According to rumour, Livia used to supply slave girls for her husband’s bed. Which is also proper wifely behaviour.
Livia was one of Augustus’ main advisors throughout his public career. They were a partnership in a truest sense of the word. As the first Emperor, Augustus had many titles, but there was no title or word that meant ‘wife of the Emperor’, no ‘Empress’ or ‘queen’ for Livia or any other imperial wife. The term femina princeps (first lady) was used by the poet Ovid, and the term Romana princeps (first Roman lady) was also unofficially used for Livia.
There’s also Augusta, but we’ll get to that in a bit.
After the loss of so many of Augustus’ heirs, Livia convinced him to make his daughter Julia (twice a widow) marry Livia’s eldest son Tiberius, in order to promote him as an heir. She forced Tiberius to divorce a wife he loved (Vipsania, Julia’s stepdaughter) in order to expedite this. By the way, Tiberius and Julia hated each other.
No one actually liked Tiberius all that much, including his mother Livia. Her younger son, Drusus, was the one who got along with everyone (though he was, gasp, a Republican and thought Imperial Rule was wrong). When Drusus died, everyone was devastated. A famous poem, Consolatio ad Liviam, was written in honour of Livia as the dead man’s mother. Livia was awarded the honorary honour of ‘mother of three children’ despite only having two that lived. She invited Drusus’ widow Antonia (the daughter of Octavian and Antony, so the niece of Livia by marriage as well as her daughter-in-law) to move into her household.
The eldest son of Drusus and Antonia, golden boy Germanicus, took his father’s place as being the member of the family that everyone thought was super awesome. Germanicus’ crippled brother Claudius and flirty sister Livilla were mostly ignored.
Towards the end of his own life, Augustus adopted Tiberius as his son and heir, on condition that the shiny and fabulous Germanicus be named as his uncle Tiberius’ heir, not Tiberius’ own son or grandson). Tiberius was officially the Last Turkey in the Shop but he had stayed the distance, and outlived a heap of dead heirs to take the top job.
No one ever suggested that Tiberius had bumped off all his male relatives—no, no. They blamed his mother for it.
Augustus was in his eighties when he died. According to rumour, this one was down to Livia too. He became paranoid that he was being poisoned, and ate only the food he picked himself. So she poisoned the olives on the tree.
It’s a very good story.
In his will, Augustus posthumously adopted Livia as his daughter, giving her the name Julia Augusta. Julia was the female form of his family name, and Augusta the female equivalent of his own title Augustus. No source has ever stated what ‘Augusta’ was supposed to mean, or whether it held any power as a title, but it became an honorary name given to many imperial women over the years.
As Julia Augusta, mother to the Emperor, Livia became the widow of a god when Augustus was deified, and she was named priestess of his cult. The people of Rome saw her as her dead husband’s representative, and she was seen on many occasions acting as if she was still the Romana princeps. Indeed, she remained the First Lady of Rome, as Tiberius had no wife during his reign—Julia had been exiled for adultery.
The Senate offered Livia many honours, including an arch (which Tiberius never built) and that Tiberius be officially known as son of Julia (which Tiberius refused). Oh, and the title Mater Patriae (Mother of the Fatherland, an exercise in gendered irony or ironic gendering) which Tiberius also refused on her behalf.
No one liked Tiberius very much, I can’t think why.
Augustus respected Livia, and listened to her advice. Tiberius didn’t. Livia had far more power (however uncredited) during her time as the imperial wife of Augustus than when she was the imperial mother of Tiberius. So if she did murder a bunch of people including her husband to get there, then it was a tragic waste of her time and effort.
Tiberius did put Livia on the coinage. Possibly. There are three coin portraits that are almost certainly representations of Livia, though they claim to be personifications of Iustitia (Justice), Pietas (Piety) and Salus Augusta (Health of the Augustan Family). They don’t have her name on them, or anything, but they kind of look like her. From a certain angle.
Livia died in her eighties. Neither her son Tiberius nor his successor, Livia’s great-grandson Caligula, allowed her to be deified alongside her husband. Good old bumbling Emperor Claudius, however, whom Livia had described in her own correspondence as a fool and a cripple, saw fit to make his great-aunt a goddess. Divus Augustus and Diva Augusta shared a temple and a priest, and were commemorated on the coinage. Unlike many other ‘homegrown’ gods, they were worshipped and remembered for many imperial reigns after their own shared dynasty died out.
Robert Graves’ novel I, Claudius is often praised for being well-researched. In fact, what he did was take Roman historians Suetonius and Tacitus at face value, then added a bit more in the way of banter, characterisation and a few fake scandals. Brilliantly written, but I’m not convinced that his version of history is as accurate as it seems.
The Graves version of Livia is unrepentantly manipulative of her family—she poisons more people than even the historical sources suggested. In the BBC miniseries based on the book (with Derek Jacobi as Claudius and Brian Blessed as Augustus), Sian Phillips steals the show as Livia, an aging superbitch of epic proportions.
The evil, calculating and ambitious Livia that Tacitus, Suetonius and Graves believed in is pretty awesome, if not entirely credible. She’s certainly more interesting than the rather wet and gormless version of Livia depicted in HBO’s Rome, which borrowed all the best traditions about Livia and gave them to Octavian’s mother Atia instead.
At the far end of the credibility scale, don’t forget the version from Xena: Warrior Princess, a show that gave us women of colour playing both Cleopatra and Helen of Troy, a surfing Valley Girl Aphrodite, a Caligula who actually was a god, and an unforgettable Ares in black leather. In the Xenaverse, Livia (Adrienne Wilkinson) was Xena’s daughter. Separated from her mother at birth, she was adopted by Octavian as a baby (creepy beyond words and yet…there’s a seed of real history there for which, kudos). As his mistress and the ruthless general of his conquering armies, she regularly went around wiping out Amazon tribes and growling at the camera. I find this version of Livia utterly hilarious, and she has a place in my heart.
11. Antonia
(sometimes called Antonia Minor because she had an older sister also called Antonia, though the other one never did much interesting—maybe this one should be named ‘Antonia the More Interesting Than Her Sister’)
Daughter of Octavia and Mark Antony, Antonia was a quiet, austere woman who rose to a status almost equal to that of Livia.
She was married to Drusus, Livia’s cute, popular son and they had three children: golden Germanicus, limping, stuttering Claudius and flirty Livilla. Antonia was widowed at 27, and refused to remarry, despite the fact that Uncle Augustus had brought in a law that widows had to remarry within a year.
Antonia was a tough mother, and we have correspondence that shows how bitterly disappointed she was in young Claudius’ failings. When daughter Livilla was caught out for being involved in a conspiracy against the Emperor Tiberius, Antonia is said to have personally walled her up in a room and starved her to death.
It was Antonia who discovered the conspiracy of Sejanus (played in the I, Claudius series by a devilishly young and curly-haired Patrick Stewart) and revealed it to the Emperor. She was credited with saving the Empire.
Antonia survived the reigns of Augustus and Tiberius, and made it as far as the next Emperor, scary crazy Caligula, the son of her late son Germanicus. Caligula gave his grandmother a heap of honours, including the title Augusta, which had previously only been held by Livia. At least one source says that she rejected the title, which is patently ridiculous. He was giving her a cornucopia of high honours at the time, why would she risk annoying him to turn down one title?
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In fact, Augusta was re-issued to Antonia posthumously by the next Emperor, her own son Claudius. It’s understandable that he wanted to do this—almost no one had heard of him, and he needed to point out his place in the shaky Julio-Claudian family tree. The ‘she refused it’ story was obviously made up to justify Claudius giving her a title she had already received.
Antonia died within a few weeks of Caligula’s accession to the throne. Possibly poisoned by him for speaking her mind—she had always been a bit snarky with him since discovering him doing naughty things in bed with his sister when he was a child. Or maybe she just died of natural causes, being on the elderly side.
This is the Julio-Claudian family—no one dies of natural causes!
12. Julia
(often called Julia Major, because her daughter had the same name—it is also fitting because she was the first imperial Julia)
Julia was the daughter of Augustus, his only child. She was a witty, lively and highly fertile woman.
She was married three times: first to her cousin Marcellus (Augustus’ heir at the time). After his early death to mysterious fever (cough-poison-cough) she was married to Augustus’ best friend and supporter, General Agrippa. He was the same age as her father.
They had at least five children: Gaius, Lucius, Agrippina Major, Julia Minor, and Agrippa Posthumus (born after the death of his father).
Several examples of Julia’s wit have been recorded for history. Once, she was asked how she managed to produce children that so obviously resembled her husband, given her tendency to sleep around. She responded with: ‘I never take on a passenger unless the cargo is already aboard.’ Classy.
Her vanity was also immortalised in a scene where Augustus caught her plucking silver hairs from her head, and asked his daughter, ‘Which would you rather be, grey-haired or bald?’ (For the record, she answered ‘grey-haired’ whereupon he stared meaningfully at her tweezers)
Julia’s tendency to flirt and frolic brought her to a sticky end when she was married to her third husband, her dour stepbrother Tiberius. He was so annoyed at their marriage that he ran away to self-imposed exile on Rhodes for many years, leaving Julia to amuse herself. Later, when it became convenient for him, she was found guilty of adultery and also of conspiracy, since one of her suspected lovers was a rebellious son of Antony and Fulvia.
Julia was exiled to a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, and her mother Scribonia (whom history books hadn’t mentioned since she was divorced by Augustus way back when) chose to accompany her. Julia’s public downfall was a huge humiliation to Augustus, who had staked his reputation on the good conduct of the women of his family, expecting them to stand as examples for the social legislation he had brought to Rome (making adultery illegal, trying to encourage the birth rate, not letting widows and divorcees of high rank stay unmarried for long, that kind of thing).
Julia and Scribonia had a miserable time of it. When Augustus died, Tiberius cut off their allowance, and by all accounts they starved to death.
Remember when I said no one liked Tiberius?
Julia’s first two sons were adopted by Augustus as his heirs, but both died in their late teens, one to a fever (cough–Livia, poison–cough) and another to a wound sustained in battle. I don’t really think Livia needed to do much for that one, though some like to give her the credit, what with her sending her ‘personal physician’ to try and save the boy. Agrippa Posthumus was later adopted by Augustus as an heir, but was disgraced and exiled to another small island for suspected revolutionary activities and/or attempting to rape a female family member. It has been suggested that Livia’s motive for hastening Augustus’ demise (don’t you love that even at 85 and after a lifetime of ill health, the historians can’t bear the thought of him dying a natural death?) is that he was thinking of forgiving Posthumus and favouring him over Tiberius.
Julia’s daughter Julia Minor went down the same path as her mother—exiled to a small island (strangely, Augustus never ran out of those) after being caught out in adultery. The poet Ovid was famously exiled at the same time for ‘a poem’ (possibly the one about how to pick up married women) and ‘a mistake.’ We don’t know what that mistake was, but one of the theories is that it had something to do with young Julia’s reputation.
Of all of Julia Major’s children, only Agrippina made much of an impact on history of the dynasty, surviving to bear children of her own. And what children they were…but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
13. Livilla
Daughter of Antonia and Drusus, sister to gorgeous Germanicus and disappointing Claudius, Livilla was a pawn in the imperial game from very young. She was married first to young Gaius (Agrippa and Julia’s eldest son) who was Augustus’ heir, so she could potentially have been the second princeps femina after Livia.
Except Gaius died, so Livilla married Tiberius’ son, and had some kids including a daughter whose name was either Livia or Livilla or Julia (but not, as Graves would have it, Helen). After that, she hung around the palace doing her nails for a few years.
When dashing young military man Sejanus started sucking up to the Emperor Tiberius, and was set to become his heir and successor, Livilla fell into bed with him. Tiberius didn’t think of marrying them to each other (funnily enough, what with her being married to his son already) but suggested Sejanus might like to marry Livilla’s daughter. Naturally, Livilla was somewhat pissed off.
Suddenly Sejanus was arrested for treason, Tiberius having been tipped off by Livilla’s mother Antonia. Livilla, caught with her treasonous knickers down, was promptly locked in a cupboard and starved to death by her mother.
Possibly they had finally run out of small islands?
14. Agrippina Major
(yep, you guessed it, mother of a more famous Agrippina. Not a Kylie or Edith anywhere in this family)
Unlike her (exiled) sister Julia Minor, Agrippina the Elder did not inherit her (exiled) mother’s tendency to involve herself in illicit love affairs. But then, why would she? She was married to sexy golden boy Germanicus, son of Antonia the Stern and Drusus the Likeable. They were a super couple in the soap opera that was the Roman Empire.
While Germanicus travelled around with the army, earning brownie points by the bucketful for his military prowess, his wife marched in his wake with their many children at her side. No working in wool for this woman.
When Tiberius became Emperor, Germanicus was confirmed as his heir. And what an heir! He was cheered wherever he went, rose petals were hurled at his head, slave girls were thrown at his feet…you get the picture.
Even their children were cute, particularly the youngest. Darling moppet Gaius was born in an army camp, and the adorable toddler was adopted by the soldiers as their mascot. ‘Little Boots’, they called him, for the miniature replica soldier’s gear that the little cherub wore as play gear. It was a name that stuck with him for the rest of his life.
Little Boots in Latin = Caligula.
But this is Agrippina’s story. When Germanicus died, the world mourned with her. But Agrippina was no quiet, dignified widow like her mother-in-law Antonia. She raced home, wild-haired and wild-eyed, her children at her heels, to accuse Tiberius and his mother Livia of murdering her darling husband.
Because yes, Livia would kill her own grandson, who was legitimate heir to her son’s Empire…that makes sense.
Agrippina, the loyal military wife, would not be silenced.
Tiberius famously uttered this putdown to her: ‘Is it really so offensive to you that you are not treated like a queen?’
Eventually, Agrippina stopped yelling at the Emperor’s face long enough to get caught for conspiring behind his back and—you guessed it—she was exiled to a small island and executed, not necessarily in that order.
Her children remained at court, raised by their grandmother Antonia. Eventually, Caligula was named as Tiberius’s heir, despite already showing signs of being somewhat deranged.
I’m pretty sure it wa
s Robert Graves rather than any of the ancient sources who came up with the reason why Tiberius would hand his Empire over to Caligula: the only way to be remembered as a Good Emperor is to be succeeded by a Really, Really Bad one.
Oddly enough, it worked for him. But don’t try this at home, kids.
15. Drusilla
When Tiberius died, he was succeeded by the very young and very unstable Caligula. Caligula had three older sisters: Julia Livilla (not to be confused with the previous Livilla or any of the previous Julias), Agrippina and Drusilla. He heaped all three with public honours, which were not extended to his various wives, even the mother of his baby. Caligula had the names of his sisters included in the formal oaths, so that when Romans swore by the name of the Emperor they were also swearing by the name of his sisters.
Caligula’s favourite sister was Drusilla. Their grandmother Antonia had been shocked to find them in bed together as children, in a very non-siblingy kind of way. As Emperor, Caligula infamously ravished all three of his sisters at official banquets (it passes the time between lark’s tongue and pudding).
All sources suggest that Caligula was less than sane to start with, and went rapidly downhill once he was in charge. He made strange public declarations (for instance, that he was the god Jupiter, or that the newest member of the Senate was a horse). He set up temples to himself, treated his wives with extreme cruelty, and indulged in cruel and bloodthirsty entertainments.
As Emperor, Caligula established Drusilla as his consort (cough–treating her openly as if she were his wife–cough), and also his heir. This begs a very interesting alternate history what-if, as it is the only time that a woman was officially named heir to the Roman Empire.
50 Roman Mistresses Page 3