The Sword of Rome

by Jeremiah McCall

  Livy wrote what was, for him, fundamentally an epic moral tale, and he did it on an epic scale. The Ab Urbe Condita begins with the legendary landing of the Trojan Aeneas in Italy and the subsequent – perhaps slightly less legendary – founding of Rome by Romulus and Remus. From there it recounted the Monarchy and the whole of the Republic – more than seven centuries by Livy’s reckoning. The overall tenor of the epic history is established in Livy’s preface:

  I hope my passion for Rome’s past has not impaired my judgment; for I do honestly believe that no country has ever been greater or purer than ours or richer in good citizens and noble deeds. No country has been free for so many generations from the vices of avarice and luxury; nowhere have thrift and plain living been held in such esteem for so long. Indeed, poverty, with us, went hand in hand with contentment. Lately, however, wealth has made us greedy, and self-indulgence has brought us, through every form of sensual excess, to be, if I may so put it, in love with death both individual and collective.9

  Accordingly, Marcellus, like the rest of the characters in Ab Urbe Condita, would be described in ways that exemplify moral and immoral behaviours. Certainly, Livy was educated, intelligent, and skilled at his task and we should not expect to find crude statements of praise and censure at everything Marcellus did or said. In the end, however, there is little escaping the sense that for Livy Marcellus was a paradigm as often as he was a human.

  What were Livy’s sources for his grand work? In the books that include references to Marcellus, Livy relied heavily upon the earlier Roman historians, Quintus Fabius Pictor from the late third century, Polybius and Lucius Calpurnius Piso from the later second century, and the first century historians Gaius Licinius Macer and Valerius Antias.10 With the exception of Polybius, all of these historians were Roman; none of their works survive in any significant fashion. Of them all, only Fabius Pictor had actually seen, and presumably spoken with, Marcellus. While Pictor could have used his memory and conversations with contemporaries, and Polybius asserted that he talked to eyewitnesses to encompass events at Rome between c. 220 and his own day, what other sources did these and other historians have for the period of Marcellus’ life?

  Presumably an important source of information was the public records the Roman priests kept, the Annales Maximi. So far as we know, however, the annals provided only brief records of facts that had religious significance. These could include – though this is speculation at best – the chief officials of the year; the celebrations of religious festivals; special or strange events; and omens like plagues, celestial abnormalities, and unusual victories and defeats. These records probably did not, historians think, provide substantial enough details to fill out a history, but could provide a framework for a history. An additional source of structure for Livy came from the Fasti, the record of office holders and of those who had earned the military honours of a triumph or ovation.

  Then there were the histories kept by the great aristocratic families of the Republic to preserve the deeds of their famous ancestors. Clearly, these were not unbiased accounts, a point fully recognized by Roman writers such as Cicero, who notes:

  Speeches in praise of the dead are indeed extant; for families kept them as a sort of honour and a record, in order to preserve the memory of the achievements of the family and document its nobility. Of course, the history of Rome has been falsified by these speeches; for there is much in them which never happened – invented triumphs, additional consulships, false claims to patrician status, and so on.11

  A generation later, Livy complains similarly of the difficulties brought on by spurious family records:

  The record has been falsified, I believe, by funeral eulogies and fictitious inscriptions on portrait busts, when families try to appropriate to themselves the tradition of exploits and titles of office by means of inventions calculated to deceive. This has led to confusion both in individual achievements and in public records of events.12

  In a time when there were few authoritative documents to counter dubious claims, a family historian might insert extra distinctions and honours. If done judiciously, these would be difficult to detect. There were practical limits to what fabrications might be achieved, of course, since the outlandish claim of one family history might be checked by the accounts of others. It is not clear at all, however, that Livy and the Roman historians on whom he based his account exercised that level of source criticism.

  Where Livy’s work can be the most troublesome is in his discussion of military affairs. Marcellus was a military man, but Livy clearly never was – he attempted to capture the details and emotions of battlefields, never having experienced a battle first hand. Where his account is derived from sources containing accurate military information, his accuracy in these matters is presumably greater. However, this is clearly not always the case. There are some notable examples where Livy clearly drew directly from Polybius and made – accidental? – slips in the translation that create simply ridiculous military situations. The best known comes from his description of a battle between Roman legions and a Macedonian phalanx. Polybius says, ‘Since the enemy was close at hand, the men of the phalanx were ordered to lower their pikes (into position) and charge,’ meaning that the pikes were lowered into a suitable position for attack. Livy translates the passage as something like, ‘[the commander] ordered the Macedonian phalanx to lay down its pikes, the length of which was hindering the troops, and to fight with swords.’ The primary slip is the translation of Polybius’ ‘lower pikes’ to ‘lay down pikes’. From there, however, Livy seems to have felt the need to explain the situation and adds the phrase about the length of the spears proving unmanageable to the phalanx. In doing so, Livy fundamentally mangles for readers the core characteristic of the phalanx as a unit that depended on its long spears to function at full effectiveness.13

  After Livy came a number of biographers, poets, and chroniclers from the Roman Empire, the period that began late in the first century BC. Writing centuries after Marcellus lived, they offer the possibility of independent historical accounts of the general. Plutarch’s writings are the most substantial of these sources. Plutarch was from Chaeronea, a town in mainland Greece, and when he lived, during the first and early second century AD, Greece was completely part of the Roman Empire. Plutarch’s great literary task was to write parallel biographies matching famous Greeks and Romans that seemed in some way similar in their careers. Marcellus’ biography was paired with that of Pelopidas, the fourth century Greek commander who helped his city-state of Thebes achieve a measure of political power at the time. Plutarch, in some ways similarly to Livy, uses his characters to exemplify virtues and vices. His chronology of events can be confusing and his details fuzzy. Nevertheless, he does provide information about Marcellus. He also at times clearly used sources that provided different versions of the evidence for Marcellus, which allows us to corroborate and challenge the evidence in Livy and Polybius’ versions.14

  At this point it would be quite reasonable for a reader to wonder how anything substantive can be said about Marcellus at all. The answer quite simply, is that only by following the rules of historical method can anything worthwhile be said about Marcellus. The first of these is that one must always consider the sources of evidence and be aware of the potential of those sources to distort, lie outright, or simply misinterpret the causes and effects of the past. The second is that whenever possible, the evidence in one source should be checked against that in others to test its validity. Livy might moralize as might Plutarch; Polybius might skimp on praise; where all three agree, however, it generally can be considered a solid point of evidence. Even when there is corroboration of evidence between sources, however, it is critical to test the evidence by its ability to be woven into a plausible explanation of the past. This is, if anything, even more critical when, as is so often the case, there is only one source of evidence. It is important to remember that, despite the remoteness of the past and the difficulties the sources pose, all thing
s are not equal, some are not plausible, others not possible. Evidence must not only be critiqued and corroborated, therefore; it must be worked into consistent and plausible models of cause and effect. Otherwise, there is no point to the endeavor of studying the past critically.

  Using these historical tools to dig into the available evidence, a picture of Marcellus far more complicated than that simply of the heroic general can be unearthed. What makes Marcellus particularly interesting is that he exemplifies the double-edged sword a reputation for courage and success in military ventures was in the Republic. In a society that prized military virtues so highly, it may be surprising that Marcellus met with considerable political opposition in his spectacular career. Here is a partial list, which will be explored in greater detail throughout this book. When he was in the field in 216, some senators complained that he had been sent away by his enemies to prevent his running for the consulship of 215. He had just been elected consul in 215, the first time two plebeians had ever been elected to the office, when an augur heard a clap of thunder. In the ensuing debate the decision came about that the gods were displeased, and Marcellus stepped down. When Marcellus returned to Rome from Sicily, fresh from his victory over the city of Syracuse, he found an embassy of Syracusans there, protesting to the senate his excessive cruelty. Sponsored by his rivals, the Syracusans presented their case to the senate, and Marcellus had to deliver a speech formally defending his actions. Marcellus overcame all these political obstacles and yet still he was put on trial by a tribune in 208 for losing a battle against Hannibal. In fact, an excellent case can be made that Marcellus met with some of these obstructions in part because he was so successful – the senate as an institution had a way of limiting the success of individual aristocrats so that they would not become too powerful and eclipse their colleagues. Even in the depths of the war against Hannibal, aristocratic competition for prestige, influence, and power carried on largely unhindered. Yet through all the positioning and posturing, maneuvering and checking, Marcellus managed to earn a series of unparalleled honours that ensured his reputation would last millennia longer than the Republic itself.

  Maps

  List of Maps

  1. Gallic Campaign, 225–222 BC

  2. Roman and Carthaginian Territory in 218 BC

  3. Hannibal’s Route to Cannae

  4. Republican Latium and Campania

  5. Campania, 216–215 BC

  6. Sicily

  7. Syracuse

  8. South Italy, 210–208 BC

  Diagrams

  List of Diagrams

  1. Standard components of a Roman legion

  2. Typical Roman army with Roman and allied forces

  3. Infantry maniples in a quincunx formation

  Gallic Campaign, 225–222 BC.

  Roman and Carthaginian Territory in 218BC.

  Hannibal’s Route to Cannae.

  Republican Latium and Campania.

  Campania, 216–215 BC.

  Sicily.

  Syracuse.

  South Italy, 210–208BC.

  Chapter 1

  The Early Career

  Though many Romans from the social and economic elite of the middle Republic happily chose to avoid a life in politics, Marcellus was not one of them. Born sometime around the year 268 BC, the 485th year since the founding of Rome, as the ancient Roman historians preferred to date things, he came from the Claudii Marcelli (the plural in Latin of Claudius Marcellus). This minor family had been part of the Roman political class meaning that it had members who had held political office in the Republic for less than a century. The first Marcus Claudius Marcellus in the historical record was the consul of 351. He had the distinction of being appointed dictator some time later, a position normally assigned when the state was in a military emergency. A religious objection, however, caused him to be removed quickly from office – these sorts of things happened not infrequently in the Republic. It was not until 287 that the next Marcellus held the consulship. There may have been members of the family who held lower offices in the years in between, but if so, the historical records – which are, admittedly, very sparse – do not mention them. So, when the Marcellus who is the subject of this biography was elected to his first political office it was an important distinction for his family.

  Marcellus himself, however, had begun to carve out a reputation of his own decades before holding office. He had begun his military service during the time of the long Roman struggle with Carthage later called the First Punic War (264–241). During that conflict, according to Plutarch:

  Marcellus was efficient and practiced in every kind of fighting, but in single combat he surpassed himself, never declining a challenge, and always killing his challengers. In Sicily he saved his brother Otacilius from peril of his life, covering him with his shield and killing those who were setting upon him. Wherefore, although he was still a youth, he received garlands and prizes from his commanders.1

  Marcellus had earned a reputation in these years of war as a skilled duelist, fighting in single combats during the course of battles against the enemy. The tradition of single combat, duels on the battlefield resulting from formal challenges, was far more common during the Republic than might be imagined. It was an important way for a young aspiring aristocrat to establish a name for himself and a reputation for virtus, that quality of martial manliness that served as currency among the ruling elite. Marcellus, however, exceeded the traditional standards, fighting not one single combat but many. In this he was among the very few; only two other Romans were recognized by the ancients for having fought in numerous single combats: the aristocrats Lucius Siccius Dentatus (mid-fifth century) and Marcus Servilius Geminus Pulex (late third to mid-second century).2

  While skill with spear, sword, and shield was highly valued in Roman society, it would not normally by itself allow Marcellus to stake a claim among the political elite of the Republic by entering the ranks of the senate. That required election to office. Unlike modern governments where politicians can campaign for and be elected directly to the legislature, a Roman did not win election to the senate directly. Instead, a Roman earned the right to be a senator, essentially a lifetime position, as a consequence of winning election to a magistracy. By winning election to the aedileship, or perhaps an earlier unattested office, Marcellus could expect to be enrolled in the senate when the next vacancy appeared. In doing so, he joined the ranks of the Roman aristocracy that governed the Republic. Though the definition is not without its problems, those Romans who held political office and their families can usefully be termed the aristocracy. They were the political elite among the Romans and members of the social elite.

  Marcellus, like most of his peers in the senatorial aristocracy, competed intensely for offices and honours, and any understanding of Marcellus requires an understanding of Roman aristocratic culture and the competitive system of politics and elections.3 For the modern reader, a useful analogy for understanding Roman politics in the Republic is a game, so long as it is understood that the participants in no way saw it as trivial. Simply put, like most games, Roman politics was a competition organized and limited by rules, with winners and losers. The players were the aristocrats. For these players the goal was to exercise power and influence in the Republic, which for practical purposes meant in the senate. Power and influence in the senate, in turn, were inextricably linked to election to offices and the honours that came with those offices. It is no coincidence that the word honos in Latin can mean both ‘political office’ and ‘honour’, for the latter came with the former for the Roman aristocrat. By the late third century, tradition and custom had ranked these offices into something of a cursus honorum, a ladder of offices that the most successful politicians would hold. Though one might begin the cursus as a quaestor serving as the financial secretary for a commander in the field, this was not a firm requirement. The first-rank offices that were generally required were the aedileship and the tribuneship. There were four aediles elected annu
ally who served as general city maintenance officials, and sponsored public festivals and games.4 Of the same rough rank but offering a different route into the senate were the tribunes of the plebeians; these ten magistrates were responsible for protecting the rights of the plebeians, i.e. commoners, ostensibly by vetoing oppressive legislation and protecting wronged debtors. Since these offices, like almost all those in the Republic, could only be held for one year, this meant fourteen Romans, in the third century, could fill all these offices yearly. Doing so would ultimately, though not always immediately, give each a seat in the senate if they had not previously been awarded one.

  From then on, however, the opportunities for higher offices grew more limited. For half of the third century, there was one praetorship, the praetor serving primarily as the judge in Roman lawsuits. Perhaps by the 240s, a second praetor was created. By Marcellus’ time – perhaps 227 – the number of praetors increased to four, the two newest praetors serving as military governors for the provinces of Sardinia and Sicily, acquired in the first war against Carthage (264–241).5 The total number of praetors did not increase again until the 190s, when the demands of governing the newly acquired province of Spain required the addition of two more praetors. Whether in the period of two praetors or four, the supply of offices available to ambitious aristocrats decreased dramatically from the first rungs of offices to the praetorship and, in doing so, drove up demand considerably.

  The crowning achievement in a successful political career was the consulship. Though the office of censor, which two Romans were elected to hold for about eighteen months once every five years, was rarer, the consulship brought with it the greatest opportunities to earn the currency of aristiocrats: distinction, dignity, and influence, and, above all, a reputation for virtus, the Roman ideal of manly military courage. These magistrates had full imperium, a term that is difficult to translate concisely but which expresses both the right to have one’s commands obeyed immediately and the rightful power to levy and command armies in the field. As wielders of imperium, the consuls were the chief executives for the year. They customarily chaired debates in the senate, selecting the topics for debate and the order in which senators would be allowed to respond. They also commanded the armies in the field, which provided the best opportunities for an aristocrat to earn the greatest honours through military victories.