Ahhh, Rome. It’s been 71 years since we’ve walked down your cobbled streets. Well, not cobbled streets. More like a 3-layer dip of large stone slabs, crushed rock and sand, all atop a mixture of volcanic ash and lime which acted as an ancient version of concrete...but cobblestones are more vivid and fun to imagine, even if their invention is a couple centuries away from our episode’s start date of 150 AD.

Whatever the composition of Rome’s roads, their ownership has been a-changing. In Pliny the Elder’s episode, the dynasty of Julius and Augustus Caesar fell from power, resulting in a year-long struggle that saw Pliny’s buddy, Vespasian, rise to power.

How has that been going?

Turns out, not great. Despite Vespasian and his first son erecting the famous Colosseum, both would lay dead within 12 years of their dynasty’s formation. Old age claimed the father while a sudden fever took the son. Vespaisian’s second and final son got himself murdered by constantly poking the Senate. Despite this snuffing out the family early, it produced one of history’s few dynastic palindrome reigns, lasting from 69 to 96 AD... for... whatever that’s worth.

I doubt Roman citizens cared much about this poetic beauty and instead feared another civil war.

Thankfully for them, they got things sorted out quick. The new dynasty that arose began Rome’s greatest golden era.

When this episode’s heroine is born in 150 AD, the current regime is on the 4th of a series of 5 emperors that we now call the Five Good Emperors, thanks to Niccolo Machiavelli—yes that Machiavelli.

This woman, Lucilla, is the daughter of the 5th of these emperors, Marcus Aurelius. You may know of him, from the movie Gladiator if nowhere else. In that movie, Lucilla, played by Connie Nielsen, plays a supporting role in opposing her crazy brother Commodus, played by Joaquin Phoenix. Sadly for the real Lucilla, things don’t end quite as well as in the movies.

Ain’t that always the case?

But, hey I’m getting ahead of myself. Lucilla is born Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla, the younger of two twins born to Marcus Aurelius, the current heir to the great Roman Empire.

Naming conventions have changed since Pliny’s birth, especially for women. Whereas a century ago, she might have been known as Aurelia the Elder, there’s a little more flexibility for females now. Chief among is optionality for a praenomen, like a real first name that men have had since...forever. Since it’s a new thing and I guess their legal system was still figuring things out, her name is tacked onto the end of what’s basically a series of surnames.

Born in probably Rome, the world’s largest city with over a million inhabitants, she and her family would’ve had the best medical care of the era. However, few of Lucilla’s siblings live long enough for her to even hold a conversation with them.

When Lucilla is born, her mother, Faustina the Younger, had already given birth twice—first to a daughter then to another set of twins. This briefly eldest daughter dies shortly after Lucilla gasps her first breath of air, and the two twins don’t even make it a year. Then, Lucilla’s twin sister dies in infancy. Her parents must have breathed a sigh of relief once she actually made it to childhood unscathed. Well, other than whatever mental trauma the death of four siblings causes during one’s formative years.

One of Lucilla’s siblings didn’t even live long enough to a earn a name. Most Romans didn’t name their children until at least the umbilical cord fell off. One Roman philosopher opined that until that moment, a child is more like a plant than an animal. A name sort of bequeathed human status onto a baby. Sadly, securing one’s humanity didn’t mean they were out of the clear. A quarter of Roman infants still died in their first year.

Despite this high infant mortality rate, Lucilla grows up as the oldest sibling of a rather large family. Her poor mom will end up giving birth at least eleven times, twice to twins, over the course of 23 years. Over half will die before childhood, but Marcus Aurelius will sire a total of 6 children who will live to adulthood, with a disparity of 20 years between Lucilla and her youngest sister.

Given all of this heartache, it’s hard to imagine Marcus didn’t favor his eldest daughter, whose very existence put an end to what must have felt like a curse.

Lucilla, who represented a miracle, grew up in a loving household. Like, to the point where Faustina the Younger traveled in the camps during military campaigns, when she wasn’t, you know, giving birth to further Marcus Aurelius’s line.

Faustina is the current emperor’s biological daughter and that emperor adopted Marcus after naming him heir. Though Marcus and Faustina were legally siblings, that didn’t get in the way of their love.

The army came to view Faustina as something of a good luck charm. Soldiers revered her, and they appreciate that this woman, one who could easily spend most of her time pampered in Rome, instead lives within their austere ranks. This reverence, and Marcus’s own fondness for Faustina, led to titling her ‘Mother of the Camp’. 

This love that they shared passed onto their daughter. Time, though, came in short supply for the heir and eventual emperor of Rome. However much time he may have wanted to spend with his daughter, duties often kept him from her. And when it comes to choosing between the stability of the Roman Empire and giving his children a father figure, Marcus chooses Rome every time.

Lucilla then may have experienced a strong sense of isolation between this and so many of her siblings dying. She develops a self-reliance during her childhood, but this was off-balanced by growing up with almost anything she wanted handed to her. An interesting combination that would lead to interesting results later in life.

One of those things handed to her is an excellent education, which probably tops that every other woman in the world at this time. No joke. Obviously nobles are given a head start over commoners, so that already places her in the upper echelon, but as the eldest daughter of the empire’s heir, she’s more than a mere Roman.

In a quick comparison to the other three powers of this time – China, Kushan, and Parthia, educated Roman women were exposed to a greater degree of topics. Parthia focused on religion and domestic affairs of running the house. Kushan, we barely have any idea about their education systems. Statues of women depict them in dignified roles, which presumably required some form of education. But Kushan is a decentralized state with a variety of cultures and philosophies. Exposure to more cultures is good and all, but it leads to less congregated knowledge and combined with lower literacy rates, results in a less substantial education nationwide.

The potential for a great education is as strong in China as it is Rome, but I’ll let the greatest female scholar from the first century describe education in the Eastern Han dynasty: “at the age of eight, children should begin receiving instruction on the classics. At the age of fifteen, they should receive an adult education. Why is women’s education alone not following this as a principle?”

By contrast, Roman noble women did study literature. I mean, almost entirely because it helped their fathers find suitors, but still. In Lucilla’s case, she stood a step above the rest. Her father is history’s most famous stoic, a philosophy that ranked virtue above all else and equated virtue to knowledge in four key areas: courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom.

You might think of these as personality traits, but Stoicism treats them more as knowledge checks. For instance, courage isn’t so much about being brave as it is knowing what one should endure and what one should fear.

To live a virtuous life is to live a happy life, and that is the supreme goal of a person’s existence according to a Stoic. This knowledge passes straight to Lucilla via exposu6re to literature and philosophy as well as private tutors. Marcus Aurelius loves his daughter like any good father but especially because she’s the first of five offspring to survive, and she does so with her sharp hereditary intellect intact. Of course he wishes her happiness and to him, learning Stoicism is a necessity to this goal.

That said, her education is still confined by a Patriarchal Rome, and she learns female values like modesty, chastity, and loyalty to her father and future husband.

While those are certainly of vital importance to her father, he takes his responsibility as a parent seriously, and Lucilla will need a well-rounded education not just to find Stoic happiness, but to survive. So, despite her gender, her education likely eclipsed that of most men in the Roman Empire.

In addition to the aforementioned literature, philosophy, and female virtues, she also learns... some element of the arts or music to show off in social gatherings, how to run a household, etiquette of court life, religious practices, etc. All in all: Lucilla learns a lot about a lot as a child, with an education balanced between intellectual pursuits and practical skills, and her scholarly father plays no small part in this upbringing, even if he’s not personally around her that much. 

This leads to an accelerated maturity and childhood that likely left her with less time to play games with other children. This acceleration slams into warp speed once she turns 11.

The emperor dies in 161 AD, and Marcus Aurelius seamlessly takes over control of the Roman Empire.

Except, it’s not just him. He’s the adopted son of the late emperor and that man had adopted another son.

So, Marcus Aurelius is part of a historic event: Rome will be ruled by 2 co-emperors for the first time ever. To further secure the throne, Marcus bethrothes Lucilla to his adopted brother, Lucius Verus. And in 3 short years, the two of them marry. At 14 years old, Lucilla rises to the station of empress in 164 AD, married to a 34-year old, who, funny story – was briefly engaged to her mother.

And now her father is technically her brother-in-law because Rome.

The child marriage sound “uhhh…” to us, but she’s kind of all about it. Yeah, her husband is more than twice her age, but he’s pretty hot and a generally good dude. I mean, he’s not faithful to her at all, but he fits the mold of the “work smart, play hard” attitude that many of us can get behind.

In addition to the occasional affair, he drinks wildly at parties, gambles, hangs out with actors—which you may remember from Pliny’s episode, is a faux paux—and he makes sure messengers keep him abreast of all the latest and greatest news about his local sports team (i.e. the chariot squad). When morning comes though and business calls, Lucius Verus takes ruling seriously, seriously enough anyhow.

He doesn’t often work hands-on, but he delegates like a boss. Marcus Aurelius, the virtuous stoic, doesn’t exactly approve of his son-in-law/brother/co-emperor’s lifestyle, but the man produces results both domestically and militarily, so he lets his behavior slide with little comment.

I don’t think Lucilla takes much offense to his infidelity. They’re not exactly at the same life stage and he treats her well. Plus, he’s not around that much cause, again, he’s usually busy partying, ruling, or securing Rome’s borders. So, she takes advantage of her station and relative independence to sit at the best seats in the theater, have everyone dote on her whims, wear the nicest clothes and most expensive jewelry, and bathe at the nicest spas.

That said, much like her husband, she does take her station somewhat seriously. When Lucius Verus is away from the capital, she relishes in the opportunity to influence in his name, giving her input on various political matters. Probably not a lot as a young teen, but her intellect and charisma wins enough minor victories to give her a whiff of that intoxicating scent of power.

Upon rising to empress, she had put aside her formal education and focused more on practical knowledge. The scholarly interests her dad had imparted on her sink under the weight of her societal pressure as empress, her husband’s hedonistic influence, and her own rising star.

To be fair, this isn’t unexpected. Most Roman girls don’t stay in public schools past elementary age. Those who do hone in on what married life and motherhood will entail starting about when they hit the legal age of marriage of ehhh.. 12. Noblewomen tended to marry younger, so at Lucilla’s age of 14, her peers are either married off by their families and learning on the job or prepping for an upcoming betrothal. The difference between them and Lucilla is the later takes on a few more duties and enjoys a few more perks.

The most important of those duties as empress is to produce an heir. In 165, she conceives her first child at 15 years old but tragically loses her not longer after birth. Following this, there must have been some fear that she would follow in her mother’s footsteps, requiring several births before her first child would survive.

Fortune favors the couple though, and in the following year, Lucilla gives birth to a healthy daughter. But you know, a son would be great, so for the third year in a row she gets pregnant (actually a little more frequently than that as she might’ve birthed the first 2 children in the same year). This child survives but not for long. A year later, health complications steal the infant’s life, and then 2 years later, a plague ravaging the Roman empire claims her husband as well.

Grief consumes Lucilla. Somewhat nobly, because she did love her husband.

His anti-Stoic values never bothered her as she never showed more than a passing interest in father’s philosophy. In truth, any remaining idealism had fallen by the wayside the moment her marriage as a young teen made her one of Rome’s most powerful women. Lucius Verus’s easy going, hedonistic-but-with-a-touch-of-virtue-lifestyle resonated with Lucilla. His death dealt a savage blow to Lucilla, eliminating a partner she could relate to, despite their age differences.

But...less nobly, also she feared losing all those delightful amenities which Roman society heaped upon an empress.

Death continues to shape Lucilla. Self-reliance from her younger days turns into a stubborn independence. The clearly ephemeral nature of life, and thus relationships, leads to increased drive and ambition. Who else is there but herself to rely on for any permanent position? Who else can she rely on when those close to her die within years or months? Who else can she rely on with a father absent from her life?

Thus, it’s not too surprising that she rebels against the betrothal her father arranges less than a year after the death of hubby Lucius Verus. Her husband-to-be is one of Marcus Aurelius’s buddies, a Syrian general.

She goes from a 19 year-old married to a 39 year-old to a 19 year-old married to a 45 year-old. Things are not moving in the right direction. Age is an issue, sure, but Lucilla and her new husband also don’t see eye to eye like her and Lucius Verus did. Though an extremely accomplished general, possibly Rome’s best at the time, her new husband is a straight fuddy duddy. Even worse, the man comes from a family of equestrians, rather than senators. That’s like low nobility. As if. 

Lucilla and her mother, really the one person to whom she holds any attachment, both plead with Marcus not to go forward with the marriage, but Rome’s now-sole-emperor has made up his mind. He even wants to name the man his heir, and unfortunately for Rome, the general rejects the offer. As is usually the case, this man was great for the job—at least morally—precisely because he didn’t want it.

The rejection opens the door for Lucilla’s most notable and infamous sibling, Commodous. This currently 8-year old boy will turn out to be the only son of either Marcus Aurelius or Lucius Verus to survive childhood, and he might’ve developed a superiority complex that will not exactly bode well for Rome.

Lucilla isn’t currently giving her brother much thought though as she settles into her second marriage. Early on, I think we see another change that these early deaths have led to: a desire and willingness to use people. If someone isn’t going to last anyway, why not wring whatever benefit you can from them? While Lucilla’s marriage to the Syrian general benefitted Rome’s stability, it didn’t do anything for her. And that’s who she’s looking out for at this stage of her life.

To her, she’s still the pre-eminent progeny of Marcus Aurelius, and she makes do with what she’s got. While she’s livid that her husband turned down the offer of heir to the Roman Empire—and likely related to this rejection, never develops romantic feelings for him— she still acts mostly like an empress.

She’s, of course, lost influence since she technically doesn’t hold the title, but remember: her dad, beloved by almost all, is the emperor and her husband, beloved by most who know him, is pushing back the tribes along the Danube River along the southern border of modern day Austria.

Given she has a great relationship with the current empress, who is, you know, her mom, the two tend to split empress duties. Thus, Lucilla is still able to meddle in politics and have somewhat of a say. So she relents a bit, cools her fuming, and says you know what, life ain’t so bad. She accepts her lot, balancing indulgent niceties while staying at the fringes of power.

What she does not do, at least not yet, is produce a child for her new husband. The two never warm to each other, developing an icy relationship due to their disparate personalities. Lucilla enjoys the typical trapping of power, including the partying bit. Her husband places duty above all else.

On the bright side for our protagonist, her honorable husband doesn’t seem the type to force himself on her. He too, then, is making the best of a bad situation. I mean, I’m sure he’d prefer a loving wife and an heir, but he’s spent his adult life in the military, so he continues doing just that.

It’s no doubt a little awkward at times as Lucilla does start to travel more frequently with the military. Given that her husband now serves as the chief general in the ongoing war along the Danube River (called the Marcomannic Wars for you Roman history buffs), he and Marcus Aurelius often dwell in the same camp together.

This provides Lucilla the chance to reconnect with her father. While she’s certainly not fond of losing the luxuries of Rome, and is further annoyed that Dad hooked her up with such a snoozefest of a hubby, the two do seem to get along well and enjoy catching up. Her mother is also often around and helps to ease Lucilla’s burden as a soldier’s wife.

Her mother, Faustina the Younger, sees her daughter often enough to start rubbing off on her. Faustina was a shrewd woman who worked behind the scenes to help further Marcus Aurelius’s ends. Lucilla is an adult now, and though lacking her mother’s maturity, comes to understand the silent power a woman can wield.

And the dangers. The common soldier may have loved Faustina, but many Senators disparaged her name with rumors. Thus, Lucilla’s time in the camp doesn’t just serve to strengthen her parental bonds, but to educate her, and inadvertently or not, reinforce the notion of using people to further her ends.

In the camps themselves, I want to be clear that Lucilla and Faustina are nowhere near the danger zones, and would move only if and when a new safe base of operations solidified.

When Lucilla and her husband are in camp together, it was equally viable that she could stay with him—a perk of being a high-ranking officer— as it was to sleep separately.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say they slept separately. That meant more time for Mom and Dad. More Mom cause again, Dad is Marcus Aurelius, and he’s not flush with time, but Lucilla takes what she can get. That is, as long as it doesn’t require any lengthy interactions with her husband.

There is quite a adjustment period to it all as She’s not exactly the outdoors country living type. She’s not the only one having to adapt though. 

While Roman soldiers may have gotten used to life with an empress around thanks to Faustina, the “mother of the camp”, living with female nobility a stone’s throw away is still a rare event. That doesn’t mean they’re not prepared. They likely treat her with respect, especially due to the love of Marcus Aurelius, but she finds even less common ground with the rank and file than she does with her husband. This isolation keeps her in her tent far more than Faustina, but thankfully the arrangements aren’t too bad.

Lucilla’s downgraded home still treats her far better than a commoner living in Rome. Likely, she walked on wood or stone tiles in her small house and enjoyed a heating element for her floors and bath. Though Marcus Aurelius was known for sleeping in a plainer, more soldiery bed in camp, Lucilla likely opted for a mattress made of fluffy wool or feathers, as was common for wealthy Romans.

She might have interacted with some army wives, except even those were limited. Rank and file soldiers technically wouldn’t be allowed to marry until 197 AD, which is over 2 decades away at this point. And the officers rarely brought their wives into camp. So Lucilla usually has no reasons to leave her tent except to see her parents.

All the more reason to maintain some semblance of luxury in her home.

This is Lucilla’s life for the first 3 years of her marriage. She continues her parental bonding, adjusting to camp life, and spending as little time with her husband as possible. Then, in 172 AD, when Lucilla is 22 years of age, an army of roughly 80,000 Romans succeed in a series of offensives along the Danube river. They subjugate multiple Germanic tribes and push their base of operations toward modern day Vienna. 

This is more significant for her father, who earns himself the nifty title Germanicus. For Lucilla, this casts her farther away from Rome. For yet another 3 years, she will be made to live in the relatively austere war camps until another major peace treaty is signed in 175 AD. During this time, we don’t know how she felt, whether she was happier than the history books might insinuate, or whether life was really all that bad.

But regardless, her happiness is hardly tied to people anymore, given her history around death. The one exception is of course Faustina, who has been with her and in her corner since the beginning. 175 is then looking like a good year. The Marcomannic War seems to be coming to a close. Perhaps daughter and mother can finally get out of these Austrian border territories, and maybe Lucilla can play at Empress again in Rome. It is at that moment that the cosmic jest the universe is so fond of playing with Lucilla, takes its bitterest turn.

While the health of Marcus Aurelius would wane over the next several years, it was Lucilla’s mother who would pass first of her parents. Still in 175, shortly after signing the peace treaty, the chapter of history known as the “life of Faustina the Younger”, “Mother of the Camp”, comes to an end, though we don’t know how.

Circumstances surrounding her death leave much up to the imagination as it could have been disease, accident, suicide, or assassination.

Part of that confusion is due to the political climate at the time. Earlier in the year, erroneous news of Marcus Aurelius’s death had spread throughout the empire, and a Roman general in the middle east, who was on good terms with Marcus, proclaims himself emperor. His timing was particularly poor as Marcus had either just signed the treaty of 175 AD or was in a position to demand favorable terms that actually led to the treaty. Either way, his legions start their march toward Syria. With the writing on the wall, this 3-month rebellion ultimately ends with a soldier decapitating the rebellious general.

Short-lived rebellions are sort of commonplace, and thus whatever when it comes to the Roman Empire, but what makes the story interesting is the general’s announcement that Faustina had urged him to rebel. 

In this version of the story, news of Marcus’s death is delivered to the general via a messenger sent by Faustina. The message supposedly gently nudged the general to claim the throne, offering him hints of her support. This spurred rumors that Faustina had cheated on her husband with this man, but a more likely rationale paints her as a manipulator.

As Marcus could have died that year—he grew that ill— and Commodus, their son and probable heir, was only 14, she feared a more natural usurper would arise when her husband actually did pass. Her goal with her message would’ve then been to hedge her bets. Either Marcus recovers and all is well, or a general with close ties to the family and appreciation towards Faustina takes the throne. Given that she was suspected of issuing the assassinations of several political rivals, this shrewd move falls within her character.

The affair though, I don’t buy. The logistics of Faustina committing adultery with a man stationed in Syria while she mostly lived in Rome or Germany is dubious. And these claims about Faustina’s infidelity extend well beyond this rebellious general. In the decade following her death, one piece of uh...evidence I’ll generously describe as a historical record claims she slept a whole host of sailors, gladiators, and soldiers.

The problem is these records equate to the National Enquirer with a tad more fact checking. Not exactly the pinnacle of reliability.

Countering the legitimacy of this deviant level of infidelity, we have first-hand accounts of Marcus Aurelius professing his love for his wife, and nobody ever described the man as foolish during his reign. Nor was he the type of guy to punish someone for telling him the truth. How likely was his love to persist when cuckolded time after time?

Now, one might argue: he was a forgiving man. His reign marks a high point of free speech in the Roman Empire as the equivalent of the press can say almost whatever they want about him. He was even willing to forgive the general who his wife had probably convinced to rebel, and mostly didn’t because it would’ve been a bad look for the empire—you need to punish claimants like this or others will arise. So, I think he might’ve forgiven one affair, but unlikely a debaucherous series of them, and had he done so, I believe he would’ve made mention of said forgiveness.

Instead, when Faustina passes, he founds a city in the place where she died and deifies her as a goddess.

No matter who sits on the throne, the political game in Rome never ceases its play, and Faustina would not be the last to suffer an unjust character assassination. Part of this is because Rome has a weird obsession with disparaging influential women—something I brought up in the Pliny the Elder episode. Even the high degree of actual assassinations ordered by Faustina were likely inflated. There’s just something irresistibly juicy about an adultering, murderous Empress for the Partiarchal Romans. 

In Faustina’s case, the claims of infidelity also arise due to reasons of state. As each year passes, Lucilla’s brother Commodus is looking more and more like a far cry from his father. There are many who wish to discredit the legitimacy of his inheritance, and if they can get people believing Marcus Aurelius isn’t his father, then something can be done about him.

Somewhat ironically given the aforementioned sexism, that someone might be Lucilla.

She doesn’t have direct experience with subterfuge to further the empire’s ends, but she’s spent the past 6 years learning from her mom. An intelligent politician who happened to hate Faustina, for whatever reason, would’ve still acknowledged her political acumen. Lucilla has shown sparks of this in the past and even though she’s a woman, that’s a good enough reason to support her given that the competition is Commodus.

You’ll soon see why that choice is so clear.

For now, we return to the death of Faustina the Younger, when her reputation is yet to be dragged through the mud and Lucilla can appropriately mourn the loss of a mother she adored. She, her siblings, and her father journey back to Rome, and in 176, Marcus makes his intentions for the empire’s future clear by anointing Commodus as co-emperor.

She also gets pregnant for the first time in her second marriage. I think we can read between the lines to determine the reason. Lucilla and her husband have finally found love in these dark times and decide to settle down in the quaint countryside, living out a fairy tale life with little kids running around and oh my god, Lucilla just retched.

No, her husband is still a dutybound dork. But there is some truth to the facetious picture I painted.

Lucilla is seriously depressed after the death of her mother. That immense grief likely led her husband consoling her over a series of months. Lucilla drops her guard, forgets about Empress life, and just wants to be held. One adult action leads to another and boom, kid.

More cynically, and perhaps a factor in her pregnancy, Lucilla assessed that her path to power lay through a son. With her mom dead, she’s lost almost all of her direct influence in Roman politics. As a woman seeking power in a patriarchal society, a son would’ve really helped her out if she planned to usurp Commodus. No guarantee on a child’s gender but if at first you don’t succeed try, try again. After all, I’ll remind you that her mother gave birth 11 times.

Finally, Marcus Aurelius may have pushed Lucilla into it. His time is coming to an end and he’s looking to his dynasty’s future. Of course, he’s far more concerned with Commodus since he’s the heir, but it’s possible he gently pushed his daughter into fulfilling her duty to the empire.

Whatever the reasons, Lucilla gives birth in 176 AD to her fourth child and first in a decade. He is a healthy boy and will live longer than any of the children from her first marriage, living long enough to die of unnatural causes, but that’s another story that falls outside of Lucilla’s lifespan.

This new addition to the Aurelian clan is a big deal... for about a year. Then her brother Commodus shows her up by getting himself hitched in 177. He marries a nice girl about his age of 15 years, and Lucilla immediately takes to hating her. Like, we’re talking a sweet summer child who just wants everyone to be happy and to please her husband. This nice girl would stay out of politics altogether if she could, but Lucilla quickly embraces her mother’s penchant for shrewd backroom dealing. This’ll force the sister-in-law to pop in from time to time to defend herself. Much of this stems from jealousy of the woman who stole the title of empress from Lucilla and her mother...well, according to Lucilla.

Now, despite her mother’s death erasing her access to the niceties of Empress life, Lucilla still has it pretty good. It’s not like her husband’s a pauper, and she’s well cared for.

But over the course of the past decade, she’s lost the best life including reserved theater seat and the ear of many Senators. She will regain her standing with a few of them in the coming years—again, mostly because of the suckiness of Commodus—but for now it’s safe to say Lucilla develops an irrational hatred for Commodus’s wife. Yes, Lucilla loves nice things and yes, she is envious, but I think what’s missing from the history books is that she’s hurting.

She’s lost so many close to her over the years, and now at 27, fate has stripped her of her mother and closest companion. Perhaps the only person she could truly relate to. Sure, she and her father have developed a mutual respect for one another, but that’s a far cry from a soul you can wholly confide in. Stuck in marriage best described as loveless, and with no more close ties remaining in the world, Lucilla looks back on her life as a teenager. Back when she was Empress and perpetually pampered. 

Her daydreams are a small comfort, as they must inevitably come to end. As her moment of reverie concludes, there is no doubt in my mind that each return to her reality hurts.

Pain makes people lash out and Commodus’s wife is a convenient target of Lucilla’s ire. Lucilla’s later actions also suggest her relationship with her brother isn’t much better. Unfortunately, they’re going to be spending a lot of time together.

Some months after the Commodus’s royal wedding, the Aurelius family sets back out for the Danube River. One of the big Germanic tribes has rebelled, sparking their neighbors to do likewise. Marcus Aurelius and the Romans set out to do what Romans do and pacify the region once more.

As co-emperor, Commodus kind of needs to be there. With Parthia peaceful to the East, this is where all the major action in the empire is happening. Lucilla will join as well though, driven by motives that range from wanting to soak up any remaining time she has left with her fast-aging father, a forcible duty to her husband who commands this vital region’s army, and...a desire to steal any attention away from Commodus that she can.

It’s no surprise that there’s not much detail on Lucilla for the next few years. Like her first time on the Danube, she’s lost in the shuffle of a giant military operation. She doesn’t do much of note, except perhaps realize just how much she hates her brother.

Time drudges by as she makes do with what she’s got.

Marcus Aurelius’s health continues to rise and fall.

In 180 AD, the Romans deliver their emperor a decisive battle that puts the Germanic tribes on their heels. Sadly, he doesn’t live long enough to witness the positive impact that victory might have had on Rome’s borders. At the age of 58, Rome’s philosopher emperor succumbs to illness. He dies either from small pox or that pesky plague that killed former co-emperor Lucius Verus, which is still making its rounds throughout the Empire over a decade later.

Lucilla mourns the loss of her father. While it’s no comparison to her mother, who else does she have in the world?

The answer to that, is of course her kids. While 2 of the 3 from her first marriage died young, the surviving daughter is now 15. Old enough for marriage and perhaps could be used as a political piece. She isn’t though, and it’s unclear why. Perhaps Marcus was in the charge of this and didn’t have the time. Perhaps Lucilla was waiting for a strategic match. Or maybe Lucilla lamented her child marriage and didn’t want to put her daughter through it as well. We don’t know enough except to say that it her daughter was unmarried at this time. The two were reasonably close, so perhaps Lucilla simply wanted somebody she could chill with.

Lucilla also has a son, now about 4 years old, with her second and current husband. This boy grew up in a military camp. Though too young to embark on any sort of education, that might’ve shaped him, the evidence being that the son will take after his father as an adult. Still, there’s nothing that indicates Lucilla treated him like anything other than a son, so I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt here.

While raising an unwed teenage daughter and a boy just out of diapers certainly keeps Lucilla busy, the death of her father forces her to quickly adapt. Her brother takes over ruling Rome and due to their relationship, this has left with minimal royal influence. Ambition and a renewed desire for influence will certainly drive her to act in the coming years, but Commodus’s actions further encourage her to act in a more direct manner against him.

Commodus doesn’t mourn his father for long before spitting on his corpse. Against the late Marcus Aurelius’s wishes, the new emperor makes a weak peace with the Germanic tribes, getting relatively little in return given that the Romans had just smacked them around. He orders the army to abandon the frontier campaign along the Danube River completely. With how the war was going, within a decade Rome may have not only secured their borders but swallowed more territory than ever in its history.

That said, it’s unclear whether holding that territory would’ve been to Rome’s benefit. It certainly wasn’t in the short-term, as it would’ve taken some time, likely decades before it positively contributed to the empire’s coffers.

The real issue is how little Commodus seemed to have gotten in return for peace, judging by the responses from those up high. He wanted off the frontier and back in Rome so he could party it up and play gladiator instead.

Yes, the real Commodus fought in the Colosseum. Hundreds of times, in fact. He didn’t die there like in the movie Gladiator, and was never at risk there, but he loved the place. He would personally arrange gladiatorial matches and spent much of his time there.

None of this will come as a surprise to anyone that knows about Commodus. He’ll go down as arguably Rome’s worst emperor. I personally think he was, given how great of a situation he inherited and how badly he botched it.

Don’t get me wrong, Caligula wins most evil. Caracalla was equally vile, though with a different style.

By initial appearances, Commodus is alright. He looked good in a three-piece suit, or I guess a toga in this case. Imperial regalia? Whatever. Point is he was handsome and also especially good with a bow. He once shot down 100 bears in the arena to demonstrate his talent. His brain and maturity, though? Well, rather than list his misdeeds I’ll let this quote from shortly after his death sum it up: “Commodus was not naturally wicked, but, on the contrary, as guileless as any man that ever lived.”

Oh, boy, Rome...it was nice while it lasted.

His ineptitude gives way to his early regime’s greatest threat: Lucilla herself. With no love lost between the siblings, Commodus pushes his sister further out of royal circles so as not to threaten his wife’s status as empress. Lucilla takes offense at the last vestiges of power slipping away.

She once again struggles with seeing herself fall from on top of the world at 15 as Rome’s Empress to her current relegation as “just a general’s wife”, today. More so because she is far more intelligent than her brother.

Still, that’s not enough of a reason for Lucilla to move against Commodus. It’ll take increased tyrannical rule and bonkers decision-making for her to start plotting against him. Over the next couple years, Commodus moves on from stripping his sister of power to doing so with other influential individuals as well. He appoints sycophants to key posts, publicly degrades senators, and threatens to kill people who are guilty merely of seeing him misstep.

His actions have extended beyond putting Lucilla’s lifestyle at risk. He now endangers the empire her father, and somewhat her late husband, worked to grow and secure. His frivolous expenses are draining a treasury already diminished by over two decades of fighting Germans in the Marcomannic Wars. Unlike those wars, the Roman people are getting nothing out of it other than the joy?? of watching their emperor fight mock battles where all his opponents are too scared to try.

For the good of the empire, but probably more for the good of herself, Lucilla takes matters into her own hands. She begins plotting with her daughter, two of her cousins, her husband’s nephew, and a Praetorian prefect (i.e. a very high ranking government official).

In Lucilla’s mind, this plotting will lead to her husband rising up as emperor, with her as empress once again. Never mind that he’s turned it down once, will do so again 10 years from now, and isn’t involved in the plot to begin with.

So, Lucilla comes in with a backup plan. If her husband doesn’t want the throne, she’ll support his nephew for the role. Allegedly, this nephew was recently betrothed to Lucilla’s daughter but slept with Lucilla herself. Unclear if that’s true, but I wouldn’t put it past her. She is deadset on upending her fool of a brother and returning to prominence. And it is clear that the nephew loyally followed Lucilla and was eager to play his part of leading star in the climactic act that would follow.

This nephew had grown close to Commodus from before his ascent to the throne and had breached his inner circle. All it would take was for the two to embrace as friends, and he could slip a dagger into his chest, thus lifting the dark cloud that hung over Rome. It’s as easy of an assassination job as one could ask for.

Except when presented with this situation, the nephew is way too eager to kill Commodus. Instead of waiting for that embrace, he announces his intentions from 10 yards away. Screaming, “This is what the Senate has sent you!” he charges the emperor while openly brandishing a dagger, so… the guards just...step in front of the emperor, knock the assailant down, and take him prisoner.

If you think it’s hard to find good help today, be glad you didn’t live in Imperial Rome.

Under torture, the nephew quickly blabs about everyone involved in the plot. Commodus sentences all the men to death. He then exiles Lucilla and her daughter to the island of Capri, but not for long. Their executioner arrives shortly after they’ve unpacked their bags and delivers to them the same fate as her co-conspirators. In 182, at 32 years of age, Lucilla draws her last breath.

In the end, I don’t think she regretted her attempt, whatever the result. She might’ve bemoaned that it cost her teenage daughter her life, but as for the others and herself, the consequences were worth it. So stark was the contrast between her status as a rich nobody and the potential for glory as either empress or as one who held the emperor’s ear, that a coin flip with death on one side was worth the chance.

In the years following her death, her attempt to save the empire from her brother, regardless of some uh...ignoble... reasons will mock Rome as they succumb to the whims of a madman. He’ll rename the city of Rome to Commodia after himself, proclaim himself Hercules, and “turn a kingdom of gold to one of iron and rust”. 

As I said, her husband played no part in the coup, but following the disgrace of the assassination attempt he retired with his and Lucilla’s son from Rome. Likely to stay safe in case crazy Commodus decided he was a threat after all.

However, 10 years after Lucilla’s failed attempt, an assassin will successfully rid the world of the tyrant gladiator emperor, and the husband Syrian general returned to Rome, rejecting the emperorship twice more before dying in 193 AD.

If during this episode you thought the combination of this husband general’s personality, intimate relationship with Lucilla, and rejection of becoming emperor sounds familiar . . . that’s probably because the lead character Maximus from Gladiator, played by Russell Crowe, is in large part based on Lucilla’s real life second husband. Fun trivia facts, oh boy.

The trivia doesn’t stop there though. I’ve got a fun observation for you, especially if your parents are badgering you for a kid.

Prior to Commodus’s rule, we have the reign of the Five Good Emperors, the one that ended with the death of Marcus Aurelius. It may come as surprising or not that each successor during this era was adopted. Ostensibly, Rome had seen how bad it could get letting the closest blood relative take the throne, so the emperors decided to go with a meritocratic approach.

In reality, it’s all accidental. None of the emperors before Marcus Aurelius actually had any sons by blood. If they had, they probably would’ve passed the throne to their biological heir. One could then argue Marcus’s biggest misstep was procreating. Thus, if you ever feel the need to explain your childfree life, just say that having kids is why Rome descended into civil war in the 2nd century. They will have no idea what you’re talking about, but hey, you’ve made your point.

(And yes, to Marcus Aurelius’s credit, I know he tried nominating a worthwhile non-blood relative in Lucilla’s second husband before settling on Commodus. Let’s not get too cute here.)

That will do it for this episode. Now in 182 AD, life across the “civilized world” is taking a turn for the worse. Rome is trending downward, proving how much easier it is to destroy than to build. 84 years of progress from the Five Good Emperors is unraveling thanks to 12 years of rule from a Sixth Infantile Emperor.

Parthia, absolutely humbled by Rome—to put it lightly—over the past 70 years, is fracturing at the seams as yet more civil wars erupt.

Kushan is doing fine in a protracted period of peace, but their decentralized government leaves expansion a tall order, thus limiting any further growth after the death of Kanishka the Great.

Bad to varying degrees those may be, China is about to suffer the bloodiest civil war in history. I don’t mean China’s bloodiest civil war. I mean worldwide. And I don’t mean up until this point in history. I mean, to this day in 2024 as I record this episode, this civil war I’m referencing resulted in higher casualties than any other civil war of any civilization. In fact, the only war of any kind to surpass its death toll will be World War II, 18 centuries later.

This is the known as the Three Kingdoms period. And because humans love to romanticize war, it will spawn a famous literary chronicle called Romance of the Three Kingdoms. In modern times, it’ll lead to the creation of 8 movies, dozens of comics and graphic novels, over 40 video games, and about that many TV shows. If you’ve watched the movie Red Cliff or played the game Dynasty Warriors, you know what I’m talking about.

This is where we’ll turn out attention: to the birth of a man named Sun Quan, who will, for a time, rule as Emperor Wu, presiding over one of those three pre-eminent kingdoms in the titular Three Kingdoms period.

As someone who grew up playing the video games, indulging in the romanticized history, and loved Total War’s 2019 take on the Three Kingdoms, I am super pumped to dive in. See you then.