Therefore the typical Roman workday might have looked something like this:
Predawn: Wake, dress, and eat a minimal breakfast of bread and water
First hour (6–7 a.m.): Workday begins, school begins for children
Second hour (7–8 a.m.): Clients visit patrons
Third hour (8–9 a.m.): Business in the forum begins, the courts are open
Fourth hour (9–10 a.m.): Work/business day continues
Fifth hour (10–11 a.m.): Business day ends for upper-class Romans
Sixth hour (11 a.m.–noon): Shopping and/or lunch
Seventh hour (Noon–1 p.m.): Lunch and/or going to the baths
Eighth hour (1–2 p.m.): Going to the baths, leisure time for the wealthy
Ninth hour (2–3 p.m.): People going out to dinner are getting ready
Tenth hour (3–4 p.m.): The wealthy gather for dinner
Eleventh hour (4–5 p.m.): Dinner
Twelfth hour: (5–6 p.m.): Dinner (normal dinner lasted two hours, more for a banquet)
The day ended at sundown, and most people stayed indoors after that.
The Roman calendar was based on the zodiac and marked with lucky and unlucky days. Important days of the month included the first of the month, called the Calends, as well as the Nones (the seventh of the month in March, May, July, and October; the fifth in the rest of the months) and the Ides (the fifteenth of the month in March, May, July, and October; the thirteenth in the rest of the months). The Senate met on the Calends and the Ides every month except September and October, when it was on hiatus.
“Yes, but I can tell you the clients do miss the days when the daily gift might be an invitation to dinner.”
“Ha! Parasites, the lot of them.” Urbanus put his arm around Stachys again. “But now that we are truly friends, you can look forward to an invitation to dinner in the near future, I promise.”
Stachys left the atrium and exited Urbanus’s house through a door that led out toward the Tiburtinian Road. He loved walking through the wealthy neighborhood that was outside the wall to the east of the city. He loved it because wealthy meant quiet. And since he knew that he had already missed most of the Way-followers’ morning prayer gathering going on at his house, there was no need to hurry.
The Roman sun was getting hot as Stachys walked into town. There was no shade, so as much as he enjoyed the walk and the quiet, he was looking forward to the shade of the apartment buildings and the awnings in the city. He walked over the Esquiline Hill, past the potsherd dump, around the slave cemetery, and through the neighborhood of the paint sellers, entered the city proper at the Esquiline Gate, and then down into the city and toward the Three Fora.
Once inside the city gate, the streets became narrow, winding, and muddy. He laughed at himself for wishing for the shade of the narrow streets and forgetting about how they were so filled with mud and dung that it was impossible to tell the difference between the two. He pulled up on the bottom of his toga and did his best to keep it out of the mud and merda.
The closer he got to the center of the city, the more the streets became clogged with merchants yelling out their wares, prostitutes standing in the doorways and arches, taverns overflowing their thresholds, teachers trying to keep the attention of their students by shouting their lectures, fortunetellers and potion sellers calling out their promises, and barbers shaving and cutting hair. It was as if for a few hours each day Rome became one big shop. Stachys pushed through the crowd until finally he was able step into a more open space at the Forum of Augustus. He took a right turn at the Temple of Mars. As he looked into the sky he could see gray clouds on the horizon, and he wondered whether rain was coming.
Stachys lived near the foot of the Capitoline Hill, just outside the wall at the Fontinalis Gate, at the beginning of the Flaminian Road that led to the north. When he arrived at his house, the morning prayer meeting was just breaking up. He walked through the group of people still milling around and went to his wife, who was alternating between singing a psalm and blowing out candles.
Create in me a clean heart, O Lord, renew a right spirit in me.
Do not cast me away from your presence, do not take your Holy Spirit from me.
Stachys snuck up behind her, put his hands on her hips, and kissed her neck.
Maria startled a bit and hunched her shoulders. “Beloved.” Her long, dark hair flipped to the side as she turned around and held out her hand for the denarius.
Stachys put the denarius in her hand. “Apple of my eye.”
Maria’s full lips curved up, and an asymmetrical smile emerged under her prominent nose. “Oh, you’ve been reading the Scriptures. That makes me so happy.”
“Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon.”
“Don’t overdo it,” she said through a smirk. She handed him two bronze sesterces for his lunch and shave.
Roman Coins and Money
Roman coins came in gold, silver, bronze, and copper. The gold coin, the aureus, was the most valuable. It was about the size of a dime and was worth twenty-five denarii, or one hundred sesterces.
The denarius, the silver coin, was also about the size of a dime. One denarius was worth four sesterces and was considered a standard day’s wage for a working man, although the underemployed of Rome were living on half a denarius per day.
The bronze coin was the sestertius (plural sestertii, often translated sesterces), about the size of a silver dollar and worth one-fourth of a denarius. A Roman might expect to pay one sestertius for lunch, and for three sesterces he could get a room at an inn, including dinner.
The copper coin was called an as. Ten asses make a denarius, which is why the name of the denarius is related to the root for the word ten. However, there were apparently times when the value of the as fluctuated, and it could take as many as sixteen or eighteen asses to make a denarius.
The front of a Roman coin had the emperor’s portrait, along with abbreviations for his official titles, such as IMP (short for imperator, meaning “emperor”); COS (for consul, along with the number of times he had held that position—this was the equivalent of putting a date on the coin); PONT MAX (for pontifex maximus, the official high priest of Rome); PP (for pater patriae, “father of the fatherland”); and other possible titles such as those derived from places the emperor had conquered. On coins issued in the year AD 95, if one were to add up the numerical value of the letters in the abbreviations of the titles of the emperor Domitian (assuming something like a = 1, b = 2, etc.), the sum would be 666 (see Rev 13:18). For more on the Roman emperors and the book of Revelation, see my book The Wedding of the Lamb.
On the back of the coin were personifications of the emperor’s policies or images that evoked the ways in which an emperor wanted the people to think about his reign. For example, Claudius’s coins proclaimed his reign as a new Augustan age with the word libertas.
Rome’s economy was based more on taxation than production. The city of Rome especially had to import almost everything, and most of it came from the provinces. The Romans claimed that their main export was peace, which they would say was a fair trade for their colonization; however, the declining production eventually put the economy into a recession that forced future emperors to devalue the coinage by reducing the amount of precious metal in the coins. This caused people to lose faith in the currency and turn more and more to bartering, which in turn made it difficult for the Roman emperors to pay the legions. In addition, inflation was surpassing any increase in wages that a working man might hope for, to the point where it was difficult to make a living without participating in the networks of corruption that existed in the city. If a worker were honest, he or she was aware of making less money every year. Rent was also increasing, with investors renting apartments just to sublet them, so it was becoming harder and harder to find an apartment to rent where one was dealing directly with the owner of the building.
For those Romans who were wealthy enough to have a s
avings of cash, their money was kept in the temples. Many Roman temples had storerooms underneath them that functioned as banks. They were guarded, of course, but it seems that attempts at robbing the temple were rare, since it would have been considered sacrilegious. The temple of Saturn in the Old Forum was the imperial treasury. It held the emperor’s personal money as well, since there was little, if any, distinction between the empire’s money and the emperor’s money. Although business was frowned on in the senate class, some equestrians made their money by making loans for interest. They were the venture capitalists of the Roman Empire.
In order to be a member of the senate class, one had to be a millionaire—literally. It took an income of at least one million sesterces per year. Four hundred thousand sesterces per year were required to join the equestrian class.
Figure 1.1. Roman gold aureus showing the portrait of Claudius (National Roman Museum, Palazzo Massimo, Rome)
Figure 1.2. Roman gold aureus showing the portrait of Agrippina. Note her title, “Augusta.” (National Roman Museum, Palazzo Massimo, Rome)
Figure 1.3. The Temple of Saturn. Note the space below the façade, which was used as the storehouse for the treasury of the Roman state. (Republican Forum, Rome)
“Stachys, old man!”
Stachys turned to greet his stepson, Marcus, who was extending his meaty hand and stubby fingers for a handshake. Even though Marcus was a relatively young man, his hairline was already visibly receding. But his eyes were sharp and clear as they stared out from under his unibrow and locked onto Stachys’s eyes. Stachys gripped Marcus’s hand. “Salve, Marcus. How was the prayer gathering?”
“It was a blessing; thanks for asking.” Marcus gestured toward a young woman standing nearby. “Stachys, you know Prisca, don’t you? Her parents are Aquila and Priscilla, the awning makers. They left the city with the banishment of the Judeans, but since her mother is Roman, she was able to stay behind to manage their shop.”
Stachys bowed his head in respect toward the young noblewoman as Maria put her hands on the shoulders of Marcus and Prisca. “Wouldn’t she make a perfect wife for my Johnny?”
“Mother,” Marcus interrupted, then sighed. “I’m twenty-eight years old. Please don’t call me Johnny. And anyway, it’s hard enough for us to keep our heads down here in Babylon without people using our Judean names. You have to call me by my baptism name, Marcus, like everyone else. And you’re not Miriam, you’re Maria.” He turned to Prisca. “I’m sorry about that.” Prisca just smiled and looked down at the floor, blushing.
Marcus raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “Now that Stachys is here, I have an announcement.” Everyone became silent. “I’ve received a letter from Peter.” The Way-followers held their breath. “By now he’ll be on his way back to us.” Every held breath was released with a sigh of relief and exclamations of joy. “He’s coming by ship, and should be here within a few days. But because of the banishment of the Judeans, he’s going to have to avoid the main port of Puteoli and come in through Ostia. We have some friends there who will meet him and get him safely off the ship under cover of night. Then we’ll get him into Rome.”
The group vocalized their concern. “I know it’s dangerous to travel at night,” Marcus said, “but we don’t really have a choice. We have to smuggle him in. But there’s more news. The council in Jerusalem has made a decision about non-Judean believers.”
Again the assembled group held its collective breath. Marcus went on. “Non-Judean believers who want to be baptized—” He paused for effect, but his smile spoiled the surprise. “Do not have to follow all the laws of our ancestors. They do not have to restrict their diet, and the men do not have to be circumcised.” An audible but restrained cheer rose up from the group. “They do, however, have to refrain from eating meat sacrificed to idols.”
“Va cacá!” Philologus’s face turned red when the whole group looked at him with dismay over his outburst. His wife, Julia, put her hand on his arm as if to quiet him, but her long, red hair, parted in the middle and tied like a horse’s tail with colorful ribbons, only served to help draw everyone’s attention to them.
Marcus frowned. “Problem, Philologus?”
Philologus avoided making eye contact with Marcus. “It’s just that sometimes that’s the only meat I get all year. And I really like meat.” A few people laughed.
Marcus tried to suppress a smile, and it turned into a smirk. “Yeah, I get it. We all like meat. But I think the council’s decision is the right one. We have to separate ourselves from idolatry, and that’s one way we keep ourselves holy.”
When the others finally filed out of their house, Marcus kissed his mother on the cheek and nodded toward Stachys. “I’m going to walk Prisca home.”
“Wait,” Maria stopped him and grabbed his arm. She could tell there was more on Marcus’s mind. “What else did the letter say?”
“Well, you know, the regular stuff.” Maria stared at him, and he could tell he was not getting out the door without telling her the whole story. Marcus sighed. “Reading between the lines, I got the impression that there’s still some disagreement among the apostles. Between Peter and Paul mostly. Do you know they’re starting to call Paul the apostle to the nations? Can you believe that? The nerve of that guy. I mean, Peter converted the first Romans, and to this day he’s converted more non-Judeans than Paul by a long shot. And I know Paul, and I’m just a little concerned that he’s getting too big for himself.”
“And who appointed you judge over the apostles?” It was Rhoda. She had known Marcus since he was a boy, and although she was once a servant in his mother’s household, she had no hesitation about putting him in his place. She raised her eyebrows under her raven-black bangs and waited for his response.
“Anyway,” Marcus tried to get back to the point, “we’ll know more when Peter gets here.”
As soon as they were alone, Maria took Stachys’s hands in hers and looked into his eyes. “Well? Did you ask him?”
Stachys smiled. “Yes, I did. And he said yes.”
Maria smiled even wider. “I’m so anxious for you to join our table. Then, when you’re baptized, we can have our union blessed. I would feel so much better if we could, since we couldn’t have a registered marriage.”
“Who cares about that?” Stachys protested. Then he lowered his voice and gestured toward Prisca as she was going out the door with Marcus. He was immediately self-conscious about his own status, since he was a freedman, just like Aquila. “Aquila and Priscilla don’t have a registered marriage. Same with Philologus and Julia. But it doesn’t seem to matter to them. Where are they from again?”
“But it does matter,” Maria squeezed his hands. “Not what the Romans think. But it matters to the Lord. Aquila and Priscilla had their union blessed by an apostle of the Lord Iesua. When Peter returns, he can do that for us. But first you have to be baptized.”
Marriage and the Family in the Roman World
A legal marriage, or what I am calling a “registered” marriage, was basically a contract. Think of it as a prenuptial agreement that also served to function as a marriage license (some of these contracts required the bride to promise she would not use magic on her new husband!). However, most people who did not have Roman citizenship could not have a registered marriage because they could not legally make a contract. Even people who could have a registered marriage often did not bother with it for a variety of reasons. The contract required a dowry paid by the bride’s family to the groom. However, if the bride had no family, or the family had no money, the bride often would have no dowry, and in that case there would be no marriage contract. Sometimes the dowry could be paid in property, and in some cases even as little as the bride’s wardrobe or jewelry could be considered a dowry for the purposes of the contract. But in the city of Rome the main reason anyone made a marriage contract was to make sure that the children who came from the registered marriage would be considered legitimate and would be able to inherit the paren
ts’ estate.
If there was no contract, couples who decided to create a family together would have the equivalent of a common-law marriage. Probably most marriages in the Roman Empire were not registered. Only a registered marriage produced legitimate children, so children from a common-law marriage were considered illegitimate. However, that didn’t carry the stigma that we might think. It limited their legal options, and technically the children took their name and status from the mother’s side of the family, but for most of the people in that situation, it didn’t matter much. Such common-law marriages are simply called marriages in the literature, and the couples are referred to as husbands and wives. Even marriages between slaves were recognized, though in that case husbands and wives could still be sold separately, and a slave still would have been sexually available to his or her owner. (The first Christian emperor, Constantine, decreed that slave families should not be broken up by sale or transfer of property.)
There were some laws limiting who could legally marry. No one from the senate class could marry a freedperson (former slave), and a woman of the equestrian class could not marry a freedman. No freeborn person could marry a former prostitute. However, couples could and did cohabitate across social class lines, apparently without doing too much harm to their social standing. And in any case, men were always free to cohabit with a courtesan or slave, especially if they were widowed. All this is to say that the laws that restricted registered marriage did not stop people from creating unions and making families. While we read that marriages in the upper classes were often marriages of convenience that focused more on how the contract benefited the extended family than on the desires of the bride and groom, it must have been the case that many couples got together for the same reasons that people do today.
A Week in the Life of Rome Page 2