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This ancient New Testament manuscript was covered in “ghost text.” Now, scientists have recovered its lost words
Researchers have reunited fragments of a sixth-century Greek manuscript, revealing ‘ghost’ text and new evidence for how early Christian scripture was read, understood and preserved
The study of ancient written texts allows us engage with the thought processes of writers who lived in societies before the invention of printing, opening a window into their ideological and cultural worlds. However, the survival of such ancient texts can also be something of a lottery. Ancient manuscripts – whether written on papyrus or vellum – can fall prey to natural decay, from damp to the appetites of carpet beetles, termites and mice. They might also be revised, destroyed, worn out, reused, abandoned when printed versions came into favour or deliberately purged for ideological reasons. In short, the survival of any ancient text depended on a great many factors over the course of its long and often fragile life. One of the areas with a long and impressive tradition of textual analysis is that of New Testament studies. Studying the texts that have survived from ancient scriptoria to the present day involves specialist skills in identifying text transmission and revision, identifying ‘families’ of manuscripts and the textual relationships between them, and evaluating the significance of how later users and revisers interacted with a manuscript. Read more | A history of the Bible: who wrote it and when? The skills required include palaeographical study of ancient handwriting and letter forms, linguistic analysis and cutting-edge scientific processes used to recover useable textual material. Such research also includes study of the development of chapter lists, summaries, prologues and other annotations in manuscripts, which were designed to facilitate use of the Book of Acts and letters of the New Testament in the Christian community of late antiquity and the Middle Ages. While biblical manuscripts, such as Chester Beatty I and II, Codex Sinaiticus and Codex Vaticanus, are well known, it is particularly significant when a new manuscript is discovered or fragments reunited. Now a team of academics led by Professor Garrick Allen at the University of Glasgow have recovered lost pages from an important manuscript of Christian scripture, last seen about 800 years ago. This Greek-language manuscript is now designated as ‘Codex H.’ <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/05/Codex-H-1-2fd9061-e1778245182144.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="Researchers examine an ancient manuscript under specialized lighting and imaging equipment in a laboratory setting." title="Researchers use multispectral imaging to recover faint 'ghost' text from damaged manuscript pages – an approach that allowed scholars to reconstruct lost portions of Codex H, revealing words unseen for centuries." /> A manuscript reborn The manuscript in question is a Greek sixth-century copy of the letters of Saint Paul. At one point in its history (perhaps in the ninth or tenth century), its ‘life span’ was extended by a meticulous process of re-inking the text. Finally, it was broken up and repurposed in the 13th century at the Monastery of Great Lavra (Megisti Lavra) on Mount Athos, in Greece. The valuable vellum was then reused as binding material and flyleaves for other manuscripts. Consequently, fragments of the ancient document are now scattered across libraries from France to Ukraine. In the early 18th century, manuscripts that included repurposed materials were identified in Paris. Other researchers then found fragments in their own collections. Read more | Digging for the Bible: 10 key discoveries from the Holy Land However, what Professor Allen and his team have achieved takes this manuscript detective work to a new level. The modern researchers used multispectral imaging to process the surviving pages and recover ‘ghost’ text where re-inking had created a mirror image on the opposite leaf pressed against it. This imaging increased the textual information from every physical page and included text that (apart from this ‘ghost’ form) no longer exists, due to the loss of the original page. Codex H is the composite material made up of these reunited fragments. Speaking to HistoryExtra, Professor Allen explained what has been discovered through this investigation. While only letters of Saint Paul have currently been identified in Codex H, “the quire structure suggests that there may have been other works, maybe Acts and Catholic Epistles” in the original document. The latter are seven New Testament letters addressed to a universal Christian audience and positioned after the Pauline epistles and before Revelation in modern New Testaments. It seems that the manuscript was originally located in the library of Caesarea. The new scientific work on the ‘ghost’ text has greatly expanded the material open to study. As Professor Allen describes: “There are 42 existing folios (84 pages) and one other illegible fragment. Using these pages, we recovered 42 pages of text that do not exist.” Some 19th-century scholars were able to read parts of about 20 of these ‘ghost’ pages but the latest work “drastically improved these earlier transcriptions and read 22 other pages that were previously illegible.” By any standards, this is an extraordinary achievement in rescuing a lost document. The significance of the new discoveries While many other, much earlier, manuscripts exist containing the letters of Saint Paul, this one is particularly important because, as a sixth-century manuscript, it comes from a period when we know that standardisation of New Testament texts was taking place. Consequently, as Professor Allen explains, Codex H “represents the early stages of the crystallisation of the widespread medieval Greek text that differs in some ways from earlier manuscripts.” This is particularly important as very few manuscripts survive from this important period in the development of the New Testament (in the sixth to ninth centuries). Codex H reveals how scribes and later readers corrected the text as they worked through it, “changing initial readings in comparison to other manuscripts over time.” Overall, there are “over sixty places where the text was changed by the first scribe and later readers.” All of this can be gleaned from the newly expanded text of this manuscript. Linguistically, it is also the earliest New Testament manuscript to have accents and reading marks. The work has also revealed the earliest example of the use of chapter lists for the Pauline epistles. These differ significantly from the chapter and verse system familiar to modern readers of the Bible, which derive from medieval innovations. Those in Codex H take the form of a contents page, listing themes and issues that will be encountered by the reader in the letter that follows. For example, Codex H lists eighteen chapters for the letter known as 1 Timothy. Modern New Testaments divide it into six. Read more | The murderous history of Bible translations In addition, and very revealingly, we see how generations of readers interacted with the text, as the manuscript contains marginalia: notes, Greek grammar notation, handwriting practice, prayers and reflections. They also reveal how the manuscript was moved about the library, with references to the floor and shelving place, where it could be found at various points in its life. All of this reveals an active and ongoing personal and community engagement with a text that was considered sacred. The breaking up of such a sacred text may seem a strange way to curate it but Codex H had a working life of between 500 and 600 years. By the end of its life, it had become a much-used document. Its longevity is a reminder of how well it was cared for. Then, as Professor Allen reminds us, the value of vellum meant that, as the document deteriorated, “it is only natural that Codex H was used as flyleaves in later manuscripts to maintain the library in working order.” It was not a rejection of the text but a repurposing of physical material as it continued to play its part within the monastic library. As Professor Allen concludes: “Ironically, it's the disbanding of Codex H that has enabled it to persist over time hidden away in other manuscripts.” It is a disbanding that has now been reversed by the remarkable new research and its application of modern scientific techniques. As a result, an ancient text has been resurrected for modern study. It is a reminder of what may yet exist for discovery, hidden within manuscripts currently held in collections across the globe. The hunt continues.
Nicholas Higham explains why the story of the decline of Roman Britain, and the rise of England, is more complicated than you might have assumed
How did England – and Englishness – emerge from the final days of Roman Britain? And what separated Englishness from Britishness? Emeritus professor Nicholas Higham –whose latest book is How England Began: From Roman Britain to the Anglo-Saxons – speaks to James Osborne to explore the twisting and turning tale of England's origins from post-Roman Britain: a story of clashing cultures, religion, and migration.
2,000 years ago, ancient Roman forces annihilated Jerusalem. Was its destruction inevitable?
The first of the Jewish-Roman wars was interrupted by one of the defining events of the 1st century, and gave birth to one of ancient Rome’s most powerful dynasties
In AD 70, Roman forces captured and destroyed Jerusalem after a brutal siege. The fall of the city was one of the defining events of the first century. It marked the crushing of a major revolt in Judea – a region roughly corresponding to parts of modern Israel and Palestine – and reshaped both Jewish and Roman history. It also cemented the power of a new ruling family in Rome, the Flavians, whose legitimacy depended in part on military success. But this outcome certainly wasn’t inevitable. The destruction of Jerusalem stemmed from a very specific chain of events; a convergence of political chaos at the heart of the Roman empire and deep internal divisions within the city of Jerusalem itself. Together, these forces turned what might have remained a contained regional rebellion into a prolonged and devastating war. Rome’s original strategy When rebellion broke out in Judea in AD 66, Rome didn’t immediately move to annihilate Jerusalem. Revolts weren’t too perturbing to the Roman emperors, who had dealt with regional uprisings before – it was, in many ways, the cost of having an empire. The task of restoring order was given to the general Vespasian, an experienced commander who had previously led campaigns in Britain and Germany. In the Roman system, such generals were expected to stabilise provinces and reassert imperial control, as well as achieving military victories. “Vespasian’s response is a strategy of going from place to place in the countryside, defeating town after town,” explains historian Barry Strauss, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. Some communities surrendered while those who didn’t were “massacred, or enslaved”. This was a standard Roman method of counterinsurgency. Rather than attacking the strongest position first – in this case Jerusalem, where the rebels had retreated to – the army would systematically secure the surrounding region to gain power in case of a siege and isolate the seat of the resistance. By advancing through towns and villages, Vespasian was “driving more and more refugees to Jerusalem and slowly squeezing the city, slowly squeezing its supplies,” Strauss says. Read more | The overshadowed ancient empire that rivalled Rome with maritime might and an iron fist This patience was a well-worn tactic. Ancient cities like Jerusalem depended heavily on surrounding agricultural land. By cutting Jerusalem off from that support network, Vespasian hoped to force a surrender without the need for a full siege, Strauss explains, because a siege “is going to be long, costly, expensive and bloody.” At this stage, there was still a realistic possibility that Jerusalem might submit without being destroyed. Politics intervenes Before that strategy could succeed, events far beyond Judea reshaped the course of the war. In AD 68, the emperor Nero – the last ruler of the Julio-Claudian dynasty – was overthrown and committed suicide. His death triggered a succession crisis known as the Year of the Four Emperors. Rome erupted into a full-scale civil war in which multiple Roman armies backed rival claimants to the throne. “A series of new emperors take the throne,” Strauss explains. First came Galba, then Otho, and then Vitellius. Each was supported by different military factions. But none held power securely. “So, all heck is breaking loose on the Roman scene,” Strauss says. For a general like Vespasian, this created a dilemma. His authority ultimately depended on whoever ruled in Rome – but it was no longer clear who that would be. Strauss explains that Vespasian’s approach was to say: “I think I’m going to call a halt to this war until I get new instructions from the new master of Rome, whoever he may be.” Read more | “Christianity didn’t invent itself as an empire from nothing: it adapted existing Roman structures” So, Vespasian’s campaign in Judea paused, interrupting Roman momentum at a moment when the rebellion might still have been contained through pressure rather than destruction. A general becomes Roman emperor But this pause also created an unexpected opportunity for Vespasian. As the civil war intensified, Vespasian himself emerged as a contender for the imperial throne. His position was strengthened by support from Tiberius Julius Alexander, the governor of Egypt. Egypt was one of the most strategically important provinces in the empire. It controlled the grain supply that fed the city of Rome, as well as key military forces. When Alexander declared for Vespasian, it signalled that the general had both military backing and access to vital resources. “The fact that he goes over to Vespasian gives Vespasian the heft,” Strauss says. At this point, Judea became a secondary concern. “This entirely puts a halt to the business of repressing the revolt in little Judea.” Compared to the struggle for control of the entire empire, this revolt was relatively minor. “Vespasian’s eyes are now on the big prize: Rome,” says Strauss. Vespasian ultimately won the civil war and became emperor in AD 69, establishing the Flavian dynasty. This marked a significant shift in Roman politics. Unlike earlier emperors, Vespasian did not come from the traditional aristocratic elite. So, for propagandistic purposes, he needed to prove that he was just as capable (if not more so) than his predecessors. His military success was a way to project that image. Read more | Are you healthier than a Roman? These ancient secrets for longevity are still shockingly relevant So, in a new position of power, Vespasian returned to the unfinished war in Judea. But he didn’t lead the campaign himself. “Once he becomes emperor, Vespasian gives the command to his son Titus,” Strauss explains. Titus had already been involved in earlier stages of the campaign and was an experienced commander in his own right. He was supported by Tiberius Julius Alexander, who brought both administrative experience and military expertise. Together, they assembled a large and well-organised force. This time, the objective was to achieve a decisive victory, rather than to assert gradual pressure. Jerusalem divided While Rome reorganised, conditions inside Jerusalem worsened dramatically. The city was, in theory, well equipped to withstand a siege. It had strong defensive walls and access to water through internal sources such as cisterns and springs. Its weakness came from the rebels themselves. “The rebels have no intention of surrendering,” Strauss explains. They believed they could resist Roman power. “That is a very dangerous position, and irresponsible.” At the same time, different factions within the city were engaged in violent conflict with each other. “They fought and killed each other,” Strauss says, reflecting deeper political and religious disagreements about how to respond to Rome – whether to resist, negotiate or surrender. “They seem to be as interested in internecine warfare as in fighting the Roman enemy.” The most damaging consequence of this infighting, Strauss explains, was that “they burnt the grain supplies in the city,” – their own source of food. This was catastrophic. Jerusalem had previously stored enough grain to survive for years. By destroying those reserves, the defenders removed their greatest advantage. Caesar: Death of a Dictator Member exclusive | On the Ides of March 44 BC, the most famous Roman in history was murdered. Julius Caesar's assassination transformed Rome forever, and the image of his bloody toga has haunted monarchs and tyrants ever since. Listen to all episodes now The siege of AD 70 In AD 70, Titus’s forces “get down to the business of laying siege to the city,” Strauss says. This time, with Rome’s political instability now resolved, there would be no reprieve for the rebels holed up in Jerusalem. And it was no longer the same city Vespasian had once hoped to pressure into surrender. It was divided, weakened and running out of food. The siege that followed was brutal. Roman forces gradually breached the city’s defences, fighting their way inward. The culmination came with the destruction of the Second Temple – the religious centre of Jewish life. This was a humiliation: a profound religious and cultural rupture whose consequences would shape Jewish history for centuries. But was the fall of Jerusalem inevitable? On the one hand, this was an instance where the weight of a mighty empire was ready to be leveraged against a small population isolated in a single city. Rome certainly had the power to expedite the siege. However, Vespasian’s original plan aimed to avoid a costly siege. That plan was interrupted by a political crisis in Rome. That interruption gave time for divisions within Jerusalem to deepen and for critical resources to be destroyed. It was only due to this contingent sequence of events that Titus ended up at Jerusalem’s walls. As much as the destruction of the city was the result of Roman strength, it was also the product of a collision of timing, political ambition and internal conflict. James Osborne was speaking to Barry Strauss on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Mary Beard on why the classics still matter
After working in the classics for more than 50 years, Mary Beard reflects on her career and her evolving relationship with the ancient world
What's the role of the classical past in the modern day? In this episode of the HistoryExtra podcast, internationally renowned classicist Mary Beard reflects on her long career, and discusses the ongoing importance of the subject. Speaking to Charlotte Vosper about her new book, Talking Classics: The Shock of The Old, Mary explores her relationship with antiquity – and explains why the ancient past is still relevant today.
Cleopatra is remembered as a romantic figure, but she was one of the most formidable leaders of the ancient world. In episode two of her HistoryExtra Academy series on royal women, historian Kate Williams considers a life of power, risk and survival
For centuries, Cleopatra has been remembered as a seductress, reduced to a sultry and sexualised stereotype. But in reality, she was something far more dangerous, as Professor Kate Williams explores in this second episode of her HistoryExtra Academy series. Discover the life of Cleopatra VII, the last ruler of Ptolemaic Egypt, whose intelligence, political skill and ambition helped her navigate one of the most dangerous periods in ancient history – and how she remained determined to stand against the power of ancient Rome. View Green Video on the source website Enjoyed this episode? Find more in episode three. Discover more episodes of the academy series on royal women, and explore our previous series on royal residences Professor Kate Williams is a historian, presenter the author of several books including Regina :A New History of Women and Power (June 2026)
Friends, Romans, citizens: why Rome opened its doors to people across the empire
From Romulus’s open-city policy to Claudius’s reforms, citizenship was used by Rome as both a reward and a weapon. And, as Shushma Malik explains, it enabled the burgeoning empire to build power and define identity
What made Rome so powerful? Writing in the early 16th century in his Discourses on Livy, Niccolò Machiavelli (best known for The Prince) argued that the secret lay not in geography or luck, but in people – and in a ruthless flexibility in acquiring them. “Those who design a city to create a great empire must strive with great diligence to fill it full of inhabitants,” he wrote (as translated in 1997 by JC and P Bondanella). “This may be done in two ways: either through love or through force. It is done through love by keeping the pathways open and safe for foreigners who wish to come there to live… it is done through force, after nearby cities are destroyed, by sending their inhabitants to live in your city.” Rome enlarged its population through both of those two methods, enabling it to build enormous fighting forces – Machiavelli cited a figure of 80,000 men, compared with just 20,000 for Athens or Sparta at their peak. Rome flourished, said Machiavelli, not because it had an advantageous location but because of one simple but powerful policy: it made outsiders into Romans. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-113636408-4087aad-e1776332738730.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A bronze sculpture shows a she‑wolf standing alert with her head turned, while two human infants beneath her reach toward her teats." title="A bronze statue shows Romulus and Remus suckled by a she-wolf. According to legend the twins, who founded Rome in 753 BC, were themselves refugees (Image by Getty Images)" /> This concept was integral to the city’s founding story. Romans were not from Rome – as Athenians were thought to be born from the earth of Athens – but travelled and settled there as refugees. According to myth – specifically, Virgil’s epic Aeneid – Aeneas came to Italy after fleeing from a burning Troy. Romulus and Remus, twins supposedly descended from the line of kings that traced back to Aeneas’s son Ascanius, were rescued from certain death at the hands of their great uncle, and sent floating down the Tiber in a basket. Rescued and suckled by a she-wolf, they were then raised by the herdsman Faustulus and his wife, Acca Larentia. Read more | Roman gods and goddesses: 17 of the most important deities of ancient Rome The twins founded Rome but, after an episode of brutal fratricide, Romulus became the sole ruler. One of his first acts, according to the historian Livy, was to offer asylum to all those – free or enslaved – from surrounding areas who wanted a fresh start, recruiting them to join his new city. The first Roman senators were selected from among these early Romans. Becoming Roman This origin myth was created in part to highlight the fact that citizenship could be transferred: you did not need to be born a Roman to become a Roman. As Machiavelli observed, this was also a deeply pragmatic strategy for accumulating the manpower needed to build an empire. However, it is not the case that all of those who entered into the empire – in particular, those conquered by the Romans – became citizens. Rome’s was an empire of citizens – but not necessarily Roman citizens. When Rome was expanding into Italy, especially in the fourth and third centuries BC, grants of citizenship could be offered as reward or imposed as punishment for those unwilling to comply with its demands. Gifts of citizenship could also, on occasion, be refused if the proposed grantees did not see the benefits. This was the case for a group of soldiers from Praeneste – now Palestrina in central Italy – who helped the Romans to defend Casilinum (now part of Capua) from attack by the Carthaginian general Hannibal. Livy describes how the soldiers were rewarded with double pay and an extraordinary five-year exemption from military service. However, when they were offered citizenship, the men refused, preferring instead to keep their status as citizens of Praeneste. This story reminds us that we should not take for granted the desirability of Roman citizenship over others when Rome was expanding as a Republic or, later, when it was under the control of emperors. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-122315896-4dbdc3a-e1776333226539.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A stone relief shows a seated figure behind a table with small rounded objects on its surface, reaching toward a standing figure who holds a staff and raises one hand in gesture." title="A third-century AD Gallo-Roman relief depicts the payment of tax – one of the responsibilities that came with Roman citizenship, along with undertaking military service (Image by Getty Images)" /> During the Republic, citizenship was technically in the gift of the Roman citizen body. However, this changed in the late Republic, when generals such as Pompey and Caesar – and, later, Octavian and Antony – could grant citizenship on the basis of military merit. One such law that allowed this was the lex Gellia Cornelia of 72 BC, which we know about because a political opponent of Pompey’s tried to attack him by claiming that he had no right to grant citizenship, which he had offered to one Lucius Cornelius Balbus. Balbus, born in Gades (now Cádiz in Spain), had fought with the Romans in various battles against the rebel general Sertorius. Cicero, one of Balbus’s team of defenders, had a seemingly clear-cut case that not only did Balbus deserve citizenship but that Pompey unquestionably had the authority to grant it. What the trial reveals, however, are the political stakes of citizenship grants in the changing landscape of the Roman Republic. In the later period of the first century BC, citizenship – like many other aspects of a Roman’s status – had become a tool of political attack. Rights and responsibilities What did citizenship get you? The first thing to remember is that both men and women were Roman citizens. This is underlined by the right of conubium – of Roman women and men to marry and have citizen children. Roman citizens also had the right of commercium: to enter into contracts, such as trade, with other Romans and with the protection of the Roman courts. In addition, Romans had the right to appeal if they were being mistreated. Perhaps the most famous example of this is an episode in the New Testament book of Acts (22:25), in which Paul – affirming his status as a Roman citizen – insisted on being taken to Rome. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-520718047-5537cc1-e1776333432689.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A mosaic made of small coloured tiles shows a bearded, bald man with a golden halo behind his head." title="An 11th-century mosaic of Saint Paul in St Sophia’s Cathedral, Kyiv. As a Roman citizen, he was entitled to appeal to the emperor in Rome to hear the case against him (Image by Getty Images)" /> The story goes that the apostle was arrested in Jerusalem for creating a disturbance. The barracks commander ordered him to be flogged, but the centurion had to stop when Paul declared himself a Roman citizen. Even more pointedly, it’s observed that Paul had been born a Roman citizen, whereas the centurion had bought his citizenship. Ultimately, Paul declared to Festus, the procurator of Judaea, his right to go to Rome to plead his case. “You have appealed to Caesar. To Caesar you will go!” was Festus’s response, recounted in Acts 25:12. In political terms, during the Republic and early imperial period, men who held Roman citizenship had the right to vote in Rome’s assemblies and to run for magistracies if they could afford it. But this did not extend to women or, in the main, to citizens who had been manumitted from enslavement. It also did not extend to men from communities who had been granted civitas sine suffragio – citizenship without voting rights, a status first recorded in the fourth century BC. As well as rights, citizens also had duties, which included taxation and military service. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/L.CassiusLonginusdenarius63BCRRC413-1reverse-26a0f50-e1776332982945.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A silver Roman coin shows a robed figure standing and holding a small object, with a rectangular chest or altar in front of them. The inscription “LONGIN III V” runs along the right edge." title="A voter casts a ballot on a Roman denarius coin issued in 63 BC. At that time, during the Republic, male Roman citizens had the right to vote in assemblies (Image by CNG Coins)" /> There were a number of ways to become a Roman citizen, other than being born to parents who possessed the right of conubium. If an enslaved person was manumitted by a Roman citizen in one of the three legally defined ways, that person would be granted citizenship. Those who held a magistracy (political office) in a Latin community – a colony that was subject to Latin law, with some of the rights of Roman citizenship, but not all – were granted the status. Citizenship could also be granted to individuals or groups by the senate and people of Rome or, later, by the emperor for extraordinary activity or by serving in the Roman army as an auxiliary (non-citizen soldier) for 25 years. Read more | Have archaeologists just found proof of ancient Carthage's legendary anti-Roman war weapon? Positions of power There were periods in Rome’s history when citizenship expanded particularly rapidly. One was during the Social War (91–88 BC), the result of which was the extension of citizenship to more or less all free Italians. This had been a long time in coming: Italian allies had been fighting in Rome’s wars and striving for political inclusion, but had not received any formal political rights. Eventually, Rome recognised the value of other Italians to its continued imperial success. The Social War was followed by lengthy periods of military activity by Pompey in the east and by Caesar in Gaul, and individual or group grants of citizenship were made in those places. Gaul makes a particularly interesting case study. In AD 48, some 100 years after those campaigns, the question was raised whether some of those Gauls conquered by Caesar should be let into the senate. Notably, the then-emperor Claudius (ruled AD 41–54) was himself born in Lyon while his father Drusus held a post in Gaul. Claudius argued – in the face of senatorial opposition – that the Gallo-Romans had become so interchangeable with Italian Romans in their manners and characteristics that they deserved to sit in the empire’s most prestigious political body. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/ClaudiantableIMG1073-black-1e4b98f-e1776333719521.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A large bronze tablet divided into two panels shows rows of engraved Latin text in capital letters, with a vertical crack running between the panels." title="A bronze tablet of AD 48 inscribed with a speech given by the emperor Claudius – himself born in Gaul – championing the right of Gallo-Romans to sit in the senate (Image by Rama Wikipedia Commons)" /> Two copies of Claudius’s speech survive: one in the Annals of Tacitus, writing in the early second century AD, and another as an inscription in Lyon from AD 48 recording Claudius’s success. Tacitus gives us some sense of the senators’ objections: how can the same people who were once such fierce enemies now be put in a position of such power? In reply, Claudius contended (as translated by AJ Woodman in 2004): “Our founder Romulus… was so effective in his wisdom that he regarded many peoples as enemies and then as citizens on the same day! Immigrants have reigned over us… [no other war] was concluded in a shorter space of time than against the Gauls. Thereafter there has been a constant and trusting peace. Now, merged as they are with us by conventions, attainments, and relationships, let them bring in their gold and wealth rather than keep them to themselves.” Claudius made a winning case for the ease with which the Gauls conquered by Caesar had embraced the elements of Roman citizenship, observing that this prepared them for leading roles in the Roman government. However, from the same emperor’s reign, we also see the other side of this approach. Claudius is recorded by another ancient historian – Cassius Dio, writing in the early third century AD – as having stripped someone of their citizenship for not behaving in a way that the emperor considered appropriate for a person who had been granted that status. As Earnest Cary’s 1924 translation has it: “[Claudius] reduced the Lycians to servitude because they had revolted and slain some Romans… During the investigation of this affair, which was conducted in the senate, he put a question in Latin to one of the envoys who had originally been a Lycian, but had been made a Roman citizen; and when the man failed to understand what was said, he took away his citizenship, saying that it was not proper for a man to be a Roman who had no knowledge of the Romans’ language.” This story highlights an important aspect of citizenship. Acting like a citizen seems, for some emperors at least, to have been as important as the grant itself. Acting Roman Roman identity was performed in several ways. Speaking Latin was one of them; another was donning the correct attire. In the second century AD, Pliny the Younger wrote a letter recounting the story of Valerius Licinianus, who was exiled by the emperor Domitian for raping the chief priest of Vesta, Cornelia. (She, in contrast, was sentenced to burial while still alive – a punishment available to the emperor for a Vestal who had ‘committed’ incestum, a violation of a religious law.) Exile included a loss of citizen status, which meant losing the right to wear elite male Roman dress – the toga. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-1162718076-f5245e6-e1776333502161.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A marble statue shows a standing figure in a long, draped garment, with one arm extended and the other holding part of the fabric at the waist." title="A statue of a Vestal virgin wearing a stola – a long, pleated, sleeveless robe – and palla (cloak), the garb of respectable adult women in ancient Rome (Image by Getty Images)" /> “Have you heard that Valerius Licinianus is teaching rhetoric in Sicily?” wrote Pliny, as translated by Betty Radice in 1969. “It is not long since this senator of praetorian rank was considered one of the best advocates in Rome. Now he has sunk to his present position – the senator is an exile and the orator a teacher of rhetoric… Then, when he had made his entry [into his new classroom] clad in a Greek cloak (those who have been ritually banished are not allowed to wear the toga), he made himself ready, looked down at his dress, and announced that he would deliver his speech in Latin.” Licinianus attempted to cling onto Latin, despite the fact that as a non-citizen he was strictly prohibited from wearing Roman dress. In a similar way, the stola – a garment worn by Roman citizen women – was strictly reserved for respectable daughters of Rome. Read more | You've been getting Roman togas wrong your whole life - here's why During most of the Republic, it wasn’t possible to hold more than one citizenship at one time – becoming Roman meant losing something else. However, in the last years of the Republic, that changed, even if extant sources do not provide many examples. A grant of Roman citizenship then did not automatically mean relinquishing local citizenship – both could be held at once. For some people, Roman citizenship would have held little value in day-to-day life. Working on a local farm or operating in local trade networks did not necessarily require access to the grand operating mechanisms of empire. And a local politician with his own established networks and elite status in his community did not invariably need to be eligible for the senate in Rome to fulfil his own ambitions. In AD 212, the emperor Caracalla extended Roman citizenship to almost all of the free population of the Roman empire. However, scholars suggest that before Caracalla made the grant, no more than 33 per cent of the inhabitants of empire held Roman citizenship. Previously, the majority had operated for centuries without it. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/ali016338-2-0f52d48-e1776333597701.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A marble bust shows a man with short, curly hair and a full beard, his head slightly turned and his expression stern. He wears a draped cloak fastened with a round clasp." title="A bust of the emperor Caracalla, who in AD 212 extended Roman citizenship to almost all free inhabitants of the empire (Image by Topfoto)" /> Later in history, Roman citizenship was held up as a model to be studied and in some ways emulated. During the Victorian and Edwardian periods, children of wealthy and prominent Britons – future leaders in the British empire – were educated in the citizenship strategies of ancient Greek states and Rome. However, newer ideas – of nationality, for example – made the transferral of ancient models difficult, as the debates of the era show. Principles of jus soli – the idea that British people are subjects by virtue of where they are born – or jus sanguinis (nationality by right of bloodline) play with ideas of antiquity, but are fundamentally different, adapted and readapted for new national and imperial contexts. Carrot and stick Returning to Machiavelli, his model obscures the number of people who lived under Roman control without assuming citizenship. What an analysis of Rome’s tactics also reveals is the extent to which citizenship could be used as either the carrot or the stick – reward or punishment. But what of the Lycian who was stripped of his citizenship simply because his language skills weren’t deemed up to scratch? What does it mean not to be a Roman citizen in the Roman empire? In practice, the man probably reverted back to the citizenship he had held in Lycia (now south-west Anatolia) before Roman annexation. As we’ve already seen, many regional citizenships existed – and continued to exist – within the Roman empire at the same time. Rome provides a variety of examples, lessons, and warnings about attitudes to and mechanisms of citizenship. A state that pins its own history on inclusivity can, at the same time, punish and restrict. In other words, the long history of the Roman empire tells many stories of multiple and varied citizenships. This article was first published in the April 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
The Huns terrorised Rome's frontiers – but wanted to keep the ancient empire alive
Feared as savage invaders, the Huns posed a serious threat to Rome – but their goal wasn’t conquest, or Roman annihilation
To the Romans of the late 4th and 5th centuries AD, the threat posed by the Huns was akin to a nightmare made real. They were lightning fast, brutally violent, and as culturally unfamiliar as any people the Romans had ever encountered. They seemed to emerge suddenly from beyond the empire’s frontiers, bringing with them destruction and fear. Roman writers described them in vivid, unsettling terms, presenting them as the ultimate barbarians. The arrival of the Huns on the frontier of the Roman empire coincided with a period historians often describe as the ‘Migration Period’ – a time of large-scale population movements across Europe, in which multiple groups were displaced and resettled, or otherwise pushed into Roman territory. Yet for all the alarm they caused, the Huns didn’t want to destroy the Roman empire. They wanted to exploit it. The reasons why reveal as much about Rome’s internal condition, as about the Huns themselves. Who were the Huns? The Huns were part of a broader pattern of migration and movement across Eurasia in late antiquity. “They’re one of a series of non-Roman groups migrating, we assume, from Eastern Asia, possibly away from the Chinese Empire,” explains archaeologist Miles Russell, while discussing the life of Atilla the Hun on the HistoryExtra podcast. Their precise origins remain debated, but many historians link them to steppe nomadic traditions that stretched across Central Asia, where highly mobile horse-based societies had long dominated. Unlike settled agricultural societies based around static farming and protected settlements, they were very itinerant. Listen now | From the Mongols to the Huns: the nomads who dominated Eurasia “They fight predominantly on horseback,” Russell says. This fighting style was a key factor in their military effectiveness. Their speed and flexibility made them difficult for Roman forces, accustomed to more structured warfare, to counter. Hunnic warriors were particularly known for their use of composite bows, which could be fired accurately from horseback, allowing them to attack at range and retreat before heavier infantry could respond. Importantly, however, Russell makes clear that the term ‘Huns’ doesn’t describe a single, uniform people. “When we’re talking about the Hunnic empire, it’s a bit like talking about the Roman empire,” he explains. “Not everyone is from Rome; in the Hunnic Empire, not everyone is a Hun.” Instead, the Huns functioned as a dominant elite – “the militaristic aristocratic force” – leading and coordinating a wider coalition of groups. These included well-known names such as the Visigoths, Ostrogoths, Vandals and Burgundians. “These are different barbarian groups outside the Roman world,” Russell notes, “most from Europe or East Asia.” A reputation built on fear Roman knowledge of the Huns was limited and filtered through fear. “The Romans are simultaneously terrified of the Huns, and they’re also really interested in them,” Russell says. Contemporary accounts describe their appearance and fighting style in detail but offer little reliable information about their origins or history. And, because “the Huns aren’t writing anything down themselves”, Roman observers were left to fill in the gaps. In Roman literature, the Huns are portrayed as the antithesis of civilisation – people who didn’t farm, didn’t cook food in conventional ways, and lived in close physical proximity to their horses. “They describe the Huns as cooking food by sticking it under their buttocks, heating it between rider and horse,” Russell says. They are also depicted as foraging for roots for their food, and living without settled communities. Read more | Meet the people the ancient Romans and Greeks desperately tried to hide Much of this imagery comes from writers such as Ammianus Marcellinus, whose accounts emphasised the difference and danger of the Huns, often exaggerating unfamiliar practices to reinforce notions of Roman cultural superiority. Such claims are unlikely to be accurate. But they served a propagandistic purpose. “To the Romans, the Huns represent the ultimate barbarian; the ultimate savage,” Russell explains. These portrayals reinforced a long-standing Roman worldview that divided humanity into degrees of civilisation, with Rome at the centre and ‘savagery’ at the furthest extreme. A coalition of peoples A major strength of the Huns lay in their ability to mobilise and coordinate other groups beyond Rome’s borders. “They can galvanise lots of different barbarian groups together into an overwhelming military force,” Russell says. This coalition approach made them particularly dangerous. Rather than a single army, they could draw on a wide network of allied or subordinate groups, adapting their forces as circumstances required. At the same time, they stood apart from many of those groups culturally and politically. “Most of the other barbarians … want to be Roman,” Russell explains. Groups such as the Visigoths and Ostrogoths often sought integration into the Roman world, including conversion to Christianity. “The Huns don’t,” he says. “They make it clear from the beginning that they don’t want to be part of the Roman Empire.” For many Germanic groups, entry into the Roman world meant land, status and wealth. But for the Huns, power came instead from exploiting those ideas. Rome divided against itself By the time the Huns appeared on the Roman frontier in the late 4th century, the empire itself was undergoing significant internal change. “We mustn’t think of Rome at this stage as one empire, or even two halves of the same empire,” Russell says. “They are becoming two separate empires.” This division had been formalised in 395 after the death of Emperor Theodosius I, when the empire was split between his sons into eastern and western administrations. Read more | Long before the ancient Roman empire, a rival superpower looked set for supremacy The eastern half, centred on Constantinople – a city founded in the 4th century and often described as “New Rome” – remained economically vibrant and politically stable. “It’s successful, with strong trade links, a dynamic and exciting city,” Russell explains. The western half, by contrast, was struggling. “Rome in the west is more of a cultural backwater at this stage,” he says. Political authority was weakening, administrative systems were faltering, and emperors increasingly ruled from Ravenna in northern Italy rather than from Rome itself. “Its military is collapsing,” Russell notes. At the same time, various non-Roman groups had already settled within its borders. These included federate groups who were allowed to settle within the empire in exchange for military service – a system that increasingly blurred the line between Roman and non-Roman power. Crucially, the two halves of the empire were not acting in concert. “East and west are not joining forces; they are competing against one another,” Russell explains. At times, the two halves even came into conflict with each other. Roman Britain | A short course from HistoryExtra Academy Member exclusive | In this four-week course, discover everything you need to know about Roman Britain, guided by Rob Collins, professor of frontier archaeology at Newcastle University. Explore the course now The Huns’ strategy It was this fragmented, weakened Roman context that the Huns sought to exploit. The Romans first became aware of the Huns indirectly, in the 370s AD, when other groups began fleeing westwards. This movement would eventually lead to major events such as the Gothic War and the battle of Adrianople in 378. But the Huns themselves soon followed. “The first thing they do is send armies into the Eastern Empire, burning cities and saying, ‘give us money and we’ll go away,’” Russell explains. It was a strategy of intimidation and extraction: not an attempt to replace Roman authority. “They’d rather not destroy the Romans completely,” Russell says, “because they’re a useful group to blackmail and extort money from.” Roman emperors often responded by paying large sums in tribute, effectively buying temporary peace. So, a functioning Roman state – wealthy and, at this moment, vulnerable – was far more valuable to the Huns than a conquered and destabilised territory. Why Rome struggled to respond In theory, Rome possessed the resources to respond effectively to such threats. In practice, it struggled. “If Rome had been unified under a single command, if it had a decent military … it might have responded,” Russell suggests. But those conditions didn’t exist. Civil wars, political rivalries and internal fragmentation had weakened the empire’s military capacity. The division between east and west further complicated any coordinated response. A unified empire with a strong military and coherent leadership might have resisted them more effectively. Instead, the Huns encountered a declining Rome. “It can’t deal with the Huns at any level,” Russell says. This inability to respond decisively allowed the Huns to continue their strategy of pressure and negotiation, extracting wealth while avoiding the risks associated with full-scale conquest. This continuous aggression would, eventually, play a crucial role in the Western Roman empire’s slow collapse. Miles Russell was speaking to Spencer Mizen on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Meet the rebels who destroyed an ancient Roman legion with guerrilla warfare
In theory, putting down the rebels of the First Jewish Revolt should have been easy for the mighty Roman empire. But strategic mistakes and complacency meant that the reality was very different
In AD 66, a Roman army marching through the hills west of Jerusalem was ambushed and largely destroyed. For an empire that prided itself on military discipline and dominance, the loss was quite remarkable. Roman legions were symbols of imperial authority, consisting of around 5,000 heavily trained infantry soldiers, supported by cavalry and auxiliary units. They represented the core of ancient Rome’s military power. To see one shattered by provincial rebels was, as historian Professor Barry Strauss notes, “a tremendous humiliation for Rome. It’s bad for business to have provincials destroying a legion”. The disaster took place during the early stages of what would become the First Jewish Revolt – a major uprising by Jewish groups in the Roman province of Judea against Roman rule, driven by political tensions and religious conflict. It was a struggle that would eventually draw in tens of thousands of Roman troops. But the defeat itself wasn’t an isolated accident. It exposed a deeper problem in the way Rome governed its empire. Ancient Rome’s blind spot At its height, the Roman empire controlled vast territories and populations with relatively limited military resources. “The Romans had a relatively small army – about 300,000 men – to control an empire stretching roughly 3,000 miles with a population of perhaps 50 million people,” Strauss explains, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast about the Jewish-Roman wars. This made Rome heavily dependent on its military strength, yes, but also on administrative efficiency. This meant that Rome relied heavily on cooperation from local populations, particularly local elites who could help maintain order. There was also an underlying assumption that Roman rule would ultimately be accepted – whether through force, cultural attraction, or political advantage. That assumption was often misplaced. Read more | The overshadowed ancient empire that rivalled Rome with maritime might and an iron fist “Rome underestimated the Jewish revolt,” Strauss says. In fact, he adds, “Rome tended to underestimate revolts in general, despite their frequency.” Rebellion wasn’t unusual in the Roman world. Other major uprisings, such as the revolt led by Boudica in Britain in AD 60–61, had already demonstrated how quickly provincial resistance could escalate into serious military threats. And yet, Roman authorities often reacted as though these revolts were unexpected. A fragile Roman province Judea was a particularly sensitive region within the empire. The province had been brought under Roman control in 63 BC, when the Roman general Pompey the Great captured Jerusalem. Since then, it had experienced periodic unrest linked to religious tensions and resistance to foreign rule. Unlike more strategically central provinces, it didn’t host a permanent Roman legion. “The Romans did not keep legions in Judea,” Strauss explains. “Judea was governed by what the Romans called auxiliary troops” who were recruited locally or from neighbouring regions. These forces were cheaper and easier to deploy, but they weren’t always well suited to maintaining stability. When rebellion broke out in AD 66, these auxiliary forces proved unable to suppress it. Cestius and the failed show of force Responsibility for restoring order fell to the Roman governor of Syria, Cestius Gallus. “When the revolt begins, the Roman governor of Syria comes south with a force of about 30,000 men to try to put the revolt down,” Strauss explains. As governor of Syria – one of Rome’s most important eastern provinces – Cestius had access to significant military resources, including legions stationed in the region. Cestius approached the situation with a degree of confidence that, in retrospect, proved misplaced. “He’s an older man, and he has a somewhat lackadaisical approach,” Strauss says. “He thinks a simple show of force will put the rebels in their place and stop the troubles.” At first, the plan seemed reasonable. A large Roman army advancing on Jerusalem might well intimidate the rebels into submission. But Cestius hesitated at a crucial moment. “He’s not prepared to lay siege to Jerusalem,” Strauss explains. “It’s the autumn; it’s not the time of year for a siege. The rains are about to begin.” Siege warfare in the ancient world required extensive preparation, including supply lines, siege engines and time – all of which were harder to maintain during the winter months. Rather than committing to a prolonged campaign, Cestius chose to withdraw. Caesar: Death of a Dictator Member exclusive | On the Ides of March 44 BC, the most famous Roman in history was murdered. Julius Caesar's assassination transformed Rome forever, and the image of his bloody toga has haunted monarchs and tyrants ever since. Listen to all episodes now The ambush at Beth Horon The decision to retreat turned into a catastrophe. As the Roman army moved back through the hill country west of Jerusalem, it entered a landscape ideally suited to ambush. “On the way back, the troops are ambushed, particularly in a narrow valley… called the Beth Horon Valley,” Strauss explains. The pass of Beth Horon had long been recognised as a strategic choke point controlling access between the coastal plains and the interior highlands. The valley was constricted, limiting the ability of Roman troops to manoeuvre in formation, and the surrounding high ground gave the rebels a tactical advantage. “It had been the scene of ambushes before,” Strauss notes, “and once again it was the site of a successful ambush.” “The rebels destroy most of a Roman legion. Thousands of men are killed,” Strauss says. For Rome, this was a symbolic blow that demanded a response. A humiliation Rome could not ignore Roman military prestige depended on the perceived invincibility of its legions. A defeat on this scale – inflicted by provincial rebels, no less – risked undermining that image. Strauss says the loss was “not something they could take lightly”. If left unaddressed, it could encourage further resistance elsewhere in the empire. The infamous Roman emperor Nero moved quickly to address the crisis. Nero sent reinforcements, but his choice of commander reveals the political complexities behind Roman decision-making. Nero had reason to be cautious. He had previously forced one of his most capable generals to commit suicide, fearing that military success might translate into political ambition. As a result, “he chooses a general who is capable but non-threatening,” Strauss says. The man was Vespasian, an experienced commander who had campaigned successfully in Britain. “He came from what Romans saw as a middle-class family from the Sabine country north of Rome,” Strauss explains. “Nero felt there was no way this man would threaten him on the throne.” This assessment would later prove mistaken: Vespasian would eventually become emperor in AD 69 after a civil war known as the Year of the Four Emperors, and the founder of the powerful Flavian dynasty. Read more | Are you healthier than a Roman? These ancient secrets for longevity are still shockingly relevant With Vespasian now in charge, Rome approached the revolt with far greater seriousness. “Vespasian has a larger force, closer to 60,000 men,” Strauss says. In AD 67, he began a systematic campaign to dismantle the rebellion. “He starts in the north, conquering Galilee and the Golan,” Strauss explains. One by one, rebel strongholds were defeated. This phase of the war included the capture of fortified towns such as Jotapata, where the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus was taken prisoner. “He forces the surviving rebels either to surrender, be killed, or flee to Jerusalem.” The siege of Jerusalem Jerusalem then became the focal point of the conflict. The city was both a site of immense religious importance, and a formidable defensive position. It was home to the Second Temple, the central place of worship in Judaism, making it the spiritual and political centre for the Jewish-Roman conflict. “It is impregnable on three sides; only the north is vulnerable, and that is where invaders always attack,” Strauss says. For Rome, defeating the revolt would now require a full-scale siege. That siege would eventually take place in AD 70 under Vespasian’s son – and, later, successor – Titus, resulting in the destruction of Jerusalem and the Second Temple. Read more | “Christianity didn’t invent itself as an empire from nothing: it adapted existing Roman structures” So, the Romans secured their victory. But the earlier disaster at Beth Horon reflected a broader pattern in Roman rule. “In part, this happens because the Romans were relatively arrogant toward the people they conquered,” Strauss explains. They assumed that local elites would align themselves with Roman interests and that resistance could be contained. But that proved to be a repeated underestimation. “Revolts were inevitable,” Strauss concludes. And, indeed, Judea would continue to be the source of more revolts in the future. “They were part of the price of doing business for the Romans.” James Osborne was speaking to Barry Strauss on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
The devastating Jewish revolt against the Roman empire
Barry Strauss reflects on the Jewish-Roman wars, exploring the roots – and legacy – of the conflict
It was under the rule of the infamous emperor Nero that the Great Revolt, the first of the Jewish-Roman wars, began, sparking many decades of continuous conflict. Speaking to James Osborne, historian and author Barry Strauss traces the story, following the the fate of the Jewish rebels and the legacy of the conflict.
The ancient Romans knew the power of entertainment as propaganda – here's the proof
In ancient Rome, putting on theatrical plays was not just a form of entertainment – it became a powerful tool of propaganda
Lysistrata by Aristophanes; Antigone by Sophocles; Medea by Euripides. Each is a play from ancient Greece, still performed on stages across the world today. Roman plays, on the other hand, are much less common. “We might think of theatre today as belonging to the cultural sphere, but in ancient Rome, it belonged to an incredibly political sphere,” says Dr Jessica Clarke, a research associate at the Institute of Classical Studies at the University of London and the author of A New History of Ancient Roman Theatre, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. “Entertainment is never neutral,” she says, but in ancient Rome, the theatre was explicitly political. “In Rome they didn't have independent theatres, so they didn’t have shows put on outside of politically controlled events.” This fact, she says, means that plays from ancient Rome have failed to remain as relevant as their Greek equivalents. The history of ancient Roman theatre Roman theatre hadn’t always been so overtly political; early Roman theatre was a “hodgepodge” of traditions and practices from previous empires and different areas of modern-day Italy, Clarke says. The ancient historian Livy, who Clarke says is the main source of information we have on the origins of Roman theatre, draws a "very neat line from actors arriving from Etruria to Roman theatre," Clarke says. While Etruscan performances did influence what would become Roman theatre, there’s more likely a “complicated web” of things that became the Roman theatrical tradition, including Greek plays translated into Latin and farcical plays from Campania in southern Italy. Read more | Meet the people the ancient Romans and Greeks desperately tried to hide In general, “Rome tended to absorb cultural influences, rather than inventing its own,” she adds – but it certainly gave theatre its own cultural significance. Theatrical shows would be put on at all kinds of events in Roman culture, including religious festivals, the triumphant returns of Roman generals, and even highly organised aristocratic funerals. “Crucially though, all of these performances are put on by politicians, who would have overseen rehearsals and selected the plays,” Clarke says. “Potentially there may have been some censorship involved as well – we don't know for sure, but it's very likely within this context.” This meant that the politicians could choose plays that worked with whatever political narratives they wanted to put forward (or censor parts that didn’t). <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/GettyImages-122211671-b717d9b-e1760010634986.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This 1st-century AD mosaic from the House of the Tragic Poet in Pompeii depicts the staging of a theatrical performance. Such scenes highlight the importance of theatre in Roman cultural life, blending entertainment with expressions of myth, satire, and social commentary." title="Roman civilization. Mosaic depicting staging of show in theatre. From House of Tragic Poet in Pompeii" /> The importance of theatre to the Roman political elite If audiences enjoyed the shows staged by politicians, this could have a hugely positive impact on their political careers, Clarke says. “It was an excellent opportunity to win popular favour, to entertain the people, to bring interest to your cause, and to get your name known in Rome,” Clarke says. For this reason, putting on shows was seen as an important thing for politicians to do as they advanced their careers and rose through the ranks. “In a traditional political career in Rome, you would work through the Cursus Honorum, which is essentially the political ladder, to get to the highest position,” Clarke says. “One of those early rungs of the ladder was something called the aedileship. That was the position as a magistrate where you were responsible for putting on games within the city. There were a couple of other responsibilities, but it was primarily putting on the shows.” Read more | The overshadowed ancient empire that rivalled Rome with maritime might and an iron fist The more spectacular a show, whether it was a play or a gladiatorial performance, the more popular a politician might be among voters. “Towards the end of the late Republic, we know that individuals were increasingly pouring huge amounts of their own money and resources into making these shows as splendid as possible, as it was a great opportunity,” Clarke says. The level of expense got so out of hand, that the senate eventually legislated a spending cap. This was brought in under the aedileship of Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus in 182 BC, because his events had cost so much that it became "burdensome" to the state, its allies, and its provinces abroad. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/ancient-roman-theatre-mask-5dec20e.jpeg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This 1st-century BC mosaic from the House of the Faun in Pompeii depicts a tragic dramatic mask, a powerful symbol of Roman theatrical culture. Masks like this were central to performances, allowing actors to embody gods, heroes, and emotions on stage." title="ancient-roman-theatre-mask" /> Different genres, different political messages “There's always something that you can say with a piece of entertainment,” Clarke says, making theatre a useful tool for “political manipulation.” “Tragedy seems to have had a place in high moments of political tension,” she says. For example, at the opening of the first permanent theatre in Rome in 55 BC, “Pompey chose to have two tragedies performed – Clytemnestra and The Trojan Horse – in Latin, translated from the Greek,” she says. “We also know that for Julius Caesar's funeral, again tragedies were chosen to present to the crowd.” Caesar: Death of a Dictator Member exclusive | On the Ides of March 44 BC, the most famous Roman in history was murdered. Julius Caesar's assassination transformed Rome forever, and the image of his bloody toga has haunted monarchs and tyrants ever since. Listen to all episodes now Comedies, on the other hand, helped to present and enforce the status quo that oppressed women and slaves. In Roman comedies, “violence towards women is expressed as a joke,” Clarke says. “It's seen as something that's amusing. Women are raped and that is often a plot point in the male characters' narratives, rather than having anything to do with the female character.” Similarly, slave and master dynamics would be reversed in comedies. “Often, the slave would seemingly be in a slightly more autonomous position within a comic plot,” Clarke says. “It's meant to be amusing that a slave could have a role where they are able to control their own destiny or the destiny of other characters in the play.” Some scholars disagree, interpreting the slave’s autonomous role as a challenge to the status quo with an emancipatory message, but that’s not Clarke’s view. “Whilst these comedies are bawdy, rowdy, and quite raucous, we do need to be aware that this is a form of theatre that comes from a society where slavery is institutionalised, and violence towards slaves and women is normalised as part of the comic narrative,” she says. This might be another reason why ancient Roman theatre hasn’t had the longevity that ancient Greek plays have had. “Greek theatre is still performed on the West End,” Clarke says. “But Roman theatre doesn't get performed today, primarily because the themes just aren't appropriate for a modern-day audience – with the slavery, with the depictions of violence. We just don't find that funny anymore.” Jessica Clarke was speaking to Emily Briffett on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.