Elagabalus and the Roman Scandals that Ended a Boy Emperor

Daniel Holland
22 hours ago
7 min read

If you arrived in Rome in late summer of 219, you might have seen a strange procession climbing the Palatine. At its centre was not Jupiter, nor Mars, nor any of the old gods who had long anchored the city’s identity, but a black conical stone on a jewel covered chariot. In front, a teenage emperor ran backwards, eyes fixed on the stone, holding the reins as though the god itself guided the horses. The crowd cheered because there was free food and spectacle. Senators watched with something closer to dread. The boy leading the chariot was Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, known to history as Elagabalus, and within four years he would be murdered by his own guard and thrown into the Tiber.

Elagabalus’ reign has become a byword for scandal, though the truth is more complex than the reputation that clung to him. This is the story of a provincial priest thrust onto the throne, a Roman elite alarmed by unfamiliar rituals, and the power of hostile writers to define a legacy. The scandals matter because they reveal anxieties running through Rome during the early third century, even when the details are shaped by bias.

A priest from Emesa becomes emperor

Elagabalus was born around 203 or 204 in Emesa, in Roman Syria, to Julia Soaemias and Sextus Varius Marcellus. His family were distinguished members of the Emesene aristocracy. They held hereditary privileges linked to the priesthood of the sun god Elagabal, whose worship centred on a sacred baetyl stone believed to have fallen from the sky. As a young boy, he served as the god’s high priest, performing ritual dances and ceremonies that fused local tradition with inherited authority.

His rise to imperial power was engineered by his grandmother, Julia Maesa. When the emperor Caracalla was assassinated in 217 and his successor Macrinus exiled Maesa to Syria, she seized the opportunity to orchestrate a rebellion. She claimed publicly that her grandson was Caracalla’s illegitimate child, a rumour that played perfectly to the loyalties of soldiers who had prospered under Caracalla. This political fiction, combined with Maesa’s considerable wealth, inspired the Third Legion Gallica to proclaim the fourteen year old priest emperor in May 218. After Macrinus’ defeat near Antioch, Elagabalus entered the imperial stage as a foreign born teenager with no experience of Roman political culture.

The first great scandal: transforming Rome’s religious centre

Elagabalus’ religious policy was the earliest source of alarm. Sun worship had grown in popularity under earlier Severan rulers, and soldiers were drawn to powerful solar cults. What shocked Rome was the scale of change. The young emperor brought the cult of Elagabal to the capital, erecting a grand temple on the Palatine Hill called the Elagabalium, and placing the sacred meteorite at its heart.

Roman religion was adaptable, but it was also hierarchical. Jupiter Optimus Maximus had long been the chief deity of the state. Elevating a foreign god above him was a symbolic revolution.

Roman writers describe the emperor dancing round the altar in Eastern style, accompanied by drums and cymbals, while senators were required to attend. Each summer solstice he staged a public procession, placing the baetyl on a gilded chariot and running backwards in front of it. The masses enjoyed the generosity of free banquets. The elite saw a dangerous challenge to tradition.

Modern historians argue that the emperor’s policy was not as absurd as ancient authors suggest. As high priest in Syria, Elagabalus had always merged religious and political authority. To him, continuing the cult at Rome may have felt like fulfilling his duty. Yet in attempting to fuse Eastern and Roman practice, he underestimated the hostility he would provoke. The religious scandal became the foundation for all others.

The marriage that enraged Rome: a Vestal Virgin

Elagabalus’ marriage to Aquilia Severa, a Vestal Virgin, remains one of the most shocking acts attributed to his reign. Vestals served thirty years of sacred chastity. Their purity was believed essential to Rome’s safety. To marry one was not merely unconventional: it was sacrilege of the highest order.

The emperor claimed the marriage would produce “godlike children”, uniting the high priest of the sun with Rome’s most sacred priestess. Even sympathetic ancient writers found the logic baffling. To the Senate, the act signalled contempt for Roman law. It confirmed their growing suspicion that the emperor placed his foreign cult above the city’s oldest traditions.

Elagabalus later divorced Aquilia Severa, married another aristocrat, and then returned to Aquilia again. The sequence became a symbol of instability. While Roman rulers had certainly made political marriages before, the swift, theatrical style of these unions deepened the impression that the emperor was not serious about the responsibilities of rule.

Feasts, extravagance, and the theatre of imperial excess

Many familiar tales of Elagabalus – the banquets filled with rose petals, the wax fruit served to the poor, the ostentatious displays of wealth – come from sources that were openly hostile. Whether these anecdotes are literally true is uncertain. They form part of a literary tradition that used extravagant dining to signal moral decay. Nonetheless, the stories reflect something real: the perception that Elagabalus surrounded himself with luxury and delighted in spectacle.

The emperor also promoted Syrian allies to powerful roles. Chief among them was Comazon, whom he appointed to the Praetorian Guard, the consulship, and the city prefecture. To the senatorial elite this looked like mockery. Their resentment grew as the emperor seemed to reward personal favourites over experienced Roman administrators.

Lovers, gender, and scandalous rumours

No part of Elagabalus’ story has attracted more fascination than his alleged relationships with male partners and his preference for feminine presentation. Here, the sources must be handled with care.

Cassius Dio claims the emperor treated a charioteer named Hierocles as a husband and enjoyed being called his mistress and queen. Another man, the athlete Zoticus, is described as a lover or even a spouse. Ancient accounts also describe Elagabalus wearing wigs and makeup, preferring feminine titles, and offering great sums to doctors who could provide him with female anatomy.

Some modern scholars suggest that the emperor may have identified in ways that resemble contemporary ideas about gender variance. Others caution that these descriptions likely reflect political slander rather than autobiography. Roman writers frequently cast culturally foreign rulers as effeminate or uncontrolled. Syria in particular was associated with gender fluid ritual practices, making Elagabalus an easy target for such stereotypes.

Whether these accounts contain truth, exaggeration, or invention, they played a crucial role in shaping the scandals that defined his legacy.

A palace losing its grip

Elagabalus’ mother and grandmother remained powerful figures at court. Yet by 221 it was clear that support among the military was weakening. Julia Maesa, the formidable architect of his rise, recognised the danger. She persuaded Elagabalus to adopt his cousin Severus Alexander as Caesar. The hope was to stabilise the regime by presenting a successor palatable to the Praetorian Guard.

It backfired. On 13 March, the emperor complied and publicly presented his cousin along with his own mother. The Guard preferred Alexander, whose quiet manner made him appear more traditionally Roman. On their arrival the soldiers started cheering Alexander while ignoring Elagabalus, who ordered the summary arrest and execution of anyone who had taken part in this display of insubordination. When Elagabalus attempted to marginalise the boy, rumours circulated that he planned to kill him. This triggered a revolt and members of the Praetorian Guard attacked Elagabalus and his mother:

He made an attempt to flee, and would have got away somewhere by being placed in a chest had he not been discovered and slain, at the age of eighteen. His mother, who embraced him and clung tightly to him, perished with him; their heads were cut off and their bodies, after being stripped naked, were first dragged all over the city, and then the mother's body was cast aside somewhere or other, while his was thrown into the Tiber.

Following his assassination, many associates of Elagabalus were killed or deposed. His lover Hierocles was executed. His religious edicts were reversed and the stone of Elagabal was sent back to Emesa. Women were again barred from attending meetings of the Senate. The practice of damnatio memoriae—erasing from the public record a disgraced personage formerly of note—was systematically applied in his case.

The Roses of Heliogabalus by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1888) — *The Roses of Heliogabalus* by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1888)

Aftermath: the making of a notorious reputation

Once dead, Elagabalus became an easy vessel for every accusation imaginable. Dio’s hostile account was taken as fact. The late and often unreliable Historia Augusta added further tales of depravity. Medieval and early modern writers expanded the portrait. Edward Gibbon popularised the idea of Elagabalus as the embodiment of decadence. Later historians such as James Frazer mocked him as a “crack brained” priest.

Only in the last century have scholars begun to reassess him. Some, like Martijn Icks and Clare Rowan, argue that the ancient accounts reflect political hostility more than accurate biography. Others, such as Warwick Ball, suggest that many of the emperor’s religious reforms were misunderstood and that his reputation owes more to prejudice than behaviour.

Yet even sympathetic historians agree that Elagabalus’ approach to governing was often chaotic, impulsive, and damaging to his own position. It was not his religion or private life alone that doomed him, but the cumulative effect of alienating every major power base in Rome.

What the scandals reveal

Elagabalus’ four year reign shines a light on the fears and pressures of the Roman world. It reveals how easily a foreign born ruler could become a symbol of cultural anxiety, how power struggles within a dynasty were dressed up as moral outrage, and how later writers created a scandalous figure whose fame far outlasted his brief time on the throne.

The young emperor remains a fascinating, if elusive, figure: part historical teenager, part literary construction, and part mirror for centuries of Roman prejudice. His scandals, whether real or embellished, tell us as much about Rome as they do about him.