The Roman in the Age of

The political career of Augustus, the first Roman , lasted nearly sixty years. It began in 44 BCE, when the future Augustus was a sickly boy of eighteen, known, if at all, as the great- nephew of Julius . By the time it ended, he was nearly eighty, and his name was known and respected from England to India. The imperial system he established over the course of his long reign set the pattern for the rest of Roman history, and profoundly influenced the evolution of . Roman would reign over some part of the Mediterranean world for an incredible fifteen centuries; when Constantine XI fell to a Janissary bullet in 1453, he died as emperor of the Romans, and a direct political heir of Augustus. It was here, in the , that the remarkable career and legacy of Augustus took shape. Using the extant as points of reference, this tour will trace the first emperor’s story from its origins in the populist dictatorship of to the grandiose funeral that marked its end.

I. The

Look toward the foundations of the Temple of Caesar. Imagine away the crowds of tourists and the sound of traffic. Line the Forum square behind you with colonnades seventy feet tall, crown the to your right with shining stucco walls and red tile roofs, and pave with polished marble the dust beneath your feet.

Imagine that it is a sunny, rather brisk day in March 44 BCE. A light breeze stings your skin, and assails your nostrils with the blended aromas of smoke, dung, and roast chickpeas. Standing on one of the wooden benches ranged along this side of the Forum, you can see over the heads of the crowd that fills the Forum square – gray-haired, black-haired, brunette, and bald, punctuated here and there by a prostitute’s blond wig. Most of these heads belong to commoners; but you can pick out a few senators, distinguished by their immaculate purple-striped togas and protective rings of slaves.

About twenty feet ahead, Julius Caesar’s funeral couch is stuck in the crowd. Although the body is invisible from your vantage point, you can see Caesar’s cloak, carried on a pole to display the twenty-three bloody gashes left by the assassins’ daggers. You can also see the front ranks of the funeral procession, where the hired mourners wail and members of the clan march behind the death masks of their ancestors.

Suddenly, a brawl breaks out around the body. Guards stationed around the funeral couch rush into the crowd with raised clubs; but after a few minutes, they are pushed back. The purple-robed pallbearers panic, dropping the funeral couch on the pavement.

In the confusion, someone sets a torch to Caesar’s funeral couch, and it bursts into flames. The crowd cheers, and begins ripping newly-budded branches off nearby trees to feed the fire. A group of men tears up the wooden benches of the tribunal and heaps them onto the makeshift pyre. Offerings begin to rain onto the flames from every side. The musicians from the funeral procession throw in their robes and instruments; Caesar’s veterans toss on pieces of their armor; women contribute their jewelry. Soon, the funeral couch disappears beneath a massive heap of half-burnt offerings, licked by lazy tongues of blue flame.

And that is how Julius Caesar was cremated. The ceremony was supposed to take place in the , near the later site of the Pantheon; but the , who adored Caesar, spontaneously decided to honor him with a funeral in the Forum itself, with the results just described.

A few years later, Caesar’s political heirs had the declare him a god, and began to construct an imposing temple dedicated to Divus Iulius, the deified Julius, at the eastern end of the Forum square. The front of this temple’s podium was built around a circular marking the site of Caesar’s cremation.

Part of this altar survives today, although the Temple itself is long gone. The remains are not especially impressive. But they mark the mark the place where the age of Augustus, and thus the Roman imperial era, began.

II. The

You are standing in front of the Curia, the primary meeting place of the . The building you see is a third-century reconstruction of one begun by Julius Caesar shortly before his assassination. Though structurally intact, it’s rather plain now, having lost almost all of its decoration. Imagine the whole building wrapped in glittering marble and stucco, roofed with gilded shingles, and crowned by bronze , and you’ll have a fair idea of how ancient Romans saw it. As it stands, however, the story behind its construction is perhaps more interesting than the building itself.

During the last week of January, 52 BCE, the old Curia burned to the ground in circumstances typical of the Roman ’s turbulent last years. A few days before, , a populist politician, had encountered his enemy Annius Milo on the way just south of . Clodius was accompanied by thirty armed slaves; Milo had a retinue of hired . As the two groups passed, one of Milo’s gladiators shoved one of Clodius’ slaves. A fight broke out, in which Clodius was struck by a javelin. Badly wounded, he retreated to a nearby inn, where Milo’s gladiators attacked and killed him. After Clodius’ mangled body was discovered by a passerby, it was carried into the Forum by a mob of Roman commoners, who decided – in a move that foreshadowed Caesar’s funeral eight years later – to cremate it in front of the Curia. Predictably, the Curia caught fire, and was reduced to rubble.

By the time of Clodius’ murder, the was in terminal decline. The Republic was an oligarchy, centered on the council known as the Senate. In theory, the Senate’s three hundred (and later six hundred) members, who were chosen for life from Rome’s leading families, merely advised the elected officials. In reality, the Senate’s immense prestige gave it effective control of the state.

Senators competed fiercely for political office. The chief magistrates were the two consuls, who led Rome’s armies and presided over meetings of the Senate during their joint one-year term. The consuls were aided by subordinate officials, who likewise served annual terms and shared their powers with colleagues. The whole system was designed to ensure that most, if not all, members of Rome’s leading families would have a chance to gain the all-important prestige conferred by high government office.

The greatest prize was the consulship, both because it was the chief magistracy and because it afforded a chance to lead armies against Rome’s enemies. Victory in battle was the ultimate source of political and social capital – and as a result, campaigns were launched virtually every year. Thus, the Republic, driven to constantly seize territory by the dynamics of elite competition and the sheer profitability of conquest, expanded more or less continuously for most of its existence. The greatest successes came in the late third and early second centuries BCE, when Roman armies conquered much of the Mediterranean basin.

In the years that followed, however, the Republic became increasingly unstable. The institutions of the Republic, which had evolved to govern a middle-sized city-state, were completely inadequate to the task of running a Mediterranean-spanning empire. And so, in the late second century BCE, the same dynamics that had brought so much territory under Roman control began to tear the state apart. Armies campaigned farther and farther from , sometimes for years at a time, and soldiers came to be tied more closely to their commanders than to the government. The massive flood of wealth from Rome’s new provinces was overwhelmingly concentrated in the hands of the senatorial elite; and since aristocrats tended to invest in colossal slave-worked estates, tens of thousands of farmers were forced from their lands and into the crowded slums of Rome, where they became easy prey for populist politicians.

In the Senate itself, any semblance of consensus gave way to infighting between loose alliances centered on, or opposed to, exceptionally powerful generals and politicians. The clashes of these leading figures became increasingly bloody in the Republic’s final years, and culminated in the civil war between , a general who supported the traditional oligarchy, and the followers of Marius, his populist rival. After Sulla won the war, he declared himself . Although he eventually restored the traditional system, this act set a fatal precedent. Every ambitious Roman now knew that, given the right circumstances and a willing army, the Republic was his for the taking.

This was the world in which Julius Caesar came of age.

III. Julia

The plaza in front of you is the Forum proper, the open square that served for centuries as Rome’s most important place of political assembly. It was, of course, much more impressive in Caesar’s day. Then, the long sides were bounded by the two-story colonnades of colossal , the ends were crowned by the pediments of temples, and the whole space was filled with the glow of marble and the shimmer of bronze.

On the evening of September 26, 46 BCE, both sides of the road you’re standing on were lined by men and women carrying lit torches. Here and there, elephants bearing huge lamps were stationed along the roadside as makeshift street lights. On the left side of the street, two particularly imposing elephants flanked the central bay in a long of twenty-foot columns. Between the elephants, wearing a garland of flowers and a purple toga trimmed with gold, stood a tall, thin man. His face showed the lines of his fifty-four years, and torchlight glinted on his balding scalp, poorly concealed by a comb-over. There were, however, no signs of age in his fluid, high-pitched voice as he finished the formulas of dedication. He closed with a flourish, arms outstretched: “And so, Romans, by the favor of the gods, and in the service of justice, I, Gaius Julius Caesar, and triumphator, dedicate this basilica...” A deafening cheer drowned out the rest.

The building Caesar dedicated that September evening was the largest and most magnificent on the Forum. Like all buildings of its type, the was a large, rectangular structure, designed to provide a covered space for commercial, and especially legal, business. The Basilica Julia was the regular meeting place of the , which dealt primarily with inheritance disputes; Romans with time on their hands frequently passed their afternoons in the second floor galleries, where they applauded the lawyers’ speeches and listened avidly to the juicy details of the cases.

The Basilica Julia was only part of Caesar’s transformation of the Forum into a unified monumental space. Besides the Curia, which he began to rebuild about the time he dedicated the Basilica Julia, Caesar constructed an imposing new , or speaker’s platform, at the head of the Forum square. More dramatically, he built an entire new forum just north of the Curia, dominated by a temple dedicated to the goddess , the mythical ancestress of the Julian clan.

The money for all these projects came from Caesar’s wars in Gaul – modern . Even after paying his troops, Caesar was able to display an incredible 63,000 talents (that is, about three and a half million pounds) of Gallic silver in his triumphal procession. In the weeks after his triumph, he spent much of this money on a series of lavish public spectacles, which featured – among much else – the first giraffe ever seen in Rome; a fight to the death between two teams of 1000 condemned prisoners, each equipped with twenty war elephants; and a gladiatorial exhibition in the Forum square itself, for which temporary stands and awnings of outrageously expensive purple silk were set up on the spot where you are now standing. Once his triumphal celebrations were over, however, Caesar continued to funnel his Gallic spoils into construction on the Forum. Like those silk-shaded gladiatorial combats and that hapless giraffe, the new buildings were intended to advertise Caesar’s generosity – and, implicitly, to celebrate his victory in the most savage civil war in Roman history.

Julius Caesar was born into an ancient, but not recently distinguished, family. As a young man, he became famous for his rhetorical ability, and notorious for the burning ambition that led him to politics at an early age. In 60 BCE, at the age of forty, Caesar gained the consulship with the help of , Rome’s greatest general, and Crassus, the wealthiest man in Rome. After his year as consul, Caesar was given a special five-year governorship over three provinces just north of Italy. One of these provinces bordered the territories of the independent Gallic tribes, which had recently been thrown in turmoil by a migrating German tribe. Sensing opportunity, Caesar launched a campaign that rapidly developed into an extremely bloody, and extremely profitable, war of conquest. Caesar kept the people of Rome informed of his exploits by composing the famous Commentaries – a series of dispatches in which he presented himself as an ideal general and soldier. By 50 BCE, all of Gaul was in Roman hands, and Caesar was a hero.

Trouble, however, waited back in Rome, where Pompey, growing jealous of his former ally’s fame, conspired with the Senate to have Caesar arrested. Caesar responded by River and invading Italy. The following year, Caesar decisively defeated Pompey at the . Although Pompey was assassinated shortly thereafter, the war was continued for years by Pompey’s former allies in the Senate and provinces. Victorious against these challengers in a series of campaigns, Caesar returned to Rome in 46 BCE to dedicate his new projects and around the Forum and to celebrate four consecutive triumphs.

During a triumph, a Roman general became, in effect, king for a day. His face painted red, he rode in a gilded chariot up the Sacred Way, captives and spoils preceding him, his troops marching behind. The procession ended at the great temple of Optimus Maximus (that is, Jupiter Best and Greatest), which stood on the left side of the hill you’re now facing. By the Late Republic, triumphs had become extremely elaborate, frequently incorporating musicians, painted dioramas, and long wagon trains of plunder.

Caesars’ four triumphs were the most elaborate on record. The first and most spectacular was the long-deferred triumph for his victory in the , in which Caesar’s greatest opponent, the chieftain Vercingetorix, was marched to his execution. Other highlights included three huge placards bearing Caesar’s famous adage: Veni, Vidi, Vici – I came, I saw, I conquered.

Finding himself in complete control of the government, Caesar had the Senate declare him dictator, and undertook a series of far-reaching reforms. The most famous of these was his overhaul of the , which had fallen out of sync with the seasons. Caesar decreed that every year would have 365 days, with an extra day added every fourth year. With some adjustments made in the sixteenth century, this is the calendar we still use today. Appropriately enough, the Senate would later order the old month of Quintilis to be renamed Iulius – our July – in Caesar’s honor.

Caesar’s grandiose plans and autocratic manner alienated many senators. On the (that is, March 15), 44 BCE, a group of the most disgruntled, led by Brutus and Cassius, assassinated Caesar in the portico of Pompey’s theater on the Campus Martius. Caesar’s body, as you know, was cremated in the Forum a few days later.

IV. The Rostra

The Rostra derived its name from the rostra – that is, rams from enemy ships – with which it was decorated. The original rostra stood near the Curia, beside the ancient place of assembly known as the . Caesar moved it to its current position around 46 BCE. The Rostra had many ceremonial uses. In later centuries, the bodies of Roman emperors were displayed here before being cremated in towering pyres on the Campus Martius. Some emperors also received ambassadors and visiting dignitaries on the Rostra; , for example, staged an elaborate reception for the King of Armenia here. The platform was, however, first and foremost a place for orators to address the Roman people; and it is in that capacity that it figures in our story.

On December 8, 43 BCE, two slaves climbed the steps of the Rostra. One carried three sharpened stakes and a coil of rope. The other bore a large covered basket. Working together, they fastened the base of each stake to the Rostra’s front. Then, uncovering the basket, they removed two severed hands. Without ceremony, they impaled these hands on the outer spikes. One of the slaves returned to the basket, and removed the head of an elderly man. Grasping the head by its thinning hair, he carried it to his partner. The two slaves placed themselves on either side of the head and – after a whispered argument about which way it was supposed to go – jammed it onto the center stake. As they withdrew, a herald – looking a little queasy – came up to the platform. Standing just behind the dripping stakes, he addressed the crowd gathered in the Forum square: “Romans! Behold the head of Marcus Tullius , proscribed on the orders of our protectors the Triumviri! May all enemies of the Republic so perish!”

This gruesome episode was a product of the chaos that followed Caesar’s death, when Caesar’s adopted son Octavian and Caesar’s hard-drinking lieutenant Marcus Antonius teamed up to fight Brutus and Cassius – and then, after an uneasy alliance, turned on each other.

After the Ides of March, when Caesar’s will was opened, he was found to have posthumously adopted his eighteen-year-old great nephew Octavian. The boy, who was studying in Greece when Caesar was assassinated, was not physically impressive. Short and frail, he was often sick, and so prone to chills that he wrapped his arms and legs in thick layers of cloth in all but the warmest weather. He had, however, a keen mind and superb political instincts; and as soon as he learned that Caesar was dead, and that he was Caesar’s heir, Octavian took ship for Italy, and raced to Rome.

Initially, the conspirators had established an uneasy truce with Caesar’s friends and allies, who were led by Marcus Antonius, Caesar’s best general and most trusted political associate. Then, a few days after the assassination, Antonius climbed the Rostra and delivered Caesar’s eulogy. At the end of this speech, made famous by Shakespeare, he held up Caesar’s cloak, torn by the assassins’ daggers, and so roused the people that mobs drove Brutus and Cassius from the city.

Young Octavian arrived in Rome shortly thereafter. For a few months, he sided with the Senate against Antonius – but by the summer, recognizing each other as natural allies, Octavian and Antonius had reconciled, and joined with the Caesarian general Lepidus to create the political alliance known as the Second . As part of their agreement, the political enemies of each were sentenced to death. Chief among the condemned men was Antonius’ most stubborn opponent, the great orator Cicero.

On Cicero’s early career, I humbly refer you to the second episode of my in Fifteen Buildings, available on toldinstone.com. After Caesar’s death, Cicero, hoping to restore the old Republic, had clashed with Marcus Antonius. Relying on the support of Octavian, Cicero decided to have Antonius declared a public enemy by the Senate. To that end, he composed the fourteen speeches known as the Phillipics, at least two of which were delivered from the Rostra. In these orations, Cicero savagely criticized Antonius’ party-hearty private life and slapdash public conduct. Antonius, it must be said, was not difficult to critique in this way – once, for example, when speaking on the Rostra after a long night of drinking, he vomited into a fold of his toga in front of the assembled Roman people.

After he was condemned, Cicero fled to one of his own villas, which feels like a bad way to avoid assassins – and, sure enough, was immediately hunted down and executed. The head and hands were brought to Antonius, and to the Rostra.

V. The Arch of Augustus

You are standing beside the ruins of the Arch of Augustus. Only a few battered foundation blocks remain today. When it was new, however, this was a spectacular triple gateway of pure marble, crowned by a glittering array of bronze statues. For contemporaries, as we shall see, its symbolic significance was equally impressive.

The story of the Arch begins 1500 east of Rome, on the baking plain of Carrhae. There, in May 53 BCE, , Caesar’s political ally, fell with 20,000 of his soldiers beneath a hail of Parthian arrows. Parthia, a large empire centered in what is now Iraq and Iran, was Rome’s greatest rival in the near east; and although the immediate political and military effects were relatively minor, the defeat represented a serious blow to Roman prestige, particularly since the Parthians had managed to capture three legionary eagles.

A legion’s eagle was its standard, honored as the enduring symbol of its courage and victories. When not being carried in battle, the eagle was stationed in a small shrine near the commander’s tent, where soldiers could revere it alongside images of the deified emperors. The loss of three eagles, in other words, was not something Rome could just shrug off. Shortly before his assassination, Caesar was known to be planning a punitive expedition into Parthia. A few years later, Marcus Antonius launched another abortive invasion, managing to lose two more eagles in the process. So it was left to Caesar’s heir, young Octavian, to redeem this blot on Roman honor.

After the establishment of the , Brutus, Cassius, and the other conspirators were hunted down and slain; and – after Lepidus had been pushed aside – Octavian, still only in his early twenties, emerged as one of the two most powerful men in the . By informal agreement, Octavian and Antonius divided the provinces between them. While Octavian remained in Rome, orchestrating the defeat of Pompey’s last remaining son, Antonius spent the bulk of his time in the east, where, like Caesar before him, he became the lover of , the queen of Egypt. Neglecting his wife in Rome – who happened to be Octavian’s sister – Antonius made Cleopatra his consort, and had three children with her.

For this and other reasons, the relationship between Octavian and Antonius, always a matter of convenience, gradually cooled. Octavian began to wage a propaganda war against his rival, presenting himself as the protector of traditional Roman values, and criticizing Antonius as the debauched slave of Cleopatra. Finally, in 31 BCE, Octavian convinced the Senate to declare war on Antonius. The decisive moment in the ensuing conflict was the naval , where Octavian’s forces confronted those of Antonius and Cleopatra.

For hours, the battle was indecisive – until, for mysterious reasons, Cleopatra’s galleys withdrew from the fight. Antony turned to follow her, and the battle turned into a rout. Octavian pursued his enemies to , where both Antonius and Cleopatra committed suicide. Egypt became a province, and Octavian returned triumphantly to Rome. For centuries, the beaks of Cleopatra’s galleys were displayed just to your left, embedded in the podium of Caesar’s Temple.

No one knew what to expect after Actium. Octavian had the absolute loyalty of fifty legions; and, having seized the treasures of Egypt, he had the money to pay them. If he wished, there was nothing to prevent him from ruling Rome as a king. But Octavian was far too savvy to attempt anything so ham-fisted. After triumphing, he ceremoniously laid down his unconstitutional powers, proclaimed the restoration of the Republic, and took on a new role as “princeps” (first citizen) of the restored government. Behind the Republican façade, his power was still absolute; he paid, and so controlled, virtually the entire army, could veto any legislation that displeased him, and enjoyed unchallengeable personal prestige. His careful observance of traditional forms, however, placated the all-important Senatorial aristocracy. The finishing touch was the name “Augustus” – that is, “revered or illustrious one” – which he adopted in 27 BCE. This title, with its implications of moral and divine authority, was perfectly suited to the princeps’ informal brand of autocracy.

In 20 BCE, having firmly established his political position in Rome, Augustus decided to enhance his prestige by recovering the eagles Crassus had lost more than thirty years before. Through a delicate combination of negotiation and outright threats, he compelled the Parthians to return the standards. By way of a footnote, shortly afterward, and perhaps as part of the deal, Augustus sent a beautiful Italian courtesan to the Parthian court, who quickly became the Shah’s favorite wife. Years later, after giving birth to the Shah’s son, she would poison her husband and become Queen of Parthia.

Back in Rome, Augustus displayed the recovered eagles in the Temple of the Avenger, and began to construct the arch whose foundations you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes. Although the entire superstructure was destroyed during the , we know from coins that a bronze likeness of Augustus, standing in a chariot pulled by four rearing horses, was positioned above the central entrance, and that statues of Parthians holding the recovered eagles stood on either side. Like so many other aspects of Augustan propaganda, the arch celebrated the restoration of Roman power and glory. The message was reinforced by the inscriptions built into the arch’s central passage, which listed every man who had served as consul or celebrated a triumph. These inscriptions, salvaged from the ruins in 1546 under the supervision of Michelangelo, can still be seen in the Capitoline , a testament to Augustus’ determination to make his reign seem the natural conclusion of Roman history.

VI. The Temple of

The small round building in front of you, partially reconstructed by Mussolini in 1930, is the , one of the oldest and most sacred sites in Rome. The ancient origins of the building are reflected in its circular plan, which imitated the shape of an Iron Age hut.

Vesta was revered as the protector of the harvest and the guardian of Rome. Her Temple housed the sacred hearth of the city, where an eternal flame burned. The keepers of the flame were the six Vestal Virgins. Chosen from Rome’s leading families, the Vestals served the goddess for thirty years, after which they were free to re-enter public life, and even to marry. As their name suggests, however, they were to remain chaste throughout their time of service; any Vestal who failed to do so was buried alive, and her lover was beaten to death. As long as they managed to avoid that unpleasant fate, the Vestals held an honored place in Roman society. They received a large salary from the state, enjoyed the privilege (shared only with the empress) of travelling in a carriage within the walls of Rome, and had seats of honor at the and .

Their chief duty was to maintain Vesta’s sacred fire – which cannot have been easy on rainy days, since the flame was located below an open roof-vent. The Vestals were also responsible for guarding the wills of Rome’s most prominent citizens. Caesar deposited his will with them, and Octavian later took the scandalous step of forcing the Vestals to surrender the will of Marcus Antonius. The Vestals were also responsible for overseeing a number of ancient rituals. During the Festival of Vesta in June, for example, they invited every married woman in Rome to enter the shrine and offer sacrifice, barefoot, at the sacred flame. Afterward, the ashes that had accumulated over the previous year were cleaned out of their collection pit in the shrine, soaked with the blood of sacrificed animals, and poured over a bed of burning hay.

In matters of ritual, the Vestals were under the direction of Rome’s highest priest, the Pontifex Maximus. The origins of the priest’s title, which literally means “chief bridge-builder,” are obscure. There was never any doubt, however, about his power and prestige. Thus, despite an apparently complete lack of belief in the Roman gods, Julius Caesar campaigned fiercely for the job, and served as Pontifex Maximus for the last twenty years of his life. Augustus followed his example, as did every through the fourth century. Although the title eventually became a virtual formality, Augustus took his duties as Pontifex quite seriously. Working from the , the building that once stood on the foundations across the street from the Shrine of Vesta, Augustus revived or invented a series of ancient festivals, enforced long-neglected sacred laws, and supervised the reconstruction of no fewer than 82 temples.

Augustus’ massive investment in construction reflected the nature of his authority. Although his power ultimately relied on the legions, his legitimacy was founded on traditional Roman institutions, and thus tied closely to the ancient capital. It was especially vital for him to leave his stamp on the Forum, the heart of the old Republic. This he did gradually over the course of his long reign, not by any dramatic reconfiguration, but by opportunistically reconstructing existing structures. Virtually every building on the Forum square was either completed or rebuilt during his reign. Augustus also added, as we have seen, a few carefully-placed new monuments to make his own achievements part of Roman history. The finishing touches were additions intended to enhance the prestige of his heirs, of which the most prominent was the rebuilt Temple of Castor, our final building. .

VII. The Temple of

Here, at last, we have an impressive ruin. The three surviving columns of the Temple of Castor have been a landmark since the , and feature prominently in the many romantic landscapes, or vedute, made of the Forum in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This temple, originally almost 100 feet tall at the gable, was dedicated to Castor and Pollux, twin demigods who were said to have helped the Romans defeat a coalition of neighboring cities at the Battle of Lake Regillus in 496 BCE. The first temple on this spot was constructed soon after, and rebuilt multiple times over the centuries.

From 145 BCE onward, the Roman people voted on the passage of new laws in the temple’s front portico, walking two by two to the ballot box up temporary wooden gangways. In the waning years of the Republic, voting was often a turbulent process. It became customary for the sponsors of a controversial bill to station gangs of thugs around the temple to keep their opponents at bay. When Caesar was consul in 59 BCE, for example, he stationed himself on the temple portico to supervise voting on an agrarian law, and watched as his fellow-consul – who had run forward to stop the bill’s passage – was savagely beaten by his guards at the base of the temple steps. The following year, Clodius – the man who would later be cremated in front of the old Curia – actually barricaded himself inside the Temple with a band of armed retainers.

Fascinating though these late republican scandals are, our chief interest in the Temple of Castor lies in its connection with dynastic politics, since the temple as we see it was built and dedicated by , Augustus’ stepson and reluctant heir.

Always sickly, and aware that his imperial system would crumble the instant he died if not passed to a credible heir, Augustus spent the greater part of his reign searching for a successor. Early in his reign, he arranged a marriage between Julia, his only child, and his chosen heir Marcellus. Marcellus, however, died young; and so –without missing a beat – Augustus married Julia off to his friend Agrippa. Two of the sons produced by this marriage, Gaius and Lucius, became Augustus’ new chosen heirs – but Agrippa died prematurely. Augustus immediately ordered poor Julia to marry yet again, this time to his stepson Tiberius.

Tiberius, the son of Augustus’ wife , had served for years as a successful general in the eastern provinces and along the Danube. A solitary and morose figure, he had few friends, and relied heavily on his beloved wife Vipsania. But when Augustus ordered him to divorce Vipsania and marry Julia, he had no choice but to obey. His marriage to Julia was stillborn. Although he continued to campaign brilliantly in Germany, he grew increasingly estranged from his new wife – and thus from Augustus. Finally, in defiance of the Princeps’ wishes, Tiberius withdrew into self-imposed exile on the Greek island of Rhodes.

In the meantime, Julia, tired of being a dynastic pawn and apparently seeking to sabotage her father’s succession plans, took a series of lovers. Scandalized rumor reported that she presided over wild midnight orgies in the Forum square, and took lovers on the rostra itself. Forced to choose between saving his daughter and maintaining his public image, Augustus never hesitated. Julia was sent into exile on a small island off the Italian coast. Years later, when Tiberius became emperor, he had her starved to death.

Now deprived of his only daughter, Augustus pinned his dynastic hopes on his grandsons Gaius and Lucius. The boys showed great promise – until both died in freak accidents. Now desperate, Augustus recalled Tiberius from Rhodes, and finally recognized him as his heir. Two years later, to improve his public image, Tiberius reconstructed the Temple of Castor, following – reluctantly – in his stepfather’s footsteps.

VIII. The Temple of Caesar, Again

In 14 CE, towards the end of the month recently named Augustus in his honor, the body of Caesar Augustus, Princeps and Father of his country, was carried into the Forum. The closed coffin, borne by senators, was crowned by a life-size wax effigy of the deceased, which glistened wetly in the heat. Behind came members of the Julian family, wearing the death masks of their eminent ancestors. Conspicuous by his absence was Julius Caesar; it would have been impious to wear the mask of a god. Behind the family walked men dressed as the great heroes of Roman history, from to Pompey.

The emperor’s bier was set on the rostra, and Tiberius, looking even more somber than usual, climbed the podium of Caesar’s temple to deliver the eulogy. His hard, clipped voice echoing over the forum square, he described his stepfather’s long life and many achievements. Just behind, through the open doors of the temple, a colossal gilded of Caesar gazed over the crowd. On the pediment, sixty feet above, glowed a bronze likeness of the comet that was said to have carried Caesar’s soul to join the gods.

When Tiberius finished, Augustus’ funeral couch was slowly and reverentially lifted from the Rostra, and carried toward the colossal pyre that had been built to receive it on the Campus Martius. The family and the costumed Roman heroes followed behind. After them walked men in the costume of nations Augustus had subdued, and then the entire Senate, purple-striped togas streaked with sweat. The Equestrians, Rome’s other elite class, came behind, followed by the commoners in their hundreds of thousands. As it advanced across the Forum square, the procession must have seemed a perfect reflection of the conquered world and orderly society of Augustan propaganda, and a fitting tribute to the man who had remade the Roman Empire, and the Roman Forum, in his own image.