet Nero properly.

NERO: Hey ya’ll! It’s Nero in the HOUSE. Wait: do I sound a lot like my Uncle Caligula? Hold on to your togas, because I’m SOOOO much worse. I’m going to become infamous for things like kicking my wife to death, locking people up in theaters and forcing them to listen to my music, and ordering that a woman be sexually assaulted by a giraffe. But right now, I’m just a spoiled little mama’s boy. She seriously doesn’t have any idea what’s coming. In 51 he gets his toga virilis, which as we learned with Caligula is quite a massive deal. He becomes a man, stepping into the spotlight - and over the line into adulthood, leaving Britannicus behind him. In some people’s eyes, as the mother of potentially the next emperor, Agrippina is the true shining star.

In 51, a guy named Caratacus is brought to Rome. He’s one of the leaders of the British resistance against Roman rule. This rebel is kind of the Ned Kelly of this time period - at least in terms of being very hard to catch. If you don’t know this infamous Aussie outlaw, give him a Google and admire his homemade helmet. He, his wife, and kids are paraded through the streets of Rome, such is his infamy with the Roman people, and then brought in front of Claudius, who is propped up on a fancy dias. But Agrippina’s also there, not on the sidelines or on a smaller dias, but on a separate one on par with his. This is some glass-ceiling-shattering imagery.

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: She's on her dais and she's there and you're like, wait a minute. Are they like co-ruling? What is this? Visually, the signal. It signifies are all about co-rule. And Caratacus makes a particular remark to her as well. And it's incredible because you're like, okay, where are we now in terms of Roman history? How does patriarchy, as the Romans understand it, which is so based on the paterfamilias straight down the line and the imperator at the top being that guy who's like the father of the fatherland for everybody…how does she fit into that? And nobody can make it work with the Latin. They just can't do it.

No woman has ever sat in state in Rome to receive a foreign visitor - the very sight would be shocking to many. And yet she does it, and without anyone trying to shout her down. This brave soul takes a massive risk and becomes the closest thing Rome’s ever had to a queen. 

She’s also actively involved in the day-to-day running of the Empire. We see her listening to public hearings, receiving delegations, and even joining her husband and the people to try and put out a massive fire. Girl is busy and dedicated to making her world a better place - and to make sure Nero has his time in the sun. Many ancient sources paint her actions as that of a power-hungry momager. And so what if she’s personally ambitious? Every Roman matron wants her son to succeed in the public realm, and so it only makes sense that she is pushing for Nero. In these years, she does everything she can to assure his place in history. And so Claudius heaps honors on him like Augustus did for his adopted sons, giving him honorary positions that put him above all the boys around him. He gets military authority, starts overseeing legal matters, becomes a prefect, and then officially marries Claudius’ daughter Octavia, all while still in his teens. But here’s the thing about boys growing up with silver spoons in their mouths: sometimes they grow up to be...shall we say...assholes. 

NERO: You KNOW it.

This is also the year that the often-overflowing Fucine Lake is drained - a truly massive undertaking. Narcissus, who is NOT an Agrippina fan, plans the lake’s going-away party, including a gigantic mock naval battle out on the water. Thousands of people go to watch - this is the party of a lifetime, and a prime moment to show off imperial power. One of the most potent ways of doing this is with fashion. Remember that Rome is a place where what you wear says a lot about you. If you’re wearing a toga virilis, then you’re a man and a citizen; if you’re wearing a toga trimmed in purple and you aren’t part of the imperial family, gods help you, because no one’s going to let it slide. Agrippina knows the importance of clothing and public staging, and on this occasion she does NOT disappoint. She wears a glittering gold Greek short cloak called a chlamys. A man’s cloak. 

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: ...I mean, I can kind of imagine it being a similar to a woman who wears one of those military-style jackets. Now, you know, on its face, it got a feminine cut. But it's got the epaulettes. There's some braiding going on. I kind of imagine it is being something like that. But obviously, back then, it would have been even more of a statement because it's an area that women just do not go into…so she's really pushing the boundaries in terms of what is possible to be visually imperial. As a woman and a Julio-Claudian. And I think this is part of what makes her fascinating...she's just a trailblazer. She is pushing at the edges of what is acceptable soft power for a woman to enact in this situation.

 It’s a bold statement: one that may reflect the lessons her mother once instilled in her, that godly blood runs through her veins. Or maybe she is doing what women like Hatshepsut over in Egypt did long before her - dressing in men’s clothes to fit into a man’s world, and minimizing her womanhood to make it harder for critics to question her. She will not give them reason to question her power on the grounds of her soft, feminine sex.  Let’s bask in this moment - Agrippina almost co-ruling with her husband, wearing gold cloaks, defying anyone who would stop her. Because from here, things are going to start to take a dark turn.

A LADY MACBETH MOMENT

In 54 CE, two people are going to die. One is Lepida, Agrippina’s one-time sister in law. The other is the emperor himself. 

Agrippina will be blamed for them both. As far as Lepida goes, as Dr. Rad and Dr. G say:

...there's no way for Agrippina to get this woman out of her life. They’re family. The blood is there. And apparently, according to Tacitus, Lepida is seeking some sort of influence over Nero, and Nero is what, 16, 17 at this point in time, so quite young. And she seems to have had his ear. And this seems to be a problem.

Lepida is accused of doing some secret sorcery against Agrippina, then is put on trial - with young Nero testifying against his aunt - and put to death. Harsh. Is this Agrippina getting rid of a much-loathed rival? Is it to break the influence the woman might still have on Nero? Hard to say.

 Apparently Lepida’s death wakes Claudius up from his stupor, because he realizes he’s let his wife take on way more power than she should, and also that she’s planning to hurt his son Britannicus. He makes plans to give his now teenaged son his toga virilis and peel back some of the honors he’s given his wife and stepchild. Perhaps he and Agrippina have a falling out over it - tensions must be high, to say the least. Smelling blood in the water, Agrippina haters start stepping forward and accusing her of all sorts of things. If she lets this ball get rolling, Britannicus will be put ahead of her son in the line of succession and she will lose all the powers she’s fought so long for. She’s seen what happens to members of the Julio-Claudian family when they fall out of favor. It’s time to take some drastic measures.

 Imagine her, head covered, descending into a darkly-lit corridor, steps light as she walks through the shadows. She approaches a cell where a woman sits, awaiting judgement. Leaning into the torchlight, she tells the woman she’ll free her if she will help Agrippina concoct a special poison. One meant for the emperor himself. It has to be slow, she says - slow enough that she won’t be suspected. But effective enough that Claudius won’t survive. Locusta, an infamous poisoner, agrees to the offer.

Tacitus tells us that Agrippina “had long decided on the crime and eagerly grasped at the opportunity thus offered…” but I wonder if this is an agonized moment. One in which she knows she’s crossing a line - one that she will never be able to go back over. 

Later, sources say, she sprinkles the concoction onto Claudius’s mushrooms and waits with bated breath. Some say the poison starts working immediately - others say it takes longer. Some say a doctor is called, who sticks a feather down the emperor’s throat to induce vomiting. But that doctor, who is in on the plot, has coated said feather in poison. No matter how it goes down, the poison works...Claudius dies. 

CLAUDIUS: Well that’s disappointing.

Sorry, Claudius. From there, Aggie moves swiftly. She shuts down the palace and secretly convenes the Senate, calming them by saying that Claudius looks like he may recover, while at the same time getting them to agree that Nero will be the next emperor if he doesn’t. It helps that Claudius’ will has gone missing. A suspicious piece of evidence, to be sure. Does Agrippina really murder her husband? We can’t be sure, and it isn’t a pretty image. But we know that Aggie is someone who isn’t afraid to make hard choices. 

It’s easy to imagine her, in this moment, wanting to rule in her own right. But she knows that Rome will never let a woman rule. But her son--they will allow him to wear the purple. And through him, perhaps she will too.

We get this picture of Agrippina as cold and cruelly calculating - that she plans all of this from the start. As Dr. G and Dr. Rad say:

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: ...I think one of the troubling things that I find with the study of Agrippina, and it starts with our ancient source material, is the kind of assumption that she had some kind of really clear plan. And that all of these things were kind of laid out. And she was pretty systematic about it. And I think to myself, you can maybe have some like long term plans that you would like to bring to life. Yeah, but it's very hard to know what's going to happen day today in an imperial regime in Italy....

I think you're absolutely right. I mean, I definitely look positively at Agrippina and I definitely think that her overall ambition was obviously for Nero to do well, you know, to have to have some prominence and show like maybe, maybe she thought from an early-ish stage that he could be emperor one day because his connections and all like that wouldn't be the most insane thing to hope for.

But does make sense. His Julio-Claudian bloodline is pretty strong. But the idea that she's got like a calendar where she is, she's like, checking off the deadlines…who's on the kill list…But I think she has to obviously roll with the punches a lot. But she might have like an overall goal.

Soon after, the palace gates open, and the Praetorian Guard and the Senate declare Nero their new emperor. The crowd cheers; no legions riot. Agrippina has helped to stage-manage an almost bloodless transition. She’s made it possible for her son to step into this role uncontested. There’s no doubt at all that she plays a massive part in his ascent.

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: ...I think that it was important for her to have a certain level of ruthlessness and ambition. And I think that those things are interesting characteristics, because I think they were both the secret to her success, but also her weaknesses. 

Such a double-edged sword. 

I mean, you have to say that her ambition is what got Nero into power. I mean, sure, there were people who helped her along the way and Claudius had to be complicit in that. But at the end of the day, Agrippina is the one setting him up for that. And she's ruthless to get there. I think most of the time you don't really have many tenderhearted moments with her where she spares someone who would otherwise have been a problem. 

Look, she seems to operate from the principle, let's kill or be killed. Which I think is, you know, very much in keeping with the upbringing that she's had. But then once Nero is in power, her ambition, I think, runs away with her. And that this becomes a problem.

NERO ASCENDANT

At first, things go to plan. Nero listens to his mama, despite the fact that she is, by many accounts, a serious hoverer. While she plans Claudius’ funeral, Nero goes to talk to the Senate, setting the daily password with his guards as optimam matrem: “best mother.” He clearly knows who’s gotten him where he is. 

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: ...So essentially, at first, Nero seems to be willing to acknowledge the contribution. And this is where a certain level of interpretation comes in. You could say that Nero sees it as important to acknowledge the depth that he owes to her and to maybe use his connection to her to help solidify his position. So you could see him as using Agrippina just as a pawn. You know, I don't personally see it that way. I definitely think that he acknowledges that she had an active role in setting him up.

And he's definitely aware that she's an important part of his, you know, if he's getting that position and going forward, I think he sees her as an important player on his side.

Several of the men she doesn’t like, including that guy Narcissus, lose their jobs in the transition. She’s made the head priestess of Claudius’ cult. And as the emperor’s mother, she takes it upon herself to act as something of a regent, pushing for the Senate to meet at the palace so she can sit close and take notes. There’s a frieze from Aphrodisias, a Roman city in what is now Turkey, that shows Agrippina actually crowning Nero with a laurel wreath as if she’s the one actually giving him power. It’s unlikely the family commissioned it, so it reflects how many people in the Empire must see mother and son at this point. There’s also the fact that she has coins minted, in Rome, that show her and Nero facing each other as equals. 

getting it done.

Agrippina and her son Nero on coins issued in Rome around 54–57 CE. Courtesy of NYU’s Institute for the Study of the Ancient World.

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: This is huge. For a Roman woman to be in this scenario. Unprecedented. And for her title to be in the superior position? This is insane. 

As Tacitus tells us, “Agrippina could tolerate giving her son the empire, but not him being emperor.” And to that I say...well, yeah. Of course she can’t. She isn’t Livia, and she is tired of pretending to be her. She SHOULD be running the empire, and while her son’s still young, that’s what she’s going to do.

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: However, within a couple of years, I think anger, pain and involvement in the political scene and her desire to see things done her way, he's leading to clashes between her and Nero, and I will say probably Seneca, who are not keen to have a woman with this much influence. And she can't take a hint. 

Nero starts to show signs of chafing under all of her momaging. I can just picture him now, stamping his foot against the marble: “Get out of my room, mom, GOD!” Apparently Seneca, his tutor, does too, because some of the speeches he writes for Nero about separating palace intrigue from politics sound suspiciously like a warning. 

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: And one of the strains of the narrative in our primary source material is the suggestion that slowly these two see how she's sort of taken power for herself to such a degree that it just could no longer accept that they have to be on her side. And they slowly and seem to mutually agree that they'll find a way to encourage Nero into a space where he can be the emperor in his own way. Agrippina has to take a bit more of a backseat. And so they try to be subtle about it….it doesn't work.

Some delegates from the Armenians and Parthians come to Rome to ask Nero for his help in settling a dispute between them. This is a tense and complex thing on a good day. Many worry that Nero won’t be up for it, and even worse, that Agrippina will try and step in. Horrors! At the beginning of the meeting, all seems normal. But then Aggie enters the room and steps up onto her son’s dias. The Roman men present watch, horrified. It was one thing when she sat quietly on her own dias, but this? Seneca whispers fervently to Nero, and then her son puts his hand out, guiding her either to the side or out of the room entirely. And no matter what she feels in this moment - rage, horror, humiliation - she doesn’t fight him. She keeps her chin up as she is ushered away, put firmly back into the place these men think she should be in. But she thought her son would understand. That he would support her. Instead, for Agrippina, it’s the beginning of the end.

But still, while men like Seneca indulge Nero’s every wish, Agrippina continues to be the harsh parent she thinks he needs in his corner. When he decides to take an ex-slave mistress and lavishes her with way too much attention, Agrippina tells him to cut it out and spend some time with his wife. But the more she tells him what to do, the harder he clings to his mistress. Mother and son are no longer on the same side. And Nero, it turns out, is no longer a boy, but fast becoming a spoiled, impetuous, and perfectly terrible man. 

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: They try and tell her, you know, they try and make moves indicate, look, this is your realm, these are your limits, you know, just back off. She just doesn't seem to be able to accept that things aren't going to be exactly her way. And she seems to keep aiming for greater heights for herself. So I have to think that that's part of the reason why she sort of fell apart. And therefore, it's kind of her undoing.

His next move is to fire her main man Pallas. This infuriates Agrippina. Tacitus describes her screaming at Nero, saying she’ll side with Britannicus against him if he keeps doing such terrible things. That’s a bold move: to say she’ll join forces with Nero’s greatest rival. He’s been living what must be a fairly miserable existence at the palace, the butt of all of Nero’s jokes and jabs. Given how much power she still has outside the palace, this is not an empty threat, and Nero knows it. So, just like his mother before her, he turns to Locusta to banish that threat once and for all.

The story goes like this: the family is all at dinner together. Everyone has an official taster at this point, so it probably feels relatively safe. Britannicus’ taster sips his beverage and declares it fine. But when Britannicus burns his tongue on it, the taster adds a bit of cold water. When he takes a drink, it isn’t long before the boy starts gasping, shaking and gagging with every breath. Nero brushes it off, saying something like: “ugh, he’s just having one of his fits. Someone remove him. Now. Where’s my wine?” Octavia, Britannicus’s sister, must watch this in anguish, and Agrippina with horror in her heart; her son just poisoned the boy he grew up with, in front of a whole bunch of people, then laughed and drank his wine. Her son, who she gave everything for, is a monster. A monster she helped create.

Some of his advisors, like Seneca, see the ghoul behind the boyish facade and start backing away slowly. But for Agrippina, her fall is fast and fierce. Nero has her kicked out of the palace and sent to Antonia’s old house on the Palatine without any of her old guards to protect her. This is about putting her back into what he sees as her place - a woman’s place, far away from politics. This woman who two minutes ago was one of the western world’s most powerful is now a pariah, left vulnerable to her enemies. Her head must be spinning with the whirlwind that has once again become her life. 

A couple of women who were once close with Agrippina then cook up a strange plot to try and take her down once and for all. One is a woman named Silana, and the other is Domitia Lepida: you’ll remember her as the sister in law whose husband Agrippina stole and whose sister she quite recently had killed. So...not an Agrippina fan. They get a friend of Nero’s to go to the palace all upset and tells a drunk Nero that his mom and the guy she’s sleeping with - who happens to be Tiberius’ great-grandson - are planning to overthrow him. Nero does not react well. When Argrippina wakes up to a knock on her door and accusations, she reacts with cold disdain and even fury. What were these women thinking, doing such a thing to her? Tacitus tells us that she says, among other things, "I wonder not that Silana, who has never borne children, knows nothing of a mother's feelings. Parents do not change their children as lightly as a shameless woman does her paramours.....” Some tenuous peace reached between her and Nero, Agrippina stops fighting for a public role and retires to a private one. 

We don’t hear much from her again until 57 or 58, when she’s once again accused of sleeping with a man. This time it’s Seneca, which is a weird one, given how thoroughly he’s betrayed her these past few years. Though the accuser goes further, saying that he slept with Agrippina the Elder, too, when Germanicus is still alive. This is soap opera stuff right here. Drama aside, it seems that Agrippina is still in Rome, and though the sources are quiet about what she’s doing, it’s possible this is the moment she writes her memoir. Writing a memoir is another man-centric act, and though it’s since been lost to us, it’s an incredible thing to contemplate. Especially the fact that she includes details about her very horrifying birth story, taking what is supposed to be a very private and feminine thing and turning it into the kind of great pride that a general might express over a battlefield victory.

There is every reason to believe she’s still involved in politics, too - just quietly. For one, because these years are pretty stable ones for Nero, and he’s famous for being unpredictable and terrible. Also, because if she’d stayed quietly in her lane and never again tried to meddle, we wouldn’t have what happens next.

In 59 CE, a now 22-year-old Nero decides it’s time to silence his mother forever. We don’t know why, and theories abound. But it’s clear that she won’t be easy to kill. Poison is out: she’s been taking little sips of different poisons for years to build up her immunity. It’s going to be hard to find an assassin willing to take the task on, and to have her offed in such a way that it won’t blow back on him. But hey, says his friend Anicetus, an Agrippina hater: why don’t we build a special boat that’ll collapse and throw her into the water? And so Nero hatches a strange and complex murder plan.  

He writes to his mother, asking that she come and celebrate a festival with him in Baiae. She’s pleased with the olive branch and says she’ll go. He sends her a special boat to convey her, but she’s suspicious of it, so she travels overland to him. They have a nice, long dinner together, laughing and smiling at each other over wine. Agrippina has to be nervous, even suspicious, but perhaps she also feels hope in this moment. It could be that her son can still be saved, and their relationship too. Later, he leads her to the special boat he’s prepared for her, grasping her hands and kissing her cheek - a fond farewell. She sails away across the dark waters with a few friends by her side. 

But Tacitus tells us that the boat was built to collapse on its occupants. When its canopy falls, or the boat cracks into pieces, or however exactly it was designed to work, one of her friends is killed instantly. Agrippina and her lady are saved from death by crushing by their couch, but are thrown into the water. Another boat shows up, apparently there to rescue them. Aggie’s lady cries out, and they seem to mistake her for the emperor’s mother. They promptly beat her to death with their oars. Agrippina, alone in those midnight waters, must know in this moment that her son just tried to kill her. But she doesn’t give in - she doesn’t panic. Instead she swims, perhaps kicking off her heavy layers, stripping herself of the female trappings that always seem to want to keep her down. 

THE PARTIAL HISTORIANS: Either she swims or she gets a lift with some local fishermen and she goes home and she thinks, man. Well, I guess there's something going on here, but I don't really know what to do about it yet. So she sends a message to Nero just saying that she's fine. Nero is, of course, freaking out. 

 Just miles away, Nero paces and frets. She has the power to ruin him. 

NERO: Mom has GOT to go. 

He asks if any of the troops will finish the job for him. He’s told that they won’t kill the daughter of Germanicus. So he throws down a knife and makes up a story about how it’s actually his mom who tried to kill him, and so she’s got to go. Then he turns to Anicetus, who he knows is loyal to him, and asks him to do the job. He happily agrees and gathers his men. No one, it seems, tries to stop them.

It’s dawn on March 20, 50 CE, when they reach Agrippina. We can only look back and wonder what these hours have been like for her - whether she fell into an exhausted sleep or stayed up, forever vigilant, waiting for the assault she dreads and fears is going to come. They find her in her bedroom. Three men surround her, their intention clear. Tacitus tells us that she refuses to believe her son sent them. "If you have come to see me, take back word that I have recovered, but if you are here to do a crime, I believe nothing about my son; he has not ordered his mother's murder."

They raise their swords. Someone strikes a blow, and she knows these are her final moments. And in them, she keeps her chin up, brave even in the face of her death. And her final line is worthy of one of Shakespeare’s history plays. She points to herself, to the place she once carried Nero inside her, and says: "Smite my womb.” And, sadly, they do.

 It’s hard to say if Nero privately mourns his mother. But while Rome mourns for their lost imperial daughter, he refuses her a burial or tomb. He perpetuates the story that his mother tried to overthrow him, then killed herself when the plot didn’t work. You’d think he would also have her statues pulled down and name struck from the records, like Messalina before her, but instead he throws a festival in her name. Maybe a part of him is sad that he’s lost his mother. Or maybe he does this because the people still love her - have always loved her. And because, no matter if you liked her or loathed her, she left a permanent and radical mark on their world.

MUSIC

• “Ancient Lyre Strings,” “Gloria Belli (Glory of Battle),” “Glory of the Parthenon,” “Amatores" (Lovers),” and “Echoes of Ancient Rome” by Michael Levy, who composes all of his work on recreated lyres of antiquity, giving us a special insight into what ancient music might have sounded like. Provided and licensed by AKMProductionsInc.com.

• “Elio Contro Allante” by Damiano Baldoni

• “Rites” by Kevin MacLeod

VOICES

• Katharine Elliot = Agrippina the Elder AND Younger

• Andrew Dixon = Tiberius & Claudius

• Steven Reichel = Augustus

• Avery Downing & Jim di Bartolo = Suetonius

• Shawn from Stories of Yore and Yours podcast = Tacitus

• Paul Gablonski = Germanicus & Seneca

• John Armstrong = Cassius Dio, Caligula, & Nero

• Andy Espinal = Juvenal