The Sword of Rome

by Jeremiah McCall

  Back at Venusia, the Roman and Carthaginian armies remained in their stalemate. Marcellus and Hannibal had gone through this maneuver for two years straight, the former seeking battle, the latter refusing unless the circumstances appeared to favour him overwhelmingly. One morning, no different at its start from so many others, Marcellus decided to scout a hill near the camp to see if it might serve either as a potential base for a Carthaginian attack or a superior position for the Roman camp. He ordered the officers remaining at camp to ready the troops to move should the hill be suitable for occupying. Then, he and Crispinus, along with some officers, cavalry, and light infantry went to reconnoiter the hill. The expedition followed the road up the hill – right into an ambush. Numidian cavalry were hidden on the hilltop, hoping to catch straggling Roman foragers or other small prey. That day, likely beyond their wildest ambitions, they had caught both consuls. The Roman scouting party was surrounded, blocked from the ridge and prevented from retreating by ambushers from behind. There was nothing to do but cut a way back to the camp or die in the effort. Marcellus died in the fighting. Crispinus was gravely wounded but made it back to camp with the remnants of the expedition, including Marcellus’ son, also wounded that day.

  We will turn to the controversy his death caused shortly. But even in death, Marcellus’ immediate influence on the war in Italy was, strangely enough, not quite over. Hannibal acted quickly to transfer his camp to the hill where the consul had fallen. In the process, the Carthaginian forces came across Marcellus’ signet ring. Using this ring, Hannibal sealed a forged letter to Salapia. The letter informed the Salapians that the consul was coming and that they should grant him access to the city. Then, Hannibal marched to Salapia with Roman deserters in the van to hide his army’s identity. Late in the night these deserters demanded the Salapians open the gates and allow the consul entrance. As it happened, however, Crispinus had anticipated the trouble Marcellus’ lost ring could cause and warned the nearest cities that the consul was dead. The guards of Salapia, sufficiently warned, allowed the Roman deserters into the city, closed the gates, and slaughtered the infiltrators. There was nothing more to be gained at Salapia, and Hannibal marched back to defend Locri.50

  After the ambush, the consul Crispinus opted to follow Hannibal with his own forces, but ordered the younger Marcellus to lead his father’s troops to quarters at Venusia; presumably the son was in need of a task to occupy him, and Crispinus was not willing to risk the dead consul’s namesake in battle, especially since he had been wounded in the ambush. Before following Hannibal, Crispinus dispatched a letter to Rome reporting the disaster.51 All told, the news must have sparked great controversy the moment the letter arrived. One consul had fallen, the other was gravely wounded and incapable of returning to Rome, and Hannibal was engaged in lethal mischief with Marcellus’ ring. When the word spread that such horrific losses occurred during a scouting expedition and were, in some sense, avoidable, no doubt the queries and criticisms, founded or not, raced throughout the city among aristocrats and commoners alike.

  Somewhere in this all-too-human process of rumour, speculation, and accusation, variant versions of Marcellus’ death took shape. It is really not surprising that Marcellus’ final moments were subjected to considerable debate and so many variant traditions developed, considering the magnitude of the commander’s reputation and the controversy later sparked by his decision to reconnoiter the hill personally. Livy notes:

  I should be very discursive in regard to a single event, if I should aim to rehearse all the statements in which authorities differ concerning the death of Marcellus. Not to mention others, Coelius furnishes successively a threefold relation of what happened: one the traditional account, a second set down in the eulogy pronounced by his son, who was present, Coelius says, when it happened, a third which he himself contributes as investigated and established by him. But the divergent reports fall within this range, that most authorities relate that he left the camp to reconnoiter a position, while all say that he was overwhelmed by an ambush.52

  Livy’s source, Coelius Antipater, who wrote in the late second century, may have been giving himself too much credit here. Granted, tradition was hardly a sure source of valid evidence, and the account the son gave of the great commander at his funeral may well have been embellished. Still, if neither the traditional account nor the eyewitness account of the younger Marcellus held sufficient truth, it is difficult to see how a Roman writing some ninety years later could conduct an independent investigation that would yield superior results.

  So what did happen on the day Marcellus died? Clearly, the sources agreed that Marcellus’ group was ambushed. Polybius, providing our earliest surviving version of the account simply says that Marcellus and several others were killed at the start – though whether this means in the initial surprise attack or early fighting, it is impossible to say. The rest of the detachment scattered and fled, every man for himself. The whole incident was over almost before it had begun.53 Livy portrays the ambush as a more prolonged engagement. In his version, a desperate skirmish broke out as the Roman cavalry fought for their lives and the lives of their consuls. The Etruscan component of the cavalry fled the scene, dooming the Roman force. Nevertheless, the cavalry troopers from Fregellae continued to fight bravely. Of the two consuls, Crispinus was gravely wounded by a pair of javelins, while Marcellus, struck by a spear thrust, fell from his horse and died. Somehow a small group managed to return to the safety of the Roman camps along with Crispinus and the younger Marcellus, who was also wounded.54 Strictly speaking, Livy does not say how long Marcellus lasted, though he does give the impression the general was engaged in fighting.

  Plutarch follows this version: the cavalry troopers of Fregellae stood with the consuls until the one was killed and the other gravely wounded.55 He gives the impression of a fight that lasted more than the instant Polybius suggested. Plutarch’s version also suggests that Marcellus died actively fighting, however quickly. Plutarch contrasts the Etruscans among the cavalry who fled with the Fregellans who banded around the consuls and defended them. Crispinus was seriously wounded and forced to flee, but Marcellus was pierced in the side with a spear and died. Seeing the consul slain, a few of the remaining Fregellan cavalry grabbed his son and fled for camp. Perhaps Marcellus did die fighting, but it may also be that his witnesses wanted to make what was a sudden, unexpected and seemingly preventable death, as glorious as possible, a difficult task.

  It may seem trivial to puzzle out the details of his death. In the end, the old war-horse Marcellus – he was after all over sixty, respectably old for a Roman who was still commanding armies – was dead. He died in battle, surely a horrible way to die, however glorified by the poets. But the intense debate over the manner of his death offers a fascinating look into the ways that the variant historical traditions at Rome were established, debated, and mutated as Roman writers sought to provide object examples of exemplary and undignified behaviour for their readers. Polybius, a former military commander in his own right and no particular fan of Marcellus, gave a scathing assessment half a century or more later:

  Marcellus, it must be confessed, brought this misfortune on himself by behaving not so much like a general as like a simpleton. Throughout this work I am often compelled to call the attention of my readers to such occurrences, as I observe that generals are more liable to make mistakes in this matter than in any other parts of their duty as commanders, although the error is such an obvious one. For what is the use of a general or commander who does not comprehend that he must keep himself as far away as possible from all partial encounters in which the fate of the whole army is not involved? Of what use is he if he does not know that, if circumstances at times compel commanders to undertake in person such partial encounters, they must sacrifice many of their men before the danger is suffered to approach the supreme commander of the whole? ... And as for saying ‘I should never have thought it’ or ‘Who would have expected it to happen?’ that in a general i
s a most manifest sign of incompetence and dullness.56

  Though one might suspect that Polybius insults Marcellus too wantonly considering the many successes of the commander, the criticism, nevertheless, stuck in the tradition. Livy, writing at the beginning of the Empire, softened the blow, not willing to excoriate the great commander whose tales of victories he had written about in the past five books. Still, he suggested:

  Marcellus’ death was pitiable both for other reasons and also because it was neither consistent with his age – for he was now more than 60 years old – nor with his foresight as a veteran commander, that with such imprudence he had carried himself and his colleague and almost the entire state over the brink.’57

  Indeed, by Livy’s day at the latest the tradition developed that Marcellus had received sufficient warning from the gods that his scouting expedition would end poorly. Where Polybius is silent on the matter, Livy notes that, according to some sources Marcellus had offered sacrifices before setting out. The liver of the first sacrificial victim was flawed, while the second was exceptional. The mixed results displeased the haruspex, the priest on duty charged with interpreting the outcome of sacrifices. Marcellus, however, deliberately ignored the sign from the gods and went on to die.58 A century after Livy, Plutarch, himself fascinated with matters of religion enough to become a priest, essentially gives Livy’s telling with just a bit more descriptive detail.59 By his day, the tradition already included the details from Livy’s day, that Marcellus had ignored the signs of the gods and died bravely in battle. The report that Marcellus ignored the divine signs no doubt came from a critic; presumably, the account that he died bravely in battle came from his son or Crispinus. Both statements may well have been true, even though Polybius made no mention of them. After he had ignored the spolia opima, it is not surprising that Polybius would also pass on any attempt to glorify Marcellus’ death. True or not, however, the version promoted by Livy and Plutarch fits their moralizing tone: Marcellus had behaved foolishly, perhaps, but he also had died bravely, as a Roman aristocrat should.

  The variant accounts continued when it came to the matter of his body. Plutarch provides at least two possibilities, the first, that Hannibal appropriately prepared Marcellus’ body and burned it. The remains were then placed in a silver urn and sent to the consul’s son. According to some ancient sources, however, the urn was fought over by the troops delivering it, and in the struggle Marcellus’ ashes were scattered far and wide. Then Plutarch adds, ‘Such, then, is the account given by Cornelius Nepos and Valerius Maximus; but Livy and Augustus Caesar state that the urn was brought to his son and buried with splendid rites,’60 which is odd enough since Livy, so far as we can recover, said no such thing. According to his account, Marcellus was buried by Hannibal’s forces on the hill where he was slain.61

  Whether the body or ashes were lost, clearly Marcellus was given a funeral celebration fitting a Roman aristocrat: Livy’s reference to a eulogy by Marcellus’ son is sufficient testimony to support what common sense suggests. Polybius provides us with our most detailed description of an aristocratic funeral in the Republic, and it is worth considering his words when visualizing the celebration held for Marcellus’ life.

  Whenever any illustrious man dies, he is carried at his funeral into the forum to the so-called rostra, sometimes conspicuous in an upright posture and more rarely reclined. Here with all the people standing round, a grownup son, if he has left one who happens to be present, or if not some other relative, mounts the rostra and discourses on the virtues and successful achievements of the dead. As a consequence the multitude and not only those who had a part in these achievements, but those also who had none, when the facts are recalled to their minds and brought before their eyes, are moved to such sympathy that the loss seems to be not confined to the mourners, but a public one affecting the whole people. Next after the interment and the performance of the usual ceremonies, they place the image of the departed in the most conspicuous position in the house, enclosed in a wooden shrine. This image is a mask reproducing with remarkable fidelity both the features and complexion of the deceased. On the occasion of public sacrifices they display these images, and decorate them with much care, and when any distinguished member of the family dies they take them to the funeral, putting them on men who seem to them to bear the closest resemblance to the original in stature and carriage. These representatives wear togas, with a purple border if the deceased was a consul or praetor, whole purple if he was a censor, and embroidered with gold if he had celebrated a triumph or achieved anything similar. They all ride in chariots preceded by the fasces, axes, and other insignia by which the different magistrates are wont to be accompanied according to the respective dignity of the offices of state held by each during his life; and when they arrive at the rostra they all seat themselves in a row on ivory chairs. There could not easily be a more ennobling spectacle for a young man who aspires to fame and virtue. For who would not be inspired by the sight of the images of men renowned for their excellence, all together and as if alive and breathing? What spectacle could be more glorious than this? Besides, he who makes the oration over the man about to be buried, when he has finished speaking of him recounts the successes and exploits of the rest whose images are present, beginning with the most ancient. By this means, by this constant renewal of the good report of brave men, the celebrity of those who performed noble deeds is rendered immortal, while at the same time the fame of those who did good service to their country becomes known to the people and a heritage for future generations.62

  Certainly, there were many funerals where the deceased might be eclipsed in deeds by his ancestors. In this case, Marcellus was without question the star of his family. And though his body could not be displayed in the funeral, there is good reason to suspect that the eulogy delivered by his son was rare in the number and magnitude of the deeds it praised – or to put it another way, rare in the legitimate number and magnitude of deeds praised. Five times elected consul; winner of the spolia opima; celebrator of a triumph, a second triumph on the Alban Mount, and an ovation; a skilled duelist; the first Roman general to win any sort of victory in pitched battle against Hannibal; the sacker of Syracuse; one who had held imperium and commanded armies in the war against Hannibal for more consecutive years than any other living aristocrat.63 No doubt, there was much for the son, family, and city of Marcellus to celebrate about his life and achievements.

  What of the Republic without its sword? By 208, it cannot truly be said that the war against Hannibal was won, but Marcellus had played a crucial role in turning the tide against the Carthaginian invader. The year 208 saw the last major military crisis during the war in Italy. Hannibal’s brother, Hasdrubal, marched another army from Spain to northern Italy with the goal of refreshing Hannibal’s forces significantly, a move that could have shifted the balance of the war back toward the Carthaginian. Ultimately, however, Hasdrubal’s army was shattered at the River Metaurus in northern Italy (207), and Hasdrubal’s head was later cast at the feet of a shocked Hannibal in the south. After this defeat, Hannibal’s prospects for winning the war in Italy dissipated, at least in his own estimation. He led his troops south to Bruttium, the heel of Italy, and remained there in 206. His army was still far too powerful to be rooted out of the region, but Hannibal never again made serious forays into the rest of Italy.

  Meanwhile, the young but soon to be spectacularly famous Publius Cornelius Scipio was honing his command skills in Spain. His father of the same name and his uncle had commanded the Roman operations in Spain since the beginning of the war. Both lost their lives in battle in 211. Though only twenty four and far too young for such an honour, the younger Scipio petitioned to lead reinforcements to Spain and take over command of the forces there. Both because of his already developed reputation as an officer and his family connection, the Roman assemblies willingly put their trust in the young man. Over the next few years, Scipio showed himself to be an outstanding general, and after a number of
sieges and smaller battles, the Carthaginian forces in Spain were defeated decisively at Ilipa in 206. With the expulsion of Carthaginian forces from Spain, Scipio returned to Rome to seek the consulship for 205, though he was only thirty-one and had never held the praetorship.

  Scipio won election to the consulship for 205 and planned to launch an invasion of Africa. The usual senatorial rivalries disrupted his plan, however, and he was given command over Sicily, already long pacified. Scipio made good use of his time on the island to prepare an invasion force. After his consulship ended he was made proconsul for 204 and at the close of the year landed an invasion force in Africa. It was the threat of this Roman force, which began to carve into Carthaginian territory, and the pleas for assistance from the Carthaginian senate that finally dislodged Hannibal from Italy. He gathered his troops and left Europe late in 203. The next year, the two armies maneuvered until they ultimately decided upon the plains of Zama in North Africa as the ground for their final battle. That day Scipio and the Roman army were the victors; Hannibal and his forces were decisively defeated.

  The second war against Carthage was over. This time Carthage had lost its hold in Sicily, and the Roman empire now extended across the western Mediterranean. Over the next fifty years or so, the Romans would come into conflict with most of the remaining great powers of the Mediterranean, eventually dominating each. This process continued into the Empire, at which point the Romans had a new name for the Mediterranean, simply mare nostrum (‘our sea’). That was some time off. In the short term, Carthage, though its fleets were destroyed and it was required to pay a large war indemnity, was left essentially unscathed. It essentially retained its holdings in Africa and bounced back quickly. It was not until just over fifty years later, in the third and final war against Carthage, really a protracted siege more than a war, that the Romans decided – literally – to remove Carthage from the face of the earth. They razed the city, sowed salt in its fields, and placed a Roman colony nearby. Carthage was no more.