Episode 4 | What was Marcus Aurelius actually doing in Germania at the beginning of Gladiator?

The cold winds blow, barbarians stalk the woods and Marcus Aurelius is at the head of his armies in Germania in the first act of Gladiator. But what really happened? Find out in History vs Hollywood!

Sep 30, 2024

Film Narrative

Cold steel—a line of it—cuts through Germania. From the Danube to the Rhine, Rome’s legionnaires make their stand. Order against chaos, civilization against anarchy and ruin.
Here, a Philosopher King leads his armies. For years, he has battled endlessly against the darkness that dwells in these primordial forests. Once more, his men will go to war, perhaps for the last time.
Forth from the forest, the enemy spills, their cries echoing those they would despoil, if allowed to pass. But fear not—a Knight of Rome, clad in silver, stands firm in their path. Maximus of the Northern Armies will grant them no quarter.
The battle is joined, and the frenzied ferocity of the German hordes proves no match for the iron discipline of the Legions. The flame of rebellion is snuffed out; order wins the day. Perhaps now, this Knight of Rome may find rest.
Honored by the Philosopher King, our Knight is. Honored—and burdened with a terrible responsibility. One that will tear his life apart. For there are those who would seize it from him, to ignite the world in flames.
Commodus, the Philosopher King’s only son—his heir—but a man cruel and without direction. Power will serve neither him nor the empire. The Knight of Rome must stand as a bulwark against his ambitions. He must return power to the people.
Poisoned by hate, reckless by nature, Commodus murders his sire. He claims the crown—a king now, but a philosopher, never. His father’s dying wish, to finish the Germanic wars, forgotten, he returns to Rome.
The Knight is bound and sentenced, taken from the eyes of his loyal men. In the dark forests where he forged his name, he is to die. Yet, with strength and honor, he bests his captors and flees. But where can one flee when all the world is Rome?
Home, perhaps—a simple place. He returns to find his life reduced to ashes, and is resigned to death. But will it find him?

A bit about the newsletter…

Welcome to History vs. Hollywood, the newsletter for film and history enthusiasts alike. Each week, we take a deep dive into the real events behind some of the most beloved historical films. We’ll go through the story, scene by scene, and reveal the truth—separating fact from fiction with the help of leading historians.

Whether you're a keen history buff or simply enjoy a good period drama, this is your chance to explore the fascinating realities behind the films you love. It’s not about dry lectures, but rather an engaging journey through history, with a fresh, cinematic lens. Not to mention our entertaining original artwork.

Best of all, it’s completely free. If you enjoy what you read, I’d be ever so grateful for your support—whether it’s subscribing, liking, or sharing with others who might appreciate it. So, join us as we uncover the real stories behind the silver screen.

The Real Historical Narrative

Hello and welcome back. This is the beginning of a three-part series on Ridley Scott’s absolutely fantastic Gladiator. I couldn’t be more excited to explore the real history behind the film, as it has been a favourite of mine for years. In this first part, we will be examining Act One, Marcus Aurelius, the Germanic wars, and his feelings about his son, Commodus. Unfortunately for us, Maximus isn’t real, so we won’t be able to focus much on our main character today. So, let’s get into it.

Before we start, I would like to give a big shout out to my main source for this episode: Marcus Aurelius - Warrior, Philosopher, Emperor by Frank McLynn. Such a fascinating read and invaluable to the research for this episode. I am in no way affiliated with him, but if you would like to get hold of a copy you can do so here.

Gladiator (and I promise not to gush too much about it during this episode, but seriously, what an epic film!) begins during the late stages of the Second Germanic War. We open with an impressive set-piece battle, presumably somewhere on the Danube, in the region of modern-day Vienna. Germania, in Roman times, didn’t just encompass modern-day Germany but essentially covered everything beyond the Rhine and Danube, extending into their hinterlands. It was a wild place, full of ancient and fearsome people, which Rome never quite managed to subdue. Eventually Germania would consume Rome. That, however, is a long way down the line during the period in which Gladiator is set and a tale for another time.

Emperor Marcus Aurelius is at the head of his armies on the Danube and is not doing well; he is dying and knows it. So, let’s start here and look at who Marcus Aurelius was. Perhaps this can help us understand why Maximus, played by Russell Crowe in the film, is so keen on him.

Marcus Aurelius ended the line of what some historians have called the “Good Emperors”: Hadrian, Trajan, Antoninus Pius, and finally Marcus himself. Trajan is remembered as a great conqueror, with his efforts marking the high point of Roman expansion. Hadrian, by contrast, focused on peace—not expanding the empire but consolidating it—and Antoninus Pius followed a similar path. This was the period known as the Pax Romana, which many historians have described as the golden age of humanity. However, a closer look at the emperors,Hadrian in particular, might make you think twice about assumption that they were all good. Some argue that all the seeds for Romes eventual decline and fall were sown under the reign of these Emperors. A closer look would certainly make you reconsider labelling Hadrian one of the “Good Emperors”, and as he played a significant role in raising Marcus Aurelius, it’s helpful to understand the man himself. So let’s take a closer look, shall we.

Hadrian, of wall fame, may have started off well enough, but by the end of his reign, he was far from what one might describe as a nice chap. With paranoia that would give Stalin a run for his money and a taste for young boys that would make Liberace blush, he was considered a very dangerous and unnatural man by his contemporaries. Things seemed to come to a head when he lost a boyfriend, Antoninus, who supposedly killed himself by throwing himself into the Nile as he was approaching an age where he would be too old for Hadrian. Hadrian was so distraught by this event that it sent him into a downward, murderous spiral. He ruled with cunning, cruel authority and took pleasure in commanding those he suspected of disloyalty to kill themselves. Unfortunately for the accused, when a Roman emperor commands you to kill yourself, you don’t have much choice in the matter. Hadrian travelled endlessly, spending almost no time at all in Rome during his 20-year reign. Amongst all this travel, excess and cruelty he found time to be very fond of a young Marcus Aurelius.

In Marcus, Hadrian saw the future of the Roman Empire. Hadrian gave Marcus many things that would mould him into the man he would become: tutors, position, and proximity to power. Amazingly, despite long-term exposure to Hadrian, Marcus was seemingly not completely spoiled. Marcus was to be the heir, but he was too young. In Roman fashion, Hadrian adopted Antoninus as his successor—already an old man—who, in turn, adopted Marcus. It seems very likely Hadrian was only using Antoninus to bridge the gap until Marcus was of sufficient age to take the purple. All assumed Antoninus would die promptly, but it didn’t turn out that way. More on that in a moment.

Hadrian was not a conqueror, he actually was rather proud of his record of maintaining a fairly consistent peace during his reign. He instead focussed on stabilising and strengthening the empire. At least that is what he thought he was doing. Hadrian was always convinced he was the cleverest person in any room. All his predecessors had been able to keep the empire together, primarily through constant expansion, but that didn’t sit well with Hadrian, he of course knew better.

All seemed to be going well for Marcus, but little did he know, a seed had been planted during Hadrian’s reign, and his efforts to consolidate the empire in Germania, rather than expand it, had started a process that would have an enormous impact on Marcus in later life. Fortunately for Marcus—and everyone else—Hadrian died, hated by all those around him, on the 10th of July, 138 CE, soon to be succeeded by a man of completely different calibre: Antoninus Pius.

The polar opposite to Hadrian, everyone could breathe a sigh of relief upon Antoninus’ ascension to the throne. Where Hadrian was murderous and suspicious, Antoninus was lenient and, overall, a fairly relaxed figure—as much as a Roman emperor could be. His 20-some-odd-year reign was relatively uneventful, continuing Hadrian's policy of not rocking the boat too much when it came to the empire. One point of interest about Antoninus’ reign was its unexpected length. Contrary to what everyone assumed, Antoninus didn’t do as expected; instead, he took ages to die. Living into his 70s—ancient by Roman standards—his long reign must have imbued Marcus with an enormous reserve of patience, as he waited to take the reins of the empire for more than two decades.

And two long decades they would be. Supposedly, in the 20 years Marcus was heir apparent, Antoninus only allowed him to be away from his side for a total of three days. He was made to shadow the sitting emperor constantly. Antoninus was as keen on Marcus as his heir as Hadrian had been, and wanted to keep a close eye on his development. In stark contrast to Hadrian, Antoninus did not leave central Italy during his reign, which in turn meant Marcus didn’t either.

Marcus, as you may know, was a Stoic. He absolutely loved it—couldn’t get enough of it. I don’t want to go into it too much, but this philosophy essentially compels you to be extremely understated, never react to anything, and generally suppress all human emotions. There is vastly more to it than that, but for now, I’ll leave it there. A young man being extremely into Stoicism undoubtedly made for a rather unusual character. You might say Marcus was overly serious and bookish—the sort of person I expect spends their time reading episodes of History vs Hollywood. Hello to my overly serious, bookish readers out there! You’re in good company.

He was also a frail sort, constantly complaining about various pains, illnesses, and other ailments. Later in life, one of his closest companions would be his physician, which gives you an idea of the sort of person he was. Some might even go so far as to call him a hypochondriac. So, it is strange then, that this weedy, bookish young man would grow up to be one of the most beloved and revered figures from antiquity.

I would venture to say it was a combination of two main things that left his long impression down the ages: one of them being his book, Meditations, which is still a bestseller. It is a slightly rambling collection of his thoughts and philosophy and is, quite honestly, a fascinating look into the mind of the man. You see an emperor, but also a human being who, although a Stoic, shares his experiences of grief, love, and his personal take on the human condition. The other thing—and rather important to the first act of Gladiator—is that he was really quite good at war.

This brings us to the setting of Gladiator: the Germanic Wars—and I say Wars, as there were two of them. Unfortunately for this introverted, bookish emperor, it was his destiny to spend the vast majority of his reign fighting wars on the peripheries of his empire. He fought many wars throughout his career, but the vast majority were against the terrifyingly hairy tribes in and around Germania.

I mentioned earlier that Hadrian had made some decisions during his time in office that would lead to problems for Marcus down the line. These problems took the form of an eruption of violence the likes of which the Roman Empire had not seen in centuries. Marcus would be in the driving seat and would have to fight his way out of the disaster like the best of them if Rome was to survive. It all started with what seemed a fairly noble idea: why not stop endlessly conquering our neighbours and be nice to them? Unfortunately for the Romans, it would turn out that, like a shark that suffocates if it stops swimming, the Roman Empire could only sustain itself by constantly conquering and expanding. Leave your neighbours to their own devices long enough, and you may end up paying the price.

In the late 160s, trouble began brewing in Germania. For 300 years, the Romans had been battling the Germanic tribes on and off. This lead to the construction of a ring of steel—a chain of fortresses along the Rhine and Danube frontiers—and the decision that anything beyond them wasn’t worth the trouble. This line of defence was a constant headache for the Romans, but it existed for good reason.

A few hundred years earlier, a tribe called the Cimbri had marched south into Gaul, defeated three Roman armies, and even killed 80,000 of them in one battle—up until that point, the bloodiest one-day battle in recorded history. Rome was on the brink of being knocked out of the great game. Luckily for the Romans, the Cimbri didn’t really have much of a plan, so they wandered off to Spain for a while, giving the Romans enough time to rally and defeat them. This culminated in a massacre of the 100,000-odd Cimbri, with their women and children all killing themselves to avoid being enslaved—frightful stuff. It was a close call for Rome, one that taught them many lessons, and it remained firmly lodged in their collective memory.

This time around, there was a tribe called the Marcomanni who, after long exposure to the Roman Empire, had started to like what they were seeing. Life seemed pretty good in the Roman Empire—money, running water, togas—it all seemed right up the Marcomanni’s street. Not only that, but the Marcomanni also had ambitions of ruling all of Germania. This combination of greed and ambition was a potent concoction, the sort that could easily cause trouble on a historical scale.

The Marcomanni, as Rome’s neighbours, applied for a sort of “favoured nation” status with the Romans, hoping to secure lower tariffs on trade and similar benefits. This would allow them greater access to the Roman goods they liked so much, as well as weaponry to aid their grander ambitions. Marcus flatly refused. He saw the Marcomanni for what they really were. As the largest tribal federation in Germania, Marcus had no intention of giving them any more power by favouring them.

Taking this personally, the Marcomanni gathered their forces, teamed up with their neighbours, the Quadi, and decided to take what they thought they were owed. They made the first move in what would turn out to be a long and bloody conflict, as the “barbarian” forces burst into Italy and went about doing what rampaging armies do best: looting, raping, and pillaging. After 20,000 or so unfortunate Roman citizens lay dead, they reached their first major city, Aquileia, and, like a dog that had caught its tail, were unsure what to do next.

The Marcomanni had no real knowledge of siege craft or how to capture a city of some 100,000 people, so they dawdled for a while outside the city. Once that grew tiresome, and believing they had made their point, they decided to declare victory and retreat back over the Alps before winter. This all felt uncomfortably similar to what the Cimbri had done to Rome centuries earlier. It would not stand—Marcus Aurelius, the bookish and frail emperor, would have to go to war. In his opinion, it was a war for the very survival of civilization itself.

Showing early signs of being the right man for the job, Marcus swiftly recruited new forces and added two additional legions to the roster. Then, saying goodbye to his family and packing his bags, he prepared to head north. Everyone in Rome was understandably upset about the whole experience with the Marcomanni so far, so Marcus did what all good emperors did before leaving—bread and circuses. Lavish games were held, even though it seems Marcus was not particularly fond of the Colosseum. With everyone suitably distracted, the Roman Army marched north. This was the first time in his life Marcus had ventured out of central Italy.

As I’m sure you’ve gathered from my description of his character, Marcus doesn’t seem like the type your average legionary would be too eager to go down the pub with. As such, the relationship between Marcus and his men was initially cold. It was rumoured in the ranks that his love of Stoicism made him seem distant, unsympathetic, and just a bit odd. He would need to prove himself in battle, and luckily, that opportunity wasn’t far away.

Marcus’ forces were enormous, and even considering the usual exaggerations associated with ancient reports of numbers, it may have been around 140,000 men—the largest army Rome had ever fielded at that time. Marcus was confident, to say the least, and although he was a philosopher, he shared the very Roman notion that all savages needed to be killed or enslaved. With his massive army at his back, he set out to do just that.

The Marcomanni and their allies could field a relatively similar number, as they even had their women fight in the ranks. The problem was, they were highly individualistic, hated being told what to do, and would never lower themselves to something as petty as training for battle. In combat, they favoured a big initial charge, hoping it would carry the day. If that didn’t work, as often it didn’t, they either tried to turn the tide wit acts of extreme personal bravery or, more likely, just died or ran away. This meant they could only really defeat the Romans if they caught them off guard, massively outnumbered them, or were under the leadership of a particularly charismatic individual who could bully them into following a strategy for once.

It did happen from time to time. This, in fact, was what had led to the disaster of the Teutoburg Forest under Augustus’ rule, where a chap named Varus incompetently walked into a massive ambush in the Germanic forests, leading to the complete destruction of the three legions under his command. No doubt, this would have been on Marcus’ mind as he marched towards the Germanic frontier. Fortunately for his men, Marcus would conduct the whole campaign in a far more competent manner than Varus.

The campaign got going in fits and starts. First blood went to the Marcomanni, who killed 20,000 Romans in an engagement on the Danube. However, soon Marcus arrived at the head of his forces, and things began to improve. It turns out the philosopher-emperor was a natural at this sort of thing.

Systematically, employing classic “Divide and Conquer” tactics, Marcus began breaking up the Germanic alliances, cornering their forces, and dispatching them. It became a war of attrition, with few pitched battles, but he slowly ground the Marcomanni down.

With all these victories, the men quickly began to change their minds about Marcus. Misapprehension turned into fondness, which grew into love. Two instances, in particular, helped cement his reputation—for the troops soon realised they had a commander favoured by the gods! While fighting a tribe called the Iazyges in 174, it was said that Marcus summoned a thunderbolt from heaven, which destroyed an enemy siege engine and turned the tide of battle. It may have been a lucky lightning strike, but the men didn’t care—they loved him for it. Later, he supposedly summoned rain when his men were cut off from water and awaiting an assault. The rain came, and the barbarians, seeing no point in waiting them out any longer, charged. The gods intervened again, and enormous hailstones and lightning supposedly struck the charge, terrifying them and causing a rout. The day was saved, and Marcus got the credit. Not bad at all.

By the end of the first Germanic War, Marcus had earned the reputation of a great warrior and was in the process of tying things up when he was betrayed by a colleague, who claimed to have heard that Marcus and Commodus were dead and thought it best to declare himself emperor. With a sigh, Marcus left the Germanic front and went east to deal with this pretender. And so ended the first Germanic War—a job not quite finished.

It would be many years before Marcus returned to the Danube, and to the events depicted in Gladiator. Before we get there, I want to talk to you about Commodus, Marcus’ son and heir. He’s complicated. During the events of Gladiator, we are told that Marcus decided not to make Commodus emperor and to hand power back to the Senate. I’m afraid to tell all you Marcus Aurelius fans that this is a load of rubbish. Yes, Marcus was well aware of his son’s unsuitability to be emperor, but that didn’t stop him from doing everything he could to ensure Commodus would ascend to the purple.

Marcus was very unlucky in one particular aspect of life: his children. Of the sixteen he had, ten died very young. Perhaps among them was a more suitable heir than Commodus, but as they often say, the worst people seem to live the longest. Commodus, who wouldn’t live long in the end, was certainly one of the worst. Yet his father, seemingly blind to his son’s enormous shortcomings, doted on him.

From a young age, Commodus was brought to the Germanic front, presented to the troops, and seemingly well-liked. Back in Rome, Marcus pulled out all the stops to make him beyond question as his heir. He gave him the title imperator, awarded him a triumph, and, bizarrely, had him declared conqueror of Germany, even though he had not been involved and was barely a teenager by the end of the first German War. He made the Senate change the age limits so that Commodus could sit as Consul at age 15, making him the youngest consul in history, named him Augustus, and essentially gave him whatever he wanted. One might accuse Marcus of spoiling him.

This is all very strange, as Marcus comes across as a genuinely thoughtful and far-seeing man. So why was he so intent on Commodus becoming emperor when it was clear that he was a psychopathic little brat? We will deep dive into Commodus in the third part of this series, but I want to tease you with a few tales that give a sense of him as a person. Described as naturally cruel and dishonourable, he once demanded that the servant who drew his bath be burned alive because the water was too cold. The palace staff had to go through the charade of burning a sheep to convince Commodus they had obeyed his request. On top of that, from a young age, perhaps too young, he maintained by force a harem of women who were either blackmailed or threatened into sleeping with him. He was, indeed, a little monster.

Marcus was aware of his son’s nature, but for some reason, was convinced that Commodus would eventually straighten out. Especially if he was granted absolute power over the empire—that sort of thing usually does the trick. The best guess we can make as to why Marcus would brook no question over Commodus’ ascension to the purple is that he didn’t really have any other choice. Sure, he could have done the Roman thing and adopted someone better, but Commodus would probably have gone and murdered them. No, Marcus was resigned as a parent to two choices: either Commodus would rule, or Marcus would have to have him killed. Unfortunately for the Roman Empire, he chose the former.

By the year 178, Marcus, having appointed Commodus as co-emperor, realised the work he had left unfinished in Germania needed his attention again. Leaving Commodus behind, Marcus headed north with his armies to the Danube to deliver a true Roman final solution to the troublesome northern tribes. Marcus had decided they were to be exterminated. Not exactly what one would expect from a philosopher king, but he was first and foremost a Roman—and that is a very Roman move. However, it wasn’t long after he set off on his genocidal campaign that everything came to a halt.

If we can give the real Commodus any credit, at least, unlike in Gladiator, he didn’t murder his father. He might have been thinking about it, but aside from that being pure speculation, he wouldn’t need to in the end. No, during the decades of endless war that Marcus oversaw, another invisible enemy was burning its way through the Roman Empire—an enemy we are all far more familiar with these days than we’d like to be. An epidemic, later known as the Antonine Plague, had been decimating the empire for decades by the time Marcus headed north for the last time. The plague was impartial, making no distinction between commoner and king. In March 180 CE, Marcus caught the plague.

At once, he sent for Commodus, knowing the end was near, and begged him to continue the Germanic wars. I imagine there was a fair amount of eye-rolling and fingers crossed behind backs by Commodus, but he “agreed” in the end. Marcus, ever insufferably Stoic, saw no need to delay the inevitable and fasted for six days to hasten his death. When the end was near, Marcus gathered his closest friends and advisers, essentially apologised to them in advance for Commodus, and promptly died. Such was the end of Marcus Aurelius.

His death would mark the ascension of Commodus from co-emperor to the full ticket. Marcus had cleared the way for Commodus and his primacy was inevitable. It would be a relatively short and frankly bizarre reign, that many historians have named the beginning of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire. Commodus would not honour his fathers wishes to decisively end the Germanic Wars, but instead would hastily wrap up a peace treaty before heading back to Rome to begin his rule.

We will revisit Commodus at the end of this series, but for now, that’s all we have time for in the episode. Next week, we will take a look at the beating heart of the Gladiator film, as well as Rome itself, The Colosseum. If that sounds interesting to you, then subscribe for free and join us next time.

Well, actually…

In this part of the newsletter we will try something new, and dig up some parts that they did and didn’t get right in the film that have not made it into the main story.

Everyone referring to Maximus as "the Spaniard" in the film always struck me as rather odd, as if it were some sort of novelty. At the time, Spaniards held significant influence over the Roman Empire as a whole. Trajan and Hadrian were both from Hispania, as it was known then, so I can't imagine anyone making much of a fuss over someone’s Spanish origin. In fact, Hispanic had been a common settling ground for retired Legionaries since the time of Augustus. In fact, the name of the modern day town of Zaragoza in central Spain is supposedly a bastardisation of the words Caesar Augusta (thanks, Dad for this one).
We've already explored Marcus’ feelings towards Commodus in detail, so there's no need to go further into that. However, one thing the film gets wrong is Commodus describing himself as lacking courage on the battlefield. This seems a bit unfair, as there doesn't appear to be any evidence of his cowardice. In fact, he was generally held in fairly high regard by the Legions when he visited the front.
The Germanic Wars were quite possibly the last instance of Roman legionaries using rectangular shields and segmented armour—the classic look they are known for. By the time of the second Germanic War, these were certainly being phased out and replaced by round shields and chainmail. So, if Gladiator were aiming for accuracy, you'd have seen less of that equipment than is depicted in the film.

Conclusion

And that’s it for this first episode. Next time we will be taking a break from the story of Marcus and Commodus and instead taking a deep look into the Colosseum itself. What was it really like? Was it anything like it is portrayed in Gladiator? We will also, as always, dig out some entertaining anecdotes for you. If that sounds like something you would be interested in, consider following me on Medium, or if you are not a Medium subscriber, you can follow me here on Substack to get each article in your inbox for free.

As always, if you have enjoyed this, have any comments, requests for clarification or would just like to chat about this newsletter or the subject of this series, please let me know in the comments below. If you have enjoyed this, give it a share, subscribe for free so you get notified when the next chapter is released, and hit the like button.

History vs. Hollywood