Faustina Major’s posthumous life is more memorable—she was deified by her husband, and became something of a patron goddess for the whole Antonine family, with an unprecedented number of coin types released in her honour.
A temple was built to her—not wholly unusual for a Roman diva (deified woman—as distinct from dea, which means goddess), but the fact that it was built in the middle of the forum was highly out of the ordinary for any new god.
The temple still stands there today—it goes by the name of the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, as his name was added after his own death and deification, but it is important to remember that this temple, situated in the prime real estate of the Forum, was originally built to honour a woman.
Antoninus also set up a foundation in Faustina’s memory called the puellae faustinianae, which provided dowries for orphan girls.
34. Faustina Minor
Like Sabina, Faustina Minor was born into the imperial family, which would have given her a strong grounding in what was expected of an imperial wife. Which was handy, because it was her husband Marcus Aurelius who was to inherit from her father Antoninus Pius when he died. (Lucius Verus tagged along as co-Emperor for a while, though sub-Emperor may be a more appropriate term)
It was a toss-up originally as to which heir Faustina, the only surviving child of Antoninus and Faustina Major, would marry: Marcus Aurelius or Lucius Verus. It must be assumed that the marriage increased Marcus’ chances of being bumped up to prime rather than spare heir. Poor old Lucius had to wait until Marcus and Faustina’s own daughter Lucilla grew up before he got himself an imperial daughter for a wife…
But this is Faustina Minor’s story. The most significant thing about Faustina was her fertility. After so many adult heirs and adoptions, it came as something of a shock to Roman society to have an imperial wife who was not only fertile, but positively abundant.
Not since the reign of Claudius had an imperial wife produced a male heir—and the only natural sons who had ever inherited the imperial throne from their father were Titus and Domitian, both adults when their father became Emperor.
It is hardly surprising that, upon giving birth to twin sons after something like four daughters, Faustina Minor was celebrated in Rome as something akin to a goddess of plenty. Her portrait types changed with every child born to her, and she had a wealth of public images commissioned, from statues to coins.
Faustina travelled with her imperial husband when he went abroad with the army. She was even given a new honorific title, invented just for her: Mater Castrorum, Mother of the Camp.
One of Faustina’s twin boys died at the age of four, but the other grew up to inherit the Empire. Unfortunately for Rome, the particular Emperor that this son grew up to be was Commodus. Remember him from the movie Gladiator? Yep, that’s the fellow. When it comes to erratic behavior, he leaves Caligula and Nero in the dust.
If you believe half of the stories we have about Commodus, we're talking Arkham Asylum levels of ‘crazy’. Actually, you can draw a lot of parallels between the literary portraits of the more flamboyant Roman Emperors, and comic book super-villains. Where was Batman when Rome needed him? And why did Rome attract so many bizarre young rulers? Was it genuine psychological illness, the lead in the pipes, power going to the heads of over-privileged teenagers, or just a whole lot of bad press? Sadly we'll never know.
Like Plotina, Faustina Minor’s popular reputation was retroactively sabotaged because of her son. In an attempt to explain how the son of Marcus Aurelius and grandson of Antoninus Pius (both stand up, sensible Emperors) could turn out so appalling, a rumour was spread that Faustina had conceived her son by having affairs with gladiators.
Not the most convincing of rumours, it has to be said, and it is brought to us by the pen of Cassius Dio, one of the most least credible historical sources that we have for Ancient Rome.
35. Lucilla
Again, think the movie Gladiator. Only…well, not. The characterisation and pretty outfits were just fine, but the bit about her gladiator-fathered illegitimate son inheriting from Commodus…nope. Lucilla was the daughter of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina Minor. When she came of age, she married her father’s co-Emperor Lucius Verus, and was given the title Augusta. She probably had two children, who were probably both female.
When Lucius Verus died, Marcus Aurelius (now ruling solo and totally okay with that) chose some ordinary senator to be Lucilla’s second husband. Both Lucilla and her mum were furious about this, as they considered the man to be unworthy of ‘an Augusta who is daughter of an Augusta.’
When Lucilla’s brother Commodus took over the throne and started all his dramatic ‘fighting as a gladiator, dressing up as Hercules, not persecuting Christians, demanding he be worshipped as a god, slutting around instead of attending to the paperwork’ antics, Lucilla lost even more status.
A new Augusta—Commodus’ wife Crispina—entered the imperial family, and was pulling rank on the imperial sister. For once, the wife came up trumps.
Lucilla was involved in various plots against the Emperor, notably one with her stepson that backfired badly. She was exiled and executed by her brother. Unlike her mother, there are not even the vaguest rumours that Lucilla had sex with gladiators. Not even ones that looked like Russell Crowe.
There is a very dim possibility, however, that she had sex with her brother Commodus. As did half of Rome.
36. Crispina
Despite being an Augusta, Crispina is remains little more than a footnote in the history of the Emperor Commodus. He married her, made her Augusta, exiled her and executed her, in that order. There are a few statues and coins around, but we have very little to go on.
37. Marcia
Marcia was Commodus’ mistress—the fact that history remembers her name at all is surprising considering just how many people Commodus is rumoured to have bedded. She is memorable because, like Domitia Longina, she was crucial to the plot that successfully assassinated her man.
It is said that Marcia served her master well for many years, then served the Empire well by killing him. Basically, she poisoned him when he was sleepy but the dose wasn’t quite strong enough to do the job, so she and the other conspirators arranged for a friendly local wrestler to pop by and strangle him.
To be fair, it’s probably the way he would have wanted to go.
38. Manlia Scantilla
Wife of Didius Julianus, who came the throne suddenly (after Commodus) and left equally suddenly, in a pool of blood. Julianus ruled for 30 days or so, and managed to give his wife and daughter the title Augusta during that short window of opportunity. It didn’t do them any favours, and the fact that they were not executed too is something of a mystery considering the way that Roman coups usually go.
39. Didia Clara
Daughter of Didius Julianus. When her father died in the aforementioned pool of blood, the supporters of his successor Pertinax went after Manlia Scantilla and Didia Clara…and removed the title of Augusta from Didia Clara. Yep, that’s all they did.
A long way from murdering Caligula’s baby in her bed to end his biological line…
I find it awfully interesting that Manlia Scantilla is not said to have lost her title, but Didia Clara is. It may be that Didia Clara’s age made a big difference – they would not have wanted to risk her future children claiming the status of ‘son of an Augusta’.
40. Titiana
Wife of Pertinax. Didn’t get to be Augusta. Pertinax also refused to give his son the traditional ‘heir’ title of Caesar, saying ‘When he has earned it.’ We presume that this is also the reason why Titiana didn’t get to be Augusta straight away.
She might have earned the title in time, of course, but they didn’t have time. Pertinax and his family lasted longer than the Didii Julianuses, but not by much. A new dynasty was on the horizon, and they carried a great big sword…
41. Julia Domna
When ambitious African-born Roman general Septimius Severus heard of a h
oroscope that had been cast for a young woman named Julia, predicting that she would marry a king, he hurried across country to court her. Julia Domna was the Syrian daughter (of Arab descent) of the high priest of a sun god. She married Septimius and bore him two sons, Caracalla and Geta. She was a highly intelligent, educated woman who served as a valued advisor to her husband.
Some time later, Septimius brought the prophecy to fruition by using his military and political skills to make himself Emperor of Rome. Which is…one way to do it. Ah, Romans. We say they were superstitious, but often they just used the supernatural stories as a ‘how to’ guide.
Like other imperial wives such as Sabina and Faustina Minor, Julia Domna travelled with her husband on campaign. At other times, when he travelled abroad without her, she administered the Empire in his absence. She acquired a reputation as a patron of the arts, promoting such artists, writers and philosophers as Cassius Dio, Galen and Philostratus.
Modern historians see Julia Domna as ‘the foreign Empress’ even more than they see Septimius as ‘the foreign Emperor’. Septimius’ public image was very much that of the quintessential Roman man, while Julia’s appearance in public art reflected the more ‘exotic’ fashions that she brought to court: jewellery, elaborate hair pieces and embroidered clothing.
There aren’t enough inverted commas in the world to put around a word like ‘exotic’ but it’s used constantly by historians in relation to Julia Domna, presumably as a way of discreetly alluding to the fact that she was not white. (Her husband was also dark-skinned but this seems to be less of an issue)
Julia Domna unapologetically brought her own fashions to the Roman court. She wore jewellery and fancy frocks. Rome was finally getting over that whole Octavian vs. Cleopatra thing, embracing the other cultural influences of the Empire instead of insisting that the women of the imperial family go around in plain wool robes pretending they weren’t the richest and most privileged ladies in the city.
At least, that’s the accepted wisdom from the various 20th century historians who liked to get terribly excited about how ‘exotic’ Julia Domna was. In truth most of her statues look much like Faustina Minor’s, and there are only a few examples of public art that show a hint of bling.
Still, from this point onwards, the fashion trended towards conspicuous luxury, even on statues and portraits. Rome was heading for the visual style we associate with the Byzantine era, and everything was about to get just a little bit more sparkly fabulous.
More so than any other imperial woman, Julia Domna’s portrait image is grouped with that of her husband and two sons. Their nuclear family appears on coins, relief sculpture and even painted portraits, in much greater quantity and variety than had ever been seen before in the imperial family.
When Septimius died, Julia’s two sons inherited the Empire jointly, but it wasn’t long before Geta was murdered, most likely at the orders of his brother Caracalla. Caracalla then arranged the systematic destruction of all images and inscriptional references to his brother, evidence of which can be seen on many surviving artworks and public monuments today—one face is firmly scratched, burned or painted out of the group of four.
Geta died in Julia Domna’s arms, and yet she stayed firmly supportive of Caracalla’s rule. As imperial mother, she ruled Rome in the Emperor’s name when he was absent from the city. Unlike Agrippina or Livia, Julia Domna’s public status was pretty much the same during the reign of her husband as the reign of her son.
When Caracalla himself was murdered, Julia Domna killed herself. Dio suggests that she considered the possibility of taking over Rome in her own name, but that she was ill (possibly with breast cancer) and/or so grief-stricken that the thought of going on alone was just too much for her.
All of which is credible, but it seems more likely that she felt her life’s work was done, at that point.
42. Plautilla
Plautilla had only a brief imperial career. She was married to Caracalla during his father’s reign, in a marriage brought about because of her father Plautianus’ strong friendship with Septimius Severus.
The period in which Plautianus was at the height of his influence on the Emperor was also the only time that Julia Domna’s influence on her husband waned, though she returned to Septimius’ confidence once Plautianus was revealed as a traitor, and executed.
Caracalla used this excuse to rid himself of Plautilla, whom he reputedly hated so much that they had been living in separate palaces during their marriage. As was by now traditional for unpopular wives in the imperial family, Plautilla was banished to an island and then executed.
43. Julia Maesa
Julia Maesa was the sister of Julia Domna. When Caracalla died and Julia Domna committed suicide, it seemed as though the Severan dynasty was over. Julia Maesa, however, had other ideas. She promoted a rumour that her own daughter Julia Soaemias had given birth to the illegitimate son of Caracalla, and sparked a civil war between that son, Elagabalus (born Avitus, but he renamed himself after a Syrian god), and the new Emperor Macrinus, who had murdered Caracalla.
It came as a surprise to Elagabalus to discover he was the illegitimate son of the former Emperor, as he had up until this point had a far more conventional personal history. But let’s not let that get in the way of a good story…
There was war and bloodshed, with Julia Maesa and Julia Soaemias pushing teenage Elagabalus every step of the way. When he became Emperor, Mum and Grandma basically did all the ruling on his behalf while he got on with the less bureaucratic concerns of the Empire: cross dressing, marrying Vestal Virgins, acting foreign (the word ‘exotic’ got bandied about with him too), and living a life famous for its debauchery and boundary-crossing.
44. Julia Soaemias
Julia Soaemias, mother of the eccentric Elagabalus, went along with her mother Julia Maesa’s schemes and ended up ruling Rome on her son’s behalf. Along with her mother, Julia Soaemias became one of the first women to actually be included in the Senate, the male ruling body that had been such a conservative centre of Roman bureaucracy since the beginning of the Republic.
Elagabalus was a very unpopular Emperor what with all his anti-Roman and anti-religious and sexually transgressive behaviour. Julia Soaemias and her son were eventually murdered by the Praetorian guard, the very people who were supposed to protect them.
45. Julia Paula
Julia Paula was one of the three wives Elagabalus married during his very short reign. All three of them were given the title Augusta and put on the coinage, despite their husband’s obvious lack of regard for them. Which tells us that Elagabalus was slightly more thoughtful about his husbandly duties than Caligula, but only slightly.
46. Aquilia Severa
Aquilia Severa is perhaps the most interesting of Elagabalus’ three wives because she was a Vestal Virgin when he married her. Traditionally, the punishment for breaking a Vestal’s 30 year vow of chastity was death—on behalf of the Vestal, anyway, who would be buried alive, though the man usually got off lightly by being scourged and exiled. Elagabalus, however, thought it would be okay because he had arranged a proxy marriage between the god he named himself after, and Vesta.
So he not only violated the chastity of a Vestal Virgin, but also that of her equally virginal goddess. Nice work.
Because of the controversy, this marriage was declared invalid and Elagabalus married again, though he later returned to Aquilia Severa, claiming their marriage had never been dissolved.
47. Annia Faustina
Annia Faustina, who was actually a great-granddaughter of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina Minor, was considered a far more appropriate wife for Elagabalus. Obviously he couldn’t stand for that, so he divorced her and went back to the marriage that had earned him more scandalous looks in the Forum, with the former Vestal.
48. Julia Mamaea
After the murder of Julia Soaemias and the Emperor Elagabalus, good old Grandma Julia Maesa decided that what had worked once might work again. So she remin
ded everyone that she had another daughter Julia Mamaea, who had a teenage son, Alexander. Can you guess where this is heading?
Maesa had already talked Elagabalus into adopting his younger cousin and naming him Caesar (ie: heir), but she now spread another killer rumour, suggesting that Julia Mamaea had hooked up with her cousin Caracalla, and Alexander was, like Elagabalus, his illegitimate son.
Julia Maesa was getting on a bit by now, so it was up to Julia Mamaea to help her son rule the Empire. She did her best, and was actually pretty good at it, though neither she nor Alexander were strong enough military figures to keep the armies in check. Julia Mamaea ensured her son had many wise advisors, and Alexander certainly had a much greater reputation for wisdom, sensibleness and patronage of the arts than his predecessor Elagabalus.
Mind you, that wouldn’t be hard.
Alexander was killed by his own troops while at war, and his mother who had travelled alongside him for so long was killed in the same manner: messily.
Meanwhile, the lead troublemaker of them all, Julia Maesa quietly passed away in her sleep, which goes to show that there’s no justice in the world.
49. Orbiana
Alexander did have a wife for part of his reign: Gneaea Seia Herennia Sallustia Barbia Orbiana. She appears on many of his coins, and he was reportedly completely in love with her.
Julia Mamaea became jealous of Orbiana’s influence over her son. When Orbiana’s father was found to be involved in a plot against Alexander (these Romans, always plotting against someone!), Mamaea saw her chance and insisted that the marriage be dissolved. Orbiana’s dad was executed, and Orbiana herself was exiled to Libya.
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