PART II
MICHAEL LOVANO
Rome was a militaristic society; even Ovid, the poet of love, could write that “all lovers are soldiers” (Am. 1.9), emphasizing the deep-rootedness of military ideology in Roman society. Roman families seemed to operate like a disciplined military unit, with a clear chain of command leading from the slaves at the bottom to the powerful paterfamilias at the top, having prescribed duties for each family member, whether husband, wife, son, or daughter, with the goals of the individual subsumed for the good of the group. Roman voters were organized into units and met on the Field of Mars to cast their ballots for the highest officials, for laws, treaties, and declarations of war. Roman males, especially in the days of the Republic, might serve as soldiers from the ages of sixteen to sixty, while the males of the aristocracy cemented and augmented the reputation and power of their families through military command and victory.
It should not surprise us then if Roman authors concerned themselves with tales of war. The story of their empire was for them a story of conflict, beginning with the feud between Romulus and Remus. But what did this history of conflict mean to the Roman authors? How did they interpret Rome’s many wars? How did they want those wars remembered, and why? In this chapter we will be considering these questions and others by examining a number of authors and their works as examples of Roman writing on the subject of warfare. These works can be divided into several categories.
First, we have the writings of the most famous Roman author who had firsthand experience of the warfare he described: Julius Caesar in his Commentaries on the Gallic War, as well as the Commentaries on the Civil War. Next, we have works by those authors who possessed solid military experience and could provide a nearly firsthand account of events: Velleius Paterculus in his Roman Histories and Ammianus Marcellinus in his Histories. Third, we have texts by those authors who digested the military experience of others in order to create handbooks of such knowledge, especially for use by Roman commanders: Frontinus in his Stratagems and Vegetius in his Epitome of Military Science. Last, we have those accounts by authors who were by and large armchair historians of warfare: Sallust in his War against Jugurtha and War against Catiline, Livy in his From the Founding of the City, and Tacitus in his Annals and Agricola.
THE COMMANDER’S VIEW: JULIUS CAESAR
Caesar published memoirs on his military exploits, both against foreigners and against citizens of the Republic, primarily for the political purpose of molding public opinion, as well as the opinion of posterity, in his favor (see especially B Civ.1.22). At the same time, these commentaries served as a sort of field report to the people of Rome, informing them of what happened “out there.”
These aims must have been taken for granted by Caesar and his audience; hence, Caesar provides no preface, no statement of purpose for his Commentaries, as most students of Latin will remember from memorizing the first passage in the Gallic War. He does, however, begin with a statement of opinion, and here we see one of Caesar’s basic beliefs about war: it makes a people great. Caesar regards the Belgae and Helvetii as the “fortissimi” among the Gallic tribes because they are farthest from the decadent effects of Roman “civilization” and constantly testing their cultural character and martial skills in warfare with their neighbors (Caes. B Gall. 1.1). He raises this belief clearly again (4.1–4, 6.21, 24) where he compares the Gauls and the Germans. The Germans are more virtuous and warlike, and thus more worthy of praise than all the Gallic peoples. Caesar’s feigned or conventional or honest respect for the warlike tribes as opposed to the more settled and peaceful tribes thus hits the reader from the start; this is the Roman attitude of love of war as a virtue, not as a necessary evil, a theme that we find equally in the works of Tacitus and Sallust.
Caesar also reveals the characteristic Roman respect and admiration for the worthy, but, of course, vanquished, adversary. The Gallic chieftain Vercingetorix, for example, is portrayed as cleverly sniffing out Roman weaknesses, such as their vulnerable supply lines (7.64), while planning to cut retreating Roman columns and employ various methods to shock the Romans (7.65); he is as much a master of war and of wartime psychology as any Roman commander. In contrast, however, Caesar characterizes the virtually unbeaten resisters in Britain as treacherous (4.28–36). And naturally his Roman adversaries in the Civil War always appear formidable and honorable (B Civ. 3.93, 3.110). In his account of the Civil War especially, Caesar asserts two further beliefs about war in general: that great results often depend on seemingly small things (1.21, 3.72), and, related to this, that fortune has a hand in who wins and who loses (1.46, 2.6, 2.14, 2.30, 3.27, 3.68, 3.72).
Caesar understands the psychology of war. His account of the Civil War provides many examples of this. He notes how soldiers are virtually paralyzed by uncertainty and tension in a crisis situation (1.21), the fear only made worse by conversations among themselves (2.29). He believes that humans have a natural inclination to fight (3.92), but this instinct must be bolstered by mental preparation (3.85) and encouragement from one’s commander (3.92), and by a sense that one is fighting for country and family (2.4); this instinct must also be sustained by such mundane things as adequate supplies of food (3.49). On the other hand, the enemy’s instinct must be dulled by denying them necessities and especially by filling them with terror (3.92). Caesar asserts that resolution of spirit is the greatest strength of an army (3.28), but he also makes clear that a commander can program such resolution into a military unit by not letting his fears or doubts about the situation or about his own men be known (2.31); soldiers are ready to believe their confident commander (2.27).
Aside from these attitudes, what do we learn from Caesar about the art of war itself? His approach leads the reader through problems and solutions, tactics and obstacles, plans and outcomes, always with his men reacting defensively against the threats or assaults of enemies. With Caesar we feel that we are on the ground in the command tent trying to “right wrongs,” or at least stay alive while contending with hostile forces all around us. Once again certain themes stand out.
First, Caesar often presents his information in such a way as to admit the weaknesses of his army but then emphasize the superior adaptability, ingenuity, and discipline of those same troops. For example, he details the difficulties faced by the Roman navy in their suppression of resistance among the Veneti of modern-day Brittany (B Gall. 3.7–16) and similarly the disadvantages of his forces in their siege of Massilia (B Civ. 1.58–2.8); in both cases, the ingenuity and experience of his men brought victory. Again, his troops tried new strategies when landing in Britain (B Gall. 4.24–27, 5.1–2). In the first attempt at landing, which was hotly resisted by the Britons, a bold aquilifer launched the Roman assault that eventually led to success (4.24–36). In the second invasion, Roman adaptability allowed the construction of a protective camp (5.10–11), often the key to Roman long-term victory. Later faced by quick but coordinated attacks by small bands of Briton warriors and their charioteers as well, the heavily armored Roman infantry and cavalry found it hard to gain the initiative. But Roman discipline and cohesiveness lured the Britons in closer and closer and into making more sustained assaults, to which the Britons were unaccustomed, thus turning the advantage to the Romans (5.15–23). Caesar can be most detailed on these themes, and it is no wonder. The collective effect of these and many other similar descriptions is to convince the reader that the Romans are a force tough to beat.
Second, Caesar often notes how interested the Romans were in acquiring military intelligence before committing themselves to action; correct knowledge of the enemy and the careful planning that results are crucial to victory. For instance, before setting out for Britain, he tried to find out whatever he could through local collaborators (B Gall. 4.20), and while battling Vercingetorix, Caesar relied on deserters and captives for up-to-date information on enemy plans and resources (7.71–74). Romans are victorious, then, when they are one step ahead of the opposition.
Lastly, Caesar reveals over and over again the importance and frequency of sieges in Roman warfare. The famous descriptions no doubt are those of the siege of Alesia (B Gall. 7.68–90) and the siege of Dyrrachium (B Civ. 3.41–72). In these episodes, Caesar not only provides complex and vivid details of the operations of both armies, but also ties in the above themes, and reminds the reader that whereas in Gaul both sides were impelled to fight by their courage, their sense of honor, and their desire for praise (B Gall. 7.77), with simply the better army winning, at Dyrrachium, Pompey’s forces were arrogant and lucky; the “accidents of war” cost Caesar the victory that time (B Civ. 3.72).
The Commentaries are nothing if not a tale of perseverance. Caesar never gives the impression that Romans were destined to win or that winning was easy and assured. Instead, we see the Roman forces tested over and over again, often teetering on the edge of defeat, yet relentless in their efforts at the command of their determined leader. This was how the last generation of the Republic conceived of war.
MILITARY OFFICERS AS HISTORIANS
Velleius Paterculus served as a military tribune in the east, and as a cavalry commander in Germany (A.D. 4–12) under Tiberius Caesar, the future emperor. In A.D. 6 he was elevated to membership in the Roman Senate because of this loyal service and given a special command. Velleius composed a small compendium of Roman history, a unique work combining the traditions of the annalists and the biographers of Rome; it was intended as a gift to his friend M. Vinicius who had been made consul, and thus it functioned as a praise of that friend, but also as a panegyric honoring Tiberius, expressing genuine affection and admiration for the Emperor among military personnel, represented by Velleius himself.
The extant text summarizes military history from the Republic’s wars in Greece to the mutiny of Roman armies on the accession of Tiberius to the purple, but one should not regard it as a unified military history. Rather, it is a chronologically organized series of portraits of Rome’s great men and great episodes, examples for Vinicius to emulate or avoid, a gallery of famous persons among whom this friend might find a space for his own portrait perhaps!
Taken this way, one finds three themes embedded in Velleius’s epitome pertinent to our discussion here. First, he agrees with Sallust on the moral interpretation of history (read: Rome is in decline; see 2.1) and on the role of fear and hatred as the principal motivators of war (1.12). Second, running through his section on the end of the Republic (2.46–87) is Velleius’s belief that the waves of fortune affect the events of war; this is similar to Caesar’s thinking, but much more heightened and critical now. Third, despite his interest in fortune, Velleius still sees warfare as primarily a matter of personalities, especially of the commanders. That is, victory or defeat is in the hands of the general; his personality and his moral character determine the course of events.
This is illustrated in Velleius’s special praise for Scipio Aemilianus (1.12 and 2.4), his focus on generals in all his summaries of the Republic’s wars of expansion (1.9–2.37), and in his discussion of the Gallic War and the Civil Wars that brought the Republic to collapse (2.46–55). Here he does spend a bit of time on Caesar in battle, and in the following sections on the advantages of Octavian and disadvantages of Antony leading to the former’s victory at Actium (2.84–87), but Velleius’s chief concern is still with praise of Caesar and particularly of Octavian, and blame of Antony’s character flaws for his failures. The author provides far less military detail than we would expect considering his background and career and far more moral judgment.
In the last part of his book, which covers the career and rise of Tiberius (2.105–125), details are fuller. While Tiberius’s skills and the valor of the Roman troops in Germany are highlighted, supplemented by consideration of the Teutoburg disaster and the mutinies of A.D. 14, Velleius’s rhetorical style continues to emphasize exempla, drawing the reader’s attention to them rather than to the details of war. Velleius vividly describes Tiberius’s military skill: “Through the foresight of our commander we took the opportunity to evade their united forces and rout them separately. He showed outstanding judgment in placing our winter camps. The enemy was carefully blocked in by the outposts of our army so that he could not break out, and through lack of supplies and dissension in his own ranks, was gradually weakened” (2.111).
We can perhaps forgive Velleius becoming part of the trend of his times, the love of heroes, of tangents on exotic cultural elements, of juxtapositions of virtue and vice, and of senatorial politics (for instance, his summary of the Jugurthine War at 2.11 deals much more with the politics of the moment than the battles), but we are disappointed in receiving so little information and analysis from a man with so much to tell us from his own solid experience.
Like Velleius Paterculus, Ammianus Marcellinus possessed solid military experience, serving as an officer in elite regiments of the Roman army under the emperors Constantius and Julian. After retiring from the service around the year 364, he began to write a history of Rome covering the period from A.D. 96–378. His final installment of that work, Book 31, encapsulates his approach to the history of Roman warfare.
Ammianus recounts in Book 31 the famous uprising of the Goths in A.D. 376 and their destruction of the Roman forces sent to suppress them in 378, including the death in battle of Emperor Valens at Adrianople. The author insists that he has tried to put together the most faithful account of events, and acknowledges significant gaps in evidence available to him (31.5.10).
The reader will find, however, that this “accurate” account betrays the heavy influence of Greek historiographical and dramatic traditions, perhaps not surprising since Ammianus was a Syrian Greek himself (31.16.9). From the start, one feels the ominous outcome looming: Ammianus speaks of Fortune, Bellona the war goddess, and the Furies preparing adversity for Rome, and of terrible omens in the Eastern provinces (31.1); he repeats these allusions to the Furies and to Bellona later in the narrative (31.10, 31.13). In this way the author’s approach to war has a Homeric quality, giving real events the feel of myth. Similarly, he draws upon the tradition of Herodotus, comparing the armies of the Goths to the Persian hordes (31.4.7); caught in suspense, the reader can only wonder whether the Romans will fare as the Greeks of Thermopylae or of Salamis did in the encounter that must now take place. And in the final event, Ammianus renders the battle scene (31.13) and its aftermath (31.15) at Adrianople with metaphoric and graphic descriptions worthy of the sensational Hellenistic style of history writing (the two forces crashing into each other like beaked ships; the fight like the roaring waves of a tempestuous sea; the enemy crushing the Roman cavalry like a collapsing fortification; cries of the wounded and the dying filling the darkness).
Throughout this story, Ammianus shows his fondness for stark, rhetorical juxtapositions and contrasts. The Romans may be reckless but their enemies are “mad beasts”; the war cry of Roman soldiers finds its response in the discordant noises of the barbarians; Romans are disciplined, Goths always in frenzied motion; the latter wield clubs against Roman swords. Yet like other Roman authors, to Ammianus these strange foes have courage and strength equal to the Romans; they deserve a certain respect (31.7, 31.10, 31.13, 31.5).
Like Velleius, Ammianus gives the commanding officers credit for military success or blame for failure (31.7, 31.10, 31.12), and, like Caesar, he recognizes the critical role of flexibility in combat. Thus, foolish Roman generals fight pitched battles against barbarian hordes and lose, while clever Germanic chieftains adapt their methods to face Roman tactics and survive (31.7–9). Romans hold their own against the barbarian onslaught only as long as they counter the guerillas with speedy, unconventional attacks, even at night, by small groups of select Roman troops (31.9–11). Perhaps the best example of Ammianus’s point is his implicit comparison of steady and careful junior Emperor Gratian, who defeats the rebel Alamanni (31.10), with hasty senior Emperor Valens, who destroys himself and his army against the Goths (3.12–13).
WRITING MILITARY HANDBOOKS
With Frontinus and Vegetius we have the least rhetorical of all the literary sources on warfare. Frontinus was a senior senator, and in 98 and 100 held the consulship with the Emperor Trajan. He had been governor of Britain in 73/4–77 and wrote several technical handbooks, including a survey of the aqueducts of Rome and the Stratagems. In the preface of the latter work he makes clear that he seeks to provide examples for generals in brief format, case studies in words and deeds of things to imitate or to avoid, analyzed and categorized according to whether before battle (Book 1), during and after battle (Book 2), or part of siegecraft (Book 3). Frontinus provides little in the way of commentary, instead simply the examples, drawn mainly from the conflicts of the Republic (such as the Samnite Wars or the First and Third Mithridatic Wars) and from the early Empire (such as the Parthian Wars of the first century A.D. or the wars of Vespasian and Domitian).
It is interesting that the first two books address primarily cases of damage control (how to conceal deficiencies or how to restore morale, and so on), not aggressive tactics of battle, while the fourth book focuses, as other Roman authors often do, on the qualities that win wars (discipline, determination, constancy, and so on). Frontinus thus agrees with the Romans’ psychological approach to war: he assumes that possession and demonstration of the right qualities on the Roman side, and exploitation of the enemy’s weaker qualities (such as ignorance and superstition), will guarantee the Romans the advantage in any encounter (1.11.13).
The antiquarian Vegetius, in the Preface to Book 1 of his Epitome of Roman Military Science, states his objective as gathering together information on Roman military science, especially the principles of recruiting and training the best army and navy and of maintaining an empire militarily. In the Preface to Book III he goes further: he argues that without warfare there could be no civilization; it guarantees the existence and the survival of civilized society threatened always by barbaric peoples. Thus, “he who desires peace, let him prepare for war” or “war preserves… liberty and prestige… [and] saves the Empire” (3.10).
Vegetius regards warfare as the highest of the civilized arts (“the art of war comes before all else” 3.10). Like Frontinus, he draws on examples from a wide period of Roman history, especially from the time of Cato the Censor to that of Hadrian (1.8), culling those instances where the quality of well-trained troops paid off. Like other Roman authors, he recognizes the unconventional weapons in warfare: “the most effective weapon” he says is deprivation (3.2–4), so keep your troops well fed, healthy, as well as disciplined and hard at work. He similarly argues that the psychological state of one’s troops is crucial (3.12). Again like other authors, he demonstrates how important are camps (1.21–25) and proper battle order (2.4–18), but he is far more concerned with training (1.11–20, 26–27, 2.19–25). He even argues that one should avoid pitched battle, protecting one’s own forces in such a way as will cause harm to the enemy (3.9), and emphasizes the values of caution on the march, good intelligence, and secrecy (3.6). His discussion of siegecraft (fortifications 4.1–6, protections against siege 7–12, weapons of siege 13–24, 29–30, and reactions against besiegers 25–28) emphasizes psychological understanding and specific knowledge, as does his treatment of navigation (38–43) and naval tactics (44–46). More than any of the other Roman authors, whether firsthand witnesses to war or not, Vegetius is strongly emphatic that wars are not won by numbers or great commanders, but by skill, practice, preparation, strategy, and sometimes even punishment (1.1, 3.1, and especially his general rules of war at 3.26).
HISTORIANS AND WARFARE
The historian Sallust served as quaestor and tribune of the plebs, and on Caesar’s military staff during the Civil War. He was also appointed proconsul of Africa Nova. Sallust thus had substantial knowledge of soldiering and of command, but he certainly never became famous from it. In fact, accused of plundering the provincials, Sallust, though protected by Caesar, was compelled to retire from public life after the latter’s assassination.
During this retirement, he turned to composing several historical works, two of which have survived intact and are of help to us in understanding Roman warfare: The War of Catiline and The Jugurthine War. These are dramatic and energetic texts, tightly packed in terms of language and forceful messages, that reveal clearly Sallust’s debt to Greek playwrights and historians (especially Thucydides) and his desire to make a name for himself through writing about war and politics (Iug. 3–4, Cat. 3–4). As he notes in theCatiline, composing history is the next best thing to making history, as it preserves the memory of what your people have achieved in the past and encourages present and future generations to emulate those ancestors (Cat. 3.3).
The close connection Sallust makes between studying the history of war and engaging in successful warfare reveals one of his basic arguments: that war depends not simply upon physical prowess but also mental ability; indeed, he asserts that brawn cannot succeed in war without brains, that is, without planning, information, and intelligence (Cat. 1–2). Warfare, then, is a mental exercise, and the Romans have been victorious in war because of their superiority in this regard over their various enemies.
Sallust shares the view with other Roman authors that Rome’s wars before the late Republic were all defensive, matters of self-protection (especially protection of family, homeland, and freedom) or defense of threatened allies (Cat. 6). This does not mean that war is an entirely good thing, however. By the time he came to write the War against Jugurtha, Sallust’s reflections on civil strife became more noteworthy. He openly criticizes the use of force; it is dangerous to use force even for the right reasons, he says, because it can lead to uncontrollable violence, and the often heralded “struggle against the odds” he casts as mere folly (Iug. 3). Jugurtha’s thirst for glory perhaps mirrors that of the Triumvirs of Sallust’s own time (Iug. 7).
Despite these misgivings, Sallust seems to have believed that the young Romans of the “old days” enjoyed the hardships of combat because they were heroic, courageous, honorable; they sought true wealth, that is, glory and reputation (Cat. 7). Virtuous in peace and war, bold and fair, obedient and steadfast, hard-working and just, the Romans of bygone times built an empire by reducing the “mighty” and the “savage” (Cat. 9–10). This perspective emphatically imparts a strong moral tone to the history of Roman warfare, and sets up the counterpoint that in Sallust’s own time, in the last days of the Republic, such martial virtues have declined (Cat. 12).
Yet they are still to be found in several characters presented by Sallust in his works, and we might argue that the delineation of these exempla is the ultimate purpose for his writing, rather than to provide a detailed account of the two conflicts. For instance, in both the War against Catiline and the War against Jugurtha, the “villains” Catiline and Jugurtha both display traditional qualities of the martial hero. Jugurtha is described as a risk taker, tough and wise, generous and shrewd, better than many Roman officers, and favored by the Roman hero Scipio Aemilianus (Iug. 7–8). Like Roman commanders, he singles out his most courageous men, exhorting them to lead the others by example (49). Of course, Jugurtha is also corrupt and devious, perhaps natural traits, perhaps something learned from the “modern” Romans.
Sallust’s final image of Catiline is even more positive. His army weakened by desertions, trapped by opponents, Catiline delivers a set speech to his men in which he encourages their desire for honor, their boldness in battle, and the necessity of winning their freedom by fighting or losing their lives as executed criminals (Cat. 58). Neither timid nor selfish, he joins with them in the thick of the battle that ensues, active and supportive of others, prototypic soldier and prototypic general, falling in the midst of enemies (Cat. 59–61).
The strongest symbols for what has made Rome great in war are the figures of Metellus and Marius. Sallust’s treatment of the War against Jugurtha up to the point where Metellus arrives on the scene in North Africa is basically an extended morality tale: one Roman army and one Roman commander after another betray the ideal virtues of Rome, succumbing to corruption of various kinds or engaging in acts of sheer foolishness. Metellus then restores discipline to Roman forces (Iug. 44–45), prepares well and advances cautiously against the enemy, using the enemy’s own seductive promises and ruses against him and his allies (46–48), adapting his tactics to suit the needs of battle (49–50). Metellus definitely comes across as a father figure, tending to the wounded Romans, honoring those who did well in battle, encouraging others to follow suit (54). As we have seen, these were regarded as the traits of a great Roman general, and Sallust states as much (52). Like other Roman generals, Metellus believed in using psychology against the enemy; he adopted a scorched-earth policy, methodically seizing or destroying strategic sites and driving Jugurtha’s allies and forces to starvation, which threw the entire land into a state of terror, and reduced Jugurtha to banditry (54–69).
Though Marius rose to command by criticizing Metellus’s methods, he in fact continued them to further effect, striking further panic in enemy hearts through his massacre of the population at Capsa (91), and appearing even more the hero by playing the part of soldier himself in the final battle against Jugurtha (97–101). Marius had recruited fresh troops for these maneuvers, and the arguments he used to win them over, according to Sallust, also suggest the author’s belief in old-fashioned Roman heroism: Marius urged men to join his army not just for spoils but primarily for love of glory, virtue, honor, and patriotic duty, the true sources of immortality (84).
Livy’s From the Founding of the City covered a vast period of Roman history (753–9 B.C.), filled with wars; it was so stylish and comprehensive a work that it became a literary classic overnight. We should keep in mind that an entire tradition of literature grew out of the adaptation and abridgement of Livy’s history.
Yet we should also bear in mind that for his telling of the story of Roman warfare, Livy had little if any personal military experience to build upon. What he knew of war he learned from poets, annalists, playwrights, and philosophers. Fortunately, for the most significant episode of his history, the account of the war with Hannibal, he did rely very heavily on two Greek authors who had much experience in the matter: Thucydides of Athens (who provides much of the philosophical underpinnings) and Polybius of Megalopolis (who provides that and also most of the historical detail that Livy reworked). Livy’s debt to his Greek predecessors is made clear right from the start of that episode in Book 21, as he paraphrases lines from Thucydides’s History, claiming that the war between Rome and Carthage was the “most memorable of wars” (21.1) in which each side was almost equally brought to ruin by the other until the Romans’ final victory. Also like Thucydides, and like the other Roman authors we have already noted, Livy credits psychological motives as the real cause of the war: “odium” motivated both sides, beginning with Hannibal’s hatred for Rome, imparted to him by his father and brother-in-law. In fact, at the start of the episode Livy gives no other reasons for the war than this personal hatred (21.1).
No wonder then that in true Greek and Roman fashion, Livy conceives of the Hannibalic War as a contest of personalities representing their respective cultures (note his musings on Hannibal and Scipio and once again his emphasis on the psychological state of both armies at 30.28). Again, this should not surprise us when we consider what Livy asserts in the preface to his work: the purpose of history is to teach moral lessons and gain an understanding of one’s ancestors and what it means to be Roman.
This perspective is encapsulated in the final encounter, the meeting between Scipio and Hannibal before the battle of Zama. While Hannibal in his set speech (30.30) muses on the fortunes of war and makes some thinly veiled threats about how the battle might go against the Romans (so they should conclude a peace before battle on certain terms), Scipio’s blunt response reveals the unbending self-righteousness of the Romans, their determination to see the war through to the end, the end of punishing the Carthaginians for all wrongs done (30.31). War for the Romans was like a moral crusade; for the Carthaginians, a more practical business, open to negotiation (30.29). Perhaps this is not just Livy’s rhetoric; after all, Hannibal had never pressed home his advantage against the Romans in Italy as Scipio would do against the Carthaginians in North Africa.
Besides the philosophy and psychology, what else do we learn about Roman warfare from Livy? In his accounts of the Battle of Cannae (22.43–54) as well as the Battle of Zama (30.30–45), several themes emerge. First, reconnaissance of the environment was important in ancient warfare. Hannibal was very careful in the choice of encampment and battle site when he had the chance to choose, as at Cannae (22.43); he had surveyed the terrain and the weather in the region and considered those factors favorable to his military maneuvers against the Romans (who would have the sun in their eyes during battle, from where and how strong was the wind blowing, where were the nearest sources of water and how could they be defended or blocked off from the enemy, and so on). The advantages at Cannae favored Hannibal’s cavalry (22.44).
Moreover, the unity of strategy was essential to victory. Another factor in Hannibal’s favor at Cannae was the quarreling among the Roman commanders, the consuls Varro and Paullus; we learn from Livy as from other Roman authors that decisions in battle were often and apparently regularly taken in concert, as the outcome of argument and persuasion among a commander and officers (22.44).
As in the case with other authors (especially Tacitus), Livy has a fondness for detailing the battle order of the Roman forces (22.45, 30.33) and their enemies (22.46, 30.33). His descriptions of the battles at Cannae and Zama differ in detail. Cannae, probably one of the most studied and best known in Rome’s history because of its disastrous results, proceeds step by step. We can imagine it clearly in our mind’s eye: the maneuvers of the Carthaginian auxiliaries and cavalry (22.47), the sneak attack from the rear by Carthaginian prisoners (22.48), the careful enveloping technique. At Zama, there is a greater sense of confusion from the start of the engagement, and the clearest point we come away with is that both armies were flexible and were compelled to alter tactics while the battle was in progress, as wrestlers trying to outmatch one another might do, looking and pressing for weaknesses (30.33–34), until the Roman cavalry charge from the rear routed the Carthaginians (30.35). Roman success came from outdoing Hannibal in his own enveloping techniques and from having access to able reinforcements (30.35–36).
Finally, we should not forget the Roman heroics in Livy’s work: the valiant fight to the death of Paullus’s forces at Cannae, the commander himself taking a short breather to impart wisdom as well as information to a messenger headed for Rome before ending his life fighting for his country, the catalog of war prisoners and casualties fit to be memorialized (22.49). There is no doubt that Livy is trying to teach a moral lesson here in dramatic terms, as his next paragraph goes on to contrast brave versus cowardly survivors of the battle (22.50). Yet the paragraph after that paints the scene of carnage with remarkably graphic detail; would this be regarded as wonderful or frightening by the Roman readers (22.51)? In the remaining section, Livy ties up the threads of the Cannae story with Hannibal’s capture of the Roman camps (22.52) and the gathering of refugees at Canusium and Venusium (22.53–54), among whom is Hannibal’s future nemesis, Scipio. Through these episodes, Livy again highlights the differences between brave and cowardly troops, and continues this line of thought in describing Hannibal’s offer to ransom his prisoners and the Senate’s reaction (22.55–57). The scathing speech of Torquatus against those Romans who should have died rather than be captured, and his characterization of war as an all or nothing affair of self-sacrifice, could not better encapsulate the Roman attitude to war (22.58–61).
Yet if cowardly troops deserve death, what of an incompetent commander? Livy concludes the Cannae episode by providing us with an interesting, but perhaps not fully intended, contrast between the Romans and Carthaginians on this matter. The Romans had voted to leave their captured soldiers entirely in the enemy’s hands, to be treated as Hannibal pleased, yet the Romans welcomed back consul Varro, who should have been held completely to blame for the disaster, with thanks and great fanfare! Livy suggests that the Carthaginians would have executed Varro had he been their failed commander. But the point is that Varro had set an example “by not despairing of the state,” and had brought back with him a body of soldiers who had not surrendered or been captured (similar to Dunkirk in 1940).
What is just as interesting in Livy’s account of the contest between Rome and Carthage is the change in tone from Scipio’s early self-righteousness (noted above) to his outright politicking after Zama. Not that his self-righteousness is entirely gone: it makes itself apparent during the negotiations for peace (30.37). But Scipio is now clearly once again a Roman politician, not just a general, who wants to hold on to his glory and the credit for defeating Carthage at a time when fellow senators wanted to steal that from him and knock him down a few pegs (30.36, 40–43). Even a patriotic Roman author like Livy has to admit the more self-interested motives of the Roman heroes, and Hannibal begins to appear as the more sympathetic character once again (30.44), clear-sighted, truer.
In the company of Sallust and Livy, we must place Tacitus, perhaps the best known of all ancient Roman historians. Apprenticed as a young man to several prominent lawyers of his time, married to the daughter of one of Imperial Rome’s best generals, a personal friend of the Emperor Titus, and advanced politically by him and his successors, Domitian, Nerva, and Trajan, Tacitus perhaps acquired firsthand military experience as a legionary commander in the Roman province of Asia. Still, most of his life and career was spent in the city of Rome, and most of his knowledge of warfare came from his reading and research for his several historical works.
In four of Tacitus’s extant works, warfare plays a significant role. One of these, the Annals, provides a good example of Tacitus’s perspective on Roman warfare. He wrote the Annals sometime in the years A.D. 105 to 117, a time of relative peace and stability for the Roman world, and he saw the time frame for his book, the Julio-Claudian dynasty, also as a period of relative calm. In comparison with previous generations, the first dynasty of Roman emperors appeared to him to be too peaceful, without the glorious exploits of heroic wars, captured cities, and defeated kings that other Roman historians (like Livy) had already immortalized in their works about much earlier periods of Roman history (Ann. 4.32). Yet Tacitus revealed his view on the continued importance of war for Rome through the speech of Tiridates, the king of Armenia: “For great empires are not preserved by idle cowardice; they are made by the contest of men and arms” (Ann. 15.1).
Tacitus’s apologies for his subject matter often take this form of lamentation; he wishes he could have written a truly military history of Rome. What we have instead is a work that largely focuses on highly personalized political affairs at the capital, with a few sidebars on other regions of the Empire. His interest at these moments is especially on the frontier enemies, Germany and Parthia: at the limits of the Empire, one could still see at times the ancient bravery and aggressive glory of Rome, qualities loved and admired by Tacitus. For the historian, the purpose of recording such episodes was to provide lessons for contemporary and future generations to learn from. Moreover, like Livy, Tacitus has the goal in mind of proving a point, of teaching his fellow Romans a lesson: “I consider it the prime duty of history to make sure that virtuous deeds are not kept silent and that wicked words and deeds fear posterity and infamy” (Ann. 3.65).
Tacitus describes three major theaters of war in the Annals: Germanicus’s invasion of Germany (Ann. 1.49–71, 2.5–26), the suppression of rebellion and consequent Roman expansion in Britain (12.31–40, 14.23–39), and Corbulo’s campaigns against the Parthians for control of Armenia (13.34–41, 14.23–26, 15.1–18, 24–31).
One of Tacitus’s main themes is the dividing line of cultural difference between Rome and its enemies, the civilized Romans versus the barbarian foes. For instance, the Germans are portrayed as impetuous, Romans as disciplined (Ann. 1.67–68); Parthians are treacherous and cowardly, while Romans glorious (13.39). Savage German leaders like Arminius gather around themselves the uncivilized, frenzied, risk takers among their people, those who hate Rome and shun peace, rejecting what is “best for them” like incorrigible children (1.55–58). The same is true of the rebels in Britain, whether led by Caratacus (12.33–37) or Boudicca (14.31–35); indeed, Boudicca’s rebels are painted as so horrifyingly brutal that no prior Roman wrongs against them (which the historian does make note of) could truly excuse their behavior. And Armenian and Parthian rulers appear always deceitful and scheming, playing tough but having little staying power (15.1–2, 5, 13–15, 24, 28–31). While “barbarians” resort to bribery of Roman and auxiliary soldiers (Arminius at 2.13), faithless diplomacy (Vologeses at 13.37, 15.5, 13) or rampaging rapacity (Boudicca at 14.31–33), all to no avail, Romans, epitomized by Germanicus, Suetonius Paulinus, and Corbulo, carefully gather intelligence on their enemies’ strengths and weaknesses, plotting the methodical destruction of the other side.
From these descriptions, one would think of these enemy leaders as the antithesis of their Roman counterparts. Yet this is not always the case. For example, in the speech Tacitus creates for him to rally his forces, Arminius encourages Germans exactly as a Roman commander would do with his own men, by speaking of how they must protect homeland, parents, and freedom, and fight for glory (1.59). Caratacus reportedly delivered a very similar message, exhorting his British warriors to fight for freedom against slavery, to do their ancestors proud, never to yield to the enemy (12.34). Boudicca does the same later (14.35), and even Vologeses and Tiridates make good points in their speeches about the reasons for preserving Parthian power (15.1–2, 29). The use of such speeches or paraphrases of speeches is as important in Tacitus’s works as in those of the Greek historians, especially Thucydides, to give the reader a sense of the historical dramatis personae, and to convey Tacitus’s messages regarding the motives of war. Perhaps he is trying to get into the heads of the enemy chiefs; perhaps he is merely projecting Roman values onto them so that his Roman readers will have familiar points of reference.
Tacitus’s focus is thus on people, the psychological motivations of commanders and soldiers. We see this further in his account of the wars in Germany, where he asserts that the Roman soldiers, after their mutinous behavior in A.D. 14, desired to assuage their sense of guilt by winning back their honor in combat (1.49). Other Roman authors noted this sort of motive as well, especially Caesar. Indeed, like Caesar, Tacitus also conveys the sense of Roman perseverance, ceaseless effort, discipline, planning, and experimentation—determination that will triumph in the end (1.63–68). For instance, even after his fleet is destroyed by storms at sea, Germanicus continues to suppress the German rebels (2.23–26); even after general Paetus’s forces are compelled to surrender under the yoke by the Parthian king Vologeses, Corbulo strikes back (16.6–18). Romans do not surrender.
For the Roman soldiers, victory heals their wounds, nourishes their bodies, and restores their spirits (1.68). And that victory must be total; Germanicus employs tactics of terror as he proceeds deeper into German territory and, during his final battle with Arminius, orders the complete destruction of the enemy side (2.21). Similarly, Corbulo in his invasion of Armenia threatens the inhabitants of Artaxata into surrendering, then razes their city to the ground, just one example of his scorched-earth policy designed to instill terror among the locals and end even the thought of war with Rome (13.40–41, 14.23–26, 15.26–27). Even more vivid is Tacitus’s description of the fall to the Romans of Uspe in the Crimea (49) and the massacre of the population: “This terrified the local population. Weapons, defenses, natural heights and obstacles, rivers and cities, had all failed to stop the invasion: nothing seemed safe” (Ann. 12.17).
Like other Roman authors on war, Tacitus praises the noble leader, even if that leader is a woman. He portrays Agrippina and Germanicus both as commanders of the Roman forces on the German front; both dutifully tend to the wounded, provide for the needy, and together save the Roman provinces from devastation (1.69, 2.13). His greatest hero in the Annals is definitely Corbulo, victor over the Parthian menace. Corbulo is capable of great physical endurance, is as hard-working as he expects his men to be, encouraging and solicitous of their well-being, but also tough with discipline, and cautious and very thorough in preparation for and execution of battle (see especially 13.35–36, 14.24, 15.11–12). One cannot help but see the parallels with Tacitus’s father-in-law Agricola, whom he immortalized in an encomium of his own, written about a decade or so before the Annals. The historian regarded Agricola as a leader who inspired fear and terror in the enemy and shared the dangers with his own troops, encouraging as well as disciplining them (Agr. 18–25); an excellent coordinator of his forces and judge of when it was right to engage the enemy, Agricola, like Corbulo, saw war as honorable, death in battle as the truest glory (Agr. 33).
When it comes to the details of war, Tacitus seems obsessed with such things as which military units were involved in which operations, their relative arrangement in battle and at camp, and so on. This was probably always part of the way Romans remembered their wars; we might compare how modern American military units hold reunions or other ceremonies to recall and commemorate with such details their actions and camaraderie. His description of battles in Britain (Ann. 12.31–33, 35–36, 39, 14.29–30, 32, 34, 37) or of siege operations in Syria and Armenia (13.35, 37, 39–40, 14.24, 26, 15.7–11, 26) seem very quick, revealing just the basic outline of events. On the other hand, the battle scenes in Tacitus’s narrative of Germany are always chaotic; no matter the preparations or plans of either side, things always seem to be thrown into confusion, the battles becoming as wild as the wilderness in which they were waged (1.62–66, 2.16–18). One wonders whether Tacitus gives us the reality of the situation. Perhaps, or perhaps we have here Tacitus’s sense that the truth about Roman war against such enemies would be lost in the details of battle, the sort of information we find preserved by Caesar or Vegetius. The deeper messages about soldiers and commanders were what mattered most to him and his audience.
POETS AND WAR
In the days of Caesar Augustus, Horace famously remarked that “conquered Greece brought the arts to rustic Latium.” This is evident in the poetry of the Middle Republic, especially the comedy of Plautus, who adapted the “new” comedies of Menander and other authors, giving his audiences images of overbearing soldiers (Miles Gloriosus) and even conflicted portrayals of the lately defeated Carthaginians (Poenulus, or The Little Carthaginian; cf. Leigh 2000: 290–2). More realistic perhaps are the images of war and violence that abound in the poetry of Virgil (both the Eclogues and Georgics: cf. and in particular his Civil War–era–influenced tale of Aeneas and the Trojans arriving in Italy, the Aeneid). While Virgil’s innate genius and the Homeric influences are not to be questioned, neither are the wartime realities of his own time: the tears of Aeneas on memory of Troy’s fall (Aen. 1.633–45); the suicide of Dido prefiguring the historical destruction of Carthage but also Civil War realities (Aen. 4.920–29); of atrocities committed in battle (Aen. 9.660–62) and soldiers taking their vengeance on the enemy for the deaths of comrades (Aen. 12.1277–298). While Virgil and others recognized the horrors of war, perhaps with little thought of the human cost all around, they yet enthusiastically embraced Roman imperialism. The consequences are aggressive language that Livy might admire (cf. 1.16.7: “let them teach their children that no human strength can resist Roman weapons”): Virgil writes that “to this people I assign no boundaries in space or time. I have granted them power without limit” (Aen. 1.278–9; cf. 6.852–3), Propertius adding that “on foot we attack the flying Parthian [and] with our fleet attack the Briton” (2.27.5).
CONCLUSIONS
For the writers on war whose works have survived, Rome’s history of conflict was understood primarily in cultural and personal terms. In the cultural sense, Romans fought against other societies in defense of their way of life, which was regarded, in Greek fashion, as more civilized than that of their adversaries. Even an author as matter-of-fact as Vegetius, who aims to provide practical information for military men in order to enable them to succeed, sees war as the act that preserves civilization. Cultural survival, as well as cultural hegemony, were thus at stake, and for most Roman writers of war, the task was to examine and present the traits of the competing societies in a dramatic and memorable fashion. In the personal sense, warfare also engaged the moral and intellectual character of each side, and especially the moral and intellectual character of each side’s leader. Roman authors compared and contrasted those commanders, and determined that the smarter and more careful generals, the more virtuous, courageous, and determined ones (usually Roman) always prevailed. These were, therefore, held up for public praise and emulation and preserved in the memory of Roman society.
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