CHAPTER 21
ROSEMARY MOORE
JUST as warfare was a predominant topic for ancient writers in all genres, so too was the practice of military leadership. In general, for the audience for which literature was produced, knowing how to lead an army effectively was an important ability to possess. Therefore it was a constant topic of discussion, reference, and allusion in all genres of writing. Though I will emphasize what John Keegan terms “the mask of command,” character traits deliberately displayed in order to maintain high morale among one’s subordinates, I will also address specifically military responsibilities.
HOMERIC GENERALSHIP
Though Homeric epic inspired many later commanders, generalship did not exist in any real sense. While Agamemnon was the overall commander at Troy, his authority was not supported by a clearly articulated hierarchy. He was accompanied by thepromachoi, “front fighters,” who were loosely tied to him and likewise had loose authority over their men. Battlefield authority was similarly loose, with promachoi able to leave and return to battle at will; their desire for kleos, materially represented by plunder, and the expectations of their peers, were important motivations to fight.
While one can perceive the inchoate phalanx in the Iliad, on the whole army organization and method has little to do with later periods (Latacz 1977; van Wees 1986, 1988, 1997). The notion of discipline, eutaxia, whether understood as military training, the ability to remain in formation during battle, or formal punishment for poor performance, is unknown, reflecting the weakness of the military structure (Wheeler 1991). Subordination was connected more to social status, regional ties, or personal choice. Ties of loyalty were maintained more by exhortation and example than harsh punishment, and coercion is less prominent than the desire to win glory (van Wees 1997).
In addition, common responsibilities of later generals, for example, ordering formations for battle, are practically absent. The stratagem, understood here as a deliberate deception initiated by the commander, is present, but in a very limited fashion, notably Odysseus’s engineering of the Trojan horse. Other qualities later seen as representative of classical generalship, for example, foresight, receive little emphasis. Still, the personification of courage, as with Achilles, or of cunning, as with Odysseus, remained important for later generals, not simply to win personal glory, but, more importantly, to contribute to army loyalty and morale (Wheeler 1991).
ARCHAIC AND CLASSICAL GREECE
The phalanx, the military arm of the polis, was initially used primarily for territorial defense. Leadership of this unit typically fell to social and political elites. The phalanx was a relatively unsophisticated tactical unit, and in the archaic period was not used for campaigns of any significant length. Because hoplite battles for much of this period consisted of single-day affairs on a set piece of land at a set time, the responsibilities that would later become expected of generals were largely not necessary, though generals would exhort their armies before battle (cf. Anderson; Mitchell 1996; Hansen 1993). There is little evidence for formal training during this period, and thus we must imagine that many citizens were expected to prepare themselves for service without extensive state-directed activities. Even so, it is very difficult to imagine that any hoplite phalanx could advance effectively as a unit without some amount of drill. Anyone with experience in close-order drill—whether in military service or a marching band—knows that training a group to move in a coordinated fashion takes time and patience (cf. Xenophon’s description of soldiers learning to march, Cyr. 2.2.6–9). Maneuvers prior to the fourth century B.C., however, were straightforward, entailing forming up opposing phalanges and having them march against each other. Therefore, prior to the Peloponnesian Wars, generalship was still not conceived of in a specific and specialized sense. Strategy and the stratagem did not receive special attention.
The exception to this period was Sparta, which took the role of citizen as soldier much further than practically any nation throughout history. Although it is difficult to assess to what extent the idealized narratives of ancient Sparta reflected reality, there is little doubt that the lives of citizens and their families were organized so that military readiness was the highest priority.
The Spartans themselves claimed that their skill in leadership was derived from and also made possible by their excellent training (Plut. Lyc. 30). They were renowned for their endurance, discipline, and ability to perform relatively sophisticated tactical maneuvers. These qualities and the obedience they emphasized were intended to make every Spartan soldier’s behavior in battle reliable. Because the Spartans were predominant militarily and politically throughout the archaic period, as leaders of the Peloponnesian League they organized and led campaigns the League fought in, and so developed a relatively complex and stratified chain of command, something that became much more fully developed by Philip II over a century later (Xen. Lac. 11). This does not mean that they were especially innovative regarding tactics. However, they did rely on battle signals, making cues and redirection possible, though still difficult (e.g., Anderson: 79–83).
The Spartan commander, typically one of the two Spartan kings, held responsibilities in several areas. He was responsible for communications within the army as well as with the Spartan government, and religious functions. The commander also exhorted his troops prior to battle, but here this was adapted to Sparta’s particular military structure; rather than speak to the army as a whole, the commander spoke to his direct subordinates, who in turn passed his words down the chain of command so that unit leaders spoke directly to the individuals in their units (Xen. Lac. 11.5–10; Thuc. 5.66.3–4). The kings’ military prestige was considerable, and only the finest Spartan warriors, as determined through athletic competition, marched beside him into battle (Xen. Lac. 13). Numbering three hundred, this unit presaged later elite military units more characteristic of the post–Peloponnesian Wars period.
The austere way of life that Spartans advertised became fetishized from an early period, an ideal for all soldiers. Tyrtaeus, the Spartan poet of the sixth century B.C., describes the glory that came from standing in formation to fight for one’s home and family, refusing to yield to fear (Tyr. 10.15–32). The components of Homeric glory, won by the individual warrior to enhance his own prestige, have here been subsumed into a form of honor marked by loyalty to the military unit and the state. But in Sparta the relative anonymity of the phalanx actually strengthened the oligarchy by making the ruling class equivalent to the citizen militia. Spartan hoplites (i.e., full Spartan citizens, or the homoioi, “equals”) still comprised a small segment of the population under Spartan control. Family also determined citizen and thus military status: Spartan military commanders in the archaic and early classical periods were either of the two Spartan kings, or if the kings were unable, their regents. Later expeditions might be led by any number of Spartans, for example Brasidas, a former ephor, and Gylippus, possibly born of a helot mother. Sparta’s use of other men as commanders reflects not only the need to operate in many places simultaneously during the Peloponnesian War, but also the dwindling number of full Spartan citizens. Spartan armies could be made up not only of homoioi, but also hoplites from the perioikoi, and neodamodeis, freed helots. In addition, in times of emergency, helots could be mobilized. The disadvantages, however, of allowing a discontented and subjugated population to bear arms were obvious, and this option was seen as a last resort (see Thuc. 4.80.3–4 who tells that the Spartans eliminated two thousand Helots).
Social class and wealth also influenced military command among the Athenians. With the Cleisthenic reforms, ten strategoi were elected, one per tribe, for an annual term that could be renewed; initially only those of the highest property class were eligible (Arist. Ath. Pol. 61.1). The duties of the strategoi extended to the political, and because the office was both influential and renewable, it could be sought for the domestic influence it granted. Athens’s new military prominence after the Persian Wars introduced new aspects of military command. Technical specialization, a necessity for successful operation of a trireme navy, a new focus on siege warfare, and the beginnings of longer-term management of men and supplies developed as campaigns grew in length. The nature of the campaigns Athens led sharpened these skills, and even Sparta recognized Athenian prowess in conducting sieges (Thuc. 1.102.1–2; cf. Hdt. 9.70.2). It is unclear to what extent trireme commanders followed prescribed courses of crew training, but evidence from the Peloponnesian Wars indicates that commanders considered relative levels of training in planning battle formations; less thorough training could be compensated for by numbers, but on the whole skilled crews were preferable (Xen. Hell. 1.6.24).
The technical specialization particular to Athens’s experience in the fifth century B.C. formed an important part of Athenian citizen identity in this period. But, more significantly for generalship, it began to be incorporated into the range of abilities possessed by the commander. Thucydides alludes to this in his narration of Phormio’s campaign against the Spartans in the Ambracian Gulf (2.83–92): after losing the first encounter due to a dazzling display of expertise by the Athenian fleet (2.83–4), the Spartans initially attributed their loss to cowardice, and even after recognizing how their inexperience contributed to their defeat continued to emphasize the importance of courage and discipline above technical skill (2.87).
Military experience in the selection of commanders grew more important, but the degree of control exerted by political institutions could not be discounted, a corollary of the amateur nature of military service. The Athenians considered experience a factor in selecting commanders of the follow-up expedition to Pylos, yet not one important enough to keep the apparently poorly qualified Cleon from being elected to lead it (Thuc. 4.28). Cleon was prudent enough to choose the previous commander at Pylos, Demosthenes, as co-commander for the campaign, and it was Demosthenes who actually led Athenian forces to victory there (Thuc. 4.32; cf. Roisman 1993).
The Peloponnesian War was of unprecedented scale, and brought significant military innovations into place. Phalanx formations began to expand and deepen, the latter used by the Thebans at Delium (Thuc. 4.93–4). Light arms began to have a more prominent role, and their use could have significant consequences, as when the Athenians defeated the Spartans at Pylos (Thuc. 4.34–6), a victory discounted by Spartans at the time as being unworthy since it was not fought by heavy infantry (Thuc. 4.30.2). A generation later, however, Iphicrates’s ambush of a mora of Spartan infantry with his peltasts (Xen. Hell. 4.5.11–18) was viewed as his most significant among many military achievements. The notion of the hoplite phalanx connoting some degree of social privilege was weakening. As telling examples, Brasidas used seven hundred helots and a thousand mercenaries among his forces at Amphipolis (Thuc. 4.80.5), while the army that the Athenian general Hippocrates took to Delium included not only citizens but metics and foreigners (Thuc. 4.90.1). Later the Athenians enlisted slaves to help crew triremes for the battle of Arginusae (Xen. Hell. 1.6.24). We see use of the element of surprise, whether intentional or not, as again at Pylos, and later by both sides at Syracuse. All this forms a picture of approaches to warfare shifting from temporary and tradition-bound to those focused more clearly on outright victory.
THE FOURTH CENTURY B.C.
Sparta’s victory in the Peloponnesian Wars marks the transition to a newly complicated diplomatic and military world. The second segment of the Peloponnesian Wars involved extensive overseas campaigning, continued use of mercenaries, and more varied tactics. In addition, Persia, serving both as paymaster and enemy of convenience, opened up vast resources to Greek commanders, and the scope and distance of campaigns increased correspondingly. These new circumstances necessitated the development of a different set of skills.
Agesilaus is a prime example of this new trend, representing the new demands of leadership in methods strongly informed by tradition. As a Spartan trained in the difficult Spartan agoge, and well aware of reasons for its strictures, he made a show of his rejection of luxury, such that Plutarch declared that no soldier in his army slept on a rougher bed (Ages. 14, with Shipley 1997). The point of Lycurgus’s institutions was twofold: not only did they inure Spartans to campaign conditions, they also inhibited displays of status and thus promoted political stability. Likewise, Agesilaus’s displays of austerity to the large army of Greeks and mercenaries he led in Persia were intended both to foster toughness and to unify the army. For example, competitions held in Sparta to select the three hundred soldiers who fought around the king in battle were continued but now revised to focus a multiethnic army on the new and expected level of battlefield conduct (Parke 1970). Agesilaus was building a sense of personal loyalty, something that would be more effective for mercenaries and, later, the armies of Alexander and the Successors.
Mercenaries, the product of political upheavals within city-states during the war, were far more available, and were hired to fight by Greek and foreign armies, notably that of Persia. The use of mercenaries would complicate army morale, since it was apparent that such soldiers would be less likely to respond to the rallying cry of the hoplite phalanx, defense of homeland, and far more likely to base loyalty on pay. Thus the personal example the general set could, ideally, act as a buffer to offset such considerations as well as a way to encourage soldiers to maintain high morale under difficult conditions. From this period onward, appeals to loyalty would shift from allegiance to state to allegiance to the commander himself.
Technical and tactical developments also demanded more from commanders. More complex armies and looser rules of battle meant that generals had to be more flexible. The word stratagem first comes into use at this point, an indication that the Greeks were beginning to consider what was most productive for military training and command (Wheeler 1988). The modern connotation of stratagem is a ruse or deliberate deception concocted by the commander (the common root of the word with strategos, general, is obvious) in an attempt to turn the situation to his best advantage, but at this point it is unlikely that the term had this as its primary meaning. Rather, it simply referred to “being a general.” Even so, stratagem in its more specialized meaning began to be used more from this period onward, for example, in the final battle of the Peloponnesian War, Aegospotami. Here Lysander refused the Athenian offer of battle on consecutive days. When he led the Athenians to believe that he was unwilling to fight, he attacked them while they were on shore and their ships were half manned (Xen. Hell. 2.1.17–28), destroying most of their fleet. Lysander’s stratagem presumes a well-trained force, significant resources, and went far beyond the previous paradigm of citizens on temporary service. This was simply not possible for the average Greek city-state without outside financial support. Warfare on this scale, and thus generalship of this sort, could not be practiced unless well financed.
It is from this period that the first extended writing on military leadership comes. The Greeks had paid some attention to specialized military training before this period, but this appears to have addressed technical matters (Wheeler 1983). Still, effective military leadership of course encompassed far more than drill, as Socrates points out in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (3.5). Xenophon’s idealized portrait of Cyrus the Great in the Cyropaedia, though not entirely focused on military matters, outlines the range of qualities a successful leader should possess. Cyrus’s approach was to generate “willing obedience,” and his methods incorporated a strong psychological component. The display of high morale, willingness to undergo difficult circumstances cheerfully, and share in the tasks of one’s soldiers, all played a part. Technical skills, such as drilling or forming up armies, were also addressed. It is important to underline how important both the technical and psychological factors of military leadership were considered to be by the Greeks (and later the Romans). Generalship was always concerned with getting others to endanger their lives for the commander’s sake, making motivation and discipline very closely intertwined.
Aeneas Tacticus, author of the first known military manual (see further Millett, 65–6, Chaniotis, 451–2), provides examples of such technical advice. Practical advice regarding the mechanics of gate lockpins (ch. 18) is interspersed with suggestions on morale and crowd control (ch. 9): how to inform the local population of an imminent attack so as to inspire courage rather than fear. Aeneas’s work summarizes the range of knowledge commanders should possess, while also describing how to supervise technical and disciplinary matters without being expert in either. Aeneas also recognized that while the general should engender trust in his subordinates, he had to remain detached from them and able to anticipate their next moves just as if they were potential enemies, as indeed they could become. Both Xenophon and Aeneas point out that an essential task of generalship is to motivate an army to its best performance while accounting for normal human weaknesses. It is impossible to tell to what extent commanders directly applied the advice given in such manuals, but there is little doubt that such works were widely circulated and used long after they were written (Whitehead 1990).
PHILIP II AND ALEXANDER
As generals, Philip II of Macedon and Alexander the Great possessed many of the qualities that Greeks already understood as part of generalship. Their political position and the great resources they controlled, in addition to these personal qualities, enabled them to deploy to unprecedented effect a large and exceptionally capable army.
Both Philip and Alexander drew upon a very deep base of experience in military command. As a hostage in Thebes, Philip absorbed much useful knowledge, and it is possible to see Epaminondas’s influence in Philip and Alexander’s use of deep ranks in the phalanx (see Cawkwell 1972 for an assessment of Epaminondas, Green 1991 for his influence on Philip, and Plut. Pel. 26.5 on the military connection). Alexander was tutored from his boyhood as a warrior, and at eighteen commanded the Macedonian cavalry at the battle of Chaeronea in 338 B.C. Though military command is often perceived as the accomplishment of one man, both Philip and Alexander drew on others for advice. The size of the army that they commanded required a more sophisticated command structure and therefore input from subordinate officers. These officers in turn commanded various divisions and smaller units and could exert great though nonbinding influence on the supreme commander, as seen, for example, in the case of Parmenio with both Philip and Alexander (cf. Plut. Mor. 177C).
Philip and Alexander introduced various reforms in both military technology, for example, torsion artillery, and organization. Philip expanded the Foot Companions, a heavy infantry force of lesser but analogous prestige to the Cavalry Companions (composed of Macedonian nobility) and refitted his infantry, increasing its defensive capability and enabling larger-scale arming. Philip and Alexander trained constantly so that soldiers were able to perform maneuvers more complex than were possible for less intensively trained forces. This training doubtless contributed to the deep loyalty Macedonian soldiers felt toward them.
Alexander’s campaigns demanded considerable attention to logistics and intelligence. Logistics not only serves as a foundation to the successful conduct of a campaign, but explains other skills connected to generalship. Geography was a major consideration in route and campsite selection. Availability of water and ease of transport caused rivers to be highly valued, and towns, often with food reserves, were important points of control. An army of the size Alexander led could not be resupplied easily overland, helping to explain why Alexander skirted the coast for the early portion of the Persian expedition.
The difficulty of providing regular supplies also explains the common emphasis on endurance and self-control. Large armies simply could not remain in one place for more than a few days. Good commanders had to engage in substantial forward planning to ensure a minimum standard of nutrition. Such concerns point to the general importance of psychology for discipline, both in and out of combat. Soldiers had to be willing to accept difficult conditions at all times.
No less difficult is the problem of maintaining morale, in effect keeping soldiers willing to risk their lives for their commander. Good commanders created opportunities to demonstrate their shared identity with their army. Courage in battle was part of this, but problematic due to the general’s responsibilities. Alexander has often been criticized for unnecessary risk taking. Undoubtedly it was motivated by his identification with Achilles, the warrior ethos of the Macedonian nobility, and not least his awareness of how his reputation for courage would inspire his soldiers to emulate him.
Both Philip and Alexander cultivated bonds, or at least their appearance, by personally engaging in soldiers’ activities, encouraging imitation while sharing their suffering. The story of Alexander pouring out the helmetful of water offered him during the arduous march through the Gedrosian desert might be apocryphal, but drew its power from Alexander’s self-discipline to reject the water, despite his thirst, if not all would be able to drink. Philip and Alexander learned the names of courageous soldiers and called on them personally when exhorting the army before battle, and both spoke in Macedonian to their soldiers at well-chosen times. All these examples embody a nice transition from assertion of common identity to reminding soldiers of their commander’s authority; the connection gained its power from Philip and Alexander’s high status. Such a connection would also have reinforced the power inherent in many of Alexander’s demonstrations of divine favor, for example at Gordium. The message of this event went beyond the religious, by indicating Alexander’s intention to continue when he was short on resources, while also reassuring his army that they would eventually succeed (Lloyd 1996).
Philip and Alexander’s generalship would be emulated by many Greek and Roman commanders. Yet despite similar methods, their deployment was bound to differ. Army identity and morale were based to a significant extent on forces that went beyond the military, such as religion, or from societal practices, in the case of the Macedonians, drinking parties. Similar approaches to command then were mediated by the commander’s and the army’s society.
HELLENISTIC GENERALSHIP
Hellenistic generalship in large part followed the methods used by Philip and Alexander. Army loyalty was a major concern to the Successor kings and Greek city-states during this period, as were applications of technology for military use. Desirable qualities range from those more applicable to planning, such as caution, to those concerned with conduct in combat, namely, personal courage (Beston 2000). In other respects, “good generals” projected an image of self-sacrifice and deliberate frugality. Adapting oneself to higher standards of endurance was presented as part of the prospective commander’s preparation, and commanders such as Philopoemen were said to have gone to great lengths to forgo luxuries as a way to prepare for the difficulties of campaign (Plut. Phil. 3–4). As before, the display of these qualities served both as proof of suitability to command, but also as a way to lead others to aspire to the same.
A fundamental assumption of generalship was that charisma, good fortune, and courage were important, but required sufficient preparation to be used effectively. Failure to attend to one’s personal habits was a slippery slope that led to disintegration of one’s character, and left the army weak. The ideal commander of this era possessed exceptional character, but developed it in ways anyone could imitate, and so could be viewed as both exception and model. Any man can control his desire for food, but the best commander does it better and more consistently.
In terms of military operations, the model general was expected to respond quickly and ably to a variety of circumstances, drawing not only on the personal qualities integral to his character and those he developed, but also the wide range of technical skills he had obtained from his experience in warfare and his education. Polybius’s recommendations (9.12–20) reflect this, and branched into areas more directly addressed by displays of personal qualities.
Polybius argued, for example, that the commander control the situation as much as possible. Though this was an unachievable ideal, his recommendations were aimed toward a general having greater predictive abilities and thus being able to correct the most trivial matters that might have a considerable negative effect on the intended outcome. Self-control, particularly in the display of emotion, was important, since facial expressions could be read as an indication of intent. Polybius recommended that generals be self-reliant and depend upon their own knowledge rather than that of possibly untrustworthy locals. Polybius therefore recommends a threefold approach in a general’s training: experience, inquiry, and scientific investigation. Though the first two were nothing new, the third suits Polybius’s approach, as well as the Hellenistic period more generally. Polybius recommends specific training in mathematics and astronomy as aids; geometry would allow commanders to determine the correct length of siege ladders, and astronomy would allow them to plan marches more accurately.
Scientific knowledge was by no means essential for command. Yet Polybius’s narration of the mistakes made by many commanders was meant to persuade. His advice may be read as a counter to how science was employed by many Hellenistic generals: great advances were made in siege warfare, both in design and construction of fortifications and in artillery. But many Hellenistic kings spent considerable effort and resources in impractical tours de force such as Ptolemy IV’s forty-row warship, which required a crew of three thousand (Ath. 5.203e-204d). Polybius’s recommendations, by contrast, emphasized the smaller-scale applied use of scientific knowledge that released the commander from undue dependence on subordinates as well as investments in complicated equipment.
ROMAN GENERALSHIP: THE REPUBLIC
Limited evidence makes it difficult to form a comprehensive picture of methods of generalship prior to the Second Punic War. It is clear, however, that by the middle third century B.C., the Roman army, composed of citizens, Italian allies, and later by non-Italian allies, was well organized and highly effective. Military command throughout most of this period was a function of political office: elected magistrates with imperium acted as commanders of legions. The army was organized as a militia and military service was temporary. Rome’s highly stratified society was reflected in its army structure; not only were commanders of the highest social and political class, so were all officers above the rank of centurion. Only citizens above a certain property qualification were eligible to serve. Military experience was reasonably common and essential for those with political ambitions: not only were all eligible citizens liable to serve up to sixteen stipendia, or campaigns, but those wishing to stand for any public office had to have served a minimum of ten (Polyb. 6.19).
Roman and Italian culture had much in common, particularly the high value placed on prowess in warfare. Courage in combat brought great prestige in the army and at home. The ruling elite were expected to be brave, and the highest military award, the spolia opima, went to the commander who killed his opposite number in single combat. Other awards were given to soldiers of all ranks for courage in battle. Into the late Republic, when military experience was less common among the social elite, a reputation for courage, as evidenced by battle scars, for example, brought great respect.
The consequences of such a system for Roman generalship were multiple: Roman officers were experienced soldiers and that service made them both products of the prevailing culture and potential agents of change. In addition, the Roman army possessed a military ethos as it was a microcosm of the citizen body of Rome. A fundamental presumption of this system was that all soldiers and officers shared a common identity, and that all should be subject to military discipline. While higher ranks often received more lenient punishments and more lavish rewards, a number of anecdotes record severe and humiliating punishments of officers; their conspicuous failings should, ideally, be punished in equally conspicuous ways. On the other hand, great courage could win tremendous fame and carry great social and political dividends throughout a man’s lifetime. There may be no better example than Scipio Aemilianus, winner of single combat while serving as a tribune in Spain, and later the commander who took Carthage and Numantia. Shared military and political identity was modified by the expectation that the ruling elite should outdo the common soldier.
The nobility’s strong military ethos initially inhibited the composition of military manuals; military virtues were seen as the exclusive province of this class, consisting of a set of behaviors that reinforced the nobility as possessors of virtus, or “manly courage.” Compliance with this ethos was an important concern to Roman commanders and helps to explain the primary strategy employed by the Roman army during this period and through much of the next century: namely, aggressive frontal assault and an unwillingness to surrender on what would be considered dishonorable terms.
While the Roman army was clearly successful, credit for victories is often given not to the brilliance and sophistication of its commanders, but to the inherent flexibility of the manipular formation, the strong training and experience of its soldiers, and the depth of manpower available to the army. Still, defeats and heavy casualties were not uncommon. Considering the degree of prestige military success gave to soldiers and particularly commanders, it is surprising to learn that Roman commanders were often ultimately able to maintain or even advance their political careers, despite losses and immediate censure, as long as they acted in accordance with the ethos. What might appear as command incompetence, for example, letting an army be drawn into battle despite very unfavorable conditions, would be mitigated by the commander engaging the enemy aggressively and cutting a good figure in battle. Defeat would be blamed on the soldiers, not the commander. In such fashion Q. Marcius Philippus, who lost much of his army when ambushed in a Ligurian mountain pass (Livy 26.3–4), not only received no punishment, but was later reelected to the consulship in a year when serious campaigning appeared imminent (Rosenstein 1990: chs. 3–4).
Not all Romans adhered to this ethos. Fabius Maximus Cunctator (the “Delayer”) received his cognomen as a result of his strategy of attrition after Rome’s disastrous losses to Hannibal at the Trebia and Lake Trasimene. His cognomen was hardly a compliment. After being elected dictator in 217, Fabius chose to conserve Roman manpower as well as make it more difficult for Hannibal to win allies and supplies. Yet the strategy was not received well. Though a move to abrogate Fabius was unsuccessful, his master of horse received imperium equal to his own, and immediately began a more aggressive strategy. This stance was continued by the following year’s consuls, and in that year, 216, came Rome’s worst defeat, at Cannae, by a Carthaginian army significantly smaller than the Roman, but commanded by a general thoroughly familiar with stratagems and adept at taking advantage of Roman tactics. Yet despite the return to the Fabian strategy after Cannae, it remained unpopular, and was not used again.
Tradition and the consilium must have eased some aspects of command by diffusing the decision-making process and simplifying tasks at all levels of the hierarchy. Roman military traditions were strong. For example, Polybius states (6.27–33) that camp layouts were uniform and built in a consistent fashion. Every soldier knew exactly where he was bunked, regardless of whether he had helped construct that part of camp or not. In addition, procedures such as the watch were regularized. All these were part of the military culture and did not vary significantly from campaign to campaign. The consilium was a meeting of officers, often including centurions, led by the commander. Doubtless its exact character changed depending on the commander, but in Caesar’s commentaries it conveyed command decisions, and, more importantly, an opportunity to deliberate the best plan of action. In this way a relatively inexperienced commander could draw on the collective experience of his subordinates.
This is not to say that all command decisions were collectively made, or that the command hierarchy was weak. The Roman military system depended on the notion that one man was in command. Having two men of equal rank co-commanding could lead to lack of unity in purpose, and could be an important factor in defeat, as was the case at Cannae and in 54 B.C., when the lack of unity between two of Caesar’s legates, Sabinus and Cotta, was an important factor in the destruction of a Roman legion (Caes. B Gall. 5.30–37). Still, disputes and rivalries between officers, including the commander, could weaken the performance of the army as a whole. Such disputes at times had political repercussions, as was the case when Servius Galba hindered Paullus’s triumph, drawing on support from soldiers disgruntled at what they perceived to be insufficient plunder and rewards (Plut. Aem. 30).
As Roman military obligations grew after the Second Punic War, command responsibilities grew more complex. Many armies served simultaneously overseas and soldiers’ terms of service became longer. Appian reports in his history of Rome’s wars in Spain (Ib. 78) that Roman soldiers were forbidden to serve more than six stipendia—by this point, meaning years—consecutively. Drawing upon Hellenistic approaches to military command would have made sense, both in terms of Rome’s fascination with Hellenic culture, and particularly due to the success many Hellenistic generals had in commanding armies under similar circumstances. During this period one begins to see the use of the “good general” stereotype from fourth-century Greece by the Romans. However, as before, the major strength of the Roman military lay not in the tactical sophistication of its commanders, but rather in the formations themselves, the discipline and training that supported them, and the collective experience of the soldiers serving in them. Commanders with the panache and tactical brilliance of Scipio Africanus were rare. More frequent were annual, or, as was the case from the second century B.C. onward, longer than annual campaigns for commanders. Rapid changes of command did little to encourage command innovation or to allow a deeper sense of loyalty to grow between commander and army.
Still, during this period Hellenistic influence on Roman methods of warfare and command grew as it did in Roman elite culture more generally. Commanders began to advertise their knowledge of Greek science in their contacts with soldiers, as well as draw more openly from the Greek tradition of the stratagem. Aemilius Paullus’s campaign against Perseus in the Third Macedonian War provides good examples of both trends. One of Paullus’s legates, Sulpicius Gallus, successfully predicted a lunar eclipse and Paullus used this prediction to inoculate his troops against the panic such a phenomenon could produce if interpreted as a negative omen (Livy 44.37.5–8). Paullus also advertised himself as an independent-minded general by his flexibility in adjusting training and watch standing to counter the hot Macedonian weather, as well as by delaying attack to ensure his troops were better rested (Livy 44.38). The latter decision went against the grain of the Roman approach to war and caused dissent among Paullus’s officer corps. Surely Paullus, a man with a keen interest in Hellenic culture, was inspired by Greek military thinking in these decisions. However, Roman virtus, as defined by military prowess, continued to be important. Sorting out the exact proportion of influence is impossible, but while the Romans drew upon new practices, it also balanced this flexibility with a strong tradition, such as the focus on military discipline, that was their own.
The transition from the late second century B.C. to the first is portrayed by ancient authors as a time of malaise in the Roman nobility, particularly in its military performance. The commands at Numantia prior to Scipio Aemilianus’s brought at best stasis, with several notable humiliations of commander and army. The war against Jugurtha likewise brought embarrassing defeats initially. Marius most successfully claimed credit for the victory, but also competing for glory during this war were Caecilius Metellus and Rutilius Rufus. All three claimed to have substantially improved army performance by strict application of discipline as well as innovations in training, similar to the explanations of victory at Numantia and in the Third Punic War made earlier by Scipio Aemilianus.
Marius presented his military skill as untutored and gained purely by experience (Sall. BJ 85.13–15). It is difficult, however, to imagine him as anything but a product of the late second century B.C., successfully combining Roman methods of demonstratingvirtuswith techniques informed by the more literary Hellenistic military tradition. Whether he learned the latter directly by book or not, he was a protégé of Scipio Aemilianus, who doubtless had. Likewise, his criticism of generals who learn only from military manuals suggests that the use of the manual was becoming more common.
Marius’s influence on Roman generalship was more successful in bridging the gap between the Roman nobility and the Italian and Roman soldiery that had grown wider during previous generations. In part he accomplished this by the practically universal principle of leading by example. By sharing soldiers’ burdens, he encouraged them to withstand the difficult conditions of campaign, while simultaneously causing them to identify with him personally as well as with the army’s purpose. That Marius could claim similar background to many of his soldiers, who, like him, were Italian and not of the nobility, surely heightened his appeal, and suggests that leadership by example was more effective when based on shared culture. Marius capitalized on his popular appeal politically and by his disconnection of land qualification from military service (though likely unintentional). His rewarding of soldiers continued to be exploited by generals through the Republic and, in a modified fashion, through much of the Imperial period.
By the end of the Republic, commanders such as Julius Caesar and Pompey the Great had effectively combined Roman and Hellenistic traditions. Both were adept at leading large, complex armies on long campaigns, adjusting battle formations to adapt to terrain and the enemy’s strategy, and maintaining a high degree of loyalty among their soldiers. All this is apparent throughout Caesar’s Bellum Civile, particularly the accounts of Dyrrhachium and Pharsalus. Army loyalty was due, in part, to longer service under one commander, but was also deliberately fostered by rewards of money, land, and, not least, displays of affection and identification by their commanders, evident in the apparently common usage of the word commilito, “fellow soldier.” Pompey, Caesar, and other commanders demonstrated proper standards of behavior as well as formidable displays of skill and courage to their armies at opportune times. Their speeches to their soldiers were carefully crafted, surely drawing on the Roman general’s rhetorical skills, but shaped for the special considerations of a military audience (Cic. De Off. 2.67).
In many ways the conditions of service during this period created situations in which Roman generals dealt with their armies similarly to commanders of mercenary armies: drawing on gambits such as crying to reconcile a mutinous army, and concealing plans from the army (Caes. B Civ. I.16), in order to maintain security and morale, as Clearchus did with his Greek mercenaries en route to Cunaxa (Xen. An. 1.3.1). The latter practice was incorporated by Virgil in his portrait of Aeneas the general, and was later recognized by Frontinus as an important aspect of Roman generalship (Nisbet 1983; Botermann 1967). The quickly shifting nature of army loyalty flattened whatever gap there was between army and commander, giving soldiers far more latitude than previously.
ROMAN GENERALSHIP: THE EMPIRE
An important part of the many pieces of authority that Augustus assembled in establishing himself as emperor was the command of practically all the units in the Roman army. His reforms of the army attempted to return soldiers to old standards of discipline, a claim practically every emperor afterward would make on his accession. At the same time, he could not (nor did he wish to) entirely remove older methods of maintaining army loyalty, particularly those fostered by personal presence and projecting the image of thecommilito and the “good general.” Part of his solution lay in his retention of the title imperator. Another was the use of propaganda in multiple media portraying him as representing military qualities such as virtus and disciplina. Joined closely to this was the use of his imago, or portrait bust, in the military context. It was carried into battle, soldiers swore to it when they renewed their military oaths, and was kept in the principium, every camp’s headquarters. Likewise, the names of legions were given by the emperor, as were military awards and donatives. All these were intended to demonstrate to soldiers that, no matter how distant, the imperator was their commander, and deserved their loyalty and affection (Hekster 2007).
These reminders of imperial power, effective as they mostly were, were still a compromise, and charismatic, successful commanders who were present with the army could still be a threat to the emperor’s position. Such was the case with Germanicus, whose command manner was very much in the style of late Republican generals, and whose methods of currying favor with the army, according to Tacitus, caused Tiberius to be suspicious of his motives (Pelling 1993). Therefore, it was in the best interest of many emperors to build a military reputation, and no surprise that triumphs, the ultimate display of military prestige, were only celebrated by members of the imperial family from the Augustan period onward.
Still, proximity to the army as well as military success mattered, as the succession of emperors in A.D. 69 proved. The older styles of “good generalship” must have continued, though were perhaps muted. Certain commanders, such as Corbulo, known for his victories in several campaigns as well as his discipline, were clearly adept at cultivating reputations similar to those of Republican generals (e.g., Tac. Ann. 11.19). Hadrian, despite the marked differences in policy from his predecessor, was not only a skilled soldier, but wanted to ensure that he was compared to Trajan as well as Scipio Aemilianus for his disciplinary initiatives (SHA Hadr. 10.2). There was also no shortage of military writing produced, for example Onasander’s The General, and the works of Frontinus, Arrian, and Polyaenus. While Onasander and Polyaenus were probably not experienced soldiers, Frontinus and Arrian were, and their works reflect both idealizing tendencies as well as sound practical advice.
Why did military manuals continue to be produced despite the limited scope of prestige available to most commanders in the Imperial period? It appears they still offered some practical value to their audience, while also providing a traditional component of an elite male’s education (Campbell 1987). The psychological principles outlined in these manuals were usable and effective at many levels of the military hierarchy. Other concerns, for example tactics and supplies, were also of interest, and presumably such manuals addressed them, thus providing a basis of knowledge to officers presumably less experienced than the soldiers they were ordered to command. But such works were doubtless also meant to entertain, and perhaps were never intended to be applied completely in the first place. This may be the case with some of Onasander’s advice (e.g., at 1.12, where he recommends the general also be a father), though much of what he suggests is in line with advice found elsewhere, particularly regarding the commander’s self-presentation, and his manual was actually used during the Byzantine period and later.
It is worth considering that the manuals of this period reflect the stagnation of Roman tactics and equipment in the first two centuries of imperial power. Real innovation in generalship during the third century A.D. certainly came from men outside the traditional ranks of such manuals, namely, professional soldiers with variable levels of education and outside traditional loci of power (Campbell 1987). Later military treatises, such as that written by Vegetius, though of value, are difficult to evaluate. In Vegetius’s case, his manual is of uncertain date and drew from military manuals of various periods without citation; it may never have been intended for practical use in the first place.
The transition to late antiquity reflects many of the same conditions of the middle Republic: emperors were again often experienced soldiers who could base their credibility with the army on real skills. As before, army loyalty was maintained by a number of means: shared religion (though the shift to Christianity makes it difficult to assess this precisely), the military oath, donatives, and appeals to shared identity, though emperors of this period referred to soldiers as conveterani or other terms, not commilitones (Lee 1998). The use of such terms indicates a strong military culture that to a significant extent must have overcome other bases of identity soldiers possessed, even after the recruitment of more non-Romans into the army and military leadership.
There were several major differences, however, in conditions of generalship between this and earlier periods. The army was entirely professional, as it had been throughout the Imperial period, but with a proliferation of different unit types. Regularization of training and discipline accompanied professionalization, and the military disasters of this period, such as at Adrianople in 378, cannot be blamed on the lack of it. But because military service had grown less popular, an issue aggravated by the greater difficulty in acquiring resources, generalship was often more concerned with making do with less, for example, manipulating previous standards of training to ensure that manpower was kept at sufficient levels (Lee 1998). Yet again many of the same tenets of generalship appear to have remained true: the power of leading by example and creating shared identity, the value of caution and planning, strategy and tactics based on experience and knowledge of the enemy, and, when possible, applying a new or repurposed stratagem at the right opportunity.
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