Hoplites: The Classical Greek Battle Experience

by Victor Davis Hanson

  142. See A. du Picq, Battle Studies: Ancient and Modern Battle, tr. J.N. Greely and R.G.Cotton (Harrisburg, 1947) 63–93; Hanson 1989:162–4, cf. 70. Hanson's argument for Epaminondas' wound is based on Diodorus' account, but Plutarch and Nepos (see n. 141 supra; cf. Paus. 8.11.5–10) tell different stories. Archidamus' wound at Cromnus (365 BC Xen., Hell. 7.4.23) occurs in a battle of encounter, not a pitched battle (parataxis). Brasidas' wound when a spear pierced his shield is associated with his death at Amphipolis by Anderson (1970:16–17) and Hanson (1989:70), but not by Plutarch (Mor. 190B, 219C, 548B), the sole source of this anecdote, or by Thucydides (5.10.8). The story could also be a corruption of Brasidas' wound at Pylos (Thuc. 4.12.1) or a later invention. Thucydides' account of Brasidas' headlong charge to surprise Cleon (Thuc. 5.10.6–8, cf. the cavalry duel of Brasidas and Cleon in Tzetz. in Ar., Nub. 549a) without reference to Brasidas' troops is a prime example of the general's name symbolizing the force under his command and does not necessarily indicate that Brasidas led the charge. A study of hegeomai and similar verbs in military contexts would probably support this view. Amphipolis, in any event, was a surprise, not a pitched battle. Finally, even Diodorus' highly rhetorical account of Epaminondas at Mantineia has the general come to the fore only after the battle has gone on a long time (15.86.4). Diodorus' source was Ephorus, and Polybius (12.25f.3–5) considered Ephorus' account of Mantineia full of errors. See Buckler (supra n. 100) 268–9, 321 n. 26.

  143. Myronidas: Front., Strat. 2.4.11; Polyaenus 1.35.1; Thuc. 1.108.3; Daphaenus: Polyaenus 5.7. Anderson (1970:160) rejects the story about Myronidas apparently from its sole occurrence in late sources, but it is well known that Ephorus was the chief source of Polyaenus' first book and Frontinus used earlier Greek sources: see Wheeler (supra n. 12) 174 with n. 65 and (supra n. 82) 18. Of course the authority of Ephorus does not guarantee accuracy, but it does eliminate Anderson's view for rejection.

  144. See Thuc. 5.71–3; cf. Anderson 1970:71–2.

  145. Polyaenus 3.9.12; cf. Arist., EN 3.8.5; Onas. 32.1. The controversy over the position of the Theban Sacred Band at Leuctra and Pelopidas' role in the battle does not concern us, since Pelopidas in this battle was a subordinate commander. I remain, however, unconvinced by the attacks on Anderson's view, since critics have not adequately addressed inter alia the parallel between Leuctra and Xenophon's battle of Thymbrara in the Cyropaedia. See Anderson 1970:165–220; contra Buckler (supra n. 100) 55–66 and 'Plutarch on Leuctra,' SymbOslo 55 (1980) 75–93; Lazenby 1985:155–62; C.J.Tuplin, 'The Leuctra Campaign: some outstanding problems,' Klio 69 (1987) 84–93; Hanson 1988:196–7. Polybius (12.25f.4) called Leuctra a simple battle!

  146. Evidence collected in Pritchett, War 1.109–12; War 4.63, 73–4, 83–8.

  147. Xenophon (Lac. Resp. 13.8) states that the enemy watches the sacrifice, but Plutarch (Lyc. 22.2) says only that the enemy is present. Pritchett (War 3.86) also emphasizes Thuc. 6.69–2 and Eur., Heracl. 672–3. The verb propheron in this passage of Thucydides need not mean 'carry in front of,' but rather could simply indicate 'offer' or 'present.' A scholiast on the passage (emprosthen tes stratias esphagiazonto) does not have independent value. Likewise, Euripides says only that the sacrifice was taxeon hekas, not necessarily in front of the army. Similarly, the general or Spartan king did begin the paean (evidence in War 1.106–7), although exerchen in Plut., Lyc. 22.2 offers no proof that the king was physically in front of his men. In some cases the commander could raise the paean and lead the charge, as Cyrus commanding the right wing cavalry at Thymbrara (Xen., Cyr. 7.1.25).

  148. Hdt. 9.61.3, 72.1; cf. Pritchett, War 3.78.

  149. Diod. 15.56.1–2; Polyaenus 2.3.2. At Chaeronea (338 BC) Diodorus (16.86.4) has Philip II in the front ranks, but in Polyaenus (4.2.2) he executed a feigned retreat. The depiction of Miltiades on the Stoa Poecile offers no conclusive evidence that he stood in the front rank at Marathon: see n. 75 supra.

  150. Plut., Ages. 36.3, Mor. 225D; cf. Cleom. 31.1–2.

  151. Onas. 33.5; Polyb. 2.69.10; Plut., Cleom. 28.5; Hanson 1988:201 n. 30, 1989:113. Cf. Polyb. 11.2.11; Plut., Comp. Pel./Marc. 3.2, Mor. 24D.

  152. Evidence in Pritchett, War 2.32; cf. Plut., Cleom. 31; F.W.Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius, I (Oxford, 1957) 287; cf. J.T. Roberts, Accountability in Athenian Government (Madison, 1982) 139–40.

  153. Exile/fines: e.g. Thuc. 4.65.3, 5.26.5 (Thucydides, cf. 4.104.4–107.2); prosecution: Pritchett, War 2.4–33; Roberts (supra n. 152) passim.

  154. Paches: Plut., Nic. 6.1–2, Arist. 26.3; cf. Thuc. 3.18.3–5, 27–8, 33–6,49–50; Diod. 12.55; Front., Strat. 4.7.17; Polyaenus 3.2. Roberts (supra n. 152:136–41) doubts the historicity of Paches' suicide, but offers no alternative explanation of Paches' end or the origin of the story. C.J. Tuplin defends the story's historicity. 'Fathers and sons: Ecclesiazusae 644–45,' GRBS 23 (1982) 327–30.

  155. Diod. 13.43.5; Polyb. 1.11.5. Romans later interpreted Carthaginian practice to mean that not only a general who suffered defeat but also one who planned poorly, even if victorious, was punished: see Val. Max. 2.7 ex. 1; J.Afric, Cest. 7.1.2; cf. Liv. 38.48.5; De Vir. Ill. 38.3.

  156. Onas. 33; Phil. Mech., Syn. Mech. 5.D.20, 28,68–9 Garlan; Polyb. 10.3–7, 13.1–5, 24.2–5, 32–3, 41.2; Plut., Pel. 1–2, Comp. Pel./Marc. 3.2–3;

  Polyaenus 6.4.1; Lucian, Dial. Mort. 12.5.

  157. Xen., Anab. 1.7.9. Later sources attribute this advice to Clearchus alone: Plut., Artax. 8.2; Polyaenus 2.2.3. Cf. Hanson 1989:111; Paul (supra n. 16) 307–8.

  158. Diod. 14.23.5; Plut., Artax. 8.2–3.

  159. Plut., Lys. 28.5 (cf. Xen., Anab. 3.5.18–19), Comp. Lys./Sulla 4.1–4, Comp. Pel./Marc. 2.3.

  160. See Plut., Pel. 2.4; Nearchus, FGrHist 133 F 42.2=Arr., Anab. 6.13.4; Polyb. 10.32.11; App, Hann. 50, BC 2.58.

  161. Amm. 19.7.8; Fitzhugh Lee, General Lee (repr. Greenwich, Conn., 1961) 185–6. Cf. G.McWhiney and P.D.Jamieson, Attack and Die: Civil War Military Tactics and the Southern Heritage (University of Alabama, 1982).

  * * *

  Part IV

  THE RULES OF THE GAME: HOPLITE TRADITION AND PRACTICE

  The Greeks of old did not even choose to defeat their enemies by deceit, thinking that there was nothing glorious or even secure unless one side killed those drawn against them by fighting in open battle.

  Polybius

  * * *

  7

  HOPLITES AND OBSTACLES

  Josiah Ober

  INTRODUCTION

  The long dominance of hoplite battle as the primary means of conflict resolution among the city-states of classical Greece is ironic. Hoplites were soldiers of the open plain. Because of their highly specialized equipment and phalanx formation, hoplites could do battle properly only in a wide, clear, flat space that was free of even minor obstacles. Yet as the most casual visitor is immediately aware, the geography of central and southern Greece is not defined by wide open plains, but rather by rugged mountains and deep ravines. The set forms of hoplite battle thus defy geomorphic logic. Common sense suggests that since Greece was a mountainous country, and the Greeks were (sometimes) rational men, the citizens of the city-states should have developed the arms, armor, and tactics suitable to mountain warfare. Yet, for most of the Classical Period, they failed to do so.1

  A second irony is involved in the slow development of poliorcetic science in classical Greece. Greece is not only a land of mountains, but a land of stone—the limestone and marble bedrock is typically close to the surface of the ground, and makes ideal building material. Early Greek masons learned how to quarry and finish large stone blocks, and architects assembled these blocks into formidable walls. Stone walls could be made higher by adding superstructures of dried brick. Thus, from the Mycenean period onward, major Greek settlements were protected by massive and well-built circuits.2 This being the case, we might expect that the classical Greeks would have developed effective forms of siegecraft—ways for warriors victorious on the field to get at the wives, ch
ildren, and goods of their defeated opponents. Yet, once again, our commonsense expectations are confounded. Until the mid-fourth century BC, Greek poliorcetics remained rudimentary, and well-walled cities were usually secure from enemy attack.3

  For most of the Archaic and Classical Periods neither the natural obstacles of mountain and ravine, nor the man-made obstacles represented by fortification walls had a place in the central moment of Greek warfare: the clash of the opposing phalanxes in the fair field. But those same obstacles loom in the background of the hoplite battle. Throughout the period of hoplite warfare, obstacles defined the action before and after the trial of the phalanxes. By the late fifth century, man-made obstacles and the exploitation of natural obstacles were becoming increasingly problematic features of the hoplite's experience of warfare. By the fourth century, natural obstacles were being systematically reinforced by man-made ones and this development led to the end of the traditional Greek way of war.

  MOUNTAINS AND ROADS

  The potential importance of obstacles in Greek warfare is linked to the physical structure of the polis. The territory of the city-state was often (although not always) delimited by mountain ranges, so that in order to go by land from one city-state to the other, it was frequently necessary to cross a mountain range. Since hoplite armies ordinarily travelled by land, rather than by sea, they often had to traverse mountains in order to invade the territory of a neighboring state (Ober 1985a: 111–29). If the war was against a more distant foe, several mountain ranges would have to be crossed (Hammond 1954). The mountains of central and southern Greece are very rugged, and they are characterized by deep gorges and dry-washes, the result of torrential seasonal runoff. Because of this morphology, it is not possible to cross the mountains just anywhere; only a few routes are available across any given range which avoid excessively steep slopes and gorges, and which take advantage of natural passes (Ober 1985a: 111).

  Adding to the difficulty of the mountain obstacle was the fact that the hoplite army did not travel light. Hoplite arms and armor were much too hot and heavy to wear in the summer while marching across difficult terrain (Hanson 1989:60–3). This meant that armor and weapons had to be transported, along with several weeks' rations, for each hoplite and his attendants.4 Perhaps in some 'next-door-neighbor' campaigns, the baggage could be carried by the hoplites and their attendants alone. More often, however, baggage was hauled either on the backs of pack-animals or in ox-drawn carts. In either case, this meant a quantum leap in the size of the marching column,

  since at least some of the fodder for the pack/draft animals would also have to be carried along. Thus, even quite a small hoplite army—consisting of only a few hundred actual fighting men—would require a very significant baggage train.5 Large bodies of men accompanied by pack-trains or wagons cannot make effective use of narrow shepherd paths. Carts, especially, must stick to roadways that maintain minimum tolerances in terms of grade, width, and switchback design. Thus, the hoplite army was restricted to established routes across the mountains and the ideal was always a route that had been built into a properly designed highway.

  Modern topographers (e.g. Hammond, Pritchett, Vanderpool, and Van de Maele) have traced the routes of a number of quite well-built, pre-modern roads in the mountains of central and southern Greece.6 Many of these roads are very impressive in their design and execution. Stretches of 'Edward Clarke's Road' to Marathon, the 'Road of the Towers' in the northwestern Megarid, and the 'Panakton Road' in north-central Attica were studied by surveying teams under my direction. We found that these roads maintain very steady grades across extraordinarily difficult terrain. The grade is maintained by the use of frequent and well-designed switchbacks; in some cases the roads are wide enough to accommodate cart traffic. In order to maintain a constant width, the road-builders cut deeply into bedrock on the uphill side, and built massive rubble-stone retaining walls on the downhill side. Uphill stone embankments across drainages ensured that seasonal flooding would not wash out the roadway. Road metal, probably in the form of packed broken rock, smoothed the surface of some sections of the highway.7 The existence of wheel ruts (worn or cut grooves in the bedrock of the roadway) demonstrates that at least some ancient mountain roads were used by wheeled traffic.8

  Pre-modern roads are usually difficult to date, but in some cases (e.g. the 'Road of the Towers' across the Megarid, the 'Koulouriotiko Monopati' across western Attica) the presence of datable classical remains (buildings or graves) along the line of the road confirms the hypothesis that the road was built in classical times. In sum, roads across mountainous borderlands were built in the Classical Period, and these roads could be used by hoplite armies.

  It is worth asking the question, 'who built these classical roads—and why?' Some Greek roads display the same sort of architectural skills evident in the design of classical Greek temples and public buildings.9 It is impossible to believe that they were simple improvements

  effected by local amateurs to facilitate everyday traffic on existing paths. Rather, they must have been surveyed, designed, and built by experts who possessed considerable engineering ability.10 There is no evidence for the existence of large-scale overland trading companies in classical Greece that could harness the technical engineering skill or the manpower necessary to construct and maintain highways across international borders. As in the case of temples and other sophisticated structures, it is necessary to suppose that mountain roads were public projects, built by state authorities.

  Why would a Greek polis undertake the expense of building a road—especially one across its own frontier? The obvious first guess might be to facilitate trade.11 But in most cases this hypothesis seems unlikely. Overland trade between poleis was limited in volume, and was not typically a matter for state involvement. The reason for this state of affairs was not so much a cultural disinterest in trade, but rather the relative ease and much lower cost of water-borne shipping. Thus, most bulk trade in heavy goods went by sea, and there was relatively little economic incentive for building roads.12

  The roads of classical Greece were not casual improvements by local residents, and were not built to link commercial markets. Rather, most of the classical roads across Greek mountain ranges are best explained as military highways—designed by military engineers and built and maintained with the labor of the armies that used them. The recognition that hoplite battles often required a long march across mountainous terrain, along with the assumption that roads across the mountainous borderlands between poleis were built and maintained by hoplite armies, adds to our understanding of the hoplite's experience of war.

  The brief and bloody business of actual fighting was, for the offensive hoplite force, invariably preceded by a long, dusty, sweaty, thirsty hike. In most cases this hike would involve bivouacking in the field, perhaps under canvas, perhaps in the open. Rainstorms are rare in central Greece during the summer campaigning season, but when they do come they are torrential and would make the unsheltered hoplite's life very unpleasant.13 Furthermore, when camping in the mountains, level terrain is often hard to find; it would sometimes have been necessary for each hoplite or group of hoplites to build a stone platform into the steep hillside on which to pitch tents or spread bedding. Food would have been carried along, but adequate water must have been a real problem. Hiking in the dry summer heat of central Greece requires drinking great quantities of water to

  maintain one's health and strength. The hoplites, their attendants and the pack/draught animals all required drinking water; the daily water requirements for even a small army would be tremendous. In some areas, it would not be easy to procure the required amounts, and thirst would then torment man and beast alike.14

  The work of the march would not be limited to hiking and making camp. If it were necessary to build a roadway from scratch, the labor involved would be prodigious, but even maintenance roadwork could be tough and time-consuming. Rock-cutting with simple tools is very hard work. Hauling stone for building retaining
walls is exhausting. And all this labor would be done under time pressure, since the campaigning season was short (Hanson 1989:32–3). Some of the work might be done by attendants, but the need to get the road through surely required that the hoplites put their own backs into the chore. There is nothing incongruous about the image of free citizen and slave-attendant working side by side; Athenian citizens worked beside metics and slaves in other public building projects.15

  In the context of hoplites as road-crews, it is important to remember that the hoplite soldier was, most typically, a citizen-farmer who ran his small plot by the sweat of his own brow and the labor of family members.16 Most Greek farmers had to build and maintain fences, often these were of stone (Hanson 1983; 37–8). For a farmer, whose land included any hilly area, the business of hauling rock to build and maintain retaining walls was part of everyday life. Thus the grunt-work of roadbuilding would be a continuation of the labor performed by the citizen-soldier in his ordinary life, but with this exception: as a farmer he worked alone, or with his family and/or close neighbors. As a soldier he worked as part of a greater community of citizens, in a project that was likely to earn him no personal reward. The rough labor of road building and maintenance thus helped to integrate the everyday, private life of the individual citizen with the strange and frightening realm of military duty and self-sacrifice. Perhaps, then, the work of roadbuilding was reassuring to the Greek hoplite, despite the toll it took in arduous labor. The toilsome march across the borderland erected a bridge of familiar manual labor between the day-to-day existence of home and farm and the nightmare of the battlefield. The psychological bridge of common labor helped prepare the hoplite to meet his opponent.