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This ancient goddess commanded a Wonder of the World – but why did she have thirty breasts?
The strange and powerful symbol at the heart of one of history’s greatest temples reveals the importance of the goddess Artemis in ruling fertility, childbirth and nature
When we think of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, the Great Pyramid of Giza or the Hanging Gardens of Babylon may be the first examples that come to mind. However, the oldest-known versions of the list start with a landmark that is often forgotten: the Temple of Artemis. Located in the ancient city of Ephesus (near modern-day Selçuk, Turkey), this remarkable place of worship was renowned for its size and scale, standing at least 20 metres tall and boasting an enormous tile-covered roof supported by 127 marble columns. With a floor plan of some 6,000 square metres, the temple was also nearly three times as large as the famous Parthenon in Athens. But some of the most startling archaeological evidence from Ephesus isn’t concerned with the dimensions of the temple, nor its complicated history of destruction and rebuilding. Instead, much attention has been directed towards a collection of statues depicting the temple’s patron deity, Artemis. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/BAL957668-36357fc.jpg" width="7715" height="4533" alt="A large temple with a triangular roof and many columns holding it up. It sits on top of a large flight of stairs. The roof has a mural of the goddess sitting in the middle and surrounded by crowds of people and two golden horses" title="A 20th-century depiction of the Temple of Artemis, dedicated to the goddess Artemis (Image by Bridgeman Images)" /> Rather than portraying the goddess as a conventional Greek beauty, the sculptures display Artemis in an altogether different guise. And, according to classicist and broadcaster Bettany Hughes, these statues bear a particularly striking physical characteristic. Read more | On the steps of a sacred temple, Cleopatra's feud with her sister came to a blood-soaked end “[This] is not the Artemis that you probably have in your heads… this image of a beautiful young woman in a tiny Greek chiton, artfully pulling a bow and arrow,” reveals Hughes on an episode of the HistoryExtra podcast. “She is a huge, towering figure, covered in birds and bees, goats and curious figures. But what none of you will miss… is that she looks as though she has 30 or so breasts.” Thirty breasts… or testicles? What need did Artemis have for 30 breasts? As well as being the goddess of hunting and the moon, Artemis was also revered as a deity of fertility and childbirth. Having a multitude of breasts would therefore be a fitting attribute for a goddess so intrinsically connected with fecundity and womanhood. In fact, even alternative theories – which suggest that the ‘breasts’ are actually bulls’ testicles or sacks of honey – bolster Artemis’s association with abundance. Both motifs have also been used as symbols of procreation in Greek art, so the ambiguity was likely deliberate. “These ancient craftsmen are likely playing a game with us,” says Hughes. Ultimately, the ancient Greeks believed that Artemis was so potent in her fertility that “she didn’t need anything as mundane as sex to procreate”. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/M42ADD-2-4bc4f79.jpg" width="5560" height="3707" alt="A large statue of a woman with black hands and face, and covered in light brown bulbous growths. On her head, there is a well-shaped crown" title="A second-century AD interpretation of Artemis, with the head and hands cast in bronze added in the 19th century. Artemis is an enduring symbol of fertility (Image by Alamy)" /> A goddess of power and procreation It’s not just the features on the statue[s] itself that suggest Artemis’s importance – the location where they were discovered is notable too. Ephesus was situated on the eastern edge of the ancient Greek world, where Artemis’s association with fertility and childbirth was perhaps stronger than elsewhere. Read more | Wanderlust: Bettany Hughes on the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World “The Artemis who was worshipped in Ephesus was an ‘eastern Artemis’ – a direct descendant of the great nature goddesses of the eastern world,” says Hughes. “Any ancient traveller who went to visit the temple would have been left in no doubts of how extremely strong and potent she was.” While Artemis was regarded as a powerful goddess for all, she was particularly important to women. Care of the temple was entrusted to high priestesses, a system that Hughes likens to a “hive buzzing around, serving the queen bee”. Overall, maleness was not well tolerated at the site; it was intended to be devoted to female presence and power. An offer of sanctuary But it wasn’t just the high priestesses who devoted themselves to Artemis. Countless ordinary women also dedicated themselves to this bastion of fertility, travelling from far and wide to give offerings. “Poor female pilgrims would beat a path to Artemis’s door, and some of them would leave extraordinary gifts [and] beautiful gold offerings,” says Hughes. “They were left as temple dedications and then buried as hoards.” In some cases, the poorest pilgrims would simply leave a seashell for Artemis instead. They merely offered whatever they could, in the hope that the goddess would provide protection and preparation for marriage and childbirth. Crucially, the Temple of Artemis wasn’t solely a place for worship – it also functioned as a place of refuge for the oppressed. Hughes adds, “If you were being persecuted politically, and even if you were a woman escaping domestic abuse, you could go to sanctuary at the temple.” Read more | The gods and their whims: your guide to ancient Greek religion <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/WHA0108722-2-0d5f3b2.jpg" width="5000" height="3542" alt="A brown terracotta jug with a circular spout and no handle lays on its side on the left of the image. On the right, there is a pile of small gold-coloured coins" title="A round-mouthed jug and an assortment of Electrum coins, discovered in the foundations of the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus (Image by TopFoto)" /> A forgotten legacy The Temple of Artemis was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World for good reason. Its sheer scale and beauty were matched only by the power of the goddess it honoured. To the modern eye, her many breasts might seem slightly mystifying. But – whether seen as symbols of fertility, abundance or simply a playful riddle set by ancient craftsmen – they remind us of the complexity and depth of her worship. Bettany Hughes was speaking to Rachel Dinning on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
The ingenious Roman invention that sparked the ancient empire’s obsession with luxury
Beneath the mosaic floors of Roman villas, an ingenious system of underfloor heating transformed warmth into a mark of power
Think of Roman engineering, and it might be the grandest feats that first come to mind: the towering aqueducts bringing water to towns and cities, the amphitheatres filled with cheering crowds, and the paved roads that stitched the Roman empire together. The hypocaust – the Roman system of underfloor heating – may be less staggering in its scale, but it remains one of the most recognisable features of Roman domestic life. Archaeologists still point to those distinctive stacks of bricks beneath villa floors as a mark of Roman sophistication. “The hypocaust system is really important for us to think about when we consider Roman homes,” explains Dr Hannah Platts on the HistoryExtra podcast. “It was important to them: that it heated their baths and their other spaces.” But they weren’t for everyone. Who owned homes with underfloor heating? And what did such comfort say about status and power? “I should reiterate, having your own bathhouse or having a hypocaust was a luxury,” says Platts. Rome’s underfloor miracle At its simplest, a hypocaust worked by circulating hot air through a hollow space beneath the floor. A furnace, or praefurnium, was stoked outside the building; hot air from the furnace was funnelled into a network of small brick pillars (pilae) that supported a raised floor. But it wasn’t just about heating the floor. Read more | How and why did the Roman empire fall? “The hypocaust was used to heat houses via underfloor heating, but actually we’ve got a number of houses where we’ve got evidence of box flue tiles in the walls,” says Platts. “So we know that hypocausts could heat the walls of the rooms as well.” In the context of ancient Rome this was engineering of incredible sophistication. Archaeological remains from sites such as Pompeii and Ostia, and across Roman Britain, show entire suites of rooms heated by the system. Stepping barefoot on a mosaic floor, warmed from underneath, was quite literally to step upon Roman ingenuity. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/GettyImages-501581407-bcc2688-e1761039389477.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="The Roman baths at Salamis, dating to the 3rd century, feature a well-preserved hypocaust system beneath the tepidarium, or warm room. This network of brick pillars once channelled hot air under and through the floors." title="Roman Baths in Salamis, 3rd century." /> From the baths to the villa The hypocaust began as a public luxury, eventually exported to private homes. The earliest examples appeared in the great bath complexes (thermae) of the late republic and early empire. Roman baths were vast public leisure centres and required consistent, large-scale heating. The first recorded Roman hypocausts date to the first century BC, developed under architects and engineers serving figures such as Marcus Agrippa, the ally and later son-in-law of the Roman emperor Augustus. Under Augustus himself, public bathhouses multiplied across Rome and its provinces. The technique soon spread to private villas, where the wealthy adapted public comfort for domestic display. Read more | The Roman invasion: whose side were the Britons on? By the second century AD, during the reigns of emperors such as Hadrian and Antoninus Pius, the hypocaust had become a standard feature of elite architecture across the empire – from the Mediterranean heartlands to the frontier forts of Britain. The price of luxury But this warmth came at a cost. “We know that the idea of heating your house was really important, but it wasn’t for everyone,” says Platts. “To have a hypocaust system in one’s house was a big sign of wealth. It would generally only have been present in examples of really opulent and wealthy dwellings: dwellings that, for example, might have their own private bathhouses. “They didn’t even need to go to the general baths. They could just have fun in their own spaces.” And, Platts says, what often goes forgotten is that maintaining heat from a hypocaust was hard. Read more | Everything you wanted to know about the Roman emperors “It took significant effort to build [and] to maintain,” says Platts. Fires had to be constantly fed with wood, ash cleared away and airways cleaned. “There’s engineering skill behind it too,” says Platts. “Not everyone is going to be able to build a hypocaust. There is a huge amount of skill behind that building process, and then you’ve actually got to be able to run the hypocaust and have it working. It really would’ve taken considerable finances to build a hypocaust within your house.” The result was that the hypocaust became an unmistakable badge of wealth. Visitors entering a villa with warm floors knew instantly that they stood in the home of someone of status. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/GettyImages-122321683-4d378a5-e1761039625347.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This Roman mosaic from Sousse, Tunisia, shows the poet Virgil seated between the muses Clio and Melpomene as he writes the Aeneid." title="Tunisia, Susa, Mosaic work depicting the poet Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro, 70 A.C... - 19 A.C...) writing the Aeneid sitting between the muses Clio and Melpomene" /> The Roman world of privilege and luxury The hypocaust was one element within the broader picture of Roman luxury. For the upper classes, architecture, fashion, and food all worked together to display wealth and taste. “What also would be luxuries could be the way in which people spent their fortunes in other ways,” Platts says. “I’m thinking about fashionable clothing, or elaborate jewellery or gemstones. Romans loved amber. They loved pearls. They had quite a thing for uncut diamonds – as we all might – and things that were imported: ivory imported from Africa, silks imported from towards China.” The global reach of the Roman empire fed its appetite for exotic goods. To own these luxuries, to eat peppered dishes and dress in silk, was to embody the luxuries of empire. “Anything like fine wines, exotic spices, was a really good way of showing your status,” Platts notes. In this way, food became another way to demonstrate power. Enslaved servants circulated trays of imported delicacies from Britain, Syria and Africa, served to guests in rooms warmed by the hypocaust. Living symbols of servitude Luxury in Rome was also inseparable from labour, says Platts. Read more | Ancient Roman slavery: what was life like as an enslaved person? “Whilst owning a slave in and of itself was not a luxury – Rome was a slave-based economy, and actually, even many of the really relatively poor households would likely have one or two enslaved people living under their roofs – the number of slaves you had, where they came from, and how skilled they were, that really was a sign of wealth and luxury.” For the Roman elites, warm homes – and the people who kept them running – were signs of sophistication and wealth combined. The hypocaust might not have been as spectacular as an aqueduct or as imposing as an amphitheatre, but it does symbolise a crucial fact of ethos of the Roman empire: it shows how innovative engineering served comfort for the wealthy as much as conquest on the frontiers. Hannah Platts was speaking to Emily Briffett on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Ancient Roman theatre was a powerful weapon of empire, so why were actors' lives so tragic?
They performed before thousands and could become celebrities, yet actors in ancient Rome were stripped of their civic rights. What was life really like for the men who took to the Roman stage?
Roman society was acutely hierarchical. Every occupation carried a moral weight, and the line between dignity and dishonour was a stark one. A senator who spoke in the law courts could win eternal repute, but a gladiator who risked his life to entertain the masses was branded socially devalued, and the same was true of actors. No matter how dazzling their performances in front of a packed theatre might be, their profession consigned them to the lowest rungs of society. By law they were infamis; people of ill repute, stripped of civic rights and grouped alongside the enslaved. But what was this paradoxical life of stardom and shame really like for the actors of the Roman empire? Roman theatre’s golden age under Augustus “When we talk about a golden age of Roman theatre, we tend to be talking about Emperor Augustus’s reign and the beginning of the Roman empire,” says Jessica Clarke, author of A New History of Ancient Roman Theatre, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. “This was a period with new cultural, religious and political structures being implemented.” Augustus was the first emperor of Rome, ruling from 27 BC until AD 14. And he grasped how useful theatre could be as a political tool. Read more | The worst Roman emperors Spectacle was part of a strategy that Romans would come to call panem et circenses, or bread and circuses: free food and entertainment offered to the populace in return for loyalty and social cohesion. Drama and performance helped bind audiences into a shared Roman identity and provided a stage (quite literally) for imperial ideology. <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" /> A web of theatres across the Roman empire “Augustus built hundreds of theatres across the Roman empire, all following the design of the theatre that he also built for himself in Rome,” Clarke explains. “These theatres are enormous, they’re spread across all of the provinces. Essentially, what he built was a web of entertainment venues that Rome was in charge of.” These theatres were architectural marvels in themselves. The Theatre of Marcellus in Rome, inaugurated by Augustus in 13 BC and named after his nephew, could seat more than 10,000 people. Its semicircular rows of stone seating rose above a wide orchestra space and a stage backed by the towering scaenae frons; a richly decorated permanent backdrop of columns, niches and statues. Men and women alike could attend the performances at this new wave of theatres, (unlike in Greece, where women were mostly banned from attending) and seating was arranged by social rank, with senators and equestrians – members of the second-highest social class – in prime positions, and the poor higher up. Read more | Women in ancient Greece: what were their lives like? Performances ranged from solemn tragedies to ribald comedies, farcical mimes and elaborate pantomimes accompanied by music and dance. Admission was usually free, funded by magistrates or emperors seeking popularity. Who performed and who was excluded The Roman stage, however, was overwhelmingly male. As in Greece, women were largely banned from treading the boards. Clarke points to the existence of scant evidence of female performers in mime and pantomime – forms considered lower status and more risqué – but official theatre roles were reserved for men. “It’s quite similar to Shakespearean rules around who is allowed to step onto a stage,” says Clarke. “Though it would have been slightly easier for men to play the female roles because they had masks on.” Masks, made of linen and plaster or occasionally wood, were central to performance, and not just because they made it easier for men to portray women; they exaggerated expressions and amplified voices too. 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 Actors as infamis No amount of training or talent could lift an actor out of the social stigma that came with the role. “In ancient Rome, acting was an incredibly lowly profession,” says Clarke. “It wasn’t something that was seen as an acceptable job for a Roman citizen to undertake. An actor was in the class known as infamis. “This was the same class as a slave; the same class as a prostitute. You would have no voting rights, and you also don’t have bodily autonomy, so you don’t have legal rights over your body,” Clarke explains. Why this disdain? Roman moralists believed that a respectable citizen should preserve dignitas (dignity) and gravitas (seriousness). To display one’s body on stage, to impersonate others, or to provoke laughter was considered undignified. The actor sold their body and voice for public pleasure, which made the profession inherently shameful. Read more | Who were the gladiators of ancient Rome? Plus Spartacus, Crixus and 8 more fighters you should know This attitude was consistent with how Roman society viewed other entertainers. Gladiators might achieve celebrity in the arena, and charioteers could command passionate fan followings, but both were technically degraded in status. Performers were celebrated in spectacle but lacked any standing in civic life. The life of a Roman actor Evidence from inscriptions, satirical writings and contracts paints a picture of precariousness. Troupes travelled from town to town, dependent on festivals and civic sponsorship for work, while pay was unreliable; some actors received generous gifts, others little more than food and board. The constant would have been the rehearsals. Actors trained their voices to carry across open-air theatres, practised precise gestures codified to signal emotions and maintained the masks, costumes and props essential for performance. Injuries would have been common, especially in physical pantomimes involving acrobatics. Read more | The overshadowed ancient empire that rivalled Rome with maritime might and an iron fist “But that doesn’t mean that we don’t know about some very famous actors,” says Clarke. “One we know of is called Clodius Aesopus. He was the most famous tragic actor in the late Republic. Cicero was friends with him.” Aesopus, active in the first century BC, was celebrated for bringing Greek classics to Roman audiences. As Clarke notes, he became a personal acquaintance of Marcus Tullius Cicero, one of Rome’s greatest statesmen, orators and philosophers, whose speeches still survive as masterpieces of Latin prose. That such a figure could publicly befriend an actor underscores the inherent paradox: Aesopus was admired, wealthy and socially connected, yet in law he remained infamis. Life as a Roman actor was full of strange contradictions. The art form of theatre was a powerful political tool, theatres themselves were magnificent constructions, audiences were vast and enthusiastic, and some performers became famous enough to mingle with Rome’s elite. Yet the profession itself stripped actors of rights and respect. It was a life lived in the spotlight, but without dignity. Jessica Clarke was speaking to Emily Briffett on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
The overshadowed ancient empire that rivalled Rome with maritime might and an iron fist
Historian Josephine Quinn explores how the Phoenicians and their great colony, Carthage, built a maritime empire that once overshadowed both Greece and Rome
The Phoenicians founded one of antiquity’s greatest Mediterranean powers. An ambitious and powerful network of seafaring traders along the eastern Mediterranean coast, they built a commercial empire whose crowning capital was Carthage: a city that rivalled (and for much of its history outshone) both ancient Greece and Rome. It was from here that they imposed a ruthless influence across the region. “I feel like this is something that has been lost in ancient histories that move from Greece first to Rome second. They miss out this massive third power, which was sometimes bigger than both,” says historian Josephine Quinn, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. But this great power began only as a cluster of small port cities, overshadowed by mighty neighbours. So how did the Phoenicians rise to command vast trade routes, create colonies across the western Mediterranean, and challenge the future dominance of Rome? The Phoenicians: masters of the seas Centred on the harbours of modern-day Lebanon and Syria – notably Tyre, Sidon and Byblos – the early Phoenicians developed a reputation as “extraordinary navigators”. “They discovered the Pole Star and founded settlements in the western Mediterranean long before the Greeks were sailing around the region,” explains Quinn. Read more | Ancient Roman theatre was a powerful weapon of empire, so why were actors lives so tragic? As pioneers of open-sea sailing who steered by the stars, they also proved formidable traders. They carried cedar wood, glassware, textiles and most famously purple dye made from murex shells – a commodity so costly that it became the colour of kings. For centuries they acted as middlemen of the Mediterranean, linking Egypt, Mesopotamia, Greece and beyond. Their alphabet, a streamlined script of 22 letters, spread westward and would later form the basis of Greek and Latin writing systems. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/GettyImages-122321640-58d95d9-e1759403532776.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This 4th-century BC relief depicts a Phoenician merchant ship, highlighting the seafaring skills that made the Phoenicians some of the most influential traders of the ancient Mediterranean. Their maritime networks connected cities from Carthage to Cyprus, spreading goods, ideas, and culture." title="Relief portraying Phoenician merchant ship" /> From survivors to empire-builders In their early centuries, Phoenician cities were indeed overshadowed by powerful neighbours. “During the Bronze Age, they were stuck in between enormous empires: the Egyptians, the Hittites and the Babylonians,” says Quinn. Phoenician independence was precarious, and kings of Tyre or Sidon appear in surviving letters pleading with pharaohs or paying tribute. But around 1200 BC, the great Bronze Age states collapsed: Egyptian power waned, the Hittites disappeared, and Mycenaean Greece fell into turmoil. Read more | A Bronze Age Brexit: why did these Britons mysteriously cut themselves off from Europe? This so-called ‘Bronze Age collapse’ remains the subject of debate among historians and archaeologists, but whatever its cause, the Phoenicians emerged as the main beneficiaries. “Once those kings disappeared, that’s when they had the motivation and knowledge to really take advantage and come into their own,” Quinn explains. This resulting ‘golden age’ of Phoenician power, spanning roughly 1000–500 BC, saw their colonies multiply and their ships travel further than ever before. Westward expansion The Phoenicians sailed beyond the Levant and into the central and western Mediterranean, establishing colonies on the islands of Cyprus, Malta, Sicily and Sardinia, as well in north Africa and on the Iberian Peninsula. Crucially, it was in these colonies that the settlers founded a chain of new cities which, according to Quinn, became “even more powerful and wealthy than their Phoenician mother cities”. It was this gradual westward shift that marked the rise of Carthage. 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 Carthage: a mega city of the Mediterranean Founded around 800 BC by settlers from Tyre, Carthage (in modern-day Tunisia) grew into a true superpower. Its location, with access to both the Mediterranean and rich north African hinterlands, made it a commercial crossroads. “Carthage was a mega-city, and it controlled trade and shipping in most of the western Mediterranean,” Quinn explains. By the fifth century BC, Carthage had eclipsed Tyre and Sidon. At its height, it may have housed as many as 400,000 inhabitants, dwarfing most Greek poleis. Its sphere of influence stretched across north Africa, Spain, Sardinia and Sicily. Its merchants dominated trade, and its powerful navy made Carthage the master of western waters. Carthage was also culturally distinctive. Though founded by Phoenicians, it developed its own traditions, religion and political system. Its oligarchic government, centred on a council of elites, was described by Aristotle as one of the best-ordered constitutions of his time. Read more | 14 influential ancient Greeks But Carthage’s dominance rested not just on commerce and control of economic routes. It also wielded great military power. Its war fleets patrolled trade routes, and treaties spelled out its control. “We have various Carthaginian treaties that talk about how people who are not Carthaginians should not go past certain ports. And then there’s a wonderful Greek author, Eratosthenes, who explains that if you did, Carthaginian ships would just come along and toss you into the sea. So they really enforced their control … it really was their sea,” Quinn says. The city’s power extended inland, too. Carthage employed mercenary armies to defend its territories and fight its wars. Wealth from trade paid for soldiers, ships and fortifications, cementing its dominance. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/10/GettyImages-804448900-14b8416-e1759403684826.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This 19th-century illustration portrays Carthaginian general Hannibal leading his army — and famously, his war elephants — across the Alps in 218 BC. One of the boldest manoeuvres in military history, it set the stage for a string of victories against Rome during the Second Punic War, including Cannae in 216 BC." title="Hannibal And His War Elephants Crossing The Alps 218 BC (19th Century)" /> Rome’s greatest rival? From the third century BC, Rome and Carthage collided in the Punic Wars – three great conflicts that shaped the trajectory of the Mediterranean. At the outset, Rome was still a regional power in Italy, while Carthage commanded fleets, colonies and enormous wealth. The wars were brutal, encompassing sea battles that destroyed entire navies, sieges that starved cities, and campaigns that swept across Spain and north Africa. The most famous episode came when the powerful general Hannibal led Carthaginian armies – as well as elephants – over the Alps to devastate his enemies. But Rome was able to withstand the attacks, and after more than a century of intermittent war, it crushed Carthage in 146 BC, razing the city and claiming its empire. Read more | This ancient goddess commanded a Wonder of the World – but why did she have thirty breasts? “You can’t underestimate the power of Carthage in the west and what an extraordinary task it was for the Romans to actually overtake them in the end,” says Quinn. Now, Carthage is known to many as Rome’s defeated enemy, while the Phoenicians are reduced to an obscure and mysterious precursor. But for hundreds of years before Rome’s rise, the Mediterranean was already shaped by the Phoenician cities and the maritime empire of Carthage: a power that wielded its might with an iron fist, and for much of its history, stood taller than either of its more famous rivals. Josephine Quinn was speaking to Emily Briffett on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
The Phoenicians: everything you wanted to know
Everything you wanted to know about history (podcast series)
Josephine Quinn shines a light on the peoples of the ancient Mediterranean, who – despite leaving an extraordinary legacy – have been relatively overlooked in history
They gave us the alphabet, charted the seas by the Pole Star, and built Carthage – once Rome’s greatest rival. So why have the Phoenicians been forgotten? Speaking to Emily Briffett, historian Josephine Quinn explores the story of these ancient seafarers, traders and city-builders who connected the cities surrounding the Mediterranean – and left an extraordinary legacy – long before Greece and Rome rose to power.
Were the Amazons just a “male fantasy”? Here’s the truth behind the ancient world’s warrior women
Greek myths of the Amazons blended kernels of truth with male fantasy to create a legend that has lasted for millennia. Here’s the truth behind the Amazons, and why the notion of warrior women fascinated and unsettled the ancient world
Few figures from antiquity capture the imagination quite like the Amazons: fearsome warrior women who fought Greek heroes, rode horses into battle and lived in societies ruled by beautiful and terrifying queens. From epic poetry to vase paintings, they endured as unique symbols of female power and independence in the world of ancient Greece. But were the Amazons ever real? According to Professor David Braund, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast, the answer is both yes and no. “There are two ways that we use the word ‘Amazons’. There’s a general way to mean women who fight, and if you want to know whether they existed in the ancient world, for sure they did.” In other words, some women certainly did hunt, fight and join pitched battles when their cities were under attack. These women slot into the archetypal image of an Amazon woman: fierce fighters who subverted the typical roles of women who lived in the ancient world. But what about the specific Amazons of Greek myth? The horse-riding warrior queens depicted on temples and vases? Braund argues that these were creations of the Greek imagination, shaped as much by male fantasy as by fragments of reality. Real women who fought across the ancient world The notion of women taking up arms was not purely mythical. Ancient sources, and modern evidence, suggest that some women did fight in exceptional circumstances. Read more | Ancient Greek religion “There were women who certainly went hunting and used weapons, and almost certainly participated in battles at times when their city was under attack,” Braund says. These women were not part of a single all-female society. They were members of families and communities who took up arms in moments of crisis. The ancient Greeks, however, wove these scattered examples into stories of an entire nation of warrior women – an idea that both fascinated and disturbed them. The Amazons of Greek imagination The notion of the Amazons as a unified group appeared as soon as Greek culture began producing literature and art, where they were depicted in combat with heroes like Heracles, Theseus and Achilles. “The Amazons appear in Greek culture as soon as we start to get Greek texts, Greek ideas and, astonishingly, Greek buildings. When a state takes a decision to create one of these great big public buildings like the Parthenon, what do they do? They put depictions of the Amazons across a large part of it.” Read more | Three thousand years ago, the ancient Greeks turned an even older civilisation into a monster Scenes of Amazons battling Greeks decorated the Parthenon’s shield and friezes. That Athenians chose to carve warrior women into their most expensive construction project reveals how deeply the myth resonated. So the idea of the Amazons embodied both danger and allure; women who had to be defeated for Greek order to prevail. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-1435558850-1-5132a47-e1757539619493.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This lekythos, dating to around 420–410 BC, depicts an Amazonomachy — a mythical battle between Greeks and Amazons. Such scenes were popular in classical art, symbolising the clash between civilisation and the ‘other’ in ancient Greek thought." title="Amazonomachy (Battle Of Greeks Against Amazons) Lekythos" /> Where did the myth of the Amazons come from? “In ethnic terms, the Amazons were described as Thracian … [living] somewhere between the lower Danube and the northern coast of the Aegean Sea,” explains Braund. According to myth, Greek heroes destroyed the Amazon homeland in eastern Europe, which was sitting on the edge of the Greek world. Survivors fled, and some were enslaved and shipped across the continent. As Braund explains, some of the enslaved survivors wrested control of the slave ships, but – lacking the knowledge of how to sail them – ended up being at the mercy of the waves. They then washed ashore near the Black Sea, where they encountered the Scythians, nomadic horse-riders famed across the Eurasian steppe. Read more | Meet the people the ancient Romans and Greeks desperately tried to hide But how did these lost Amazons react in this hostile territory? “They’re resourceful, they’re fiercely intelligent, and they really know horses. So, the first thing they do is start trying to find some horses they can steal,” says Braund. Naturally, this brought them into violent conflict with the Scythians, and when the Scythians stripped the armour from dead Amazons, they were astonished. “They thought, ‘My god, these are women, and yet they can fight; they’re strong!’” This foundational myth of the Amazon women, crafted by the Greeks, may have reflected Greek awareness of steppe cultures where women did sometimes ride and fight alongside men. What archaeology tells us about real Amazons Modern archaeology offers glimpses of reality behind the myths. In Scythian-era burials on the Black Sea steppe, some female skeletons have been found with bows, arrows and even spears. Were these women the Amazons of Greek legend? “You do have some burials which may well be burials of women [with weapons]. But the fact that the weapon is there doesn’t necessarily tell you a great deal,” Braund cautions. Read more | Women in ancient Greece: what were their lives like? Some of these women may indeed have been warriors. Others may have been buried with weapons as symbolic objects. So, while the evidence can be overstated, it does show that women in steppe societies sometimes played martial roles, perhaps frequently and visibly enough to fuel Greek stories of Amazons. An ancient Greek male fantasy? For Greeks, the appeal of the Amazons was not just that they were capable warriors – it was that they represented an inversion of the Greeks’ own society. “The Greek image of this Amazon society is that they are entirely matriarchal. They have a queen, and these Amazons are quite explicitly beautiful in a way that appeals to men. After all, this is a Greek male fantasy we’re dealing with here, ultimately.” Read more | The ancient Greeks at war According to Braund, then, the Amazons were considered to be women who were desirable but dangerous; admirable yet ultimately conquerable by Greek heroes. It’s a myth that emphasises the ‘strangeness’ of far-flung lands beyond the borders and control of ancient Greece, while also asserting Greek power. Between myth and reality So – were the Amazons real? Not in the way Greek art and epic described them. There was never a nation of matriarchal warrior queens situated along the rivers of eastern Europe. But there were certainly women who hunted, fought and rode horses in the ancient world, particularly on the fringes of Greece within the nomadic cultures of the steppe. The stories of the Amazons might tell us less about actual women in antiquity than about Greek men: their fears of female power, their fantasies of beauty and violence, and their fascination with societies that inverted their own values. This article is based on an interview with David Braund, speaking to David Musgrove on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation. More from us HistoryExtra members can explore more ancient Greek history with exclusive content from our archives Ancient Greek theatre and the Athenian identity Did any ancient Greeks visit Britain? Ancient Greek warrior women: the extraordinary female figures who shaped the Greco-Persian Wars Not a HistoryExtra member? Explore our latest membership offers
What have the Etruscans ever done for us?
The wealthy civilisation that dominated the Italian peninsula before the Romans left a legacy that’s full of surprises. Lucy Shipley explains why we have the Etruscans to thank for the way we write, the shape of our towns, Renaissance art – and even horror movies
They taught us to read and write (well, kind of) Long before the Romans came to dominate the ancient world – before Caesar crossed the Rubicon, Claudius invaded Britain and Vesuvius buried Pompeii – another civilisation dominated the Italian peninsula: the Etruscans. You may have heard of them, or that name may mean nothing to you. Either way, there’s little doubting their influence, continuing through the long hegemony of the Romans (who occupied Etruscan settlements) and the medieval period all the way to the modern age. The Etruscans, whose name is echoed in the modern region of Tuscany, emerged in central Italy around 900 BC. Their heartland, Etruria, lay between the rivers Tiber and Arno, and their cities were often perched on imposing plateaus with views across the fertile fields and metal-bearing soils that made their fortune. Their ports sent vessels out into the Tyrrhenian Sea (which bears their Greek name), trading as far afield as Spain and the near east. If you know the Etruscans at all, you might identify them as the villains of many a Roman tale or Greek myth. But who were these people? How did they live? And what impact do they have on our lives today? <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-webready150617775-378ec5d.jpg" width="3602" height="2401" alt="A pale green and cream tablet with white letters inscribed across the top" title="An ivory writing tablet discovered in Marsiliana d'Albegna. The characters of the Etruscan alphabet inscribed along the top clearly influenced modern Latin letters (Image by Getty Images)" /> Well, a good place to start is with the words you’re reading on this page. Without the Etruscan alphabet, the Latin characters we use in modern English writing could have developed totally differently. Etruscan letters are clearly influenced by Greek and Phoenician scripts, but you’ll find you can read them with relative ease because the letter forms are so familiar. Read more | The history of Florence: Italy's Renaissance powerhouse Helpfully, a miniature ivory writing tablet dating from the seventh century BC has been discovered in a burial site at Marsiliana d’Albegna in southern Tuscany. Running along the top edge is the Etruscan alphabet, its letters inscribed in order from right to left – the Etruscan way of doing things. Some of the letter forms had not yet reached the shapes with which we’re familiar today – H, I and M look quite different, for example – but the origins of our modern Latin alphabet are plain to see. There is, though, a catch: linguists are still working to fully understand Etruscan. Though it’s easy to read many of the words, we aren’t always sure what all of them mean. We do know, though, that Etruscan wasn’t an Indo-European language – so it wasn’t related to Latin, Umbrian or most other tongues spoken in ancient Italy. There’s another problem: Etruscan texts are in short supply. We know that Etruscan people commonly wrote and read texts – from initials on weaving tools to detailed legal contracts – but, because the majority of their written works were on linen, few have survived. There are extraordinary exceptions – an incredible Etruscan religious book that was slashed to make mummy bandages, for example, and golden plaques boasting about a local politician’s gifts to a temple – but, as yet, no Etruscan poetry or history. Perhaps the Etruscan version of Herodotus is out there, waiting to be discovered. In the meantime, we have views of this people only from its enemies – all to be taken with a hearty pinch of salt. They were innovative pioneers of urban design The Etruscans were exceptional town planners – and that very success is one reason why our knowledge of their culture is so limited. Archaeological research has shown that some Etruscan settlements occupied the same sites for centuries, stretching back into the early Iron Age. Many of these places were so popular that they remained continually occupied through the Middle Ages and into the modern day. As a result, much evidence of Etruscan life lies buried beneath the winding streets of photogenic Italian towns and cities. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-475602207webready-14f01f4.jpg" width="1500" height="989" alt="The Etruscan site now known as Marzabotto, near Bologna, was constructed on a neat grid pattern in the sixth century BC – a fine example of early town planning that influenced the Romans (Image by Getty Images)" title="The Etruscan site now known as Marzabotto, near Bologna, was constructed on a neat grid pattern in the sixth century BC – a fine example of early town planning that influenced the Romans (Image by Getty Images)" /> Fortunately, thanks to some extraordinary surviving remains, we know a great deal about how Etruscan people organised their lives in towns. The site now called Marzabotto, near Bologna, seems to have been constructed as a new town in the sixth century BC. It’s built on a neat grid pattern or orthogonal plan, with a careful designation of what looks like public spaces as well as domestic buildings. There’s written evidence for a zilath, or magistrate, responsible for maintaining roads, and for another role responsible for managing weights and measures. Destroyed by invading Gauls in the fourth century AD, the site epitomises the peak of Etruscan expansion. Read more | Blood, guts and spectacle: 6 shocking events from the history of ancient Roman gladiators The Etruscans’ complex urban communities influenced those who came after. The neat patterns of Roman forts and the iconic insulae (apartment blocks) at Pompeii and elsewhere have much in common with Etruscan town-planning ideals. In fact, we know that the Etruscans occupied Pompeii, and it was during their rule that the first forum and the Temple of Apollo were built. From Marzabotto to Milton Keynes, the orthogonal or grid plan continues to influence town planning today. They created the concept of combat as entertainment It’s arguably the most iconic scene at the climax of surely the most iconic film of 2000, Ridley Scott’s multi-Oscar-winning Gladiator. Maximus (played so memorably by Russell Crowe) wanders through a wheat field into the afterlife. That episode was filmed in the Val d’Orcia in Tuscany, at the heart of the Etruscans’ ancient homeland. Coincidence? Probably. Yet, given the Etruscans’ role in the inception of gladiatorial combat, it’s rather fitting. Though gladiators will forever be synonymous with ancient Rome – thanks in no small part to Spartacus and Maximus himself – we have the Etruscans to thank for the rise of this brutal form of entertainment. There’s plenty of evidence for this – notably in a network of painted tombs at Tarquinia, about 45 miles north-west of Rome. This amazing necropolis contains numerous burial chambers decorated with images of Etruscan life and imaginings of the afterlife. Some are inspiring, drawn from sharply poignant observations of the natural world. Others are disturbing, showing the extent of human cruelty. Take the late sixth-century BC Tomb of the Augurs. This features depictions of funerary games – exhibitions of strength and athleticism in honour of the dead. You can see two nude wrestlers grappling in front of a series of three piled bowls (clearly the prizes). There’s also a referee holding the lituus, or ceremonial staff. So far, so jovial. But on another wall is a more disturbing image. A masked man holds a long leash restraining a creature who is viciously biting the legs of another man, armed with a club but hopelessly entangled. The creature may be a dog or, perhaps, a black leopard – its long tail and raking claws suggest the latter. This cruel contest between man and beast is a clear predecessor of the celebrated Roman games, for which thousands of animals were imported. The Roman names for some of the officials at these contests were derived from Etruscan, and the dreaded figure of Charon, who finished off wounded gladiators with his massive hammer, was derived from the Etruscan death demon Charun. The Romans may have refined and supercharged the concept of armed combat as entertainment. Yet they clearly didn’t invent it. They've scared us witless In 1972, horror fans immersed themselves in a ghoulish tale of intrigue and death set in central Italy, L’etrusco uccide ancora (The Etruscan Kills Again). The film tells the story of a spate of murders by a killer who gets his (or her) kicks out of dispatching young couples and leaving their corpses posed in recreations of Etruscan art. A strange conceit, you may think – but that didn’t stop The Etruscan Kills Again becoming something of a cult classic. The Etruscans and their homeland have proved to be a rich source of inspiration for modern writers and film-makers. Scenes in the astronomically successful book/film saga Twilight were set in the Etruscan hill town of Volterra. And the award-winning 2023 film La Chimera follows grave-robbers led by a down-at-heel British archaeologist attempting to steal artefacts from an Etruscan dig. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/BAL4642126webready-26b39dd.jpg" width="835" height="1240" alt="The Etruscan god of the underworld, Aita, represented in a tomb painting in Tarquinia by a man wearing a wolfskin (Image by Bridgeman Images)" title="The Etruscan god of the underworld, Aita, represented in a tomb painting in Tarquinia by a man wearing a wolfskin (Image by Bridgeman Images)" /> The terrifying figures on the tomb paintings at Tarquinia have had a particularly long cultural afterlife, perhaps influencing modern depictions of werewolves. One fearsome character among them is a man wearing a wolfskin over his head, representing Aita, Etruscan god of the underworld. There are also more menacing werewolf-type Etruscan demons, including Calu who is depicted on reliefs from urns at Perugia and Volterra, often popping out of a sunken container or well and taking on a group of gathered heroes. This myth is very old: one eighth-century BC bronze situla (container) from Bisenzio seems to show a group of armed men battling a monstrous canine. This scary figure survived in Etruscan culture for 500 years, and its descendant still terrifies us today. Read more | Paint your own pot, like an ancient Etruscan Also at Tarquinia, the late fifth-century BC Tomb of the Blue Demons features terrifying figures with blue skin who are shown wielding snakes. And on a wall in the Tomb of the Infernal Chariot at Sarteano rears a three-headed serpent that will haunt your nightmares. They inspired the Renaissance What’s the connection between the Etruscans and Michelangelo, Raphael and Botticelli? This may appear to be an odd question, given that the more-ancient civilisation had been absorbed into Roman society at least a millennium before those Renaissance greats were in their pomp. But visit the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, and it might not appear quite such a preposterous proposition after all. This chapel is home to one of the great masterpieces of western art: a fresco cycle painted by the Florentine artist Giotto between 1303 and 1305. These frescoes depict scenes from the lives of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. But it is the artist’s portrayal of the Last Judgment – and particularly the horrendous figure of Satan – that features suspicious hints of Etruscan influence. Giotto’s prince of darkness is azure-skinned – the same colour as the eponymous entities in Tarquinia’s Tomb of the Blue Demons, created by Etruscan artists 1,700 years earlier. The infernal figure is also flanked by adders in a pose almost identical to that depicted in the Etruscan tomb. Could Giotto have been aware of his ancient predecessors’ work? <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/ALAMY-2C81WHJwebready-eb195c5.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A painting of showing a large blue Satanic figure, surrounded by several naked people in hell" title="Giotto’s Last Judgment fresco in Padua’s 14th-century Scrovegni Chapel, with an azure Satan – perhaps influenced by figures like those in the Etruscan Tomb of the Blue Demons (Image by Alamy)" /> Etruscan art may also have influenced Renaissance culture in less hellish forms. In his Comedy of the Nymphs of Florence, penned c1341–42, the writer Giovanni Boccaccio called his Tuscan arcadia “Etruria”. Meanwhile, the philosopher Leonardo Bruni proudly recounts the Etruscan history of Florence in his History of the Florentine People, begun in 1415. It seems unlikely to be a coincidence that the first reported discovery of Etruscan pottery comes from Bruni’s hometown of Arezzo, describing artefacts found during building work on the city wall and diligently recorded by the monk Ristoro d’Arezzo in 1282. The Renaissance was clearly inspired by medieval Europeans’ engagements with the entire span of classical art. Yet we can speculate with some confidence that the Florentine Renaissance was influenced more specifically by that city’s own Etruscan heritage. They helped kindle our love affair with the ancient Greeks Nothing says ancient Greece quite like the Attic black and red-figure vase. In fact, it’s safe to say that such pieces – decorated with depictions of everything from ancient battles to erotic scenes – have become icons of the Greek world. But why are we talking about them in an article about the Etruscans? The answer is that the vast majority of the complete examples of Attic vases that survive today were excavated from Etruscan tombs in the late 18th and early 19th centuries – in fact, they were known then as ‘Etruscan vases’. Collectors in northern Europe, fresh from their Grand Tour shopping trips, displayed these vessels in dedicated Etruscan rooms. The potter Josiah Wedgwood was so inspired that he named his factory Etruria, and produced a range of pots imitating these ‘Etruscan’ vessels. When art historians finally recognised that the vases were Greek, their Etruscan connection was unceremoniously pushed to one side. But why did the Etruscans so value Greek vases that they chose to be buried with them? This can’t be explained simply by notions of Greek cultural superiority – especially now evidence shows that certain pottery shapes developed in Etruria were later produced in Athens. In fact, we still don’t have a comprehensive explanation for the Etruscans’ Greek addiction. All we can be certain of is that, without Etruscan collectors, thousands of these vessels would have been lost forever, along with their enduring influence on 19th and 20th-century pottery. Lucy Shipley is an archaeologist and researcher. She is the author of The Etruscans: Lost Civilisations (Reaktion, 2017) This article was first published in the September 2025 issue of BBC History Magazine
The Amazons: wonder-women of the ancient world
David Braund explains why the Amazons of ancient legend were much more than just women who could fight
If you know anything about the Amazons of ancient legend, it's probably that they were fearsome female fighters, who bravely battled against male heroes of Greek legend. But, according to Professor David Braund, the Amazons were far more than just formidable warrior women – he explains why to David Musgrove. David Braund is the author of Amazons: The History Behind the Legend (Cambridge University Press, 2025). Buy it now from Amazon
On the steps of a sacred temple, Cleopatra's feud with her sister came to a blood-soaked end
Cleopatra persuaded Mark Antony to order the execution of her sister Arsinoe IV on the steps of one of antiquity’s greatest temples, breaking the sacred law of sanctuary and leaving behind a mystery that still unsettles historians today
At the peak of its glory, the Temple of Artemis towered above the ancient city of Ephesus standing as a vast sanctuary of marble and gold that drew pilgrims from across the Mediterranean. Counted among the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, it was famed not only for its size and splendour but also for its role as a place of inviolable refuge. Today, the site in modern-day Turkey is hauntingly empty. “People go to Ephesus today and there is pretty much just a single column that’s left standing,” says historian Bettany Hughes, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. “It’s a bit marshy, it feels a little bit neglected. But what you are looking down on is just the inner sanctuary of this extraordinary temple.” Earthquakes and centuries of decay might have reduced it to crumbled ruins, but in the 1st century BC, the temple was one of the most sacred places in the ancient world – which makes what happened there to Cleopatra’s younger sister, Arsinoe IV, all the more extraordinary. Cleopatra and Arsinoe: a dynasty built on blood The Ptolemaic dynasty, which ruled Egypt from the death of Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC until Cleopatra’s own fall in 30 BC, was notorious for its brutality. Brothers and sisters often married each other in imitation of the ancient pharaohs of a bygone era. But such intimacy didn’t prevent family members from murdering, exiling or poisoning one another to secure power. Read more | The face of Cleopatra: what did she look like, and was she really so beautiful? The Ptolemaic dynasty was infamous for turning siblings into rivals. Cleopatra herself had to fight her own brothers and sisters to secure the throne. Her younger brother Ptolemy XIII initially ruled alongside her, but the two soon fell into open conflict. In 48 BC, Julius Caesar arrived in Alexandria while pursuing his enemy Pompey during Rome’s civil war. Drawn into Egypt’s dynastic struggle, he chose to support Cleopatra’s claim. The city erupted into what became known as the Alexandrian War, a chaotic siege fought between Caesar’s troops, Cleopatra’s supporters, and Ptolemy XIII’s forces. During the fighting, Ptolemy was forced to flee after his defeat at the battle of the Nile and then drowned in the river. Afterward, Cleopatra ruled jointly with another brother, Ptolemy XIV, but he died only a few years later in suspicious circumstances, leaving her sole ruler. 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 Arsinoe IV: a sister turned rival Amid this conflict, Cleopatra’s younger sister Arsinoe IV emerged as another claimant. She had herself proclaimed queen in opposition to Cleopatra and, at one point, even commanded Egyptian troops against Caesar’s forces. For a brief time, she was celebrated in Alexandria as a symbol of resistance. When Caesar eventually brought the fighting under control and secured Cleopatra’s throne, Arsinoe was captured. Remarkably, he spared her life, sending her into exile at Ephesus instead of executing her – a decision that would later come back to haunt Cleopatra. Read more | Cleopatra, Julius Caesar and Mark Antony: how the last pharaoh's love affairs shaped Ancient Egypt's fate Nevertheless, by the 40s BC, Cleopatra’s position was secure thanks to her alliance with Mark Antony, one of the most powerful men in Rome. Arsinoe, however, remained a thorny problem. As long as she lived, Cleopatra’s opponents might use her as a political pawn. The goddess of Ephesus If Arsinoe hoped anywhere could protect her, it was the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus. “The Artemis who was worshiped in Ephesus was an Eastern Artemis, a direct descendant of the great nature goddesses of the eastern world. As soon as you see an image [of her] you realize just how feisty she is,” Hughes explains. Unlike the Greek huntress Artemis or the Roman Diana, the Ephesian goddess was depicted as a motherly figure, associated with fertility and protection. Her sanctuary had a long tradition of offering asylum. Read more | The gods and their whims: your guide to ancient Greek religion “People go to the Temple of Artemis to seek sanctuary,” say Hughes, who adds that this included some famous names. “Some of the murderers of Julius Caesar, and during the great Persian wars at the time of the Classical Greeks, the children of Xerxes are taken there and are hidden in the temple,” Hughes notes. The temple itself was immense – four times the size of the Parthenon in Athens – and its right of asylum was respected across the Mediterranean. For Arsinoe, it seemed the one place even Cleopatra could not touch her. “Arsinoe knows that the goddess offers people sanctuary, particularly women,” says Hughes. “So Arsinoe IV thinks … where in the world can I go where I’ll be safe? I’ll go to the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus.” <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-463964119-dba4381-e1756985966853.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This 1930s illustration recreates the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Located in modern-day Turkey, the temple was famed for its grand scale and ornate design before its destruction in antiquity." title="The Temple of Artemis, Ephesus, Turkey, 1933-1934." /> Murder on the temple steps At first, Arsinoe’s gamble worked. She was granted sanctuary, her life formally protected by Artemis. But Cleopatra was determined. “Arsinoe is given sanctuary in the temple, but even the great Goddess Artemis is not a match for Cleopatra,” say Hughes. “We don’t know exactly what happened. We don’t know whether she threatened somebody or bribed them, but somehow Arsinoe is pulled out of the temple and murdered on the temple steps on the order of Cleopatra,” Hughes explains. The act was shocking not just for its violence but for its setting. To kill on the steps of the Temple of Artemis was to trample one of the most sacred laws of the ancient Mediterranean. Why it shocked the ancient world For centuries, sanctuary at Ephesus had been respected. Even violent criminals and defeated kings could claim the goddess’s protection. To drag Arsinoe out of the temple and execute her was unprecedented. “It was a sanctuary, but not if you’re up against a character who does not like ‘no’ for an answer like Cleopatra,” Hughes remarks. The exact details remain mysterious. Did Antony’s soldiers storm the temple? Were the priests bribed or threatened? Did local officials collude in favour of Cleopatra? The sources are unclear. All that is clear is that Arsinoe was pulled from the temple and murdered on its steps – and that the outrage echoed across the ancient world. The ancient politics of murder Why take such a risk? For Cleopatra, the answer was survival. With Antony at her side, she had to secure Egypt’s throne and prevent any rival claimant from undermining her. Arsinoe’s very existence threatened that. Unlike Cleopatra, whose dramatic suicide in 30 BC ended the Ptolemaic dynasty, Arsinoe slipped into history as both victim and symbol. Later writers cast her as the innocent sister destroyed by Cleopatra’s ambition. In modern culture, she often appears as Cleopatra’s tragic foil. Read more | The legacy of Cleopatra Archaeology has even revived her story. In the early 20th century, a tomb in Ephesus was claimed by some to be Arsinoe’s final resting place, though this remains disputed. The murder of Arsinoe IV on the steps of the Temple of Artemis remains an infamous episode from antiquity. Today, only a single column rises above the marshy ground where the temple once stood. But that belies the centuries of incredible stories that the structure played host and witness to. This article is based on an interview with Bettay Hughes, speaking to Rachel Dinning on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Would you kidnap a god? This ancient Mesopotamian empire did – and for a genius reason
Historian Selena Wisnom reveals how the ancient Assyrians of Mesopotamia used ‘godnapping’ as a devastating form of psychological warfare
The military playbook of the ancient Assyrian Empire in Mesopotamia was as calculated as it was brutal. Shaped by formidable rulers – among them Tiglath-Pileser III, Sargon II and Ashurbanipal – Assyrian warfare aimed not only to breach city walls, but to break the will of entire populations. One tactic, in particular, struck at the very heart of enemy morale by dispensing what seemed like cosmic disorder. In a cultural context where divinity was central to daily life across the ancient Mesopotamian civilisations, the Assyrians perfected a method of depriving their enemies of divine protection while claiming that same favour for themselves. Historian Selena Wisnom, an expert on ancient Assyria, calls it “godnapping” – the theft of an enemy’s gods. In practice, that meant seizing the statue of a city’s patron deity – the physical embodiment of the god’s presence – transporting it to the Assyrian capital and holding it under guard. It could be a devastating public statement of Assyrian supremacy and divine endorsement. Speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast Wisnom describes this as “an offensive on morale”. “Every city has got its own patron god, and if that protector is taken away … that is a disaster because it’s seen as the god abandoning the people.” The Assyrian Empire: masters of conquest The Assyrians were one of the great powers of the ancient Near East. From their heartland in northern Mesopotamia (modern-day northern Iraq), they built an empire with its beginnings in the early second millennium BC, reaching its height in the 9th–7th centuries BC. At its greatest extent, the Neo-Assyrian Empire (c911–609 BC) stretched from the Persian Gulf to the Mediterranean, and from Egypt’s borders to the mountains of western Iran. Read more | Long before the Bible, an ancient Mesopotamian civilisation predicted one of its most famous stories Their success was built on highly organised armies, formidable siege technology and an intelligence network that kept the king informed of events across thousands of miles. But the Assyrians also understood the destructive value of psychological warfare, and “godnapping” was one of their most potent tools. An ancient world ruled by many gods The Assyrians, like their Mesopotamian neighbours, were polytheistic. They worshipped a large pantheon of deities, and each god had specific domains. Every major city also had its own patron deity, represented in the temple by a cult statue. To its citizens, that statue was the physical embodiment of the god’s presence and protection. Living under the Mesopotamian gods’ gaze The Assyrians believed their gods were active participants in the human world. Deities rewarded loyal service, punished wrongdoing, and could intervene in events, from the outcome of a battle to the success of a harvest. “Anything that goes wrong in your life is because the gods are angry with you. If you become really ill, it’s because you are estranged from the gods in some way,” Wisnom explains. Offending a god might come through obvious crimes, like theft and murder, but also through acts that seem distant from modern morality. “Some of the things seem really odd to us, like vomiting in a river is apparently a great offence to the gods,” Wisnom says. Worse still, guilt could be contagious: “If you sit in the same chair as somebody who’s committed an offence, you can pick up that guilt yourself.” In this worldview, a god’s anger, or their absence, could spell disaster for an entire community. That’s what gave godnapping such power. Why kidnap a god? When the Assyrians captured an enemy city, taking the statue of its patron god was a cosmic coup. For the defeated, it meant their god had allowed themselves to be taken, perhaps as a divine punishment. For the Assyrians, it was proof that the deity had switched allegiance. “It’s like saying, ‘We’ve got them here in our city now, and this shows who the god really favours’,” Wisnom explains. The tactic was used even against gods the Assyrians themselves revered. In the 7th century BC, they seized the statue of Marduk, the chief god of Babylon, a city that was both a rival and an occasional ally. Marduk was part of the Assyrian religious world too, but possession of his statue sent an unmistakable message: Assyria, not Babylon, was the place he had chosen to protect. “Once you’ve taken a god you don’t then necessarily add that god to your own pantheon. They keep them captive just to humiliate them, really,” Wisnom says. The point was not to expand the Assyrian religious system, but to demonstrate dominance, to force the conquered to see their god languishing in foreign captivity, powerless to protect them. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/08/GettyImages-613507458-88bf46c-e1755617996190.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="Seen here, the Ishtar Gate and the legendary Hanging Gardens were iconic features of Babylon, the capital of ancient Mesopotamia. Once a centre of imperial power and splendour, the site remains Iraq’s most renowned archaeological landmark." title="Ishtar Gate" /> Gods with human personalities Part of the power of godnapping lay in Mesopotamian ideas about divine nature. The gods weren’t abstract theological principles; they had real personalities, emotions and agency. Read more | The ancient Mesopotamian civilisation’s weirdest job? Meet the veterinary exorcist “The gods behave much like human beings. They can be persuaded, they can be tricked,” Wisnom explains. “They do things, they care, they intervene, and people are really trying to get their attention and call them over to their side.” Within that worldview, physically relocating a god’s statue meant physically relocating the god’s presence. To the people of the captured city, their divine protector was now literally living with the enemy. Ancient Mesopotamian warfare on two fronts For the Assyrians, war was able to be fought in two arenas: the battlefield and the realm of divine allegiance. Capturing a god was a symbol of victory over an enemy’s army, yes, but it was also a restructuring of the cosmic order, proof that the gods themselves had sided with Assyria. It was propaganda, theological dominance and psychological warfare in one. As Wisnom notes, “every city had its own patron god, and if that protector was taken away, it was a disaster”. For the Assyrians, instigating that disaster was part of the plan, and a sign that Assyria ruled with divine backing. Selena Wisnom was speaking to Dr David Musgrove on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation. The First Crusade Member exclusive | Walk in the footsteps of the first crusaders, witnessing the hardships they faced, meeting the people they came across and seeing the landscapes they traversed through their eyes. Listen to all episodes now