Surprisingly the concept of nationhood was unknown; the quality of ‘Germanness’ recognized by outsiders long before it occurred to the Germans themselves. In calling them by one name, Germani, it may be that the Romans mistook a tribal name, Hermunduri,49 for a national one. Alternatively they perhaps confused Herman, or a similar expression, which could have been ancient German for ‘brother’, or ‘fellow-countryman’, with that of the people as a whole; for some such word was also taken into Latin as germanitas (brotherhood), surviving in the Spanish hermano. The Germans did not use a national name until the 11th century: tiudisc,50 which became deutsch.
Regarding appearance and character, Tacitus summarizes: ‘Their physique, as far as one can generalize, is the same: blue and wild of eye, red of hair,51 tall of body; strong but inconstant in energy and not too fond of hard work; inured to cold and hunger but not to heat and thirst.’52
Josephus points to two other characteristics: ‘First they are incapable of rational thought and ready to dash into danger, however hopeless. Secondly, they hate Rome, for they know that only the Romans have ever brought them to slavery.’53 In the matter of impetuosity, Josephus is following Roman tradition, in which it was usual to attribute courage without prudence to northerners and prudence without courage to southerners, only those in between possessing both. German savagery was a stock Roman cliché. Their carrying of arms is described as compulsive, their behaviour as moodily aggressive: ‘they do no business public or private, unarmed.54 They are one minute abject, the next menacing.’55 Caesar suggests that no conflict existed in their minds between inter-tribal banditry and warfare proper. This may be taken as a general rule for the Barbaricum, where to bear arms was universal and to use them habitual. In the absence of an external enemy, brigandage was the next best thing. ‘No shame is associated with banditry, providing it happens outside a tribe’s own territory. Indeed they look on it as training for war, which keeps the young men active and alert. When a chieftain decides to lead a raid, those who volunteer to go with him are cheered by all.’56 Tacitus also notes a peculiar restlessness, ‘a temperamental paradox, by which they love to sleep but hate to be quiet’.57
Treachery, turbulence, bellicosity, dishonesty, lethargy and untrustworthiness were standard accusations against Celt, Sarmatian and German alike. In Germany’s case they would prove, at least during the first two centuries of our era, an exaggeration. Though a period of migration had scarcely ended and Germany was still disturbed, she would remain a peaceful neighbour for most of the early imperial period. Contrasting the countless hillforts of Gaul, Spain and Britain with the open or lightly defended Germanic settlements, and considering the rudimentary development of tactics and weaponry, it is the Celtic character which seems the more quarrelsome. Germany’s bad reputation may merely have reflected Roman priorities. Because the Celts were nearer, their turn had come first. With Gaul’s teeth now drawn, Roman propaganda shifted toward a Germany whose teeth were still sharp.
If, however, one awards points for savagery between Celt and German the outcome might be close-run, especially in matters of ritual. The best hope for a Roman prisoner of war in German hands was slavery. Strabo gives this account of what jargon calls a ‘worst-case scenario’:
The priestess greeted the captives, crowned them with wreaths and led them to a bronze cauldron of about 120 gallon capacity. Mounting a rostrum above the vessel, one priestess cut each prisoner’s throat, making a prophecy based on the blood which ran into the receptacle. Another slit open the stomach, inspected the entrails and from them forecast a victory for their own tribal arms.58
Prisoners were also forced to fight duels with their captors, the outcome being taken as a prophecy of victory or defeat in battles to come. German priestesses were of fearsome aspect and regarded by Roman soldiers with superstitious loathing. Plutarch described how the Teutonic horde facing Marius at Aix-en-Provence was goaded on by such furies; and how they slaughtered all who retreated: ‘Their priestesses were formidable and tall, with glaring eyes, in white robes and carrying a sacrificial knife. Marius took with his army a Syrian prophetess called Martha, to act as an antidote…’59
Germans worshipped and sacrificed alfresco, preferably in secret places, deep in the forest: ‘consecrating groves and woods; and giving divine names to mysterious and invisible spirits’.60 Clumps of oak, sometimes with perpetual fires burning, or islands in lakes, were favourite sanctuaries. Human sacrifice is amply attested archaeologically. More than four hundred corpses, some astonishingly preserved, have been recovered from pools and peat bogs in northern Germany and Scandinavia, often ritually drowned or buried; though it is difficult to distinguish these from victims of execution, for example for adultery or homosexual offences. The custom of consigning offerings to wells, rivers and marshes has provided the richest source of Germanic or imported artifacts and treasures, including jewellery, tableware, weapons and even ships.
Women were especially linked to divination. The prophecies of seeresses were sometimes based on the snorting and neighing of white horses, stabled in the sacred groves. The principal deities of the German pantheon are well known from legend, some even surviving into modern speech. Tiwaz, god of war (later Wodan) and Donar, god of thunder (later Thor) are among the most prominent. As elsewhere in the Roman orbit, local gods were often twinned with classical counterparts, resulting in common worship on both banks of the Rhine. The Saxons later carried the German gods to England. Thus, comparing with the French equivalents, we have Tuesday/Mardi, which shows the equating of Tiwaz and Mars; Wednesday/Mercredi, of Wodan and Mercury; and Thursday/Jeudi of Thor and Jupiter.61
What was the population of the German lands? The question of numbers, both inside and outside Roman territory, is a vexed one. Until the mid 1970s learned guesses were putting the Germans at below two million,62 the Britons even less, the Gauls slightly more; as distinct from the longer-civilized eastern provinces; such as Egypt, at eight million. Over the last twenty years, however, the accelerating tempo of ‘rescue archaeology’, as well as the increasing frequency of aerial survey, combined with dry summers, have revealed settlement to be far commoner than formerly supposed. Opinion is moving toward a trebling of estimates for Iron Age North-West Europe.63 Six million now seems feasible for Germany, not even including Scandinavia. As mentioned, Augustus’ new, professional army was about one third of a million, with the part normally available to the German theatre numbering perhaps 95,000. Caesar estimated Suebian fighting strength alone as 100,000.64 Nevertheless, Roman experience continued to teach that discipline, assisted by the usual barbarian shortcomings, could prevail against limitless odds. After all, the Gauls, more advanced and better equipped, had been demolished by nine legions in a few campaigning seasons. Why not the Germans?
How might such a conquest benefit Rome? Germany’s reputation as a source of metals was low. ‘The gods have denied them gold and silver,’ said Tacitus, ‘though whether to spite them or protect them I know not.’65 Agricultural potential was considerable but presented huge problems of development. Manpower, too, was valuable but the people were intractable. From any practical standpoint the test of worthwhileness would surely read negative. Yet strategically Germany was important. Possession would complete Rome’s hold on Central Europe. Eastern Europe would then lie open. On the other hand, one must ask how well Romans understood the German character or the practical problems which the country presented. Had they grasped Germany’s size? Did they appreciate the scale of the lands beyond? These questions lead to an even more elementary question: did they have maps of the scope and accuracy to offer an overview on which strategic judgements could be based?
The entire question of Roman cartography is blurred by the survival of the wrong sort of map. First there is the Tabula Peutingeriana, now in Vienna, named after one Conrad Peutinger (1465–1547), town clerk of Augsburg, through whose hands it passed. This is a medieval copy of a 2nd-century route map of the empire which, together with surviving i
tineraria (road manuals), sees the Roman world much as a traveller on the Underground might see London: a series of destinations laid out in stylized pattern, with the character of the earth’s surface virtually ignored.
Secondly, there were the ‘world maps’, in the Greek tradition. Relevant to our period was the orbis terrarum, commissioned by Augustus and supervised by his minister, Marcus Agrippa. It was displayed beneath a colonnade on the east side of what is today the Via del Corso, Rome. This was the Portico of Marcellus, dedicated by the emperor’s sister, which the errant Ovid so tactlessly specified, in his Ars Amatoria, as a first-class location for picking up girls! All trace of the map is lost, but Pliny often quotes its data in his Natural History. From this – and from the maps of Claudius Ptolemy, a century-and-a-half later – we may guess that Agrippa’s depiction of north-eastern Europe was sketchy; and beyond the Vistula virtually non-existent. The main intention of the orbis terrarum was doubtless propagandist: to display the superimposition of Rome’s works upon the face of geography rather than geography per se.
Thirdly, there were almost certainly military maps, based on the realistic appraisal of terrain. A variety of references66 tell us not only that the army made maps, but that it was probably the main instrument of mapmaking, as it was of exploration. We also know of the excellence of Roman surveying, though much of it concerned property boundaries,67 which required measurement for fiscal reasons. Surveyors were part of a legion’s normal complement. Indeed the entire road system was a product of their skills; and the precision of its alignments over long distances suggests reference to accurate maps. Unfortunately none survives.
Regarding knowledge of Germany: if topographic maps were soldier-made and roadwork-based, these are two reasons why there would be no mapping of the roadless regions beyond the army’s reach. At best there would be sketch-maps embodying merchants’ accounts. Nevertheless, Augustus must have been aware of Germany’s dimensions, since the empire was ranged along two of its sides; and the third was known through the Amber Road. On the other hand, there is no certainty that ambitions ended with Germany. His view of the lands beyond was presumably coloured by the universal error which judged nearer places as relatively bigger than places further away or lesser known. Pliny, for example, gives Europe as 42 per cent of the world, Asia as 32 per cent and Africa 22 per cent (the remaining 4 per cent being ocean!).68 It would therefore hardly be surprising if the Augustans underestimated Eastern Europe. Above all, it is doubtful whether any Roman could have evaluated the northward turn of the Baltic coast beyond the Vistula’s mouth, even had he known of it. This trivial-seeming feature is perhaps the most fateful in the entire relationship between geography and history. It means that the North European Plain, a mere thirty miles broad at Brussels and just 200 at Berlin, widens to 1,400 at Moscow. This progression is the true deterrent to an invasion of Eastern Europe and has defeated all who tried. However, realities only deter those who know of them. Almost certainly this generation of Romans was ignorant of the true extent of the eastern lands and did not have maps on which to base sound judgements regarding their potential for conquest.
What were the influences prompting Augustus toward wider ventures? The mood of the time, if correctly reflected in the early empire’s literature, leans unmistakably toward expansion on the grounds of mission, destiny and divine will. For example Pliny (AD 23–79) on the role of Italy and the Latin language:
A land chosen by divine providence to unify empires so disparate and races so manifold; to bring to a common concord so many rough, discordant voices; to give culture to mankind; to become, in short, the whole world’s homeland.69
Vitruvius argues yet more firmly of a right earned by effort, with effort attributable to vigour, vigour to climate and climate to celestial guidance:
So Italy, twixt north and south, combines the best of both with a superiority beyond dispute. She is by her wisdom able to defeat the courage of the northern and the cunning of the southern peoples. Surely then it was a divine intelligence which placed the city of Rome in so perfect and temperate a country, with the intention that she should win the right to rule the world.70
‘The gods favour us,’71 says Tacitus more tersely; while Virgil has Jupiter himself proclaim:
On Romans I place bonds neither of time nor space.
To them empire without limit do I grant.72
And again, in a celebrated expression of Roman dignity and destiny:
Rome, be this
Thy care: to hold the nations in dominion and
Impose the law of peace; to spare the humble
And to crush the proud.73
What were Augustus’ own views on empire without limit? Suetonius tells us of the emperor’s reverence for Alexander the Great and of his visit to Alexandria, where he crowned the mummified body with a golden diadem.74 One of his seals of office also bore Alexander’s likeness. His arrangements for the Forum of Augustus in Rome offer comparable hints:
After the gods, Augustus most revered those who had uplifted Rome from her modest past to her glorious present. To these he caused statues to be erected in the two colonnades of his Forum, with the inscription: ‘This have I done in order that my fellow citizens may expect that I while I live, and my successors after me, shall match the promise of these great ones of our history.’75
Reverence for Alexander was equalled by admiration for Caesar, whose heir Augustus claimed to be. Plutarch tells us76 that Caesar’s ambition, forestalled by his death in 44 BC, was to conquer Parthia, returning via the Caspian, southern Russia and Germany; so describing a vast arc which would settle all frontier problems to Rome’s north-east: a concept of breathtaking optimism, displaying the haziest grasp of the true extent of those lands and the difficulties they presented. This was, nevertheless, the climate of thinking which the first emperor inherited.
Underestimation of space was matched by the under-rating of people. The Germans, docile in the army, affable on the Rhine bank, tolerant of mercantile penetration, seemed to promise light resistance. Beyond Germany, in today’s eastern Poland and western Russia, lay races whose extreme backwardness rendered them of little military consequence. Tacitus describes the Fenni (Finns), then dwelling in the Moscow region, as: ‘Living in astonishing barbarism and disgusting misery, eating wild plants, wearing skins and sleeping on the ground. Nor have their infants protection against wild beasts or weather, save a few crossed branches. Beyond, the rest is fable: the Hellusii and Oxiones, with men’s faces but beasts’ bodies…’77
Such then were the distortions of the early imperial view. If it is correct that Germany was seen as a military prospect no more daunting than Gaul, that the Eastern European peoples were considered of little account and that Asia was judged as a quarter of actuality, then a policy of indefinite expansion might have appeared less megalomanic than it does today. Viewed from Palatine Hill, conquest of the world (or at any rate the possession of all its useful lands) was a destiny which may have seemed both manifest and attainable. Nor need one doubt Augustus’ intention to carry the empire a substantial step toward it.
The pretext for a German war was not difficult to find. In 16 BC, the twelfth year of Augustus’ reign, a Roman legion commanded by Marcus Lollius had been wiped out in a foray into northern Gaul by the Sugambrian tribe, an event which became known as the Lollian Disaster. Some four years later – ostensibly in response to this affront – Roman forces in large numbers were streaming northwards from the Rhone and eastwards from the interior of Gaul toward forward positions on the Rhine where Drusus, Tiberius’ younger brother, was soon to take command. These were the brothers, Livia’s sons and Augustus’ stepsons, who not long before had made short work of the Alpine tribes by engulfing them in a deadly succession of pincer movements: a two-season conquest recorded on the tropaeum Alpium, a still-standing memorial at La Turbie, behind Monte Carlo. Now duty divided their paths. That of Tiberius lay across the Julian Alps, where he was pushing through Illyricum toward the mid
dle Danube; that of Drusus across the Rhine, with orders to carry Roman arms to the Elbe. First he must install his legions and many auxiliary units on the Rhine’s west bank, then probe the routes to the German interior.
The historian Florus, writing a century later, tells us that Drusus built ‘over fifty forts on the Rhine alone’.78 Perhaps half that number has been found. These were earth-and-timber transit camps for outward-bound armies, which would also serve for overwintering and as supply bases. Almost all lie under later forts and are seldom easy to trace. Some are the progenitors of great cities like Basle, Strasbourg, Mainz, Cologne and Nijmegen, whose ancient centres and cathedrals stand where, in the last decade before our era, there were leather tents and crude timber buildings within palisaded mounds of turf or mud.
The biggest of these forts were placed opposite favoured invasion routes: the Rhine’s eastern tributaries, whose valleys cut into the wooded hills of western Germany. In practice, though all exits from Germany must be guarded, few matched the cautious requirements of Roman entry. The Ruhr, Sieg and Lahn, for example, twist and turn, hemmed in tightly by hills. These were death-traps. The Neckar appears to lead eastwards but then betrays its early promise by snaking back toward the Alps. Throughout the southern half of the Rhine’s course the Main alone fulfils the invader’s expectations. Though winding, it leads the traveller to within twenty-five miles of today’s Czech border. Accordingly, opposite its discharge into the Rhine, the two-legion base of Moguntiacum (Mainz) was founded.
Romans and Barbarians: Four Views From the Empire's Edge Page 11
