Julius Caesar – I

From Nobody to Somebody

Welcome, dear readers, to Episode One of The Life and Times of Julius Caesar, the rollicking journey of Rome’s favorite schemer, dreamer, and occasionally unlucky traveler. Pour yourself a goblet of wine (or grape juice, if you’re underage or ancient wine isn’t your thing) and settle in for a tale of ambition, toga-draped drama, and one or two sword fights. It’s a wild world of ancient politics, family feuds, and the ups and downs of a young man’s quest to leave his mark on history.

Our story begins in 85 BC. Young Julius Caesar was just sixteen—a tender age, full of optimism and acne, and one not normally associated with power plays in the Roman Senate. Yet here he was, already weighing his options for glory. Sixteen was also a rough year for Julius because it’s when his father, Gaius Caesar, passed away, leaving Julius the man of the family and opening the door to a life of power and politics. A heart-wrenching tragedy? Perhaps for some, but for our Julius, it was more like the starter pistol to his career.

Not one to linger in mourning, Julius viewed his father’s death as an opportunity. This wasn’t just about “losing Dad”; this was his cue to start building his name. And for a young man with big dreams in ancient Rome, “building your name” meant diving straight into Rome’s political mud wrestling match. At seventeen, Caesar was already on his way to becoming the high priest of Jupiter. Yes, you read that right—Julius Caesar, the bold, brash politician we know and love, began his climb as a teenage priest. Imagine your local high school senior, with all the posturing of someone eager to make their way, suddenly showing up in flowing robes and blessing the town’s deities. This was the sort of vibe young Julius was going for.

However, being high priest wasn’t all perks and power. There was one catch: as high priest, Caesar needed a spouse. Enter Cossutia, a well-connected, well-heeled Roman girl who checked the boxes but wasn’t exactly an “exciting” match. But you know our Julius—he wasn’t one to settle. As soon as he secured the high priest title, he decided he could do better. (Imagine a teenage rom-com where Caesar stands by his locker, glancing at the popular kids and muttering, “I can do better than Cossutia.”)

So, he made an upgrade. Cornelia was her name, and she was the daughter of a prominent consul—definitely an upgrade in the political matchmaking game. For young Caesar, Cornelia wasn’t just an attractive companion but also a step up the social ladder, one that would hopefully boost his budding career.

But as with any great plan, there was one small issue: Sulla. And here, my friends, we must introduce Rome’s big bad boss, Lucius Cornelius Sulla. Sulla was the dictator of Rome at the time, and let’s just say he was not known for his warm and fuzzy leadership style. He was about as strict and unforgiving as your worst high school gym teacher—if your gym teacher happened to control the most powerful empire on earth and had an army of loyal soldiers at his beck and call.

Sulla wasn’t thrilled with Caesar’s new marriage, likely because Cornelia’s family had ties to Sulla’s political enemies. And Sulla, who was in no mood to indulge the romantic whims of a teenager, issued a direct order: “Divorce her, Caesar.” Now, in the Roman world, when the top guy told you to do something, you did it. But Julius wasn’t having it. He looked Sulla right in the eye (metaphorically speaking—Caesar probably had some tact) and said, “No way.”

Refusing a dictator’s order was gutsy, even by Caesar standards. Sulla didn’t take the defiance lightly. He stripped Julius of his priesthood, seized his property, and essentially turned him into an outlaw on the run. Caesar had to flee, forced to give up his cozy priestly perks and take a deep dive into survival mode. It was a bad day to be Julius Caesar.

Picture this: a sick, penniless young man, practically shivering with malaria, running from town to town trying to avoid Sulla’s goons. He ducked into the homes of family friends, slept in out-of-the-way inns, and kept moving, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his next meal (which he probably had to beg for). But Caesar wasn’t without connections; a little family influence and a few well-placed bribes eventually earned him a pardon. With his newfound freedom, he set his sights on a fresh start—and where better to start than on the battlefield?

Off to Asia he went, ready to make a name for himself as a soldier. His first job was simple enough: gather a fleet in Bithynia, a mission that should have taken a few weeks. But Caesar lingered, spending an oddly long time at the court of King Nicomedes. The people of Rome, who thrived on gossip even in ancient times, started talking. Word spread that Caesar had become a bit too close to Nicomedes, and tongues wagged all over Rome. This was ancient high school drama at its finest, but Caesar brushed off the rumors, likely with a shrug and an eye roll.

When he finally tore himself away from Nicomedes, Caesar proved himself on the battlefield, earning the civic crown for valor in Mitylene. This was like a Roman Medal of Honor, a prestigious decoration that Caesar could wear proudly. He returned to Rome with a little swagger in his step, feeling ready to start climbing the political ranks in earnest. But before he could get too comfortable, he took a short trip to Cilicia, dabbling in law and launching a high-profile case against Cornelius Dolabella, an official with some serious corruption issues. Caesar wasn’t here to make friends; he was here to make a point. And although the case won him some fame, it also won him a few enemies. Sensing the need to lay low, he decided to study rhetoric in Rhodes. If he was going to make it in politics, he’d need to perfect his art of persuasion.

But fate had another plan. On his way to Rhodes, Caesar’s ship was ambushed by pirates. Yes, pirates. These weren’t your run-of-the-mill “arrr”-chanting, parrot-on-shoulder types, but the ancient Mediterranean’s version of petty criminals. They captured Caesar, a nobleman with good connections, thinking they’d struck it rich.

Instead of cowering, Caesar did what Caesar did best: he acted like he owned the place. He scoffed at their ransom demand, saying they’d seriously undervalued him and insisted they demand a higher price. The pirates, amused by their guest’s cockiness, agreed. Caesar hung out with his captors for over a month, treating them more like reluctant hosts than dangerous criminals. He joined their games, delivered speeches to them, and openly joked that one day he’d come back and have them all executed. They laughed along, chalking it up to the ramblings of a spirited Roman.

Finally, his ransom was paid, and Caesar went free. True to his word, he gathered a squad, hunted down the pirates, and had every one of them crucified. But in a surprising twist of generosity (or maybe just style points), he had their throats slit first, sparing them the full agony of crucifixion. Even in revenge, Caesar couldn’t help but add a little flair.

Returning to Rome with his pirate tale now added to his growing legend, Caesar landed his first official post as a military tribune. He’d finally arrived at the start of a political career, and he was already making moves to win over the common people. His goal? To make himself the champion of the “little guy.” Caesar saw the need to strengthen the power of the tribunes, Rome’s representatives for the people, and he wasn’t shy about campaigning for them.

At his aunt Julia’s funeral, Caesar delivered a heartfelt speech about his family’s illustrious lineage, weaving in a claim that they were descended from Venus herself. (Yes, that Venus—the goddess of love and beauty.) Now, Rome’s common folk probably knew this was a bit of a stretch, but they appreciated the effort. Here was Caesar, saying, “Look, I’m practically divine. Why wouldn’t you want me running things?”

Sadly, his wife Cornelia passed away around this time, and Caesar married again, this time to Pompeia, a granddaughter of Sulla himself. Perhaps he thought this would bring a little peace with Sulla’s faction. However, fate once again had other ideas.

Not long after their marriage, Pompeia found herself at the center of a scandal. During a sacred women-only festival held at Caesar’s home, the notorious troublemaker Publius Clodius somehow snuck in, disguised as a woman. His goal? To get close to Pompeia. Naturally, the story spread faster than a rumor at a family reunion, and Caesar, who was nothing if not a stickler for appearances, divorced Pompeia, stating that “Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion.” Translation: he didn’t need his reputation dragged down by any kind of domestic drama, thank you very much.

It was around this time, during a posting as quaestor in Spain, that Caesar encountered a statue of Alexander the Great. This moment left him in something of a mid-life crisis (or a third-life crisis, since he was only in his thirties). Alexander had conquered much of the known world by his age, and here was Caesar, still feeling like he had barely scratched the surface of his potential. It was a wake-up call. He was now more determined than ever to make a name for himself.

And so, we leave Caesar here, at the dawn of his grand ambition. He’s been through ups and downs, love and loss, pirates and politics, but through it all, he’s kept his eyes on the prize. This is just the beginning of Caesar’s story—his destiny is calling, and Rome isn’t quite ready for what’s coming.

Stay tuned for Episode Two, where our intrepid hero dives deeper into Rome’s political rat race, builds alliances with the powerful, and continues his steady rise up the ranks. If you thought young Caesar was ambitious, just wait—he’s only just begun to leave his mark on history.