A commonly quoted quip about piracy in Augustine’s City of God has had great impact on how we
per... more A commonly quoted quip about piracy in Augustine’s City of God has had great impact on how we perceive both pirates and monarchs. This piece aims to show this dichotomy in earlier Greek and Roman writers and reflects that Augustine’s relative comfort with monarchy may be well more in line with Cicero’s Hellenistic Greek sources than they were with the ideas of Cicero himself. This is because the representation of kings and bandits as opposites was an argument for royal legitimacy in the Hellenistic eastern Mediterranean, but in Republican Rome, kings were set as equals to bandits to prove their lack of legitimacy.
Comparing legitimacy in the three different contexts of literary
leisteia, Late Republican civil... more Comparing legitimacy in the three different contexts of literary leisteia, Late Republican civil war actors, and contemporary Severan emperors reveals Dio to be consistent when discussing legitimate violence. In all three, Dio presents establishing legitimacy as a primary factor in attaining power. As the required skills to achieve power differed from those for ruling, the resulting ruler could be disastrous. Through employing the ‘noble bandit’ topos, Dio questions the emperors’ suitability, comparing them to bandits. Overall, Dio interprets Late Republican history differently from his sources for Republican history. In his view, future statesmen cannot rely upon the mos maiorum.
Pirates in the Mediterranean had a long history of readily accepting military service. Mithridat... more Pirates in the Mediterranean had a long history of readily accepting military service. Mithridates of Pontus hired pirates from Cilicia and Crete to swell the ranks of his navy, a navy that managed to halt Roman forces from crossing to Anatolia on several occasions. Likewise, the Macedonians hired Illyrian pirates and the Seleucids and Ptolemies hired Cretans. In several cases, however, the Romans engaged in short campaigns in Illyria, Crete, or Cilicia before embarking on a war with the larger powers of the Mediterranean. Whether intentional or not, this pre-emptively limited the mercenary manpower the Hellenistic kingdoms were accustomed to call upon, giving Roman commanders a military advantage. First, this paper examines Roman legislation that may hinder mercenaries (e.g. a ban on trading precious metal to the Gauls (Zonaras 8.19)) and treaties that forbid mercenary service or mercenary hiring, most famously, the Peace of Apamea. Through limiting supplies of mercenaries or coinage, Rome attempted to peacefully gain such a military advantage. Secondly, my paper examines Roman campaigns against these sources for mercenary manpower immediately prior to or during major campaigns against other foes. These campaigns were frequently publicly justified by the piracy (or alleged piracy) of the group in question, rather than the mercenary activity. Admittedly, unemployed mercenaries might readily turn to piracy (such as the Greek mercenaries of Persia in the aftermath of Alexander’s campaign (Diodorus 17.111, cf. Trundle 2004, de Souza 1999 inter alia). In any case, these small campaigns against the ‘pirate-lands’ of the Mediterranean also limited the supply of pirate mercenaries, to Rome’s advantage. While I do not suggest this was the result of overarching Roman plotting, I do suggest this trend was no accident, but a recognition by the Romans of the impact of these mercenaries and an attempt to compensate.
Transactions of the American Philological Association, 2016
In 102 B.C.E., the Romans sent Marcus Antonius Orator to Cilicia with an army, opening a new thea... more In 102 B.C.E., the Romans sent Marcus Antonius Orator to Cilicia with an army, opening a new theater of campaigns. The timing seems strange: in 102, Rome had a manpower shortage and Roman forces were still bogged down in Gaul, Sicily, and quite probably Africa. I argue that the beginning of Roman involvement in Cilicia was rooted in Roman reactions to the ongoing struggles in Sicily and a Roman perception (whether true or false) that the slave wars in Sicily were actually instigated by Easterners. Moreover, this perception continued to affect Rome’s legislation in and control of Cilicia for years afterward.
Abstract My honors thesis addresses three things. I address first the history of Classical piracy... more Abstract My honors thesis addresses three things. I address first the history of Classical piracy, specifically, piratical and pseudo-piratical actions lurking beneath the description of events; second, the usage of language, the connotations of words used for pirates and ...
Turmoil, Trauma and Tenacity in Early Jewish Literature eds. N. P. L. Allen and J. Doedens. , 2022
One is often reminded of the adage that the victor tells the tale. Yet, several of our ancient so... more One is often reminded of the adage that the victor tells the tale. Yet, several of our ancient sources are known to have been prisoners of war and nevertheless told the story of their captors. Here in this paper, I examine principally the Judean War of Josephus in comparison to the Histories of Polybius. Both figures were military commanders defeated by the Romans who later found themselves under house arrest and as part of the familial circle of the most powerful families in Rome. I argue that their experiences in captivity, while undeniably better than the experiences of their fellows, nevertheless constitute a form of trauma that both shaped and encouraged their writing of history, in which they each seek to explain and justify their history vis-vis the Romans’. There were substantial differences: in the case of Polybius, he also later served as an emissary between the Greek states and Rome, while Josephus was denounced as a traitor in his homeland and remained in the imperial court. But most importantly, each reflects on their own military service (e.g. Judean War, 1.22, 3.27-68; Histories 28.12) and make references to how a figure might act in his position, such as Polybius advising Demetrius to escape Roman custody or Josephus reflecting on how he might have acted at Jerusalem had he been in charge of the siege (or so we can surmise from his criticisms of the Jewish commanders). Moreover, other similarities between the writings of Polybius and Josephus may suggest that Josephus found Polybius to be a model in life as well as composing history.
Rhetoric in 2 Maccabees: Challenging God. eds. N.P.L. Allen and P. J. Jordaan, Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. pp. 42-64., 2021
There is a wealth of research on Hellenism and Judaism, but decidedly less so in terms of circumc... more There is a wealth of research on Hellenism and Judaism, but decidedly less so in terms of circumcision and epispasmos (the undoing of circumcision). This paper connects the debates around circumcision, the Jerusalem gymnasium, and military recruitment in Judea to argue that epispasm was practiced to achieve social or financial advancement more than to avoid punishment. Similarly, while there has been a lot of work on the impact of the peace of Apamea in 188 B.C.E. as a potential factor in the Judean revolt, much of that work has focused upon the economic impact of the cash indemnity demanded by the Romans, less upon the other demands of the treaty, which I argue here were also important factors for Seleucid decision making in Coele-Syria generally and Judea specifically. In particular, Coele-Syria became considered much more important as a source for soldiers and the Seleucid kings’ demands and offered concessions throughout 1 and 2 Maccabees reflect that military recruitment was more important than financial gains.
Greek and Roman Military Manuals: Genre and History, 2021
This paper examines the didactic purpose of military manuals in subordinating effective tactical ... more This paper examines the didactic purpose of military manuals in subordinating effective tactical advice to political advice. I argue that these writers held the mercenary in disdain and advocated against employing mercenaries—advice that flew in the face of the practice of hiring increased numbers of mercenaries and, more importantly, the evidence of mercenary armies outperforming their counterparts on the battlefield. Such a situation, I argue, is best explained by the realization that these tacticians betray a vested interest in preventing the mercenary from becoming the standard of the battlefield. For the sake of brevity this paper focuses on the evidence of Polyaenus and some comparanda from Xenophon’s works, mainly Hipparchikos Polyaenus, the author of a eight-book compilation of stratagems, dedicated to Marcus Aurelius, devotes several passages to tricking, blaming, or otherwise dealing with mercenaries, detailing them in accounts of dozens of commanders, including Clearchus, Iphicrates, Timotheus, Philip II, Antigonus, Demetrius, and many of the Sicilian tyrants, among others. The overarching portrayal of the mercenaries is effectively an urging to betray the mercenaries out of financial, tactical, or even moral considerations. The mercenaries are simply not to be trusted and thus should be betrayed first. Entirely absent, however, is the urging of Xenophon or Scipio (by way of Polybius) to keep the mercenary soldiers well-paid. This is a fascinating omission; it is unthinkable that such a prodigious miner of texts (Polyaenus draws over 800 examples from centuries of texts) would simply miss such exempla in such prominent writers, especially in his native language. Other writers attest to the loyalties of well-paid mercenaries (the mercenaries of Mithridates refused bribes to betray the besieged city of Sinope) and the tendency of mercenaries to revolt when their pay was in arrears. The evidence may even suggest that mercenary employers were less trustworthy than mercenary employees. This is especially telling in that Marcus Aurelius relied increasingly upon paid soldiers to defend the northern and eastern borders, particularly during the Marcomannic wars. What are we to make of advice that contains dozens of suggestions on how to murder his own soldiers and get away with it? I argue that it is intended to cause the emperor to rethink his positions on mercenary employment—and that this was considered more important than military considerations. This contributes to a growing body of evidence that the volunteer citizen soldier led by the aristocratic magistrate-general was well on its way out. Polyaenus is hardly alone. Aphorisms of similar sentiment can be found in many of the Roman historians. Similar disdain is heaped by later authors of military handbooks onto the auxiliaries (who often provided a more-specialized form of combined arms to the infantry legion). The handbooks echo the advice that hirelings should not outnumber citizens in the force(e.g Vegetius DRM 3.1). Even as some advise keeping a small number of specialist mercenaries, most advocate against hiring foreigners into the rank-and-file. Ultimately, I argue, the advice to exclude foreign mercenaries that is so frequent in military handbooks and ancient historians stems from a practical political concern: to keep these groups from gaining social power at the expense of the aristocrats. Thus, despite the assertions of it being straightforward military advice, we find a didactic purpose, realized or unrealized, within the writings of Polyaenus and many other ancient writers.
Invisible Cultures: Historical and Archaeological Perspectives, 2015
It is the nature of history that the victorious tell the tales. And this is particularly true wi... more It is the nature of history that the victorious tell the tales. And this is particularly true with criminals, such as pirates, whose only record in the books come from their attacks and their eventual defeats. We know next to nothing about the pirates themselves, and we have only their enemies’ word to show that they were pirates in the first place. We do see famous orators, from Isocrates to Cicero, decrying the depredations of pirates. These pirates were enemies of everyone, and even if Rome’s longstanding neglect of sea power encouraged piracy, Rome still repeatedly raised large forces to crush piracy ‘once and for all’. Furthermore, the label ‘pirate’ or ‘bandit’ became a common slur to pin on political enemies, as Cicero does with Catiline and Antony. Of particular note, however, is the fact that Roman leaders keep claiming that the pirate menace is now over. The most famous, of course, is Pompey, but Augustus claims this achievement as well. In the imperial period it becomes commonplace for governors and prefects to claim a similar distinction. Despite these claims, there is evidence for substantial pirate activity within years of each ‘elimination’. Yet, if the pirates are eliminated with such regularity by the state, we must explain their reappearance either by a substantial motivation for engaging in piracy, by concluding that they were never truly eliminated in the first place, or by suggesting that the label of ‘pirates’ was merely a convenient fiction to attack someone with public approval. My paper contends with all three possibilities and attempts to clarify just why ancient piracy is so resilient in the face of Roman opposition and tries to identify whence these pirates came.
In the latter days of the Roman State in the West, certain pagan critics suggested that Rome's co... more In the latter days of the Roman State in the West, certain pagan critics suggested that Rome's conversion to Christianity was the cause of their plight. Orosius, a junior clergyman from what is now modern Portugal, was asked by the famous Augustine of Hippo to write a book on the Roman Empire, revealing how pagan Rome and its empire had suffered tragedy just as much or more as the sufferings of the Christian Roman Empire. While the resulting treatise is a blend of theology and history, it also reveals holes in the Romans' logic of glory and perfection. Orosius argues that it is better to be the victims of evil than the perpetrators of evil, even though it does not seem to be the case at the time. While this argument would have been popular at the time, more interesting here are his hints that as values change, what actually makes a good state changes, and modern Romans would not have been as happy in the past as they think. Ideas of Utopia are often exclusionary. Plato's ideal Republic has slaves, who no doubt would have been dubious about their utopian status. And while Rome may have advanced on economic and ethnic equality, it had backslid notably in equality in terms of sex and gender. Rome may have been great, but already at the end of the 4 th century CE, people were asking 'great for whom?'
[Only abstract uploaded] The annals of history are replete with the actions of Roman generals and... more [Only abstract uploaded] The annals of history are replete with the actions of Roman generals and politicians behaving badly. Sometimes we also have events considered praiseworthy by earlier authors that were later considered reprehensible. In this paper, I argue we can distill the ancient authors' ideas of 'fairness' from the ideals of their historical subjects (and that it is useful to do so!). In the present paper, I confine myself chiefly to actions in warfare as described by authors of the first and second centuries CE (and especially Plutarch). In this area alone, we can see different ideas on: treatment of pirates, treatment of mercenaries, the value of clemency to the defeated, the value of deception, the relevance of personal conduct, and how much strictness is necessary for discipline. Plutarch's assessments are often explicit (e.g. Plut., Comp. Alc. Et Cor.), but many of the ideas explicit in Plutarch can also be seen as implicit in Appian and others.
[Abstract only uploaded] To establish empire in the Hellenistic World, a state needed a competent... more [Abstract only uploaded] To establish empire in the Hellenistic World, a state needed a competent army. But how that army was recruited, led, and deployed varied sharply. Often an enemy's superiority in some aspect was acknowledged, as early as Herodotus (1.27), so strategy demanded what I term 'oblique tactics' to avoid fighting one's enemy where they were strongest, and this tendency increased in the Hellenistic era. At the simplest battlefield level, this might entail choosing terrain more suitable to one's own troops than the enemies' (see Polybius 18 passim).
While once-popular theories of the ‘barbarization’ of the Roman empire and army have fallen out o... more While once-popular theories of the ‘barbarization’ of the Roman empire and army have fallen out of favor in recent years (see Goffart 2009), the classical authors’ rhetoric (and polemic) repeatedly hit this point in antiquity. Why? Like others, I argue that Late Antique immigration strengthened Rome more than it weakened it. I argue that this anti-barbarian rhetoric was aimed by elite Roman aristocrats at immigrant officers less as a means of ensuring Roman (national) superiority and more as a means for ensuring Roman (ethnic) superiority. For the sake of space, this paper focuses on a few authors, most notably Cassius Dio and Synesius of Cyrene who argue in favor of ‘reestablishing’ a real Roman army. A most salient reason for this anti-foreigner rhetoric by Italian Romans is the potential social advancement of these foreigners. The army served as a route to power in Rome, encroaching on the traditional purviews of the Italian and Greek aristocracies. Competent ‘Barbarian’ Romans, such as Arbogast Stilicho could reach the highest levels of power. In earlier years, these barbarian commanders could not hope to lead Roman armies—a state of affairs some Romans wished to return to. While their concerns were aimed at their upper-class competition, their rhetoric was aimed at the rank-and-file. Such rhetoric would even be directed at men who had lived their entire lives within the Roman Empire. By continually discrediting Germans and Easterners in the eyes of the emperors, many of our classical sources hostile to the newcomers hoped to reaffirm their own place in late antique politics.
[Only abstract uploaded]
One of the more-frequently quoted quips about banditry in the ancient w... more [Only abstract uploaded] One of the more-frequently quoted quips about banditry in the ancient world comes from Saint Augustine depicting a captured bandit justifying his activities. “The same as you, but I, who do it with a little boat, am called a bandit; you, who do it with a great fleet, are called an emperor” This anecdotal response to Alexander the Great is portrayed as a defense of Augustine’s greater argument—that a kingdom without justice is nothing but a large bandit gang. This is, I argue, a well-established line of particularly Roman reasoning—the equation of kings and bandits. Here, I am not concerned with questions of the validity of the statement or the plausibility of the anecdote. My motive is to highlight this particular comparison of king and bandit as a starting point and look at other such comparisons, emphasizing those that seek to equate king and bandit such as we see earlier in Livy and in Cicero. These comparisons, however have very few parallels in the Hellenistic Greek tradition, including the likeliest sources for Augustine’s quote; instead kings and bandits are set as opposites. In these other sources, the king is seen to be a legitimate holder of power while the bandit has no legitimate claim to such power. This is all well and good. But where the political calculus starts to diverge between the interlinked Greek and Roman traditions is in this sense: the Romans do not consider the king to be a legitimate holder of power either, and thus in Roman narratives, kings are like bandits because they both do whatever they think they can get away with (cf. Plautus Miles 497-500). Banditry and tyranny are considered alike because they seize authority, and understanding this earlier Roman argument helps understand Augustine’s arguments.
[Only Abstract Uploaded]
A common assertion in modern scholarship is that no triumphs could be ce... more [Only Abstract Uploaded] A common assertion in modern scholarship is that no triumphs could be celebrated for defeating bandits, slaves or pirates, no matter how important they were. The ancient evidence, however, stems from a short passage of Valerius Maximus (2.8) and is loosely supported by Crassus failing to win a triumph over Spartacus and Pompey’s eastern triumph being reconfigured as a triumph over Mithridates. As Valerius Maximus is elsewhere hostile to Pompey, this is hardly the strongest of evidence. This paper calls into question whether this rule was in fact a true rule rather than an observation by Valerius (cf. Beard 2007 for a similar criticism) and further examines what glory and honor Roman commanders could gain from the defeat of such unsavoury foes. In fact, it is readily apparent that many Romans sought out battles against such foes for the glory and prestige of the expected victory, for which victories an acclamation, a public thanksgiving, or an ovation were not celebrations to turn up one’s nose at lightly. In re-examining the lesser military celebrations, I argue that many Romans of the first century, including famous figures like Pompey, Caesar, and Cicero, actively sought honor in defeating the dishonorable and public favor in defeating the nefarious, and thus sought to villainize the groups they fought against. If regarded as unworthy of celebration, these politics of portrayal would be counterproductive. Thus, I argue Valerius is not accurately representing the rules of the triumph (always a political football) but rather a romanticization of what he thought the rules should be based on the mores of his own day.
Upon Alexander’s death, his successors soon realized they had a relative paucity of men. Where r... more Upon Alexander’s death, his successors soon realized they had a relative paucity of men. Where recruiting was insufficient, they turned to ‘at-large’ warriors, even pirates (see de Souza 1999). The Macedonians hired pirates, the Ptolemies enticed Greek and Macedonian infantrymen with Egyptian farms, the Seleucids bought elephants and mahouts from India, and, in Anatolia, everybody hired Galatian mercenaries. My paper argues that the acquisition and control of military manpower was, in fact, the most important aspect of the wars of the Hellenistic East, with control of money and territory as means to that end. Mercenary manpower was a commodity, but money was not the only thing offered—from Sicily to Asia to Egypt, mercenaries were offered land and citizenship, often in lieu of cash (noted in Buraselis et al. 2013). Despite substantial wealth, Hellenistic rulers were frequently strapped for ready funds (see Austin 1986 for royal use of wealth). Thus rulers and generals refused to pay, attacked, or even marooned their mercenary soldiers—to the delight of historians who disapproved of non-citizen soldiers. The rise of the Hellenistic mercenary is rooted in this desire for manpower. Recruiting mercenaries allowed rulers to forgo a standing force in peace, though this in turn meant that those mercenaries could be employed by enemies or even become effectively self-employed as brigands or pirates. Thus a variety of inter-state immunity-treaties of isopoliteia and asylia began to appear in reaction. Certain groups, like the Cretans, Illyrians, Galatians, and Cilicians provided pools of manpower in wartime and thus were a resource for states to tolerate. This system of flexible manpower lasted for hundreds of years, but with the Roman appearance in the East, it was gradually eliminated. Roman treaties frequently barred states from hiring in these pools or gave states like Pergamum or Rhodes monopolies. So the Macedonians lost access to Illyrian mercenaries, the Rhodians gained the right of first refusal over eastern Cretan soldiers, the Seleucid recruiters were denied access to territory beyond the Taurus mountains, and enlisting Cilician pirates became a casus belli. Through these provisions, the Romans significantly reduced the potential for all eastern states to engage in successful warmaking against them while also recruiting from the same groups to further Roman ends.
This paper strives to marry the scholarship of popular protest and military history (e.g. Nippel ... more This paper strives to marry the scholarship of popular protest and military history (e.g. Nippel 1984, Lintott 1999, Brunt 1971 (Manpower)) in an examination of the motives of the common soldier in the mutinies and other protests of the Republic. Military matters could also result in civic protest (see Brunt 1971 (Social Conflicts), 65, inter alia). Here, I define military protests more broadly than mutiny (Chrissanthos 1997 notes five examples of 2nd-3rd century BCE mutiny), encompassing situations both of resistance and demands for concessions. To ensure a reasonable scope to this paper, I exclude the mutinies of the empire and civil wars. Roman soldiers often found land-grants of conquered territory or spoil division insufficient, or military levies inequitable. Famously, in the Second Punic War, allied communities claimed they had no more soldiers to contribute. This was neither unique nor confined to the allies; thrice in the second century, the tribunes themselves interfered with the conscription. Civil protest of military mismanagement was mostly preemptive in nature. Admittedly, Pompeius Strabo attempted to prosecute his own commander in Sardinia in 106—but such cases were rare. The average soldier on campaign could have no recourse to civic protest; the option available was mutiny. Such protests in the ancient army were not rare, but spilling over into violence was. Indeed, a mark of a great general was his ability to quell mutinies (existing or incipient). Accordingly, individuals such as Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus, or Pompeius Magnus are depicted in attempts to calm the soldiery, through reason or bribery. Popular dissatisfaction with the commander formed a major component of mutiny. The commander had great authority to divide the plunder, ration necessities, or order hard labor. Acting excessively in any of these pursuits could provoke a mutiny. Moreover, another distinction appears: while Roman soldiers were not supposed to mutiny, mutinies by auxiliaries or mercenaries were expected. This division could serve to reinforce perceptions of superior Roman discipline as well as denigrate either barbarian or lower-class fighters. Contrary to the wisdom of the Roman historians, I suggest an examination of these mutinies, not as failures of military discipline, but instead as replication of the power struggles in Rome between the classes, however defined. My rationale for such an examination lies in the not-infrequent Roman failure to punish ‘widespread’ mutinies, instead dealing with them through negotiation. This tendency suggests that, regardless of the rhetoric decrying mutiny, actual practice meant that mutinies could be regarded as having some legitimacy. Moreover, quelling a mutiny that had risen under a different commander could be taken as a sign of the previous commander’s incompetence. New commanders would shift the blame of mutinies to previous commanders. Attacks on predecessors are also evidence (albeit weak) that the soldiers’ actions were seen as meritorious, and that the commanders did fail to provide rations, pay, or loot in sufficient quantities. Finally, I suggest a re-examination of the ‘failure’ of these protests, which often resulted in concessions by the commander.
A commonly quoted quip about piracy in Augustine’s City of God has had great impact on how we
per... more A commonly quoted quip about piracy in Augustine’s City of God has had great impact on how we perceive both pirates and monarchs. This piece aims to show this dichotomy in earlier Greek and Roman writers and reflects that Augustine’s relative comfort with monarchy may be well more in line with Cicero’s Hellenistic Greek sources than they were with the ideas of Cicero himself. This is because the representation of kings and bandits as opposites was an argument for royal legitimacy in the Hellenistic eastern Mediterranean, but in Republican Rome, kings were set as equals to bandits to prove their lack of legitimacy.
Comparing legitimacy in the three different contexts of literary
leisteia, Late Republican civil... more Comparing legitimacy in the three different contexts of literary leisteia, Late Republican civil war actors, and contemporary Severan emperors reveals Dio to be consistent when discussing legitimate violence. In all three, Dio presents establishing legitimacy as a primary factor in attaining power. As the required skills to achieve power differed from those for ruling, the resulting ruler could be disastrous. Through employing the ‘noble bandit’ topos, Dio questions the emperors’ suitability, comparing them to bandits. Overall, Dio interprets Late Republican history differently from his sources for Republican history. In his view, future statesmen cannot rely upon the mos maiorum.
Pirates in the Mediterranean had a long history of readily accepting military service. Mithridat... more Pirates in the Mediterranean had a long history of readily accepting military service. Mithridates of Pontus hired pirates from Cilicia and Crete to swell the ranks of his navy, a navy that managed to halt Roman forces from crossing to Anatolia on several occasions. Likewise, the Macedonians hired Illyrian pirates and the Seleucids and Ptolemies hired Cretans. In several cases, however, the Romans engaged in short campaigns in Illyria, Crete, or Cilicia before embarking on a war with the larger powers of the Mediterranean. Whether intentional or not, this pre-emptively limited the mercenary manpower the Hellenistic kingdoms were accustomed to call upon, giving Roman commanders a military advantage. First, this paper examines Roman legislation that may hinder mercenaries (e.g. a ban on trading precious metal to the Gauls (Zonaras 8.19)) and treaties that forbid mercenary service or mercenary hiring, most famously, the Peace of Apamea. Through limiting supplies of mercenaries or coinage, Rome attempted to peacefully gain such a military advantage. Secondly, my paper examines Roman campaigns against these sources for mercenary manpower immediately prior to or during major campaigns against other foes. These campaigns were frequently publicly justified by the piracy (or alleged piracy) of the group in question, rather than the mercenary activity. Admittedly, unemployed mercenaries might readily turn to piracy (such as the Greek mercenaries of Persia in the aftermath of Alexander’s campaign (Diodorus 17.111, cf. Trundle 2004, de Souza 1999 inter alia). In any case, these small campaigns against the ‘pirate-lands’ of the Mediterranean also limited the supply of pirate mercenaries, to Rome’s advantage. While I do not suggest this was the result of overarching Roman plotting, I do suggest this trend was no accident, but a recognition by the Romans of the impact of these mercenaries and an attempt to compensate.
Transactions of the American Philological Association, 2016
In 102 B.C.E., the Romans sent Marcus Antonius Orator to Cilicia with an army, opening a new thea... more In 102 B.C.E., the Romans sent Marcus Antonius Orator to Cilicia with an army, opening a new theater of campaigns. The timing seems strange: in 102, Rome had a manpower shortage and Roman forces were still bogged down in Gaul, Sicily, and quite probably Africa. I argue that the beginning of Roman involvement in Cilicia was rooted in Roman reactions to the ongoing struggles in Sicily and a Roman perception (whether true or false) that the slave wars in Sicily were actually instigated by Easterners. Moreover, this perception continued to affect Rome’s legislation in and control of Cilicia for years afterward.
Abstract My honors thesis addresses three things. I address first the history of Classical piracy... more Abstract My honors thesis addresses three things. I address first the history of Classical piracy, specifically, piratical and pseudo-piratical actions lurking beneath the description of events; second, the usage of language, the connotations of words used for pirates and ...
Turmoil, Trauma and Tenacity in Early Jewish Literature eds. N. P. L. Allen and J. Doedens. , 2022
One is often reminded of the adage that the victor tells the tale. Yet, several of our ancient so... more One is often reminded of the adage that the victor tells the tale. Yet, several of our ancient sources are known to have been prisoners of war and nevertheless told the story of their captors. Here in this paper, I examine principally the Judean War of Josephus in comparison to the Histories of Polybius. Both figures were military commanders defeated by the Romans who later found themselves under house arrest and as part of the familial circle of the most powerful families in Rome. I argue that their experiences in captivity, while undeniably better than the experiences of their fellows, nevertheless constitute a form of trauma that both shaped and encouraged their writing of history, in which they each seek to explain and justify their history vis-vis the Romans’. There were substantial differences: in the case of Polybius, he also later served as an emissary between the Greek states and Rome, while Josephus was denounced as a traitor in his homeland and remained in the imperial court. But most importantly, each reflects on their own military service (e.g. Judean War, 1.22, 3.27-68; Histories 28.12) and make references to how a figure might act in his position, such as Polybius advising Demetrius to escape Roman custody or Josephus reflecting on how he might have acted at Jerusalem had he been in charge of the siege (or so we can surmise from his criticisms of the Jewish commanders). Moreover, other similarities between the writings of Polybius and Josephus may suggest that Josephus found Polybius to be a model in life as well as composing history.
Rhetoric in 2 Maccabees: Challenging God. eds. N.P.L. Allen and P. J. Jordaan, Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. pp. 42-64., 2021
There is a wealth of research on Hellenism and Judaism, but decidedly less so in terms of circumc... more There is a wealth of research on Hellenism and Judaism, but decidedly less so in terms of circumcision and epispasmos (the undoing of circumcision). This paper connects the debates around circumcision, the Jerusalem gymnasium, and military recruitment in Judea to argue that epispasm was practiced to achieve social or financial advancement more than to avoid punishment. Similarly, while there has been a lot of work on the impact of the peace of Apamea in 188 B.C.E. as a potential factor in the Judean revolt, much of that work has focused upon the economic impact of the cash indemnity demanded by the Romans, less upon the other demands of the treaty, which I argue here were also important factors for Seleucid decision making in Coele-Syria generally and Judea specifically. In particular, Coele-Syria became considered much more important as a source for soldiers and the Seleucid kings’ demands and offered concessions throughout 1 and 2 Maccabees reflect that military recruitment was more important than financial gains.
Greek and Roman Military Manuals: Genre and History, 2021
This paper examines the didactic purpose of military manuals in subordinating effective tactical ... more This paper examines the didactic purpose of military manuals in subordinating effective tactical advice to political advice. I argue that these writers held the mercenary in disdain and advocated against employing mercenaries—advice that flew in the face of the practice of hiring increased numbers of mercenaries and, more importantly, the evidence of mercenary armies outperforming their counterparts on the battlefield. Such a situation, I argue, is best explained by the realization that these tacticians betray a vested interest in preventing the mercenary from becoming the standard of the battlefield. For the sake of brevity this paper focuses on the evidence of Polyaenus and some comparanda from Xenophon’s works, mainly Hipparchikos Polyaenus, the author of a eight-book compilation of stratagems, dedicated to Marcus Aurelius, devotes several passages to tricking, blaming, or otherwise dealing with mercenaries, detailing them in accounts of dozens of commanders, including Clearchus, Iphicrates, Timotheus, Philip II, Antigonus, Demetrius, and many of the Sicilian tyrants, among others. The overarching portrayal of the mercenaries is effectively an urging to betray the mercenaries out of financial, tactical, or even moral considerations. The mercenaries are simply not to be trusted and thus should be betrayed first. Entirely absent, however, is the urging of Xenophon or Scipio (by way of Polybius) to keep the mercenary soldiers well-paid. This is a fascinating omission; it is unthinkable that such a prodigious miner of texts (Polyaenus draws over 800 examples from centuries of texts) would simply miss such exempla in such prominent writers, especially in his native language. Other writers attest to the loyalties of well-paid mercenaries (the mercenaries of Mithridates refused bribes to betray the besieged city of Sinope) and the tendency of mercenaries to revolt when their pay was in arrears. The evidence may even suggest that mercenary employers were less trustworthy than mercenary employees. This is especially telling in that Marcus Aurelius relied increasingly upon paid soldiers to defend the northern and eastern borders, particularly during the Marcomannic wars. What are we to make of advice that contains dozens of suggestions on how to murder his own soldiers and get away with it? I argue that it is intended to cause the emperor to rethink his positions on mercenary employment—and that this was considered more important than military considerations. This contributes to a growing body of evidence that the volunteer citizen soldier led by the aristocratic magistrate-general was well on its way out. Polyaenus is hardly alone. Aphorisms of similar sentiment can be found in many of the Roman historians. Similar disdain is heaped by later authors of military handbooks onto the auxiliaries (who often provided a more-specialized form of combined arms to the infantry legion). The handbooks echo the advice that hirelings should not outnumber citizens in the force(e.g Vegetius DRM 3.1). Even as some advise keeping a small number of specialist mercenaries, most advocate against hiring foreigners into the rank-and-file. Ultimately, I argue, the advice to exclude foreign mercenaries that is so frequent in military handbooks and ancient historians stems from a practical political concern: to keep these groups from gaining social power at the expense of the aristocrats. Thus, despite the assertions of it being straightforward military advice, we find a didactic purpose, realized or unrealized, within the writings of Polyaenus and many other ancient writers.
Invisible Cultures: Historical and Archaeological Perspectives, 2015
It is the nature of history that the victorious tell the tales. And this is particularly true wi... more It is the nature of history that the victorious tell the tales. And this is particularly true with criminals, such as pirates, whose only record in the books come from their attacks and their eventual defeats. We know next to nothing about the pirates themselves, and we have only their enemies’ word to show that they were pirates in the first place. We do see famous orators, from Isocrates to Cicero, decrying the depredations of pirates. These pirates were enemies of everyone, and even if Rome’s longstanding neglect of sea power encouraged piracy, Rome still repeatedly raised large forces to crush piracy ‘once and for all’. Furthermore, the label ‘pirate’ or ‘bandit’ became a common slur to pin on political enemies, as Cicero does with Catiline and Antony. Of particular note, however, is the fact that Roman leaders keep claiming that the pirate menace is now over. The most famous, of course, is Pompey, but Augustus claims this achievement as well. In the imperial period it becomes commonplace for governors and prefects to claim a similar distinction. Despite these claims, there is evidence for substantial pirate activity within years of each ‘elimination’. Yet, if the pirates are eliminated with such regularity by the state, we must explain their reappearance either by a substantial motivation for engaging in piracy, by concluding that they were never truly eliminated in the first place, or by suggesting that the label of ‘pirates’ was merely a convenient fiction to attack someone with public approval. My paper contends with all three possibilities and attempts to clarify just why ancient piracy is so resilient in the face of Roman opposition and tries to identify whence these pirates came.
In the latter days of the Roman State in the West, certain pagan critics suggested that Rome's co... more In the latter days of the Roman State in the West, certain pagan critics suggested that Rome's conversion to Christianity was the cause of their plight. Orosius, a junior clergyman from what is now modern Portugal, was asked by the famous Augustine of Hippo to write a book on the Roman Empire, revealing how pagan Rome and its empire had suffered tragedy just as much or more as the sufferings of the Christian Roman Empire. While the resulting treatise is a blend of theology and history, it also reveals holes in the Romans' logic of glory and perfection. Orosius argues that it is better to be the victims of evil than the perpetrators of evil, even though it does not seem to be the case at the time. While this argument would have been popular at the time, more interesting here are his hints that as values change, what actually makes a good state changes, and modern Romans would not have been as happy in the past as they think. Ideas of Utopia are often exclusionary. Plato's ideal Republic has slaves, who no doubt would have been dubious about their utopian status. And while Rome may have advanced on economic and ethnic equality, it had backslid notably in equality in terms of sex and gender. Rome may have been great, but already at the end of the 4 th century CE, people were asking 'great for whom?'
[Only abstract uploaded] The annals of history are replete with the actions of Roman generals and... more [Only abstract uploaded] The annals of history are replete with the actions of Roman generals and politicians behaving badly. Sometimes we also have events considered praiseworthy by earlier authors that were later considered reprehensible. In this paper, I argue we can distill the ancient authors' ideas of 'fairness' from the ideals of their historical subjects (and that it is useful to do so!). In the present paper, I confine myself chiefly to actions in warfare as described by authors of the first and second centuries CE (and especially Plutarch). In this area alone, we can see different ideas on: treatment of pirates, treatment of mercenaries, the value of clemency to the defeated, the value of deception, the relevance of personal conduct, and how much strictness is necessary for discipline. Plutarch's assessments are often explicit (e.g. Plut., Comp. Alc. Et Cor.), but many of the ideas explicit in Plutarch can also be seen as implicit in Appian and others.
[Abstract only uploaded] To establish empire in the Hellenistic World, a state needed a competent... more [Abstract only uploaded] To establish empire in the Hellenistic World, a state needed a competent army. But how that army was recruited, led, and deployed varied sharply. Often an enemy's superiority in some aspect was acknowledged, as early as Herodotus (1.27), so strategy demanded what I term 'oblique tactics' to avoid fighting one's enemy where they were strongest, and this tendency increased in the Hellenistic era. At the simplest battlefield level, this might entail choosing terrain more suitable to one's own troops than the enemies' (see Polybius 18 passim).
While once-popular theories of the ‘barbarization’ of the Roman empire and army have fallen out o... more While once-popular theories of the ‘barbarization’ of the Roman empire and army have fallen out of favor in recent years (see Goffart 2009), the classical authors’ rhetoric (and polemic) repeatedly hit this point in antiquity. Why? Like others, I argue that Late Antique immigration strengthened Rome more than it weakened it. I argue that this anti-barbarian rhetoric was aimed by elite Roman aristocrats at immigrant officers less as a means of ensuring Roman (national) superiority and more as a means for ensuring Roman (ethnic) superiority. For the sake of space, this paper focuses on a few authors, most notably Cassius Dio and Synesius of Cyrene who argue in favor of ‘reestablishing’ a real Roman army. A most salient reason for this anti-foreigner rhetoric by Italian Romans is the potential social advancement of these foreigners. The army served as a route to power in Rome, encroaching on the traditional purviews of the Italian and Greek aristocracies. Competent ‘Barbarian’ Romans, such as Arbogast Stilicho could reach the highest levels of power. In earlier years, these barbarian commanders could not hope to lead Roman armies—a state of affairs some Romans wished to return to. While their concerns were aimed at their upper-class competition, their rhetoric was aimed at the rank-and-file. Such rhetoric would even be directed at men who had lived their entire lives within the Roman Empire. By continually discrediting Germans and Easterners in the eyes of the emperors, many of our classical sources hostile to the newcomers hoped to reaffirm their own place in late antique politics.
[Only abstract uploaded]
One of the more-frequently quoted quips about banditry in the ancient w... more [Only abstract uploaded] One of the more-frequently quoted quips about banditry in the ancient world comes from Saint Augustine depicting a captured bandit justifying his activities. “The same as you, but I, who do it with a little boat, am called a bandit; you, who do it with a great fleet, are called an emperor” This anecdotal response to Alexander the Great is portrayed as a defense of Augustine’s greater argument—that a kingdom without justice is nothing but a large bandit gang. This is, I argue, a well-established line of particularly Roman reasoning—the equation of kings and bandits. Here, I am not concerned with questions of the validity of the statement or the plausibility of the anecdote. My motive is to highlight this particular comparison of king and bandit as a starting point and look at other such comparisons, emphasizing those that seek to equate king and bandit such as we see earlier in Livy and in Cicero. These comparisons, however have very few parallels in the Hellenistic Greek tradition, including the likeliest sources for Augustine’s quote; instead kings and bandits are set as opposites. In these other sources, the king is seen to be a legitimate holder of power while the bandit has no legitimate claim to such power. This is all well and good. But where the political calculus starts to diverge between the interlinked Greek and Roman traditions is in this sense: the Romans do not consider the king to be a legitimate holder of power either, and thus in Roman narratives, kings are like bandits because they both do whatever they think they can get away with (cf. Plautus Miles 497-500). Banditry and tyranny are considered alike because they seize authority, and understanding this earlier Roman argument helps understand Augustine’s arguments.
[Only Abstract Uploaded]
A common assertion in modern scholarship is that no triumphs could be ce... more [Only Abstract Uploaded] A common assertion in modern scholarship is that no triumphs could be celebrated for defeating bandits, slaves or pirates, no matter how important they were. The ancient evidence, however, stems from a short passage of Valerius Maximus (2.8) and is loosely supported by Crassus failing to win a triumph over Spartacus and Pompey’s eastern triumph being reconfigured as a triumph over Mithridates. As Valerius Maximus is elsewhere hostile to Pompey, this is hardly the strongest of evidence. This paper calls into question whether this rule was in fact a true rule rather than an observation by Valerius (cf. Beard 2007 for a similar criticism) and further examines what glory and honor Roman commanders could gain from the defeat of such unsavoury foes. In fact, it is readily apparent that many Romans sought out battles against such foes for the glory and prestige of the expected victory, for which victories an acclamation, a public thanksgiving, or an ovation were not celebrations to turn up one’s nose at lightly. In re-examining the lesser military celebrations, I argue that many Romans of the first century, including famous figures like Pompey, Caesar, and Cicero, actively sought honor in defeating the dishonorable and public favor in defeating the nefarious, and thus sought to villainize the groups they fought against. If regarded as unworthy of celebration, these politics of portrayal would be counterproductive. Thus, I argue Valerius is not accurately representing the rules of the triumph (always a political football) but rather a romanticization of what he thought the rules should be based on the mores of his own day.
Upon Alexander’s death, his successors soon realized they had a relative paucity of men. Where r... more Upon Alexander’s death, his successors soon realized they had a relative paucity of men. Where recruiting was insufficient, they turned to ‘at-large’ warriors, even pirates (see de Souza 1999). The Macedonians hired pirates, the Ptolemies enticed Greek and Macedonian infantrymen with Egyptian farms, the Seleucids bought elephants and mahouts from India, and, in Anatolia, everybody hired Galatian mercenaries. My paper argues that the acquisition and control of military manpower was, in fact, the most important aspect of the wars of the Hellenistic East, with control of money and territory as means to that end. Mercenary manpower was a commodity, but money was not the only thing offered—from Sicily to Asia to Egypt, mercenaries were offered land and citizenship, often in lieu of cash (noted in Buraselis et al. 2013). Despite substantial wealth, Hellenistic rulers were frequently strapped for ready funds (see Austin 1986 for royal use of wealth). Thus rulers and generals refused to pay, attacked, or even marooned their mercenary soldiers—to the delight of historians who disapproved of non-citizen soldiers. The rise of the Hellenistic mercenary is rooted in this desire for manpower. Recruiting mercenaries allowed rulers to forgo a standing force in peace, though this in turn meant that those mercenaries could be employed by enemies or even become effectively self-employed as brigands or pirates. Thus a variety of inter-state immunity-treaties of isopoliteia and asylia began to appear in reaction. Certain groups, like the Cretans, Illyrians, Galatians, and Cilicians provided pools of manpower in wartime and thus were a resource for states to tolerate. This system of flexible manpower lasted for hundreds of years, but with the Roman appearance in the East, it was gradually eliminated. Roman treaties frequently barred states from hiring in these pools or gave states like Pergamum or Rhodes monopolies. So the Macedonians lost access to Illyrian mercenaries, the Rhodians gained the right of first refusal over eastern Cretan soldiers, the Seleucid recruiters were denied access to territory beyond the Taurus mountains, and enlisting Cilician pirates became a casus belli. Through these provisions, the Romans significantly reduced the potential for all eastern states to engage in successful warmaking against them while also recruiting from the same groups to further Roman ends.
This paper strives to marry the scholarship of popular protest and military history (e.g. Nippel ... more This paper strives to marry the scholarship of popular protest and military history (e.g. Nippel 1984, Lintott 1999, Brunt 1971 (Manpower)) in an examination of the motives of the common soldier in the mutinies and other protests of the Republic. Military matters could also result in civic protest (see Brunt 1971 (Social Conflicts), 65, inter alia). Here, I define military protests more broadly than mutiny (Chrissanthos 1997 notes five examples of 2nd-3rd century BCE mutiny), encompassing situations both of resistance and demands for concessions. To ensure a reasonable scope to this paper, I exclude the mutinies of the empire and civil wars. Roman soldiers often found land-grants of conquered territory or spoil division insufficient, or military levies inequitable. Famously, in the Second Punic War, allied communities claimed they had no more soldiers to contribute. This was neither unique nor confined to the allies; thrice in the second century, the tribunes themselves interfered with the conscription. Civil protest of military mismanagement was mostly preemptive in nature. Admittedly, Pompeius Strabo attempted to prosecute his own commander in Sardinia in 106—but such cases were rare. The average soldier on campaign could have no recourse to civic protest; the option available was mutiny. Such protests in the ancient army were not rare, but spilling over into violence was. Indeed, a mark of a great general was his ability to quell mutinies (existing or incipient). Accordingly, individuals such as Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus, or Pompeius Magnus are depicted in attempts to calm the soldiery, through reason or bribery. Popular dissatisfaction with the commander formed a major component of mutiny. The commander had great authority to divide the plunder, ration necessities, or order hard labor. Acting excessively in any of these pursuits could provoke a mutiny. Moreover, another distinction appears: while Roman soldiers were not supposed to mutiny, mutinies by auxiliaries or mercenaries were expected. This division could serve to reinforce perceptions of superior Roman discipline as well as denigrate either barbarian or lower-class fighters. Contrary to the wisdom of the Roman historians, I suggest an examination of these mutinies, not as failures of military discipline, but instead as replication of the power struggles in Rome between the classes, however defined. My rationale for such an examination lies in the not-infrequent Roman failure to punish ‘widespread’ mutinies, instead dealing with them through negotiation. This tendency suggests that, regardless of the rhetoric decrying mutiny, actual practice meant that mutinies could be regarded as having some legitimacy. Moreover, quelling a mutiny that had risen under a different commander could be taken as a sign of the previous commander’s incompetence. New commanders would shift the blame of mutinies to previous commanders. Attacks on predecessors are also evidence (albeit weak) that the soldiers’ actions were seen as meritorious, and that the commanders did fail to provide rations, pay, or loot in sufficient quantities. Finally, I suggest a re-examination of the ‘failure’ of these protests, which often resulted in concessions by the commander.
This paper examines the didactic purpose of military manuals in subordinating effective tactical ... more This paper examines the didactic purpose of military manuals in subordinating effective tactical advice to political advice. I argue that these writers held the mercenary in disdain and advocated against employing mercenaries—advice that flew in the face of the practice of hiring increased numbers of mercenaries and, more importantly, the evidence of mercenary armies outperforming their counterparts on the battlefield. Such a situation, I argue, is best explained by the realization that these tacticians betray a vested interest in preventing the mercenary from becoming the standard of the battlefield. For the sake of brevity this paper focuses on the evidence of Polyaenus and some comparanda from Xenophon’s works, mainly Hipparchikos Polyaenus, the author of a eight-book compilation of stratagems, dedicated to Marcus Aurelius, devotes several passages to tricking, blaming, or otherwise dealing with mercenaries, detailing them in accounts of dozens of commanders, including Clearchus, Iphicrates, Timotheus, Philip II, Antigonus, Demetrius, and many of the Sicilian tyrants, among others. The overarching portrayal of the mercenaries is effectively an urging to betray the mercenaries out of financial, tactical, or even moral considerations. The mercenaries are simply not to be trusted and thus should be betrayed first. Entirely absent, however, is the urging of Xenophon or Scipio (by way of Polybius) to keep the mercenary soldiers well-paid. This is a fascinating omission; it is unthinkable that such a prodigious miner of texts (Polyaenus draws over 800 examples from centuries of texts) would simply miss such exempla in such prominent writers, especially in his native language. Other writers attest to the loyalties of well-paid mercenaries (the mercenaries of Mithridates refused bribes to betray the besieged city of Sinope) and the tendency of mercenaries to revolt when their pay was in arrears. The evidence may even suggest that mercenary employers were less trustworthy than mercenary employees. This is especially telling in that Marcus Aurelius relied increasingly upon paid soldiers to defend the northern and eastern borders, particularly during the Marcomannic wars. What are we to make of advice that contains dozens of suggestions on how to murder his own soldiers and get away with it? I argue that it is intended to cause the emperor to rethink his positions on mercenary employment—and that this was considered more important than military considerations. This contributes to a growing body of evidence that the volunteer citizen soldier led by the aristocratic magistrate-general was well on its way out. Polyaenus is hardly alone. Aphorisms of similar sentiment can be found in many of the Roman historians. Similar disdain is heaped by later authors of military handbooks onto the auxiliaries (who often provided a more-specialized form of combined arms to the infantry legion). The handbooks echo the advice that hirelings should not outnumber citizens in the force(e.g Vegetius DRM 3.1). Even as some advise keeping a small number of specialist mercenaries, most advocate against hiring foreigners into the rank-and-file. Ultimately, I argue, the advice to exclude foreign mercenaries that is so frequent in military handbooks and ancient historians stems from a practical political concern: to keep these groups from gaining social power at the expense of the aristocrats. Thus, despite the assertions of it being straightforward military advice, we find a didactic purpose, realized or unrealized, within the writings of Polyaenus and many other ancient writers.
Over barely 50 years, at least 9 of the Romans assigned Cilicia requested a triumph and at least ... more Over barely 50 years, at least 9 of the Romans assigned Cilicia requested a triumph and at least 6 received one. Given that many of them had multi-year assignments, this leads to a state of near constant campaigning in southern Asia Minor during the early first century. Even factoring in the conflicts with Mithridates (and perhaps especially then), it is puzzling to see Cilicia as such a volatile province. Clearly, these triumphs did not entail any sort of permanent settlement (see Pittenger 2008). Relying chiefly on the testimony of Cicero, I argue here that Cilicia, which at the time was one of the largest and richest provinces, was also the ideal low-risk province for the triumph-seeker.
While triumphal motives have been discussed recently (e.g. Beard 2007, Pittenger 2008), I present Cilicia as an exemplar of typical triumphal machinations. Cicero did not want to be governor of Cilicia. Nevertheless, in some of his letters (ad fam. 2.10 and 8.5), he alludes to the possibility of provoking a fight and attaining a triumph from Cilicia, despite the fact that he arrived as late as he could and left as early as he could. While Cicero’s personal motivations here have also been assessed (see Correa 2013, Wistrand 1979), less is said about the ramifications for the province. Among his other letters, he reveals the activities others, such as Appius Claudius Pulcher, pursued in seeking Cilician triumphs.
Hunting for a triumph was not regarded poorly. Cicero rather frankly attributes triumph-hunting to Crassus (cos. 97) and Cotta (cos. 75) who both sought Gallic triumphs from the Alpine tribes. Both men Cicero praises both here (In Pisonem 62) and elsewhere. Crassus failed to find a triumph there, though later attained one from the Lusitani, while Cotta would have received one had he not died prematurely. For Cicero, at least, the distinction was to increase the Roman state without breaching treaties with Roman allies. Within these guidelines, war-mongering was not only permissible but praiseworthy. Certain authors’ (e.g. Florus, Appian, or Strabo) later accusations of triumph-hunting generally include erstwhile Roman allies as victims. It was not, however, enough to be an ally of Rome, for the Romans also had to remember the alliance. Cicero later reminds the proconsul Philippus of an alliance to forestall his actions against Antipater of Derbe north of Cilicia. There was no Cilician triumph for Philippus.
Cicero’s idiosyncrasies aside, we remain with the question of just what it was about Cilicia that provoked such triumphal desires. I submit that it was the reputation of Cilicia as the homeland of pirates. While perhaps less triumph-worthy than Gaul, Parthia, or Pontus, it was also safer. There were no treaties with pirates. By attributing brigandage of some sort to the locals, the campaign was easily defensible. This is by no means the only reason. The area had long been a source for mercenaries, and it was far from unusual for unemployed mercenaries to take up brigandage. Cilicia’s borders were never well defined (see Freeman 1986), and after the ‘Balkanization’ of southern Anatolia during the second century, Cilicia contained numerous tiny city-states too small to put up a sustained resistance and too unfamiliar to be recognized in Rome. This could be disadvantageous as well. In Cicero’s own bid for a triumph, he mourned the unfamiliar name of Pindinessum and played up fears of a Parthian invasion.
Pompey’s settlement of the east did not stop repeated triumphs and campaigns in Cilicia. Ostensibly, Pompey had reduced all the pirate strongholds (like Vatia a decade earlier) and resettled the pirates on vacant Cilician farmland. Still, the Roman governors continued waging wars in Cilicia. It might be argued that these were largely against the pirates who chose not to take up farming. That is a convenient defense put forth by the would-be triumphators like Cicero and Appius Claudius Pulcher.
Cilicia, with its large area, numerous unfamiliar states, indeterminate borders, and piratic reputation, provided perfect staging-grounds for ‘small victorious campaigns’. While the same tactics were employed by governors elsewhere (especially Hispania), through Cicero’s accounts of three governors: Appius Claudius Pulcher, himself, and Phillippus, we have a clear view of the politics of triumph-hunting.
The Second Servile War (~104-100) and the Cilician campaign of Marcus Antonius Orator (102 onward... more The Second Servile War (~104-100) and the Cilician campaign of Marcus Antonius Orator (102 onwards) are rarely thought to have anything in common. In this paper, I suggest they were actually tightly connected—specifically, that there was some link, real or imagined, between the slaves in Sicily and the Cilicians in Asia Minor that caused the Romans to suspect that the slave revolt had professional backing from a foreign power (the freelance mercenaries/pirates of Cilicia) and furthermore, that they believed in order to crush the slaves, the Cilicians had to be dealt with as well. Thus the eastern command of Marcus Antonius Orator was believed to be (or promoted as) a useful complement to the ongoing Sicilian affair.
Discussions of the campaign of Antonius (e.g. Freeman 1986, Keaveney 1982, de Souza 1999, 102-108) are decidedly limited, and the question of what prompted this action at this particular time is unanswered. Historically, the Romans had been content to ignore the southern coast of Anatolia from Apamea (189) onward and to allow Rhodes and Lycia a free hand, despite piracy in the area. At the time of Antonius gaining the Cilician command, Marius was fighting the Teutones in the north and the Second Servile War was in full swing in the south. With such unfavorable timing, I suggest this move on Cilicia was not, at the time, considered a separate affair but was somehow linked to Sicilian matters.
In the ancient accounts of the First and Second Servile Wars (aptly compiled in Shaw 2001), we can note the clear prominence of Syrian and Cilician slaves, both as combatants and as leaders. The self-declared kings Eunus and Salvius were Syrians and the generals Athenion and Cleon Cilicians. While this may simply be a love of symmetry on the part of Diodorus Siculus (our principal source), it is hardly an unlikely situation. In the second half of the second century, Rome had fought fewer large wars and needed alternate sources for slaves, while at the same time Seleucid Syria had been beset by numerous civil wars. It is reasonable to suppose that amidst the chaos in Cilicia and Syria, numerous slaves were taken and sold in the Aegean. The Syrian and Cilician slaves thus almost certainly had the most military experience among the slave population of Sicily. Furthermore, the slaves themselves emphasized links with the Hellenistic East. Eunus renamed himself Antiochus, while later, Salvius took on the name Tryphon, invoking Diodotus Tryphon, who, as Strabo (14.5.2) informs us, had organized the Cilician pirates to work together.
Despite the lack of evidence concerning the campaign of Antonius, (known through such sources as Livy, Ep. 68; Obsequens, Prodig. 44; and ILLRP 1.342), I argue that Antonius was given the command not as a separate campaign, but as a supplement to the Sicilian. This hypothesis is further supported by the so-called ‘pirate provisions’ in an unusual law: the lex de provinciis praetoriis (described by Crawford 1996 in Roman Statutes). This law (dated to 101/100) makes the consuls write letters to most of the Hellenistic rulers and insists that they not allow any pirates from Cilicia access to their lands. Based on Roman depictions of earlier pirates (albeit from historians writing later), it is reasonable to predict any and all forces still at large in Cilicia would have been considered pirates regardless of their initial status. I argue that the Romans are not concerned with piracy per se, but rather with sending a message. The fugitive Cilicians are regarded similarly to fugitive slaves. Nevertheless, the kingdoms of the east would readily have noted the punitive invasion of Cilicia. The LdPP, in talking about Cilicia, can only be fully understood in reference to Sicily. In justifying the Roman invasion of Cilicia, it also serves as a warning to not repeat the (supposed) Cilician mistake in Sicily.
A short campaign in 123 BC brought the Balaeric Islands, off the coast of Spain, under Roman cont... more A short campaign in 123 BC brought the Balaeric Islands, off the coast of Spain, under Roman control. Once a Carthaginian outpost and for a long time a recruiting ground for skilled slingers, the Balearics had otherwise been ignored since the Second Punic War. The main accounts of this campaign are those of Florus and Strabo, though Florus was likely influenced by Livy and Strabo by Posidonios. My paper takes these different accounts, and uses them to highlight the different motivations these writers had and how our sources sought to write history to prove or reflect their academic and moral theories. In keeping with their motivations, Strabo sought to explain this war in a way that made sense to his ethnographic and geographic theories, while Florus sought to show how Rome stood as a great civilizer by building cities where there were none and eradicating piracy regardless of whether there was any piracy to eradicate. In particular, it is interesting how the nature of pirates changes to suit the historians.
As Thucydides might have said, the causes of the campaign are uncertain, but the pretext was clear. The inhabitants of the islands were either pirates themselves or were sheltering and trading with Ligurian pirates, and (Q. Caecilius) Metellus, the governor of nearer Spain, then invaded the islands. There was little resistance, and Metellus, now ‘Balearicus’ founded two colonies, settling them with three thousand veterans gathered from Nearer Spain.
Strabo doubts the truth of this, and tells us that foreigners were jealous of the richness of their lands, and we know Metellus had both a force of soldiers at hand desirous of plunder and a family reputation to uphold. This Metellus might even be guilty of the same sort of triumph-hunting Appian would accuse his cousin, Metellus Delmaticus, of pursuing in his campaign of 119. According to Morgan (1969), any pirates Metellus sought were likely not the native Baleares, but Ligurians and Sardinians made homeless by recent campaigns in their homelands. Moreover, the Massiliotes may have started the accusations of piracy, and, indeed, may well have been who Strabo (and Posidonius) had in mind when saying that ‘their lands had been lusted after for many years’. For Morgan, these factors point to Strabo’s account as being truer and more nuanced than that of Florus.
I will not attempt to verify Morgan’s account, but rather, I would like to focus instead on our sources’ biases, which led to differing accounts. Strabo clearly doubts that the Baleares were pirates, but is at pains elsewhere to emphasize that pirates come from impoverished locales and also that the Balearics were fertile lands. Thus, the Baleares, if pirates, would prove to be an unpleasant counterexample to Strabo’s theory. Strabo suggests instead that avarice led Metellus to fabricate charges against the Baleares. Florus insists that they were pirates, and savage and cityless as well. This is a surprising claim, as the Phoenicians had established a colony at Ibiza around five hundred years earlier. Yet Florus regularly demonizes Rome’s enemies, particularly the Gauls, to show the benefit of Roman might and Roman rule. Overall, his account is entirely in keeping with his imperialist agenda.
Interestingly, Florus does admit to the same pretext and cause as Strabo, however, when it comes to the 69-67 campaign in Crete by the nephew of Balearicus, Creticus. (1.42) ...bellum...sola vincendi nobilem insulam cupiditas fecit. If he was willing to attribute one island invasion to avarice, why not another? So Florus implies that the Cretans did not deserve their invasion, but the Baleares did. There is another key difference for the campaigns: the Balearics are ‘unsettled’ while Crete possessed famed cities like Knossus and Kydonia. The ‘cityless’ description of the Balearics has been overlooked, but is a feature stressed by Florus. For Florus, the Romans’ introduction of the city to these islands is a great benefit that contrasts sharply with the Roman takeover of settled (and civilized) Crete.
This campaign serves as an excellent example of how history could serve an alternate agenda. It is hardly surprising that different authors had different motivations, but understanding those motivations is quite useful. In particular, these historians had different conceptions of civilization and piracy. For Strabo, pirates committed piracy because of the poverty of their land, and thus, the Baleares was unsuitable to be so described. For Florus, the Baleares were savages needing the nurturing influence of Roman rule. The piracy then served for Florus as a proof of their savagery.
It is the nature of history that the victorious tell the tales. And this is particularly true wi... more It is the nature of history that the victorious tell the tales. And this is particularly true with criminals, such as pirates, whose only record in the books come from their attacks and their eventual defeats. We know next to nothing about the pirates themselves, and we have only their enemies’ word to show that they were pirates in the first place.
We do see famous orators, from Isocrates to Cicero, decrying the depredations of pirates. These pirates were enemies of everyone, and even if Rome’s longstanding neglect of sea power encouraged piracy, Rome still repeatedly raised large forces to crush piracy ‘once and for all’. Furthermore, the label ‘pirate’ or ‘bandit’ became a common slur to pin on political enemies, as Cicero does with Catiline and Antony.
Of particular note, however, is the fact that Roman leaders keep claiming that the pirate menace is now over. The most famous, of course, is Pompey, but Augustus claims this achievement as well. In the imperial period it becomes commonplace for governors and prefects to claim a similar distinction. Despite these claims, there is evidence for substantial pirate activity within years of each ‘elimination’.
Yet, if the pirates are eliminated with such regularity by the state, we must explain their reappearance either by a substantial motivation for engaging in piracy, by concluding that they were never truly eliminated in the first place, or by suggesting that the label of ‘pirates’ was merely a convenient fiction to attack someone with public approval. My paper contends with all three possibilities and attempts to clarify just why ancient piracy is so resilient in the face of Roman opposition and tries to identify whence these pirates came.
In the ancient world, acts of piracy were as far from hospitality as possible. Even so, they def... more In the ancient world, acts of piracy were as far from hospitality as possible. Even so, they define and reveal the nature of xenia. In this paper, I wish to look at three things: piracy undertaken by exploiting xenia, pirates excluded from xenia, and innocent events mistaken as piracy. By discussing these, I seek to show that the rules of xenia were intended to prevent acts of piracy. People could exploit hospitality to kidnap or murder travelers (or hosts). Violations of xenia are frequent in Greek literature, but those who made a practice of violating hospitality for the sake of profit would be excluded from the limited protection of xenia. That pirates were excluded from being welcomed as guests is no surprise. One Homeric greeting asks the travelers if they are pirates (Od. 3.71-74=9.252-55=HH.Ap. 452-455). This is a strange greeting, but perhaps a routine one. Furthermore, the three examples all lead up to different outcomes, only one of which actually conforms to the rules of xenia. Travelers presumed to be pirates were accosted and slain. The Chian sailors attacked by the Ephesians (Herodotus 6.16) represent one such example. Implicit here is the understanding that bandits would attack at night and during a festival to capture their women. The assumption that xenia is being violated is in turn seen as grounds to violate norms. Furthermore, wrecking was a tempting crime in antiquity. Victims of shipwreck were typically assaulted, at least in literature, as we see in the Aethiopica, Leucippe and Clitophon, the Odyssey, Iphigenia at Tauris and the Aeneid. Yet references in Seneca and in the Digest tell us that this was not unknown in real life. These examples of ‘mistaken piracy’ show a preemptive violation of norms based on the expectation that these ‘guests’ would break the rules as well.
This paper attempts to identify and document a previously unrecognized trope in Plautus: the figu... more This paper attempts to identify and document a previously unrecognized trope in Plautus: the figure of the ‘seeker’ and his (or her) search for a missing family member. As is well known, Greek New Comedy and the Roman palliatae are populated by a slew of standard character-types: the miles gloriosus, the servus callidus, the adulescens amator, the senex iratus, among others. Another common feature is a character who is in some sense “lost” or “missing” due to capture by pirates, exposure as free-born children, or some other mishap. These same plays very often also have someone who is seeking the missing figure, usually an older family member. I argue that these seekers conform to a character-type of their own. Nowhere in the secondary literature is the ‘seeker’ recognized as a character-type alongside the more familiar examples. In Roman Laughter, Erich Segal established a pattern of Saturnalian inversion—where master and slave change places—in Roman Comedy, and the trope of the ‘seeker’ encompasses several aspects of this inversion, where the expected and unexpected change places. Timothy Moore, in his The Theatre of Plautus, notices several similarities in the behavior of the slaves in the plays that also feature “seekers” according to my analysis, but he does not discuss similarities among their masters. The seeker figure, as I define him, is typically an agelast—someone who does not realize he is in a comedy and does not get the jokes. He is not, however, a negative figure, as other agelasts (like the pimps) tend to be. In the course of his search, he goes to great lengths and great expense to find his missing family (e.g. Hegio in Captivi, Hanno in Poenulus, Menaechmus in Menaechmi). Although an important man in society, he is easily fooled by the servus callidus. The ‘seeker’ never finds the missing person on his own, but the clever slave usually intervenes and reunites the family, not without significant personal risk. Unlike the senex figure, the seeker is not necessarily an old man, although he is invariably someone in a position of equal or relatively greater authority and respectability than others he encounters. Lastly, the seeker is flawed in character, suggesting his authority and position are undeserved. The best evidence for these figures are Poenulus, Captivi, and Menaechmi. In Epidicus and Cistellaria, however, an alternative version of this trope appears as the slaves search for the missing person on behalf of their masters, who are simultaneously searching, thereby creating a ‘competitive’ search. Three more plays: Rudens, Miles Gloriosus, and Truculentus, all share a few aspects of this trope as well. In Truculentus in particular, the seeker trope appears as interference to the main plot in a form of contaminatio which (I argue) is key to understanding the play’s reception. There are several ramifications of recognizing this trope and character-type. A variation on Segal’s Saturnalian inversion appears in that the assisting slave is more competent than the seeking master. By emphasizing the master’s social importance (eg Epidicus, 517 ff, Captivi, 781-789), Plautus sets him up for a comparison with the slave. Time and time again, the prominent free man is incapable of achieving his desires without the machinations of the slaves. As Epidicus notes: Ego sum defessus reperire, vos defessi quaerere. (l.720) The master was looking, but Epidicus was finding. In such cases, the slave outdoes the master at the very task the master seeks to accomplish. Furthermore, the slaves’ language of leading troops, besieging houses, or summoning meetings all suggests that they are truly not only the ones who are in charge, but belong in charge too. (See Segal 129, Arnott, 78) Additionally, since the seeker exhibits a flawed character, the slaves are seen as more honorable than these flawed masters. Lastly, the seeker, by virtue of his seriousness, forces the audience to confront serious issues amidst the comedy. Through these examples, I hope to show that this trope and character-type have a distinct identity of their own in Plautus and should be recognized as another standard framework Plautus employs in his comedies.
My paper examines the perception of Western Africa by the inhabitants of the Mediterranean, using... more My paper examines the perception of Western Africa by the inhabitants of the Mediterranean, using the few sources remaining. To be clear, my paper is throughout concerned not with what was in West Africa, but what was perceived to be there. Principally, I am concerned with the Periplus of Hanno and its later ancient readership, but also with how their particular view of West Africa came about. The Periplus of Hanno relays an unusual account: a Carthaginian voyage of colonization down the African coast. Though short, this account shaped views for centuries, and it was quoted by Pliny the Elder, (Pseudo?-)Aristotle, Strabo, and Mela, to name a few. It served as guide and rutter for others, such as Polybius, who traveled on an exploratory voyage at the behest of Scipio Aemilianus during the 140s BCE. Some modern commentators have considered Hanno’s Periplus an anomalous and unique source, to the point of doubting its authenticity, but I think it was very important. While Hanno may have made it as far as Cameroon, and Polybius to Senegal or even Sierra Leone, ancient literature does not address these voyages much, though the Canary Islands do occasionally appear. We tend to dismiss Roman and Greek tales of West Africa as fanciful, yet archaeology along the coast of Morocco has yielded evidence of greater presence there. Roman interest there seems not gold, as Herodotus claims, but Atlantic fish, to be salted and/or smoked and imported. This interest is corroborated by De Mirabilibus Auscultationibus, which informs us that the area beyond the Strait of Gibraltar was famed for its quantity of fish. We should not say the Greeks and Romans knew nothing of what lay beyond their borders, Although hardly a universal view, they had a definite concept of West Africa and what was there.
In this paper, I wish to represent an unusual set of Roman stereotypes: the unusual piety and fid... more In this paper, I wish to represent an unusual set of Roman stereotypes: the unusual piety and fides possessed by Greeks and Carthaginians in Plautus. The characters’ portrayal may illustrate contemporary perception. In Captivi and Poenulus, both set in Calydon, an Aetolian city, the protagonists have surprising virtues. The Greeks had a poor reputation in Rome and the Aetolians had a poor reputation even amongst the Greeks. The Carthaginians’ reputation was even worse. Why then, are these characters portrayed thus? In Captivi, the captives, Philocrates and Tyndarus, have fides, a good, noble quality, but directed toward each other, not toward Hegio. This portrayal, typical for slaves, is the exact opposite of a father-son relationship. Furthermore, the audience’s expectations are misled by Greek fides when they were expecting Graeca fides. This same type of inversion where Plautus sets up a character to be unsympathetic due to his nationality and then portrays him possessing strong Roman virtues appears also in Poenulus. The elderly Hanno, despite Milphio’s description of him as a stereotypical Carthaginian, displays great piety and his desire to ransom the girls shows real fides, not Punica fides. Plautus confounds as well as reinforces stereotypes. Romans knew what Greeks were like; they were the exact opposites of Romans. Playing with stereotypes was perfectly in keeping with the Saturnalian theme we see throughout Plautus. The setting is important: Aetolia may well have been seen as a staunch ally of Rome, and thus her characters were surprisingly Roman-like Greeks.
In antiquity, the lines between soldier, bandit and mercenary were blurred. Soldiers could becom... more In antiquity, the lines between soldier, bandit and mercenary were blurred. Soldiers could become foreign mercenaries; mercenaries could turn bandit; bandit groups could be hired as auxiliaries. But in many cases, the term which our aristocratic historians chose to use was politically motivated. What were the concerns that these historians sought to explain with this terminology? In some cases, they were ethnic—a desire to promote the discipline of civilized Greeks and Romans over the cheating ambuscades of German and Illyrian barbarians. In other cases, they were intended to change the stature of the enemy—greater skill would be needed to fight an army of soldiers than a gang of bandits (even if they were the same people). In still others, we see evidence of class conflicts—the poor, needing to be paid to provide service in wartime, were seen as less loyal to their country than those who had estates to support them. This presentation will outline several examples of how the ancient historians ‘spun’ events through nomenclature to ensure history told the correct ‘truth’.
This project examines the role that pirates, bandits and other ‘freelance men of violence’ played... more This project examines the role that pirates, bandits and other ‘freelance men of violence’ played in the second and first centuries BC. In this examination, I argue that the role of the ‘freelancer’ needs to be understood as a unified whole, not compartmentalized as three (or more) groups: pirates, bandits and mercenaries. Throughout the work, I contend that their portrayal by the ancient writers dramatically affects the perceived legitimacy of their actions. Most modern studies of banditry or piracy (e.g. de Souza 1999, Grünewald 1999, Pohl 1993, Knapp 2011) focus on the ‘real’ bandits and set aside the clear polemic. I turn to the description and ask what semantic baggage words like latro or leistes carried that they were commonly used as part of invectives. How was freelance plundering considered dishonorable while blatant triumph-hunting was deemed honorable?
The freelancer was, in a form of ancient Realpolitik, generally more acceptable to states than our occasionally-stuffy aristocratic historians would prefer that we believe. Moreover, states were far more concerned with control of these ‘freelancers’ than in their elimination. Overall, this dissertation shows that the chief semantic burden of terms like latro and leistes are to convey (il)legitimacy: individuals that possess power that they should not. Condemnation of these figures is not rooted in their actions of plundering (rarely dissimilar from official acts of war) but rather their holding the power to do so in the first place. In short, this study reveals that the ‘at-large’ soldier was a far more complex and influential character than is normally shown by either ancient or modern historians.
In Thursday's talk, I will focus on the depiction of Illyria and the Illyrians' failure to comply with a changing set of Roman rules. I argue that the wars in Illyria provide some of the earliest evidence that Roman attitudes regarding the normal conduct of war were changing, despite later historians' insistence that no such thing was happening.
The Periplus of Hanno recounts a Carthaginian voyage led by Hanno the Carthaginian around the coa... more The Periplus of Hanno recounts a Carthaginian voyage led by Hanno the Carthaginian around the coast of West Africa, their siting of six or seven Phoenician colonies on the Atlantic, and descriptions of the lands and creatures they found. The extent of the voyage, whether as far as Senegal or as far as Gabon, has been controversial. This talk will discuss the many debates on the locations of the landmarks in the text and the overall difficulties in using the document, as well as the influence of the document in its reception by later geographers and explorers. Among other things, the text gives us the origin for the name for gorillas.
The fourth century BC was a tumultuous time for military systems and strategies. In this period, ... more The fourth century BC was a tumultuous time for military systems and strategies. In this period, regions like Italy became something of a testing ground as cultures clashed. On the equipment side, swordsmen, spearmen, and javelineers contested for tactical supremacy.
A tongue-in-cheek comparison of the U. S. election process with elections in the Ancient Mediterr... more A tongue-in-cheek comparison of the U. S. election process with elections in the Ancient Mediterranean World. (See URL above for article)
There is no doubt that Mithridates VI of Pontus posed a threat to Rome in the first century BC, p... more There is no doubt that Mithridates VI of Pontus posed a threat to Rome in the first century BC, probably the greatest foreign threat of that century. Key to his success was his ability to mobilize an army and fleet on short notice. How did Mithridates manage this mobilization? Through the large-scale employment of Mediterranean pirates.
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perceive both pirates and monarchs. This piece aims to show this dichotomy in earlier Greek and Roman
writers and reflects that Augustine’s relative comfort with monarchy may be well more in line with Cicero’s
Hellenistic Greek sources than they were with the ideas of Cicero himself. This is because the
representation of kings and bandits as opposites was an argument for royal legitimacy in the Hellenistic
eastern Mediterranean, but in Republican Rome, kings were set as equals to bandits to prove their lack of
legitimacy.
leisteia, Late Republican civil war actors, and contemporary Severan
emperors reveals Dio to be consistent when discussing legitimate
violence. In all three, Dio presents establishing legitimacy as a
primary factor in attaining power. As the required skills to achieve
power differed from those for ruling, the resulting ruler could be
disastrous. Through employing the ‘noble bandit’ topos, Dio
questions the emperors’ suitability, comparing them to bandits.
Overall, Dio interprets Late Republican history differently from his
sources for Republican history. In his view, future statesmen cannot
rely upon the mos maiorum.
Polyaenus, the author of a eight-book compilation of stratagems, dedicated to Marcus Aurelius, devotes several passages to tricking, blaming, or otherwise dealing with mercenaries, detailing them in accounts of dozens of commanders, including Clearchus, Iphicrates, Timotheus, Philip II, Antigonus, Demetrius, and many of the Sicilian tyrants, among others. The overarching portrayal of the mercenaries is effectively an urging to betray the mercenaries out of financial, tactical, or even moral considerations. The mercenaries are simply not to be trusted and thus should be betrayed first.
Entirely absent, however, is the urging of Xenophon or Scipio (by way of Polybius) to keep the mercenary soldiers well-paid. This is a fascinating omission; it is unthinkable that such a prodigious miner of texts (Polyaenus draws over 800 examples from centuries of texts) would simply miss such exempla in such prominent writers, especially in his native language. Other writers attest to the loyalties of well-paid mercenaries (the mercenaries of Mithridates refused bribes to betray the besieged city of Sinope) and the tendency of mercenaries to revolt when their pay was in arrears. The evidence may even suggest that mercenary employers were less trustworthy than mercenary employees.
This is especially telling in that Marcus Aurelius relied increasingly upon paid soldiers to defend the northern and eastern borders, particularly during the Marcomannic wars. What are we to make of advice that contains dozens of suggestions on how to murder his own soldiers and get away with it? I argue that it is intended to cause the emperor to rethink his positions on mercenary employment—and that this was considered more important than military considerations. This contributes to a growing body of evidence that the volunteer citizen soldier led by the aristocratic magistrate-general was well on its way out.
Polyaenus is hardly alone. Aphorisms of similar sentiment can be found in many of the Roman historians. Similar disdain is heaped by later authors of military handbooks onto the auxiliaries (who often provided a more-specialized form of combined arms to the infantry legion). The handbooks echo the advice that hirelings should not outnumber citizens in the force(e.g Vegetius DRM 3.1). Even as some advise keeping a small number of specialist mercenaries, most advocate against hiring foreigners into the rank-and-file.
Ultimately, I argue, the advice to exclude foreign mercenaries that is so frequent in military handbooks and ancient historians stems from a practical political concern: to keep these groups from gaining social power at the expense of the aristocrats. Thus, despite the assertions of it being straightforward military advice, we find a didactic purpose, realized or unrealized, within the writings of Polyaenus and many other ancient writers.
We do see famous orators, from Isocrates to Cicero, decrying the depredations of pirates. These pirates were enemies of everyone, and even if Rome’s longstanding neglect of sea power encouraged piracy, Rome still repeatedly raised large forces to crush piracy ‘once and for all’. Furthermore, the label ‘pirate’ or ‘bandit’ became a common slur to pin on political enemies, as Cicero does with Catiline and Antony.
Of particular note, however, is the fact that Roman leaders keep claiming that the pirate menace is now over. The most famous, of course, is Pompey, but Augustus claims this achievement as well. In the imperial period it becomes commonplace for governors and prefects to claim a similar distinction. Despite these claims, there is evidence for substantial pirate activity within years of each ‘elimination’.
Yet, if the pirates are eliminated with such regularity by the state, we must explain their reappearance either by a substantial motivation for engaging in piracy, by concluding that they were never truly eliminated in the first place, or by suggesting that the label of ‘pirates’ was merely a convenient fiction to attack someone with public approval. My paper contends with all three possibilities and attempts to clarify just why ancient piracy is so resilient in the face of Roman opposition and tries to identify whence these pirates came.
A most salient reason for this anti-foreigner rhetoric by Italian Romans is the potential social advancement of these foreigners. The army served as a route to power in Rome, encroaching on the traditional purviews of the Italian and Greek aristocracies. Competent ‘Barbarian’ Romans, such as Arbogast Stilicho could reach the highest levels of power. In earlier years, these barbarian commanders could not hope to lead Roman armies—a state of affairs some Romans wished to return to. While their concerns were aimed at their upper-class competition, their rhetoric was aimed at the rank-and-file. Such rhetoric would even be directed at men who had lived their entire lives within the Roman Empire. By continually discrediting Germans and Easterners in the eyes of the emperors, many of our classical sources hostile to the newcomers hoped to reaffirm their own place in late antique politics.
One of the more-frequently quoted quips about banditry in the ancient world comes from Saint Augustine depicting a captured bandit justifying his activities. “The same as you, but I, who do it with a little boat, am called a bandit; you, who do it with a great fleet, are called an emperor” This anecdotal response to Alexander the Great is portrayed as a defense of Augustine’s greater argument—that a kingdom without justice is nothing but a large bandit gang. This is, I argue, a well-established line of particularly Roman reasoning—the equation of kings and bandits.
Here, I am not concerned with questions of the validity of the statement or the plausibility of the anecdote. My motive is to highlight this particular comparison of king and bandit as a starting point and look at other such comparisons, emphasizing those that seek to equate king and bandit such as we see earlier in Livy and in Cicero. These comparisons, however have very few parallels in the Hellenistic Greek tradition, including the likeliest sources for Augustine’s quote; instead kings and bandits are set as opposites.
In these other sources, the king is seen to be a legitimate holder of power while the bandit has no legitimate claim to such power. This is all well and good. But where the political calculus starts to diverge between the interlinked Greek and Roman traditions is in this sense: the Romans do not consider the king to be a legitimate holder of power either, and thus in Roman narratives, kings are like bandits because they both do whatever they think they can get away with (cf. Plautus Miles 497-500). Banditry and tyranny are considered alike because they seize authority, and understanding this earlier Roman argument helps understand Augustine’s arguments.
A common assertion in modern scholarship is that no triumphs could be celebrated for defeating bandits, slaves or pirates, no matter how important they were. The ancient evidence, however, stems from a short passage of Valerius Maximus (2.8) and is loosely supported by Crassus failing to win a triumph over Spartacus and Pompey’s eastern triumph being reconfigured as a triumph over Mithridates. As Valerius Maximus is elsewhere hostile to Pompey, this is hardly the strongest of evidence.
This paper calls into question whether this rule was in fact a true rule rather than an observation by Valerius (cf. Beard 2007 for a similar criticism) and further examines what glory and honor Roman commanders could gain from the defeat of such unsavoury foes. In fact, it is readily apparent that many Romans sought out battles against such foes for the glory and prestige of the expected victory, for which victories an acclamation, a public thanksgiving, or an ovation were not celebrations to turn up one’s nose at lightly.
In re-examining the lesser military celebrations, I argue that many Romans of the first century, including famous figures like Pompey, Caesar, and Cicero, actively sought honor in defeating the dishonorable and public favor in defeating the nefarious, and thus sought to villainize the groups they fought against. If regarded as unworthy of celebration, these politics of portrayal would be counterproductive. Thus, I argue Valerius is not accurately representing the rules of the triumph (always a political football) but rather a romanticization of what he thought the rules should be based on the mores of his own day.
Mercenary manpower was a commodity, but money was not the only thing offered—from Sicily to Asia to Egypt, mercenaries were offered land and citizenship, often in lieu of cash (noted in Buraselis et al. 2013). Despite substantial wealth, Hellenistic rulers were frequently strapped for ready funds (see Austin 1986 for royal use of wealth). Thus rulers and generals refused to pay, attacked, or even marooned their mercenary soldiers—to the delight of historians who disapproved of non-citizen soldiers.
The rise of the Hellenistic mercenary is rooted in this desire for manpower. Recruiting mercenaries allowed rulers to forgo a standing force in peace, though this in turn meant that those mercenaries could be employed by enemies or even become effectively self-employed as brigands or pirates. Thus a variety of inter-state immunity-treaties of isopoliteia and asylia began to appear in reaction. Certain groups, like the Cretans, Illyrians, Galatians, and Cilicians provided pools of manpower in wartime and thus were a resource for states to tolerate.
This system of flexible manpower lasted for hundreds of years, but with the Roman appearance in the East, it was gradually eliminated. Roman treaties frequently barred states from hiring in these pools or gave states like Pergamum or Rhodes monopolies. So the Macedonians lost access to Illyrian mercenaries, the Rhodians gained the right of first refusal over eastern Cretan soldiers, the Seleucid recruiters were denied access to territory beyond the Taurus mountains, and enlisting Cilician pirates became a casus belli. Through these provisions, the Romans significantly reduced the potential for all eastern states to engage in successful warmaking against them while also recruiting from the same groups to further Roman ends.
Roman soldiers often found land-grants of conquered territory or spoil division insufficient, or military levies inequitable. Famously, in the Second Punic War, allied communities claimed they had no more soldiers to contribute. This was neither unique nor confined to the allies; thrice in the second century, the tribunes themselves interfered with the conscription. Civil protest of military mismanagement was mostly preemptive in nature. Admittedly, Pompeius Strabo attempted to prosecute his own commander in Sardinia in 106—but such cases were rare.
The average soldier on campaign could have no recourse to civic protest; the option available was mutiny. Such protests in the ancient army were not rare, but spilling over into violence was. Indeed, a mark of a great general was his ability to quell mutinies (existing or incipient). Accordingly, individuals such as Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus, or Pompeius Magnus are depicted in attempts to calm the soldiery, through reason or bribery.
Popular dissatisfaction with the commander formed a major component of mutiny. The commander had great authority to divide the plunder, ration necessities, or order hard labor. Acting excessively in any of these pursuits could provoke a mutiny. Moreover, another distinction appears: while Roman soldiers were not supposed to mutiny, mutinies by auxiliaries or mercenaries were expected. This division could serve to reinforce perceptions of superior Roman discipline as well as denigrate either barbarian or lower-class fighters. Contrary to the wisdom of the Roman historians, I suggest an examination of these mutinies, not as failures of military discipline, but instead as replication of the power struggles in Rome between the classes, however defined.
My rationale for such an examination lies in the not-infrequent Roman failure to punish ‘widespread’ mutinies, instead dealing with them through negotiation. This tendency suggests that, regardless of the rhetoric decrying mutiny, actual practice meant that mutinies could be regarded as having some legitimacy. Moreover, quelling a mutiny that had risen under a different commander could be taken as a sign of the previous commander’s incompetence. New commanders would shift the blame of mutinies to previous commanders. Attacks on predecessors are also evidence (albeit weak) that the soldiers’ actions were seen as meritorious, and that the commanders did fail to provide rations, pay, or loot in sufficient quantities. Finally, I suggest a re-examination of the ‘failure’ of these protests, which often resulted in concessions by the commander.
perceive both pirates and monarchs. This piece aims to show this dichotomy in earlier Greek and Roman
writers and reflects that Augustine’s relative comfort with monarchy may be well more in line with Cicero’s
Hellenistic Greek sources than they were with the ideas of Cicero himself. This is because the
representation of kings and bandits as opposites was an argument for royal legitimacy in the Hellenistic
eastern Mediterranean, but in Republican Rome, kings were set as equals to bandits to prove their lack of
legitimacy.
leisteia, Late Republican civil war actors, and contemporary Severan
emperors reveals Dio to be consistent when discussing legitimate
violence. In all three, Dio presents establishing legitimacy as a
primary factor in attaining power. As the required skills to achieve
power differed from those for ruling, the resulting ruler could be
disastrous. Through employing the ‘noble bandit’ topos, Dio
questions the emperors’ suitability, comparing them to bandits.
Overall, Dio interprets Late Republican history differently from his
sources for Republican history. In his view, future statesmen cannot
rely upon the mos maiorum.
Polyaenus, the author of a eight-book compilation of stratagems, dedicated to Marcus Aurelius, devotes several passages to tricking, blaming, or otherwise dealing with mercenaries, detailing them in accounts of dozens of commanders, including Clearchus, Iphicrates, Timotheus, Philip II, Antigonus, Demetrius, and many of the Sicilian tyrants, among others. The overarching portrayal of the mercenaries is effectively an urging to betray the mercenaries out of financial, tactical, or even moral considerations. The mercenaries are simply not to be trusted and thus should be betrayed first.
Entirely absent, however, is the urging of Xenophon or Scipio (by way of Polybius) to keep the mercenary soldiers well-paid. This is a fascinating omission; it is unthinkable that such a prodigious miner of texts (Polyaenus draws over 800 examples from centuries of texts) would simply miss such exempla in such prominent writers, especially in his native language. Other writers attest to the loyalties of well-paid mercenaries (the mercenaries of Mithridates refused bribes to betray the besieged city of Sinope) and the tendency of mercenaries to revolt when their pay was in arrears. The evidence may even suggest that mercenary employers were less trustworthy than mercenary employees.
This is especially telling in that Marcus Aurelius relied increasingly upon paid soldiers to defend the northern and eastern borders, particularly during the Marcomannic wars. What are we to make of advice that contains dozens of suggestions on how to murder his own soldiers and get away with it? I argue that it is intended to cause the emperor to rethink his positions on mercenary employment—and that this was considered more important than military considerations. This contributes to a growing body of evidence that the volunteer citizen soldier led by the aristocratic magistrate-general was well on its way out.
Polyaenus is hardly alone. Aphorisms of similar sentiment can be found in many of the Roman historians. Similar disdain is heaped by later authors of military handbooks onto the auxiliaries (who often provided a more-specialized form of combined arms to the infantry legion). The handbooks echo the advice that hirelings should not outnumber citizens in the force(e.g Vegetius DRM 3.1). Even as some advise keeping a small number of specialist mercenaries, most advocate against hiring foreigners into the rank-and-file.
Ultimately, I argue, the advice to exclude foreign mercenaries that is so frequent in military handbooks and ancient historians stems from a practical political concern: to keep these groups from gaining social power at the expense of the aristocrats. Thus, despite the assertions of it being straightforward military advice, we find a didactic purpose, realized or unrealized, within the writings of Polyaenus and many other ancient writers.
We do see famous orators, from Isocrates to Cicero, decrying the depredations of pirates. These pirates were enemies of everyone, and even if Rome’s longstanding neglect of sea power encouraged piracy, Rome still repeatedly raised large forces to crush piracy ‘once and for all’. Furthermore, the label ‘pirate’ or ‘bandit’ became a common slur to pin on political enemies, as Cicero does with Catiline and Antony.
Of particular note, however, is the fact that Roman leaders keep claiming that the pirate menace is now over. The most famous, of course, is Pompey, but Augustus claims this achievement as well. In the imperial period it becomes commonplace for governors and prefects to claim a similar distinction. Despite these claims, there is evidence for substantial pirate activity within years of each ‘elimination’.
Yet, if the pirates are eliminated with such regularity by the state, we must explain their reappearance either by a substantial motivation for engaging in piracy, by concluding that they were never truly eliminated in the first place, or by suggesting that the label of ‘pirates’ was merely a convenient fiction to attack someone with public approval. My paper contends with all three possibilities and attempts to clarify just why ancient piracy is so resilient in the face of Roman opposition and tries to identify whence these pirates came.
A most salient reason for this anti-foreigner rhetoric by Italian Romans is the potential social advancement of these foreigners. The army served as a route to power in Rome, encroaching on the traditional purviews of the Italian and Greek aristocracies. Competent ‘Barbarian’ Romans, such as Arbogast Stilicho could reach the highest levels of power. In earlier years, these barbarian commanders could not hope to lead Roman armies—a state of affairs some Romans wished to return to. While their concerns were aimed at their upper-class competition, their rhetoric was aimed at the rank-and-file. Such rhetoric would even be directed at men who had lived their entire lives within the Roman Empire. By continually discrediting Germans and Easterners in the eyes of the emperors, many of our classical sources hostile to the newcomers hoped to reaffirm their own place in late antique politics.
One of the more-frequently quoted quips about banditry in the ancient world comes from Saint Augustine depicting a captured bandit justifying his activities. “The same as you, but I, who do it with a little boat, am called a bandit; you, who do it with a great fleet, are called an emperor” This anecdotal response to Alexander the Great is portrayed as a defense of Augustine’s greater argument—that a kingdom without justice is nothing but a large bandit gang. This is, I argue, a well-established line of particularly Roman reasoning—the equation of kings and bandits.
Here, I am not concerned with questions of the validity of the statement or the plausibility of the anecdote. My motive is to highlight this particular comparison of king and bandit as a starting point and look at other such comparisons, emphasizing those that seek to equate king and bandit such as we see earlier in Livy and in Cicero. These comparisons, however have very few parallels in the Hellenistic Greek tradition, including the likeliest sources for Augustine’s quote; instead kings and bandits are set as opposites.
In these other sources, the king is seen to be a legitimate holder of power while the bandit has no legitimate claim to such power. This is all well and good. But where the political calculus starts to diverge between the interlinked Greek and Roman traditions is in this sense: the Romans do not consider the king to be a legitimate holder of power either, and thus in Roman narratives, kings are like bandits because they both do whatever they think they can get away with (cf. Plautus Miles 497-500). Banditry and tyranny are considered alike because they seize authority, and understanding this earlier Roman argument helps understand Augustine’s arguments.
A common assertion in modern scholarship is that no triumphs could be celebrated for defeating bandits, slaves or pirates, no matter how important they were. The ancient evidence, however, stems from a short passage of Valerius Maximus (2.8) and is loosely supported by Crassus failing to win a triumph over Spartacus and Pompey’s eastern triumph being reconfigured as a triumph over Mithridates. As Valerius Maximus is elsewhere hostile to Pompey, this is hardly the strongest of evidence.
This paper calls into question whether this rule was in fact a true rule rather than an observation by Valerius (cf. Beard 2007 for a similar criticism) and further examines what glory and honor Roman commanders could gain from the defeat of such unsavoury foes. In fact, it is readily apparent that many Romans sought out battles against such foes for the glory and prestige of the expected victory, for which victories an acclamation, a public thanksgiving, or an ovation were not celebrations to turn up one’s nose at lightly.
In re-examining the lesser military celebrations, I argue that many Romans of the first century, including famous figures like Pompey, Caesar, and Cicero, actively sought honor in defeating the dishonorable and public favor in defeating the nefarious, and thus sought to villainize the groups they fought against. If regarded as unworthy of celebration, these politics of portrayal would be counterproductive. Thus, I argue Valerius is not accurately representing the rules of the triumph (always a political football) but rather a romanticization of what he thought the rules should be based on the mores of his own day.
Mercenary manpower was a commodity, but money was not the only thing offered—from Sicily to Asia to Egypt, mercenaries were offered land and citizenship, often in lieu of cash (noted in Buraselis et al. 2013). Despite substantial wealth, Hellenistic rulers were frequently strapped for ready funds (see Austin 1986 for royal use of wealth). Thus rulers and generals refused to pay, attacked, or even marooned their mercenary soldiers—to the delight of historians who disapproved of non-citizen soldiers.
The rise of the Hellenistic mercenary is rooted in this desire for manpower. Recruiting mercenaries allowed rulers to forgo a standing force in peace, though this in turn meant that those mercenaries could be employed by enemies or even become effectively self-employed as brigands or pirates. Thus a variety of inter-state immunity-treaties of isopoliteia and asylia began to appear in reaction. Certain groups, like the Cretans, Illyrians, Galatians, and Cilicians provided pools of manpower in wartime and thus were a resource for states to tolerate.
This system of flexible manpower lasted for hundreds of years, but with the Roman appearance in the East, it was gradually eliminated. Roman treaties frequently barred states from hiring in these pools or gave states like Pergamum or Rhodes monopolies. So the Macedonians lost access to Illyrian mercenaries, the Rhodians gained the right of first refusal over eastern Cretan soldiers, the Seleucid recruiters were denied access to territory beyond the Taurus mountains, and enlisting Cilician pirates became a casus belli. Through these provisions, the Romans significantly reduced the potential for all eastern states to engage in successful warmaking against them while also recruiting from the same groups to further Roman ends.
Roman soldiers often found land-grants of conquered territory or spoil division insufficient, or military levies inequitable. Famously, in the Second Punic War, allied communities claimed they had no more soldiers to contribute. This was neither unique nor confined to the allies; thrice in the second century, the tribunes themselves interfered with the conscription. Civil protest of military mismanagement was mostly preemptive in nature. Admittedly, Pompeius Strabo attempted to prosecute his own commander in Sardinia in 106—but such cases were rare.
The average soldier on campaign could have no recourse to civic protest; the option available was mutiny. Such protests in the ancient army were not rare, but spilling over into violence was. Indeed, a mark of a great general was his ability to quell mutinies (existing or incipient). Accordingly, individuals such as Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus, or Pompeius Magnus are depicted in attempts to calm the soldiery, through reason or bribery.
Popular dissatisfaction with the commander formed a major component of mutiny. The commander had great authority to divide the plunder, ration necessities, or order hard labor. Acting excessively in any of these pursuits could provoke a mutiny. Moreover, another distinction appears: while Roman soldiers were not supposed to mutiny, mutinies by auxiliaries or mercenaries were expected. This division could serve to reinforce perceptions of superior Roman discipline as well as denigrate either barbarian or lower-class fighters. Contrary to the wisdom of the Roman historians, I suggest an examination of these mutinies, not as failures of military discipline, but instead as replication of the power struggles in Rome between the classes, however defined.
My rationale for such an examination lies in the not-infrequent Roman failure to punish ‘widespread’ mutinies, instead dealing with them through negotiation. This tendency suggests that, regardless of the rhetoric decrying mutiny, actual practice meant that mutinies could be regarded as having some legitimacy. Moreover, quelling a mutiny that had risen under a different commander could be taken as a sign of the previous commander’s incompetence. New commanders would shift the blame of mutinies to previous commanders. Attacks on predecessors are also evidence (albeit weak) that the soldiers’ actions were seen as meritorious, and that the commanders did fail to provide rations, pay, or loot in sufficient quantities. Finally, I suggest a re-examination of the ‘failure’ of these protests, which often resulted in concessions by the commander.
Polyaenus, the author of a eight-book compilation of stratagems, dedicated to Marcus Aurelius, devotes several passages to tricking, blaming, or otherwise dealing with mercenaries, detailing them in accounts of dozens of commanders, including Clearchus, Iphicrates, Timotheus, Philip II, Antigonus, Demetrius, and many of the Sicilian tyrants, among others. The overarching portrayal of the mercenaries is effectively an urging to betray the mercenaries out of financial, tactical, or even moral considerations. The mercenaries are simply not to be trusted and thus should be betrayed first.
Entirely absent, however, is the urging of Xenophon or Scipio (by way of Polybius) to keep the mercenary soldiers well-paid. This is a fascinating omission; it is unthinkable that such a prodigious miner of texts (Polyaenus draws over 800 examples from centuries of texts) would simply miss such exempla in such prominent writers, especially in his native language. Other writers attest to the loyalties of well-paid mercenaries (the mercenaries of Mithridates refused bribes to betray the besieged city of Sinope) and the tendency of mercenaries to revolt when their pay was in arrears. The evidence may even suggest that mercenary employers were less trustworthy than mercenary employees.
This is especially telling in that Marcus Aurelius relied increasingly upon paid soldiers to defend the northern and eastern borders, particularly during the Marcomannic wars. What are we to make of advice that contains dozens of suggestions on how to murder his own soldiers and get away with it? I argue that it is intended to cause the emperor to rethink his positions on mercenary employment—and that this was considered more important than military considerations. This contributes to a growing body of evidence that the volunteer citizen soldier led by the aristocratic magistrate-general was well on its way out.
Polyaenus is hardly alone. Aphorisms of similar sentiment can be found in many of the Roman historians. Similar disdain is heaped by later authors of military handbooks onto the auxiliaries (who often provided a more-specialized form of combined arms to the infantry legion). The handbooks echo the advice that hirelings should not outnumber citizens in the force(e.g Vegetius DRM 3.1). Even as some advise keeping a small number of specialist mercenaries, most advocate against hiring foreigners into the rank-and-file.
Ultimately, I argue, the advice to exclude foreign mercenaries that is so frequent in military handbooks and ancient historians stems from a practical political concern: to keep these groups from gaining social power at the expense of the aristocrats. Thus, despite the assertions of it being straightforward military advice, we find a didactic purpose, realized or unrealized, within the writings of Polyaenus and many other ancient writers.
While triumphal motives have been discussed recently (e.g. Beard 2007, Pittenger 2008), I present Cilicia as an exemplar of typical triumphal machinations. Cicero did not want to be governor of Cilicia. Nevertheless, in some of his letters (ad fam. 2.10 and 8.5), he alludes to the possibility of provoking a fight and attaining a triumph from Cilicia, despite the fact that he arrived as late as he could and left as early as he could. While Cicero’s personal motivations here have also been assessed (see Correa 2013, Wistrand 1979), less is said about the ramifications for the province. Among his other letters, he reveals the activities others, such as Appius Claudius Pulcher, pursued in seeking Cilician triumphs.
Hunting for a triumph was not regarded poorly. Cicero rather frankly attributes triumph-hunting to Crassus (cos. 97) and Cotta (cos. 75) who both sought Gallic triumphs from the Alpine tribes. Both men Cicero praises both here (In Pisonem 62) and elsewhere. Crassus failed to find a triumph there, though later attained one from the Lusitani, while Cotta would have received one had he not died prematurely. For Cicero, at least, the distinction was to increase the Roman state without breaching treaties with Roman allies. Within these guidelines, war-mongering was not only permissible but praiseworthy. Certain authors’ (e.g. Florus, Appian, or Strabo) later accusations of triumph-hunting generally include erstwhile Roman allies as victims. It was not, however, enough to be an ally of Rome, for the Romans also had to remember the alliance. Cicero later reminds the proconsul Philippus of an alliance to forestall his actions against Antipater of Derbe north of Cilicia. There was no Cilician triumph for Philippus.
Cicero’s idiosyncrasies aside, we remain with the question of just what it was about Cilicia that provoked such triumphal desires. I submit that it was the reputation of Cilicia as the homeland of pirates. While perhaps less triumph-worthy than Gaul, Parthia, or Pontus, it was also safer. There were no treaties with pirates. By attributing brigandage of some sort to the locals, the campaign was easily defensible. This is by no means the only reason. The area had long been a source for mercenaries, and it was far from unusual for unemployed mercenaries to take up brigandage. Cilicia’s borders were never well defined (see Freeman 1986), and after the ‘Balkanization’ of southern Anatolia during the second century, Cilicia contained numerous tiny city-states too small to put up a sustained resistance and too unfamiliar to be recognized in Rome. This could be disadvantageous as well. In Cicero’s own bid for a triumph, he mourned the unfamiliar name of Pindinessum and played up fears of a Parthian invasion.
Pompey’s settlement of the east did not stop repeated triumphs and campaigns in Cilicia. Ostensibly, Pompey had reduced all the pirate strongholds (like Vatia a decade earlier) and resettled the pirates on vacant Cilician farmland. Still, the Roman governors continued waging wars in Cilicia. It might be argued that these were largely against the pirates who chose not to take up farming. That is a convenient defense put forth by the would-be triumphators like Cicero and Appius Claudius Pulcher.
Cilicia, with its large area, numerous unfamiliar states, indeterminate borders, and piratic reputation, provided perfect staging-grounds for ‘small victorious campaigns’. While the same tactics were employed by governors elsewhere (especially Hispania), through Cicero’s accounts of three governors: Appius Claudius Pulcher, himself, and Phillippus, we have a clear view of the politics of triumph-hunting.
Discussions of the campaign of Antonius (e.g. Freeman 1986, Keaveney 1982, de Souza 1999, 102-108) are decidedly limited, and the question of what prompted this action at this particular time is unanswered. Historically, the Romans had been content to ignore the southern coast of Anatolia from Apamea (189) onward and to allow Rhodes and Lycia a free hand, despite piracy in the area. At the time of Antonius gaining the Cilician command, Marius was fighting the Teutones in the north and the Second Servile War was in full swing in the south. With such unfavorable timing, I suggest this move on Cilicia was not, at the time, considered a separate affair but was somehow linked to Sicilian matters.
In the ancient accounts of the First and Second Servile Wars (aptly compiled in Shaw 2001), we can note the clear prominence of Syrian and Cilician slaves, both as combatants and as leaders. The self-declared kings Eunus and Salvius were Syrians and the generals Athenion and Cleon Cilicians. While this may simply be a love of symmetry on the part of Diodorus Siculus (our principal source), it is hardly an unlikely situation. In the second half of the second century, Rome had fought fewer large wars and needed alternate sources for slaves, while at the same time Seleucid Syria had been beset by numerous civil wars. It is reasonable to suppose that amidst the chaos in Cilicia and Syria, numerous slaves were taken and sold in the Aegean. The Syrian and Cilician slaves thus almost certainly had the most military experience among the slave population of Sicily. Furthermore, the slaves themselves emphasized links with the Hellenistic East. Eunus renamed himself Antiochus, while later, Salvius took on the name Tryphon, invoking Diodotus Tryphon, who, as Strabo (14.5.2) informs us, had organized the Cilician pirates to work together.
Despite the lack of evidence concerning the campaign of Antonius, (known through such sources as Livy, Ep. 68; Obsequens, Prodig. 44; and ILLRP 1.342), I argue that Antonius was given the command not as a separate campaign, but as a supplement to the Sicilian. This hypothesis is further supported by the so-called ‘pirate provisions’ in an unusual law: the lex de provinciis praetoriis (described by Crawford 1996 in Roman Statutes). This law (dated to 101/100) makes the consuls write letters to most of the Hellenistic rulers and insists that they not allow any pirates from Cilicia access to their lands. Based on Roman depictions of earlier pirates (albeit from historians writing later), it is reasonable to predict any and all forces still at large in Cilicia would have been considered pirates regardless of their initial status. I argue that the Romans are not concerned with piracy per se, but rather with sending a message. The fugitive Cilicians are regarded similarly to fugitive slaves. Nevertheless, the kingdoms of the east would readily have noted the punitive invasion of Cilicia. The LdPP, in talking about Cilicia, can only be fully understood in reference to Sicily. In justifying the Roman invasion of Cilicia, it also serves as a warning to not repeat the (supposed) Cilician mistake in Sicily.
As Thucydides might have said, the causes of the campaign are uncertain, but the pretext was clear. The inhabitants of the islands were either pirates themselves or were sheltering and trading with Ligurian pirates, and (Q. Caecilius) Metellus, the governor of nearer Spain, then invaded the islands. There was little resistance, and Metellus, now ‘Balearicus’ founded two colonies, settling them with three thousand veterans gathered from Nearer Spain.
Strabo doubts the truth of this, and tells us that foreigners were jealous of the richness of their lands, and we know Metellus had both a force of soldiers at hand desirous of plunder and a family reputation to uphold. This Metellus might even be guilty of the same sort of triumph-hunting Appian would accuse his cousin, Metellus Delmaticus, of pursuing in his campaign of 119. According to Morgan (1969), any pirates Metellus sought were likely not the native Baleares, but Ligurians and Sardinians made homeless by recent campaigns in their homelands. Moreover, the Massiliotes may have started the accusations of piracy, and, indeed, may well have been who Strabo (and Posidonius) had in mind when saying that ‘their lands had been lusted after for many years’. For Morgan, these factors point to Strabo’s account as being truer and more nuanced than that of Florus.
I will not attempt to verify Morgan’s account, but rather, I would like to focus instead on our sources’ biases, which led to differing accounts. Strabo clearly doubts that the Baleares were pirates, but is at pains elsewhere to emphasize that pirates come from impoverished locales and also that the Balearics were fertile lands. Thus, the Baleares, if pirates, would prove to be an unpleasant counterexample to Strabo’s theory. Strabo suggests instead that avarice led Metellus to fabricate charges against the Baleares. Florus insists that they were pirates, and savage and cityless as well. This is a surprising claim, as the Phoenicians had established a colony at Ibiza around five hundred years earlier. Yet Florus regularly demonizes Rome’s enemies, particularly the Gauls, to show the benefit of Roman might and Roman rule. Overall, his account is entirely in keeping with his imperialist agenda.
Interestingly, Florus does admit to the same pretext and cause as Strabo, however, when it comes to the 69-67 campaign in Crete by the nephew of Balearicus, Creticus. (1.42) ...bellum...sola vincendi nobilem insulam cupiditas fecit. If he was willing to attribute one island invasion to avarice, why not another? So Florus implies that the Cretans did not deserve their invasion, but the Baleares did. There is another key difference for the campaigns: the Balearics are ‘unsettled’ while Crete possessed famed cities like Knossus and Kydonia. The ‘cityless’ description of the Balearics has been overlooked, but is a feature stressed by Florus. For Florus, the Romans’ introduction of the city to these islands is a great benefit that contrasts sharply with the Roman takeover of settled (and civilized) Crete.
This campaign serves as an excellent example of how history could serve an alternate agenda. It is hardly surprising that different authors had different motivations, but understanding those motivations is quite useful. In particular, these historians had different conceptions of civilization and piracy. For Strabo, pirates committed piracy because of the poverty of their land, and thus, the Baleares was unsuitable to be so described. For Florus, the Baleares were savages needing the nurturing influence of Roman rule. The piracy then served for Florus as a proof of their savagery.
We do see famous orators, from Isocrates to Cicero, decrying the depredations of pirates. These pirates were enemies of everyone, and even if Rome’s longstanding neglect of sea power encouraged piracy, Rome still repeatedly raised large forces to crush piracy ‘once and for all’. Furthermore, the label ‘pirate’ or ‘bandit’ became a common slur to pin on political enemies, as Cicero does with Catiline and Antony.
Of particular note, however, is the fact that Roman leaders keep claiming that the pirate menace is now over. The most famous, of course, is Pompey, but Augustus claims this achievement as well. In the imperial period it becomes commonplace for governors and prefects to claim a similar distinction. Despite these claims, there is evidence for substantial pirate activity within years of each ‘elimination’.
Yet, if the pirates are eliminated with such regularity by the state, we must explain their reappearance either by a substantial motivation for engaging in piracy, by concluding that they were never truly eliminated in the first place, or by suggesting that the label of ‘pirates’ was merely a convenient fiction to attack someone with public approval. My paper contends with all three possibilities and attempts to clarify just why ancient piracy is so resilient in the face of Roman opposition and tries to identify whence these pirates came.
People could exploit hospitality to kidnap or murder travelers (or hosts). Violations of xenia are frequent in Greek literature, but those who made a practice of violating hospitality for the sake of profit would be excluded from the limited protection of xenia. That pirates were excluded from being welcomed as guests is no surprise. One Homeric greeting asks the travelers if they are pirates (Od. 3.71-74=9.252-55=HH.Ap. 452-455). This is a strange greeting, but perhaps a routine one. Furthermore, the three examples all lead up to different outcomes, only one of which actually conforms to the rules of xenia.
Travelers presumed to be pirates were accosted and slain. The Chian sailors attacked by the Ephesians (Herodotus 6.16) represent one such example. Implicit here is the understanding that bandits would attack at night and during a festival to capture their women. The assumption that xenia is being violated is in turn seen as grounds to violate norms. Furthermore, wrecking was a tempting crime in antiquity. Victims of shipwreck were typically assaulted, at least in literature, as we see in the Aethiopica, Leucippe and Clitophon, the Odyssey, Iphigenia at Tauris and the Aeneid. Yet references in Seneca and in the Digest tell us that this was not unknown in real life. These examples of ‘mistaken piracy’ show a preemptive violation of norms based on the expectation that these ‘guests’ would break the rules as well.
Nowhere in the secondary literature is the ‘seeker’ recognized as a character-type alongside the more familiar examples. In Roman Laughter, Erich Segal established a pattern of Saturnalian inversion—where master and slave change places—in Roman Comedy, and the trope of the ‘seeker’ encompasses several aspects of this inversion, where the expected and unexpected change places. Timothy Moore, in his The Theatre of Plautus, notices several similarities in the behavior of the slaves in the plays that also feature “seekers” according to my analysis, but he does not discuss similarities among their masters.
The seeker figure, as I define him, is typically an agelast—someone who does not realize he is in a comedy and does not get the jokes. He is not, however, a negative figure, as other agelasts (like the pimps) tend to be. In the course of his search, he goes to great lengths and great expense to find his missing family (e.g. Hegio in Captivi, Hanno in Poenulus, Menaechmus in Menaechmi). Although an important man in society, he is easily fooled by the servus callidus. The ‘seeker’ never finds the missing person on his own, but the clever slave usually intervenes and reunites the family, not without significant personal risk. Unlike the senex figure, the seeker is not necessarily an old man, although he is invariably someone in a position of equal or relatively greater authority and respectability than others he encounters. Lastly, the seeker is flawed in character, suggesting his authority and position are undeserved.
The best evidence for these figures are Poenulus, Captivi, and Menaechmi. In Epidicus and Cistellaria, however, an alternative version of this trope appears as the slaves search for the missing person on behalf of their masters, who are simultaneously searching, thereby creating a ‘competitive’ search. Three more plays: Rudens, Miles Gloriosus, and Truculentus, all share a few aspects of this trope as well. In Truculentus in particular, the seeker trope appears as interference to the main plot in a form of contaminatio which (I argue) is key to understanding the play’s reception.
There are several ramifications of recognizing this trope and character-type. A variation on Segal’s Saturnalian inversion appears in that the assisting slave is more competent than the seeking master. By emphasizing the master’s social importance (eg Epidicus, 517 ff, Captivi, 781-789), Plautus sets him up for a comparison with the slave. Time and time again, the prominent free man is incapable of achieving his desires without the machinations of the slaves. As Epidicus notes: Ego sum defessus reperire, vos defessi quaerere. (l.720) The master was looking, but Epidicus was finding. In such cases, the slave outdoes the master at the very task the master seeks to accomplish. Furthermore, the slaves’ language of leading troops, besieging houses, or summoning meetings all suggests that they are truly not only the ones who are in charge, but belong in charge too. (See Segal 129, Arnott, 78) Additionally, since the seeker exhibits a flawed character, the slaves are seen as more honorable than these flawed masters. Lastly, the seeker, by virtue of his seriousness, forces the audience to confront serious issues amidst the comedy. Through these examples, I hope to show that this trope and character-type have a distinct identity of their own in Plautus and should be recognized as another standard framework Plautus employs in his comedies.
The Periplus of Hanno relays an unusual account: a Carthaginian voyage of colonization down the African coast. Though short, this account shaped views for centuries, and it was quoted by Pliny the Elder, (Pseudo?-)Aristotle, Strabo, and Mela, to name a few. It served as guide and rutter for others, such as Polybius, who traveled on an exploratory voyage at the behest of Scipio Aemilianus during the 140s BCE. Some modern commentators have considered Hanno’s Periplus an anomalous and unique source, to the point of doubting its authenticity, but I think it was very important.
While Hanno may have made it as far as Cameroon, and Polybius to Senegal or even Sierra Leone, ancient literature does not address these voyages much, though the Canary Islands do occasionally appear. We tend to dismiss Roman and Greek tales of West Africa as fanciful, yet archaeology along the coast of Morocco has yielded evidence of greater presence there. Roman interest there seems not gold, as Herodotus claims, but Atlantic fish, to be salted and/or smoked and imported. This interest is corroborated by De Mirabilibus Auscultationibus, which informs us that the area beyond the Strait of Gibraltar was famed for its quantity of fish.
We should not say the Greeks and Romans knew nothing of what lay beyond their borders, Although hardly a universal view, they had a definite concept of West Africa and what was there.
In Captivi, the captives, Philocrates and Tyndarus, have fides, a good, noble quality, but directed toward each other, not toward Hegio. This portrayal, typical for slaves, is the exact opposite of a father-son relationship. Furthermore, the audience’s expectations are misled by Greek fides when they were expecting Graeca fides. This same type of inversion where Plautus sets up a character to be unsympathetic due to his nationality and then portrays him possessing strong Roman virtues appears also in Poenulus. The elderly Hanno, despite Milphio’s description of him as a stereotypical Carthaginian, displays great piety and his desire to ransom the girls shows real fides, not Punica fides.
Plautus confounds as well as reinforces stereotypes. Romans knew what Greeks were like; they were the exact opposites of Romans. Playing with stereotypes was perfectly in keeping with the Saturnalian theme we see throughout Plautus. The setting is important: Aetolia may well have been seen as a staunch ally of Rome, and thus her characters were surprisingly Roman-like Greeks.
What were the concerns that these historians sought to explain with this terminology? In some cases, they were ethnic—a desire to promote the discipline of civilized Greeks and Romans over the cheating ambuscades of German and Illyrian barbarians. In other cases, they were intended to change the stature of the enemy—greater skill would be needed to fight an army of soldiers than a gang of bandits (even if they were the same people). In still others, we see evidence of class conflicts—the poor, needing to be paid to provide service in wartime, were seen as less loyal to their country than those who had estates to support them. This presentation will outline several examples of how the ancient historians ‘spun’ events through nomenclature to ensure history told the correct ‘truth’.
The freelancer was, in a form of ancient Realpolitik, generally more acceptable to states than our occasionally-stuffy aristocratic historians would prefer that we believe. Moreover, states were far more concerned with control of these ‘freelancers’ than in their elimination. Overall, this dissertation shows that the chief semantic burden of terms like latro and leistes are to convey (il)legitimacy: individuals that possess power that they should not. Condemnation of these figures is not rooted in their actions of plundering (rarely dissimilar from official acts of war) but rather their holding the power to do so in the first place. In short, this study reveals that the ‘at-large’ soldier was a far more complex and influential character than is normally shown by either ancient or modern historians.
In Thursday's talk, I will focus on the depiction of Illyria and the Illyrians' failure to comply with a changing set of Roman rules. I argue that the wars in Illyria provide some of the earliest evidence that Roman attitudes regarding the normal conduct of war were changing, despite later historians' insistence that no such thing was happening.
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