The Dual Reign and the Sudden Death of Lucius Verus

In 169 CE, the Roman Empire faced a pivotal moment when co-emperor Lucius Verus died unexpectedly at the age of 39. The joint rule of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus had been an experiment in shared power, initiated by Marcus’s sense of fairness. Yet, over their eight-year partnership, Lucius contributed little to governance, leaving Marcus to shoulder the empire’s burdens alone.

Lucius’s death occurred near Arretium, roughly 100 kilometers from Rome, after he fell ill and succumbed to what historians later speculated was a cerebral hemorrhage. His lavish lifestyle and erratic habits likely contributed to his premature demise. Marcus, ever the dutiful leader, accompanied his son-in-law’s body back to Rome, where Lucius was granted a state funeral. His ashes were interred in Hadrian’s Mausoleum, later known as the Castel Sant’Angelo. Though the Senate approved Lucius’s deification, Marcus postponed building a temple in his honor, citing the empire’s precarious state—a decision that hinted at the mounting pressures of war and succession.

The Political Calculations Behind a Hasty Remarriage

With Lucius gone, Marcus faced an immediate crisis: securing the imperial line. His daughter Lucilla, now a widow at 19, needed a new husband—and quickly. Marcus, about to depart for the volatile Germanic front, could not risk leaving his young heir, Commodus (then only eight), without a strong guardian. The man he chose was Tiberius Claudius Pompeianus, a Syrian-born general serving as governor of Pannonia.

Pompeianus was an unconventional choice. Though of equestrian rank, he lacked the aristocratic pedigree typical of imperial matches. He had no major military victories to his name, and his career had been spent mostly on the defensive Danube frontier. Yet Marcus saw in him qualities crucial for Rome’s survival: competence, integrity, and unwavering loyalty. During an earlier inspection tour, Pompeianus had impressed Marcus with his strategic acumen and disciplined troops. More importantly, he embodied the Roman virtues that Marcus, himself of Spanish descent, revered—proof that the empire’s strength now lay in its provinces as much as in Italy.

The marriage, however, was politically shrewd but personally fraught. Lucilla, once an empress, resented her new husband’s modest origins. Even her mother, Faustina, initially opposed the union. Though the couple eventually had children, their relationship remained cold—a stark contrast to Marcus and Faustina’s enduring bond.

The Private Life of a Philosopher-Emperor

While Pompeianus and Lucilla’s union strained under social tensions, Marcus and Faustina’s marriage offered a counterpoint. Over 30 years, they had 14 children (though only six survived to adulthood), a testament to both fertility and companionship. Faustina defied the stereotype of a detached empress, joining Marcus on campaign and earning soldiers’ respect as mater castrorum (“Mother of the Camp”). She tended to the wounded and supported soldiers’ families, embodying the Stoic ideals Marcus espoused.

Yet Faustina’s reputation suffered posthumously, partly due to her son Commodus’s notorious reign. Ancient sources often painted her as scheming, but Marcus’s own words in Meditations tell a different story: “I was blessed with a wife so obedient, so loving, so simple.” Their partnership, tested by war and loss, provided Marcus with emotional stability amid relentless crises.

Legacy of a Fractured Reign

Marcus’s decision to remarry Lucilla to Pompeianus proved astute. The general became a linchpin in the Germanic Wars, commanding legions with skill and loyalty. Later, he remained a trusted advisor to the isolated Commodus—though his marriage to Lucilla ended in her involvement in a failed coup against her brother.

The events of 169 CE underscored the fragility of imperial power. Lucius’s death forced Marcus to confront the empire’s vulnerabilities: external threats, dynastic instability, and the limits of philosophical idealism. His reliance on provincial talent like Pompeianus signaled a shifting Rome, where merit increasingly rivaled birthright.

Faustina’s role, too, deserves reevaluation. Far from a passive consort, she was Marcus’s partner in governance, offering the emotional ballast he needed to rule. Their marriage, like the empire itself, was imperfect but resilient—a microcosm of Rome’s struggles and strengths in its twilight golden age.

In the end, Marcus Aurelius’s reign was defined by crises met with pragmatism and principle. The year 169 CE, though overshadowed by war, revealed the human dimensions of empire: the weight of duty, the complexities of love, and the quiet alliances that held Rome together.