Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
Edited by
Angelos Chaniotis and Pierre Ducrey
Table of Contents
Page
Abbreviations vii
Introduction 1
ANGELOS CHANIOTIS - PIERRE DUCREY
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 3
WALTER MAYER
The Role of the Army in the Exercise of Power in Early India 25
ROMILA THAPAR
Guerre et succession dynastique chez les Achéménides: entre 39
‘coutume perse’ et violence armée
PIERRE BRIANT
Abbreviations ii
Introduction
Le projet d’organiser une Table ronde sur: ‘Armée et pouvoir dans l’Antiquité’ est né à
Spoleto et à Rome en août-septembre 1997. Pourquoi Spoleto, pourquoi Rome? C’est à
Spoleto qu’avait lieu les 1er et 2 septembre 1997 l’Assemblée générale du Comité
International des Sciences Historiques (CISH). L’objet principal de l’Assemblée était
l’approbation finale du programme du 19e Congrès international des sciences
historiques, qui devait avoir lieu à Oslo trois ans plus tard, du 6 au 13 août 2000.
Dans le cadre de la préparation du programme du Congrès d’Oslo, il apparut
qu’aucun thème spécifique n’avait été retenu pour l’histoire ancienne, faute de
proposition antérieure convaincante. Membre du Bureau du CISH et historien de
l’Antiquité, Pierre Ducrey proposa qu’une Table ronde soit réservée à un sujet d’histoire
ancienne. Le sujet retenu devait être capable d’intéresser à la fois les historiens de
l’Antiquité et les participants au Congrès, spécialistes d’autres périodes.
Il ne restait que très peu de temps pour trouver un thème répondant à ces conditions.
Le XIe Congrès international d’épigraphie grecque et latine, réuni à Rome du 18 au 24
septembre 1997, tombait à point nommé. Ce fut l’occasion d’intenses consultations et
échanges de vues. Le rôle joué à cette occasion par Ekkehard Weber et Angelos
Chaniotis fut déterminant pour le choix du thème de la Table ronde d’Oslo ‘Armée et
pouvoir dans l’Antiquité’. Une fois défini, le thème fut soumis au Secrétaire général du
CISH, M. François Bedarida, puis à la Commission d’organisation du congrès.
L’accueil fut unanimement favorable. La Table ronde eut lieu à Oslo le 9 août 2000
avec la participation de Géza Alföldy, Brian Campbell, Angelos Chaniotis, Pierre
Ducrey, Vincent Gabrielsen, Benjamin Isaac, John Ma, Romila Thapar et Hans van
Wees. Ce sont ses actes que l’on découvre dans le présent volume. Pierre Briant et Yann
Le Bohec avaient tous deux été conviés à participer à la Table ronde. Il était essentiel en
effet que les disciplines dont ils sont des spécialistes soient représentées. Pour diverses
raisons, ces deux savants n’ont pas été en mesure de participer à la réunion d’Oslo.
Toutefois, ils ont remis aux éditeurs le texte de leur communication, qu’on trouvera
donc dans le présent recueil.
Walter Mayer
1 Für eine ausführliche Behandlung der assyrischen Militärgeschichte s. W. MAYER, Politik und
Kriegskunst der Assyrer (Münster 1995*) [= Mayer, Kriegskunst].
2 Texteditionen mit Bearbeitungen: Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia — Assyrian Periods (Toronto
1987) 1ff.
3 A. MILLARD, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire 910-612 BC. (State Archives of Assyria Studies
2) (Helsinki 1994).
4 Reallexikon der Assyriologie 6, 101-116.
5 A.K. GRAYSON, Asyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (Texts from Cuneiform Sources 5) (Locust
Valley 1975), 157-170 und 184-189; s. dazu auch Reallexikon der Assyriologie 6, 89: Nr. 21.
6 I. STARR, Querries to the Sungod. Divination and Politiks in Sargonid Assyria (State Archives of
Assyria 4) (Helsinki 1990).
Walter Mayer 4
Tiglatpilesars III. (745-727) und Sargons II. (721-705)7 und die ‘gelehrte’ Asarhaddons
(680-669) und Assurbanipals (668-627).8 Diese Briefe liefern eine Fülle von Detail-
informationen aus dem zwangsläufig begrenzten Sichtbereich des jeweiligen Absenders.
Der Wert der Briefe der erstgenannten Gruppe als Quellen für taktische Situationen und
Aktionen, für das Nachrichtenwesen und zahlreiche andere Aspekte kann gar nicht hoch
genug eingeschätzt werden. Für die Routine des täglichen militärischen Dienstes im
weitesten Sinne, Logistik, Infrastruktur und Rekrutierung können neben den Briefen
auch noch eine große Zahl von Verwaltungsurkunden herangezogen werden.9
Nachteilig wirkt sich aber aus, daß beide Dokumentengattungen sehr ungleich über den
Zeitraum der assyrischen Geschichte verteilt sind. Auch sind die Absender dieser Briefe
lokal sehr unterschiedlich konzentriert und keineswegs gleichmäßig über das gesamte
Reichsgebiet verteilt. Vielfach ist in Briefen auch das Wissen um bestimmte Ereignisse,
Vorgänge und Prozeduren bei Absender und Empfänger vorausgesetzt — dem
modernen Bearbeiter, der über diese Kenntnisse nicht verfügt, müssen daher viele
Anspielungen, die den Zeit-genossen durchaus verständlich waren, dunkel bleiben.
Auf die Problematik der militärgeschichtlichen Auswertung von Briefen wurde
bereits hingewiesen. Ganz ähnlich verhält es sich auch mit der großen Zahl von Ver-
waltungsurkunden, von der theoretisch wichtige Informationen über das ‘Innenleben’
der assyrischen Armee zu erwarten wären. In nahezu jeder staatlichen Institution
entwickelt sich eine Bürokratie, die ohne regelmäßige Aufzeichnungen und deren
Auswertung zu Zwecken von Analysen und Vorhersagen nicht funktionieren könnte.
Für den Alten Orient muß jedoch zunächst die zufällige Erhaltung und die daraus
resultierende ungleichmäßige zeitliche und regionale Verteilung des Materials in
Betracht gezogen werden. Erhalten geblieben ist in den meisten Fällen nur eine
zufällige Sammlung von Urkunden von oft nebensächlicher Bedeutung, bezogen auf
lokale Belange und das dann noch häufig in fragmentarischem Zustand. Diese Befunde
ähneln oft mehr Papierkörben als Archiven.10 Auch hatten die in der Verwaltung der
assyrischen Armee beschäftigten Schreiber wenig Interesse daran, mehr als das
unbedingt Nötige aufzuschreiben — ihnen Selbstverständliches gehörte oft nicht dazu.
Der Auswertung dieser Texte steht so eine Vielzahl von Schwierigkeiten entgegen, von
denen eine in der großen Zahl liegt und eine andere in der Frage nach der
Allgemeingültigkeit des jeweiligen Befundes.
1.2 Die Königsinschriften
Hinter dem Begriff ‘Königsinschriften’ verbirgt sich eine Vielzahl verschiedenster
Text-gattungen, denen allen gemeinsam ist, daß sie in königlichem Auftrag abgefaßt
wurden. Als Quellen für das historische Geschehen kommen in erster Linie
Annalentexte und ‘Prunkinschriften’ (displays) in Betracht. Weihinschriften und
7 Die Korrespondenz Sargons II. findet sich in Transkription und Übersetzung in State Archives of
Assyria 1 und 5.
8 Transkription und Übersetzung in State Archives of Assyria 10.
9 Hier sind in erster Linie die Sammlungen in Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud 1-3 und State Archives of
Assyria 6, 7 und 11 zu nennen.
10 Dies Bild ist von M. FINLEY entlehnt, der die ptolemäischen ‘Zenon-Papyri’ mit dem Inhalt seiner
Schreibtischschubladen vergleicht; s. M. FINLEY, Quellen und Modelle in der Alten Geschichte
(Frankfurt 1987), 48-50.
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 5
Eine neuerliche Veränderung in der Annalistik macht sich im 7. Jh. bei den
Sargoniden bemerkbar. Sanherib (704-681) berichtet nicht mehr über jedes einzelne
Regierungsjahr (palû). Stattdessen zählt er nur noch seine Feldzüge (gerru) auf. Unein-
heitlich scheint dabei die Behandlung der Kampagnen zu sein, die der König nicht in
eigener Person geführt hat. Asarhaddon und Assurbanipal, die beiden Nachfolger
Sanheribs, haben jeweils ein überaus umfangreiches Inschriftenwerk hinterlassen. Darin
wird zwar über Kriege und gelegentlich auch über einzelne Kampagnen sehr detailliert
berichtet, eigentliche und vor allem vollständige Annalen sind aber eigentümlicherweise
nicht erhalten. Welcher Wandel im Denken diese Entwicklung verursacht hat, läßt sich
bisher nicht erkennen.
Sind Königsinschriften für Strategie und Politik fast die einzige Quelle, so enthalten
sie über das Militär selbst nur wenige Angaben, da die Armee in dieser Textgattung als
existentes und wirksames Instrument der Politik einfach vorausgesetzt ist. Im
Vordergrund stehen Funktion, Leistung und Ergebnis, wohingegen Detailinformationen
über Aspekte, wie Ausrüstung, Gliederung, Einsatz oder gar Ausbildung, wenn über-
haupt, dann eher zufällig begegnen.
1.3 Der Eponymenkanon Cb
Während man in Babylonien die Jahre nach wichtigen Ereignissen benannte, die in
chronologischer Reihenfolge zu Listen zusammengestellt wurden, ernannten die
Assyrer für jedes Jahr eine hochrangige Persönlichkeit zum Eponymen (lîmu). Diese
Jahres-eponymen wurden zum Zwecke der Datierung ebenfalls zu Listen
zusammengestellt. Obwohl durch die Zeiten aus Tradition an beiden
Datierungsverfahren festgehalten wurde, dürfte sich das weitaus einfacher zu
handhabende assyrische in der Praxis, vor allem im Rahmen der Bedürfnisse der
Wirtschaft, besser bewährt haben. Eponymen konnten im voraus bestimmt werden und
erlaubten so in begrenztem Umfange eine Vorausdatierung. Beim babylonischen
System konnte immer nur das folgende Jahr nach einem Ereignis aus dem
vorangegangenen benannt werden.14 Nicht umsonst wurde schon in der altassyrischen
Zeit auch außerhalb Assurs und seiner Handelsnieder-lassungen nach den assyrischen
Jahreseponymen datiert.15
Im Eponymenkanon Ca sind nur die Namen der Eponymen in chronologischer
Reihenfolge aufgeführt. Wie die leider nur sehr fragmentarisch erhaltene ‘Eponymen-
Chronik’ aus Maµri zeigt, begann man aber schon in der altassyrischen Zeit damit, das
bedeutendste kriegerische oder kultische Ereignis während des Eponymats zu notieren.
Eine Weiterentwicklung dieses Systems stellt der Eponymenkanon Cb dar, in dem zu
jedem Eponymen die aktuelle Dienststellung und das wichtigste Ereignis des
betreffenden Jahres angegeben wurden. In den meisten Fällen handelt es sich dabei um
das Ziel der militärischen Kampagne, aber auch Aufstände,16 Thronbesteigungen,17
Quellen überhaupt keine Informationen zu gewinnen sind, obwohl sie unbedingt als
existent vorauszusetzen sind. Hierzu gehören unter anderem:
— Ausbildung (auf allen Ebenen);
— Versorgung der Marschausfälle und der im Kampf Verwundeten;
— Behandlung der Gefallenen;
— Signalmittel und Militärmusik;
— Disziplin und Kampfmoral;
— Meutereien;
— Strafen und Auszeichnungen;
— täglicher Dienst;
— Bezahlung und Verpflegung;
— Familie und Privatleben der Soldaten.
Auch über die meisten anderen Aspekte des militärischen Lebens lassen sich aus
den vorhandenen Quellen oft nur bruchstückhafte Informationen gewinnen. So sind
beispiels-weise die Hierarchien, Befehlswege und Gliederungen alles andere als klar
und eindeutig. Auch hier muß a priori vieles, ohne das eine Armee nicht funktionieren
kann, notwendig-erweise als existent vorausgesetzt werden. In manchen Fällen bietet
die Militärgeschichte des Alten China und der Römer in den Grundzügen vielleicht
beachtenswerte Analogien, deren Verifikation im Detail allerdings fast durchweg
fraglich bleiben muß. Gerade im Bereich des römischen Militärwesens hat in den letzten
Jahren die experimentelle Archäologie eine Reihe von Problemen in Verbindung mit
der Ausrüstung und den Grenzen menschlicher und tierischer Leistungsfähigkeit
nachhaltig erhellt.
Mit den modernen Begriffen ‘Truppengattung’ und ‘Waffengattung’ werden
Truppen nach Aufgabe, Kampfweise, Bewaffnung und Ausrüstung unterschieden.
Innerhalb der assyrischen Armee hat sich zumindest im 1. Jahrtausend ein Prozeß
zunehmender Spezialisierung vollzogen, wobei sich diese Entwicklungen weniger in
den schriftlichen Quellen, als vielmehr anhand der Darstellungen auf Orthostatenreliefs
nachvollziehen lassen. Auf altorientalisches Militärwesen übertragen, könnten die
Waffengattungen der Wagentruppe, der Reiter und der Infanterie zur Truppengattung
der Kampftruppen zusammengefaßt werden. Innerhalb der Kampftruppen gab es
sicherlich Elite-formationen, die als königliche Garde fungierten.24 Zu ihren Pflichten
im haupt-städtischen Garnisonsdienst dürften hauptsächlich Wach- und
Repräsentationsaufgaben gehört haben.
Bogenschützen und Schleuderer sind von der Infanterie zu trennen, da sich beide in
Kampfweise und Ausrüstung beträchtlich von den anderen Waffengattungen unter-
schieden haben. Bogen und Schleuder waren bis zur Einführung der Feuerwaffen die
einzigen Fernkampfwaffen. Bezüglich Feuergeschwindigkeit und Wirkungsreichweite
war der Bogen selbst den frühen Feuerwaffen noch weit überlegen. Im Einsatz der
24 Die assyrische Bezeichnung für die Gardetruppen läßt sich nicht mit Sicherheit ermitteln. Die s“a
qurbuµte dürften eine königliche Leibgarde, vergleichbar etwa den römischen Prätorianern
dargestellt haben. Es ist aber kaum anzunehmen, daß sie die einzige Gardeformation waren.
Angehörige der s“a qurbuµte dürften im königlichen Auftrag eine übergeordnete
Vorgesetztenfunktion gehabt haben.
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 9
besonders intensiven Trainings bedurften. In erster Linie handelte es sich dabei wohl
um Wagentruppe, Reiter, Bogenschützen und Schleuderer. Sicherlich gehörten aber
auch die Fachleute des Pionierwesens zur Berufsarmee. Den größten Anteil dürfte dabei
wohl Assyrer gestellt haben, die auch in den abgelegenen Teilen des Reiches Dienst tun
mußten, um dort die ständige Präsenz der assyrischen Herrschaft zu demonstrieren.
Zu diesem stehenden Heer gehörten aber auch zwangsläufig die Söldner, deren sich
die Assyrer in zunehmenden Maße bedienen mußten. Dabei handelte es sich wohl um
Freiwillige aus Vasallengebieten, die sich gegen Bezahlung und Beute zum Dienst in
der assyrischen Armee verpflichtet hatten. Die Assyrer selbst taten sich offenbar schwer
damit, einen Begriff für diese ihnen zunächst fremde Institution von Söldnertruppen zu
finden.
Der professionellen Armee gehörten wohl auch die Offiziere an, einschließlich
derer, die auf einem Feldzug oder bei besonderen Gelegenheiten bei der Miliz Dienst
taten. Bei der Wagentruppe begegnet bis Adad-neµraµrê III. der Rang des rab es“erte,
des “Führers einer Zehnergruppe”. Von Tiglatpilesar III. ab erscheinen der rab kis`ri
und der rab hans“ê als “Führer einer Fünfzigereinheit”. Diese
Dienstgradbezeichnungen scheinen unabhängig von der Waffengattung gebraucht
worden zu sein. Es muß aber neben diesen Einheits-führern auch noch Führer mehrerer
Einheiten und Kommandeure von Verbänden gegeben haben, da sich mit nur einem
Offiziersrang, der noch dazu auf einer sehr niedrigen Ebene angesiedelt ist, keine
Armee führen läßt.28
Einen großen Teil seines Lebens mußte der professionelle Krieger in der Ge-
meinschaft verbringen, sei es auf Feldzügen oder in der Kaserne — das brachte der
Beruf mit sich. Am Ende ihrer aktiven Dienstzeit, deren Länge wir nicht kennen,
wurden die Veteranen möglicherweise mit einem Stück Land abgefunden. Sollte diese
Landvergabe in den Grenzprovinzen erfolgt sein, so wäre dadurch im Notfall dem
lokalen Widerstand gegen Rebellion oder einen Angriff von außen ein erster Rückhalt
verliehen worden.
An der Seite der professionellen Krieger standen die s˘aµb s“arri. Sie wurden im
Bedarfsfall auf der Basis der ilku-Verpflichtung als lokale Aufgebote von Offizieren
aus-gehoben. Wahrscheinlich erfolgte die Aushebung jährlich, sei es zu einem Feldzug
oder sei es zu Ausbildungszwecken. Die Verantwortung für die Aushebung lag beim
jewei-ligen Provinzgouverneur. Zu den s˘aµb s“arri gehörte die Masse der Infanterie.
Während bei Wagen und Reitern Assyrer zahlenmäßig wohl dominierten, fanden sich
bei der Infanterie alle Bevölkerungsgruppen zusammen, neben Assyrern vor allem auch
Aramäer.
Die ilku-Verpflichtung bestand aber nicht nur in der Pflicht zum Dienst mit der
Waffe, sondern auch in “Hand- und Spanndiensten”. So umfaßten die s˘aµb s“arri nicht
nur Kampftruppen, sondern auch eine beträchtliche Zahl von Arbeits- und
28 Am ehesten erscheint der rab kis˘ri noch dem römischen centurio vergleichbar zu sein. Allerdings
war der centurio kein Offizier im modernen Sinn, sondern eher ein sergeant-major oder warrant-
officer, wobei es eine sehr differenzierte Rangabstufung innerhalb der Gruppe der Centurionen einer
Legion gab. Mag auch der centurio das Rückgrat der römischen Armee und seiner Funktion und
seinem Ansehen nach ein Offizier gewesen sein, so gab es doch innerhalb des Großverbandes der
Legion auch noch die Tribunen und den Präfekten als Stabsoffiziere und den Legaten als
Kommandeur.
Walter Mayer 12
Transportsoldaten — also den Troß. Der assyrische Terminus für diese s˘aµb s“arri
scheint s“a kutalli gewesen zu sein.29 In der Tat läßt sich zeigen, daß als s“a kutalli
beispielsweise Angehörige nomadisierender Stämme eingezogen wurden, Leute also,
denen assyrische Ausbildung und assyrischer Drill weitgehend gefehlt haben dürften.
Daneben wurden aber wohl auch andere, die für den Dienst mit den Waffen nicht
geeignet waren oder nicht für geeignet gehalten wurden, zur Arbeit im Troß
verpflichtet. Die Bedeutung des Trosses sollte dabei nicht unterschätzt werden. Waren
doch auf einem Feldzug gewaltige Mengen zu trans-portieren. Dazu gehörten Getreide
und Wasser für die Soldaten, die Pferde und die Tragtiere, Munition (Pfeile und Speere)
und Ersatz für Ausrüstungen, Zelte, Arbeitsgeräte (Äxte, Hacken und Schaufeln),
Werkzeuge für Reparaturen, Schläuche für Wasser und zum Übersetzen und
dergleichen mehr. Zwangsläufig mußte auf einem Feldzug den Kampftruppen ein langer
Zug von Tragtieren und Tragtierführern folgen — je größer die Zahl der Kämpfer, desto
länger der Troß.30
Zu den Pflichten eines Vasallen gehörte unter anderem auch die Gestellung von
Truppenkontingenten für Feldzüge. Daß Beiträge solcher Auxiliartruppen in den
Königs-inschriften fast nie erwähnt werden, liegt in der Natur dieser Berichterstattung,
auf den Flachbildern werden die Hilfsvölker dagegen dargestellt. Landeskundige waren
natürlich für die Dienste als scouts geeignet. Der überwiegende Teil der Hilfstruppen
dürfte jedoch für gefährliche und lästige Arbeiten herangezogen worden sein, die sich
die Assyrer so ersparen konnten. Als Beispiel kann hier auf die mit Hitze, Staub und
Mühsal verbundene Errichtung von Belagerungsrampen, das Fällen von Bäumen und
Zurichten von Balken oder Arbeitsdienste bei der Bereitung von Wegen in nur schwer
passierbaren Berg-regionen verwiesen werden.
Je differenzierter und spezialisierter die Tätigkeiten innerhalb der Armee im Laufe
der Zeit wurden, desto stärker mußte der Anteil der professionellen Soldaten
anwachsen. In welchem Maße sich das Zahlenverhältnis von Berufssoldaten zu
Milizangehörigen dabei verschoben hat und inwieweit dafür Milizionäre die Zahl der
s“a kutalli und hups“u ver-größerten, läßt sich derzeit nicht ermitteln. Als sicher kann
nur gelten, daß beides erfolgt sein muß.
2.1.2 Infrastruktur
Zur Erfüllung ihrer Aufgaben bedarf jede Armee einer beträchtlichen Anzahl von
Baulich-keiten und anderen festen Einrichtungen. Für den Bereich der assyrischen
Militärge-schichte kommen hier in erster Linie die Befestigungsanlagen von Städten mit
den dazu gehörigen Kasernen, Stallungen, Arsenalen mit Magazinen und Werkstätten
29 Schon von der wörtlichen Bedeutung “zur Rückseite gehörig” her liegt eine Deutung als “Troß”
nahe.
30 Auch hier bietet die römische Armee (für die auch jede andere stehen könnte) eine gute Analogie:
Der Gesamtbestand der augusteischen Legion belief sich “auf 4800 Mann schwerer Infanterie, 120
Reiter, etwa 500 Dienstgrade vom Gefreiten [liberarius] bis zum General sowie 1000 Burschen und
Tragtier-treiber, die in der Regel Sklaven waren, zusammen 6500 Menschen mit über 1200 Reit-,
Zug- und Tragtieren. Von den 6500 Menschen waren 5500 Soldaten und von diesen wiederum
einschließlich der bei der kämpfenden Truppe dienenden Dienstgrade 5300 Mann eigentliche
Kombattanten” (M. JUNKELMANN, Die Legionen des Augustus. Der römische Soldat im
archäologischen Experiment, Mainz 1986, 94f.).
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 13
für Be-waffnung und Ausrüstung, Vorratslagern und Exerzierplätzen für Soldaten und
Pferde in Betracht.
Der Bau einer solchen Anlage und alle späteren Erweiterungen oder Modifikationen
mußten in jedem Fall sorgfältig geplant und organisiert werden, und dies nicht nur in
Hinblick auf die technische Ausführung, sondern auch entsprechend den taktischen Er-
fordernissen der Verteidigung. Von entscheidender Bedeutung war dabei immer das
Problem der Wasserversorgung. Planung und Organisation müssen in sachkundigen
Händen gelegen haben, die für uns jedoch durchweg anonym bleiben. Auch für die
technische Ausführung wurde — neben einer großen Zahl von dienstpflichtigen
Arbeitskräften und Soldaten — eine bestimmte Anzahl von Fachleuten benötigt. Eine
solche Anlage mußte aber nicht nur gebaut, sondern auch erhalten werden. Dem kommt
eine besondere Bedeutung zu, wenn wie in Assyrien, wo Winterregen fällt,
überwiegend luftgetrocknete Lehmziegel als Baumaterial dienen. Nach jeder
Regenperiode mußten die Mauern ausgebessert werden. Mit zunehmendem Reichtum
versuchte man von der mittel-assyrischen Zeit an dem Problem durch die Verblendung
mit Stein oder gebrannten und auch glasierten Ziegeln entgegenzuwirken. Dieses
Verfahren zeitigte zwar sicherlich eine starke optische Wirkung, es war aber extrem
teuer.
Die Geschichte der Befestigungsanlagen der Stadt Assur ist durch die in den
Königs-inschriften enthaltenen Bauberichten verhältnismäßig gut dokumentiert. Eine
Synopse der Bauberichte zeigt, daß nach etwa 40-50 Jahren eine Grundüberholung der
Mauern erforderlich war, sollten sie ihren Zweck weiter erfüllen. Nach spätestens 150
Jahren war ihre Lebensdauer abgelaufen und sie mußten von Grund auf neu gebaut
werden. Zwar haben Sanherib und Asarhaddon nach Ausweis von gestempelten Ziegeln
noch an der zwar repräsentativen, aber fortifikatorisch bedeutungslosen Flußseite
Ausbesserungen vorgenommen, die Stadtmauern waren aber zuletzt von Salmanasar III.
erneuert worden. Somit trafen die Meder 614 nach über 200 Jahren dort, wo ehedem die
Mauern von Assur gestanden hatten, nur noch auf einen Schutthaufen, den sie
wahrscheinlich zu Pferd ohne große Mühe überwinden konnten.
Da Ninive, anders als das weitgehend schutzlose Assur, den Medern mehr
Widerstand leisten konnte, wird es mit seinen Mauern, die erst von Sanherib zu Beginn
des 7. Jh. angelegt worden waren, etwas besser ausgesehen haben. Asarhaddon und
Assurbanipal hatten zwar daran gebaut, im vorletzten Jahrzehnt des 7. Jh. dürfte aber
eine Rekonstruktion bereits fällig gewesen sein, zumal die Mauern möglicherweise
während des Bürgerkrieges gelitten hatten, der wohl Mitte der Dreißigerjahre des 7. Jh.
ausge-brochen sein dürfte. Da man sich zu dieser Zeit in Assyrien auf der Höhe der
Macht sicher wähnte, konzentrierte man sich auf die Grenzgebiete des
Herrschaftsbereiches und vernachlässigte darüber die Befestigungswerke im Kernland.
Offensichtlich reichten dann zum Zeitpunkt, da sie nötig gewesen wären, weder für
Assur noch für Ninive die Zeit und die Mittel.
Befestigungsanlagen aller Art waren zur Sicherung über das ganze permanent
wachsende Reichsgebiet verteilt. Als erster König hatte sich Tiglatpilesar I. (1114-
1076) seiner vorsorglichen Leistungen auf diesem Gebiet gerühmt. In neuen Provinzen
mußten zerstörte Anlagen mit großem Aufwand wiederhergestellt werden. Soweit sie
Bestandteil der Reichsgrenze waren, mußten auch Bereitstellungsräume für Truppen als
Ausgangs-basen für neue Feldzüge geschaffen werden. Dies bedeutete zumindest die
Walter Mayer 14
Anlage von Arsenalen, Magazinen und Speichern und die Sicherung der
Wasserversorgung. Um den Schutz einer neuen Grenzregion zu gewährleisten und so
renommeeschädigende Rück-schläge zu vermeiden, mußten Arbeiten dieser Art schnell
— möglichst binnen Jahresfrist — ausgeführt werden.
Mit der wachsenden Ausdehnung des Reiches und der damit verbundenen
weiträumigen Dislozierung der Truppen mußte die schnelle Kommunikation
zunehmend an Bedeutung gewinnen. Eine einfache Alarmierung durch Feuerzeichen,
wie etwa in Urartu und anderen Bergländern, reichte bei weitem nicht aus. Nachrichten
und Berichte mußten in das Zentrum der Macht und Entscheidungen und Befehle von
dort in die Provinzen und an die Brennpunkte des Geschehens übermittelt werden. Ohne
ein hoch-entwickeltes Kommunikationssystem hätte das neuassyrische Reich nicht über
drei Jahrhunderte Bestand haben können.31 Wie dieses System im einzelnen entstanden
ist und ob es etwa Vorbilder in den benachbarten Reichen des 2. Jahrtausends gegeben
hat, läßt sich nicht mit Sicherheit erkennen. Zeugnisse aus Briefen und Urkunden des 8.
und 7. Jh. belegen jedenfalls deutlich, daß es ein solches Kommunikationssystem
tatsächlich gegeben hat.
Neben den seit langem existierenden Handelsrouten und den lokalen und regionalen
Verbindungswegen gab es wohl zwei ‘Königsstraßen’, von denen die eine das Reichs-
gebiet von West nach Ost und die andere von Nord nach Süd durchzog. Sicherlich
waren diese Verbindungen nicht fest ausgebaut wie etwa die späteren Römerstraßen —
über weite Strecken dürfte es sich um einfache Pisten gehandelt haben. An diesen
Königs-straßen gab es jedoch in regelmäßigen Abständen Relaisstationen. In diesen
wurden für Boten in königlichem Auftrag frische Maultiergespanne32 mit Wagen und
Fahrer bereit-gehalten. Auf diese Weise war es möglich, Nachrichten aus allen Teilen
des Reiches und Befehle aus der Hauptstadt innerhalb weniger Tage zu übermitteln.
Die Relaisstationen dienten zugleich als Raststätten für Truppenkontingente, die
innerhalb des Reichsgebietes verlegt werden mußten. Der Erhalt der Königsstraßen und
der Betrieb der Relaisstationen lag im Verantwortungsbereich der jeweiligen Provinz-
gouverneure. Die Benutzbarkeit der Routen für Tiere und Fahrzeuge mußte gegebenen-
falls durch Arbeitskommandos sichergestellt werden. In den Stationen mußte die
Verfüg-barkeit einer hinreichenden Zahl von frischen Zugtieren, einsatzbereiten Wagen
und Fahrern gewährleistet sein. Auch eine ausreichende Versorgung mit Wasser und
Nahrungsmitteln mußte gesichert sein, zumal wenn Truppen in größerer Zahl auf den
Königsstraßen verlegt wurden.
Die Benutzung dieser Post war wohl ausschließlich den staatlichen Institutionen
vorbehalten. Der Bestand des Reiches war mit der reibungslosen Funktion dieses mit
einem hohen Aufwand verbundenen Systems eng verknüpft. Eine Störung oder Ver-
zögerung mußte im allgemeinen die Aufmerksamkeit der zentralen Behörden rasch auf
sich und einen scharfen Tadel für den Verantwortlichen von seiten des Königs nach sich
ziehen. Den Achämeniden blieb der Nutzen und die Notwendigkeit eines solchen
Kommunikationssystems nicht verborgen, was dann unter Dareios zum Bau der
Königsstraße von Sardes nach Susa und zur Einrichtung und zum Ausbau des
persischen Postwesens führte. An der Vorbildfunktion des assyrischen Modells kann
dabei kein Zweifel bestehen.
2.1.3 Logistik
Am Beginn einer Betrachtung der Logistik müssen die Probleme der Beschaffung der
Materialien für die Herstellung von Waffen, Munition und Ausrüstungen — in erster
Linie also Metall, über das Assyrien selbst nicht verfügte, und deren Fertigung stehen.
Der Rohstoffbedarf der Armee blieb auch dann noch immens, wenn man berücksichtigt,
daß Metallgeräte vielfach wieder eingeschmolzen oder auf andere Weise
wiederverwendet werden konnten.33 Es ist daher durchaus verständlich, daß zu den
wichtigsten stra-tegischen Zielen der Könige seit Salmanasar III. die Gewinnung und
die Erhaltung der Kontrolle über die Rohstoffgebiete und die Verbindungswege gehörte.
Aus dem Metall und anderen Rohstoffen, wie Leder, mußten die Waffen und
Ausrüstungsgegenstände gefertigt werden. Diese Vorgänge waren mit einem enormen
Arbeits- und Zeitaufwand verbunden. Man bedenke nur, was in einem Land wie
Assyrien allein die Beschaffung des für das Schmelzen oder Schmieden des Metalls
erforderlichen Brennmaterials bedeutet haben muß. Pfeilspitzen beispielsweise waren
Verbrauchsgut. Zwar konnte man im Kampf einen gegnerischen Pfeil oder Speer
aufheben und ihn zurückschießen oder -werfen, es mußten aber dennoch auf einem
Feldzug die erforder-lichen Mengen auf jeden Fall mitgeführt werden. Weit
aufwendiger noch als die Her-stellung von Schwertern, Lanzen, Pfeilen oder Helmen
war die von Bogen, Lamellen-panzern oder gar Wagen. Die fertiggestellten Waffen und
Ausrüstungsgegenstände mußten sachgemäß bevorratet, gelagert und je nach Bedarf
den Truppenteilen zugeführt werden. Wie die Verwaltung die Bewältigung dieser
Probleme organisiert hat, ist nicht bekannt. Es steht lediglich fest, daß sie dies durch
Jahrhunderte hindurch mit Erfolg geleistet haben muß. Wahrscheinlich waren die
einzelnen Prozesse weitgehend dezentra-lisiert, so daß nicht nur die Aushebung,
sondern auch die Ausrüstung eines Provinzauf-gebotes in der Verantwortung des
jeweiligen Gouverneurs lag.
Auf einem Feldzug konnte und mußte sich eine Armee bis zu einem gewissen
Grade aus dem Land des Gegners ernähren. Da die Möglichkeiten dazu aber nicht mit
letzter Sicherheit kalkulierbar waren, mußte immer eine ausreichende Menge an
Lebensmitteln, in erster Linie Gerste, die vielseitig verwendbar war, mitgeführt werden.
Solange sich die Truppen auf dem Gebiet von Vasallen bewegten, mußten diese für die
Verpflegung aufkommen. Innerhalb des Reichsgebietes aber war es wiederum Aufgabe
der Provinz-gouverneure, ihre eigenen Aufgebote und durchziehende Truppen
ausreichend mit Nahrung und Wasser zu versorgen. Zu diesem Zweck waren in den
Provinzen hin-reichend große Vorräte anzulegen. Darüber hinaus waren die
Gouverneure wohl auch verpflichtet, entsprechende Lager für Notfälle, wie etwa
33 So ließ sich beispielsweise ein abgenutztes oder abgebrochenes Schwert in den meisten Fällen
immer noch zu einem Dolch oder einer Speerklinge umarbeiten.
Walter Mayer 16
Mißernten, zu unterhalten,34 wobei die eingelagerten Vorräte von Zeit zu Zeit auch
gegen neue ausgetauscht werden mußten. In der Vorbereitungsphase von Feldzügen
konnten auch Stützpunkte in Vasallen-gebieten zu großen Depots für Waffen und
Verpflegung ausgebaut werden.
Auf einem Feldzug waren immer große Mengen Gepäcks zu transportieren, deren
Größe nur unwesentlich vom Zielgebiet und von der Truppenstärke beeinflußt wurden.
Dazu gehörte der gesamte Lagerbedarf, angefangen von den Zelten bis hin zu den
Kochtöpfen und den Reibsteinen, mit denen die Soldaten ihre Gerste schroten konnten,
Schanzzeug, Munition und Ausrüstungsersatz. Das Gewicht dieser auf jeden Fall mitzu-
führenden Last zu berechnen, wage ich nicht.
Wichtiger noch war aber die Ernährung der Menschen und der Tiere, wobei
angesichts der zur besten Feldzugszeit vom Frühsommer an herrschenden Temperaturen
der Wasserversorgung eine besondere Rolle zukommt. Es gibt für den altorientalischen
Bereich keine Berechnung für den Tagesbedarf des einzelnen Soldaten, Pferdes oder
Maultiers. Da auch für die an Feldzügen beteiligten Truppen keine Zahlenangaben vor-
liegen, besteht ferner keine Möglichkeit das Gewicht von deren Tagesbedarf zu errech-
nen. D.W. Engels hat die logistischen Probleme der makedonischen Armee Alexanders
untersucht und kommt dabei zu erstaunlichen Ergebnissen.35 Demnach benötigten die
menschlichen Teilnehmer an Alexanders orientalischen Feldzügen pro Tag etwa 1,4 kg
Getreide und 2,25 l Wasser. Die Kavalleriepferde, Zug- und Tragtiere brauchten etwa 9
kg Getreide und Futter und 36,4 l Wasser.36 Für 65.000 Mann bedeutete dies einen
Tagesbedarf von 91 Tonnen Getreide und 146.250 l Wasser. Allein für die in dem von
D.W. Engels gewählten Beispiel 6.100 Reitpferde, 1.300 Zug- und 8.400 Tragtiere
wurden demnach pro Tag 142,2 Tonnen Getreide und Futter und 575.120 l Wasser
benötigt.
Nun kann man davon ausgehen, daß das assyrische Heer selten in einer solchen
Stärke wie in dem genannten Beispiel ausgerückt ist — immerhin stand es 853 bei
Qarqar einem Feind in dieser Größenordnung gegenüber.37 Man wird auch davon
ausgehen dürfen, daß jeder Mann mindestens eine Tagesration an Nahrung und Wasser
selbst getragen hat. Aber selbst wenn man auch noch voraussetzt, daß Wasser dadurch,
daß der Zug Flußläufen und Bächen folgte, was in den Bergländern in den meisten
Fällen sicher möglich war, in ausreichendem Maße zur Verfügung stand und daher nicht
mitgeführt werden mußte, so waren doch immerhin allein an die 200 Tonnen
Nahrungsmittel zu transportieren.
34 Tiglatpilesar I. (1114-1076) und die früh-neuassyrischen Könige rühmten sich bereits dieser
Fürsorge für ihr Land. Als Analogie ist hier auf die riesigen Vorratslager in den urartäischen
Festungen zu ver-weisen.
35 D.W. ENGELS, Alexander the Great and the Logistics of the Macedonian Army (Berkeley 1987),
123-130 und 144f. Der Wasserbedarf erscheint mir angesichts der hohen Temperaturen in diesen
Regionen zu gering angesetzt.
36 Streitwagen waren in Alexanders Armee nicht vertreten. Ob die Assyrer auf Feldzügen Lastwagen
mit Zugtieren — Rinder oder Maultiere — mitführten ist fraglich. Immerhin brauchten die Tiere, die
Nahrung und Futter für den Rest der Armee trugen, selbst auch Futter und Wasser. Die ungerundeten
Zahlen ergeben sich aus der Umrechnung der britischen Maße.
37 Vgl. MAYER, Kriegskunst, 284f.
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 17
In günstigem Gelände kann ein Maultier auf die Dauer maximal 150 kg — eher
weniger — tragen. Unter ungünstigen Verhältnissen muß diese Last reduziert werden,
soll das Tier nicht Schaden nehmen. Bei Eseln, mit deren Verwendung in der
Hauptsache gerechnet werden muß, ist die Last noch geringer. Selbst wenn die
Beispielszahlen willkürlich gewählt sind und wenn sie zu hoch sein sollten, steht doch
fest, daß zu einen Feldzug eine gewaltige Zahl von Tragtieren gehörte, die erst einmal
bereitgestellt werden und zu der dann auch noch eine entsprechende Zahl von Führern
kommen mußte. Die Erfassung und Bereitstellung der Pferde und Tragtiere scheint zum
Aufgabenbereich des mus“arkisu gehört zu haben.
Ohne Zweifel wurde ein großer Anteil der logistischen Belastungen eines Feldzuges
auf die Vasallen, deren Gebiet er berührte, abgewälzt. Ihnen dürfte in ihrem Bereich die
Bereitstellung der Nahrungsmittel, zu denen neben Getreide auch Kleinvieh gehörte,
und der Tragtiere weitgehend aufgezwungen worden sein. Zu einem hohen Grade wird
sich das Heer auch aus dem Lande des Gegners verproviantiert haben, wie es auch in
den Quellen gelegentlich berichtet wird. Ungeachtet dessen stellte die Bewältigung der
Logistik durch die assyrische Verwaltung eine erstaunliche Leistung dar, die der der
späteren Makedonen und Römer in nichts nachstand.
In diesem Zusammenhang wird aber auch klar, was ein assyrischer Feldzug für die
eigenen Vasallen und die Gegner bedeutete. Wohin die Assyrer gekommen waren, da
wuchs buchstäblich kein Gras mehr. Ein Gegner konnte eine solche Kampagne nur dann
überstehen, wenn er, wie beispielsweise die Urartäer, selbst über eine adäquate Infra-
struktur und Logistik verfügte. Dafür bestand aber die große Gefahr, daß im Folgejahr
erneut ein assyrisches Heer erschien, was zwangsläufig zur Folge hatte, daß die Land-
wirtschaft des betroffenen Gebietes kaum eine Chance zur Erholung hatte. Den assyri-
schen Vasallen, die auch noch Tribut zu entrichten hatten, erging es dabei nur
unwesent-lich besser. Auf der anderen Seite war aber die Zahl der aufeinander
folgenden Feldzüge in ein und dieselbe Region gerade dadurch begrenzt, daß die Armee
sich nach mehr-maligen Besuchen dort nicht mehr ernähren konnte. Auf die Dauer
zeichnet sich hier wie auch in anderen Bereichen ein circulus vitiosus ab.
Walter Mayer 18
38 Mit großer Wahrscheinlichkeit war dies bei Éams”ê-ilu, der wohl ein Bruder Adad-neµraµrês III.
war, und mit Sicherheit bei Sîn-ah«-us˘ur, dem Bruder Sargons, der Fall. Möglicherweise waren
Onkel und jüngere Brüder eines Königs für dieses Amt besonders geeignet.
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 19
gewesen.39 Fühlte sich der König zu alt, um die Strapazen eines Feldzug auf sich zu
nehmen, wie es wohl auf Salmanasar III. in seinen späten Jahren zutraf, oder zu
kränklich, wie es bei Asarhaddon wohl meist der Fall gewesen zu sein scheint, oder
lagen andere Gründe vor, die eine Abwesenheit des Königs nicht zuließen, wie etwa
816 bei Éams“ê-Adad V. (823-810), so konnte der Großwesir oder ein hervorragender
Offizier mit dem Oberbefehl betraut werden. Diese Feldherrn wurden dann auch in den
Annalen genannt. Verantwortlich blieb aber letztlich immer der König. Er hatte die
Aktionen seines Feldherrn gegenüber Assur zu vertreten, auch wenn er nicht selbst der
Anführer war.
Feldzüge pflegten gewöhnlich im Frühsommer zu beginnen.40 Casus belli war meist
der Bruch eines mit dem Reichsgott Assur — vertreten durch den König — ge-
schlossenen Vasallenvertrages, den der König unter der Aufsicht und im Auftrag des
Sonnengottes, des Schutzherrn der Eide und Verträge, zu bestrafen hatte. Auf die aus
der militärgeschichtlichen Erfahrung heraus notwendig zu postulierende Einrahmung
der Feldzüge in eine Vielzahl religiöser, aber auch militärischer und politischer Rituale,
in die der König fest eingebunden war, kann hier nicht näher eingegangen werden.
Opfer-schauen dürften dabei eine große Rolle gespielt haben. Durch sie bekundete der
Sonnen-gott Éamas“ seinen Auftrag, versicherte er die Rechtmäßigkeit des
Unternehmens und vermittelte dabei zugleich die Gewißheit des Erfolges.
Die praktische Durchführung eines Feldzuges war aber letztlich nur ein Teil eines
größeren Ganzen. In dem Erfolg einer Kampagne manifestierte sich das taktische und
operative Geschick und gegebenenfalls auch das Charisma des Königs oder seines Feld-
herrn ebenso wie das vorbereitende Wirken der Verwaltung auf den Gebieten der
Rekru-tierung und der Logistik. Auch die Tätigkeiten der Offiziere und Ausbilder
zeitigten hier ihre Früchte.
Bei einer Untersuchung der strategischen Zuzsammenhänge zeigt sich deutlich, daß
von Beginn der Kriegsberichterstattung an jeder Feldzug im Zuge einer sorgfältigen
strategischen Planung erfolgte. Der kontinuierliche militärische Erfolg, den diese
Planung aber durch Jahrhunderte hatte — sieht man von den relativ kurzen
Schwächeperioden im 12. und im 11./10. Jh. ab — schließt aus, daß es sich dabei immer
nur um das alleinige Resultat königlichen Wirkens gehandelt hat — auch Könige waren
nur Menschen. Vielmehr zeigt sich hier das Ergebnis einer Stabsarbeit auf hohem
Niveau, die bereits zu Beginn des 13. Jh. ihre ersten Früchte getragen hat.
Da der König in den seltensten Fällen die anfallende Arbeit schon von ihrem
Umfang her alleine bewältigen konnte, muß er über einen großen Stab militärischer
Mitarbeiter verfügt haben. Mangels Quellen läßt sich nur spekulieren, wer diesem
Generalstab angehört haben könnte. In Betracht kommen hier in erster Linie der
Großwesir, die Inhaber der hohen Hofämter, wie der Palastherold und
Obermundschenk, die auch militärische Aufgaben übernehmen konnten, und einige
hohe Offiziere und Beamte, unter denen sich auch Angehörige des Königshauses
befunden haben dürften — der Kreis, aus dem beispielsweise Tiglatpilesar III. und
39 So geschehen beispielsweise 705, als Sargon auf einem Feldzug fiel und Sanherib unangefochten die
Nachfolge antreten konnte.
40 Häufig werden zwar in den Annalen auch die genauen Daten des Beginns angegeben, sie lassen sich
aber nur für die Endphase der assyrischen Geschichte in julianische umrechnen.
Walter Mayer 20
Sargon II. hervorgegangen sind. Wahrschein-lich gehörte auch der Kronprinz dazu. Für
ihn, der zwar sein Waffenhandwerk auf dem Exerzierplatz erlernen konnte, stellte die
Stabsarbeit, da er während der Kriege seines Vaters zu Hause bleiben mußte, die einzige
Möglichkeit dar, sich mit den späteren Auf-gaben eines Heerführers wenigstens
theoretisch vertraut zu machen.41
Zum Stabe gehörten sicherlich auch Offiziere, die mit Spezialgebieten, wie dem
Pionierwesen, vertraut waren, und Priester, die einen Feldzug zu begleiten hatten, um
die rechte Abwicklung der Rituale, wie Opferschauen, Gebete, Reinigungsriten und den
Kult der Götterwagen und -standarten zu gewährleisten.
Dem Generalstab müssen die Verwaltungsbehörden und die Provinzgouverneure in
großem Umfange zugearbeitet haben. Von erheblicher Bedeutung dürfte dabei die Be-
schaffung von Informationen über die geographischen und politischen Verhältnisse in
den Feindländern durch den Nachrichtendienst gewesen sein. Auf der Basis der
gesammelten Nachrichten über die Gegner und über die eigene Lage und Stärke
konnten Prioritäten und Ziele gesetzt, Pläne entwickelt und dem König zur
Entscheidung unterbreitet werden. Die letzte Entscheidung lag wohl immer beim König,
wobei manche Neuerungen deutlich individuelle Merkmale zeigen, so die Diversierung
und die unorthodoxen Einsätze der Reiterei bei Sargon oder die amphibische Operation
gegen Nagitu in Elam 694 und der Winterfeldzug gegen Elam 692 bei Sanherib.
41 Vielleicht beruhten die großen Erfolge Tiglatpilesars III. und Sargons II. gerade auf der Tatsache,
daß sie nicht Kronprinzen waren.
42 Sun tsï entwickelte für Herrscher und Heerführer einen systematischen Leitfaden für die kluge
Durch-führung eines erfolgreichen Krieges. Dieses Ziel verfolgt auch das Luh-t’ao, das daneben
aber auch noch als einziger militärtheoretischer Text die technisch-praktische Seite des
Kriegswesens ausführ-lich behandelt. Vgl. dazu MAYER, Kriegskunst, 437-439.
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 21
43 J. KEEGAN, The Face of Battle (London 1975); dt.: Die Schlacht (Düsseldorf-Wien 1978; München
1981).
Walter Mayer 22
verei über Verstümmelung bis zu einem qualvollen Tod reichen konnte, den Einsatz. Es
muß aber nochmals betont werden, daß sich in den altorientalischen Quellen,
einschließ-lich derer des Alten Testamentes, zumeist keine Aussagen finden über die
Wirksamkeit dieser Faktoren, von denen nur wenige hier genannt worden sind, obwohl
sie den Ver-lauf einer Schlacht, aber auch den eines Krieges mit beeinflußen und daher
eine wichtige Rolle innerhalb der Militärgeschichtsschreibung einnehmen müssen.
In vielen Bereichen der assyrischen Militärgeschichte drängen sich Analogien zur
römischen Armee der Kaiserzeit geradezu auf. Man ist versucht zu sagen: “The
Assyrians always win”. Wie neben Exekutionen, Deportationen, Plünderungen und
Ausbeutung durch Tribute und Dienstleistungen die Praxis des Alltagslebens in
eroberten Gebieten unter assyrischer Militärverwaltung aussah, lassen die Quellen im
Dunkeln. Berück-sichtigt man jedoch die Erfahrungen und Notwendigkeiten und die
sich dabei im Rahmen der Miltärgeschichte immer wieder in den unterschiedlichsten
Regionen und den ver-schiedensten Zeiten abzeichnenden Analogien, so liegt die
Vermutung nahe, daß sich eine assyrische Besatzungsarmee kaum von einer römischen,
wie sie Brian Campbell in seinem Beitrag beschrieben hat,44 unterschieden haben kann.
44 Hier S. 167-180.
Armee und Macht in Assyrien 23
finanziell selbst erhielt. Dies konnte durch Beute und Tribute geschehen. Um den
Soldaten die Beute und dem Staat die Tribute zu sichern mußte die Armee Jahr für Jahr
ausrücken. Die erzwungenen Tribute und Hilfsleistungen trieben aber einen Vasallen
nach dem anderen über kurz oder lang in den Ruin. Daher mußte der Herrschaftsbereich
immer weiter und über immer größere Entfernungen hinweg ausgedehnt werden.
Assyrien ist so einem gigantischen Tagebaubagger vergleichbar, der sich immer weiter
vorarbeiten muß. Die Folgen waren die Auszehrung der biologischen Substanz, die
Überbeanspruchung aller wirtschaftlichen Kräfte des Staates und eine völlige
Überdehnung seiner Armee. Auf diese Weise wurden Staat und Volk der Assyrer durch
die Eigendynamik und die Eigengesetzlichkeiten des Militarismus, den sie selbst ins
Leben gerufen hatten, von innen her aufgefressen.
Einen bedeutenden Beitrag zum Untergang Assyriens lieferten die fortgesetzten
Deportationen. Durch sie wurde bewirkt, daß immer weniger Assyrer über ein immer
größer werdendes Territorium mit einer immer größer werdenden nichtassyrischen Be-
völkerung verteilt werden mußten. Verbunden war diese nichtassyrische Bevölkerung
untereinander durch die aramäische lingua franca und den Haß auf den Unterdrücker
und Ausbeuter. Als Folge wurde seit Tiglatpilesar III., wie die auf seinen Reliefs zu
zweit auftretenden Schreiber belegen, das Aramäische bereits zur zweiten
Verwaltungssprache — zum ‘Reichsaramäischen’. Bildete in den früheren Krisenzeiten
das assyrische Kernland mit seiner weitgehend geschlossenen assyrischen Bevölkerung
noch eine sichere Basis, von der eine Rückeroberung ausgehen konnte, so waren am
Ende der Geschichte die Assyrer so ausgedünnt und ihr Anteil an der
Gesamtbevölkerung des Reiches so gering, daß sich ein energischer Widerstand gegen
die feindlichen Eingriffe von Außen in dem Umfang, wie er für ein Überleben nötig
gewesen wäre, nicht mehr entwickeln konnte.
Bereits zu Zeiten Assur-beµl-kalas und der Könige des 10. und 9. Jh. scheint es zur
Übernahme von Soldaten Unterworfener gekommen zu sein. Dennoch wurden bis in
das 8. Jh. hinein die Kriege im wesentlichen von einer in ethnischer Hinsicht
assyrischen Armee geführt. Über sieben Jahrhunderte jedoch mit fortgesetzten Kriegen
und Erobe-rungen mußten zu beträchtlichen demographischen Veränderungen führen.
Unter Tiglat-pilesar III. und seinen Nachfolgern Sargon und Sanherib mußten die
Verluste der Armee und die Ausweitung ihrer Aufgaben in erheblichen Maße durch die
Übernahme der Elite-formationen Unterworfener und durch die Rekrutierung unter den
Deportierten ausge-glichen werden.45 Immerhin blieben die Mittel, die der assyrische
Staat dafür aufwenden mußte, noch im eigenen Machtbereich im Umlauf.
Asarhaddon und Assurbanipal mußten aber bereits Gebietsverluste mit all ihren ver-
heerenden psychologischen Folgen hinnehmen. Die demographischen und wirtschaft-
lichen Folgen der jahrhundertelangen Kriege hatten in Verbindung mit zwei verhängnis-
vollen Nachfolgeentscheidungen die Assyrer eines ihrer wichtigsten Güter gekostet —
die innere Stabilität, die bisher immer noch ein Überleben ermöglicht hatte. Zudem
zeichneten sich in Iran zu dieser Zeit Tendenzen zu einer politischen Einigung der
medischen Stämme und der ansässigen mannäischen Bevölkerung ab, wodurch eine
Basis für Angriffe auf Mesopotamien geschaffen wurde. Um dem Anrennen
barbarischer Völker aus den Bergländern Einhalt zu gebieten, waren die assyrischen
45 Dieses Phänomen erinnert stark an die Aufstellung der Hochlandregimenter der britischen Armee im
18. und der Kolonialtruppen im 19. Jh.
Walter Mayer 24
Herrscher nunmehr gezwungen, mit den Nomadenfürsten zu verhandeln und sie mit rein
diplomatischen Mitteln gegeneinander auszuspielen. Darüber hinaus mußte man in
beträchtlichem Um-fange Angehörige von Reitervölkern — vor allem Meder und
Skythen — anwerben. Dies mag zum einen bedingt gewesen sein durch die fremde
Kampfform, mit der die Assyrer nie recht vertraut wurden, zum anderen aber weil die
eigenen Kräfte nicht mehr für den Angriff und für die Verteidigung nach innen und
nach außen ausreichten. Damit flossen aber beträchtliche Reichtümer aus Assyrien ab
und sammelten sich im Barbaricum an. Selbst die spanischen Silberquellen der
Phöniker konnten diesen Abgang schließlich nicht mehr ersetzen. So entschloß sich
Asarhaddon zum Angriff auf Ägypten, dessen Goldreichtum bereits in der Amarna-Zeit
(14. Jh.) sprichwörtlich war. Damit waren aber die Kräfte selbst der assyrischen Armee
endgültig überfordert. Die Preise aber, die die Nomadenfürsten aufgrund ihrer neuen
Reichtümer nunmehr verlangen konnten, waren für Assyrien langfristig nicht mehr zu
bezahlen.46 In Verbindung mit den anderen Konse-quenzen der assyrischen Politik
bedeutete dies das Ende.
46 Reitpferde beispielsweise wurden vorzugsweise aus Iran bezogen — meist als Tributleistung. Die
babylonischen Nachrichten über die letzten Jahre des assyrischen Todeskampfes lassen deutlich
erkennen, daß in der assyrischen Armee ein erheblicher Mangel an Pferden geherrscht haben mußte.
Die Babylonier konnten im Bedarfsfall immer davonlaufen, ohne daß die Assyrer sie hätten stellen
können. Den Gegner zu finden, zu stellen und bis zum Eintreffen der Hauptstreitmacht festzuhalten,
wäre die klassische Aufgabe der Reiterei gewesen.
Army and Exercise of Power in Early India 25
Romila Thapar
A discussion of the role of the army in the exercise of power would have to consider
typological comparisons between different kinds of states at various periods of history.
Armies are not associated with early forms of societies and emerge only when certain
political and economic preconditions are met. The economy of the society has to be
evolved enough to support the provisioning and equipping of an army. Professionals
that constitute an army are not the same as warrior bands that find employment in a
variety of places and occasions or clansmen who fight when they are threatened.
Professional armies have to be maintained even in times of peace or when the need for
protection is not immediate, and this places a financial burden on the society. Those that
maintain an army must have access to sufficient revenue and must be in a position to
control that revenue. There is a link therefore between the formation of an evolved state
and the organisation of its army. The existence of the state makes it feasible to obtain
and reserve a part of the revenue for establishing an army. The justification for this is
found in the claim that the state, its territory, its capital, its treasury and above all its
king has to be protected by the army. Where the essential qualification for kingship is
an ability to protect the people of a state, there the army cannot be set aside.
I would like to argue this position with reference to early India during the fifth and
fourth centuries B.C. The two prevailing forms of government are often seen as the
gana-sangha and the rajya. The gana-sanghas were the chiefdoms or oligarchies where
the ruling clans, the rajakula of the kshatriyas, held power and controlled and co-
ordinated the labour of those who worked their land and provided them revenue. These
chiefdoms tended to be small in size, and it is debatable as to whether they can be
regarded as states. The monarchies (rajya) were larger in size, ruled by dynasties, and
acknowledged as having a government familiar with the idea of the state. The gana-
sanghas of the Indian sources are sometimes identified with what Greek sources refer to
as ‘autonomous cities’. In contrasting the two I would like to suggest that whereas the
organisation of an army was possible in a monarchical state, it is unlikely that there
were regular armies in the gana-sanghas.
The Rigveda is a compilation of hymns that is regarded as the earliest literary
composition in India. The hymns refer to agro-pastoral societies with clan identities,
where the warrior was respected, and groups of warriors formed the close entourage of
the chief; this gave them status as symbolised by their use of horse-drawn chariots.1
Much of their activity focused on cattle raids and these are frequently mentioned.
Pastoral societies, such as that of the authors of the Rigveda who refer to themselves as
aryas, often augmented their herd not only by breeding but also by raiding. The dasa,
frequently the enemy, was said to be wealthy in cattle and therefore the target of raids.
Even when the chief was well on the way to being transmuted into a king, the cattle raid
was not given up. In fact it became a lengthy affair taking up an entire season. The Kuru
Panchalas, we are told, always carry out raids in the dewy season and return before the
onset of the hot weather.2 And this was in the twilight period when some clan societies
were gradually changing into state systems.
The epics — the Mahabharata and the Ramayana — also register a difference in
the activities of the heroes and warriors. In most confrontations either the heroes were in
single combat or in a chariot-to-chariot combat or there were small groups involved in
fighting. The role played by the army came as part of the grand finale when in both
epics armies were pitted against each other; but even in this situation the single combat
among heroes remained the prevailing form. The heroic was the superhuman, the
weapons were imbued with magical qualities, and on occasion even the gods
intervened. Epic wars were wars of attrition with alternating periods of activity or lull,
and the battle could be endlessly prolonged providing space and time for the bardic poet
to demonstrate his creative powers. In the Mahabharata the battle is fought at
Kurushetra and in the Ramayana it is fought at Lanka. These battles could well have
been elaborated upon in additions to the epics since many interpolations from later
periods are known to have found their way into the epics. References to armies of
trained soldiers may have been later additions. Soldiers as described in these epics were
transitional from clansmen to a professional army.
Erstwhile cattle raiders and warrior bands gradually became professional soldiers
when the emergence of states required the regular use of armies. This entailed their
employment by the state either permanently or else as trained soldiers being called up in
times of war. Nevertheless this was not a rapid change nor a carefully controlled
exercise. For instance, in the fifth century B.C. the kingdom of Magadha and the gana-
sangha of the Vrijjis, located in the middle Ganges plain, were involved in a protracted
campaign that is said to have lasted for sixteen years. Clearly this was not the time span
of a pitched battle, and there must have been some guerilla warfare in between battles.
But the descriptions of the confrontation introduce complexities both of a military and
political kind, and although there is an element of epic warfare in these, they also
suggest the initial move towards setting up professional armies.
The contest in this case was between two different political systems. The Vrijjis
were a confederation of eight clans, sometimes depicted as oligarchies or gana-sanghas.
Magadha was the first of the major monarchies. The struggle had many causes: control
over trade along nodal points of the Ganges river; the desire of the monarchy to
terminate the competition with the oligarchies; the rich, fertile rice-lands south of the
river; the forests and their resources in terms of timber and elephants (timber used for
the building of cities and elephants as an important wing of the army); and the deposits
of iron and copper which enhanced the wealth of whomever controlled the southern
region. Magadha experimented with new types of complex weapons. Among these were
the mahashilakantaka — massive catapults to throw rock missiles against the walls of
the city of Vaishali, the capital of the Vrijjis — or the rathamushala which was a
chariot fitted with large knives which could mow down the enemy when driven into
their ranks. The military campaign was protracted and did not bring about a result.
Eventually a strategy of dissension succeeded in creating disunity in the oligarchies and
the Vrijjis succumbed to the monarchy,3 an activity that comes to be seen as the strategy
for weakening the oligarchies. This is not described in terms of great battles but rather
of a wearisome confrontation between the Vrijjis and Magadha in which Magadha
eventually succeeded although not through victory in battle but through a diplomatic
and political plot.
Nevertheless the military technology was significant for the building up of an army
in association with monarchy, as is evident from its not only being mentioned but being
made much of. By way of contrast there is little mention of an army of the Vrijjis.
Possibly a distinction is being suggested here between the oligarchies and confederacies
of clans ruling from cities and states with monarchies, where the latter are more likely
to maintain armies. Monarchies are more closely associated with centralised power than
the gana-sanghas. Other instances of conflict between such clans, such as that between
the Shakyas and the Koliyas over a water dispute, leads to the clansmen themselves
battling it out.4 There is no mention of soldiers or of an army. The military role of the
clan justifies its claim to power. A major difference between the gana-sangha and the
monarchies is that in the latter case those in power have an army to fight for them and
this is one of the methods of continuing to be in power.
Whereas in Brahmanical texts there is much emphasis on the king as a protector of
his people and therefore needing to be a warrior, and on the devising of rituals for
success in battle, the Buddhist theories present a contrast. Here the person chosen as
king has as his prime responsibility a different kind of protection of the people, namely,
to ensure that the wheel of law rolls throughout the territory. Conquest through violence
was not encouraged. This, with one remarkable exception, did not lead to the abandon-
ment of conquest through violent means, but the distinctively different emphasis in the
two ideologies has a significance.
The existence of an army also meant that the caste associated with warriors and
heroes — the kshatriya caste — had to be redefined and the ranks of fighting men as
protectors had to include other castes. The dharmashastras, the normative texts on
social obligations, sacred duties and the organisation of society, insist that the warrior’s
function could only be performed by the kshatriya caste. In the fourfold division of
brahmanical caste ranking (the varna division) the brahman had religious authority, the
kshatriya was the warrior, the vaishya was occupied with agriculture and trade, and the
shudra served the upper three castes. Kshatra indicated power, and it was the
kshatriya’s role to exert power in order to protect the people both from external
aggression and from internal strife. Kingship lay in providing such protection,5 but
power was more effectively exercised through other controls and gradually the
kshatriyas came to recognise control over land as possibly the more significant aspect of
3 Uvasagadasao II, Appendix p. 60; Anguttara Nikaya 4.17; 2.35; 2.179, transl. E.M. HARE, The
Book of Gradual Sayings (Pali Text Society) (Oxford 1995); Sumangalavilasini 2.522; Digha
Nikaya 2.72, transl. T. RHYS DAVIDS, Dialogues of the Buddha (Pali Text Society) (London 1973).
4 Kunala Jataka , transl. W.B. BOLLEE (Pali Text Society) (London 1970).
5 Manu, 1.89, transl. W. DONIGER and B. SMITH, The Laws of Manu (Harmondsworth 1991).
Romila Thapar 28
6 D.C. SIRCAR, Select Inscriptions Bearing on Indian History and Civilisation, vol. 1 (Calcutta 1965),
90f.
7 Transl. T.W. RHYS DAVIDS, The Questions of King Milinda (New York 1963).
Army and Exercise of Power in Early India 29
Alexander’s campaign in northern India met with two kinds of opposition. The first
was the opposition from ruling kings who had standing armies. Porus, for example,
ruled over a kingdom in the northwest and his army contributed to his authority in
holding the northern Punjab and controlling the crucial passes and valleys of the Khyber
and Swat, which established connections with Afghanistan, Iran and central Asia. It was
a well-organised army, and its elephant wing was particularly impressive even if rather
unwieldy before the cavalry of Alexander according to Greek sources. The cavalry in
India initially tended to be small and was not very extensively used as horses were not
bred in India and were imported. This made them extremely expensive. The chariot
wing of the army and the cavalry were regarded as especially important, but perhaps not
so important as the elephant wing. Although elephants were not bred but captured, they
were easier to obtain even if expensive to maintain. But they became symbolic of a
well-structured army. A standing army with the traditional four wings — infantry,
cavalry, chariots and elephants — required the wealth of a substantial state for its
maintenance.8 Figures for the army of Porus are extremely large, and it is doubtful
whether a small kingdom could have maintained such a vast army. According to
Diodorus the army of Porus consisted of 50,000 infantry, 3,000 cavalry, 1,000 chariots
and 130 elephants.9
The second source of opposition to Alexander came from what Greek sources call
the ‘autonomous cities’. The figures given for the enormous size of the armies of these
‘autonomous cities’ are even more impressive. Whether these were well-trained, well-
equipped, regular armies is debatable, since their action suggests that these cities were
defended by warriors and members of the clan that constituted the dominant group in
the city. The autonomous cities were small territories consisting of the main city, its
hinter-land and some territory beyond, but not an extensive state. There were many such
cities from the middle to the lower Indus region. This is the first time that figures are
mentioned since Indian sources do not give the actual figures for the different wings of
the army. The reliability of the figures from Classical sources can be questioned, and
the numbers may well be arbitrary and incorrect. It is most unlikely that they were
accurate and more likely that they were attempts to project the immense opposition
faced by Alexander and his success in meeting it.
The figures mentioned in connection with some of the ‘autonomous cities’ can be
tabulated thus: Diodorus gives the following figures:10
For the Oxydrakoi and Malloi — the Greek names for the clans referred to as the
Kshudraka and Malava in Indian sources
80,000 foot 10,000 horse 700 chariots
For the Sambastoi, Sodroi, Massanoi
60,000 foot 6,000 horse 500 chariots
For the Agalasseis
40,000 foot 3,000 horse
8 R. THAPAR, Asoka and the Decline of the Mauryas (Delhi 1997, second edition), 118ff.
9 DIODORUS, Bibliotheca Historica, 17.87; J.W. MCCRINDLE, The Invasion of India by Alexander
the Great (London 1896), has translations of the passages from Classical sources referring to
Alexander’s campaign in India. The references quoted in this paper are from this publication. See
now also J. HAHN, Alexander in Indien, 327-325 v. Chr. (Stuttgart 2000).
10 DIODORUS, Bibliotheca Historica 17.96-98; 17.102.
Romila Thapar 30
The latter are the same figures as Diodorus gives for Sambastoi et al.
Justin’s figures are as follows:12
At Beas — 200,000 cavalry
Ambri and the Sigambri
80,000 foot 60,000 cavalry
The reliability of these figures can be doubted for various reasons: they are from
sources which are later than the events which they describe; the locations of the cities
are not always correct; the figures were said to be approximations, but the
approximations could have been exaggerated in order to demonstrate the mighty armies
with which Alexander had to do battle. It is curious that in many cases these are
mentioned, but Alexander does not face the armies and is instead involved either in
negotiations or in laying siege to the cities. The autonomous cities were small city-states
and could not have maintained such large armies as listed in these sources. The figures
mentioned were probably larger than even the population of the autonomous cities. If
what Greek writers call autonomous cities were organised as gana-sanghas as Indian
sources suggest, then it is unlikely that they would have maintained armies. Plutarch
mentions that the strength of Alexander’s army on his campaigns was 120,000
including presumably all sections and attachments. It is unlikely that small autonomous
cities would have been able to support armies far larger than even this. Such inflated
numbers would also have encouraged the later theories of the prevalence of despotism
in all Indian states, and the maintenance of such large armies would have required some
amount of oppressive administration.
The armies that Alexander did not confront were those of the Prasioi and
Gangaridae, located to the east in the Ganges plain. The Nanda king who ruled an
extensive kingdom, comprising almost the entire Ganges plain, was known to the Greek
sources as Agrammes or Xandrames.
Diodorus gives the following figures:13
200,000 infantry 20,000 cavalry 2,000 chariots 4,000 elephants
Quintus Curtius Rufus states the figures as:14
200,000 foot 2,000 chariots 20,000 cavalry 3,000-6,000 elephants
These figures must have been conflated, since it was said that the size of these armies
led to the Greek withdrawal from the campaign.
Alexander was dissuaded from campaigning in the Ganges plain. He turned back
from the southern Punjab and returned along the Indus, Makran and the Persian coast to
Babylon. The reason given was the refusal of his soldiers to fight further. One of the
arguments used by modern historians is that he would have had to face the army of the
Nanda ruler who at the time was attempting to build a powerful state in the Ganges
plain. The Nanda dynasty succeeded in laying the foundations of a state that would
grow into an empire, as it eventually happened with the coming of the Mauryan empire.
Indian sources maintain that the Nandas introduced an efficient administration that
collected substantial revenue from agriculture which made the Nandas powerful. Their
authority was conceded all round even though they are uniformly said to be of low caste
status. Greek sources seem convinced that a vast standing army was characteristic of
Indian states, yet Indian sources only associate the army with power when large
kingdoms like those of the Nandas and Mauryas come into existence.
The figures quoted for the Nanda and the subsequent Mauryan army by later
authors are again exaggerated, perhaps to underline Alexander’s futility in facing such a
force. Plutarch writes that the Mauryan king who succeeded the Nandas conquered with
an army of 600,000 infantry, apart from cavalry, chariots and elephants.15 Pliny speaks
of an infantry of 80,000, 1,000 horses and 700 elephants.16 There is an evident juggling
with figures, and these need not therefore be taken literally. Alexander’s campaign and
military organisation left little impression on the Indian states and rulers with whom he
came into contact.
The Mauryas came to power in the latter part of the fourth century B.C. and initially
at least the pattern was seen in contemporary narratives as one of using military strength
to establish political power. The first of the Mauryan kings, Chandragupta, began by
controlling the Ganges plain which had been the nucleus of the earlier Nanda kingdom.
Later Chandragupta campaigned in central India and the latter part of his reign found
him confronting Seleucus Nicator, a successor to Alexander in Iran and Afghanistan.
The army was now of considerable importance both for conquering territory to be
included in the empire and for consolidating the conquests. The son of Chandragupta,
known to the Greeks as Amitrochates — a rendering in Greek it would seem of
amitrakhada (‘the eater of the enemy’) or amitraghata (‘the killer of the enemy’) — is
said in a much later Tibetan text to have conquered the land between the two seas,
presumably the peninsula of the sub-continent of India. Such statements indicate the
presence of an army.
A text sometimes associated with the Mauryan period is the Arthashastra of
Kautilya, but its date remains controversial. A section of the text (Book II) could be of
the Mauryan period, but much of it is post-Mauryan. Even if it is post-Mauryan much of
its theory would reflect the ideas current at this time. It is a manual on political
economy and on governance, and is the major text of its kind. As such it is a normative
text and not a description of actual conditions; therefore, caution must be exercised
when using it for information on the functioning of the institutions of the state. It
mentions the seven limbs of the state — the saptanga — one of which involves the use
of force and is referred to as either bala (‘force’) or danda (‘coercive force’ or even
‘punishment’).17 Bala is the term that is sometimes used for armed strength and in this
context would refer to the army. But the fact that it is used synonymously with danda or
coercive force in some texts would point to a concession that the state could be
coercive. The degree to which it was so would depend on other factors making it
possible or impossible. It is significant that the use of force is not singled out as
symptomatic of the change from earlier chiefdoms to monarchy. It is one of seven
characteristics of the state, the others being: the authority of the sovereign, the
administration, the treasury, the walled capital, the territory and the ally. Revenue from
agriculture and trade is treated as necessary to power, and methods of collecting
revenue and activities that can be taxed are an important part of the book, described in
detail for the first time.
Kautilya writes that the army is rooted in the treasury.18 This would endorse the
idea that only when there was a treasury of some consequence in a state would a
sizeable army emerge. The army was needed to protect and consolidate the state. It
would have been involved in manning fortifications and garrisons along the frontiers
and where necessary quelling a rebellion, although there is no recorded incidence of the
latter at this time. The composition and functions of an army were also related to the
intentions of a campaign. Most campaigns sought to acquire more territory — especially
if it had the potentiality for providing wealth and resources — to take prisoners-of-war
who could be used as labour, and to collect booty. The economic compulsions may be
as intensive as the political.
According to the Arthashastra, the army could draw on the following categories of
fighting men:19 maula or hereditary soldiers, by which is probably meant the standing
army, where soldiers were liable to be transferred and from which the king’s personal
bodyguard would be selected; bhrita, or hired soldiers, presumably mercenaries, who
were often soldiers who had been demobilised after a campaign but encouraged to stay
in the state so that they could not strengthen the army of the neighbouring state and
were also more accesible for mobilisation; militias such as the ones maintained by
guilds, shrenis, who needed them to protect their caravans travelling through bandit
infested forests; armies lent by allies, mitra; disgruntled soldiers of the enemy, amitra;
forest chiefs, atavikas, who could be friendly or hostile — presumably where they were
friendly their clansmen dwelling in the forest were also drawn into fighting during a
campaign in the neighbourhood. Forest dwellers were used as scouts and they are to be
given booty. That mention is frequently made of how to handle and use forest dwellers
suggests that much of the northern plain was still forested.
The first three categories were under the control of the state or as in the case of the
guild militias were anxious to help the state more or less as an investment for tapping
the services of the state when they needed these. The last three categories were less
reliable and could change their loyalties. The dependability of each declined in order of
listing. The forest chiefs were the least dependable, and Kautilya advises that they be
treated with caution. He states that their main aim would be to acquire booty, and they
would be ready to loot in any direction given half a chance. We are not, however, told
the size of each section of the army. Presumably the standing army would be the largest
section and would form the core of the army. This description of different categories of
fighting men is a contrast to the statements in the Classical sources, which give precise
and doubtless exaggerated figures for the different wings of the army. If Plutarch and
Pliny were correct even by half, then there would have been no need for the Mauryan
rulers to draw upon soldiers other than those in the standing army. The main question is
whether the Mauryan state would have had the finances to maintain armies as enormous
as is represented in these figures.
The training of the soldier would vary with each category, and the most rigorous
training was probably given to those in the standing army. It is not clear whether caste
18 Ibid. 8.1.47ff.
19 Ibid. 2.33.8; 7.8.27; 9.2.14-19.
Romila Thapar 34
considerations would interfere with the training; one suspects that whatever the
normative texts may state, there would have been adjustments all along. There may
have been a differentiation between those that were the charioteers and the mahouts of
the elephants from those that rode on the elephants, chariots and horses, the latter being
better equipped and of a higher status. However, these questions relate to the context, as
for example in the case of archery, which was the normal weapon of forest tribes, but
was also the mark of an accomplished warrior. This is pointed up in a story in the epic
Mahabharata: when the disadvantaged tribal, Ekalavya, observed the guru giving the
warrior Arjuna lessons in archery and through this process, even though untaught,
acquired knowledge and excelled Arjuna, the guru demanded Ekalavya’s thumb as the
gift for the teacher.20
Megasthenes, a friend of Seleucus Nicator, claims to have visited India at this time
as an emissary from Seleucus to the court of Chandragupta Maurya, and left an account
of what he saw in his book, the Indica. There is some doubt as to whether he actually
did visit and stay for a while at the Mauryan capital, Pataliputra, or whether, as some of
his near contemporaries assert, that he stayed in Afghanistan and based his Indica on
hearsay.21 There is surprisingly little reference specifically to the Mauryans. Un-
fortunately his Indica has not survived, but paraphrases of his statements are available
in the writings of Strabo, Diodorus and Arrian. He mentions that Indian society was
divided into seven groups (mere or gene). One among these was the category of soldiers
(polemistai) which he describes as a standing army.22 A second century A.D. quotation
from Megasthenes made by Arrian in his Indica, states that the soldiers were so well
paid that they maintained others on their wages.23 In peacetime they are said to live a
life of idle ease. According to Megasthenes the number of soldiers was high, second
only to the cultivators. This would lend some credibility to the Classical sources
although their figures are not corroborated by Indian sources.
The picture of the well-paid soldier is also borne out by the Arthashastra, where his
salary is given as 500 panas, considerably more than that of the clerk (120 panas) and
that of a servant (60 panas).24 The commander-in-chief or senapati was paid 48,000
panas, which is ninety-six times the salary of the soldier and presumably this
excessively high salary — if actually paid — was intended to buy his loyalty, among
other things. Superintendents and Commanders of the four wings of the army received a
more reasonable salary, between 2,000 and 8,000 panas. These were salaries for the
standing army. The Arthashastra states that the army will be loyal if it is paid a good
salary and is honoured by the king. The loyalty of officers was tested from time to time,
one form of test being the appointment of more than one commander of a wing.25 This
may also have been a way of checking corruption, and the possible methods of
corruption among officers are discussed at length by Kautilya, who does not hide the
possibilities of corruption among officers since he states if honey is placed on the
20 Mahabharata, Adiparvan, 123.1ff. ABORI (Poona 1933), transl. J.A.B. VAN BUITENEN, 1. The
Book of the Beginning (Chicago 1973).
21 P.A. BRUNT, transl. Arrian, History of Alexander (Cambridge Mass. 1983), App. 17.6, 447ff.
22 R. THAPAR, The Mauryas Revisited (Calcutta 1987), 38.
23 Ibid. 43.
24 Arthashastra 5.3.14.
25 Ibid. 1.10.9-12.
Army and Exercise of Power in Early India 35
26 Ibid. 2.9.
27 Nanda Jataka, no. 39, transl. E.B. COWELL, The Jataka, vols. I-III (London 1969).
28 Arthashastra 10.3.45.
29 STRABO 15.1.52, transl. H.L. JONES, The Geography of Strabo (Cambridge Mass. 1966).
30 Arthashastra 10.1.
31 Arthashastra 2.15.42; 2.3.12-17; 2.30.8-24; 2.31.13.
Romila Thapar 36
of those who had laid siege. Destruction of a besieged town by fire should on all
accounts be avoided, since fire cannot be controlled and creates more problems in its
aftermath.32
Megasthenes’ description finds some parallels with the reference to the Super-
intendents of the various wings of the army in Kautilya’s text. The first committee is
associated with the admiral of the fleet and is concerned with naval warfare; this may
have involved river battles as well as battles on the sea. Ships and boats would also be
part of the transportation of supplies. The second committee had commissariat
functions, supervising the bullock-trains used for transporting food, equipment and
supplies. The remaining four committees were concerned with the four wings of the
army: infantry, cavalry, the chariots and the elephants.
Kautilya advocated a separation between civil and military functions, a separation
that does not appear to have been demarcated, as we may judge from other historical
sources. The inheritors of Alexander’s domains combined the two functions in the
tradition of military commanders being appointed to administrative positions and some
taking on of the role of the king. A sharp demarcation would in any case have not made
much sense given the polities of the time, where kings were the commanders of armies
going into battle.
Army administration according to the Arthashastra also involves the employment
of labour that is required to keep the army in shape: carrying, fetching, fixing, removing
the wounded and arranging the commissariat. In addition there were a variety of agents
who kept watch on the loyalty of the army and particularly of the officers in the guise of
artisans, entertainers, prostitutes and those who had had a long service with the army.
The Arthashastra mentions the centrality of the commander-in-chief as controlling the
four wings of the army: both loyalty and centrality were at stake when in the second
century B.C. the brahman commander-in-chief of the Mauryan army, Pushyamitra
Shunga, assassinated the Mauryan king at a review of the troops and usurped power,
establishing the Shunga rule. But such coups were not frequent.33 What did occur more
than a few times was the establishment of dynasties by families of senior administrators.
Megasthenes also says that the peasants were exempt from military service and
were unarmed,34 and this would suggest a certain fear on the part of the state of an
armed opposition. However peasant revolts were rare in early India, and peasant
discontent seems to have taken the form of a migration into new territory or into
neighbouring kingdoms. Since this resulted in added cultivation and revenue, the
kingdoms to which they migrated did not object, provided that land was available. It can
be assumed however that the militias maintained by the guilds would have been armed
and would not have been required to turn in their arms.
The Superintendent of the armoury, the shashtradhyaksha, was in charge of
weapons, armour, coat-of-mail, etc. which was given to the soldiers at the time of war
and for manouvres, but was returned to the armoury. All equipment was stamped and
32 Arthashastra 13.4.22-24.
33 THAPAR, op. cit. (note 8), 182ff.
34 ARRIANUS, Indica 11, transl. J.W. MCCRINDLE, Ancient India as Described by Megasthenes and
Arrian (London 1877).
Army and Exercise of Power in Early India 37
carefully stored.35 Some arms would have been privately owned as is evident from the
finding of spearheads, arrowheads and swords from the excavation of settlements. What
was given by the state would have been heavy armour and equipment for horses. The
kshatriya was conventionally described as being armed, so the disarming would have
applied to the ordinary soldier. Was the text being unduly cautious in advocating that all
arms be returned to the armoury?
A detailed list of complicated weapons, of battle and defence machines, and of
machines used in assaults on cities is given. There is a large range of heavy weapons,
some hand held but many more functioning through various mechanisms. Armourers
were employed by the state and were exempt from tax. The Arthashastra also speaks of
the periodic inspection of the armoury. The Superintendent of Chariots was concerned
with the production of a range of chariots for various purposes, of which chariots used
by the army formed a large part.36
According to the Arthashastra, the superintendent of horses was to list and register
all horses whether they were given as gifts, purchased, bred or obtained as war booty.
The maintaining of elephants was also regarded almost as a state monopoly,37 although
rich citizens were known to ride both elephants and horses. Elephants were not bred but
captured and trained. Forests were well-guarded and those with elephants demarcated.
The killing of an elephant carried the death penalty. The catching and training of
elephants was an elaborate procedure and those doing so were assisted by veterinarians
who had specialised in treating elephants.38 Tusks were trimmed every two or five years
and were cut at a point where the remaining length was twice the circumference of the
tusk. The best quality horse livestock was imported and for climatic and ecological
reasons could not be successfully bred in India. The horse therefore was an item of
luxury and status since it was an expensive import. The maintenance of these animals
was extremely costly, especially their consumption of food. The best horses in terms of
livestock were fed on good quality rice, barley, fat, sugar, salt, curds and some meat.
The elephants’ diet included more green fodder, grass and some oil. The feeding of
horses and elephants on meat seems unusual.39
The elephant wing was particularly important as it was not easy to obtain elephants
since they were not bred. Chandragupta Maurya fought a campaign against Seleucus
Nicator and among the clauses of the treaty Seleucus ceded territory in Afghanistan, and
Chandragupta gave him 500 elephants. Elephants were thought to be virtually invincible
in battle and likely to appear fearful to those unfamiliar with them which made them
attractive to Hellenistic kings, even though they were prohibitively expensive to
maintain outside tropical lands.
The theoretical perception of the army was that it was an instrument of state power.
It was, however, seen as vulnerable and could suffer adversities through a number of
calamities such as non-payment of salaries, improper maintenance and insufficient
honours. This was in part taken care of by the fact that the army had its own hierarchy
35 Arthashastra 2.18.1ff.
36 Ibid. 2.33.
37 Arthashastra 2.30-33.
38 Ibid. 2.2.13.
39 Ibid. 2.30.18; 2.31.13.
Romila Thapar 38
40 Arthashastra 10.6.45.
41 The Thirteenth Major Rock Edict. THAPAR, op. cit. (note 8), 255ff.
42 Arthashastra 2.1.
Army and Exercise of Power in Early India 39
commander-in-chief, who then usurped the throne and established the Shunga dynasty
as the successor dynasty, does not point to a weakening of the army in the previous half-
century. Nevertheless Ashoka’s decision, probably unique in the history of empires,
does indicate that the army was not central to the exercise of power — it was one of the
constituents involved in this exercise. The importance of the army has, therefore, to be
related to the other constituents.
Pierre Briant
1 Voir mon étude ‘The Achaemenid Empire’, in K. RAAFLAUB - N. ROSENSTEIN (edd.), Soldiers,
War and Society in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Cambridge, Ma. 1999) 106-128.
2 Voir en particulier M. ROOT, The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art (Acta Iranica, Mémoires
IX) (Leiden 1979).
40
Pierre Briant
d’entre eux est identifié par son vêtement, et plus encore, par une courte inscription (DB
b-k).
Les inscriptions des successeurs de Darius font silence sur des difficultés
successorales, se contentant de donner par le menu leur généalogie depuis Darius, car,
en elle-même, elle était censée authentifier leur légitimité dynastique. Seul Xerxès fait
une allusion discrète à une compétition, résolue pacifiquement par une décision prise
par Darius de son vivant, à savoir reconnaître une place privilégiée au fils qu’il avait
choisi comme successeur. Telle est du moins la présentation qu’en donne Xerxès lui-
même, dans une inscription où, comme dans bien d’autres, il insiste beaucoup sur la
continuité voulue avec l’œuvre et les réalisations de son père:
Xerxès le roi déclare: “Darius avait d’autres fils; le bon plaisir d’Ahura-
Mazda fut que Darius, mon père, me fit le plus grand après lui; lorsque mon
père quitta le trône [= mourut], grâce à Ahura-Mazda je suis devenu roi,
beaucoup est ce que j’ai fait d’excellent; ce que mon père avait fait, je l’ai
préservé, et j’y ai ajouté un autre travail; ce que j’ai fait aussi et ce que mon
père a fait, tout cela nous l’avons fait grâce à Ahura-Mazda” (XPf §4).
L’image voulue d’une continuité dynastique presque sans aspérités ne correspond
que très imparfaitement à une réalité qui fut infiniment plus heurtée et plus sanglante.
Les statistiques sont sans appel. Parmi toutes les successions connues, aucune ne s’est
passée de manière absolument paisible.3 Quatre rois furent assassinés (Xerxès Ier,
Xerxès II, Artaxerxès III, Arsès/Artaxerxès IV),4 et trois rois n’assurèrent leur pouvoir
qu’à l’issue de véritables guerres civiles (Darius Ier, Artaxerxès II, Darius II); on
pourrait ajouter Darius III à la liste, dans la mesure où, — on y reviendra, — Alexandre
a prétendu chasser du trône achéménide un roi illégitime.
Le plus souvent, les divergences entre frères se sont terminées par une bataille
rangée ou par un assassinat: songeons à Cambyse et Smerdis/Bardiya (succession de
Cyrus), à Darius-Bardiya (à la mort de Cambyse), aux contestations entre les fils de
Darius, aux luttes armées entre les fils de Xerxès (après son assassinat), à l’assassinat de
Xerxès II puis aux luttes armées entre Ochos et Sogdianos (succession d’Artaxerxès), à
la guerre entre Artaxerxès II et Cyrus le Jeune (succession de Darius II), pour ne pas
parler des assassinats successifs d’Artaxerxès III et d’Artaxerxès IV, ni de l’élimination
d’un héritier désigné coupable de tentative de complot (Darius exécuté sur l’ordre
d’Artaxerxès II son père). Étant donné que le pouvoir royal se gagne si souvent par la
force des armes, sur quelles forces armées les différents concurrents pouvaient-ils
s’appuyer pour espérer l’emporter? La question renvoie à l’organisation militaire de
l’empire, au centre et dans les provinces, — un aspect sur lequel il subsiste beaucoup
3 Les textes et épisodes qui sont cités et analysés dans les pages qui suivent ont déjà fait l’objet de
développements plus ou moins détaillés dans mon livre Histoire de l’empire perse. De Cyrus à
Alexandre (Paris 1996) [cité HEP], auxquels je me permets de renvoyer; les mises à jour peuvent
être trouvées dans mes Bulletin d’Histoire Achéménide, I (Topoi, Suppl. 1, 1997, p. 5-125) et II
(Paris, 2001) [cités BHAch I et BHAch II].
4 Selon l’heureuse hypothèse d’E. BADIAN (‘A Document of Artaxerxes IV?’, in Greece and the
Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory. Studies Presented to Fritz Schachermeyr
on the Occasion of his Eightieth Birthday [Berlin-New York 1977], 40-50), il ne fait guère de doute
qu’Arsès prit le nom de règne d’Artaxerxès (IV): cf. ma mise au point: ‘Cités et satrapes dans
l’empire achéménide’, Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres (1998),
305-306 et note 3.
41
Guerre et succession dynastique chez les Achéménides
d’incertitudes, car les sources documentaires n’ont pas encore été rassemblées ni
scrutées avec suffisamment d’attention, sauf sans doute sous leur aspect technique.5
Nous manquons encore à l’heure actuelle d’une synthèse précise sur l’organisation
militaire impériale.6
D’un exemple à l’autre, l’intervention armée peut prendre des formes diverses. Il
peut s’agir de véritables guerres civiles, qui ont engagé l’ensemble des forces de
l’empire, ou presque. C’est le cas de la prise de pouvoir de Darius.7 Se prétendant seul
vrai Achéménide, Darius prend les armes contre celui qu’il appelle Gaumata, présenté
comme un usurpateur, “qui a enlevé à Cambyse la royauté qui était depuis longtemps à
notre famille” (DB §12). Contrairement à la narration d’Hérodote, qui réduit l’affaire à
une conjuration de sept nobles et à la mise à mort de l’usurpateur dans sa chambre à
coucher, la victoire de Darius ne se produisit qu’à l’issue d’une véritable guerre, où
furent opposées des forces armées mobilisées par chacun des concurrents (il est
probable que Darius disposait de l’armée qui revenait d’Égypte). À cette guerre
proprement dynastique, s’ajoutèrent des guerres menées contre des rébellions qui
éclatèrent en Babylonie et dans les pays du Plateau iranien et d’Asie centrale. Parmi ces
rébellions, l’une présenta un danger particulier, celle de Vahyazd*ata en Perse, qui se
proclama successeur légitime de Cambyse, sous le nom de Bardiya, et Darius
d’affirmer: “L’armée perse qui était au palais..., elle devint rebelle contre moi... Alors
j’envoyai l’armée perse et mède qui était avec moi... Ils livrèrent bataille; Ahura-Mazda
m’apporta son soutien; grâce à Ahura-Mazda, mon armée battit complètement cette
armée de Vahyazd*ata” (DB §41). Vahyazd*ata avait réussi également à lever une autre
armée en Perse, qu’il avait envoyée contre l’Arachosie: elle fut elle aussi battue par
l’armée fidèle à Darius.
C’est également l’ensemble de l’empire qui est mobilisé par la guerre ouverte par
Cyrus le Jeune contre son frère Artaxerxès. Profitant au mieux de la situation qui était la
sienne à Sardes et en Asie mineure occidentale, Cyrus le Jeune avait engagé des milliers
de mercenaires grecs, et il avait convoqué, ès qualités, toutes les forces impériales
d’Asie mineure: forces des satrapes, colons militaires, contingents dus par les peuples et
les dynastes. Envisagée d’un point de vue géopolitique et militaire, l’affrontement des
deux frères à Counaxa n’est pas sans faire songer à l’affrontement entre Darius et
Alexandre, lorsqu’après 333, le premier a préparé son armée en utilisant les ressources
5 Voir récemment N. SEKUNDA - S. CHEW, The Persian Army, 560-330 B.C. (Londres 1992), et D.
HEAD, The Achaemenid Persian Army (Stockport 1992); quelle que soit la valeur informative
(discutable) des reconstitutions graphiques, il s’agit de deux livres bien informés, qui utilisent une
abondante documentation iconographique, sur laquelle on pourra voir également S. BITTNER,
Tracht und Bewaffnung des persischen Heeres zur Zeit der Achaimeniden (München 1985).
6 On trouvera un certain nombre de développements sur ce thème dans mon livre (HEP 552-559, 615-
617, 803-820, et notes correspondantes).
7 Je renonce à citer la bibliographie (souvent répétitive) parue depuis la mise au point de mon livre: cf.
BHAch I (1997), 50-52, et BHAch II (2001), 64-65, 82-83. Comme je l’avais déjà mentionné en 1996
(HEP 126-127), et comme je l’ai réaffirmé avec force plus récemment (Annales HHS 1999/5, 1132-
1135), je suis très sceptique sur la légitimité méthodologique d’une approche, qui consiste à utiliser
de manière (supposée être) complémentaire le texte de Behistoun (ou plutôt les quatre versions de
l’inscription) et les sources classiques, en particulier Hérodote. Lorsque l’on veut rappeler d’une
manière concise l’enchaînement des événements, comme je le fais ici, la référence à Hérodote
devient pratiquement inutile.
42
Pierre Briant
8 M. STOLPER, Entrepreneurs and Empire. The Muras“u Archive, the Muras“u Firm, and Persian
Rule in Babylonia (PIHANS LIV) (Leiden 1985), 104-124. La thèse a été discutée (voir G. VAN
DRIEL, ‘The Muras“us in context’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 32
[1989], 203-229), mais elle me semble toujours bien fondée (voir réponse de M. STOLPER - V.
DONBAZ, Istanbul Muras“u Texts [PIHANS LXXIX], Leiden 1997, 5-15). Sur des recherches
récentes concernant les obligations militaires et les forces armées en Babylonie achéménide, voir
BHAch I (1997), 55, et BHAch II (2001), 140-141.
9 PLUTARQUE, Artaxerxès 6.1.
43
Guerre et succession dynastique chez les Achéménides
manière tout à fait exceptionnelle, un outsider (le chiliarque Artapan) participe, dans un
premier temps, à la lutte pour le pouvoir suprême, on devine l’existence de groupes de
pression, chacun soutenant un des fils du roi. Mais le récit de Ctésias (connu par le
résumé de Photios) révèle aussi l’engagement de forces militaires: “Une bataille
(makhè) s’engage après la mort d’Artapan entre ses complices et les autres Perses; les
trois fils d’Artapan tombent au combat. Mégabyze est grièvement blessé” (§30). L’on
apprend aussi, par Ctésias et Diodore, que dès son avènement, Artaxerxès Ier dut
combattre des révoltes qui éclatèrent en Égypte et en Bactriane. Si l’on se souvient que,
narrant l’avènement de Darius, Hérodote ne parle pas à proprement parler de guerre
ouverte entre les prétendants, et qu’il fait l’impasse complète sur les différentes révoltes
provinciales que dût mâter Darius, l’on peut se demander si les événements qui
menèrent dans le tumulte et le sang à l’avènement d’Artaxerxès Ier ne furent pas aussi
graves que ceux que l’on peut reconstituer dans la période 522-519.
10 Sur les successions royales et les nomoi qui leur sont liés (chez les auteurs grecs), voir HEP, Index,
p. 1193 (s.v. Nomos/oi), et p. 1209 (s.v. ‘Succession chez les Achéménides’).
11 Voir en particulier les textes qui, à plusieurs siècles de distance, se répondent l’un l’autre, sur les
coutumes condamnables des peuples iraniens, y compris la coutume de l’inceste chez les Perses:
PLUTARQUE, De Fortuna Alexandri 1.5 (moralia 328 C-D), EUSÈBE de Césarée, Preparatio
Evange-lica 1.4.6-8; voir aussi CICÉRON, Tusculanae disputationes 1.44.108; PORPHYRE, De
Abstinentia 4.21. Il est probable que certaines de ces informations remontent à Onésicrite: cf.
Strabon 11.11.3.
12 D’une manière générale, on se reportera commodément maintenant aux études rassemblées par Th.
HARRISON (ed.), Greeks and Barbarians (Edinburgh 2002).
13 Voir e.g. R. DREWS, The Greek Accounts of Eastern History (Cambridge, Ma. 1973), en particulier
97-121.
14 Sur les coutumes royales perses chez Élien et Athénée, voir mon HEP, passim et plus
particulièrement chapitre VII (cf. p. 313). Dans un article récent (‘Le cortège “des rois de
Babylone”’, Bulletin of Asia Institute 12, 1998 [2001], 77 note 83), P. GOUKOWSKY rappelle qu’un
certain Hérakleidès d’Alexandrie avait écrit un ouvrage intitulé Persika idiómata (DIOGÈNE
LAËRCE 5.93; FGrHist 696), qu’il présente comme l’une de ces “sortes d’encyclopédies, oû l’on
trouvait tout ce que l’on voulait savoir sur les usages des anciens Perses” (ibid. p. 73). Je ne crois pas
pour autant que l’on doive en conclure, avec l’auteur (p. 73), que les rhéteurs et auteurs d’époque
romaine avaient de solides connaissances érudites sur l’époque perse: cf. mon livre Darius dans
44
Pierre Briant
Cet intérêt ‘ethnographique’ nous vaut l’excursus d’Hérodote sur les coutumes des
Perses (1.131-140), ouvert par la formule: “Les Perses, à ma connaissance, observent
les nomoi suivants...”.15 On retrouve un développement comparable chez Strabon, qui,
au demeurant, doit beaucoup à la lecture d’Hérodote (15.3.13-24, C 732-736), puis, à
l’époque de Julien, chez Ammien Marcellin,16 enfin, à l’époque byzantine, chez
Agathias,17 sous forme d’un très long développement, où l’auteur aime à comparer et à
opposer les nomoi des Perses de l’ancien temps (oi palai Persai), c’est-à-dire les Perses
achéménides, à ceux des Perses de son temps (Persai oi nun), c’est-à-dire les Perses
sassanides. Sans présenter un développement continu sur le sujet, les Guerres de
Procope offrent de nombreuses références faites aux coutumes perses, singulièrement
aux règles successorales.18
Qu’il s’agisse de développements autonomes ou de mentions isolées, les uns et les
autres apparaissent généralement dans le récit, en situation, lorsque les armées grecques,
romaines ou byzantines s’opposent à des armées perses (achéménides ou sassanides), et
que les historiens anciens jugent utile de présenter l’ennemi, ou / et d’expliquer tel ou
tel épisode.
Nombre de ces auteurs abordent la question de ce que nous appellerions le
fonctionnement de l’état monarchique, et la question de sa transmission et de sa survie,
sous forme de références à des coutumes successorales généralement présentées comme
impératives, y compris pour les rois régnants. Si l’on prend l’exemple de la succession
de Darius Ier, telle qu’elle est narrée par Hérodote, son règlement semble procéder
d’une série de nomoi. Hérodote situe la scène à la cour, au moment où Darius “se
disposait à marcher contre l’Égypte et Athènes”, soit vers 486, peu avant sa mort. Selon
Hérodote, Darius aurait procédé à la nomination d’un successeur, pour mettre fin à une
querelle (stasis) entre des fils nés de mères différentes, aux premiers rangs desquels
Hérodote nomme Xerxès et Artobarzanès. Mais il fut également contraint de régler la
question en raison de l’existence d’une coutume ainsi invoquée par ses fils: “Selon la
coutume des Perses (kata ton Perséôn nomon), il devait désigner le roi, avant d’entrer
en campagne” (7.2).
D’autres nomoi sont réputés avoir limité l’initiative royale, ou du moins l’avoir
canalisée: ainsi, selon le même Hérodote (3.2), un nomos “écartait les bâtards (nothoi)
de la succession”, et, si Darius trancha en faveur de Xerxès, c’est que, soutenu par sa
mère Atossa et conseillé par Démarate, Xerxès aurait avancé l’argument de la
porphyrogénèse, lui-même articulé sur un nomos lacédémonien: “Celui-ci voulait que,
si des fils étaient nés avant que leur père fût devenu roi et s’il s’y ajoutait un fils né plus
tard alors que le père régnait, c’était à ce dernier que revenait l’héritage de la royauté”
l’ombre d’Alexandre (Paris, à paraître), en particulier chapitres 3-4, dont certains développements
sont annoncés dans Annuaire du Collège de France 100 (1999-2000), 781-792, et 101 (2000-2201),
707-723.
15 Voir e.g. mon étude ‘Hérodote et la société perse’, dans Hérodote et les peuples non-grecs
(Entretiens sur l’Antiquité classique, XXXV) (Genève 1990), 69-104.
16 AMMIEN MARCELLIN, Histoire 23.6.1-88.
17 Voir A. CAMERON, ‘Agathias on the Sassanians’, Dumbarton Oak Papers 23/2 (1969-70), 78sq., et
Agathias (Oxford 1970). J’ai traité de tous ces problèmes dans mon cours 2001-2002 au Collège de
France (la substance en sera publiée dans l’Annuaire du Collège de France 102 [2001-2002]).
18 PROCOPE, Guerres 1.3.17; 1.5.1; 1.5.2; 1.5.8-9; 1.5.40; 1.6.13; 1.11.3-4; 1.11.34; 1.11.37; 1.17.28.
1.18.52-54; 2.28.25-26.
45
Guerre et succession dynastique chez les Achéménides
(3.3). L’on sait que la même situation (un débat à la cour), les mêmes personnages (le
roi, deux fils concurrents, une ‘reine-mère’ très puissante, un conseiller spartiate), et la
même argumentation sont mis en scène par Plutarque à la cour de Darius II: mais, cette
fois, la plaidoirie ne convainquit pas le roi, et le frère aîné (Arsès/Artaxerxès) fut choisi
aux dépens de son jeune frère (Cyrus le Jeune).19
Il y a donc bien, chez les auteurs gréco-romains, un intérêt particulier pour les
nomoi perses dans l’ordre du fonctionnement du pouvoir royal, à tel point que l’on a pu
soutenir une thèse selon laquelle la monarchie achéménide serait une forme de
monarchie constitutionnelle, — ce qu’elle n’était certainement pas.20 Ces occurrences
répétées de ‘règles’ suscitent en effet quelques doutes, voire parfois beaucoup de
scepticisme. C’est ainsi qu’une fois contrôlées de près, les fréquentes mentions de
nomoi perses chez Quinte-Curce et Diodore laissent parfois transparaître, d’abord, le
recours à des procédés littéraires, qui visent surtout à donner une légitimité
documentaire à tel épisode romancé réputé se situer dans le camp de Darius III.21
On est également alerté par la réitération des nomoi sur une très longue période de
l’histoire. Il est vrai qu’on peut en inférer une grande fixité des coutumes royales depuis
les Achéménides jusqu’aux Sassanides, mais je dois dire qu’un tel postulat m’a toujours
rendu soupçonneux.22 Lorsqu’Agathias (125A, 197) prétend avoir consulté les
“parchemins royaux” (basileiai diphtèrai), et quand on sait par ailleurs qu’Agathias a lu
et utilisé Ctésias, l’on a du mal à ne pas conclure qu’il a tout simplement emprunté à
son modèle une ruse bien connue, qui permettait à un auteur ancien d’authentifier son
récit et ses sources.23 Prenons également l’auteur byzantin Procope. Celui-ci explique
que, lorsque les Perses déposèrent leur roi Cabadès, ils choisirent pour lui succéder
Blasès, frère de Peroz, “car, comme on l’a déjà dit, Peroz n’avait pas laissé d’héritier
mâle, et qu’il est contraire à la loi (ou thèmis) qu’un homme né du commun (andra...
idiôtèn génos) soit appelé à régner, excepté dans le cas où la famille royale est
complètement éteinte” (1.5.2). Une telle ‘citation’ rappelle la discussion qui est située
par Hérodote à la cour de Darius, où Xerxès fait valoir que son frère Artabarzanès “était
né alors que Darius était un simple particulier (idiôtès)” (3.3). Bien entendu, on peut
imaginer que des Achéménides aux Sassanides, les mêmes règles ou les mêmes
réflexions aient prévalu, mais on peut également juger que, nourri de la lecture des
classiques, Procope était lui-même parti d’un tel postulat: tous les détails ainsi produits
étaient particulièrement bien adaptés au contexte narratif dans lesquels il les introduit.
En effet, le plus souvent, la référence à des nomoi apparaît pour justifier une
décision a posteriori. Il en est ainsi, apparemment, d’une autre ‘loi’, qui interdisait à un
borgne de devenir roi; mais le père, Chosroès, passa outre, car il préférait son fils puîné
et borgne à son fils aîné qui, toujours selon Procope, était pourtant destiné par la
coutume à lui succéder en raison de son âge (1.11.3-4). Au surplus, lorsque, sur le
contenu d’un nomos lié au même épisode, l’on dispose du compte-rendu de plusieurs
auteurs, l’on se rend compte aisément que chacun le retransmet avec ses mots propres,
et que les divergences terminologiques plongent le commentateur moderne dans le plus
extrême embarras.24 Il en est de même de “coutumes des Perses”, qui, selon les auteurs
anciens, réglementaient la conduite des Grands rois achéménides en temps de guerre.
Revenons aux coutumes successorales. L’on en vient rapidement à douter de
l’harmonie de successions postulées se dérouler sans accroc, en raison de l’application
quasi irénique des coutumes traditionnelles. Après son développement sur les
circonstances dans lesquelles Darius aurait désigné Xerxès, Hérodote écrit simplement:
“Darius mort, la royauté revint à sa son fils Xerxès” (3.5). Si, à coup sûr, une telle
présentation donne de Xerxès l’image d’un roi incontestable,25 il est bon de préciser
qu’une autre tradition, représentée par Plutarque,26 laisse clairement entendre qu’en
réalité cet avènement ne fut pas aussi aisé que ne le dit Hérodote, et qu’Ariaramnès, un
autre fils de Darius, tenta de faire valoir ses prétentions. Bien que manifestement
romancée, cette tradition illustre une constante de l’histoire achéménide, déjà mise en
scène à la mort de Cyrus: la nomination d’un héritier, du vivant du roi, ne règle pas
définitivement la question, tout simplement parce que nous ne sommes pas dans une
‘royauté constitutionnelle’, où les différends pourraient être réglés par l’appel à une
sorte de ‘cour suprême’.27 Même la nomination d’un ‘héritier’ ne lie pas les moins du
roi, — témoin l’élimination par Artaxerxès II de son fils Darius coupable ou suspecté de
complot contre son père.28
On doute aussi que la qualité de ‘bâtard’ ait disqualifié définitivement un
prétendant. Témoin Ochos, le futur Darius II. Autant que l’on puisse le savoir, le
surnom de Nothos lui a été donné par les Grecs, et uniquement dans des sources
tardives.29 Lorsqu’Artaxerxès Ier puis son fils légitime Xerxès II sont décédés à un
intervalle rapproché, seuls furent en lices deux fils bâtards, Ochos lui-même et
Sogdianos. Le premier l’emporta à l’issue d’une guerre intestine,30 et il fut reconnu sans
24 Sur la ‘loi’ édictée par le roi sassanide Chosroès après sa défaite écrasante en Arménie, l’on dispose
des trois compte-rendus pour le moins divergents d’Évagre, de Théophylacte et de Jean d’Éphèse, si
bien que l’on peut légitimement s’interroger sur son contenu réel, voire sur sa réalité: cf. M.
WHITBY, ‘The Persian King at War’, in E. DABROWA (éd.), The Roman and Byzantine army in the
East (Kraków 1994), 227-263, et mes remarques (plus sceptiques) dans Darius dans l’ombre
d’Alexandre, chapitre 8.
25 Voir d’ailleurs la présentation qu’en donne Xerxès lui-même dans une inscription de Persépolis:
“Quand mon père quitta le trône [=mourut], je devins roi sur le trône de mon père (XPf §4; HEP
535).
26 Moralia 173B, 488D (en précisant qu’Ariaramnès ìn’avait pas d’intentions belliqueuses): cf. HEP
540-541.
27 La présentation de PLUTARQUE, Moralia 488D (Xerxès et Ariaramnès se soumettent à un arbitrage)
est certainement à prendre avec beaucoup de précautions, de même que l’appel au vote du ‘peuple
des Perses’ (ibid. et PAUSANIAS 2.5.7; cf. HEP 607-608 et 985).
28 Sur ce point particulier, voir HEP 535-538 et 983-985; sur l’appellation de ‘prince héritier’ dans les
textes babyloniens, voir mes réserves ibid. 1011: pour rester rigoureux, et pour ne pas introduire de
factoïd dans la discussion, la terminologie mâr s“arri doit se traduire littéralement ‘fils du roi’, et
non ‘prince héritier’.
29 Voir les remarques de D. LEWIS, Sparta and Persia (Leiden 1977), 77 et note 181.
30 Voir ci-dessus p. 42.
47
Guerre et succession dynastique chez les Achéménides
À prendre connaissance des arguments avancés par une littérature tout entière dévouée à
la mémoire du Macédonien, c’est également au nom des nomoi perses qu’Alexandre
aurait dénoncé l’illégitimité dynastique de Darius III. On le voit dans une lettre
(inventée, à mon avis)32 que le roi macédonien aurait envoyée au Grand roi, à l’issue
d’une première ouverture diplomatique perse à l’issue de la bataille d’Issos:
“Après avoir assassiné Arsès avec l’aide de Bagôas, tu t’es emparé du
pouvoir contre toute justice (ou dikaiôs), au mépris de la coutume des Perses
(para ton Perséôn nomon), et en faisant du tort aux Perses (adikountos tous
Persas)”.33
Dans un discours mis dans la bouche d’Alexandre, Quinte-Curce écrit: “Darius lui-
même n’a pas reçu l’empire des Perses au titre de l’hérédité; mais, s’il a accédé au trône
de Cyrus, il le doit à l’eunuque Bagôas” (6.3.12). Allusion évidente aux meurtres en
série perpétrés par celui que Diodore dénomme “l’eunuque méchant”, qui a assassiné
successivement Artaxerxès III, puis son fils Arsès. Aux yeux des auteurs anciens, la
situation à la mort de ce dernier était inédite au regard des nomoi perses, car, affirme
Diodore (17.5.5), “la maison royale était désormais éteinte (erèmos); il n’y avait
personne qui pût hériter du pouvoir en raison de ses liens familiaux (kata genos)”. En
effet, selon Strabon, dans son développement sur les nomoi perses, “les Perses sont
gouvernés par des rois pris par succession familiale (hypo tôn apo genous)” (15.3.17).
La ligne successorale de Darius Ier se finit donc avec Arsès; Bagôas fit monter sur le
trône “un autre Darius, qui n’appartenait pas à la famille royale” (15.3.24).
Le thème de l’obéissance à des nomoi intangibles était particulièrement bien adapté
aux contextes de contestation dynastique. L’on comprend donc aisément que, pour
mener à bien sa tentative de délégitimation de son adversaire, Alexandre et ses
chroniqueurs-courtisans aient manié avec délices la thèse de la violation des nomoi
perses par Darius lui-même.34 Au demeurant, les dénonciations portées contre Darius III
dans le camp d’Alexandre (en particulier chez Arrien) ressemblent de près à celles qui
31 Notons simplement que, selon PLUTARQUE (Artaxerxès 30.7-8), Artaxerxès II, à la fin de sa vie,
avait une inclination particulière pour l’un de ses bâtards, Arsamès, “le plus cher à son père”, —
raison pour laquelle Ochos, le futur Artaxerxès, le fit assassiner.
32 Voir en particulier HEP 852-859, et Alexandre le Grand (Que-sais-je?, 622) (Paris 2002, 5è édition
révisée), 45-48.
33 ARRIEN, Anabase 2.4.5; là-dessus voir HEP 790-800, et Darius dans l’ombre d'Alexandre, chapitre
2.
34 Voir aussi ID., Rois, Tributs et paysans (Paris 1982), 387-403, part. p. 371-384 (mais je ne pense
plus, aujourd’hui, que le grec adikia rende le perse drauga).
48
Pierre Briant
sont portées contre Artaxerxès II dans le camp de Cyrus le Jeune (en particulier chez
Xénophon et Plutarque): d’un texte à l’autre, les thèmes abordés et le vocabulaire choisi
font du ‘challenger’ le porteur des vertus qui qualifient le roi légitime, tant
physiquement que moralement; Arrien y ajoute explicitement l’obéissance aux nomoi
perses.
Certes, l’appartenance à la “souche royale” qualifie à coup sûr un prétendant,
comme le montrent les déclarations de Darius Ier sur l’inscription triomphale de
Behistoun,35 mais aussi l’insistance mise par ses successeurs à retracer leurs origines
depuis Achéménès et Darius.36 Pour autant, tout en dénonçant l’illégitimité familiale de
Darius III, Strabon est silencieux à propos de Darius Ier, alors que son exposé rend clair
que, de Cyrus à Darius Ier, il y eut une rupture dans la continuité familiale: Darius Ier
fonda une nouvelle lignée dynastique.37 En bref, certains des nomoi invoqués dans les
récits grecs paraissent bien avoir été inventés pour l’occasion: après tout, Darius III
faisait bel et bien partie de la famille des Achéménides, car aucune ‘règle’ n’interdisait à
un membre d’une branche collatérale de monter sur le trône; contrairement aux
affirmations répétées de la propagande macédonienne, la Maison royale n’était pas
‘vide’.
Les accusations portées par Alexandre contre Darius III font intervenir à trois
reprises le terme adikein/adikia, dans son sens moral et dans son sens juridique. Le
Grand roi est déligitimé parce qu’au lieu de suivre le nomos, il a recouru à la violence
contre les Perses, ce qui veut dire qu’il s’est imposé contre la volonté commune. Il est
parvenu au trône non par droit d’hérédité et d’héritage, mais par les intrigues
meurtrières de Bagôas. En quelque sorte, cette lettre (inventée) reprend implicitement la
célèbre apostrophe de Callisthène lors du banquet de Marakanda: le roi macédonien ne
doit pas régner par la violence, mais en accord avec la coutume (oudé biai alla
nomôi).38 Ultérieurement, le motif fut repris par la propagande de Ptolémée pour
disqualifier Perdiccas: autant le premier multiplie les bienfaits (euergetikos) envers les
siens, qu'il laisse discuter librement (parrhèsia), autant le second “impose son pouvoir
par la violence” (arkhein biaiôs).39
Lorsque certaines querelles dynastiques doivent être vidées sur le champ de bataille,
l’un des concurrents est présenté comme menant une guerre juste, face à un adversaire
disqualifié par son caractère à la fois illégitime et injuste. C’est ce que montre, sans
aucun ambiguïté, l’insistance mise par Alexandre à souligner qu’après la bataille
d’Issos, les Perses ont abandonné Darius et se sont ralliés volontairement à lui, et qu’ils
combattent désormais auprès de lui de leur propre initiative (ouk ekontes). C’est très
exactement le même argument que l’on trouve dans les textes exaltant Cyrus le Jeune:
de nombreux déserteurs ont quitté le camp d’Artaxerxès, alors que tous sont restés
fidèles à Cyrus jusqu’à la mort. Lorsque la querelle tourne à une guerre ouverte, la
victoire va donc à celui qui est non seulement le meilleur combattant, le plus courageux,
mais aussi celui qui fait preuve de générosité (polydôria) à l’égard de ses compagnons,
35 Voir l’insistance particulière mise par Darius sur son ascendance familiale: DB §1-4 (HEP 111-127).
36 Voir en particulier une inscription d’Artaxerxès III (A3Pa).
37 STRABON 15.3.24; voir HEP 109-150, 924-925; BHAch I, 50-52; BHAch II, 82-83.
38 ARRIEN, Anabasis 4.11.6.
39 DIODORE 18.33.3.
49
Guerre et succession dynastique chez les Achéménides
et qui ainsi suscite leur dévouement et leur fidélité sans limite, témoin la “belle histoire”
d’Artapatès prêt à se faire massacrer sur le cadavre de Cyrus le Jeune tué à Counaxa. Le
message politique est clair: gagner une guerre de cette nature ne relève pas seulement
du sort des armes, mais bien d’une vertu royale globale et transcendante, qui inclut
évidemment le courage sur le champ de bataille, mais qui ne s’y réduit pas.40
D’où la répétition de justifications idéologiques a posteriori, qui, dans les textes
grecs mais aussi dans des proclamations publiques émises par les Grands rois,41 visent
d’abord à exalter la figure du ‘bon roi’, lieutenant d’Ahura-Mazda sur la terre, et,
comme tel, garant de “l’ordonnancement du monde” (arta). Mais, à observer avec
attention les pratiques politiques à la cour, l’impression prévaut que le ‘bon roi’ est
d’abord celui qui a remporté la victoire, et qui, de ce fait, peut disqualifier son ennemi
vaincu dans tous les attributs de la royauté idéale.
Au demeurant, le vocabulaire utilisé par les auteurs grecs pour qualifier la lutte
menée par Alexandre contre Darius est très éloquent. À la fin de la lettre qu’il envoie au
Grand roi, il l’apostrophe ainsi: “Si tu n’es pas d’accord au sujet de la royauté (peri tès
basileias), bats-toi (agônisai) encore pour elle, en m’attendant de pied ferme; mais ne
t’enfuis pas, car je te rejoindrai où que tu sois”.42 Contraint et forcé par la situation
(selon la présentation des auteurs alexandrins), Darius se décida “à descendre en
personne vers la côte et livrer bataille pour le salut de son royaume (eis ton hyper tès
basileias kindynon)”.43 Diodore emploie exactement la même formule pour présenter la
décision prise par Artaxerxès III vers 345 de prendre lui-même la tête de l’armée: “Il se
résolut à mener lui-même les combats pour la sauvegarde de son royaume (tous hyper
tès basileais agônas)”.44 Ce vocabulaire agonistique entend présenter sous forme de
duel le débat entre Darius et Alexandre au sujet de la royauté. Dans le même temps que
le Macédonien accuse son adversaire d’avoir violé la “coutume des Perses”, il lui
propose de vider la querelle sur le champ de bataille. C’est également de cette façon que
certains auteurs anciens ont aimé présenter l’affrontement entre le roi Artaxerxès II et
son frère Cyrus le Jeune.45
Le vocabulaire est grec, mais l’on doit préciser que la conception d’un roi doué
d’éclatantes vertus militaires n’est en rien étrangère aux représentations perses. En
témoignent le “Miroir du Prince” constitué par l’inscription gravée sur le tombeau de
Darius à Naqsh-i Rustam, mais aussi de nombreuses images portées sur des petits objets
(les sceaux en particulier).46 Selon une tradition transmise par Diodore et par Justin,
Darius III en avait fait lui-même la démonstration, au cours d’un combat singulier
(monomakhia) remporté face à un ennemi cadusien, impressionnant par sa force et par
40 Sur la propagande cyréenne, voir HEP 641-646, à rapprocher des textes relatifs à Alexandre, ibid.
862-864.
41 Parmi lesquelles on verra particulièrement le Cylindre babylonien de Cyrus (HEP 51-55) et
l’inscription de Darius à Behistoun (HEP 135-140).
42 ARRIEN 2.14.9.
43 DIODORE 17.30.7.
44 DIODORE 16.40.4-6.
45 Voir mon livre sur Darius, chapitre 5, et quelques développements sur ce thème dans HEP 241-242
(depuis lors, la mosaïque de Naples a suscité un flot grandissant de publications, mentionnées dans
BHAch I, 61, et BHAch II, 97; d’autres seront analysées dans BHAch III).
46 HEP 222-228, 237-244.
50
Pierre Briant
sa taille: selon nos auteurs, c’est cet exploit qui lui aurait valu de monter sur le trône.47
Au demeurant, dans une société aristocratique dont l’aptitude à la guerre est l’une des
valeurs fondamentales,48 comment pourrait-on imaginer que, même réservé à une
famille élargie (ce que Darius Ier appelle la “souche royale”), l’accès au pouvoir
suprême ait été laissé en dehors du champ de la violence armée?
47 JUSTIN 10.3; DIODORE 17.6.1-3 (cf. HEP 701, et mon livre sur Darius, chapitre 2).
48 Voir mon article cité ci-dessus note 1.
Armée et pouvoir d’Agamemnon à Alexandre 51
Pierre Ducrey
2 THUCYDIDE 1.1.4: “Minos est, en effet, le plus ancien personnage connu par la tradition qui ait eu
une flotte et conquis, pour la plus grande partie, la maîtrise de la mer aujourd’hui grecque”. Voir R.
HÄGG et N. MARINATOS (éd.), The Minoan Thalassocracy. Myth and Reality. Actes du colloque
d’Athènes, 1982 (Stockholm 1984).
3 M. LEJEUNE, Problèmes de la guerre en Grèce ancienne (Paris 1968, rééditions), 31-51.
Armée et pouvoir d’Agamemnon à Alexandre 53
violent, que l’on peut tout aussi bien imaginer se produisant en Crète ou ailleurs. On
peut donc conclure en se fiant à l’observation des constructions défensives et aux
trouvailles archéologiques que, dans la société mycénienne, les domaines de l’armée et
de la défense ont occupé une place prééminente. Les tablettes de linéaire B, qui font
mention de divers dirigeants, rois ou commandants, permettent de confirmer
l’hypothèse que la société mycénienne était fortement hiérarchisée et, en particulier, que
ses forces militaires, de défense ou d’attaque, étaient soumises à un commandement que
l’on peut supposer efficace, du moins jusqu’à l’effondrement final.
4 Voir P. CARLIER, La royauté en Grèce avant Alexandre (Strasbourg 1984), 168-170; du même
auteur, ‘Observations sur la décision politique en Grèce, de l’époque mycénienne à l’époque
archaïque’, dans W. SCHULLER (éd.), Politische Theorie und Praxis im Altertum (Darmstadt 1999),
1-18.
Pierre Ducrey 54
Dans l’Odyssée, l’autorité du chef, Ulysse, s’exerce par des ordres que nul ne
conteste — du moins lorsqu’il s’agit de commander la manœuvre du vaisseau ou sa
garde (Odyssée 9.176-181 et 193-195). Mais au début de l’épisode de Circé, Ulysse
consulte l’assemblée, tout en affirmant que son avis est le meilleur (Odyssée 10.187-
195). Par la suite, il prend le commandement des opérations de la petite troupe. Dans
l’épisode de l’Ile du Soleil, au contraire, la majorité l’emporte et, contrairement à l’avis
d’Ulysse, elle obtient que le vaisseau accoste. “Je suis seul, Euryloque, et vous en
abusez” (Odyssée 12.297). Plus tard, le héros demande à ses hommes de jurer de ne pas
abattre de vaches appartenant aux troupeaux du Soleil. “Je dis, et sur mon ordre, ils
jurent sans tarder” (Odyssée 12.303). On sait ce qui advint par la suite, du fait de la
désobéissance des compagnons d’Ulysse.
J.L. Myres a décompté plus de 670 discours dans l’Iliade et 637 dans l’Odyssée, ce
qui, note-t-il avec une pointe d’humour, “illustre le goût de Grecs pour la parole”.5 Cette
constatation n’est pas sans importance pour notre propos, de même que celle qui met en
évidence le rôle de l’assemblée dans les prises de décision, aussi bien ‘stratégiques’ que
‘tactiques’. Contrairement à une impression superficielle, le ‘pouvoir’ du roi homérique
est limité par des institutions dont l’effet peut se révéler paralysant.
Rien dans les lignes qui précèdent ne met en évidence le rôle de l’armée pour
l’exercice du pouvoir dans le monde d’Homère. En revanche, les rassemblements, les
groupes ou même les individus savent faire prévaloir leur point de vue ou leur
influence, en parvenant à obtenir gain de cause dans un débat, en s’opposant à une
décision du roi ou du chef, en entrant dans la ‘résistance’ ou même en faisant
ouvertement ou secrètement acte de rébellion. Pour Hugh Bowden, les poèmes
homériques sont destinés au monde de la cité, de la polis. Les chefs de guerre, les
basileis, sont étroitement solidaires de leurs hommes, avec qui ils forment une
communauté, et même une communauté de citoyens. Cette observation, note l’auteur,
met en cause l’aspect ‘aristocratique’ de l’époque homérique.6 Elle permet aussi
d’expliquer pourquoi l’opinion ou même la décision d’un roi, fût-il Agamemnon ou
Ulysse, peut être mise en cause, puis défaite à la loyale si elle ne parvient pas à
convaincre la majorité — ou les plus bruyants des membres de l’assemblée.
L’Eubée paraît être au carrefour du monde mycénien et de celui de l’époque géo-
métrique. Selon la tradition, à Chalcis des hippeis, à Erétrie des hippobotes, dirigeaient
la cité. Les ‘chevaliers’ eubéens étaient-ils emmenés au combat par un roi, ou un
prince? C’est ce que suggère le tombeau monumental de Lefkandi, qui date d’environ
950 av.
J.-C., dans lequel un personnage a été inhumé dans une urne de bronze après avoir été
incinéré. À ses côtés reposait sa compagne, revêtue de ses bijoux d’or. Quatre chevaux
avaient été sacrifiés et ensevelis à proximité. Le ‘prince’ de Lefkandi est peut-être
l’ancêtre de ces hippeis ou hippobotes dont la tradition littéraire, et en particulier
5 F. RUZÉ, Délibération et pouvoir dans la cité grecque de Nestor à Socrate (Paris 1997), 19; J.L.
MYRES, ‘The Structure of the Iliad, illustrated by the Speeches’JHS 74 (1954), 122.
6 H. BOWDEN, ‘Hoplites and Homer’, dans J. RICH et G. SHIPLEY (éd.), War and Society in the
Greek World (London-New York 1993), 60-61. Sur le monde homérique, voir récemment K.A.
RAAFLAUB, ‘A Historian’s Headache, How to read “Homeric Society”’, dans N. FISCHER et H. van
WEES (éd.), Archaic Greece. New Approaches and New Evidence (London 1998), 169-193.
Armée et pouvoir d’Agamemnon à Alexandre 55
7 ARISTOTE, Politique 4.3.3, 1289 b 38-40; 5.6.14, 1306 a 35-36; STRABON 10.1.10-12 (C 447-448).
Sur le tombeau de Lefkandi, voir M.R. POPHAM, P.G. CALLIGAS et L.H. SACKETT, Lefka-ndi II.
The Protogeometric Building at Toumba, 2 vol. (BSA Suppl. 22-23; Londres 1990-1996).
8 STRABON 10.1.10-12 (C 447-448).
9 St. LINK, Landverteilung und sozialer Frieden im archaischen Griechenland (Stuttgart 1991), 46-
47, cité par A. FOUCHARD, Aristocratie et démocratie , idéologies et sociétés en Grèce ancienne
(Annales littéraires de l’Université de Franche Comté 657) (Besançon 1997), 81.
Pierre Ducrey 56
There was no such thing as ‘the army’ in a Greek city-state. Armies, of course, were
everywhere, but in most states they were assembled from scratch whenever the need
arose. They did not have a permanent, organized existence beyond the campaign for
which they were mobilized. When we try to assess the impact of the armed forces on
government and politics, we must therefore remember that the object of study is not a
distinct and unified organisation with identifiable political or economic interests which
we might call ‘the army’, but temporary associations of amateur soldiers from a range
of economic and social backgrounds.
An investigation of the extent of the ownership of weapons, the liability to serve in
war, and the nature of military organisation shows that Greek armed forces were loosely
organized and internally divided to such an extent that they were rarely capable of
acting as a political force in their own right. This casts serious doubt on the common
theory, derived from Aristotle, that certain kinds of armed forces were not only closely
associated with certain social classes but actively supported regimes which would
promote their class interests. Political regimes in Archaic and Classical Greece were
usually established, shored up, and overthrown by quite small but highly organized
groups, and sometimes by broad popular movements: the relation between either of
these and particular branches of the military was tenuous.
1 For more on public provision of arms and armour, see GABRIELSEN, below, p. 84. I am indebted to
Vincent Gabrielsen for his insightful and detailed response, which has inspired many corrections and
clarifications in this paper.
Hans van Wees 62
arms and armour only.2 As a safety measure during sieges, governments were advised to
allow only a sample of the weapons for sale to be on display and keep the rest under
public super-vision (AENEAS TACTICUS 30.2). By implication, their sale was under
normal circum-stances unregulated. Insofar as laws regulated the ownership of military
equipment, they made it compulsory. The rule in oligarchic states was that “the rich”
were obliged to own weapons and train in the gymnasia, while the poor were “not
allowed to possess any” and not to train themselves (ARISTOTLE, Politics 1297 a 29-
32). The emphasis was thus on guaranteeing ownership of weapons by the elite, without
denying it to the lower classes, for whom it was merely optional. If that was the normal
attitude of oligarchies, more open regimes will have allowed ownership to all free men
as well. Telling evidence of the concern to ensure that ownership remained widespread
is the advice that no-one should be allowed to pawn his weapons, a rule in fact adopted
by “most Greek lawgivers”.3 Finally, the state did not impose limitations on the amount
of military equipment anyone could own. Even in a town under siege and at risk of civil
war, the authorities would at most compile a register of all those owning more than one
set of arms and armour.4
The only social group expressly forbidden to own weapons, unsurprisingly, were
slaves. In Crete, these were almost on a par with the citizens, except that they were
denied two things: “exercise in the gymnasium and the ownership of weapons”
(ARISTOTLE, Politics 1264 a 20-23). In Sparta, elaborate precautions were taken to
prevent weapons from falling into the hands of the serfs — the helots. The ringleaders
of an attempted rebellion expected these serfs to join the uprising with no more than
agricultural tools for weapons.5
When the sources speak of ‘the equipment’ (ta hopla), they mean the arms and
armour of the heavy infantry, the hoplites, as opposed to the light-armed. The minimum
a man needed in order to count as ‘heavy’ infantry was a large round wooden shield and
a spear.6 Among the light-armed, those who had a light wicker or leather shield (pelta)
were called ‘peltasts’, while those without shields of any kind were ‘light-armed’ pure
and simple.7 Within these categories, the extent and quality of armament varied widely.
Each man aimed to get the best he could afford, not only to improve his prospects in
war, but to show off his wealth. A preference for the precious over the practical can be
traced all the way back to Homer, who gives some of his epic heroes expensive, but
soft, heavy, and quite unsuitable shields of solid gold and greaves of tin (Iliad 8.192f.;
18.613; 21.592). Even the pragmatic Xenophon was not averse to display but described
himself as “equipped for war in the finest way possible”.8 Since Greek soldiers were
armed according to their means and ambitions, there cannot have been much uniformity
in the ranks.
The poorest had no arms or armour at all, but even they could afford slings, or were
at least capable of picking up stones to throw at the enemy.9 Those who were less
destitute but still could not afford even the cheapest hoplite outfit might get a few
javelins, which cost about three drachmas each, when one drachma was a day’s wage
for a soldier or skilled worker. A bow and quiverful of arrows might set one back two or
three weeks’ wages, but still cost only half as much as a shield and spear.10 The
effectiveness of these missiles is not to be underestimated. Aristotle noted that in civil
wars the lower classes “often” defeated the rich, because “being light-armed they can
easily compete with the cavalry and the hoplites” (Politics 1321 a 15-22). Moreover,
light shields made of wicker could be produced quickly and cheaply to upgrade javelin-
throwers to peltasts. In wars and civil wars heavy-armed forces suffered famous defeats
at the hands of both light-armed and peltasts. Hoplites came to fear the latter in
particular, “as little children fear the bogey-man.”11
Reduced to its bare essentials of shield and spear, hoplite equipment need have cost
no more than 25-30 drachmas, a month’s wages.12 Leather and linen cuirasses and felt
helmets were in common use, and were relatively inexpensive additions, but the cost of
the most extensive Classical panoply of bronze helmet, bronze cuirass, bronze greaves,
shield, thrusting-spear and sword has been estimated at 75-100 drachmas, the equivalent
of about three months’ wages, and thus beyond the means of many.13 In the Archaic
period even more elaborate panoplies had been used, including arm-, thigh-, and ankle-
guards that offered not only more protection but also more opportunities for display.
Indeed, it has been shown that the thin sheets of bronze used for most of this armour
would not have afforded better protection than the cheaper and less uncomfortable
leather and linen alternatives.14 In other words, bronze was preferred not for its
effectiveness but because it was expensive and shiny. It was ideal for display.
The ultimate status symbol in ancient Greece was the horse, and, although specialist
cavalry did not emerge in most parts of Greece until well into the Classical period, there
was a long tradition of rich hoplites riding to war on horseback or even in chariots.15
Even the cheapest horse cost at least 300 drachmas, four or five times as much as a full
set of armour, and the cost of maintenance was equally prohibitive, since a single horse
ate as much barley as six adult men.16 All these amounts need to be multiplied by two,
or by four in the case of chariot-owners. The mere presence of a horse highlighted
differences of social status even more sharply than the most elaborate arms and armour.
Both mounted hoplites and the more elaborate forms of body-armour disappeared from
Athenian art in the Classical period, and one reason may be that they were felt to be at
odds with the more egalitarian ethos of this period. The display of status in equipment
may have been toned down in practice, too, but it did not stop. The rich still rode their
horses — and the ostentatious rode in their chariots — through the city and country in
fourth-century Athens, and whenever possible they will have travelled to war in the
same way. Xenophon was surely not alone in complementing his panoply of ‘finest’
armour with an expensive horse (which he sold towards the end of the campaign for
fifty gold darics, or over 1,000 drachmas), although he may have been more concerned
than most to diffuse any class antagonism by immediately agreeing to trade places with
a common soldier who complained about his travelling on horseback.17
Since almost all free men owned weapons of sorts and even the most poorly armed
could pose a serious threat to the best equipped, the ownership of arms and armour in
itself cannot have had a significant impact on the balance of power within a state —
other than to uphold the rule of free citizens over slaves and serfs — nor can it have
inspired much class consciousness or solidarity. The hoplites may have been
categorically distinguished from the light-armed, but there were immense social and
economic differences within this ‘class’, ranging from the many who could afford only
the basic shield and spear, to the few who rode to battle covered head to toe in bronze
armour, an attendant in tow. The deliberate display of status in military equipment, even
if toned down in the Classical period, advertised these distinctions.18
14 JARVA, op. cit. (see note 13), 141-143, drawing on P. BLYTHE, The Effectiveness of Greek Armour
Against Arrows (unpublished dissertation, Reading 1977).
15 H. VAN WEES, ‘The Homeric way of war (I)’, Greece & Rome 41 (1994), 9-13; P. GREENHALGH,
Early Greek Warfare (Cambridge 1973), 84-145.
16 300 drachmas: ISAEUS 5.43. Other prices and maintenance costs: I. SPENCE, The Cavalry of
Classical Greece (Oxford 1991), 272-286.
17 Anabasis 3.4.47-9 (antagonism); 7.8.6 (price).
18 In response to Gabrielsen’s comments (below, pp. 84f.), I should explain that my argument here is
aimed against those (from M. NILSSON, ‘Die Hoplitentaktik und das Staatswesen’, Klio 22, 1929,
240-249, to HANSON, op. cit. [see note 13]) who believe that the adoption of hoplite armour helped
create a self-aware, unified ‘middle class’ of hoplites and gave this class the means of asserting itself
politically, thereby tilting the balance of power in its favour. If hoplite equipment was not
intrinsically superior to light arms, especially not in civil war, its introduction could not have
affected the balance of power directly. If hoplites were not uniformly equipped, but advertised
distinctions of wealth amongst themselves, the introduction of hoplite equipment is unlikely to have
inspired a new ‘middle class’ identity.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 65
19 Iliad 12.310-321. Compare the passages where Agamemnon is accused of enjoying his privileges yet
leaving the fighting to subordinates (1.163-168; 2.226-238; 9.318-333). Further discussion in H.
VAN WEES, ‘Kings in combat’, Classical Quarterly 38 (1988), 1-24, and ID., ‘Politics and the
battlefield’, in A. POWELL (ed.), The Greek World (London 1995), 153-178.
Hans van Wees 66
were mobilized ‘by general levy’ (pandemeµi or panstratiai). When the Athenians
invaded Boeotia in 424 B.C., the proportion of light- to heavy-armed in the Boeotian
forces was about 3:2, while the Athenian army contained “many times” 10,000 “poorly
armed men — as part of the general levy of available foreigners and citizens”, which
implies that they outnumbered the hoplites by at least 2:1 (THUCYDIDES 4.93.3-94.1).
General levies of the Spartan army included light-armed helots (THUCYDIDES 5.64.2),
and at the Battle of Plataea according to HERODOTUS (9.28-29) these outnumbered the
Spartans 7:1. In these passages we are at least told of the presence of light-armed, but
typically their part in the action is completely ignored in the battle narratives which
follow. The most dramatic illustration of this blind spot obscuring the full historical
picture is Herodotus’ account of the last stand of the Spartans at Thermopylae. While
three hundred Spartans sacrifice their lives in the noblest way imaginable, the only helot
who puts in an appearance points his blinded master in the direction of battle, then runs
away (7.229). Yet in the aftermath of battle passing reference is made to helot corpses
lying on the battlefield (8.25): clearly they had fought alongside the three hundred
without getting any of the glory.
On overseas expeditions, each warship normally carried ten hoplites serving as
marines, and on the largest expeditions a few thousand hoplites at most might be sent
along in troop transports, but these heavy-armed were always outnumbered by the many
thousands of men — up to 170 in each ship’s crew — who not only rowed the triremes,
but disembarked to fight as light-armed. This is another role taken for granted by the
sources and only mentioned when there are unusual circumstances. The Athenian light-
armed which appear out of the blue in attacks on Spartolus and Cythera, for example,
can only be the rowers of the fleet, whose performance as light infantry Thucydides had
previously not bothered to mention (2.79; 4.56.2). Athenian commanders who wanted
to give their rowers a more active role only needed to provide them with light shields:
they could count on the oarsmen to bring their own weapons in anticipation of
supporting the hoplites in raids on the enemy, a type of action contemptuously
described by Plato as their “habit of constantly jumping down from the ships and then
running back towards them at a run.”20
It was easy to ignore the part in battle played by light infantry because their high
mobility and fluidity meant that their encounters rarely produced a clear winner, unlike
hoplite confrontations, in which victory and defeat were decided the moment one side
broke and ran. In his narrative of the battle between Athenians and Syracusans in 415
B.C., Thucydides feels able to sum up the initial stages in the comment that the light-
20 Laws 706 c. Provision of shields to rowers: THUCYDIDES 4.9.1-2; XENOPHON, Hellenica 1.2.1.
GABRIELSEN (below, p. 86, and in Financing the Athenian Fleet, Baltimore 1994, 119) is not alone
in rejecting the idea of a combat role for rowers; see e.g. J. MORRISON, J. COATES and B.
RANKOV, The Athenian Trireme (Cambridge 2000, revised edition), 115. In response to his
objections, I would insist that (a) Plato’s reference to crews jumping down and running back to their
ships can only mean that rowers habitually disembarked to engage in light-armed fighting, and (b)
the exceptional provision of shields, but not weapons, to rowers implies that they brought their own
weapons as a matter of course, which in turn must mean that they expected to take some part in
fighting on land. The reference in Thucydides to light-armed at Spartolus is ambiguous and could
indeed be interpreted as Gabrielsen suggests, but I believe that my reading of the passage is more
literal; as for the light-armed on Cythera, if they are not rowers, it is a mystery where they suddenly
sprang from.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 67
armed fought with fluctuating fortunes “as is usual with these troops” (6.69). Moreover,
our elite sources have an active dislike of light-infantry tactics and attitudes. Their hit-
and-run charges and their concept of ‘flight without shame’ were in direct opposition to
the Classical hoplite ideal of standing one’s ground in battle at any price and outraged
the likes of Plato (Laws 706 c). Most important of all, members of the elite generally
favoured restricting all or most political rights to the hoplites (or indeed to some
hoplites only — see below), and liked to justify this by claiming that it was the hoplites,
rather than the light-armed or rowers, who “brought the greatest benefit” and were “best
able to provide services” to the community (THUCYDIDES 8.65.3; [ARISTOTLE],
Athenian Constitution 29.5). Just like Homer, Classical authors sought to legitimate the
power of the ruling classes by crediting them with a decisive role in war. This made
them disinclined to give much credit to, or even notice, the military contribution of the
politically disenfranchised.21
Men of all social classes thus not only owned weapons but played a significant role
in warfare. Whatever early Greek aristocrats or Classical hoplites liked to think, they
were never the only defenders of their cities. But there was an important distinction
between those who were under an obligation to fight and those whose services were
voluntary.
Even in Homer there are already hints of something more than moral pressure
weighing on potential soldiers. One man, we are told, reluctantly agreed to serve,
thereby “avoiding the severe penalty of the Greeks” (Iliad 13.669), which suggests that
military service was enforced by the community, perhaps with a fine. Also, despite the
prevalence of bands of leaders and personal followers everywhere else in the Iliad, there
is an isolated reference to the formal corporate groups of “tribes and phratries”
operating as military units (2.362-363). These passages may be the earliest evidence for
the emergence of a state apparatus which began to regulate military service. Tribes
appear as military units in Sparta c. 640 B.C. (TYRTAEUS, fr. 19.7-9 ed. WEST), and
Athens appears to have had a centralized organisation for mobilizing ships and
horsemen and possibly also infantry troops — in 48 units called naukrariai — by c. 630
B.C.22
Perhaps at the same time, or no more than a generation later, Athens also developed
a system of property-classes: probably from the outset, and certainly by the Classical
period, all adult men who belonged to the top three property classes — pentakosio-
medimnoi, hippeis, and zeugitai, in descending order — were liable to serve as hoplites
‘from the list’ (katalogos). Whether this refers to a central register or to the lists of
names posted up on whiteboards in the agora when forces were levied, being on the
‘list’ meant that one was legally obliged to serve. A man could be fined and imprisoned
for failing to turn up (LYSIAS 9.4-6), and we hear allegations that influential men
dodged the draft by having their names erased from the list and replaced by others at the
21 GABRIELSEN (p. 86) rightly points out that the lower classes in Athens were less “disenfranchised”
than their counterparts elsewhere. Even so, they were excluded from office holding until at least 457
B.C., and probably until some time into the fourth century. More importantly, perhaps, the authors
who provide our evidence felt that the lower classes ought to be disenfranchised.
22 See T.J. FIGUEIRA, ‘Xanthippos, father of Perikles, and the Prytaneis of the Naukraroi’, Historia 35
(1986), 257-279, contra the skeptical line of GABRIELSEN (see p. 87 note 13).
Hans van Wees 68
last moment (ARISTOPHANES, Knights 1369-1371; Peace 1179-1188). Only the fourth
and lowest property class, labelled theµtes, was exempt from the obligation to serve.23
The dividing line between those who were and those who were not liable to military
service was drawn remarkably far up the social and economic ladder. Property
qualifications in Athens were officially defined in terms of the size of a family’s annual
harvest, and one became a zeugiteµs and therefore liable to military service only when
the harvest amounted to a minimum of 200 ‘bushels’ of grain (about 8,000 kg of wheat
or 6,500 kg of barley) or 200 liquid ‘measures’ (almost 8 hectolitres or 175 gallons) of
wine or olive oil. A harvest of that size, or its equivalent in other forms of income,
would have made a family quite wealthy. Aristotle includes zeugitai among the ‘rich’
(euporoi) and refers to men serving ‘from the list’ as ‘notables’ (gnoµrimoi, Politics
1274 a 16-22, 1303 a 8-10). A calculation of their wealth shows that he was not
exaggerating. The most obvious indication of their economic position is that they are
not much less well-off than the next property class, whose 300 measures a year enabled
them, as their name hippeis (‘horsemen’) implies, to keep horses, the ultimate symbol of
wealth in ancient Greece. Secondly, the zeugiteµs’ harvest was large enough to feed ten
to fifteen people at the very least: in other words, he could afford to keep several slaves,
and still retain a sizeable surplus. And thirdly, in order to produce such large harvests,
his farm would have to be on average at least nine hectares (22 acres) in size, as
compared to the four to five ha. generally accepted as the size of typical ‘family farm’.
At Classical land-prices, a nine-hectare farm would be worth about 1 talent. A one-
talent property was enough to lift its owner into the ranks of ‘the rich’, who could afford
to live a life of leisure on their income.24
This property threshold was clearly far higher than the minimum needed to afford
hoplite arms and armour, given that the basic equipment of shield and spear cost only as
much as a skilled labourer could earn in a single month. In fact, it is generally accepted
that the ‘family farm’ of four to five ha. would bring in enough to enable the farmer to
serve as a hoplite.25 So the property census which made hoplite service compulsory was
23 GABRIELSEN (p. 92) rightly points out that THUCYDIDES 6.43.1 is the only explicit evidence for
this. However, HARPOCRATION’s Lexicon, under y∞tew ka‹ yhtikÒn (cf. Etymologicum Magnum,
under yhtikÒn) cites ARISTOPHANES’ lost play Banqueters (Daitaleis, fr. 248 edd. KASSEL-
AUSTIN) as claiming that thetes were not allowed to serve in the army at all: this cannot, I think, be
literally true, but suggests that Harpocration misinterpreted a comic reference to the fact that thetes
were not obliged to serve: see in detail H. VAN WEES, ‘The myth of the middle-class army’, in T.
BEKKER-NIELSEN and L. HANNESTAD (eds.), War as a Cultural and Social Force (Copenhagen
2001), esp. 59-61. GABRIELSEN’s interesting treatment of the hoplite katalogos (pp. 87f. and 92-94)
discusses primarily naval evidence and shows that in the mobilisation of navies there were no formal
restrictions by property class. I fully accept this, but would insist that there was a fundamental
difference between the Athenian army and navy in this respect: the navy relied on volunteers at all
levels (as GABRIELSEN has well demonstrated in his Financing the Athenian Fleet [see note 20]),
but there is plenty of evidence that service in the army was not merely a moral obligation: it was
legally compulsory for those entered in a (or the) katalogos.
24 For some of these calculations, see L. FOXHALL, ‘A view from the top’, in L. MITCHELL and P.
RHODES (eds.), The Development of the Polis in Archaic Greece (London 1997), 129-131; for the
rest, VAN WEES, art.cit. (note 23), 47-51. The latter paper answers, I think, the important questions
and objections raised by GABRIELSEN below, pp. 88f. and 95-98.
25 See e.g. T. GALLANT, Risk and Survival in Ancient Greece (Stanford 1991), 82-87; A. BURFORD,
Land and Labor in the Greek World (Baltimore 1993), 67-72, 113-116.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 69
set twice as high as it need have been, and a large section of the lowest property class,
although not obliged to serve, was capable of performing hoplite service. Accordingly
we do find theµtes serving in the navy as hoplite marines — a category of soldier
normally recruited among volunteers, rather than ‘from the list’ (THUCYDIDES 6.43.1;
8.24.2). Socrates, whose property of a mere 500 drachmas would have ranged him
amongst the poorer theµtes, fought as a hoplite at Potidaea and Delium, presumably
also as a volunteer.26 In fact, theµtes must have formed a major component of Athens’
hoplite forces. In 431 B.C., Athens could muster at least 18,000 citizen hoplites, but a
mere 10,000 zeugitai, each owning a nine-hectare farm, would have used up every last
acre of cultivable land in Attica, leaving nothing for the richer or poorer property
classes. Even allowing for a good deal of non-agricultural income, the property classes
liable to service can have contributed only between a third and two thirds of the hoplites
between them: the remaining one to two thirds must have been drawn from volunteer
theµtes.27
The reason why compulsory military service was confined to such a narrow group
— and the reason why the subject is of such interest for our purposes — must be that
the right to hold political office, too, was confined to the top three property classes. The
theµtes were originally excluded from all political offices and even in the Classical
demo-cracy never formally obtained the right to hold the highest magistracies (although
eventually their exclusion was no longer enforced). The ideal that political power
should be justified by services in war was again at work here. Political privilege was
determined by wealth, not by the ability to perform military service as such, but the
enfranchised ‘paid’ for their privileged status by being obliged to fight as hoplites.
Those who fell below leisure-class status were excluded from full political rights
because they were deemed too ‘poor’, not because they could not perform hoplite
service, but in compensation they were exempted from the obligation to serve, although
they could and did volunteer. The result was that the Athenian hoplite army contained
soldiers from all property classes, whose political positions, at least until the late fifth
century, differed widely.
In oligarchic states, as we have seen, it was obligatory for the rich to own weapons
and ‘exercise’, while for the poor these things were optional: here, as in Athens, the
political privileges of the rich entailed liability to hoplite service, while poorer men
were politically excluded even if they could and did serve as hoplites. The oligarchic
regime imposed upon Athens in 411 B.C. operated on the same principle: although the
city at the time had some 9,000 hoplites, it was proposed to exclude almost half of these
and restrict full citizenship to the 5,000 richest hoplites, on the grounds that these were
of most “benefit” to the city “by means of their possessions and persons”.28 In Sparta,
the political ‘inferiors’ who were disqualified from full citizenship appear to have
fought as hoplites alongside the citizen ‘equals’, as did other disenfranchised groups,
the perioikoi and neodamodeis. Dividing the hoplite forces into enfranchised and
disenfranchised sections was indeed an integral part of Aristotle’s own scheme for an
ideal constitution, which, he explained, ought to include only hoplites but not
necessarily all hoplites. A property qualification should ensure that the full citizens
constituted no more than a bare majority in the state; as for the excluded hoplites, they
could not be compelled to serve, but would be prepared to serve in any case, “if
someone gives them rations.”29 Wherever we look, we find hoplites politically, as well
as economically, divided.
In the navy there were different but no less significant divisions. Except in
emergencies, it was up to the owner or commander of the ship to recruit a crew of
volunteers, 50 men for the Archaic pentekonteµr and 200 for the late Archaic and
Classical trireme. An early Greek captain relied on kinship, friendship, dependency, the
exchange of favours, and the promise of rewards to man his ship; his crew might consist
of anything from a group of upper-class friends to a bunch of labourers and slaves
(Odyssey 4.642-653). The captain of a Classical trireme, by contrast, normally recruited
helmsmen, look-outs, boatswains, other ship’s officers, and rowers simply by offering
pay for their services, and the majority of these would be relatively poor men who
needed the income and were not liable to other forms of military service.
Yet, despite all being of relatively low economic status, the members of a naval
crew differed greatly in legal and political status. Only some were citizens; many others
were resident aliens, foreigners, or slaves and were therefore subject to major legal
disabilities, not to mention wholly excluded from any participation in politics. The
internal hierarchy was probably given physical expression by assigning citizen-rowers
to the highest of the three tiers of banks (ARISTOPHANES, Acharnians 162). And even
among the citizen members of the crew distinctions were made: the marines, being
hoplites, were held in much higher esteem than the light- or unarmed rowers. A rich
citizen might serve as a marine, at a pinch, but he would never serve as a rower.30 In
Aristotle’s ideal state, this status difference would be translated into political inequality:
the entire ‘naval mob’ would be disenfranchised, but not the marines, who, as free men
and hoplites, would share in political power (Politics 1327 b 9-11).
Infantry and navy were thus divided by as many factors as united them. The only
branch of the military to be largely homogeneous, in terms of social, economic, and
political status, was the cavalry. At least this was so where the cavalry was recruited
amongst the citizens wealthy enough to keep their own horses, as at Athens and
probably most other Classical city-states. But even here there were exceptions, such as
Sparta, where the rich provided the horses, but did not themselves serve as cavalrymen,
leaving this task instead to “the physically weakest” and those “least concerned with
honour” (XENOPHON, Hellenica 6.4.11).
1.3 Military organisation and social groups
29 Politics 1297 b 2-6. Accordingly, he assumes that in the ideal world of PLATO’s Republic hoplite
service is not necessarily confined to the ruling class of Guardians but might extend to the
subordinate classes of Farmers and Artisans, and he criticizes Plato for not making it clear “whether
these too must own weapons and fight in war alongside them, or not” (1264 b 34-37).
30 LYSIAS 6.46 assumes that the wealthy Andocides might have served as a marine, but does not raise
the possibility that he might have been a rower. Upper-class Cimon and his friends volunteered their
services as marines, not rowers, at Salamis (PLUTARCH, Cimon 5). When in an emergency a fleet
was manned with citizen-rowers, the top two property classes were exempted (THUCYDIDES
3.16.1).
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 71
Perhaps even more important than the equality or otherwise of those who owned the
weapons and performed military service in some capacity was the degree to which they
were organized, or at least felt mutual solidarity. In Sparta and Crete, where citizens
faced the problem of retaining control over large native serf populations, such solidarity
was created by the public messes to which all citizens belonged. These messes were
apparently related to military organisation as well, although in Sparta, at any rate, they
did not coincide with actual military units. Elsewhere in Greece, however, military
organisation allowed only limited ‘bonding’ and did little to encourage the creation of
cohesive groups.
Training for war was largely a matter of athletic exercise in the gymnasium and was
intended to improve general physical strength, agility, and stamina. There is some
evidence for specific weapons training as well but none for formation drill, except in
Sparta.31 As we have seen, Aristotle mentioned gymnastic exercise in the same breath as
the ownership of weapons as compulsory for the members of the elite and optional for
the lower classes in oligarchic regimes (and forbidden for slaves in Crete). Yet we are
also told that “in each city very few men take physical training” (XENOPHON,
Memorabilia 6.1.5), and there is no sign that either compulsory or voluntary exercise
took place in a regular or centrally organized fashion. In fifth-century and probably
early fourth-century Athens, the state did not organize any training for its citizens.
Rather, men appear to have taken exercise when, where, and with whom they liked. For
the rich, that meant training in their own and their friends’ private sports-grounds,
perhaps on a daily basis; for the less well-off, an occasional visit to a public
gymnasium.32 Most training, then, took place in informal contexts that allowed one to
make and meet friends (and lovers) but did little to create broader organized groups.
The two most significant exceptions — again, outside Sparta — were the training of
Athenian ephebes and the small elite units maintained by a number of city-states. In late
fourth-century Athens, up to 600 eighteen-year-olds were divided into two groups, each
stationed in one of the forts in Piraeus, and given a year of military training. After this,
they served for a year as border patrols (peripoloi) or as garrison troops in one of the
other forts in Attica ([ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 42.3-4). A similar system
may well have existed earlier; certainly Athens maintained both border patrols and
fortress garrisons already during the Peloponnesian War. During this period of training,
then, groups of up to 300 young citizens spent a great deal of time together and surely
made many friends, and enemies, for life.33 More importantly still, except when an army
was mobilized, they constituted the largest organized groups of armed men in the
country. The same is true of the ‘select’ troops, often 300 men, which were in effect
small standing armies, recruited amongst the wealthy and kept in constant training by
31 On training, see J. ANDERSON, Military Theory and Practice in The Age of Xenophon (Berkeley
1970), 84-110; E. WHEELER, ‘Hoplomachia and Greek dances in arms’, Greek, Roman & Byzantine
Studies 23 (1982), 223-233; L. RAWLINGS, ‘Alternative agonies’, in H. VAN WEES (ed.), War and
Violence in Ancient Greece (London 2000), 233-259.
32 No public training: XENOPHON, Memorabilia 3.5.15, 3.12.5. Cf. N. FISHER, ‘Gymnasia and the
democratic values of leisure’, in P. CARTLEDGE, P. MILLETT and S. VON REDEN (eds.), Kosmos.
Essays in Order, Conflict and Community in Classical Athens (Cambridge 1998), 86-94.
33 [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 42; see L. BURCKHARDT, Bürger und Soldaten (Stuttgart
1996), 26-75.
Hans van Wees 72
some city-states. Athens fielded such a unit during the Persian War, as did Elis later; the
most famous was Thebes’ Sacred Band and the largest perhaps Argos’ Thousand.34
An army on campaign would temporarily unite much larger numbers of people, and
Victor Hanson in particular has rightly emphasized that cohesion in the ranks, especially
among hoplites, was vital to success in battle.35 Yet it must also be stressed that the
scope for forging more permanent bonds of solidarity among soldiers was quite limited.
Units of heavy infantry appear to have been quite large and far from rigidly organized
(so that Greeks were astounded at the, by modern standards, modest degree of hierarchy
and organisation in the Spartan army), while the light-armed were not organized at all.
What little evidence we have for how units operated suggests that soldiers mostly kept
the company of their friends and neighbours both in camp and in the line of battle. In
Athens, for instance, informal groups of neighbours from the same deme marched and
fought together within the larger, formal unit of the tribal ‘regiment’, and soldiers
evidently could choose with whom they shared their meals and tents.36 They would of
course come into contact with others as well, but campaigns normally lasted no more
than a few weeks and the same faces might not be there next time, since each army was
recruited from scratch. If the shared experience of war brought anyone closer together,
it may have been primarily those who were close already.
The situation was similar for those who served in the navy. Barry Strauss has
eloquently argued that the experience of close co-operation on board a warship might
have inspired a sense of solidarity among the crew,37 but again I would point to the
limited scope for forming more permanent ties and a collective political agenda. Apart
from their internal social and political divisions, trireme crews had a short life span.
They were hired ad hoc, and it would be the merest chance if the same group of rowers,
or marines, ever served together twice. Training lasted maybe a week, once the crew
was assembled, and expeditions as a rule were short, since the sailing season lasted only
a few months.38
Only sieges and garrison duty abroad would throw soldiers together for long
periods of time and under pressured circumstances, both of which might well inspire
greater solidarity amongst them.
In view of all this, it will be clear that it is not mere pedantry to insist that one
cannot speak of ‘the army’ in Greek city-states. Almost all armies and fleets had a
short-lived existence, were loosely organized, and consisted of men of a wide variety of
34 HERODOTUS 9.21.3 (Athens); XENOPHON, Hellenica 7.4.13; 7.16.31 (Elis); DIODORUS 12.70.1;
PLUTARCH, Pelopidas 18; Moralia 639 f (Thebes); THUCYDIDES 5.67.2; DIODORUS 12.75.7
(Argos). See also W.K. PRITCHETT, The Greek State At War, Part II (Berkeley 1974), 221-224.
35 V.D. HANSON, The Western Way of War (London 1989), 117-125.
36 Demesmen sticking together: LYSIAS 16.14; ISAEUS 2.42; THEOPHRASTUS, Characteres 25.
Freedom of association in eating and camping together: LYSIAS 13.79; cf. Socrates and Alcibiades
sharing a tent at Potideia (PLATO, Symposium 219 e-220 e). Allegedly, the friends of Cimon fought
as a group at Tanagra (PLUTARCH, Cimon 17). Before the formalisation of military organisation in
the Archaic period, as far one can tell from Homer, military units were composed primarily of
kinsmen, friends, and personal followers.
37 B. STRAUSS, ‘The Athenian trireme, school of democracy’, in J. OBER and C. HEDRICK (eds.),
Demokratia (Princeton 1996), 313-325.
38 Short training period for rowers: e.g. HERODOTUS 6.11-12; XENOPHON, Hellenica 6.2.27-32; cf.
W.K. PRITCHETT, op. cit. (note 34), 225-227.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 73
social, economic, political, and even legal statuses. It was quite rare for military groups
to share distinct political interests, or to remain together closely enough for long enough
to develop such shared interests. This lack of cohesion within armies is vital to our
understanding of their role in Greek politics.
hoplites to power. In an earlier discussion (Politics 1289 b 30-40) of the different kinds
of people and their effects on constitutions, he had observed that
“some are necessarily rich [euporoi], some poor [aporoi], and some middling
[mesoi], and the rich are hoplites while the poor do not have hoplite equipment.
And we see that of the common people [deµmos] some are farmers, some
market traders, and some artisans. And there are differences among the notables
[gnoµrimoi] in both wealth and the size of their properties — for example in
keeping horses, because that is not easy to do for those who are not rich. This is
why in ancient times there were oligarchies in all cities whose power was based
on their horses, for they used horses in their wars against neighbours, as did, for
example, the Eretrians and Chalcidians and the Magnesians on the Maeander,
and many of the others in Asia.”
The claims made for the cavalry are familiar, but here the hoplites are associated with
‘the rich’, rather than ‘the middling’. The same association occurs again later (Politics
1321 a 6-14):
“Wherever the territory happens to be suitable for horses, conditions are
favourable for setting up a strong oligarchy (for the inhabitants depend on this
force for their security, and raising horses is for those who own large
properties), and wherever the territory is suitable for hoplites, conditions are
favourable for the next level of oligarchy (for the hoplite force belongs more to
the rich than to the poor), but light-armed and naval forces are wholly
democratic.”
Both these passages reiterate that effective cavalries deserve exclusive political
power. When they mention hoplites, however, these are dissociated from the middle
class and the middle form of constitution, with which our first passage associated them.
Aristotle here calls hoplites — by which he must mean those legally liable to hoplite
service, rather than anyone who could afford a shield and spear — rich and oligarchical,
if less so than the horsemen. When he elsewhere calls hoplites ‘middle class’, he is
evidently using the term, not in the sense of a group between the rich and the poor, but
in the meaninglessly extended sense which embraced everyone except “the extremely
rich” (euporoi sphodra) and “the extremely poor” (aporoi sphodra; 1295 b 2-4), up to
and including the Spartan regent Lycurgus, who is said to have been one “of the
middling citizens — because he was not a king” (1296 a 20).
Aristotle’s assertions about the role of the middle class are further undermined
because they follow only a few pages after a passage explaining that a sizeable middle
class, while a great asset to a state and a virtual guarantee of political stability, is and
has been a rarity in Greece.
“Most political systems are either democracies or oligarchies, because the fact
that in the cities the middle class is often small means that one side is always
dominant, either those who have property or the common people... The middle
politeia either never emerges, or only rarely and in few places — for one man
only among those who attained leadership in the past was persuaded to allow
this kind of organisation” (Politics 1295 a 23-26, 37-40).
So not only were hoplites not really ‘middle class’, but the middle class did not
usually grow large enough to have a political impact. The middle constitutions which
were supposed to have replaced the earliest oligarchies turn out to have emerged in only
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 75
one unspecified place in the past and were rarely if ever found in the present. The theory
that the middle class had had a crucial role in ousting early Greek oligarchies is thus
badly undermined by its own author.
Secondly, external evidence reveals that cavalry-dominated oligarchies were
likewise a rarity — if they existed at all. Aristotle committed a fundamental error in
assuming that the ‘horsemen’ of the past formed cavalries of the kind with which he
was familiar. In fact, the likes of the Hippeis of Eretria and the Hippobotai of Chalcis, to
whom he alludes, were not cavalrymen but mounted hoplites, who rode to battle but
dismounted to fight on foot, in a manner which remained predominant in Greece until
the late sixth century.39 Their ability to keep horses thus contributed little or nothing to
their effectiveness in war. Archaic Greek cities did not depend on cavalry for their
security, and whatever other merits the ruling classes may have had, horse ownership
could not have explained or justified their power.
As for cavalry forces in the Classical period, we have seen that they were the only
branch of the military to be socially, economically, and politically homogeneous, and
their upper-class status no doubt made them generally sympathetic to oligarchic
regimes. The late fifth-century Athenian cavalry certainly, and probably deservedly, had
an anti-democratic reputation. But although these cavalries played significant auxiliary
roles in war, they were almost everywhere few in number and nowhere regarded as the
chief defenders of their countries. The only exception, presumably very much in
Aristotle’s mind here, were the cities of Thessaly, which had a long tradition of cavalry
warfare and were generally under oligarchic rule.
Clearly, in generalizing about the military basis of oligarchies in Greece at large
Aristotle relied on poorly founded inferences. Modern scholars have often tried to save
his theory by quietly dropping the idea that early oligarchies owed something to the
dominance of cavalry, while retaining the notion of a period during which, in the
absence of hoplites, a small elite enjoyed military dominance — because of their
superior equipment, training and dedication. Homer’s Iliad is often adduced in support,
but we have seen that the dominance of its heroes is only apparent, a product of poetic
selectivity: the epic shows that there was a time when the ruling classes liked to claim
superiority in war, not that there was ever a time when they really were superior.
Aristotle’s theory, too, was in this respect a reflection of upper-class wishful thinking.
The elite’s main claim to military distinction was usually cavalry service and their main
political goal oligarchy; hence they liked to imagine that cavalry service could be, and
historically had been, important enough to inspire and justify the creation of oligarchic
regimes.
Thirdly, there is no evidence that early Greek oligarchies were replaced by politeiai,
the ‘middling’ constitutions favoured by Aristotle. As it happens, the Politics itself tells
us how the regime of the Eretrian Hippeis came to an end: it was not overthrown by the
middle classes or the hoplites, but attacked from within by the oligarch Diagoras, driven
by a personal grudge stemming from a dispute over a marriage, sometime after 536.
And we know from Herodotus that the Hippobotai of Chalcis ruled until overthrown by
outside intervention in 506.40 More importantly, the sources, again including Aristotle
himself, tell us of numerous oligarchic regimes overthrown and replaced, not by a
middling constitution but by the rule of a tyrant — a regime which for Aristotle was
almost the polar opposite of politeia.
Indeed, there were few places in which oligarchy was not succeeded by tyranny, the
two most notable instances being Sparta and Athens. Since Aristotle tended to regard
Sparta as closer to an aristocracy than a politeia (Politics 1306 b 22-1307 a 5), he
almost certainly had Athenian history in mind when positing a transition from oligarchy
to the ideal middling constitution; when he cryptically referred to the ‘only man’ in the
past who had successfully created a politeia, he must have meant Solon (note his
agreement with those who said that Solon’s reform had “finely blended” the
constitution, Politics 1273 b 36-1374 a 22). In positing a transition from oligarchy to
politeia, Aristotle evidently relied again on a sweeping generalization from a single
famous instance against the bulk of the evidence known to him.
Very little is left of the original theory: no general rise of middle class, by
Aristotle’s own account; no cavalry-dominated oligarchies, except in Thessaly,
according to our evidence; and no replacement of Archaic oligarchies by politeiai,
except in Solon’s Athens, according to both Aristotle’s own account and our other
evidence. The only element of the theory which still stands is the increasing
organisation and effectiveness of the hoplites. Although the hoplite phalanx no doubt
did undergo significant developments,41 it seems safe to assume that Aristotle had no
more evidence for how and when this happened, or what its political consequences
were, than he had for the rest of his speculations. Given his belief that only hoplites
should have political rights, he was simply forced to explain the prevalence of narrow
oligarchies in early Greece by postulating that the hoplite phalanx had once been
ineffective. In sum, Aristotle’s notion of a direct historical and contemporary link
between cavalry and oligarchy is purely a theoretical construct, which reflects political
ideals, not realities.42
A second connection between army and politics is made in Aristotle’s discussion of
early tyrannies. Modern scholars have often read this discussion as suggesting that
tyrannical coups d’état relied on the support of hoplites against oligarchical regimes —
thus rescuing Aristotle’s idea that early oligarchies were ousted as a result of the rise of
the hoplites, but at the cost of abandoning his original connection between hoplites and
politeiai.43
Aristotle himself does not associate hoplites and tyrants explicitly. Instead, he
argues (Politics 1310 b 12-16):
“The tyrant is set up from among the common people [deµmos] and the
multitude [pleµthos] against the notables, so that the common people may
40 Eretria: Politics 1306 a 35-36 and [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 15.2. Chalcis: HERODOTUS
5.77.
41 See H. VAN WEES, ‘The development of the hoplite phalanx’, in ID. (ed.), War and Violence in
Ancient Greece (London 2000), 125-166.
42 The emphasis here is on ‘direct’: oligarchy did not come into existence as a result of a dominant
military role of cavalry. The indirect link pointed out by GABRIELSEN (below, p. 89) is merely that
those who served as cavalry were usually rich and oligarchically inclined.
43 See especially A. ANDREWES, The Greek Tyrants (London 1956), 34-38.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 77
suffer no injustice at their hands. This is evident from past events, for almost
the majority of tyrants have emerged from among the leaders of the people, one
might say, having won their trust by stirring up hostility against the notables.”
He then elaborates: some tyrants (including Cypselus, Peisistratus and Dionysius) did
indeed come to power as popular leaders “when the cities had already grown large”, but
others, including especially the earliest tyrants, came to rule by extending the power
they already held by virtue of a major political office (Politics 1310 b 17-31; cf. 1305 a
15-18).
Elsewhere, Aristotle tries to explain why in the old days popular leaders had
become tyrants, rather than leading public speakers, ‘demagogues’, as they did in his
own day:
“The reason that this happened then, but not now, is that the popular leaders
came from among those who led armies, for they were not yet skilled in public
speaking... And also, because at the time the cities were not large but the
common people, without enjoying leisure, lived on the farmland where they
worked, the champions of the people, whenever they were warlike men, aimed
at tyranny. They all did this when they were trusted by the common people, and
the basis of this trust was their hostility to the rich.”
Peisistratus and Dionysius are again among those named (Politics 1305 a 8-13, 18-28).
Blatant inconsistencies spoil this theory as well. The claim that the tyrants who
relied on popular support emerged “when the cities had already grown large” is directly
contradicted by Aristotle’s own claim that these same tyrants emerged precisely
“because at the time the cities were not large”. Moreover, the ‘popular leader’ Cypselos
came to power earlier than most (and probably all) of the supposedly ‘earlier’ tyrants
who relied on the power of political office. Again, Aristotle is merely speculating. His
starting point is that many tyrants were “champions of the people” — a claim for which
other sources do offer some support (see below) — and this leads him to ask two
questions: why were some, but not all, tyrants popular leaders; and why did popular
leaders in the past seize power by force, when in the present their power rested on
persuasion of the masses by demagogic oratory? In answer to the first question he
hypothesizes, in defiance of chronology, that the growth of cities changed the nature of
tyranny, because popular leadership became viable only when there were sizeable
crowds to lead. Later, when he faces the second question, Aristotle overlooks the
implications of his own earlier argument and makes the opposite assumption: early
popular leaders could not become demagogic orators because crowds then were too
small and politically inactive.
What are we to make of the claim that tyrants were typically military leaders? This
is probably not pure speculation, since tradition credits several tyrants with notable
successes in war before they took power. But what exactly is the significance of their
military commands? Aristotle is certainly not saying that military leaders relied on the
support of hoplite armies to make themselves tyrants. This line of argument, often
adopted by modern scholars, would have gone directly against the spirit of the Politics,
which regards tyranny as deeply undesirable and as the polar opposite of the hoplite-
based constitutions which it favours. Aristotle says that tyrants championed the
common people, the working men, the poor, against the notables and the rich, and, as
we have seen, by his definition “the notables and the rich” include hoplites at large and
Hans van Wees 78
Athens’ zeugitai in particular. What exactly Aristotle had in mind is not clear. His
comment that popular leaders would become tyrants if they were “warlike men”
suggests that their experience of war had made them simply more able and willing to
use force than contemporary demagogues were. Presumably he was thinking also of the
general popularity that a successful commander would enjoy and that would make him
attractive to the common people — not just to the hoplites — as a champion of their
interests.
In sum, the modern notion that there was a direct connection between the hoplite
army and tyranny has no basis in Aristotle,44 while Aristotle’s notion that there was a
direct connection between cavalry and oligarchy has no basis in historical reality.
3 THE MECHANICS OF SEIZING POWER IN ARCHAIC AND CLASSICAL GREECE
The gap between political reality and Aristotelian theory is nicely illustrated by the
oligarchic coup d’état in Argos, 417 B.C. For Aristotle, this coup illustrated the
principle that any section of the population which grows in size or reputation will alter
the political system to suit its own interests (Politics 1304 a 18-19). “When the notables
were held in high repute on account of [their successful performance in] the battle at
Mantinea against the Spartans, they attempted to put down the democracy” (Politics
1304 a 25-26). Thucydides’ more detailed account of the events of 418-417 shows that
the episode was far from a clear-cut or typical instance of a social group seeking
political recognition for its military performance.
For a start, the position of the ‘notables’ in Argos was unusual because they were
organized in an exceptionally large elite unit, The Thousand. In the battle of Mantinea,
this unit had fought well against the Spartans, while the rest of the Argive army, the so-
called Five Troops, had been badly defeated (THUCYDIDES 5.67.2; 5.72.3-4). This
result, as Thucydides tells the story, did not by itself inspire a coup but helped an
already existing movement, insofar as it provided the oligarchs with an argument to
convert the common people to their cause (5.76.2). Still, no actual change took place
until The Thousand teamed up with a thousand hoplites sent from Sparta, and overthrew
the democracy by force (5.81.2). Within six months, the democratic leaders saw an
opportunity to attack the oligarchs when their Spartan allies could not intervene, and the
democracy was restored. The fuller story thus shows just how misleading Aristotle’s
version was: the elite’s military success was adduced to legitimate the oligarchic
movement, but two quite different factors brought about the change of regime: the
presence of an exceptionally large permanent elite unit capable of concerted action, and
the availability of substantial external support. The decisive role of the latter is obvious
from the fact that the loss of this external backing meant an instant end to the
oligarchy.45
44 The notion has indeed begun to be abandoned in recent years: HANSON, op. cit. (note 13); G.
CAWKWELL, ‘Early Greek tyranny and the people’, Classical Quarterly 45 (1995), 73-86; L. DE
LIBERO, Die Archaische Tyrannis (Stuttgart 1996).
45 PAUSANIAS tells a colourful story about the arrogant aggressiveness of The Thousand, which
inspired the common people to rebel and, allegedly, to slaughter them to a man (2.20.2). See also
DIODORUS 12.80.2-3, and, for a brief discussion of the episode, A. LINTOTT, Violence, Civil Strife
and Revolution in the Classical City (London 1982), 114.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 79
Other accounts of oligarchic coups and democratic counter-coups show that these
were the work of a few hundred men, a mere fraction of the armed citizen population.
The oligarchic coups of 411 and 404/3 B.C. in Athens, for example, were largely the
work of a coalition of small upper-class clubs, known as ‘sworn bands’ (synomoµsia),
which functioned as support groups in political and legal affairs. A report on a
suspected conspiracy in 415 suggests that these clubs were thought to have 15-20
members each, and include some 300 men in total.46
The oligarchy of Four Hundred in 411 will thus have included all or most club-
members along with perhaps a hundred or so prominent men not directly affiliated with
a ‘sworn band’. They were supported by a gang of “a hundred and twenty ... lads, whom
they employed if some muscle was needed” (THUCYDIDES 8.69.4), and by several
hundred hoplites raised abroad, in Andros, Tenos, Carystos, and Aegina (8.65.1 and
8.69.3). The club-members and their ‘lads’ began with a series of assassinations of
popular leaders, and anyone else who spoke against them “was immediately killed in
some suitable manner” (8.65.2; 8.66.2). In the resulting climate of fear, there was no
opposition to the change of constitution which they formally proposed in assembly. Nor
was there any resistance when the Four Hundred, “each with a concealed dagger” and
with their ‘lads’ behind them, forcibly took power by evicting the sitting councillors
from the Council Hall (8.69.4), or when they went on to execute, imprison, and exile
“not many” (8.70.2). This is all the more remarkable because, as Thucydides notes,
Athens was at the time virtually under siege by the Spartan army at Decelea, and as a
result the population was constantly under arms (8.69.1). With the army in an
exceptional state of readiness, one might have expected, as the oligarchs did (8.69.2),
that there would be armed resistance against a coup which openly aimed to exclude
from all political rights almost half the hoplites, not to mention the rest of the
population. But there was none.
In the fall of the oligarchy, hoplites did play their part, but only when there was
open dissension within the junta itself, as the club-members met opposition from the
unaffiliated oligarchs led by Theramenes.47 Significantly, the most active opposition
came from a small standing unit, the border patrol (peripoloi), stationed in Piraeus: a
peripolos was among the assassins of a leading oligarch, while the commander of the
unit, whose house served as a meeting place for the resistance, was instrumental in
arresting another prominent club-member. They were assisted by a second group of
hoplites, temporarily stationed nearby to build additional fortifications in Piraeus. We
are not told their numbers, but they must have been rather small, since most hoplites
would have been stationed under arms on the city walls and elsewhere. Yet it was this
small but organized minority which, encouraged by Theramenes, marched on the city to
open the negotiations which ultimately led to the fall of the regime.48
There are few allusions to the active involvement of the rest of the population in
these events. The hoplites called on ‘the mob’ in Piraeus to help pull down the new
forti-fications, and the crowd did join in (THUCYDIDES 8.92.10-11), but only the
hoplites themselves marched on Athens (8.93.1). It is true that there was organized
46 THUCYDIDES 8.54.4; ANDOCIDES 1.38; see also J. MCGLEW, ‘Politics on the margins: the
Athenian hetaireiai in 415 B.C.’, Historia 48 (1999), 1-22; LINTOTT, op. cit. (note 45), 132-155.
47 THUCYDIDES 8.89.2; 8.92.2; with [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 34.3.
48 THUCYDIDES 8.92.2, 4-5 and 9-10; 8.93.1-97.3.
Hans van Wees 80
resistance in the Athenian fleet, stationed at Samos, and Thucydides says that the
oligarchs feared “the naval mob” (8.72.2). Yet his own narrative shows that it was not
the mass of rowers which mounted the opposition, but rather a faction among the
leadership — some of the generals, trierarchs, and the most prominent hoplites (8.73.4;
8.75.2) — just as it had been another faction among the fleet’s leadership which had set
the coup in motion (8.47.2-48.3). Both sides in turn successfully appealed for the
support of the ‘mob’ of rowers: as Thucydides tells it, the oligarchs persuaded the
masses of the benefits of their policies (8.48.2-30), while the democrats turned them
round again by falsely accusing the oligarchs of flogging free citizens, “committing
outrages” against the their wives and children, and using their relatives as hostages
(8.73.5-75.2). Clearly, the citizens in the fleet were as divided as the citizens in Athens.
The slaves and foreigners who served alongside them in large numbers presumably
cared little which way the conflict went. The exception, cited by Thucydides, proves the
rule: the crew of the state trireme Paralos consisted purely of Athenian citizens who
were “always strongly opposed to oligarchy even when none existed” (8.73.5). This
select and exceptionally unified crew was the only group of rowers steadily and actively
committed to the democratic cause (8.74.1-2; 8.86.9).
The second oligarchy, of The Thirty in 404/3 B.C., had a quite different power
base, since it did not seize power but was imposed on Athens by Sparta. Nonetheless,
like its predecessor, it relied on small-but-organized groups of supporters and met with
remarkably little resistance from the masses.49 Apart from their friends and club-
members, including a gang of “the boldest lads”, the Thirty apparently relied at first
only on Athens’ equivalent of a police force, the Eleven and their 300 whip-bearing
‘assistants’, who remained prominent throughout. According to Xenophon’s chronology
of events, they soon also gained the support of a Spartan garrison of 700 men.50 With
the help of these troops they embarked on an extraordinary reign of terror, executing
some 1,500 people and sending many into exile, forcibly disarming all but 3,000 of the
population, and finally depriving all but these 3,000 of their land and banning them
from entering the city.51 According to the chronology of the Athenian Constitution
(37.2), they managed most of this even without the aid of a Spartan garrison. Up to this
point, there was apparently no opposition by the bulk of the hoplites or the lower
classes, nor did the oligarchs make use of their own 3,000 hoplites and cavalry.
When resistance began, it came not from the masses but from a group of between
30 and 70 of the most prominent exiles, who managed to occupy the border fort at
Phyle. In the course of a few months, their numbers grew to about 700, Xenophon tells
us, but other sources reveal than only just over 100 of these were Athenian citizens,
while between 300 and 500 of them were mercenary troops paid for by a rich metic; the
remaining 100 to 300 must have been exiled metics or slaves. When faced with armed
opposition, the Thirty did mobilize their hoplites and cavalry, as well as the Spartan
garrison, both directly against the exiles and in an operation to make Eleusis and
Salamis ‘safe’ by executing hundreds of their inhabitants. After the forces at Phyle
defeated the troops of the Thirty, their numbers rose to 1,000 or 1,200, which would
49 Detailed discussion of this coup in P. KRENTZ, The Thirty at Athens (Ithaca 1982).
50 XENOPHON, Hellenica 2.3.23, 50, 55 (club-members, lads), 2.3.54, 2.4.8 (Eleven, whip-bearers; cf.
[ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 35.1), 2.3.13-14 (garrison; cf. Athenian Constitution 37.2).
51 [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 35.4, 37.1-2; XENOPHON, Hellenica 2.3.20 and 41; 2.4.1.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 81
still have included no more than a few hundred citizens.52 It was not until this force
occupied Piraeus that the ‘numerous’ light-armed men who lived there joined the exiles
in a successful battle in the streets against the army of the oligarchs, which led to the
Thirty being deposed. From this point onwards, the forces of the exiles kept gathering
strength, no doubt drawing on disenfranchised citizens, but also on mercenaries and
slaves.53 Before it came to a final confrontation, however, Sparta sent an army to
intervene and impose a settlement. Later sources speak of “the whole people” joining
forces to restore democracy, but this is clearly a rhetorical simplification, which,
moreover, served to justify the democratic regime ([ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution
38.3, 41.1). We should take it with a large pinch of salt.
Only because we have such exceptionally detailed accounts of the history of these
two oligarchic regimes can we tell that violent political conflict between ‘the elite’ and
‘the people’ actually involved only a small minority of citizens on both sides — above
all, those organized in permanent associations such as the ‘sworn bands’ or the few
standing military units — supported by mercenaries and other external forces. But if
this is true of Athens, the largest and most democratic city of Greece, then a fortiori it
must also be true of most other cities, even when our sources are less detailed and
precise in their vague claim that ‘the people’ at large supported or opposed any
particular regime.
It must certainly be true also of the seizure of power by tyrants in Archaic Greece,
and indeed the sources suggest that many tyrannical coups involved very small
numbers. Peisistratus is said to have occupied the Acropolis with the help of 50 men
armed with clubs, while Polycrates occupied the acropolis of Samos with a mere 15
hoplites.54 Other tyrants came to power by assassinating powerful aristocrats, aided only
by a group of their “friends” or “comrades”, and one specifically by “comrades of his
own age”.55 Although no numbers are given, these were surely small bands, much like
the oligarchic ‘clubs’ of the Classical period, in size and in nature. With such a limited
power base, it is not surprising that tyrants were generally soon ousted by rival factions.
Still other tyrants came to power with the aid of foreign allies and mercenaries, and —
with the exception of Cypselus’ reign — all the longer-lived tyrannies relied on the
continued support of mercenary troops, typically a force of 300 ‘bodyguards’.56 But no
tyrant is ever said by our sources to have been backed by a popular uprising.
This is not to say that some tyrants did not enjoy popular support, as scholars have
recently argued. On the contrary, the traditions about Cypselus, Theagenes, Pittacus,
and Peisistratus, in particular, strongly suggest that these men did appeal to the interests
of the people at large and received support in meetings of the popular assembly.57 There
52 Early stages: XENOPHON, Hellenica 2.4.2, 5, 8-10; with the commentary on these passages by P.
KRENTZ, Xenophon, Hellenika II.3.11-IV.2.8 (Warminster 1995). After first victory: XENOPHON,
Hellenica 2.4.10; DIODORUS 14.33.1.
53 XENOPHON, Hellenica 2.4.12 and 25; [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 40.2.
54 HERODOTUS 1.59 and 3.120; [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 14.1; PLUTARCH, Solon 30.
55 E.g. NICOLAUS of Damascus, FGrHist 90 F 57.6 (Cypselus). Own age: HERODOTUS 5.71 (Cylon).
56 Mercenaries: e.g. [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 15.2, 17.4 (on Peisistratus’ third coup).
Bodyguards: e.g. HERODOTUS 5.92; NICOLAUS of Damascus, FGrHist 90 F 58.1 on Periander.
57 Cypselus was “made king by the people” (NICOLAUS of Damascus, FGrHist 90 F 57.6); Pittacus
was elected aisymneµtes (ALCAEUS Fr. 348 ed. LOBEL-PAGE; ARISTOTLE, Politics 1285 a 35-b
1); Peisistratus (HERODOTUS 1.59; [ARISTOTLE], Athenian Constitution 14.1; PLUTARCH, Solon
Hans van Wees 82
is no tradition, however, about either the hoplites or the lower classes actually
mobilizing to fight on a would-be tyrant’s behalf. It has sometimes been said that the
lack of popular involvement in these struggles stemmed from a conscious refusal by the
people to fight against the tyrants and implied at least passive support. Yet this is
probably already claiming too much, since we do hear of situations in which the
authorities were able to organize a formal mobilization of the citizens against aspiring
tyrants: the magistrates in Athens fielded the citizen army not only against the coup by
Cylon but also against the third coup of the popular and very well-armed Peisistratus.58
I would suggest, therefore, that the absence of armed intervention by the hoplites or
light-armed at large in support of tyrants indicates neither active antipathy nor passive
sympathy, but merely reflects the limits of their organisation and internal cohesion, and
their consequent inability to behave as an independent political force.
As a rule, it would seem, political regimes were created and destroyed by small
factions, and the bulk of the citizens were not drawn into the conflict unless either the
city’s legitimate authorities were sufficiently united against the plotters or invaders to
make a general mobilization feasible, or the faction fighting escalated into pitched
battles in the streets — at which point the local population would be bound to join in, as
they did in Piraeus in 403, or in the notorious civil war in Corcyra in 427, when even
the women climbed onto the roofs of their houses and pelted the oligarchic forces with
tiles (THUCYDIDES 3.74.1).
4 CONCLUSION
The connection between citizen militias and political regimes in Greece was as tenuous
in practice as it was prominent in political thought and propaganda. The proportion of
horsemen, hoplites, and light-armed within a city were of some significance insofar as
they indicated the pattern of distribution of wealth in the community and thereby
pointed to the likely balance of political sympathies in the extreme event of all-out civil
war, but most regimes were neither created nor maintained by particular branches of the
armed forces. Instead, both autocratic regimes and their opponents normally relied on
the coercive force of groups comprised of only a few hundred men or less, such as
informal bands of friends, small political ‘clubs’, or members of select military units,
that were supported by mercenary troops or foreign garrisons. The light-armed, the
hoplites, or indeed the cavalry, as such did not often play a part in these conflicts.
Accordingly, tyrannies and oligarchies were both easily imposed and easily ousted, and
political violence was endemic.
In this light, one can see the point of a law, attributed to Solon, obliging every
citizen to take up arms in case of civil strife: it was an attempt to create greater political
stability by forcing broader participation and thereby breaking the cycle of violent
confrontations between small groups.59 Similarly, in this light, an episode such as the
apparently spontaneous riot of the Council and “the rest of the Athenians” in 508
30) and Theagenes (ARISTOTLE, Rhetoric 1357 b 30-33) are said to have been formally granted by
the popular assembly the right to keep a bodyguard. Contra CAWKWELL, art. cit. (note 44), and DE
LIBERO, op. cit. (note 44), esp. 393, 400.
58 HERODOTUS 5.71; THUCYDIDES 1.126.7-8 (Cylon); HERODOTUS 1.62-3 (Peisistratus).
59 PLUTARCH, Solon 20.1; see N. FISHER, ‘Hybris, revenge and stasis in the Greek city-states’, in H.
VAN WEES (ed.), War and Violence in Ancient Greece (London 2000), 96.
Tyrants, Oligarchs and Citizen Militias 83
against a Spartan attempt to instal an oligarchy led by Isagoras, can be seen more
clearly as the exception it was: a rare instance of a genuine popular ‘revolution’ in a
history dominated by factional conflict.60
60 HERODOTUS 5.72. See J. OBER, The Athenian Revolution (Princeton 1996), 32-52.
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 83
Vincent Gabrielsen
In recent years, there has been a noticeable resurgence of scholarly interest in a field
which for a very long time dominated historical writing in its traditional form — ancient
military history. This revived interest, however, has been guided by theoretical
preoccupations, historical perspectives and foci in subject matter that differ
considerably from those characteristic of late 19th- and early 20th-century scholarship:
accounts on technical matters, battles, tactics and individual wars have now ceded their
once prominent place to (at times interdisciplinary) attempts to explore the social,
economic, political and cultural significance of ancient warfare.1 Hans van Wees’
contribution, like the other papers in the present volume, falls squarely within this new
orientation in modern historiography.
The main aim of his paper is to assess the impact of the armed forces on the
government and politics of the Greek city-states in the Archaic and Classical periods. In
particular, van Wees seeks to test the common theory, derived from Aristotle (Politics),
holding that certain kinds of armed forces were closely associated with certain social
classes and supported regimes which could promote their class interests. This theory, he
argues, is questionable. The connections made in Greek political thought and
propaganda between military forces and political regimes were really tenuous in
political practice. Even though the proportions of horsemen, hoplites and light-armed
soldiers within a city reflected the distribution of wealth in the community and thereby
pointed to the likely balance of political sympathies in the event of civil war, most
regimes (autocratic or otherwise) were usually brought to power and maintained by
quite small but highly organized groups, and sometimes by broad popular movements.
This conclusion is based on the arguments developed successively in each of the
three parts into which the paper is organized. The first part (pp. 61-72) investigates (1)
the ownership of weapons, (2) the liability to serve in war, and (3) the organization of
Greek armed forces. The second part (pp. 72-77) assesses the reliability of Aristotle’s
1 See, for instance, K. RAAFLAUB and N. ROSENSTEIN (eds.), War and Society in the Ancient and
Medieval Worlds: Asia, The Mediterranean, Europe, and Mesoamerica (Washington, DC 1999). As
earlier examples of ground-breaking studies especially in the fields of classical Greek and
Hellenistic history, I shall note here two volumes by Y. GARLAN, La guerre dans l’Antiquité (Paris
1972) and Guerre et économie en Grèce ancienne (Paris 1989) (for a full list of GARLAN’s
contributions to the history of warfare, see P. BRULÉ and J. OULHEN [eds.], Esclavage, guerre,
économie en Grèce ancienne. Hommages à Yvon Garlan [Rennes 1997], 243-245), and M.M.
AUSTIN’s ‘Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy’, Classical Quarterly 36 (1986), 450-466.
Vincent Gabrielsen 84
claim for the close connection between different constitutional forms and particular
branches of the army. Finally, the third part (pp. 78-82) sets Aristotelian theory against
political reality as is reflected by several known coups d’état in the Archaic and
Classical periods. In what follows, I shall comment on each part of the paper, noting
areas of both agreement and disagreement.
PART I
1 Ownership of weapons
Hans van Wees argues persuasively that the possession of weapons was widespread.
Indeed, not only was there no ban on the ownership of arms and armour by persons of
free status, but individuals able to afford the cost of such equipment (25-30 drachmas
for shield and spear, and 75-100 drachmas for full bronze panoply) could arm
themselves through use of an apparently thriving ‘weapons market’: during the
assemblage of Agesilaos’ entire army at Ephesos in 395 B.C., Xenophon reports, the
market was full of all sorts of horses and weapons, offered for sale, and various
craftsmen were busy manufacturing war equipment, “so that one might have thought
that the city was really a workshop of war (polemou ergasterion)”.2 Alternatively,
during campaigns some troops, at least, could be supplied with public equipment, while
from the later fourth century B.C. the issuing of public arms and armour became a
regular feature in several states. The latter development, I would suggest, is worthy of
notice on account of its broader implications. For it must signify a (gradual) departure
from what was previously perceived as an ideal, i.e., man participated in warfare with
the arms and armour he could afford (in which case the composition of the armed forces
would have been determined by — and so be reflective of — the economic standing of
the participants), to a system that was better geared to meet the practical and tactical
necessities of the battlefield (in which case the numbers of horsemen, hoplites and light-
armed to be fielded in each instance were determined by the political authorities of a
city-state according to the military requirements of a campaign).
To the evidence cited in this section one may add the following: (i) Pasion’s gift to
the Athenian state of 1,000 shields from his own workshop,3 a number of which are
recorded in the accounts of the treasurers of Athena as being stored in the Acropolis
together with other military equipment;4 and (ii) the provision of an Athenian decree of
c. 510-500 B.C. concerning Athenian cleruchs (i.e. settlers) on Salamis, which specifies
the obligation of each cleruch to provide his own arms (ta hopla) to the value of 30
drachmas.5 With regard to this latter instance, it would be interesting to know whether
the amount of 30 drachmas relates only to the bare necessities (i.e. shield and spear).
One of the conclusions in this section (p. 64) is that the ownership of arms and
armour “in itself cannot have had a significant impact on the balance of power within a
state — other than to uphold the rule of free citizens over slaves and serfs — nor can it
have inspired much class consciousness or solidarity”. However, the first of these points
seems to be contradicted by some of the arguments put forth in previous pages. As is
correctly pointed out (pp. 62f.), the poorest citizens could equip themselves for service
as light-armed (either peltasts or simply missile throwers), and such troops were indeed
highly effective: in wars and civil wars they often proved tactically superior to the
cavalry and the hoplites.6 Consequently, the ownership of weapons (and according to
Aristotle, the kind of weapons owned) did have a significant impact on the balance of
power at a very critical moment, that is, whenever the issue of who would control the
state — ‘poor’ democrats or ‘rich’ oligarchs — was decided by the use of violence; it
was precisely for that reason that in 404 B.C. the Thirty at Athens hurried to disarm all
those citizens who were not included in the roster of 3,000 Athenians with the right to
participate in politics.7 To the second point one might answer that class consciousness
is, of course, not created by the ownership of arms per se, but above all by the economic
standing of an individual which, in turn, determines the kind, amount and quality of
arms he is able to own.
2 The liability to serve in war
In this section, van Wees makes two main points. The first is that our sources tend to
create the impression that Homeric and early Greek warfare was dominated by a few
aristocratic warriors, and that in Classical Greece the only soldiers who mattered were
hoplites. Van Wees argues, however, that a careful reading shows this to be a view
anchored in élite ideology; in reality, a much wider range of soldiers and social groups
played an active and significant rôle in warfare throughout the relevant periods.
Moreover, our sources (especially those from the Classical period) present us with two
distinct kinds of hoplite. One is the hoplite constructed and kept alive by élite thought: a
wealthy or fairly well-off man supporting oligarchy. Here the terms ‘hoplite’ and
‘oligarchy’ are each used as if they referred to unequivocally defined and universally
constant phenomena, the first a unified class, the second an undifferentiated form of
constitution — hence, the particular product of this mode of thinking might be termed
the ‘hoplite imaginaire’. The other kind is the real hoplite of the battlefield: a type of
soldier who cannot be pressed into one and only one social or ideological compartment.
These are themes to which van Wees himself has previously made several notable
contributions,8 and his expert handling of the often daunting evidence brings out clearly
and forcefully the disparity between what was accentuated (or suppressed) for
ideological reasons and what was the reality about the numbers, socio-economic
position and legal status of the men marshalled into the Greek battlefield. These
findings, however, raise a question that bears on a recent and seemingly widely-
accepted view, according to which the greatest majority of hoplites in the Archaic polis
were identical with the members of a fairly homogenous and sizeable socio-economic
class: the ‘middling’ (i.e. the neither too rich nor too poor) independent owners of
farms, who were the citizens that really mattered.9 Is it likely that that picture is also an
ideological construct rather than a reality of archaic military organization?
On the whole, I agree with van Wees’ main conclusions on this point, but not with
two specific claims he makes. Firstly, in several instances (e.g. pp. 69f. and 80), the
poorer citizens of Classical Athens — who not only served as hoplites, but also as light-
armed and rowers in the fleet — are described as “the politically disenfranchised”, or
“the politically excluded”. These characterizations are only applicable for the two very
brief periods of oligarchic rule (in 411 and 404/3 B.C.) but are completely inapplicable
for the far longer period of democratic rule, that is, for most of the fifth century and
down to 323/2 B.C. And, emphatically, (as is acknowledged on p. 69) the restrictions to
office-holding that fourth-century law imposed on citizens commonly thought to be of
lower status, the thetes, were in practice disregarded. The division, in Aristotle’s ideal
constitution, of hoplite forces into enfranchised and disenfranchised sections (p. 70) fits
Sparta better than Athens. Secondly, van Wees maintains (p. 66) that the rowers in the
fleet — 170 on each trireme — usually participated in the fighting, mostly as light-
armed, and so they always outnumbered the hoplites. This claim is based partly on the
questionable methodological habit which holds that ‘absence of evidence is not
evidence of absence’,10 and partly on evidence which, insofar as it is relevant,11 reveals
that crews were employed as fighting personnel only in situations of financial exigency
and manpower shortages.12 In my opinion, the correct view is that as a rule crews were
spared (and protected) both because without them the ships became utterly useless in
warfare and because triremes were eminently costly war matériel to be left behind.
The second point made in this section is that within military personnel (and also
primarily within an Athenian context) an important dividing line was drawn between (i)
those who were obliged to serve and who accordingly possessed certain political
9 V.D. HANSON, The Other Greeks: The Family Farm and the Agrarian Roots of Western Civilization
(New York 1995), esp. 121-125, 181-219; ID., ‘Hoplites into Democrats: The Changing Ideology of
Athenian Infrantry’, in J. OBER and C. HEDRICK (eds.), Demokratia: A Conversation on
Democracies, Ancient and Modern (Princeton, NJ 1996), 289-312.
10 See p. 66: “This is another role taken for granted by the sources and only mentioned when there are
unusual circumstances.”
11 Pace van Wees, (i) the light-armed employed by the Athenians at Spartolos seem to have been
foreign troops recruited under way (THUCYDIDES 2.79.1 and 3), (ii) there are no compelling
reasons to regard those used on Cythera (THUCYDIDES 4.56.2) as the rowers of the fleet, and (iii)
what PLATO (Laws 706c) found outrageous was not that crews did the fighting, but that some states
preferred naval warfare to hoplite warfare on land.
12 (i) THUCYDIDES 4.9.1-2: finding himself in a dire situation at Pylos (425 B.C.), the strategos
Demosthenes drew ashore the three triremes remaining to him and armed their oarsmen with shields;
(ii) THUCYDIDES 3.18.1-3: the Athenians’ decision to despatch a fleet under the command of
Paches with 1,000 hoplites who also served as oarsmen (auteretai) was an emergency procedure,
indicating ”how stretched Athens’ naval resources were at the time;” cf. S. HORNBLOWER, A
Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 1 (Oxford 1991), 403; (iii) THUCYDIDES 6.91.4: Alcibiades
advised the Spartans to send immediately aid to Sicily in the form of ships rowed by hoplitai
(auteretai) because ships so manned were likely to arrive there faster than heavier troop-carriers
(stratiotides); (iv) XENOPHON, Hellenica 1.2.1, cf. 1.1.34: of the 8,500 oarsmen (nautai) in
Thrasyllos’ fleet of fifty triremes, 5,000 were used as peltasts because Athens had shortly before
suffered severe manpower losses in Sicily.
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 87
privileges and (ii) those who volunteered for service and did not have full political
rights. Contrary to the current belief, this dividing line did not coincide with the
distinction between hoplites and light-armed, but cut across the body of hoplites.13 I
fully agree that in practice there was no dividing line between hoplites and light-armed
troops. But there are reasons to take issue with two of the arguments adduced in support
of two things: (i) the point that the so-called ‘list of hoplites’ (katalogos) included only
the three top Solonian classes (pentakosiomedimnoi, hippeis and zeugitai), who were
legally obliged to serve, but excluded the fourth class (the thetes), who were exempt
from the obligation but could and did serve as volunteers (p. 67); and (ii) van Wees’
calculation of the wealth possessed by members of the Solonian classes, a calculation
which purports to show that the dividing line between those liable to military service
and volunteers “was drawn remarkably far up the social and economic scale”, i.e. right
after the fairly wealthy zeugitai. I shall comment on each of these in the order
mentioned.
(i) The hoplite katalogos. Several sources from the fifth and fourth centuries B.C. show
(a) that on numerous occasions (and until the 340s) some citizens were called up to
serve in the army and in the navy ek katalogou (“from the list”), and (b) that for these
citizens service was compulsory. Furthermore, some of these sources also contrast those
drafted ek katalogou to volunteers (ethelontai). Thus we can conclude that service ek
katalogou was compulsory. However, the conventional view (followed by van Wees)
that the thetes were permanently excluded from these katalogoi — and so they always
served as volunteers — rests on the erroneous assumption that the procedure described
by THUCYDIDES (6.43.1) in connection with the manning of the fleet in 415 B.C. was
the normal one for most of the Classical period. No other source (apart from
THUCYDIDES 6.43.1) makes a connection between the Solonian classes and the
katalogoi, and the thetes were not generally exempted from the obligation to serve as
hoplites. A more detailed exposition of my arguments and the sources supporting them
is offered in Appendix 1.
In addition, the way in which the words ‘obligatory’, ‘compulsory’ and ‘voluntary’
(sc. service) are used in the paper (pp. 67-69 and 71) leads to a quite inconsistent
argument. For, firstly, the economic and social élites of Greek states tended to regard
their participation in warfare as a moral obligation inextricably linked to their status;
according to their own ideology (or warrior ethos), at least, they had to defend their
community (with their own person and from their private means) voluntarily. This is
clearly at odds with the proposition that they denied to all others the ‘privilege’ of being
legally compelled to service (i.e. ek katalogou). Secondly, we know that certainly in
Athens and probably in other states as well, whereas voluntarism was at a premium,
non-voluntarism the object of public disdain. Consequently, if the situation really was
the one claimed in the paper, then one is prompted to ask why the upper classes should
13 The statement (p. 67) that “Athens appears to have had a centralized organization for mobilizing
ships and horsemen, and possibly also infantry troops — in 48 units called naucrariai — by c. 630
B.C.” relies solely on the dubious testimony of later lexicographers (POLLUX, Onomasticon 8.108;
Lexica Segueriana 283.20-21): see V. GABRIELSEN, Financing the Athenian Fleet: Public Taxation
and Social Relations (Baltimore-London 1994), 19-24. Furthermore, that ARISTOPHANES
(Acharnenses 162) indicates that upper-bank oarsmen on Athenian triremes were citizens (p. 70) is
an idea (put forth by R. MEIGGS, The Athenian Empire [Oxford 1972], 441) which continues to be
unsupported.
Vincent Gabrielsen 88
have willingly surrendered to the lower classes the precious option of performing in
such a praiseworthy manner. Again, if the result was that stated on p. 69 (i.e. even
though legally exempt, the lower classes could and did volunteer),14 then what was the
point of putting formal restrictions on the thetes, when they served in such large
numbers anyway? Finally, if the supposed property classes of the katalogos, who are
also said to be the politically privileged classes, excluded the economically and
politically underprivileged, is it correct to conclude (p. 72) that, “It was quite rare for
military groups to share distinct political interests”?
(ii) As regards the Solonian classes, I confine my comments to two central aspects.
Firstly, like many other scholars, van Wees holds that from their introduction (or
perhaps formalization) by Solon in 594/3 B.C. to the end of the Classical period (323/2
B.C.) the four Solonian classes (tele) were intimately connected to Athens’ military
organization. But at the same time he argues (pp. 68f.)15 that the zeugitai class included
only the fairly well-off section of citizens (i.e. those possessing over and above a certain
amount of wealth), for whom hoplite service was compulsory — in contradistinction to
less well-off (or poorer) citizens of allegedly thetic status, who served as hoplites
voluntarily. That distinction is based on evidence which is interpreted (in my view
correctly) as suggesting that the socio-economic composition of Athens’ hoplite forces
in Classical times (especially after the middle of the fifth century) must have been much
broader than was maintained by earlier scholarship. In that case, however, there is a
very important question which needs to be reconsidered: in terms of evidence, what is
there to justify any special connection at all between zeugitai and hoplites? The answer,
in my opinion, is none. Moreover, since van Wees’ calculations rely on the figures for
agricultural produce in Solonian Athens, his view about the economic status of the
zeugitai must also, and above all, apply to that period as well. Consequently, acceptance
of his view should in fact entail the abandonment of the theory postulating a nearly
virtual identity between Archaic Athenian hoplites and zeugitai, unless one is prepared
either to defend the untenable proposition that the Archaic Athenian hoplite force was
quite small, or to populate Archaic Athens with an incredibly large number of well-off
citizens.
Secondly, the estimate of the approximate level of wealth possessed by the
members of the zeugitai class is based on our principal source on the economic
significance on the four Solonian classes (pp. 68f.). Van Wees’ belief that that source —
i.e. the late fourth-century treatise [ARISTOTLE] Athenaion Politeia 7.4 — is indeed a
fairly good basis for such an estimate coincides with the belief of most modern scholars.
However, in my view, the text of that treatise contains evidence to the effect that neither
its author nor the fourth-century Athenians at large knew anything at all about what the
Solonian tele actually signified in economic terms, either in the time of Solon or in their
own time. Furthermore, in Classical times the Solonian tele were as far as we know
never used for determining liability to the financial obligations imposed on citizens.
Therefore, while there were almost certainly Athenians who owned farms measuring c.
14 See, however, ARISTOTLE, Politics 1297 b: the poor are reluctant to serve when there is a war, if
they do not get rations.
15 In agreement with L. FOXHALL, ‘A View from the Top: Evaluating the Solonian Property Classes’,
in L. MITCHELL and P.J. RHODES (eds.), The Development of the Polis in Archaic Greece (London
1997), 113-136, esp. 130f.
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 89
nine hectares (22 acres) and worth about one talent (cf. p. 68), there is absolutely no
reason to equate these Athenians with the zeugitai class. My arguments for this point are
laid out in Appendix 2.
A final remark. If, as is argued on pp. 73f. (in my view cogently), Aristotle uses the
social and military terminology contradictorily, and if we accept (as I think we should)
that what he says in general about these matters reflects élite’s ideology, not reality,
then his description of zeugitai as “rich” (euporoi) and of the men serving ‘from the
lists’ as “notables” (gnorimoi)16 cannot be used to confirm the conclusion that the
zeugitai were in fact fairly rich citizens (pp. 68f.).
To sum up: I agree that in practice men serving as hoplites were politically and
economically divided, but I disagree with the way in which this paper claims them to
have been divided.
3 The organization of armed forces
It is certainly correct to say, as van Wees does in this section, that, perhaps with the
exception of Crete and Sparta, the military organization of Greek city-states did not
encourage the creation of cohesive groups to such a degree that we can speak of ‘the
army’. Indeed, the emergence of the Hellenistic military associations (koina) lay still
ahead,17 although a question perhaps deserving some consideration is whether the
armies of the fourth-century ‘opportunists’ (Dionysios I of Syracuse, Philip II of
Macedon, Iason of Pherae), in spite of the fact that most of them consisted of
mercenaries, might have developed a more distinct esprit de corps than that known to
traditional Greek poleis.
PART II
In this part, van Wees scrutinizes Aristotle’s theory, developed in the Politics, about the
historical relationship between army and constitutions and tests the modern postulate
about a direct connection between the hoplite army and tyranny. His incisive and
perceptive analysis of the relevant passages in the Politics shows — in my view,
conclusively — that the Aristotelian theory is seriously discredited partly by several self-
contradictory statements made by its own author, partly by external evidence relating to
military and constitutional developments in early and Classical Greece. I therefore agree
with van Wees’ conclusions and especially with the overall one (drawn on p. 77), with
the exception of a point which seems to me to be in need of clarification: in one instance
(p. 75), it is said that in the Classical period cavalry forces were the only branch of the
military to be socially, economically, and politically homogeneous, and their upper-
class status no doubt made them sympathetic to oligarchic regimes; in another instance
(p. 75), it is maintained that in most Classical Greek cities, the elite’s main claim to
military distinction was cavalry service and their main political goal was oligarchy.
Now, in light of these statements, I do not think it is correct to conclude (pp. 76f.) that
Aristotle’s notion of a historical and contemporary link between cavalry and oligarchy
is purely a theoretical construct, which reflects political ideals, not reality.
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 91
PART III
To demonstrate just how limited the impact of citizen militias was on the rule of
oligarchies and tyrannies, van Wees discusses here a few of the known coups d’état, the
one in Argos in 417 B.C. and those in Athens in 411 and 404/3 B.C. He concludes that
in the planning and violent execution of these (as well as other) oligarchic coups and
democratic counter-coups only a relatively small and distinctly organized section of the
citizenry played a decisive rôle, and much the same can be said of the seizure of power
by tyrants in Archaic Greece. Since this part and the ‘Conclusion’ are thematically
linked, I shall comment on them together. Also, I wish to stress that some of the
criticisms that follow do not affect the soundness of van Wees’ conclusions but are
rather directed towards the perspective from which he assesses the possible connection
between army and politics.
1. The conclusions concerning the cohesion and size of the groups which instigate
coups d’état seem less surprising, when one considers the nature of such acts. Indeed,
whether in ancient or in modern times, coups are, and can only be, the work of a
relatively small (often very small) part of the armed forces. An important difference is
that modern coup-makers, being as a rule high-ranking members of a military
establishment, are able to exercise authority over — and thus involve in the execution of
their plans — a substantial segment of the army, an authority which ancient coup-makers
lacked: hence, the need of the Argive conspirators in 417 B.C. to use “an argument to
convert the common people to their cause” (p. 78; cf. THUCYDIDES 5.76.2), as well as
the need of both the oligarchic activists and their democratic counterparts at Athens in
411 B.C. to “persuade the masses of the benefits of their policies” (p. 79, cf.
THUCYDIDES 8.48.2-30).
In fact, the real (and intriguing) question that lurks behind the argument developed
in this part of the paper is a different one, which requires an investigation of its own:
why do most citizens, or in democracies “the masses”, choose to remain passive, thus
surrendering the initiative for action to an organized and determined minority? In the
present context, the question relates to the violent establishment or overthrow of a
particular regime. Yet the same tendency is observable in the tranquil (i.e. non-violent)
conduct of politics as well: in fourth-century democratic Athens, the initiative for
political decision making was almost entirely dominated by a handful of very active
citizens (the equivalent of our ‘politicians’), most of whom belonged to the economic
upper class.18 Ought we to assume that the tendency in either of these contexts
originated from a common set of causes? I honestly do not know, but this seems to me
to be a problem worthy of an investigation.
2. Inevitably, one must also ask whether the ancient Greek coups d’état constitute
an adequate basis from which to assess the possible connection between military forces
and political practice. Can they by themselves sustain such sweeping conclusions as
“the connections between military forces and political regimes were prominent in
political thought and propaganda, but tenuous in political practice”, “Regimes were
neither created nor maintained by particular branches of the armed forces” (p. 82)?
18 M.H. HANSEN, ‘Rhetores and Strategoi in Fourth-Century Athens’, in M.H. HANSEN (ed.), The
Athenian Ecclesia II (Copenhagen 1989), 25-72; ID., The Athenian Democracy in the Age of
Demosthenes: Structure, Principles and Ideology (Oxford 1991), 266-287.
Vincent Gabrielsen 92
Granted, in the course of the fourth century B.C. at least, hoplites were increasingly
becoming a socially and economically diversified group; although whether they
previously, especially in the seventh and sixth centuries B.C., had constituted a much
more homogenous class still remains an open question. Yet throughout the paper a close
connection is made between the cavalry, oligarchy and the upper classes. These latter, it
is said (p. 70), might serve as marines only in a pinch, and never as rowers; while by
contrast service as rowers in the fleet and as light-armed was generally done by poor
citizens. If these distinctions are maintained, then we must accept that each of these
social and military constellations backed its own political regime — unless, of course
one chooses to deny any connection between socio-economic groups and forms of
constitution. Perhaps a slightly different picture from the one drawn by van Wees’ paper
is likely to emerge, if we broaden our perspective (and our field of inquiry) and, in
addition, speak of “political practice” in a less narrow sense. I conclude by pointing
briefly (and by way of example) at some important challenges that need to be met in
two areas.
One challenge consists of identifying the field or fields in which ideology, instead
of simply standing in opposition to political practice (and thus seen as just a historically
distorting factor that needs to be rectified through confrontation with reality), was in
fact an integral part of that practice. An extremely interesting issue which van Wees
mentions only in passing (p. 68) is the interconnection of two historical phenomena: the
gradual creation of what can be called formal military establishments and the
development of the concept of the state, i.e. a centralized authority controlling and
organizing military activity. In my view, what matters mostly in this process is the way
in which military organization increasingly (but not simultaneously, nor at the same
pace everywhere) becomes an intrinsic part of a single, overarching political authority
that has monopoly over the use of organized violence, irrespective of whether that
monopoly is exercised by an oligarchic or a democratic government. Hence, the
“military” (and with it centrally organized warfare) comes to constitute one of the
defining characteristics of the state. This is perhaps one of the main reasons why rival
ideologies — élite and non-élite alike — both construct a close link between their own
socio-economic groups and particular military branches and are incessantly claiming
the prominence of their separate branches in warfare, past and present. In all cases, the
bone of contention among these rival groups is the power of the state. In fifth-century
Athens, for instance, the claim that the oarsman serving in the fleet was “the saviour of
our polis”19 did hold its own in this competitive ideological discourse until — and only
until — the power of the state through a coup d’état passed from the democrats over to
the oligarchs.
Another challenge is to try to follow the interrelated developments of formal
military organization and statehood by paying more attention to a branch of the military
which came to play a prominent rôle from the middle of the sixth century onwards: the
navy. To be sure, especially citizens — whether hoplites or non-hoplites — were allowed
to own weapons. But there is a specific weapon, the ownership of which was subject to
severe restrictions or directly prohibited in some (but definitely not all) states: the
purpose-built warship, which in the late Archaic and Classical periods was represented
by the trireme. Before c. 480 B.C., Athenian citizens could and (some) did possess their
own private warship: indeed, it was by virtue of owning naval resources that the elder
Miltiades was able to carve out for himself a semi-private, small-scale ‘tyranny’ in the
Thracian Chersonese towards the end of the sixth century B.C. But with the creation of
an entirely public fleet (i.e. one exclusively composed of state-owned triremes) at
approximately the same date naval activity became completely deprivatized: in the fifth
and fourth centuries B.C., no Athenian citizen was allowed to operate within the naval
establishment of Athens with a privately-owned trireme, while the Assembly and
Council had total control over the exertion of armed violence at sea. In this case, I
believe, one can speak of a close connection between a particular branch of the military
establishment — the navy — and a political regime — the Athenian democracy.
APPENDIX 1
The hoplite katalogos
On two different occasions, M.H. Hansen has discussed the sources which mention a
katalogos in connection with military service in fifth- and fourth-century Athens.
Hansen argues that, contrary to the accepted view,20 there was not such a thing as a
central list of hoplites: the expression ek katalogou simply refers to ad hoc lists,
published by the strategoi, which recorded the names of all the draftees who were liable
to hoplite service on particular campaigns. That procedure was in the 340s abandoned in
favour of a call-up by year-classes. Hansen, however, agrees with the traditional view
that at least down to 362 B.C. these lists included only the three top Solonian classes,
but not the thetes.21 I am persuaded by Hansen’s arguments about the ad hoc character
of these lists, but not with his (and other scholars’) view that they excluded the thetes.
In the following I wish to reexamine the relevant evidence.
1. One of the principal sources adduced in support of the accepted view is
THUCYDIDES 6.43.1. Here the number of Athenian hoplites on the 100 Attic ships sent
to Sicily in 415 B.C. is given as “1,500 from the list (ek katalogou) and 700 thetes who
served as epibatai” (i.e. seven epibatai [“marines”] to a ship). There is ample evidence
to show that those serving ek katalogou stand in contrast to those presenting themselves
for service voluntarily.22 It is almost certain, therefore, that the 700 epibatai in
THUCYDIDES 6.43.1 were volunteers who, in addition, belonged to the thetic class.
Hansen and others, however, assume that the procedure applied for manning the fleet to
Sicily in 415 B.C. was the one invariably used in fifth-century Athens, so that both the
hoplites serving on the ships as epibatai (i.e. marines) and a larger group of ordinary
hoplites were always or usually thetes who volunteered for service, instead of being
drafted ek katalogou. That this assumption is highly questionable is demonstrated by the
following sources.
20 A.H.M. JONES, Athenian Democracy (Oxford 1957), 163; K.J. DOVER, A Historical Commentary
on Thucydides, vol. 5 (Oxford 1981), 264.
21 M.H. HANSEN, ‘The Number of Athenian Hoplites in 431 B.C.’, Symbolae Osloenses 56 (1981),
19-32; ID., Demography and Democracy (Herning 1985), 83-89; cf. A. ANDREWES, ‘The Hoplite
Katalogos’, in G.S. SHRIMPTON and D.J. McCARGAR (eds.), Classical Contributions. Studies in
Honour of M.F. McGregor (New York 1981), 1-3.
22 E.g. THUCYDIDES 8.24.2; ARISTOPHANES, Equites 1369f.; LYSIAS 9.4 and 15 (For the Soldier);
LYSIAS 14.6 (Against Alcibiades I); DIODORUS 11.84.4; cf. HANSEN, op. cit. (note 21), 84f.
Vincent Gabrielsen 94
(i) IG I3 60 (of c. 430 B.C.) concerns the dispatch of 30 Athenian triremes. Two of
its provisions are plausibly restored to order the manning of each ship with five
volunteer (ethelontai) epibatai of citizen status. If this document is correctly restored,
the procedure it lays down makes no mention of the Solonian classes, but only specifies
that these men be selected according to tribe. (ii) THUCYDIDES (7.16.1) reports the
Athenians’ decision (in 414/13 B.C.) to send to Sicily an armament (strateian ... kai
nautiken kai peziken), consisting of Athenians ek katalogou and of allies. On this
occasion, a katalogos seems to have also been used for manning the fleet (nautiken),
certainly with epibatai and probably with oarsmen as well. (iii) Elsewhere (8.24.2),
THUCYDIDES says that the Athenian ships under the command of Leon and Diomedon
(in 411 B.C.) had epibatas ton hopliton ek katalogou anagkastous (“marines from the
hoplites who had been drafted compulsorily ek katalogou”). In contrast to those who
manned the ships to Sicily in 415 (THUCYDIDES 6.43.1), the epibatai of this fleet were
not volunteers, yet Thucydides says nothing about whether these men belonged to a
particular Solonian class. Finally, there are two passages that do mention the Solonian
classes in connection with the manning of the fleet, but not any katalogos. One is
THUCYDIDES 3.16.3, where it is said that in 428 B.C. the Athenians manned 100 ships,
on which they themselves embarked — with the exception of the hippeis and the
pentakosiomedimnoi — together with the metics; this passage implies that those citizens
who did embark were zeugitai and thetes, but there is nothing to suggest a distinction
between (a) zeugitai called up ek katalogou and (b) thetes serving as volunteers. The
other passage is XENOPHON, Hellenica 1.6.24, which mentions an Athenian decree (of
406 B.C.) ordering the manning of 110 triremes with all of military age, both slaves and
free, and adds that on this occasion “many of the hippeis embarked as well”. However,
it cannot be decided whether hippeis here refers to those serving in the cavalry23 or to
the Solonian class. It can then be provisionally concluded that THUCYDIDES 6.43.1 is
far from representing what was the rule in fifth-century Athens. In fact, it is difficult to
say what the rule really was.
2. The other principal sources are (i) ARISTOTLE, Politics 1303 a 8-10, and (ii)
[ARISTOTLE], Athenaion Politeia 26.1. In the first, Aristotle, seeking to exemplify how
in some states the numbers of the poor citizens can increase in relation to the numbers
of the rich, says that “at Athens, when the citizens suffered misfortunes in land warfare,
the notables (gnorimoi) became fewer because at the time of the Laconian war [i.e. the
Peloponnesian War] the army was mobilized ek katalogou”. The second source is
believed to be saying basically the same thing: after Ephialtes’ reforms (in 462 B.C.),
the upper classes (epieikesteroi) found themselves without a leader, other than Kimon,
who was still a rather young man; in addition, the multitude had suffered seriously in
war, “for at that time the army (of citizens) was mobilized ek katalogou, (. . .) so that it
was always happening that the troops on an expedition suffered as many as two or three
thousand casualties, making a drain on the numbers of the [morally] better sort of men
(epieikeis), both those of the demos and those of the rich (euporoi)”.24 Both passages do
indicate that in the later fourth century the procedure ek katalogou was no longer in use.
23 See LYSIAS 14.7, 10-11, 14-15 and 22 (Against Alcibiades I): in 395/4 B.C., wealthy citizens
currently enrolled in the cavalry were called up as hoplites.
24 For the translation of this second epieikeis, see P.J. RHODES, A Commentary on the Aristotelian
Athenaion Politeia (Oxford 1981), 328.
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 95
But the negative demographic impact of that system on a particular social class,
sketched in the Politics, may be no more than ARISTOTLE’s own inference, one
influenced by his strong, albeit ideologically biased, belief in a firm connection between
oligarchy, hoplites and rich citizens (Politics 1321 a 13-14); and even if that inference
derived from a fifth-century author, it is still possible that it was influenced by that
author’s personal conviction that certain branches of the army mattered more than
others (see e.g. THUCYDIDES 8.1.2). As to [ARISTOTLE], Athenaion Politeia 26.1, it
really says quite the opposite of what it is usually supposed to say: namely, that also
members of the demos (here “the poor”) were included in the katalogos.
3. In addition, we have a few sources from the fourth century B.C. that bear on the
issue of conscription for naval service. (i) [DEMOSTHENES] 50.6 (Against Polycles),
refers to a resolution of the Athenians (in 362/1 B.C.) to dispatch a fleet which was to
be manned with oarsmen (nautai) from lists (katalogoi) drawn up by the councilors and
the demarchs. In subsequent sections, these oarsmen are described as hoi nautai hoi
katalegentes hypo ton demoton (7) and as hoi ek katalogou elthontes (sc. nautai) (16).
The procedure followed here seems to be similar to that used in 414/13 B.C. (see
THUCYDIDES 7.16.1 above), and ek katalogou almost certainly means that service for
all those drafted on this occasion was compulsory, unless the captain of a ship himself,
for various reasons, dismissed the oarsmen assigned to him.25 There is no indication in
the entire speech that those conscripted belonged to a particular Solonian class, and I
fully agree with Hansen that the katalogoi here probably included thetes as well.26 That
epibatai and oarsmen were excluded from the katalogoi is a view that finds no support
in the remaining of the known fourth-century instances of conscription for naval
service.27 Finally, [DEMOSTHENES] 13.4 (On Organization, of 354/3 B.C.) discusses
military pay, and in that connection mentions the katalogos, probably with hoplite
service in mind. In his analysis of this passage, Hansen concludes that Demosthenes’
arguments can only make sense if this katalogos included thetes.28
To sum up: the procedure employed by the Athenians in the fifth and fourth
centuries varied according to the circumstances. In 415 B.C., the epibatai (marines)
were thetes not called up ek katalogou (THUCYDIDES 6.43.1). In 414/13 B.C., on the
other hand, epibatai — just as ordinary hoplites and probably oarsmen, too — were ek
katalogou (THUCYDIDES 7.16.1) and so were also the nautai (oarsmen) in 362/1 B.C.
([DEMOSTHENES] 50.6, 7 and 16 (Against Polykles), while in 411 B.C. the epibatai
were hoplites ek katalogou anagkastoi (THUCYDIDES 8.24.2). In the latter three
instances, as also in IG I3 60, no Solonian classes are mentioned, and when they are
mentioned in other contexts (THUCYDIDES 3.16.3, and perhaps XENOPHON, Hellenica
1.6.24), we get no clues as to whether the thetes were formally excluded from the
katalogos. Moreover, [DEMOSTHENES] 13.4 (On Organization, of 354/3 B.C.) speaks as
if thetes too were among the hoplites ‘on the list’. On this background I shall conclude
that neither THUCYDIDES 6.43.1, nor ARISTOTLE, Politics 1303 a 8-10 and
[ARISTOTLE], Athenaion Politeia 26.1, can be used to infer that in the fifth century and
until 362 a call-up ek katalogou affected citizens from the three top Solonian property
classes, but not the thetes, who always took up service as volunteers.
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 97
APPENDIX 2
29 For the date, see R.W. WALLACE, ‘The Date of Solon’s Reforms’, American Journal of Ancient
History 8.1 (1983), 81-95.
30 A.E. RAUBITSCHEK, Dedications from the Athenian Acropolis (Cambridge, Mass. 1949), no. 372.
31 R.S. STROUD, Hesperia 40 (1971), 164 LL. 12 and 171f.
Vincent Gabrielsen 98
know the telos to which he belonged. Fourthly, in terms of wealth these tele were
perceived as standing in a hierarchical relation to each other, with the
pentakosiomedimnoi as the richest, and the thetes as the poorest. In addition, it should
be noted that not one of the extant fourth-century sources connects the Solonian classes
to Athens’ military or naval organization; Aristotle’s claim of an intimate link between
thetikon and nautikon (Politics 1321 a 5-8, with a 14-15) is not an exception, because in
that passage, as in several other passages,32 he uses thetikon (and thes) in a general, non-
technical (and non-Athenian) sense.
The wealth possessed by each of these classes is a subject treated in practically
every single book-length study on Greek and particularly Athenian history, in addition
to a substantial number of specialized articles. Since the 19th century33 scholars have
attempted to estimate that wealth primarily in terms of the size of the landed property
owned by members of each class, the volume (and kind) of its annual agricultural yield,
the number of people it was capable of feeding per year, and finally its monetary value.
The results arrived at by different scholars do vary according to the premises from
which each of these estimates proceeds.34 Furthermore, and at a more general level,
there are (a) those who hold that, even though at the time of Solon the tele corresponded
to specific economic classes, by the fourth century (and presumably already during the
Pelopon-nesian War) it was not clear what their economic significance was;35 and (b)
those who (like van Wees in this volume) hold that the economic meaning of the tele
remained basically valid throughout the Classical period. Yet, in spite of such
disagreements, virtually all attempts to quantify and describe the wealth determining
membership of these classes are based on our principal source, [ARISTOTLE], Athenaion
Politeia 7.3-4, which dates from the later fourth century.36 The pentakosiomedimnoi are
described (especially at 7.4) as those possessing landed property producing 500 “dry
and wet” measures, the hippeis as those with property producing 300 such measures and
the zeugitai as those producing 200 measures.
A number of those scholars who have tried to reconstruct the practical workings of
the system as well as the particulars of the agricultural regime sustaining it have found
Athenaion Politeia’s account deficient or untenable on several important points.37
Indeed, as one study concludes, not only do the Solonian tele provide very little
information concerning the landholdings in Archaic Athens, but modern calculations
relying on these tele can attain credibility only if it is shown that an agricultural
32 ARISTOTLE, Politics 1287 a 13-22, 1291 a 6, 1317 a 25, 1319 a 28, 1329 a 36, 1337 b 21, 1341 b
14. These should be contrasted with the technical use of thetikon when Aristotle refers to the
Solonian classes in Athens (1274 a 21).
33 A. BÖCKH, Die Staatshaushaltung der Athener, vol. 1 (Berlin 1886, 3rd revised edition by M.
FRÄNKEL), 583-591.
34 See, for instance, K.J. BELOCH, Griechische Geschichte, vol. 1 (Berlin-Leipzig 1924, 2nd edition),
302f.; A. JARDÉ, Les céréales dans l’antiquité grecque, vol. 1 (Paris 1925), 59f., 186; C.G. STARR,
The Economic and Social Growth of Early Greece, 800-500 B.C. (New York-Oxford 1977), 153-
156; K.-W. WELWEI, Athen, vom neolithischen Siedlungsplatz zur archaischen Großpolis
(Darmstadt 1992), 180-183; FOXHALL, art. cit. (note 15), 130.
35 HANSEN, op. cit. (note 18), 109f.; HORNBLOWER, op. cit. (note 12), 399.
36 Cf. also ARISTOTLE, Politics 1274 a 19-21; PLUTARCH, Solon 18.1-2; POLLUX, Onomasticon
8.129-132.
37 RHODES, op. cit. (note 24), 141f.; FOXHALL, art. cit. (note 15), 130f. with note 106.
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 99
revolution had occurred between Solon’s legislation and Classical Athens — of which
there is no sign.38 Doubts have therefore been expressed about the historical credibility
of certain elements in the text. The notion of “dry and wet” measures, it is said, might
be either a confusion or a later development (and so in need of correction). Also, the
numbers associated with the three bottom classes may have been inventions of Classical
times, extrapolated from the number embedded in the top class, 500.39 In addition, the
most recent conclusions to which the figures of the Athenaion Politeia lead with regard
to the landed property owned by the zeugitai, even though they are generally accepted
as technically correct, are deemed by some scholars to be far too high to be in harmony
with their view about a sizeable zeugite/hoplite class in sixth-century Athens, and for
that reason the account of Athenaion Politeia is considered to be problematic.40 Finally,
it has even been proposed that only the pentakosiomedimnoi may have been defined in
economic terms, while the remaining three tele were always based in military status.41
Such criticisms, nevertheless, do not seem to have kept scholars (including some of
the critics themselves) from using Athenaion Politeia 7.4 as the basis of (often
sophisticated) calculations of the wealth possessed by members of the tele, in Solon’s
time or later. In light of all this, and because it does matter greatly whether we accept
that a zeugites, for instance, was a fairly well off man (owning a farm of no less than c.
nine hectares and worth approximately one talent), it is imperative (and timely) to raise
the crucial question of whether our principal source’s explanation of the economic
criteria defining the tele derives from a trustworthy authority or is guesswork, pure and
simple. Here I offer a few remarks in the hope that I will be able to treat this issue more
comprehensively in a forthcoming article.42
That question can, I think, be answered by taking a closer look at the meaning of
the hippeis. On this, Athenaion Politeia reports two opinions, which is a clear indication
that the matter was the subject of an ongoing controversy, obviously one which could
not be easily settled. The author of Athenaion Politeia himself (plausibly in agreement
with other Athenians as well) maintains that hippeis refers to landholders producing 300
measures. Others, however, are reported to have held that hippeis referred to those who
were able to keep horses (hippotrophein), and as proof (semeion) of their opinion they
(again reportedly) adduced the label of the telos as well as the dedication recording
Anthemion’s advance from thetic to hippeis status (cf. above, p. 95). The author of
38 J.E. SKYDSGAARD, ‘Solon’s Tele and Agrarian History. A Note’, in Studies in Ancient History and
Numismatics presented to Rudi Thomsen (Aarhus 1988), 53.
39 P.B. MANVILLE, The Origin of Citizenship in Ancient Athens (Princeton, NJ 1990), 144f. note 53;
FOXHALL, art. cit. (note 15), 129, 130f. with note 97.
40 K. RAAFLAUB, ‘Archaic and Classical Greece’, in RAAFLAUB and ROSENSTEIN, op. cit. (note 1),
129-161, esp. 138 with note 49; cf. V.D. HANSON, ‘Hoplites into Democrats’, 290f. See, however,
FOXHALL, art. cit. (note 15), 131: “So, if, as is generally accepted, hoplites were from the zeugite
telos, we are hardly seeing a broadly based military force composed of sturdy yeomen peasants or
free farmers.”
41 G.E.M. DE STE. CROIX in an unpublished essay cited by RHODES, op. cit. (note 24), 138 and 143.
That zeugitai referred to hoplites: D. WHITEHEAD, ‘The Archaic Athenian Zeugitai’, Classical
Quarterly 31 (1981), 282-286, but see the criticism of M.H. HANSEN, Classical Philology 80
(1985), 56, and Classica et Mediaevalia 48 (1997), 216 with note 45.
42 P.V. STANLEY, The Economic Reforms of Solon (St. Katharinen 1999), 206-208, restates some of
the traditional views.
Vincent Gabrielsen 100
Athenaion Politeia dismisses this rival opinion, not by adducing any counter-proof, but
simply by giving his personal opinion: “it is more reasonable (eulogoteron) that this
telos too was distinguished by the measures (metra) of their produce, in the same way
as the pentakosiomedimnoi.” P.J. Rhodes tries to defend Athenaion Politeia by saying
that “eulogoteron here should not be taken as a sign that the criterion used by Solon was
not known” and that the author “may be not giving the evidence on which his belief is
based so much as citing a familiar fact to confirm the reasonableness of an unfamiliar
one (...)”.43 This, however, would hardly do, for it assumes the very thing that needs to
be proved. If, as is believed, Athenaion Politeia had a credible, contemporary source for
his explanation of the pentakosiomedimnoi (as opposed to the bare name of the telos),
that same source would have helped him (and others) to settle once and for all the
current dispute about the correct meaning of hippeis. But that is not the case, and at
least some modern scholars have found the ‘rival view’ more convincing than that of
Aristotle’s own;44 van Wees (p. 68), on the other hand, harmonizes the two conflicting
views, holding that hippeis referred both to horsemen and to those producing 300
measures a year. Furthermore, neither the Athenaion Politeia nor the opposing view
attempts, as a last resort, to back its own opinion by pointing to what the Solonian
classes signified in their own day. It must therefore be concluded that Athenaion
Politeia, the source or sources it might have used, and the fourth-century Athenians at
large knew nothing at all about what the Solonian tele meant in economic terms, either
in 594/3 B.C. or in the later half of the fourth century.
Were the thetes poor and the pentakosiomedimnoi rich in the fourth century? The
author of Athenaion Politeia (7.4) states that in his day the legal prohibition on thetes to
hold office was ignored, and so, when at the examination of incoming officials
candidates were asked to which telos they belonged, “no one whatever would say
thetikon.” Elsewhere (47.1) he says that the board of “treasurers of Athena are elected
according to tribes by lot, from the pentakosiomedimnoi, according to the law of Solon
(which is still valid), and the person elected by lot holds office even though he is a poor
man”. What is claimed here could result either from the fact that a candidate not
belonging to the pentakosio-medimnoi had pretended to be of that telos (just like thetes
are said to have held office by pretending to be of one of the three top tele), or from the
fact that by that time some of those assigned as pentakosiomedimnoi were actually
poor,45 or, again (and more probably), from a combination of both of th.ese situations.
Lack of correspondence between a person’s actual economic standing and his telos is
also indicated by the following. Firstly, in ISAEUS 7.39 (c. 355 B.C.) it is claimed that a
certain Pronapes had, on the one hand, made a low (self-)assessment of his property
(timema), but on the other hand aspired to hold offices as one of the hippeis’ telos.
Secondly, we have numerous sources, especially from the fourth century, that detail the
financial obligations (payment of eisphora and performance of liturgies) imposed on
wealthy citizens, but in no instance is liability to these obligations determined with
reference to the Solonian classes. In conclusion, even though fourth-century Athenians
entertained a notion about the Solonian tele as divisions of the citizen body that were
43 RHODES, op. cit. (note 24), 143 (on 7.4), and 147 (on 8.1).
44 G.E.M. DE STE. CROIX apud RHODES, op. cit. (note 24), 143; cf. G.R. BUGH, The Horsemen of
Athens (Princeton, NJ 1988), 21-25.
45 RHODES, op. cit. (note 24), 146 (on 7.4) and 551 (on 47.1).
The Impact of Armed Forces on Government and Politics in Archaic and Classical Poleis 101
distinguished from one another by the level of wealth owned by their members, in
practice there must have been citizens classed as thetes who were well off or wealthy
men, just as there must have been citizens of pentakosiomedimnoi status who were
relatively poor men.
Angelos Chaniotis
1 INTRODUCTION
The maintenance of a garrison in a city or a region was for many a Hellenistic power a
comfortable alternative to conquest and direct administration. Every major power held
garrisons in dependent settlements of various legal statuses, usually in dependent poleis
or dependent communities.1 To give but a few examples from mainland Greece, the
Aegean islands and Asia Minor, Ptolemaic garrisons were placed in and around the
major cities of Cyprus, in several cities of Asia Minor (e.g., Ephesos and Xanthos), in
Cretan Itanos, in Thera, in Thrace, and probably on Lesbos;2 the Antigonid control of
southern Greece relied on their garrisons (esp. in Akrokorinthos, Chalkis, and Eretria);3
Athens had to endure the presence of a Macedonian garrison for the most part of the
period between the death of Alexander and 229 B.C.4 Even relatively small poleis
guaranteed their control over subordinate (or incorporated) communities by establishing
troops there — e.g., Teos at Kyrbissos, Miletos at Pidasa, and Gortyn on the island of
Kaudos.5 That garrisons were a major political factor in the Hellenistic world cannot
escape the notice of any reader of the histories of Polybios or Diodoros. The
documentary evidence, — the treaties in particular, — shows that the issue of the
garrisons, the duration of their presence, and their removal was a major topic in
negotiations between poleis and kings or military leaders.6 However, when we raise the
question about the ways in which officers and members of foreign garrisons interacted
with the native population, our sources often let us down. Equally scanty is the evidence
for the everyday life of the soldiers. The bulk of the evidence comes from the Ptolemaic
garrisons, in particular those of Cyprus and Thera.7
The intentionally provocative title of this paper points to the most intimate of all
possible relations between foreign soldiers and natives; however, I will not limit myself
to the questions of intermarriage (§6) but will explore various aspects of the interaction
between foreign soldiers and natives. Naturally, I will not consider the evidence for
native soldiers serving in garrisons in the territory of their polis,8 unless these garrisons
were established in areas inhabited by a non-citizen population or in newly acquired
lands. Foreign mercenaries hired by a civic community to man its own forts are also
irrelevant for the issues discussed here, although they may be instructive for the
integration of foreign soldiers; it should be added that many inscriptions which concern
foreign troops do not allow us to recognize whether we are dealing with hired
mercenaries or a garrison imposed by a foreign power.
When considering foreign garrisons in the Hellenistic world, one should bear in
mind several common features. (i) There is an important difference between the
Classical and the Hellenistic period. In the Hellenistic period the garrison established by
a king in a dependent polis would usually be manned with mercenaries of many
different origins. Unlike the garrisons of Athenian soldiers established by the Athenians
in their subject cities, the Ptolemaic, Antigonid, Seleucid, and Attalid garrisons brought
together men from the most distant regions of the Hellenistic world. To give but three
examples, the Ptolemaic garrison at Paphos on Cyprus in 224/23 included men from
Mytilene, Kadyanda, Limyra, Myra, Patara, Xanthos, and Tlos; in roughly the same
period we encounter men from Pamphylia, Thessaly, Euboia, and Thrace in the garrison
at Kition; the Attalid garrison at Lilaia (208 B.C.) brought together soldiers from the
Peloponnese (Sikyon, Sparta, Arkadia, Achaia), Eretria, Lokris, Phokis, the ethnos of
the Ainianes, Aitolia, Thessaly, Kalymnos, Crete, Macedonia, Thrace, various regions
of Asia Minor (esp. Mysia), Sicily, and Massalia.9 Although the minor powers which
maintained garrisons in dependent areas (e.g., Rhodos in the Cretan city of Olous,
Gortyn on the dependent island of Kaudos) usually recruited the soldiers from among
their own citizens, sometimes they too had to hire foreign mercenaries in order to man
the garrisons. The best documented case is that of Miletos, which had to man numerous
forts in Hybandis (on the former territory of Myous) and on the islands Patmos, Leros
and Lepsia.10 In the late third century (234/33 and 229/28) Miletos enfranchised more
6 E.g., Staatsverträge 405, 415, 421, 422, 429, 446, 492, 507; Sardis VII.1 2 = SEG
XXXVII 1003; cf. IG XII 9, 212 = SEG XLIII 591; POLYBIOS 15.24.2.
7 BAGNALL, Administration, 38-79, 123-134.
8 E.g., I.Priene 4, 19, 21, 22, 37, 251, 252; I.Smyrna 609-612.
9 Paphos and Kition: BAGNALL, Administration, 264f. Lilaia: LAUNEY, Recherches,
71-73.
10 Milet I.3, 33-38, 148, 150; cf. L. ROBERT, ‘Philologie et géographie II’, Anatolia 4
(1959), 17-24 (= Opera Minora Selecta III, Amsterdam 1969, 1439-1446) and
Journal des Savants (1976), 198; I. PIMOUGUET, ‘Défense et territoire: L’exemple
Milésien’, Dialogues d’Histoire Ancienne 21.1 (1995), 89-109.
Constructing and Crossing Boundaries in Hellenistic Cities with Garrisons 101
than 1,000 Cretan mercenaries, who settled with their families (c. 3,000-4,000 people)
in the newly acquired territory of Hybandis, which was contested by Magnesia on the
Maeander.11 (ii) There is also a substantial difference between persons hired by a
foreign power to serve in a foreign place for money and representatives of a polis in a
controlled or subordinated area. The form of the interaction between native population
and foreign troops could easily be influenced by this distinction, as indeed it was (iii) by
the exact conditions under which a garrison was established (capitulation, negotiations,
defeat in a war, or invitation by the entire community or by a particular group). (iv) A
fourth important factor is the duration of the service of the foreign troops and their
commanders. A man who served for 42 years in a garrison in a relatively peaceful area
(an anonymous commander at Philai)12 has little in common with a soldier sent by a
Macedonian king to his garrison in Athens and facing an Athenian revolt a few months
after his transfer.
and autonomy.16 When a foreign (Macedonian or Ptolemaic?) garrison left Eretria (in
313, 308, or c. 196-194 B.C.) during the celebration of a procession for Dionysos, the
Eretrians re-organised the festival as a commemorative anniversary of the liberation of
the city, “because on the occasion of the procession for Dionysos the garrison departed,
the people were liberated during the singing of the hymns (?) and regained the
democratic constitution.”17 Hellenistic orators and historians never tire of emphasising
the slavish element inherent in the presence of a garrison.18 For Plutarch (i.e., for his
Hellenistic source) the Achaeans were “bridled like a horse” (hosper chalinoumenous),
when they accepted a Macedonian garrison and delivered hostages to king Antigonos
Doson.19 An Athenian honorific decree honoring Euphron of Sikyon for the expulsion
of the Macedonian garrison from Sikyon in 322 B.C. gives us a vivid impression of how
people thought and talked about foreign garrisons (LL. 43-56):20 “during the Greek
War, which the people of Athens started for the sake of the Greeks, Euphron returned
from exile, expelled the garrison from the citadel with the concurrence of the
Sikyonians, liberated the city and made it — first among all the Peloponnesian cities —
a friend and an ally of the Athenians; as long as the people continued the war, he
participated in it and he contributed soldiers and whatever is necessary in a war; when,
however, Greece was befallen by misfortune, and garrisons were sent to those cities
which had previously expelled them, he chose to be killed by the enemies, fighting for
the democracy, so that he might not see his own country and the rest of Greece
enslaved.”21 Neither Hellenistic historiography nor contemporary decrees passed over
the opportunity for dramatic narratives provided by the violent expulsion of foreign
troops.22
The Greeks were conscious of the incompatibility of autonomy and the presence of
foreign troops in a polis. Foreign troops were then as they are now an instrument of
subordination; they implemented a more or less direct control over the political
institutions of a civic community; and they occupied its military facilities (e.g., forts,
citadels, and harbors). To some extent they controlled or exploited its economic
resources, e.g., through the control of harbors or through the confiscation of land; the
commanders often did behave in a way that provoked negative reactions. Of course it
lies in the nature of the honorific decrees that we only hear of commanders who have
been righteous and disciplined;30 but even these sources with their trivial phraseology
reveal that some commanders were better than others; otherwise it would be difficult to
understand why the Aiginetans repeatedly sent envoys to the Attalid kings asking them
to maintain Kleon of Pergamon as the commander of their island — obviously with
some success, since he remained in this office for 16 years.31 Some historians would be
inclined to see in the phrase “services, both to the entire community and to each one
individually” in the aforementioned decree of Xanthos a stereotypical formula which
does not imply any kind of relations between the phrourarchos and individual
Xanthians. However, the fact that the formulaic language of Hellenistic decrees displays
many individual variants32 makes it probable that Pandaros — and other phrourarchoi
— did in fact interact with individual citizens. This is directly attested in the case of
Hieron of Syracuse, commander of the Ptolemaic troops in Arsinoe (Koresia) on Keos.
After some vague and formulaic phrases (LL. 5-7) in a decree of Karthaia in his
honor,33 we find a very concrete narrative of his zealous intervention to save the
property of a citizen (LL. 8-11): “and now, when Epiteles was deprived of movables
from his house on the field, he has shown every zeal and care; he has recovered them,
returning to Epiteles whatever items he had received personally and giving the price for
the rest, wishing to do the city a favor”.
Such allusions to the possibility of complaints in this and in other decrees remind us
that foreign soldiers are a burden on a community.34 Garrisons established more or less
permanently, in a citadel or a fort, did not cause problems with respect to billeting,35 but
their soldiers could still be an element of disorder, or even of insecurity. The treaty
between the city of Iasos, Ptolemy I, and the commanders of his (?) garrison at Iasos (c.
309 B.C.) includes an amnesty clause for legal disputes between the foreign troops and
the Iaseis (LL. 21-24);36 the charter of the shopkeepers in the Heraion of Samos (c. 245
B.C.) refers constantly to four potential violators of order: stratiotai (obviously soldiers
of the Ptolemaic garrison), unemployed mercenaries (apergoi), suppliants (hiketai) and
runaway slaves (hoi kathizontes oiketai).37 A great (and justified) preoccupation with
discipline, order, and good behavior (eutaxia) is clear in the few surviving Hellenistic
military regulations,38 as it is in the honorific decrees for troops and their
commanders.39 Despite these ideals of conduct, foreign soldiers caused many problems
for local inhabitants, e.g., by damaging the agricultural production.40
A treaty of sympoliteia between Teos and Kyrbissos points to further problems.41 In
the third century the Teos absorbed Kyrbissos and granted its inhabitants Teian
citizenship. The treaty stipulates that Kyrbissos was to be retained as a fort under the
command of a phrourarchos sent by Teos every four months. A certain maturity was
required for this office, since its holder should be older than thirty (LL. 8-11); one of his
first duties was to establish discipline and eutaxia (LL. 31-33). But the real fears are
revealed by the treaty oath. The “citizens in the polis” (L. 2, cf. LL. 41 and 55) swore an
oath that they would not destroy the dependent settlement at Kyrbissos; and “the
citizens who inhabit Kyrbissos” (LL. 4, 43, and 58) swore that they would not abandon
the phrourarchos, that they would follow whatever he commands (parangeilei), and that
they would defend the fort and reveal any plans against the fort or the garrison. These
mutual oaths suggest that one could not exclude (or that one even anticipated) tensions
between the two groups. The Teians were also concerned that the garrison might revolt
against the polis; this fear was not only felt in Teos but was typical of concerns over
Hellenistic garrisons in general.42 For instance, it is generally assumed that the troops in
Magnesia -by-Sipylos, which concluded a treaty of sympoliteia with Smyrna (c. 243
B.C.), constituted the Seleucid garrison in that city which had betrayed Seleukos II
during the War of Laodike and taken over Magnesia. A mutiny of the Attalid garrisons
at Philetaireia and Attaleia could only be settled after hard negotiations between
Eumenes I and his troops (c. 263-241 B.C.).43 The Cretans enfranchised in Miletos
swore to defend the city and its forts, but the limited faith the Milesians had in the
trustworthiness of the Cretans can be seen in the fact that they allowed them to occupy
the office of the phrourarchos only twenty years after their naturalisation in Miletos.44
More rare, but nonetheless attested, is the co-operation between the natives and a
foreign garrison against the power that had established it;45 such a co-operation
presupposes intensive interaction between the foreign soldiers and the inhabitants of the
garrisoned settlement. Strombichos, an officer in the service of Demetrios Poliorketes in
Athens when the Athenians revolted against the Macedonian garrison in 282/81 B.C.,
took the side of the Athenians:46 “when the people took up the weapons to fight for
freedom and asked the (garrison) soldiers to take the part of the polis, he accepted the
call of the demos for freedom and he placed his arms in the service of the polis, in the
belief that he should not oppose the polis’ benefit, but that he should contribute to its
rescue” (LL. 8-14). If Strombichos had been just one of the many opportunists who
served as mercenaries in the Hellenistic armies and changed fronts to save his life, the
gratitude of the Athenians would probably have been less eloquently expressed. A new
epigraphic find — a dossier of letters of Eumenes II concerning the grant of a polis
constitution to the inhabitants of Tyriaion (c. 187 B.C.) — may present an example of
such a co-operation between soldiers and natives.47 Tyriaion did not have polis status or
any recognized form of self administration; its population consisted both of natives
(enchorioi) and settlers, probably military settlers or soldiers serving in a garrison.48 The
efforts of Tyriaion’s inhabitants to organize themselves as a demos with its own laws, a
council, and a gymnasion were successful, although king Eumenes II accepted this
request very unwillingly. One of the envoys of the Tyriaieis (in two separate embassies)
had the characteristic Gaulish name Brennos; the editors of the inscription plausibly
assume that he was a mercenary soldier.49 The names of two other envoys (Antigenes
and Orestes) are also untypical for this region of Phrygia. We may assume that the
contribution of the foreign soldiers (whether retired military settlers or active troops) in
this development was crucial.
That the beneficent nature of Hellenistic kingship could be propagated through its
most hated instrument of control should not sound as paradoxical as it might at first, if
one considers the fact that the sending of a garrison by a king was often explained as an
act of benefaction which aimed at protecting the place in question. The aversion of the
Greeks to garrisons could then be compensated through rhetorical and lexicographical
devices, i.e., through the replacement of the discredited word phroura with a derivative
of the verb phylatto (‘to protect’). When king Philip V, notorious for his cunning, was
asked by the Aitolian statesman Alexandros why he kept a garrison at Lysimacheia in
Thrace (198 B.C.) thus undermining the city’s freedom, he made sure to point to the
distinction between phrourein and phylattein: his troops were present there not as a
garrison (ou tous phrourountas), but as protectors of the city (alla tous
paraphylattontas) against the Thracians.51 A fragment of a contemporary treaty between
Philip and Lysimacheia (c. 202-197 B.C.) seems in fact to refer to the restoration of the
forts (A 11).52 Similarly, the Ptolemaic garrison at Itanos on Crete, possibly established
at the initiative of the Itanians but certainly very advantageous for the control of the sea
routes in the Southern Aegean, was officially represented as helping and protecting the
Itanians (L. 40: charin boetheias kai phylakes; L. 97: eis prostasian kai phylaken).53
Garrisons on islands and in coastal sites are known to have defended the local
population from marauding pirates.54 The Ptolemaic troops in Thrace protected, upon
request, the mainland possessions of Samothrake; and the garrison sent by Attalos I to
Lilaia in Phokis during the First Macedonian War (208 B.C.) was so warmly accepted
that some of its members were later awarded citizenship.55 By rendering such services, a
Hellenistic monarch could justify his claim to the title of Soter (‘Savior’).
Kings were not the only ones who were intelligent enough to justify the presence of
their troops by pointing to the protection they offered. A treaty between Smyrna and
Magnesia on Sipylos describes the commander of the garrison at Magnesia not as a
phrourarchos but rather euphemistically as ‘the official sent by the city to take hold of
the keys and be in charge of the protection of the city’ (LL. 55f.: epi tes phylakes tes
poleos).56 The ideological implications of the expression epi tes phylakes tes poleos
become clear when we consider the fact that it is this precise expression that is
BRINGMANN, ‘Die Ehre des Königs und der Ruhm der Stadt. Bemerkungen zu
königlichen Bau- und Feststiftungen’, in M. WÖRRLE and P. ZANKER (eds.),
Stadtbild und Bürgerbild im Hellenismus (Munich 1995), 93-102.
51 POLYBIOS 18.4.5.
52 Staatsverträge 549; but cf. SEG XXXI 628; XXXVIII 603.
53 I.Cret. III iv 9. For the Ptolemaic interests in Itanos see S. KREUTER,
Außenbeziehungen kretischer Gemeinden zu den hellenistischen Staaten im 3. und
2. Jh. v. Chr. (Munich 1992), 18-34; D. VIVIERS, ‘Economy and Territorial
Dynamics in Crete from the Archaic to the Hellenistic Period’, in A. CHANIOTIS
(ed.), From Minoan Farmers to Roman Traders. Sidelights on the Economy of
Ancient Crete (Stuttgart 1999), 222-224.
54 E.g., IG II2 1225; IG XII 3, 328; OGIS 9; LAUNEY, Recherches, 644f.; BAGNALL,
Administration, 128 and 132f.
55 Thrace: IG XII 8, 156 A; BAGNALL, Administration, 160 and 221. Lilaia: LAUNEY,
Recherches, 654f.
56 Staatsverträge 492.
Angelos Chaniotis 108
the local population that there was a divine element inherent in kingship and made the
presence of the king felt in the city.
makes clear that we are dealing with a religious association. It is tempting to assume
that the choice of this particular god is connected with the fact that he was the patron
god of the Ptolemies.74 Similarly, the Attalid garrisons in Aigina and in Panion in
Thrace worshipped deities particularly associated with Pergamon, i.e., Zeus Soter and
Athena Nikephoros.75
It is not necessary to assume that the promotion of these cults was guided by the
royal administration. The dedicant’s own religious beliefs were often the decisive
factor, as in the case of Philotas from Epidamnos, who served in the Ptolemaic garrisons
in Itanos (Crete) and Philai (Egypt). During his service as the commander of the
Ptolemaic garrison at Itanos, sometime during the reign of Ptolemy VI Philometor (c.
145 B.C.), he made a dedication to Zeus Soter and Tyche Protogeneia Aienaos. For a
long time it was believed that Philotas’ dedication should be dated to the reign of
Epiphanes (c. 205-181 B.C.); although one was tempted to associate Tyche Protogeneia
with Fortuna Primigenia and Isis, there was a serious chronological problem: the cult of
Fortuna Primigenia was introduced in Rome in 194, and the earliest evidence for the
identification of Isis with Tyche Protogeneia can be found in the mid second century.
The later dating of the inscription frees us from these problems and makes an
association of Tyche Protogeneia with these deities very plausible. Some puzzles
remain: We still cannot tell whether Philotas introduced these cults in Itanos or just
showed his reverence towards deities already established there; but is seems that
Philotas was a man of deep religious feelings, since we know him also as a dedicant to
Isis at Philai a few years later (after 139 B.C.). It is also certain that the cult of Tyche
Protogeneia was not native to Itanos but introduced by foreign soldiers — either by
Philotas or one of his predecessors.76
The social barriers facing foreign soldiers were not insurmountable. Evidence for
their interaction with the native population is particularly clear in the case of
commanders or soldiers who are honored for their benefactions, e.g., for the erecting or
restoration of buildings in sanctuaries.77 An honorific inscription for the Cretan
commander of Kition Agias refers to his euergesia towards the city (c. 181-146 B.C.).78
The Ptolemaic commander at Thera Ladamos of Alexandria was honored together with
74 SEG VIII 714; BAGNALL, Administration, 129, for the term leitoreuo cf. SEG XLIII
311 A 1; for archeuo cf. L. HALLOF - K. HALLOF - C. HABICHT, ‘Aus der Arbeit
der ”Inscriptiones Graecae” II. Ehrendekrete aus dem Asklepieion von Kos’,
Chiron 28 (1998), 123 with note 84.
75 LAUNEY, Recherches, 956.
76 Philotas’ dedication in Itanos: I.Cret. III iv 14; his dedication at Philai: SEG XXXI
1521. For the date see: P. CABANES et alii, Corpus des inscriptions grecques
d’Illyrie méridonale et d’Épire. I. Inscriptions d’Épidamne-Dyrrhachion et
d’Apollonia. 1. Inscriptions d’Épidamne-Dyrrhachion (Athens 1995), 155. For the
association of Tyche Protogeneia with Fortuna Primigenia and Isis see St.V.
SPYRIDAKIS, ‘The Itanian Cult of Tyche Protogeneia’, Historia 18 (1969), 44). For
the introduction of this cult by mercenaries see ibid., 46f.
77 I. Nicolaou, ‘Inscriptiones Cypriae alphabeticae III’, Report of the Department of
Antiquities of Cyprus (1964), 199-201 no. 12.
78 OGIS 113.
Constructing and Crossing Boundaries in Hellenistic Cities with Garrisons 111
his wife by the association of the Bakchistai and was granted membership.79 The vague
formulations of the decree do not reveal the exact nature of his services, but it is
tempting to assume that he was particularly interested in an association devoted to the
cult of Dionysos, the patron of the Ptolemies. There are references to the kings only in
the decree’s fragmentary ending, and we cannot make out the context. The officers of
garrisons themselves seem to have distinguished themselves through benefactions. It
goes without saying that a phrourarchos’ position and means provided him with many
opportunities to distinguish himself as a benefactor, especially when he was stationed in
a poorer and less prominent city. This explains why Delphi appointed as its theorodokoi
(those responsible for receiving the sacred envoys) in three rather small poleis of
Cyprus — Lapethos, Karpasia, and Tamassos — the local garrison commanders from
Gortyn, Chios, and Aspendos (late third century B.C.).80
Another area suitable for interaction was the gymnasion, not only one of the most
characteristic features of civic life but also a place of great importance for military
training. In Tyrhiaion, where soldiers seem to have played a crucial role for the
establishment of a self-administered civic community in co-operation with the local
population (see above § 3), one of the major concerns was the foundation of a
gymnasion and the means for its supply of olive oil.81 The integration of the soldiers of
the garrison in the life of a local gymnasion is best attested for Thera and Cyprus. Even
common soldiers contributed from their pay to help ensure the supply of oil for the
gymnasion at Paphos on Cyprus and at Thera;82 one of the soldiers of the garrison at
Thera, Baton, even served as gymnasiarchos.83 Generalisations from the Cypriote and
the Theran cases are not permissible, since these regions were under continual
Ptolemaic control for very long periods of time; long-term service there was common,
and, consequently, the establishment of more permanent relations with the natives was
more probable than elsewhere. For this reason it is most likely to find the most intimate
relations between occupation troops and natives in these areas.
The title of this section (and of the entire paper) brings to mind a cliché familiar not
only from the musical Miss Saigon and from headline news, but also from ancient
fiction. Soldiers, like Pyrgopolinikes in Plautus’ Miles Gloriosus (act IV), must have
been often attracted either by the beauty or the dowry of women living in the garrison
town. The occupation troops consisted of men who had left behind their native city but
not their sexual desires or their hope of marital life. The sexual desires could be satisfied
through visits to the local brothel — and perhaps, occasionally, through the rape of a
native girl. Many comedies introduce into their plot the intimate relations of a
(mercenary) soldier with a prostitute (e.g., Plautus’ Bacchides, Curculio, Epidicus,
Pseudolus, and Truculentus, as well as Terence’s Eunuchus), and this stereotype must
79 IG XII 3, 1296.
80 BAGNALL, Administration, 65f.
81 Cf. GAUTHIER, art. cit. (note 47), 682 no. 509.
82 BAGNALL, Administration, 68 and 128f.
83 BAGNALL, Administration, 129.
Angelos Chaniotis 112
have been inspired by reality. On the other hand, the obligation to produce legitimate
heirs required a legitimate marriage. One expects mixed marriages in garrisoned sites,
especially when the duration of the soldiers’ service was long. This is in fact what one
observes in Egypt.84 Things were not that simple in the world of the Greek cities, where
legal barriers were often stronger than the wish to create a family. In many Hellenistic
cities (e.g., on Crete) the legitimacy of a marriage (and consequently the legitimacy of
the offspring) required citizenship from both man and wife or was allowed on the basis
of an interstate agreement (epigamia). In some cities (and in the world of comedy) the
legal restrictions were loosened in the course of the Hellenistic period,85 but in many
others (e.g., in Crete) they remain valid. We can observe their effect on marriage
patterns, if we concentrate on particular ethnic groups. The Cretans present a good case.
Their island was one of the main sources of mercenaries in the Hellenistic period,86 and
consequently the Cretans attested in inscriptions of garrisoned areas can easily be
recognized as soldiers. The inscriptions from Miletos which concern the mass
recruitment and settlement of Cretans in parts of the Milesian territory (see above p.
100) show that these soldiers immigrated with their families (wives, sons, and
daughters). Although they were naturalized in Miletos, they undoubtedly retained their
original civic identity — as a matter of fact they attempted to return to their native cities
sometime later; if the unmarried Cretan mercenaries wanted to marry women from
Crete, this was possible. Admittedly, the Cretans in Miletos are a particular case, but we
similarly find Cretan women present in other places with Cretan garrisons such as in the
Antigonid garrisons of Attika, Euboia, and Thessaly.87 This kind of evidence is not,
however, limited to Cretan women. In many garrisoned sites we find evidence for
women from areas which supplied the Hellenistic armies with mercenaries; it is
reasonable to assume that they were dependents (wives, daughters, or sisters) of
members of the garrison. Bagnall’s list of foreign women in Cypriote cities with
Ptolemaic garrisons includes women from Aspendos, Euboia, Byzantion, Crete, and
Arabia.88 With the exception of Arabia, these are the very areas, where the male soldiers
of the garrisons were recruited; in fact, in Roger Bagnall’s list of members of the
garrisons we find six men from Aspendos, one from Euboia, two from Crete, and one
from Byzantion.
More interesting are the examples of mixed marriages of Cretans with
representatives of other ethnic groups in garrisoned places. In the two cases where we
can determine the origin of the non-Cretan partner it is Aitolia, a region for which
treaties of alliance — and more importantly — treaties of isopoliteia (i.e., of mutual
grant of citizenship) with Crete are attested.89 A long funerary epigram from Palestine
(late third or early second century) narrates the adventurous life of Charmadas from
Anopolis on Crete. After the defeat of his native city he joined the Ptolemaic army and
served in a garrison somewhere in Koile Syria; there his daughter Archagatha married
his fellow soldier Machaios, an Aitolian.90 In another Ptolemaic garrison, at Kition on
Cyprus, Aristo, the daughter of the Cretan Dion, married Melankomas — again a man
from Aitolia. Both her husband and his homonymous father were highly-ranked officers
of the Ptolemaic garrisons (c. 146-116 B.C.); Dion of Crete had presumably served
there.91 This testimony is of particular interest, because it comes from a period in which
the military units were organised by ethnic associations (koina).92 The crossing of these
ethnic boundaries was possible, but the preference for Aitolia is striking. It seems hard
to believe that the legal relationships of Cretan cities with Aitolia might have influenced
the marriage patterns of Cretan women in Cyprus (especially as late as the mid second
century), but one cannot exclude this possibility. Even in Plautus’ Miles Gloriosus
Pyrgopolynices asks more questions about the legal status of a woman (LL. 961-964:
ingenuan an festuca facta e serva liberast?... Nuptan est an vidua?) than about her
looks.
The importance of legal factors can be also observed in a Delphic inscription which
contains a letter sent by the Cretan city of Axos to the Aitolians (early second century
B.C.). The citizens of Axos had citizen rights in Aitolia on the basis of a treaty; the
Axians wanted to make sure that a certain Epikles, whom they regarded as their own
citizen, was given these rights in Aitolia. To justify this claim they narrate the
adventures of his family. Eraton, a citizen of Axos, had come as a mercenary to Cyprus;
there he married a woman of unknown name and origin.93 D. Ogden, perhaps under the
influence of the stereotype that a foreign soldier ought to have a relationship with a
native girl, concluded hastily that this woman “was surely Cypriot.”94 The examples
presented above demonstrate that this was not necessarily the case. This woman gave
birth to two sons, Epikles and Euagoras. After Eraton’s death in Cyprus, his widow and
his older son, Epikles, were captured (by pirates?). Epikles was sold as a slave in the
Aitolian city Amphissa, but was able to pay the necessary ransom. He settled in
Amphissa and took a wife (again of unknown name and origin), who gave birth to two
sons (Erasiphon and Timonax) and one daughter (Melita). The letter of the Axians,
obviously written more than 30 years after Eraton’s departure for Cyprus, shows how
strong the legal ties of Epikles were to his father’s city, which he himself possibly had
never visited.
John Ma
Eutaxia, the virtue of good discipline, is one of the ‘cardinal virtues’ in the language of
public, inscribed praise during the Hellenistic period. It shows up in decrees for the
young or their educators, foreign judges (especially their secretary), travelling artists,
and for soldiers, especially foreign soldiers serving as a garrison in an occupied city.
After reading A. Chaniotis’ paper, I realized the common denominator between these
groups. It is their liminality, and the problematic nature of their relation to the
boundaries of the polis group. In the case of the young, this is the case because these
not-quite-citizens have to be integrated and disciplined as they pass from children to
adult male citizens; in the case of foreign judges, because foreigners, both in the guise
of sovereign judges and subordinate clerk, are openly handling the delicate issue of
justice in the community; in the case of artists, because these glamorous outsiders,
performing within the city, are judged according to the values of civic order and
temperate behaviour, which the artists were suspected of not always following. In the
case of garrisons, the presence of armed forces, answerable to a supra polis power,
challenges the boundaries of the polis in several ways, by questioning the integrity of its
autonomy or autarky, symbolically, physically, and in the sphere of constant human
interaction between citizen and non-citizen strong-arm.
By phrasing the question in terms of boundaries between community and outsiders,
of policing and crossing borders, Chaniotis has brought a highly original perspective on
the relatively well known issue of Hellenistic garrisons, the phroura installed by the
kings in subordinate cities. His approach has important consequences. Firstly, it invites
us to think about these garrisons not solely in terms of imperial power, but also as part
of the broader phenomena of complexification, re-integration, coming to terms,
struggle, and renegotiation pervasive in the Hellenistic period; specialists of the period
must come to terms with this process of renegotiation, even as they struggle, in post-
Louis Robert mode, to resist and dispel any facile clichés about “the end of the polis”.
After all, thinking about and dealing with the problematization of borders is monnaie
courante in the Archaic and the Classical periods of Greek history. This remark brings
me to a second important feature of Chaniotis’ paper: the use of concepts and phrases,
more generally of a problématique drawn from work in the Archaic and Classical
periods (work which is itself influenced by social anthropology). This sort of
conversation is important: it enriches our work in the Hellenistic field, and should
contribute to wider debates and trends in the classics as well.
This way of looking at garrisoning is suggestive and generative of new insights
around its immediate focus. I might give an example, from a text which I have treated
John Ma 116
elsewhere.1 In winter 87/6 B.C., during the phase of the First Mithradatic War which
was fought in continental Greece, a Roman detachment was stationed in Chaironeia.
The tribune in command of the troops fell in love with a local boy, may have threatened
violence, and was murdered by the boy as he sacrificed in the city agora. Of course, one
might observe that the Roman detachment was as much in winter quarters as actually
occupying the city as a protective garrison; but, beyond debate about terms and
definitions (to which I will return later), it seemed to me that the incident paralleled
very well the items discussed by Chaniotis, and was illuminated by his approach: the
anxieties in the story are very much about boundaries, between Greek and Roman, civic
and foreign, the correct and incorrect use of civic space such as the agora, and even the
physical boundaries of one adolescent citizen’s body, threatened with seduction or rape,
at any rate penetration, by the powerful armed foreigner. The incident also has the
advantage of extending the terms of Chaniotis’ analysis to native boys, as well as girls;
perhaps such homoerotic contacts occurred in the gymnasia of poleis with long-standing
garrisons, such as those analysed by Chaniotis on Thera and Cyprus: to the delicate
anxieties about erastic interest in this context,2 the situation would have added
symbolical tensions surrounding the local military presence of a superpower
(“oversexed, overpaid, over here”). Another application of this concept of boundaries
might be the physical layout of the Smyrnaian fort of Akkaya, admittedly guarded by
Smyrnaian citizen soldiers, but nonetheless illustrating tension and mediation between
different groups: the settlement, the fortified core of the citadel on its rock, and in the
space of contact of the two, the profusion of honorific texts carved on the cliff face.3
Of course, as Chaniotis has pointed out, the difference in modalities of stay would
influence the experience of garrisoning. I would go further than he does, and insist on
the difference between the phroura, the long term garrison installed in a city, and the
phylake, the ad hoc short term detachment sent in wartime, for strategic reasons, to
guard a place against enemy attack or seizure. This distinction was made notably by E.
Bikerman4 and the Roberts;5 it also must be borne in mind when studying the military
system of the Achaimenids, as C. Tuplin has pointed out: the presence of troops in a
place during active campaigns does not mean that the place was garrisoned
permanently.6 Chaniotis emphasizes that the concept of “protection” is ideologically
biased and part of royal propaganda. To the examples he quotes to illustrate this view,
one might add a fragmentary decree from Amyzon honouring Seleukid soldiers and
their commander:7 it mentions the concept of safety, soteria (or perhaps a
“demonstration of saviourness”, apodeixin soterias, soteria would then be a quality
shown by the soldiers). This ideology of protection could be contested in international
politics, where the discourse of liberty challenged that of dynastic legitimacy grounded
1 PLUTARCH, Life of Kimon, 1-2.1; J. MA, ‘Black Hunter Variations’, Proceedings of the Cambridge
Philological Society 40 (1994), 49-80.
2 Ph. GAUTHIER and M. B. HATZOPOULOS, La loi gymnasiarchique de Beroia (Athens 1993).
3 G. PETZL, Die Inschriften von Smyrna (Bonn 1982-1990), inscription no. 611, quoting KEIL and
PREMERSTEIN on the site.
4 E. BIKERMAN, Institutions des Séleucides (Paris 1938), 53.
5 J. and L. ROBERT, La Carie II (Paris 1954), 301 note 3.
6 C. TUPLIN, ‘Xenophon and the garrisons of the Achaemenid empire’, Archäologische Mitteilungen
aus Iran 20 (1987), 167-245.
7 J. and L. ROBERT, Fouilles d’Amyzon I (Paris 1983), inscription no. 19.
“Oversexed, overpaid and over here” 117
in protection. All the same, the distinction matters, because it reflects differences in
institutional realities. The forces sent by Attalos I to protect Lilaia from Philip V were
welcome reinforcements dispatched by a faraway king to ward off the threat of a nearby
power; they left once their mission accomplished. Little wonder, then, that they should
prove more popular than the garrison left earlier by Philip V to control the city, and
expelled by the Lilaieis themselves, led by a warlike citizen.8 Generally, the difference
between garrison and detachment, apart from the variation in local impact reflected the
variety of behaviour and intention on the part of the supra regional Hellenistic empire.
To say this is to focuse on imperial intentions: what are garrisons actually for? As
Chaniotis points out, they were a direct and vital part of imperial administration, by
providing the local means for structures of control and extraction (whereas the phylake,
like the Attalid detachment in Lilaia, served strategic interests in war). The Seleukid
garrison in Jerusalem participated directly in levying and conveying tribute,9 and I do
not suppose this to have been exceptional: under Antiochos III, various regulations
concerning the estate of Ptolemaios, the Seleukid governor of Koile-Syria, were
entrusted to local phrourarchs and officials.10 A striking example comes from Chalkis,
where a complex diagramma, ordinance, by Philip V, lays out the landscape of the royal
economy (production, extraction, storage, disbursement) across the ge Chalkidike, the
territory of the city of Chalkis: the measures are carried out by the phrourarchs and the
financial officials, each controlling the activities of the others. A second copy of the
same document, found in Kynos (Eastern Lokris) shows that this imposition of the royal
economy was standard and probably widespread in the Antigonid dominions.11
The landscape of control and military implantation was complex and nuanced.
Apart from the direct garrisoning of a city or rather fortified sites within a town, the
kings could control points in a city’s territory: the Ptolemaic garrison commander
Pandaros was in command of a set of forts “in Xanthos”, so probably across the
chora;12 the same practice is attested for Ptolemaic Amyzon. Royal forts also held
points on routes, such as the forts on the Maeander valley (LIVY 37.56.3) or the fort at
Petra near Labraunda, located precisely at the highest point of the pass between Alinda
and Mylasa, and long garrisoned by Olympichos.13 A Hellenistic fort near the Turkish
town of Kozan has been published recently.14 The gate is decorated with an elephant,
which implies this was a Seleukid fort: it controlled a north south route between Smooth
Kilikia and the Kappadokian crossroads of central Anatolia. Finally, military forces in
8 L. MORETTI, Iscrizioni storiche ellenistiche (Rome 1953-1967), inscription no. 81; SEG XVI 28,
discussed by MORETTI.
9 2 Maccabees 4.28.
10 SEG XXIX 1613 L. 16 (admittedly in the same region as the evidence from 2 Maccabees).
11 IG XII Supplementum, no. 644; republished, with indications of the new fragment from Kynos, by
M. B. HATZOPOULOS, Macedonian Institutions under the Kings, vol. 2 (Athens 1996), text no. 13.
12 SEG XXXIII 1183
13 J. CRAMPA, Labraunda. Swedish excavations and researches, vol. 3, part 1 (Lund 1969), inscription
no. 4.
14 M.H. SAYAR, ‘Kilikien und die Seleukiden. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte Kilikiens unter der Seleu-
kidenherrschaft anhand einer neu entdeckten Festung und einer neugefundenen Inschrift’, in Stuidien
zum antiken Kleinasien IV (Asia Minor Studien 34) (Bonn 1999), 125-36
John Ma 118
various states of readiness were installed in long term settlements, the notorious (but
rather hazily known) “military colonies”.15
A sense of the complexity of military occupation can be gained from the Smyrnaian
takeover of Magnesia under Sipylos, discussed several times by Chaniotis.16 The area is
seen to be occupied by billeted troops, troops camping, military settlers, and a garrison
in a territorial fort (Palaimagnesia). This complexity closely resembles the situation in
the same region under the Achaimenids: Xenophon’s foray against a local Persian
aristocrat’s manor leads to the mobilization of a variety of military forces implanted in
the neighbourhood (Iranian and “Assyrian” military settlers and regular garrisons in
forts).17 The resemblance is not coincidental, but points to continuities between
Seleukids and Achaimenids. Other imperial formations used Jewish military settlers in
troubled regions: the Persian king installed a Jewish garrison at Elephantine, Antiochos
III (or perhaps his son and co-regent Antiochos) installed two thousand Jewish colonists
in Asia Minor after an usurper’s revolt. The Achaimenid garrisons and forts led to
similar issues of tension, boundary constructing and negotiating which Chaniotis has
drawn attention to for the Hellenistic period: the cities dealt with Iranian noblemen,
Persian soldiery (drawn from far afield, as the settling of Hyrkanians in Lydia shows),
Greek mercenaries employed by the Great King. Ephesos, in the early fourth century,
was a place of cultural exchange with the high-ranking Achaimenid officers stationed in
and around the city.18
The preceding paragraphs were written in a traditional perspective, that of empire
and administration, the Bikerman-Rostovtzeff approach. It is well known and can be
found, with references and examples, in a number of treatments of the Hellenistic
period. What Chaniotis has done is to shift the debate very fruitfully. After identifying
the problematic nature of garrisoning for city autonomy (and hence the constitution of a
genre in political practice, the driving away of a foreign garrison, by a number of
possible agents: king, local saviour, city population, or even god),19 Chaniotis looks at
garrisons and garrisoning not as tools of direct violence and control, but as social actors
in relations within the cities; as players in a much more diffuse game of power: less
spectacular than talking about “chains of fortresses” or “the Fetters of Greece”, but
dealing with a basic level of social history which is much more complex, long lasting,
subtle, and hence much more interesting.
In this connection, I would argue that various forms of billeting and quartering
should be considered alongside garrisoning. It is true that in some cases, garrisons may
have lived exclusively in their fortified precincts: this was the increasingly
uncomfortable situation of the Seleukid garrison in the Akra at Jerusalem. But, even if
the vocabulary of privileges distinguished two types of exemptions (aphrouresia, no
garrison, and aphorologesia, no billeting), it seems likely that in garrisoned cities, a
15 On the situation at Tyriaion, see Ph. GAUTHIER, ‘Bulletin épigraphique’, Revue des Études
Grecques 112 (1999), 680-682 no. 509, who corrected the reading §n xvr€oiw in L. 27 (“in fortified
places”) to §nxvr€oiw (“native communities”). As CHANIOTIS observed during the Oslo
colloquium, this does not change the likelihood that Tyriaion is populated by military colonists (cf.
p. 105 with note 48).
16 OGIS 229.
17 XENOPHON, Anabasis 7.8.15.
18 PLUTARCH, Life of Lysandros 3.2.
19 For gods driving away occupiers, MORETTI, op. cit. (note 8), inscription no. 34.
“Oversexed, overpaid and over here” 119
certain proportion of the forces were quartered among the locals and fed by them. For
instance, the Seleukid cavalry squadron located in Apollonia under Salbake under
Antiochos III20 had no akropolis to shelter them, and presumably lived chez l’habitant.
Furthermore, an effect of the Hellenistic king’s military role was the necessity to find
winter quarters for troops: to give one instance of a phenomenon that took place every
winter somewhere in the Hellenistic eastern Mediterranean, Antiochos III wintered his
troops in 197/6 in Ephesos and Abydos.21 Generally, the phenomenon is the same, at
least in its implications, as that studied by Chaniotis: the imposition of foreign military
on local civilian, with the same sort of problems and issues as with garrisoning. Without
need for reference to Ptolemaic Egypt, an example is provided by Seleukid Sardeis.
Troops quartered there in 213, occupied “one third rather than one half of your houses”,
as Antiochos III wrote to the Sardians.22 Does this mean that they took over fully 50%
(then 33%) of the city’s accommodation, or that they occupied various houses to
proportions stipulated by the king? Either situation implies close contact between
occupiers and occupied, the constant measuring of privileges, the threat of violence and
depredation, and the reality of interaction.23 We may gain idea of the sociability of
troops living in the midst of a city from Seleukid Susa, where a variety of troops, living
in the city, left epigraphical traces: manumission documents, and especially texts
recording the exchange of honours and courtesies among members of the military.
For later periods, there are suggestive cases of the tensions created by quartering,
such as the incidents surrounding Verres’ passage in Asia Minor; the papers by B.
Campbell and B. Isaac (pp. 167-191) insist on the violence and oppressive weight of
Roman military presence in the provinces during the Principate. Many suggestive
examples could be drawn from even later periods: I might mention Julian Barnes’
Cross-channel for its chapter, “Dragons”, soberly imagining the punitive billeting of
dragoons on French Protestants under Louis XIV; or Vercors’ Le silence de la mer for
its portrayal of a French household, father and daughter, stonewalling a German officer
quartered with them. In the latter case, the issue is not violence and liberty, but the
preservation of boundaries. Finally, M. Ferro has studied the representation of billeting
in Russian films of the early 1920s, in the Bolshevik camp and the “White” camp. The
situation — “Red” soldier from the working classes is quartered in bourgeois
household, complete with nubile girl — is treated with predictable biases (the “White”
film shows outrageous results which a Hellenistic text would qualify as enochlesis,
hybris, paranomia; the Bolshevik movie shows class reconciliation and revolutionary
solidarity, impossible to translate into Hellenistic Greek).24 These examples invite us to
speculate on the impact which forcible guests could have on the delicate yet flexible
spatial economy of the Greek house, which has recently been explored on the basis of
texts and archaeology.25 This sort of evidence will not show up in the epigraphical
20 ROBERT and ROBERT, op. cit. (note 7), inscription no. 166.
21 LIVY 33.38.1.
22 P. GAUTHIER, Nouvelles inscriptions de Sardes, vol. 2 (Paris - Geneva 1989), inscription no. 3.
23 See for instance L. ROBERT, Hellenica, vol. 3 (Paris 1946), 6; C. WELLES, Royal Correspondence
in the Hellenistic Period (London 1934), inscription no. 30.
24 M. FERRO, in J. LE GOFF and P. NORA (eds.), Faire de l’histoire, vol. 3, Nouveaux objets (Paris
1974), 247-251.
25 L. C. NEVETT, House and Society in the Ancient Greek World (Cambridge 1999).
John Ma 120
record: we must rather turn to the realm of anecdotes and memory, as in the case of
Chaironeia in 86 B.C., discussed above.26
Chaniotis provides detailed analyses about the construction and crossing of
boundaries: how interaction between military and civilian works beyond the military.
Firstly, interaction between garrisons and cities: violence, but also the socialization of
the royal garrisons and their officers, and the ‘regalization’ of civic culture through
royal ideology and ruler cult. In this area, I would mention the commander of the
cavalry squadron stationed at Apollonia under Salbake as a particularly interesting
example of a royal officer converted to local benefactor by the city: he was honoured
for repeated intercession and negotiation with the Seleukid administration in Sardeis —
a system to which, as a Seleukid officer, he belonged.27 Another example, suggestive
because of the interaction betwen citizen, non-citizen and Macedonian lower officer, is
a decree passed by a thiasos, in Eleusis, in the years of the Demetrian War (236-229):
one Paidiskos, a metic, serving as treasurer of the association, kept the latter going in
spite of war, receiving the thiasotai in his house, and sacrificing to Zeus Soter along
with the dekadarchoi, low-ranking Macedonian officers of the garrison at Eleusis (this
was pointed out by L. Robert).28 I would also draw attention to the difference between
garrison commanders and officers, open as individuals to the blandishments of honorific
decrees and embedding within the political community or the civil society, and the
soldiers, who as a group may have had their own forms of sociability and solidarity, and
hence their own, stable, group identity.29
Secondly, religion, notably the diversity of cults imported by individual foreign
soldiers. In this area, I would mention the sacred law from Xanthos, barring people from
entering the Letoon in arms: perhaps, as the editor, Chr. Le Roy, has observed, a way of
keeping Seleukid soldiers out, unless they complied with the regulations of the shrine
(whose asylia had been proclaimed by Antiochos III).30 The incident set in Chaironeia,
which I discussed above, also involved a Roman officer making military sacrifices on
the agora of the city: another case of an occupying troop going on with its own religious
life, however new this imposition of its gestures on the civic space of the occupied.
26 For a parallel in Roman Anatolia, S. MITCHELL, Anatolia. Land, Men and Gods in Asia Minor, vol.
1 (Oxford 1993), 134 and note 109, on billeting: “for the contrast betwen literary and epigraphic
evidence, compare I. Iznik i. no. 60 with CASSIUS DIO 78.9.6-7 and 18.3”. The Roman period
produced more evidence for conflict and oppression: hence the rather different tonality of the
contributions by B. Campbell and B. Isaak, as was very noticeable during the conference panel and
in the discussion afterwards.
27 ROBERT and ROBERT, op. cit. (note 7), inscription no. 166.
28 L. ROBERT, ‘Décret d’un thiase à Eleusis’, Archaiologike Ephemeris (1969), 14-23 (Opera Minora
Selecta, vol. 7 [Amsterdam, 1990], 720-729).
29 As one instance of this, the decree of the Ptolemaic aphetai, catapult crewmen, stationed on Paphos
(T.B. MITFORD, ‘The Hellenistic inscriptions of Old Paphos’, Annual of the British School at
Athens 56 [1961], 1-41 at 4f., no. 4): this particular group not only issues its own decrees, but is
subdivided in “old” and “young” gunners, subdivisions which mark out differences and create
community. See also MITFORD, ibid., nos. 8 (contributions of mercenaries for the oil-fund), 22
(dedication by Aspendian, certainly a soldier in Ptolemaic service), and a number of honorific
statues, put up by a variety of military bodies (garrison, officers, military engineers, Lykian troops,
Kilikian troops, Ionian troops): nos. 52, 55, 58, 59, 71, 73, 75-77, 79-81, 83-84. The material is
comparable, in its picture of garrison sociability, to that from Seleukid Susa (SEG VII 4-8, 15-17).
30 C. LE ROY, ‘Un règlement religieux au Létôon de Xanthos’, Revue Archéologique (1986), 279-300.
“Oversexed, overpaid and over here” 121
Thirdly, the marriage practices of the garrison soldiers, be it with locals or with
their own; this “Miss Saigon” section, with its wide range of sources (including Plautus’
Miles Gloriosus) is particularly rich and original: again, this is an underexplored area
for the Hellenistic period, and one where parallels from later periods readily occur, to
suggest the concreteness and humanity of the topic Chaniotis has brought to light, as
well as its importance in terms of theory and participation in current debates in the
Classics.
I would suggest a few further areas of interest. The first area is the funerary
practices of garrison soldiers, the meanings which these men far from home made out of
death in foreign contexts, and the effect this might have had on local communities.
Chaniotis has commented a very interesting funerary epigram from Gaza; perhaps the
painted stelai from Alexandria or Sidon would offer a similar area of investigation.31
Furthermore, the burial of foreign soldiers in the territory of the cities had significant
consequences. The management of the space of the dead, around the city of the living,
reflects social practice and political organization, from the Geometric period onwards;
this management is indissociable from the rise of the polis and its functioning. In the
territory of Hellenistic Eretria, an Antigonid officer installed a large ‘Macedonian
tomb’, complete with barrel vault, tumulus and lavish grave goods, the so-called ‘Tomb
of the Erotes’, on a dominant hillock outside the town: what impact did this have on the
spatial organization of the living and the dead around Eretria? This monument belonged
to a type imported from the world of the Macedonian elites and developed by them in
the fourth century: how did it fit in the land around an Euboian polis, how did it relate
to the local tombs? (I owe this example to the kindness of P. Ducrey, who showed me
around Eretria when I enjoyed a memorable stay there).32 The second topic that comes
to mind is the presence and crossing of cultural boundaries, or what we (more and more
cautiously) call ‘Hellenization’. The documents of the soldiers in Seleukid Susa show a
purely Greek culture, and specifically the application of Greek legal forms in matters
such as manumission, formally a “sacred transaction”. The manumitted slave was
dedicated to a deity: this could be an imported deity such as Sarapis, but also a local
goddess, Nanaia; even so, the Greek soldiers moved in a world created by their own
customs.33 In this case, ‘Hellenization’ occurred as the occurrence of Greek legal forms
in a non-Greek context; the legal validity was determined by the rapport de force
between native community and Greek soldier dispatched by the centre of imperial
power.
A further topic would be the economic relation between garrison and city, beyond
the extractive nature of the royal state, abetted and embodied by central military forces
locally implanted. Rostovtzeff, describing the wealth of Thera, imagines that “the
31 M. ROSTOVTZEFF, Social and Economic History of the Hellenistic World (Oxford 1941), pl. xxvii,
lvii. BIKERMAN, op. cit. (note 4), 88-90.
32 For a parallel, note the sixth-century Achaimenid tomb erected near Phokaia, probably shortly after
the conquest of the area by the Persians, and presumably for a high-ranking Achaimenid official or
nobleman: N. CAHILL, ‘Tasç Kule: A Persian-Period Tomb near Phokaia’, American Journal of
Archaeology 92 (1988), 481-501. In both cases, the archaeology suggests appropriation of social
space in the aftermath of conquest, as a means for social control.
33 L. ROBERT, Hellenica, vol. 11-12 (Paris 1960), 86f. C. B. WELLES suggested that the soldiers
manummited, and presumably married, their concubines: quoted in ROSTOVTZEFF, op. cit. (note
31), 1197 note 260.
John Ma 122
natives had good customers for their produce in the Ptolemaic garrison”; a document
from the same island shows Theran estates somehow taken over by the royal economy
and given to soldiers to provide income for a victory festival, a rather less benign
picture. In spite of the special situation of Thera, this coexistence of positive and
oppressive might be typical of the complexity of relations.34 The numismatic evidence,
and the economic condition of cities turned into “royal mints” (whatever we mean by
that expression) may also be relevant. At Aigina, which was held by the Attalids from
200 onwards (a case discussed by Chaniotis above), in a building on the western edge of
the site (the ‘Colonna hill’), a single tile was found, marked with the royal Attalid
monogram, B(asil°vw) ÉA(ttãlou), exactly similar to that on tiles found in Pergamon.
Was the building the “governor’s residence” or a garrison headquarters ?35 At any rate,
what are the implications of the monogram: local workshops, owned by the king, as in
Pergamon? This would be another sign of the “royal economy” in occupied cities, along
fixed formulas. Another possibility is that the tiles, marked with the royal monogram to
indicate royal ownership and the royal function of the building, were produced by local
kilns, but upon royal commission, and paid by the Attalid state — did the latter proceed
with competitive tendering of contracts, as the cities did for their public works?
These examples are not just topics to be thought about in the light of Chaniotis’
paper: they are created by his application of the concept of boundaries in relation to
military occupation. My response to his paper has been, ultimately, to illustrate how it,
too, was a boundary crosser and opener.
Géza Alföldy
Maria Alföldi
zum 6.6.2001
1 EINFÜHRUNG
Der aufregendste Werdegang eines Römers während der Kaiserzeit war derjenige des
Publius Helvius Pertinax.1 Geboren im Jahre 126 als Sohn eines ehemaligen Sklaven,
der es als Wollhändler nur zu einem bescheidenen Vermögen gebracht hatte, suchte
Pertinax nach einem Beruf, der ein regelmäßiges Einkommen versprach; so ist er
Grammatiklehrer geworden. Doch erbrachte ihm die Lehrtätigkeit nicht das erhoffte
Einkommen. Pertinax wechselte deshalb seinen Beruf und strebte eine militärische
Karriere an. Mit Unterstützung eines einflußreichen senatorischen patronus aus seiner
ligurischen Heimat bewarb er sich zunächst um einen Centurionat, allem Anschein nach
ohne Erfolg. Er schaffte es dann doch, wohl mit Hilfe von Patronage, als Mittdreißiger,
daß ihn gegen Ende der Regierungszeit des Antoninus Pius der damalige Statthalter
Syriens zum Präfekten einer Auxiliarkohorte ernannte. Das Mindestvermögen von
400.000 Sesterzen, das für den hierzu erforderlichen ritterlichen Rang nötig war, konnte
Pertinax vermutlich mit Hilfe seiner mächtigen patroni bereitstellen, zu denen auch
Tiberius Claudius Pompeianus, der künftige Schwiegersohn Mark Aurels gehörte.2
Die militärische Laufbahn des Pertinax begann allerdings mit einem Malheur. Da er
in Syrien die Dienstwagen der kaiserlichen Post- und Transportorganisation ohne
Genehmi-gung in Anspruch genommen hatte, bestrafte ihn der Statthalter als sein
Vorgesetzter damit, daß er den Weg zum Standort seiner Truppe zu Fuß zurücklegen
mußte. Unter normalen Umständen hätte diese Erniedrigung das Ende der Karriere des
Pertinax bedeutet. Doch kam ihm zugute, was Militärs oft als ihr Glück ansehen: der
Krieg. Vom Ausbruch des Partherkrieges bis zum Ende der Donaukriege Mark Aurels,
fast zwei Jahrzehnte lang, bekleidete Pertinax ein Kommando nach dem anderen und
1 Zum Werdegang des Pertinax siehe vor allem Historia Augusta, Pertinax 1,4-4,4 und AE 1963, 52;
hierzu ausführlich PIR2 H 73; H.-G. KOLBE, ‘Der Pertinaxstein aus Brühl bei Köln’, Bonner
Jahrbücher 162 (1962), 407-420; G. ALFÖLDY, ‘P. Helvius Pertinax und M. Valerius Maximianus’,
Situla 14/15 (1974), 199-215 = Heeresgeschichte 326-348 (mit Nachträgen und Ergänzungen); A.
BIRLEY, Fasti of Roman Britain 142-146; H. DEVIJVER, ‘Les ‘militiae equestres’ de P. Helvius
Pertinax’, ZPE 75 (1988), 207-214 = The Equestrian Officers of the Roman Imperial Army II
(Stuttgart 1992), 11-18.
2 Vgl. CASSIUS DIO, Historiae Romanae 73,3,1.
Géza Alföldy 124
erwies sich dank seiner eminens industria3 als ein außergewöhnlich tüchtiger Truppen-
bzw. Armeeführer. Nach acht Dienststellungen in ritterlichem Rang wurde er in den
Senatorenstand aufgenommen. Nach einem höchst erfolgreichen Legionskommando
wurde er Konsul und bekleidete danach, z.T. erst unter Commodus, einschließlich der
Statthalterschaften von nicht weniger als fünf Militärprovinzen, insgesamt zehn hohe
senatorische Ämter. Zuletzt trat er die Stadtpräfektur und in diesem Rang auch den
zweiten Konsulat an. Als in der letzten Nacht des Jahres 192 mit der Ermordung des
Commodus die Geschichte der antoninischen Dynastie zu Ende ging, wurde Pertinax
angesichts seines Ranges und seiner Erfahrung zum Kaiser proklamiert.
Für den Sohn eines ehemaligen Sklaven, dem als höchster Prestigegewinn die
Aufnahme in den ordo decurionum seiner Heimatstadt zugestanden hätte, stellte schon
der Aufstieg in den Ritterstand einen außergewöhnlichen Glücksfall dar. Seine
anschließende Karriere war für einen homo novus so niedriger Herkunft fast einzigartig,
seine Proklamation zum Herrscher ein bisher unvorstellbares Ereignis. Gewöhnliche
Soldaten des römischen Heeres hätten von einem solchen Erfolg wohl nicht einmal zu
träumen gewagt. Ihre Träume dürften bescheidener gewesen sein. Im
Traumdeutungsbuch des Artemidorus Daldianus lesen wir, wie der Traum von Müttern,
sie würden einen Adler gebären, kanonisch ausgelegt werden sollte: Ist der Sohn arm,
so wird er Soldat werden; hat er Glück, so bringt er es vielleicht sogar zum
stratopedarches, d.h. zum ersten Mann einer Truppe, anscheinend zum primus pilus
oder zum praefectus castrorum, womit wiederum der Aufstieg über den Primipilat
angesprochen wäre.4 Derselbe Traum sollte höchstens für einen reichen Sohn so
gedeutet werden, daß er über viele Menschen herrschen und vielleicht sogar Kaiser
werden würde.5 In der Tat war es die Primipilaren-laufbahn, die es ehemaligen Soldaten
niederen Ranges ermöglichte, in den römischen Ritterstand aufgenommen zu werden
und gegebenenfalls über die höheren Prokuratoren-stellen sogar bis zur
Prätorianerpräfektur aufzusteigen.6 Im 3. Jahrhundert konnten Prä-torianerpräfekten wie
Macrinus oder Philippus Kaiser werden.7 Früher wäre dies ebenso undenkbar gewesen
wie vor dem Ende der antoninischen Dynastie der Aufstieg des Pertinax zum Herrscher.
Selbst die Primipilarenlaufbahn stand nur wenigen Soldaten offen. Um die Mitte
des 2. Jahrhunderts gab es nach den Berechnungen Brian Dobsons unter ungefähr
180.000 gleichzeitig dienenden Legionssoldaten nur rund 1.000 Centurionen und nicht
mehr als 60 primi pili, die entweder den Primipilat oder die Stelle eines praefectus
castrorum besetzten. Von höchstens 600 gleichzeitig lebenden aktiven oder ehemaligen
primi pili erreichten nicht mehr als fünf bis zehn die höheren Prokuraturen, und von
diesen stiegen nur Einzelne zum Prätorianerpräfekten auf.8 Die Chance hierfür war
jedoch grundsätzlich gegeben. Der atemberaubende Werdegang der wenigen
Glücklichen, die von dieser Chance Gebrauch machen konnten, war sicher vielen
bekannt, wie beispielsweise der Aufstieg des Marcus Bassaeus Rufus, des
Prätorianerpräfekten Mark Aurels, der als bettelarmer Mann niederer Herkunft schnell
reich geworden war und am Ende seiner Laufbahn sogar mit konsularischen Insignien
ausgezeichnet wurde.9 Es ist kaum zu bezweifeln, daß das Avancement zum Centurio
der Traum vieler Soldaten und der weitere Aufstieg zu hohen Rängen über den
Primipilat der Traum der meisten Centurionen war.
Träume können nicht nur für Psychiater, sondern auch für Sozialhistoriker recht
auf-schlußreich sein.10 Dem Werk Artemidors ist zu entnehmen, daß der Traum, man sei
Soldat geworden, in der römischen Welt — zumindest in der Antoninenzeit, in der
dieser Autor lebte, und zumindest in Kleinasien, wo seine Heimat lag — keine
Seltenheit war. Im Spiegel der Deutungsmuster solcher Träume in Artemidors Werk
zeichnen sich die Vorstellungen ab, die die Bevölkerung des Reiches — in einer
provincia inermis — mit dem Militärdienst verband. Einerseits war man sich der
Gefahren des Soldatenberufes bewußt. Wir lesen, daß der Eintritt in die Armee oder die
Teilnahme an einem Feldzug mit der Aufgabe des Privatlebens und der Umstellung auf
einen völlig neuen Beruf gleich-bedeutend seien; deshalb kündige ein Traum hiervon im
allgemeinen Schikanen, Unan-nehmlichkeiten und mühevolle Reisen, kranken und alten
Menschen sogar den Tod an.11 Für Sklaven bedeute dieser Traum, daß sie freigelassen
würden,12 aber auch, daß sie ihrem ehemaligen Herrn gegenüber auch weiterhin
Dienstleistungen zu erbringen hätten, denn ein Soldat müsse, auch wenn er persönlich
frei sei, Dienst leisten.13 Andererseits hatte man aber auch von den vorteilhaften Seiten
des Militärdienstes eine ziemlich klare Vorstellung. Nach Artemidor verspricht der
Traum, Soldat geworden zu sein, Menschen ohne Beschäftigung und denjenigen, die
unter Hunger leiden, Arbeit und Lohn; denn die Soldaten hätten nicht nur ständig
irgendwelche Arbeiten zu erledigen, sondern würden auch regelmäßig mit allen
notwendigen Dingen versorgt.14 Artemidor sah auch die Auf-stiegschancen durch den
Militärdienst. Träumt ein Soldat, daß er in den Krieg ziehen muß, so sei dies ein
Vorzeichen dafür, daß er reich wird.15 Und wer träumt, Centurio geworden zu sein, der
könne hoffen, daß er in der kaiserlichen Administration einen leitenden Posten erhält16
— womit wiederum die Aufstiegschancen zu einer prokuratori-schen Laufbahn über
den Primipilat angesprochen zu werden scheinen.
Mit dem Hinweis auf die Aufstiegschancen dieser Art deutete Artemidor die
bestehenden Möglichkeiten für eine echte soziale Mobilität im Rahmen des römischen
Heerwesens an. Gemeint ist damit eine signifikante Verbesserung des sozialen Status
des Einzelnen, die sich durch eine erhebliche materielle Besserstellung, durch den
Zugang zu höheren Funktionen in der Gesellschaft und durch einen deutlichen Anstieg
des Sozial-prestiges ausdrückt. Die Lebensläufe des Marcus Bassaeus Rufus oder des
Publius Helvius Pertinax zeigen uns, trotz ihrer exzeptionellen Natur, die ganze
Bandbreite für diese Mobilität. Doch lassen sich schon einzelne Abschnitte eines
derartigen Werdeganges mit dem Begriff der sozialen Mobilität kennzeichnen. Dies gilt
beispielsweise für den Aufstieg eines Gemeinsoldaten zum Centurio, für die
Beförderung eines Centurios bis zum Primipilat und damit in den römischen
Ritterstand, für das Avancement eines römischen Ritters bis zu den höchsten ritterlichen
Rangstufen oder in den Senatorenstand, für die Ernennung eines Senators zum
Befehlshaber einer Legion und für die Karriere, die einen ehemaligen Legionslegaten
bis zum Kommando einer großen Provinzarmee in konsularem Rang führte.17 Die Sold-
und Gehaltserhöhungen, die zunehmend wichtigen Leitungsfunktionen und der jeweils
steigende Grad des gesellschaftlichen Ansehens, die mit den genannten Beförderungen
verbunden waren, ermöglichten den Aufstieg eines Menschen aus niederen
Volksschichten in die Elite der Gesellschaft und innerhalb der hierarchisch gegliederten
Elite den Zugang zu den höchsten sozialen Positionen. Freilich machte der Militärdienst
auch andere Formen des sozialen Aufstiegs möglich. Sie zeigten sich u.a. durch die
Verleihung des römischen Bürgerrechtes an altgediente Hilfstruppen- und
Flottensoldaten oder durch den Erhalt des honos, der den Veteranen durch die honesta
missio bescheinigt wurde.18 In diesem Sinne waren etwa die Solderhöhung, die einem
sesquiplicarius oder einem duplicarius zukam, die Beförderung eines miles gregarius
zum immunis oder eines ritterständischen Kohortenpräfekten zum Legions-tribunen und
zum Alenpräfekten weder materiell noch durch den Funktionswechsel oder durch die
Rangerhöhung mit einem signifikanten sozialen Aufstieg verbunden.19 Jedoch konnte
von den Betroffenen selbst eine derartige Beförderung, im Falle der eigentlichen
Soldaten einschließlich der Centurionen successio bzw. promotio genannt,20 ebenso wie
16 Ebd. 4,31.
17 Zur inneren Hierarchie des römischen Heeres siehe jetzt das Verzeichnis und die Kommentare bei B.
DOBSON, ‘The Bibliography of Rangordnung’, in LE BOHEC (éd.), Hiérarchie 41-46; aus der
jünge-ren Literatur vgl. noch bes. Y. LE BOHEC, L’armée romaine sous le Haut-Empire (Paris
1989), 37-69 = Die römische Armee. Von Augustus zu Konstantin d. Gr. (Stuttgart 1993), 38-73; F.
JACQUES, in JACQUES - SCHEID, Rome et l’intégration 129-159 = Rom und das Reich 139-172;
WESCH-KLEIN, Soziale Aspekte 13-44.
18 Vgl. WESCH-KLEIN, Soziale Aspekte 180f.; J.C. MANN, ‘Honesta missio from the Legions’, in
ALFÖLDY - DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), Kaiser, Heer und Gesellschaft 153-161.
19 Zu den Möglichkeiten des sozialen Aufstiegs im Heer siehe die Literatur oben in Anm. 6;
zusammenfassend H.-G. PFLAUM, in J. P. BRISSON (éd.), Problèmes de la guerre à Rome (Paris-La
Haye 1969), 90f.; F. JACQUES, in JACQUES - SCHEID, Rome et l’intégration 158 = Rom und das
Reich 170f.; WESCH-KLEIN, Soziale Aspekte 9f.; G. ALFÖLDY, in ALFÖLDY - DOBSON - ECK
(Hg.), Kaiser, Heer und Gesellschaft 39f., 46.
20 Zu diesen Begriffen siehe DOMASZEWSKI - DOBSON, Rangordnung2 94-97.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 127
der Empfang einer bestimmten Vergünstigung, z.B. eine Solderhöhung oder die Ver-
leihung militärischer Auszeichnungen, als ein einschneidender Schritt auf dem Weg
nach oben empfunden werden. Nicht zufällig werden in den Inschriften von Soldaten
und Offizieren derartige Einzelheiten ihres Werdeganges sehr oft genau und mit
erkennbarem Stolz festgehalten.
Erst recht konnte ein Soldat oder ein Offizier auf seinen Aufstieg stolz sein, wenn
er ihn dem Kaiser zu verdanken hatte. Es braucht kaum betont zu werden, daß der Herr-
scher, dank seines imperium proconsulare “maius”, nicht nur als Oberbefehlshaber des
exercitus Romanus in militärischem Sinne galt. Er verkörperte zugleich die höchste
politische Autorität, die die Organisationsform des Heeres und die Dislokation der
Truppen sowie ihre Verwendung in Krieg und Frieden bestimmte. Darüber hinaus war
er für die Aushebung, Ausbildung, Versorgung, Beförderung, Privilegierung, Auszeich-
nung und Entlassung der Soldaten verantwortlich.21 Nicht zufällig bezeichnete
Augustus in seinen Res Gestae das römische Heer der Vergangenheit als populi Romani
exercitus, das Heer seiner Regierungszeit dagegen als exercitus meus.22 Auf diese
Weise, d.h. vor allem durch seine Vollmacht für Beförderungen, Auszeichnungen und
Vergünstigungen, konnte der Herrscher — direkt oder indirekt — auch auf den Aufstieg
von Soldaten und Offizieren innerhalb der sozialen Hierarchie des Imperium einen
entscheidenden Einfluß nehmen und somit die Mobilität in der römischen Gesellschaft
steuern.
Dieses System beruhte im großen und ganzen auf einer von Augustus geschaffenen
Ordnung, deren zentrale Elemente bis in das 3. Jahrhundert Gültigkeit besaßen.23 Für
Beförderungen, Auszeichnungen und Vergünstigungen bildeten sich schon seit dem
Frühen Prinzipat ziemlich feste Mechanismen heraus. Dank ihrer eigenen Automatik
funktionierten sie weitgehend ohne direkte kaiserliche Eingriffe. Regelmäßig wurden
die Herrscher — freilich unter Heranziehung ihrer Ratgeber — nur bei der Auswahl,
Beför-derung und Auszeichnung der höheren Offiziere persönlich und unmittelbar tätig.
Sonst waren sie normalerweise lediglich die nominellen Urheber derartiger
Maßnahmen; in den Werdegang der Soldaten niederen Ranges, dessen routinemässige
Lenkung sie den Armee- und Truppenkommandeuren überließen, schalteten sie sich nur
in Aus-nahmefällen direkt ein. Selbst die Laufbahn der hohen Offiziere, die den
Herrschern persönlich bekannt waren und bei deren Beförderung die persönlichen
Kontakte zum Kaiserhaus eine große Rolle spielten, war durch allmählich gefestigte
Spielregeln bestimmt, deren Befolgung teilweise einer Routine gleichkam.24 Die immer
21 Zum Verhältnis zwischen Herrscher und Heer in der römischen Kaiserzeit siehe bes. CAMPBELL,
Emperor; vgl. dazu G. ALFÖLDY, Gnomon 57 (1985), 440-446 = Heeresgeschichte 19-25.
22 Res gestae Divi Augusti 30. Vgl. jetzt den Senatsbeschluß nach dem Piso-Prozeß im Jahre 20 n. Chr.,
wo (Z. 160f.) die Soldaten mit folgenden Worten bezeichnet werden: qui sub auspicis et imperio
principis nostri milites essent. Siehe W. ECK - A. CABALLOS - F. FERNÁNDEZ, Das senatus
consultum de Cn. Pisone patre (München 1996), 48f. mit dem Kommentar auf S. 253.
23 Siehe dazu bes. K. RAAFLAUB, ‘The Political Significance of Augustus’ Military Reforms’, in W.S.
HANSON - J.F. KEPPIE (ed.), Roman Frontier Studies 1979. Papers Presented to the 12th Internat.
Congress of Roman Frontier Studies (Oxford 1980), 1005-1025 = ‘Die Militärreformen des
Augustus und die politische Problematik des frühen Prinzipats’, in G. BINDER (Hg.), Saeculum
Augustum 1. Herrschaft und Gesellschaft (Darmstadt 1987), 246-307.
24 Zu den höheren Offizieren des römischen Heeres grundlegend E. BIRLEY, ‘Beförderungen und Ver-
setzungen im römischen Heere’, Carnuntum-Jahrbuch (1957) [1958], 3-20 = ‘Promotions and
Géza Alföldy 128
Transfers in the Roman Army: Senatorial and Equestrian Officers’, in DERS., Roman Army 93-114;
zusammenfassend G. ALFÖLDY, ‘Die Generalität des römischen Heeres’, Bonner Jahrbücher 169
(1969), 233-246 = Heeresgeschichte 3-18. Vgl. E. FRÉZOULS, ‘Le commendement et ses
problèmes’, in LE BOHEC (éd.), Hiérarchie 157-166. Siehe außerdem die weiterführenden
Literaturhinweise in Anm. 27 und 31. Zur sog. prosopographischen Methode, die den Zugang zur
Erkenntnis der Beförderungsmechanismen nicht nur im Kreis des hohen Offizierskorps, sondern im
Heer überhaupt eröffnet, siehe die diversen Beiträge in ECK (Hg.), Prosopographie und
Sozialgeschichte.
25 Siehe die Literatur bei G. ALFÖLDY, in ALFÖLDY - DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), Kaiser, Heer und
Gesellschaft 36 Anm. 9.
26 Historia Augusta, Pertinax 2,9.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 129
27 Vgl. auch oben Anm. 24. Die wichtigste Literatur hierzu findet sich bei G. ALFÖLDY, in ALFÖLDY
- DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), Kaiser, Heer und Gesellschaft 36 Anm. 9, u.a. mit Hinweis auf den Beitrag
von A.R. BIRLEY, Locus virtutibus patefactus? Zum Beförderungssystem in der Hohen Kaiserzeit
(Opladen 1992); zu diesem Thema siehe jetzt noch bes. DENS., ‘Senators as Generals’, in ALFÖLDY
- DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), a.a.O. 97-119. Zum Begriff der viri militares siehe die Literatur bei G.
ALFÖLDY, ebd. 37 Anm. 12; zu einer breiteren Bedeutung des Terminus im Sinne eines militärisch
besonders erfahrenen Mannes siehe jetzt A.R. BIRLEY, ebd. 98-103.
28 Über die homines novi im früh- und hochkaiserzeitlichen Senatorenstand siehe jetzt das postume
Werk von R. SYME, The Provincial at Rome and Rome and the Balkans 80 BC - AD 14 (Exeter
1999), 3-118, dazu 119-126 mit den von A.R. BIRLEY verfaßten Ergänzungen. Aus der jüngeren
Literatur vgl. sonst bes. P.M.M. LEUNISSEN, ‘Homines novi und Ergänzungen des Senats in der
hohen Kaiserzeit: Zur Frage nach der Repräsentativität unserer Dokumentation’, in ECK (Hg.),
Prosopographie und Sozialgeschichte 81-101.
29 Siehe jetzt G. ALFÖLDY, CIL VI 41071a mit der Wiederherstellung der bisher teilweise falsch
rekon-struierten Laufbahn dieses Senators. TACITUS über Regulus: Annales 14,47,1.
Géza Alföldy 130
30 Zur Laufbahn der ritterlichen Offiziere in julisch-claudischer Zeit siehe DEMOUGIN, L’ordre
équestre 286-298; zum Rang der Militärtribunen im Vergleich mit demjenigen der Alenpräfekten
vor, unter und nach Claudius siehe bes. ebd. 293-297 mit weiterer Literatur.
31 Vgl. auch oben Anm. 24. Grundlegend E. BIRLEY, ‘The Equestrian Officers of the Roman Army’,
in DERS., Roman Britain and the Roman Army 133-153 = Roman Army 147-164. Die wichtigste
Literatur zu diesem Thema siehe bei G. ALFÖLDY, in ALFÖLDY - DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), Kaiser,
Heer und Gesellschaft 36f. Anm. 10; zu den Tribunen der equites singulares Augusti siehe SPEIDEL,
Die equites singulares Augusti 26-31. Jüngste Literatur zur Laufbahn ritterlicher Offiziere und
Kommandeure: H. DEVIJVER, ‘Les milices équestres et la hiérarchie militaire’, in LE BOHEC (éd.),
Hiérarchie 175-191; I. PISO, ‘Les chevaliers romains dans l’armée impériale et les implications de
l’imperium’, in S. DEMOUGIN - H. DEVIJVER (~) - M.-TH. RAEPSAET-CHARLIER (éd.), L’ordre
équestre. Histoire d’une aristocratie (IIe siècle av. J.-C. - IIIe siècle ap. J.-C.). Actes du colloque
international, Bruxelles - Leuven, 5-7 octobre 1995 (Paris-Roma 1999), 321-350; R. SABLAY-
ROLLES, ‘Fastigium equestre. Les grandes préfectures équestres’, ebd. 351-389; A.
MAGIONCALDA, ‘I governatori delle province procuratorie: carriere’, ebd. 391-462.
32 Vgl. dazu bes. A. CHASTAGNOL, Le sénat romain à l’époque impériale. Recherches sur la
composition de l’Assemblée et le statut de ses membres (Paris 1992), 97-120, 121-143.
33 Zum Ernennungsverfahren durch die Übersendung eines codicillus an den neuen Amtsinhaber siehe
MILLAR, Emperor 126, 288-290, 396, 305-311.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 131
34 Vgl. R.P. SALLER, Personal Patronage under the Early Empire (Cambridge etc. 1982), 41-78. Über
die Rolle der Patronage in der römischen Welt vgl. sonst bes. A. WALLACE-HADRILL, ‘Patronage
in Roman Society; from Republic to Empire’, in DERS., Patronage in Ancient Society (London-New
York 1990), 63-87.
35 Caesar Antoninus Aug(ustus) Domitio Marsiano suo salut(em). Ad ducenariae procurationis
splendorem iamdudum te provehere studens utor opportunitate quae nunc [o]btegit. Succede igitur
Mario Pudenti tanta cum spe perpetui favoris mei, quantam conscientiam retinueris innocentiae
diligentiae experientiae. Vale, mi Marsiane, karissime mihi. Siehe AE 1962, 193; ausführlich H.-G.
PFLAUM, ‘Une lettre de promotion de l’empereur Marc Aurèle pour un procurateur ducénaire de
Gaule Narbonaise’, Bonner Jahrbücher 171 (1971), 349-366 = DERS., Scripta varia II. La Gaule et
l’Empire romain (Paris 1981), 12-29; vgl. MILLAR, Emperor 288. Zum Offiziersposten des
Marsianus als praefectus militum vgl. ALFÖLDY, Legionslegaten 39 Anm. 211. Die Gelegenheit zur
Beförderung des Marsianus, von der Mark Aurel spricht, lag offenbar darin, daß eine Prokuratoren-
stelle duzenaren Ranges — die für die Gallia Narbonensis — gerade freigeworden war.
36 Zur Beförderung des Domitius Antigonus durch Caracalla siehe CASSIUS DIO, Historia Romana
78,8,1; zu seiner Laufbahn siehe G. ALFÖLDY, Bonner Jahrbücher 165 (1965), 187-191 =
Heeresgeschichte 366f. mit Nachträgen und weiterer Literatur ebd. 361-364.
Géza Alföldy 132
Bei der Beförderung hoher Offiziere konnten die Herrscher nicht nur den Rahmen
voll ausschöpfen, der ihnen durch die Möglichkeit gegeben war, geeignet erscheinende
Kandidaten und Anhänger durch die einzelnen höheren Stufen der regulären
senatorischen oder ritterlichen Karriere zu weiterem Aufstieg zu verhelfen. Sie konnten
auf das Avancement von Senatoren und Rittern auch über diesen Rahmen hinaus, durch
die Erteilung von Sonderaufträgen, direkt Einfluß nehmen. Vor allem die Kriege boten
hierfür vielfachen Anlaß. Die außerordentlichen Kommandos — d.h. die Führung von
Expeditionsarmeen oder größeren Kriegsvexillationen und somit oft die wichtigsten
militärischen Führungsposten — wurden vom Kaiser vergeben. Dementsprechend
beginnt in den Inschriften das Formular solcher Funktionsbezeichnungen häufig mit den
Worten missus ab imperatore, electus ab imperatore o.ä.37
Hinter solchen Formulierungen dürften sich im allgemeinen Entscheidungen
verbergen, die die Herrscher überhaupt nicht routinemäßig, sondern aufgrund
sorgfältiger Überlegung persönlich getroffen haben.38 In der Inschrift etwa, die zu Ehren
des aus dem pannonischen Poetovio stammenden Marcus Valerius Maximianus im
numidischen Diana Veteranorum errichtet wurde, wird die ‘Reaktivierung’ dieses
ritterlichen Offiziers nach seiner secunda militia wohl im Jahre 170 so formuliert:
allectus ab Imp(eratore) M(arco) Antonino Aug(usto) et missus in procinctu
Germanic(ae) exped(itionis) ad deducend(a) per Danuvium, quae in annonam
Panno(niae) utriusq(ue) exercit(uum) denavigarent.39 Wir dürfen dies so verstehen, daß
Mark Aurel — im Krieg gegen die nach Pannonien eingedrungenen Barbaren — den
vier Jahre zuvor aus dem Partherkrieg in seine Heimatstadt zurückgekehrten
Maximianus persönlich in seinen Armeestab aufnahm, um ihn als Kenner des
pannonischen Kriegsschauplatzes dort sofort mit einer wichtigen logistischen
37 Missus ab imperatore o.ä.: CIL VI 3505; CIL VI 41231 (= 1630); AE 1912, 179; AE 1960, 28 (siehe
dazu die Literatur unten in Anm. 100); vgl. auch CIL VI 41142 (= 1377 cf. 31640) = ILS 1098; CIL
XIII 6763 = ILS 1188 mit add. = ALFÖLDY, Legionslegaten 61-64 Nr. 78; AE 1983, 325; siehe auch
die Fälle unten mit Anm. 38 und 44. [Dux elec]tus adversu[s ---]: CIL VI 41185 (= 1640 cf. 31835);
electus: Siehe noch unten mit Anm. 52. Vgl. auch M. EUZENNAT - J. MARION - J. GASCOU - Y.
DE KISCH, Inscriptions Antiques du Maroc 2. Inscriptions latines (Paris 1982), 188-196 Nr. 307, wo
von einem Tribunen der in Cappadocia stationierten cohors III Ulpia milliaria Petraeorum gesagt
wird: electo et retento ad cens(us) excipiend(os) in partem provinc(iae) Arm(eniae) item
Capp(adociae) (unter Antoninus Pius).
38 Ähnliches gilt auch für außerordentliche Missionen im Auftrag des Kaisers für Sonderaufgaben in
der Zivilverwaltung (vgl. dazu schon die in Anm. 37 an letzter Stelle erwähnte Inschrift). Ein gutes
Beispiel liefern hierfür die Inschriften mit dem cursus honorum des Plinius des Jüngeren aus
Comum und Hispellum: Für seine gänzlich außergewöhnliche Mission in Pontus et Bithynia als
kaiserlicher Legat mit prokonsularischem Imperium, das er aufgrund eines Senatsbeschlusses erhielt,
wurde er von Trajan persönlich ausgewählt. Siehe G. ALFÖLDY, ‘Die Inschriften des jüngeren
Plinius und seine Mission in Pontus et Bithynia’, Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae
39 (1999), 21-44 und in DERS., Städte, Eliten und Gesellschaft in der Gallia Cisalpina.
Epigraphisch-histo-rische Untersuchungen (Stuttgart 1999), 221-244 zu CIL V 5262 = ILS 2927 und
CIL XI 5272 (= VI 1552 cf. p. 4712) mit der, wie ich hoffe, definitiven Ergänzung dieser beiden
Texte. Die Idee von H.M. COTTON, Chiron 30 (2000), 233f., wonach die Machtstellung des Plinius
in Pontus et Bithynia nicht durch sechs fasces zum Ausdruck gebracht wurde wie nach meiner an der
zitierten Stelle geäußerten Meinung, sondern durch zwölf, könnte durchaus zutreffend sein.
39 AE 1956, 124; siehe dazu ausführlich H.-G. PFLAUM, ‘Deux carrières équestres de Lambèse et de
Zana. 2. M. Valerius Maximianus’, Libyca 3 (1955), 135-154 = Afrique romaine 65-84; DENS.,
Carrières I 476-494 Nr. 181 bis.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 133
Sonderaufgabe zu betrauen. Die Patronage dürfte selbst in diesem Fall eine Rolle
gespielt haben, denn Maximianus wurde dem Kaiser wohl von Pertinax empfohlen, der
den pannonischen Ritter im Partherkrieg anscheinend persönlich kennengelernt hatte
und mit ihm in den nachfolgenden Jahren als sein Vorgesetzter bzw. Amtskollege eng
zusammenarbeitete. Die Entscheidung über die ‘Reaktivierung’ des Maximianus traf
jedoch Mark Aurel, der sich um diese Zeit offenbar an der pannonischen Front
aufhielt.40 Gerade eine solche ‘Kriegskameradschaft’ zwischen dem Kaiser und seinen
Offizieren konnte für diese eine entscheidende Stufe auf einer außergewöhnlichen
Karriereleiter sein. Exemplarisch zeigt sich das durch die Laufbahn des Maximianus,
der nach seiner erwähnten Mission von Mark Aurel und Commodus — in rascher Folge
— in sieben ritterlichen Kommando- und Verwaltungsposten und nach seiner adlectio
in den ordo senatorius in ebensovielen senatorischen Kommandos eingesetzt wurde.
Wie sehr die beiden genannten Kaiser ihm gewogen waren, ist schon an den ihm
gewährten Auszeichnungen und Gehaltserhöhungen zu erkennen. Noch deutlicher zeugt
von der ihm zukommenden kaiserlichen Gunst seine öffentliche Belobigung durch
Mark Aurel vor versammeltem Heer dafür, daß er — bald nach seiner
Wiedereinstellung in den Heeresdienst — als Präfekt einer Reitertruppe der
oberpannonischen Armee in einer Schlacht den Heerführer der germanischen Naristen
eigenhändig getötet hat.41
Als Beispiel dafür, daß ein vergleichbares Inschriftenformular selbst im Falle der
Ernennung eines regulären senatorischen Provinzstatthalters auf eine persönliche kaiser-
liche Initiative schließen läßt, seien hier die Inschriften des Caius Iulius Sallustius
Saturninus Fortunatianus erwähnt. Er war zwischen 260 und 262 Legat der Provinz
Numidia und der dort stationierten legio III Augusta.42 In mehreren Inschriften wird er
u.a. als comes et legatus Augusti — oder comes et legatus Augusti pro praetore —
Numi-diens und der genannten Legion bezeichnet.43 In einer weiteren Inschrift lautete
sein Rangtitel offenbar [comes et leg(atus) Aug(usti) missus a]d praesidatum [Numidiae
et leg(ionis) III Augustae Gallienae].44 Aus diesen Dokumenten geht hervor, daß der
Senator — anscheinend während der Feldzüge in den Jahren 257-260 — zum
Armeestab des Gallienus gehörte und von ihm persönlich aus dem Kreis seiner
Begleiter ausgewählt wurde, um in Numidien die mit dem Armeekommando
verbundene Statthalterschaft zu übernehmen. Sein Rangtitel comes et legatus Augusti
40 Zu dem hier gesagten und zum folgenden siehe G. ALFÖLDY, Situla 14/15 (1974), 201f. = Heeres-
geschichte 329f.
41 Eine solche öffentliche Belobigung, noch dazu nicht nur vor dem versammelten Heer, sondern
danach auch im Senat, scheint dem Senator Quintus Antistius Adventus Postumius Aquilinus
zugefallen zu sein, der sich um 170 als legatus Augusti pro praetore ad praetenturam Italiae et
Alpium in der Ver-teidigung Italiens gegen die in die Alpen- und Donauländer eingedrungenen
Barbaren große Verdienste erworben hat; siehe G. ALFÖLDY, CIL VI 41119 mit Kommentar und
Literatur.
42 Siehe zu ihm bes. PIR2 J 540; M. CHRISTOL, Essai sur l’évolution des carrières sénatoriales dans
la seconde moitié du IIIe s. ap. J.-C. (Paris 1986), 200-203 Nr. 33; A.R. BIRLEY, ‘A Persecuting
praeses of Numidia under Valerian’, Journal of Theological Studies 42 (1991), 598-610; THOMAS-
SON, Fasti Africani 190f. Nr. 70. Vgl. noch bes. HALFMANN, Itinera principum 101 und 251 Nr.
76.
43 AE 1971, 508 und 510; die Titel cos. und comes et leg. Aug. sind wohl auch in der Inschrift CIL VIII
2797 (cf. p. 1739) = ILS 2413 zu ergänzen. Vgl. noch AE 1917/18, 52.
44 AE 1971, 509.
Géza Alföldy 134
zeigt nicht nur, daß er, wie in der Forschung richtig festgestellt, den Titel comes Augusti
während seiner numidischen Legatur weiterführen durfte. Der Titel sollte zugleich
verkünden, daß der aus dem engsten Umkreis des Kaisers erkorene Legat als dessen
besonderer Vertrauter galt und seine numidische Mission eben dieser persönlichen Nähe
zum Herrscher zu verdanken hatte.
Den Aufstieg hoher Offiziere konnte der Herrscher auch durch andere Eingriffe in
ihren cursus honorum außerhalb der gefestigten Praxis des Beförderungssystems
fördern. Wenn er dies wollte, konnte er auch solche Ränge selbst verleihen, deren Ver-
gabe er sonst anderen überließ. Dies gilt u.a. für die Einsetzung von Prokonsuln der sog.
Senatsprovinzen, die nominell dem römischen Volk gehörten und deren Statthalter
normalerweise durch ein Losverfahren im Senat bestellt wurden. Nach der
Konsolidierung der Monarchie verfügte unter den Prokonsuln allerdings — bis 39 n.
Chr. — nur noch derjenige der Provinz Africa über eine größere Armee. Als
Befehlshaber der legio III Augusta und ihrer Hilfstruppen besaß er eine militärische
Macht, die für den Kaiser unter Umständen eine Art Konkurrenz hätte darstellen
können. Später, als in den prokonsularischen Provinzen nur einige Auxiliartruppen
stationiert waren,45 entfiel das Problem der militärischen Konkurrenz der Prokonsuln
gänzlich, zumal für ihre Bestellung selbst bei der sortitio im Senat zumindest eine
stillschweigende Zustimmung des Herrschers erforderlich war.46 Doch waren selbst die
frühkaiser-zeitlichen Prokonsuln von Africa vom Herrscher nicht nur in dem Sinne
abhängig, daß dieser als Oberbefehlshaber des gesamten exercitus Romanus galt: Die
Prokonsuln, die mit ihrer Armee einen Krieg führen sollten und somit zu militärischem
Ruhm gelangen konnten, wurden bereits unter Augustus vom Herrscher eingesetzt. Das
ist aus der Inschrift aus Lepcis Magna zu erschließen, nach der der Prokonsul Cossus
Cornelius Lentulus das bellum Gaetulicum kurz vor der Zeitwende unter den Auspizien
des Augustus führte.47 Frédéric Hurlet hat unlängst plausible Argumente dafür
dargelegt, daß in solchen Fällen die Prokonsuln nicht durch das sonst übliche Verfahren
bestellt, sondern vom Herrscher ernannt worden sind.48
Wie schon erwähnt, dürfen wir davon ausgehen, daß die Ernennung der Präfekten
von Auxiliarkohorten und der Legionstribunen aus dem Ritterstand, d.h. die Vergabe
der Stellen der prima und der secunda militia der Ritter, im Kompetenzbereich der
Provinz-statthalter lag. Wir kennen jedoch auch Fälle, in denen der Kaiser in die
Beförderung von Rittern in diesen Rangstufen eingegriffen hat. Die Zulassung eines
Kandidaten zur militia equestris war häufig ohnehin von vornherein vom Herrscher
45 Zu den Truppen, die in der Kaiserzeit in den prokonsularischen Provinzen stationiert waren, und zu
ihrem Kommando durch die Prokonsuln siehe W. ECK, ‘Prokonsuln und militärisches Kommando.
Folgerungen aus Diplomen für prokonsulare Provinzen’, in W. ECK - H. WOLFF (Hg.), Heer und
Integrationspolitik. Die römischen Militärdiplome als historische Quelle (Köln-Wien 1986), 518-
534 = W. ECK, Die Verwaltung des Römischen Reiches in der Hohen Kaiserzeit. Ausgewählte und
erweiterte Beiträge 2 (Basel 1998), 187-202.
46 Zur sortitio vgl. G. ALFÖLDY, Konsulat und Senatorenstand unter den Antoninen. Prosopo-
graphische Untersuchungen zur senatorischen Führungsschicht (Bonn 1977), 110-124.
47 Inscriptions of Roman Tripolitania 301. Zum Senator vgl. PIR2 C 1380; THOMASSON, Fasti
Africani 26 Nr. 14.
48 F. HURLET, ‘Auspiciis Imperatoris Caesaris Augusti, ductu proconsulis. L’intervention impériale
dans le choix et les compétences du proconsul d’Afrique sous les Julio-Claudiens’, in L’Africa
roma-na XIII (Sassari 2000), 1513-1542.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 135
Übrigens kennen wir mit Marcus Iunius Proculus auch einen prae-f(ectus) equit(um)
Divi Aug(usti), der diese Dienststellung gegen Ende der Regierungszeit des Augustus
innehatte.55 Dieser Rangtitel ist am ehesten so auszulegen, daß in dieser Zeit, als die
ritterliche Offizierslaufbahn mit der Rangordnung der tres militiae noch keineswegs
augebildet war,56 im Normalfall nicht wie später vom Herrscher, sondern von den
Kommandeuren der Provinzarmeen vergeben wurde — wobei aber die Er-nennung in
Ausnahmefällen doch der Herrscher vornahm. Eine solche kaiserliche Wohltat konnte
dann zur Nennung des Kaisers in der Rangtitulatur Anlaß geben.
Die Herrscher konnten Militärtribunen ritterlichen Ranges auch zur besonderen
Ver-wendung in ihrem persönlichen Umkreis ernennen.57 So diente der aus Saguntum
stammende Ritter Lucius Fulvius Lesso als trib(unus) mil(itum) Divi Aug(usti) dem
Ersten Princeps vielleicht während dessen Aufenthaltes in Hispanien im Verlauf der
Kriege gegen die Kantabrer und Asturer in den Jahren 27-24 v. Chr.58 Sehr wahr-
scheinlich war ein solcher Tribun des Augustus auch Iulius Posidonius aus Philadelphia
in der Provinz Asia, der in einer kleinasiatischen Inschrift als [x]eil€arxow
[A]ÈgoÊstou, d.h. als tribunus militum Augusti, bezeichnet wird.59 Ritterliche Tribunen
mit der Auf-gabe, ihnen persönlich zu dienen, wurden gelegentlich auch von späteren
Herrschern ernannt. So war der hispanische Ritter Raecius Gallus nach der
Proklamation Galbas in Hispanien als [trib(unus) m]il(itum) Galb(ae) imp(eratoris) in
dessen Stab tätig.60
3 BERUFSSOLDATEN
Die bisherigen Beobachtungen betrafen die höheren Offiziere des römischen Heeres.
Doch wäre es verfehlt anzunehmen, daß die Beförderung der Berufssoldaten, d.h. der
milites gregarii, der immunes, der principales und der Centurionen sowie der
Dekurionen der Reitertruppen,61 gänzlich den senatorischen sowie ritterlichen Armee-
und Truppen-kommandeuren überlassen blieb. Vielmehr brachten die Herrscher in
vielfacher Weise zum Ausdruck, daß sie sich mit dem ganzen Heer verbunden fühlten
55 CIL X 6309; siehe PME J 150 (cf. p. 1622, 2150); DEMOUGIN, Prosopographie 224 Nr. 261.
56 Vgl. hierzu oben mit Anm. 31.
57 Vgl. DEMOUGIN, L’ordre équestre 289f.; DIES., Prosopographie 151.
58 CIL II2/14, 336 (= II 3852), mit weiterer Literatur; vgl. PME F 93 (cf. p. 1568, 2111); siehe bes. G.
ALFÖLDY, Gerión 3 (1985), 395 = Heeresgeschichte 498; vgl. C. NICOLET, Mélanges de l’École
Française de Rome 79 (1967), 72; DEMOUGIN, Prosopographie 146 Nr. 154.
59 AE 1900, 175 = IGRR IV 1626; PME J 98 (cf. p. 1611, 2144); DEMOUGIN, Prosopographie 151 Nr.
162.
60 AE 1965, 236 = G. ALFÖLDY, Die römischen Inschriften von Tarraco (Berlin 1975), 145; siehe
dazu bes. PME R 1 (cf. p. 1707, 2221), mit weiterer Literatur, u.a. G. ALFÖLDY, Gerión 3 (1985),
394f. = Heeresgeschichte 497f.; zur Person und Laufbahn des späteren Senators A. CABALLOS
RUFINO, Senadores hispanorromanos y la romanización de Hispania (siglos I-III) I. Prosopografia
(Écija 1990), 279f. Nr. 154. Vgl. SUETONIUS, Galba 10,3 über die Maßnahmen dieses Kaisers in
Hispanien: delegit et equestris ordinis iuvenes, qui manente anulorum aureorum usu evocati
appellarentur excubiasque circa cubiculum suum vice militum agerent.
61 Zur Trennung dieser Berufssoldaten, der milites caligati einschließlich der aus den
Mannschaftsgraden aufgestiegenen Centurionen und Dekurionen, von den hohen Offizieren
senatorischen und ritterlichen Ranges vgl. DOMASZEWSKI, in DOMASZEWSKI - DOBSON,
Rangordnung2 80f. und dazu die Diskussion bei DOBSON, ebd. p. XX f. mit weiterer Literatur.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 137
— trotz aller Rang-unterschiede von den gewöhnlichen Soldaten bis zu den ritterlichen
und senatorischen Kommandeuren. Nichts zeigt dies so klar wie die Anrede der
Soldaten durch den Kaiser als commilitones.62 Umgekehrt verstand es sich für die
Soldaten von selbst, daß sie dem Kaiser dienten, dem sie einen Treueeid geschworen
hatten.63 Nicht nur etwa die legati Augusti oder die procuratores Augusti bezeichneten
sich als seine direkten Untergebenen. Durch die Hinzufügung des Namens Augusti (in
der Frühen Kaiserzeit auch des Namens Caesaris) oder der vollen Nomenklatur des
regierenden Herrschers konnten sich auch die Inhaber anderer, auch niedriger
Rangstufen ähnliche Rangtitel zulegen. Regelmäßig taten dies die equites singulares
Augusti (oder imperatoris nostri),64 häufig auch die evocati Augusti, die —
normalerweise gewiß auf Empfehlung ihrer Vorgesetzten — vom Kaiser berufen
wurden,65 außerdem die statores Augusti.66 Ähnliche Rangtitel führten gelegent-lich u.a.
die Lagerpräfekten, die diesem den Namen des Herrschers im Genitiv hinzufü-gen
konnten,67 die speculatores Augusti,68 die frumentarii Augusti.69 Die Soldaten galten
gemeinhin als milites Augusti;70 ein Prätorianercenturio konnte sich als prim(us) ordo
cohortium praet(oriarum) Divi Augusti bezeichnen;71 die ehemaligen Prätorianer
nannten sich mit besonderem Stolz veteranus Augusti.72
Entsprechend der engen Bindung des gesamten Heeres an den Herrscher konnten
im Prinzip alle Soldaten auf Avancement und Vergünstigungen dank kaiserlicher Gunst,
ein-schließlich ihnen persönlich zugedachter kaiserlicher Wohltaten, hoffen. Deren
Inhalt und Form hingen freilich von der Rangstufe und vom rechtlichen Status des
einzelnen Solda-ten ab. Die Nichtbürger, die in den Hilfstruppen und Flotten dienten,
waren zwar deutlich benachteiligt, aber zumindest durch die Einbürgerung und die
honesta missio konnten auch sie an den Möglichkeiten des sozialen Aufstiegs
partizipieren.
Besonders aufschlußreich sind in dieser Hinsicht die Modalitäten bei der Vergabe
der militärischen Auszeichnungen. Grundsätzlich konnten die dona militaria den
Inhabern sämtlicher Rangstufen zufallen, wobei aber unter den Empfängern derartiger
Auszeich-nungen Nichtbürger nur ganz selten vertreten sind.73 Die Natur und die
Anzahl der Aus-zeichnungen waren recht verschieden. Sie reichten von den ornamenta
triumphalia und der Serie von je vier coronae, hastae purae und vexilla der besonders
verdienten senatori-schen Generäle bis zu den einzelnen torques, armillae und phalerae
der principales, immunes und milites gregarii.74 Rund die Hälfte aller uns bekannten
dona militaria fiel hohen Offizieren aus dem Senatoren- und Ritterstand zu. Die andere
Hälfte wurde Berufssoldaten von den gregarii bis zu den Primipilaren verliehen. Der
Anteil der gregarii unter allen mit dona geehrten Personen beläuft auf rund 18% (wozu
angemerkt werden soll, daß von den gregarii nur die in den Bürgertruppen mit
derartigen Auszeichnungen belohnt wurden), der Anteil der Centurionen zusammen mit
den Alendekurionen sowie den Primipilaren auf 27%; den Rest des Empfängerkreises
bilden principales und evocati.75 Wenn die Inschriften nicht ganz knapp gehalten sind
und auch den Grund für die Auszeichnung benennen, so wird dieser bei allen
Ranggruppen gleichermaßen mit dem Begriff virtus bezeichnet.76
Verliehen wurden die dona militaria an die Soldaten normalerweise vom Herrscher,
und zwar oft persönlich.77 Letzteres ist u.a. aus einer Bemerkung des Tacitus zu
erschlie-ßen, nach dem Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo seine Soldaten in einem Feldzug in
Armenien mit der Aussicht anspornte, die corona civica persönlich vom Herrscher,
Veteranen aus dem Jahre 230 n. Chr.’, Rheinisches Landesmuseum (1999), 1, 12-17; DENS., in LE
BOHEC - WOLFF (éd.), Légions 89-91; DENS., in ALFÖLDY - DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), Kaiser, Heer
und Gesellschaft 487; zur honesta missio siehe die Literatur oben in Anm. 18.
90 CIL VIII 2354 = ILS 305, siehe dazu J.C. MANN, in ALFÖLDY - DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), Kaiser,
Heer und Gesellschaft 157 und W. ECK, ebd. 486-488.
91 CIL VIII 1237 (853) + Inscriptions Latines de la Tunisie 692 + AE 1942/43, 102; vgl. dazu H.-G.
PFLAUM, Antiquités Africaines 4 (1970), 113 = Scripta Varia I 338; G. WESCH-KLEIN, Liberalitas
in rem publicam. Private Aufwendungen zugunsten von Gemeinden im römischen Afrika bis 284 n.
Chr. (Bonn 1990), 204 Nr. 5. Zur cohors I Hispanorum in der Mauretania Caesariensis, aus der
dieser Soldat als Centurio entlassen wurde (so PFLAUM, a.a.O.; anders J.M. ROLDÁN HERVÁS,
Hispania y el ejército romano. Contribución a la historia social de la España romana [Salamanca
1974], 130f.), vgl. N. BENSEDDIK, Les troupes auxiliaires de l’armée romaine en Maurétanie
Césarienne sous le Haut-Empire (Alger 1979), 56f. In derselben Provinz war auch die cohors IV
Sugambrorum stationiert, in der dieser Centurio zuvor diente, vgl. ebd. 64f. Die Entlassung des
Centurios nahm Hadrian vielleicht persönlich im Jahr 128 vor, als er Mauretania besuchte, siehe
dazu HALFMANN, Itinera principum 192 und 203.
92 CIL VIII 4594 + 18649. Vgl. WESCH-KLEIN, Soziale Aspekte 181.
93 Zum Begriff des gradus promotionis siehe CIL III 14416 = ILS 7178 (hier von Caracalla verliehen).
Zur Empfehlung durch die Truppe siehe unten mit Anm. 110.
94 AE 1969/70, 583; siehe ausführlich M. SPEIDEL, ‘The Captor of Decebalus. A New Inscription from
Philippi’, Journal of Roman Studies 60 (1970), 142-153 = Roman Army Studies I (Amsterdam
1984), 173-187.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 141
Dacico ... et ab eode(m) factus decurio in ala eade(m), quod cepisset Decebalu(m) et
caput eius pertulisset ei. Es besteht kein Zweifel, daß die hier erwähnten Beförderungen
während der Feldzüge Trajans von diesem persönlich vorge-nommen wurden. Dies wird
auch dadurch deutlich, daß der Vorgesetzte, von dem Maximus — offenbar nach
Trajans Tod — die honesta missio erhielt, ebenfalls aus-drücklich mit seinem Namen
benannt wird; an dieser Stelle erscheint aber nicht etwa Hadrian, sondern ein
Provinzstatthalter. In dieser Inschrift werden also die “Wohltäter” benannt, die den
sozialen Aufstieg des Maximus persönlich förderten, darunter eben auch zwei Kaiser.
Wie sehr sich der ehemalige Soldat beiden Herrschern verbunden fühlte, ist auch daran
zu erkennen, daß Domitian, dessen Namen man in den nach seinem Sturz gesetzten
Inschriften normalerweise verschwieg, in der Inschrift des Maximus ähnlich wie Trajan
namentlich genannt wird.
Eine ähnliche persönliche Beförderung durch die Kaiser kam während der von
diesen geführten Feldzüge wohl nicht selten vor. Ein Centurio der legio I Minervia
wurde beneficio imp(eratoris), nämlich von Domitian, der ihn während seiner Kriege
gegen die Chatten und die Daker offenbar persönlich auszeichnete, zum primus pilus
befördert.95 Der Fall des Legionscenturios, den Hadrian wegen seiner Verdienste im
Bar-Kokhba-Krieg nicht nur mit den dona militaria auszeichnete, sondern mit einem
ranghöheren Centurionat belohnte, wurde bereits oben kurz erörtert.96 Der Primipilar
Titus Aurelius Flavinus erhielt ein großzügiges Geldgeschenk und seinen gradus
promotionis von Caracalla [ob] alacritatem virtu[tis adv]ersus hostes Ca[rpos] et res
prospere et va[lide ges]tas vom Herrscher wohl während dessen Aufenthaltes in Dakien
im Jahre 213.97 Höchst aufschlußreich ist die Notiz bei Ammianus Marcellinus, daß die
Soldaten im Kampf sub imperatoris conspectu, unter den Augen des anwesenden
Kaisers, in der Hoffnung auf Belohnungen, um von ihm besser erkannt zu werden, ihre
Helme ablegen und sich so besonders gefährden.98 Bei demselben Schriftsteller
vernehmen wir auch die Aufforderung eines Signifers, daß Iulianus Caesar die Schlacht
als Vorkämpfer führen möge, da die Anwesenheit des Herrschers als Zeugen ihrer Taten
die Soldaten besonders anspornen würde.99 Es sei hinzugefügt, daß auch die
außergewöhnliche Mission von Centurionen und Primipilaren an der Spitze von
95 AE 1997, 1522. Zur Benennung des Chattenkrieges als expeditio Germanica oder — wie in dieser
Inschrift — bellum Germanicum siehe V. ROSENBERGER, Bella et expeditiones. Die antike
Terminologie der Kriege Roms (Stuttgart 1992), 87f.
96 Siehe oben mit Anm. 83.
97 CIL III 14416 = ILS 7178; vgl. dazu oben mit Anm. 76, 86 und 93. Zu den damaligen Ereignissen im
dakischen Raum vgl. M. MACREA, ‘La défense des frontières Ouest et Nord-Est de la Dacie au
temps de l’empereur Caracalla’, Studii sçi Cerceta“ri de Istorie Veche 8 (1957), 215-251; zum
Aufent-halt des Kaisers in Dakien HALFMANN, Itinera principum 223. Die früher in das Jahr 214
datierte Anwesenheit Caracallas in Dakien muß jetzt in das Jahr 213 verlegt werden, da der
Herrscher — auf seiner Reise nach dem Orient — bereits im Herbst dieses Jahres in Kleinasien
eintraf, siehe J. SCHEID, ‘Le protocole arvale de l’année 213 et l’arrivée de Caracalla à Nicomédie’,
in G. PACI (ed.), Epigrafia romana in area adriatica. Actes de la IXe Rencontre franco-italienne sur
l’épigraphie du monde romaine (Macerata 1998), 439-451.
98 AMMIANUS MARCELLINUS, Res gestae 20,11,12.
99 Ebd. 16,12,18.
Géza Alföldy 142
Kriegsvexillationen eine Ernennung durch den Kaiser und wohl nicht selten auch die
persönliche Bekanntschaft des Herr-schers mit dem Soldaten voraussetzte.100
Für ein derartiges Avancement dank kaiserlicher Gunst war jedoch keineswegs
unbedingt ein Krieg und auch keine persönliche Bekanntschaft mit dem Herrscher erfor-
derlich. Durch eine Inschrift aus Perge wissen wir, daß ein cornicularius, der im Stab
des Statthalters von Lycia et Pamphylia gedient hatte, durch dessen suffragium vom
Kaiser, von Mark Aurel oder vielleicht von Caracalla, zum decurio der in der genanten
Provinz stationierten cohors I Flavia equitata Numidarum befördert wurde.101 Der
Statthalter hätte diese Rangerhöhung eines Soldaten aus der kleinen Armee seiner
Provinz auch allein, ohne den Kaiser einzuschalten, vornehmen können, denn dies hätte
einer wohl weit ver-breiteten Praxis entsprochen.102 Möglicherweise erfolgte diese
Beförderung während der Reise des Herrschers durch Kleinasien (was für Mark Aurel
in den Jahren 175-176, für Caracalla in den Jahren 214-215 zutreffen könnte).103 Jedoch
ist es durchaus denkbar, daß der Statthalter seine Empfehlung — brieflich — an den in
Rom oder anderswo, z.B. an der Donaufront, residierenden Kaiser aussprach, da er für
seinen verdienten Unterge-benen, wohl auf dessen Wunsch, die besondere Ehre einer
Beförderung durch den Kaiser bewirken wollte. Eine derartige Vorgehensweise ist
umso wahrscheinlicher, als die Deku-rionen der Reitertruppen als Befehlshaber einer
Abteilung eine ähnliche Funktion aus-übten wie die Centurionen als
Kompaniehauptleute bei der Infanterie; gerade von den Centurionen wissen wir aber,
daß sie nicht selten vom Herrscher ernannt worden sind.104
Florus erwähnt den Centurionat, diesen non mediocris honos, der nach seinen
Worten der Kohortenpräfektur oder dem Militärtribunat im Ansehen nicht nachsteht, als
eine von dem maximus imperator verliehene Rangstufe.105 Im Laufe der Kaiserzeit bür-
gerte sich zwar die Sitte ein, daß die Centurionen der Provinzarmeen häufig von den
100 Vgl. ILS 9200 = IGLS VI 2796, vgl. AE 1987, 956 mit Literatur, dazu jetzt noch Th. FRANKE, in LE
BOHEC - WOLFF (ed.), Légions 196f.; AE 1960, 28, dazu PFLAUM, Carrières III 978-980 Nr. 146
bis, vgl. noch L. KEPPIE, in LE BOHEC - WOLFF (ed.), Légions 31; zu beiden Fällen siehe auch
DOBSON, Primipilares 216f. Nr. 94 und 251 Nr. 130.
101 W. ECK, ‘M. Gavius Crispus Numisius Iunior als Prokonsul von Lycia-Pamphylia in einer Inschrift
aus Perge’, ZPE 131 (2000), 251-257 zu H. SAHIN, Die Inschriften von Perge I (Bonn 1999), 185f.
Nr. 156.
102 Vgl. dazu W. ECK, a.a.O. (Anm. 101) 255 mit Beispielen; siehe noch AE 1987, 796.
103 W. ECK, a.a.O. (Anm. 101) 257.
104 Zur Ernennung und Beförderung der Centurionen siehe bes. E. BIRLEY, ‘Promotions and Transfers
in the Roman Army II: The Centurionates’, Carnuntum-Jahrbuch (1963/64) [1965], 21-33 = Roman
Army 206-231; vgl. M.P. SPEIDEL, ‘Becoming a Centurion in Africa. Brave Deeds and the Support
of the Troops as Promotion Criteria’, in DERS., Roman Army Studies II 124-128. Nach SPEIDEL
(ebd. 126) “by Commodus’ time at the latest, governors could no longer appoint legionary
centurions but had to submit their choice to the emperor who alone gave commissions and through
such beneficia claimed the loyalty of the new officers”. SPEIDEL beruft sich auf den durch die In-
schrift CIL VIII 21567 dokumentierten Fall dieser Art (siehe dazu unten mit weiterer Literatur in
Anm. 110). Diese Inschrift stammt aus dem Jahre 174, d.h. aus der Regierungszeit Mark Aurels, und
kann in keinerlei Weise beweisen, daß die erwähnte Verfahrensweise später allgemein üblich bzw.
sogar obligatorisch geworden ist. So wurde beispielsweise [---] Florus im Jahre 218 offenbar nicht
vom Herrscher, sondern vom Statthalter zum Legionscenturio ernannt, siehe unten mit Anm. 124.
105 FLORUS, Frg. p. 108 ed. HALM. Siehe E. BIRLEY, Carnuntum-Jahrbuch (1963/64) [1965], 22 =
Roman Army 207.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 143
Statthaltern ernannt wurden.106 Die Möglichkeit einer Ernennung durch den Herrscher
blieb jedoch immer bestehen. Vitellius etwa hat als Herrscher in Britannien eigene
Anhänger als Centurionen eingesetzt.107 Die commilitones des Alendekurios Quintus
Caesius Valens, die in der Bewachung eines ägyptischen Bergwerkes unter seinem
Befehl standen, sprachen in der Hoffnung auf seine Beförderung — wohl zum Centurio
— folgenden Wunsch aus: Habeas propitium imp(eratorem)!108 Von einem Soldaten,
der im Jahre 140 als gewöhnlicher Soldat in den Heeresdienst eingetreten war und im
Jahre 192 nach vielen Dienststellungen als Primipilar diente, erfahren wir, daß er die
entscheidende Beförderung während seiner Laufbahn, nämlich das Avancement zum
Centurio — in der legio XXII Primigenia — im Jahre 163 dem imperator verdankte.109
Die Empfehlung durch den unmittelbaren Vorgesetzten konnte dabei natürlich eine
große Rolle spielen. So erhielt ein Centurio der legio III Augusta diesen Rang von Mark
Aurel, der den Soldaten aufgrund des suffragium des Legaten von Numidien
beförderte.110 Dies war der gleiche Vorgang wie beim Avancement des cornicularius in
der Provinz Lycia-Pamphylia zum Alendekurio.
Wie die Herrscher bei der Beförderung von Centurionen z.T. auch in Friedenszeiten
persönlich tätig werden konnten, wird u.a. durch die Laufbahn des Marcus Sabidius
Maximus deutlich.111 Dieser Mann aus der Provinz Macedonia, der sich in der legio XI
Claudia im Verlauf von 20 Jahren vom gewöhnlichen Soldaten zum Centurio emporge-
dient hatte, wurde von Hadrian zum Centurio der legio III Gallica in höherem Rang als
zuvor anscheinend kurz nach Ausbruch des Bar-Kokhba-Krieges befördert, nach dessen
Abschluß — [ob victo]r(iam) Iudaic(am) — Sabidius von demselben Kaiser die dona
militaria erhielt. Das war ein ähnlicher Werdegang wie der anderer Centurionen, die
von Hadrian in diesem Krieg persönlich befördert und ausgezeichnet wurden.112
Sabidius diente aber als Centurio noch weiter, insgesamt 20 Jahre lang, d.h. ungefähr
von etwa 130 bis um 150. Zu seinen nächsten beiden Centurionaten wird in der zu
seinen Ehren gesetzten Inschrift nicht gesagt, wem er diese Beförderungen verdankte.
Offenbar handelte es sich in beiden Fällen um den Statthalter der Provinz, in der die
betreffende Legion lag. Zu den beiden letzten Legionscenturionaten wird dagegen
jeweils aus-drücklich vermerkt, daß die promotio vom Herrscher, nämlich von
Antoninus Pius, vorgenommen wurde. Die erste Legion, deren Centurionat Sabidius
von diesem Kaiser erhielt, ist unbekannt; die zweite war die legio XIII gemina in
Dakien. In der Zeit, in der Maximus nach Dakien kam, d.h. etwa zwischen 145 und 150,
herrschte dort offenbar Frieden.113 Der Herrscher muß einen persönlichen Grund gehabt
haben, diesen bereits von seinem Vorgänger ausgezeichneten Soldaten zu fördern. Da
Antoninus Pius während seiner Regierungszeit Italien nie verließ und Maximus
schwerlich je Rom besucht haben kann, liegt die Annahme nahe, daß hier ähnlich wie in
den zuvor genannten Fällen das suffragium seines jeweiligen Vorgesetzten der Anlaß
für die kaiserliche Wohltat war.
Für die Förderung der Centurionen durch den Herrscher gab es auch andere
Möglich-keiten. Ritter, die eine Centurionenlaufbahn anstrebten, ohne zuvor die militia
equestris begonnen zu haben, wurden in mehreren nachweisbaren Fällen vom Herrscher
selbst zum Centurio ernannt.114 Damit eröffnete sich für sie freilich auch die Aussicht
auf eine glänzende Karriere.115 Umgekehrt nahmen die Kaiser verdiente
Legionscenturionen gele-gentlich in den Ritterstand auf;116 oder sie verliehen ihnen
Auszeichnungen wie die decursio albata, d.h. das Recht, bei Paraden im weißen Kleid
ritterlicher Offiziere zu er-scheinen, was den Weg zur Aufnahme in den Ritterstand
ebnete.117 Besonders verdiente oder besonders gut protegierte Legionscenturionen
konnten in den engsten Kreis um den Herrscher aufgenommen werden wie Aemilius
Pudens, Bruder eines Prätorianerprä-fekten, in den comitatus des Commodus.118 Auch
die Sonderaufträge, die die Centu-rionen in entfernten Provinzen durchzuführen hatten,
konnten ihnen nicht nur vom Statt-halter als von ihrem Vorgesetzten, sondern vom
Herrscher erteilt werden, so etwa der Auftrag an einen Centurio der legio XV
Apollinaris, das Bergwerk des Mons Claudianus in Ägypten zu verwalten.119
Eine direkte Begegnung mit dem Herrscher, der auf einen förderungswürdigen
Soldaten persönlich aufmerksam wurde, konnte für ein Avancement freilich auch in
Frie-denszeiten besonders günstige Voraussetzungen bieten. Für die Soldaten der
Provinz-armeen ergaben sich solche Begegnungen normalerweise höchstens dann, wenn
der Herrscher durch die Provinzen reiste. Er konnte sich dort nicht nur von den
Fähigkeiten einzelner Soldaten überzeugen wie Hadrian, der im Jahre 118 in Pannonien
Augenzeuge war, wie ein batavischer Reitersoldat zu Pferd und in voller Ausrüstung die
Donau durch-schwamm.120 Militärisch interessierte Kaiser konnten sich auch
Kriegsmanoeuver an-schauen wie gerade Hadrian im Jahre 128 in Numidien.121
Entschieden häufiger hatten die Soldaten der stadtrömischen Truppen Gelegenheit,
dem Herrscher persönlich zu begegnen. Dies galt vor allem für die Soldaten der Präto-
rianergarde, insbesondere für deren Centurionen, die dem Kaiser als Leibwächter dien-
ten.122 Sulpicius Similis, der spätere Prätorianerpräfekt, stand bei Trajan, wie Cassius
Dio berichtet, schon als Centurio der Garde in einem so hohen Ansehen, daß der Kaiser
ihn empfing, während er die Vorgesetzten des Similis, nämlich die Prätorianerpräfekten,
warten ließ.123 Die erstaunlich rasche Karriere des Similis unter Trajan beruhte auf
seinem persönlichen Kontakt zu diesem Herrscher bereits während des Centurionats.
Man brauchte aber als Soldat der Prätorianergarde nicht unbedingt Centurio zu sein, um
vom Kaiser persönlich gefördert zu werden. Caracalla hat einen signifer der Garde
namens Florus, der seine Laufbahn im Jahre 200 als gewöhnlicher miles in einer Legion
begon-nen hatte und später in die Prätorianergarde übergewechselt war, im Jahre 217
zum Vorsteher des Lagerheiligtums ernannt. Von 218 bis 238 diente Florus als
Legionscenturio, ohne daß ihn in diesem Zeitraum ein Herrscher besonders gefördert
hätte. Im Jahre 238 wurde er jedoch von Kaiser Gordian als Centurio wieder in die
Prätorianergarde berufen, wo er es zwei Jahre später zum trecenarius brachte.124
Auch Soldaten anderer stadtrömischer Truppen hatten die Chance, die besondere
Gunst der Herrscher zu erlangen. Antoninus Pius hat den Sextus Aetrius Ferox, einen
cornicularius des praefectus vigilum, des Kommandanten der stadtrömischen
Feuerwehr, quod per gradus militiae suae tam industrie se administraverit, persönlich
zum Centurio der legio II Traiana in Alexandria befördert.125 Dazu wird in den
Inschriften zu Ehren dieses Soldaten vermerkt, daß es ein Avancement aus der
genannten Rangstufe zum Legionscenturio zuvor noch nicht gegeben hat. Für die engen
persönlichen Kontakte dieses Mannes zu Antoninus Pius ist es kennzeichnend, daß er
bei ihm als erfolgreicher Fürsprecher für die Gewährung einer Vergünstigung an seine
umbrische Heimatstadt Tuficum auftrat.
Wie weit die Berufung auf den Kaiser als Urheber von Beförderungen gehen
konnte, erkennen wir exemplarisch anhand der Inschrift aus Bu Njem, in der ein Soldat
von seiner Beförderung vom Alendekurionen zum Kommandeur der kleinen Garnison
dieser Oase in der libyschen Wüste berichtet. Er nennt seine beiden direkten
Vorgesetzten, den Legaten Numidiens und den praepositus limitis Tripolitanae,
namentlich, bezeichnet jedoch nicht diese, sondern die Herrscher, nämlich die beiden
Philippi, als Urheber seiner Ernennung.126 Gegebenenfalls konnte sich sogar ein Soldat
ohne römisches Bürgerrecht darauf berufen, daß er einen Auftrag auf Befehl des Kaisers
ausübte. So heißt es in der Inschrift des aus Palmyra stammenden Agrippa Themi filius,
daß er als Centurio der cohors I Chalchidenorum in Numidien auf kaiserlichen Befehl
zehn Jahre lang die Palmyreni sagittarii, eine aus seinen Landsleuten ausgehobene
Bogenschützentruppe, führte.127 Man mußte aber weder Centurio noch Anwärter einer
Centuriostelle sein, um beim Avancement in den Genuß kaiserlichen Förderung zu
gelangen. Vor allem die bereits oben behandelte Laufbahn des Tiberius Claudius
Maximus, des captor Decebali, zeigt, daß der Herrscher auch niedrigere Dienstgrade
persönlich ernennen konnte.128 Beispielsweise konnten aber auch frumentarii ihren
Rang einem Kaiser verdanken.129 Dies zeigt etwa die Inschrift eines Weihedenkmals
aus Diana Veteranorum, das Hostilius Iulianus ex frumentario b(ene)f(iciarius)
co(n)s(ularis) für das Heil des Kaisers Severus Alexander, des Sohnes des Magnus
Antoninus Divus, d.h. Caracallas, setzte. Er bezeich-net sich als candidatus des Vaters
des regierenden Herrschers, was nur so verstanden werden kann, daß er seine Stellung
als frumentarius von Caracalla erhalten hatte. Inzwi-schen ist er bereits zum
beneficiarius aufgestiegen.130
4 SCHLUSSFOLGERUNGEN
Die Zahl der bezeugten Fälle dafür, daß die Beförderung und Auszeichnung von
Soldaten unmittelbar dem Herrscher zu verdanken war, oder zumindest dafür, daß die
Soldaten solche Vergünstigungen als Zeichen der sie persönlich betreffenden
kaiserlichen Gunst auffaßten, ist auch unterhalb der Rangstufen der senatorischen und
ritterlichen Offiziere beachtlich. Folgende Schlußfolgerungen dürften berechtigt sein.
Die Herrscher Roms förderten den Aufstieg tüchtiger und loyaler Soldaten nicht nur
rein routinemäßig, sondern im gegebenen Fall auch persönlich. Dieser Aufstieg
beschränkte sich keineswegs auf ein in sozialer Hinsicht belangloses Avancement durch
einzelne rein militärische Rangstufen, sondern entsprach vielfach den Anforderungen
echter sozialer Mobilität.
Innerhalb der Aristokratie, die die hohen Offiziere stellte, bot die Offizierslaufbahn
den Rittern die Chance, in den gehobenen ritterlichen Staatsdienst und sogar in den
Sena-torenstand aufzusteigen. Den Mitgliedern des Senatorenstandes bereitete die
Übernahme militärischer Aufgaben den Weg zur politisch-militärischen Führungsspitze
des Reiches. Die Elastizität der gesellschaftlichen Hierarchie innerhalb des Heeres war
jedoch viel größer. Schon die erfolgreiche Absolvierung des Militärdienstes war mit
honos, dem Erwerb eines Sozialprestiges, verbunden. Der Aufstieg aus niederen Rängen
bis zum Centurionat kam einem Aufstieg aus der Unterschicht in die Oberschicht der
Gesellschaft gleich, und die Centurionenlaufbahn mit dem Primipilat als ihre Krönung
ermöglichte den Aufstieg aus niedrigem Stand in die Reichsaristokratie.
Dementsprechend verstand man den Militärdienst als eine Tätigkeit, die
außergewöhnliche soziale Aufstiegschancen ver-sprach. Dies geht nicht nur aus dem
Traumdeutungsbuch Artemidors hervor, sondern auch aus den Inschriften der Soldaten,
in denen diese stolz über ihren Aufstieg berichten. Spektakuläre Einzelfälle spornten
sicher viele Soldaten an, einen Weg zu suchen, der es ihnen ermöglichte, in die
Fußstapfen ihrer Vorbilder zu treten. Von den Möglichkeiten des sozialen Aufstiegs
konnten zwar nur verhältnismäßig wenige, von der Chance des Aufstiegs aus niedrigem
Stand nur ganz wenige Soldaten tatsächlich Gebrauch machen.131 Die
Erwartungshaltung, daß man als Soldat die Chance für das gesell-schaftliche
Emporkommen besitzt, dürfte jedoch, ähnlich wie beispielsweise in der napoleonischen
Armee, in der Mentalität breiter Kreise verankert gewesen sein.
Die Kaiser verstanden es, das Streben vieler Soldaten nach Rang, Reichtum und
Ein-fluß ebenso bewußt wie gezielt für sich zu nutzen. Die Durchlässigkeit der sozialen
Hierarchie innerhalb des Heeres erwies sich in ihren Augen als ein hervorragendes
Herr-schaftsinstrument: Die Bereitschaft der Soldaten zu besonderen Leistungen für
ihren Oberbefehlshaber war diesem ebenso willkommen wie die dankbare Loyalität der
erfolg-reichen Aufsteiger. Die Primipilares, die dem Kaiser mehr zu verdanken hatten
als jeder andere Personenkreis innerhalb des Heeres,132 verkörperten den Typus des
ebenso treuen wie leistungsfähigen Aufsteigers in exemplarischer Weise. Dadurch, daß
ein durchschlagender gesellschaftlicher Erfolg nur wenigen Auserwählten beschieden
war, stiegen Leistungswille und Loyalität umso mehr.
Noch deutlicher wird der Zusammenhang zwischen Kaiser, Heer und sozialer
Mobi-lität, wenn man bedenkt, daß den Herrschern kein anderes Herrschaftsinstrument
131 Vgl. F. JACQUES, in JACQUES - SCHEID, Rome et l’intégration 158 = Rom und das Reich 171.
132 DOBSON, Primipilares 87; vgl. ebd. 173.
Géza Alföldy 148
zur Verfügung stand, durch welches das Streben von Menschen nach gesellschaftlichem
Aufstieg für die Aufrechterhaltung und Stabilisierung des bestehenden politischen
Systems in einem ähnlichen Maße hätte kanalisiert werden können. Innerhalb der
staatlichen Organisation des Imperium Romanum gab es nur noch einen einzigen, von
dem Heerwesen zwar untrennbaren, jedoch von ihm zugleich deutlich verschiedenen
Bereich, in dem durch die Bekleidung öffentlicher Funktionen dank dem Wohlwollen
der Kaiser sozialer Aufstieg möglich war: die Zivilverwaltung. Deren Struktur
unterschied sich aber von derjenigen des Heeres an einem ganz entscheidenden Punkt.
Zwischen der militärischen Elite und den Soldaten niederer Stellung war die Grenze
durchlässig. Dagegen bestand zwischen den in der zivilen Administration tätigen Eliten
und ihrem subalternen Personal, soweit dieses nicht aus hierfür abkommandierten
Soldaten bestand, eine unüberwindbare Kluft. Sie trennte die hohen
Verwaltungsbeamten senatorischen und ritterlichen Ranges von den Sklaven und
Freigelassenen des Kaisers, die das Dienst-personal der einzelnen staatlichen
Verwaltungsressorts stellten.133 Der gregarius miles konnte aus gutem Grund davon
träumen, daß er in die Oberschicht der römischen Gesellschaft aufsteigt. Den
Mitgliedern der familia Caesaris war ein solcher Aufstieg grundsätzlich verwehrt. Die
wenigen Ausnahmen, so z.B. der Aufstieg von Männern wie Cleander von der Stellung
des a cubiculis eines Kaisers zum Präfekten der Prätorianer-garde,134 wurden in der
breiten Öffentlichkeit als unrühmliche Fehltritte mißbilligt, die den guten Sitten und
damit dem gesellschaftlichen Konsens widersprachen. Dies galt auch für die Stellung
jener Mitglieder der familia Caesaris, die es, zwar als Chefs nominell subalterner
Verwaltungsressorts, zu Reichtum und Macht gebracht hatten, wie beispielsweise die
Freigelassenen Narcissus, Pallas und Callistus unter Claudius: Der Makel der unfreien
Herkunft haftete an ihnen trotz allem.135 Demgegenüber wurden die Aufsteiger aus dem
Heer, wenn auch nicht immer ohne Schwierigkeiten, im ganzen gesehen durchaus
erfolgreich in die Oberschicht integriert. Nicht zuletzt dadurch stärkten sie die Macht
der Kaiser in einem ganz besonderen Maße.
Auf lange Sicht hin konnte sich allerdings selbst dieses Machtinstrument der Kaiser
als eine zweischneidige Schwert erweisen — dann nämlich, wenn das Heer im Bewußt-
sein seiner Bedeutung und Stärke selbst die politische Initiative ergriff.136 Dies wurde
erstmals durch die Ereignisse des Vierkaiserjahres deutlich. Die damaligen
Geschehnisse konnten freilich noch als eine Art Betriebsunfall angesehen werden. Nach
dem Sturz der antoninischen Dynastie wurde aber das Heer mit seiner Eigendynamik
133 Grundlegend hierzu sind nach wie vor: G. BOULVERT, Esclaves et affranchis impériaux sous le
Haut-Empire romain. Rôle politique et administratif (Napoli 1970); DERS., Domestique et
fonctionnaire sous le Haut-Empire romain. La condition de l’affranchi et de l’esclave du prince
(Paris 1974); P.R. C. WEAVER, Familia Caesaris. A Social Study of the Emperor’s Freedmen and
Slaves (Cambridge 1972). Zu den Möglichkeiten des sozialen Aufstiegs der Mitglieder dieser
Personengruppe innerhalb der Grenzen, die ihnen durch ihren Status auferlegt waren, siehe G.
FABRE, ‘Mobilité et strati-fication. Le cas des serviteurs impériaux’, in FRÉZOULS (éd.), La
mobilité sociale 123-159.
134 Siehe jetzt die Literatur bei G. ALFÖLDY, zu CIL VI 41118.
135 Eine nach wie vor sehr lesenswerte Darstellung der Position der einflußreichen kaiserlichen Frei-
gelassenen bietet A.M. DUFF, Freedmen in the Early Roman Empire (Oxford 1958), 143-186
(Nach-druck der Originalausgabe aus dem Jahre 1928 mit kurzen Nachträgen).
136 Zum folgenden vgl. G. ALFÖLDY, in ALFÖLDY - DOBSON - ECK (Hg.), Kaiser, Heer und
Gesellschaft 44-53 mit weiterer Literatur.
Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich 149
für das Kaisertum in einem ganz anderen Maße zu einer ständigen Gefahr, als es das
subalterne oder hohe Personal der Zivilverwaltung ihm je hätten werden können.
L’armée romaine
et le maintien de l’ordre en Gaule (68-70)
Yann Le Bohec
L’année ‘des quatre empereurs’ vit se dérouler un sanglant épisode de guerre civile.1
Les désordres qui, à cette occasion, frappèrent l’empire entraînèrent un affaiblissement
de l’autorité centrale, et les contemporains ressentirent la pénible impression que les
cadres politiques et militaires étaient incapables de reprendre en mains une situation
qu’ils avaient laissée se dégrader.2 Les troubles révélèrent le “secret de l’empire”3: un
empereur pouvait être désigné ailleurs qu’à Rome, notamment par les armées qui se
trouvaient aux frontières. Car ce ne fut pas seulement la capitale mais encore les
provinces que secouèrent ces événements tragiques. En Gaule, trois grands peuples
firent défection, les Bataves, les Lingons et les Trévires.4
Les historiens pensent bien savoir ce qui s’est passé, surtout grâce à Tacite.5 Mais il
n’est peut-être pas inutile de soumettre à un nouvel examen l’attitude de l’armée de
Germanie.6 Fut-elle, comme le dit l’historien latin, une armée de guerre étrangère, qui
composa avec des chefs barbares et finit par trahir? Pour répondre à cette question, il
1 P. ZANCAN, La crisi del principato nell’anno 69 d. C. (Padoue 1939); G.E.F. CHILVER, ‘The Army
in Politics, AD 69-70’, JRS 47 (1957), 29-35; E. FUSSHÖLLER, Prinzipatsideologie und Herr-
schaftsübertragung im Vierkaiserjahr (Bonn 1958); H. GRASSL, Untersuchungen zum
Vierkaiserjahr 68/69 (Vienne 1973); K. WELLESLEY, The Long Year AD 69 (Londres 1974); P.A.L.
GREENHALGH, The Year of the Four Emperors (Londres 1975); E. MANNI, ‘Galba, Otone e
Vitellio’, ANRW II.2 (1975), 143-148, et M.A. LEVI, ‘I Flavi. II. La crisi dell’anno 68 d. C.’, ibidem,
180-185; D.C.A. SHOTTER, ‘A time-table for the Bellum Neronis’, Historia 24 (1975), 59-74; E.P.
NICOLAS, De Néron à Vespasien (Paris 1979), 267-330; R. URBAN, Gallia rebellis (Historia
Einzelschriften, 129) (Stuttgart 1999), 49-83.
2 TACITE, Histoires 4.24-27; 4.34.6 (e.g.); PLUTARQUE, Galba 6; 18.1; 19.1; 22; Othon 1.1.
CHILVER, art. cit. (note 1), 29.
3 TACITE, Histoires 1.4.2. Sur cette expression: P. LE ROUX, L’armée romaine et l’organisation des
provinces ibériques (Paris 1982), 127-128.
4 R. URBAN, Der Bataveraufstand und die Erhebung des Iulius Classicus (Trèves 1985); E. KEITEL,
‘The Function of the Livian Reminiscence at Tacitus Histories, 4,58,6, and 62’, Classical Journal
87.4 (1992), 327-337; J. LE GALL et M. LE GLAY, L’Empire romain. 1. Le Haut-Empire (Paris
1992, 2e édition), 347-357; O. SCHMITT, ‘Anmerkungen zum Bataveraufstand’, Bonner Jahrbücher
193 (1993), 141-160.
5 F. KLINGNER, Die Geschichte des Kaisers Otho bei Tacitus (Bericht über die Verhandlungen der
Sächsischen Akadademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-Hist. Klasse, 102) (Leipzig 1940), et R. ENGEL,
‘Das Charakterbild des Kaisers A. Vitellius bei Tacitus und sein historischer Kern’, Athenaeum 55
(1977), 345-368.
6 GRASSL, op. cit. (note 1), 47, 122.
Yann Le Bohec 152
convient d’abord de savoir qui étaient vraiment les meneurs des révoltés, auxquels se
sont ralliés les soldats; se sont-ils réellement conduits comme des ennemis de Rome?
La documentation est fournie par des écrits d’auteurs divers et, comme on l’a dit, au
premier chef par Tacite. Ce dernier, qui a vécu peu après la crise, a connu des témoins
et a aussi lu les écrits aujourd’hui perdus de Pline l’Ancien et de Cluvius Rufus. Il peut
donc être considéré en partie comme une ‘source primaire’ et en partie comme une
‘source secondaire’. Mais il ne peut pas être considéré seulement en tant que source, ou
en tant qu’historien de son temps. Il se comporte avant tout en moraliste, qui déteste
par-dessus tout la guerre civile, pour lui la pire horreur imaginable. On le confrontera à
son protégé et ami, Suétone, lui aussi en partie source primaire parce que son père a
servi dans une des armées qui a été engagée dans le conflit, celle d’Othon. Parmi les
auteurs qui seront utilisés, il faut citer Flavius Josèphe, lui aussi source primaire car il a
côtoyé un des acteurs de cette guerre, et non des moindres, Vespasien. Mais ce général
juif cherche surtout à se justifier, ce qui lui a valu le reproche d’anachronisme,
surprenant pour un témoin.7 Des écrivains plus tardifs ont utilisé des auteurs souvent
perdus. Plutarque a sans doute lu, lui aussi, Cluvius Rufus mais, pour les événements
qui ont agité la Gaule, il a entendu le récit trop souvent méconnu du fils d’un des
révoltés gaulois, ce qui lui donne une valeur irremplaçable. Cependant lui aussi, comme
Tacite, cherche à faire œuvre de moraliste. Dion Cassius, qui a écrit encore plus
tardivement, au début du IIIe siècle, a utilisé une source inconnue, mais qui n’est pas
Tacite, d’où son intérêt. Parmi les écrivains les plus tardifs qui restent, il faut
mentionner l’abréviateur Aurélius Victor pour le IIIe siècle, un autre abréviateur du
temps de Valens, Eutrope, et un prêtre espagnol qui écrivit un vrai traité d’apologétique
en lui donnant une forme historique, Orose. Enfin, les émissions monétaires8 permettent
de comprendre quels étaient l’idéologie et le programme de chacun des compétiteurs en
course pour le pouvoir; mais là n’est pas notre propos.
les prétoriens puis reconnu par le Sénat le 8 juin 68.23 Comme Néron se suicida le 9 ou
plutôt le 11 juin 68,24 Galba put entrer dans Rome.25 Mais il laissa son pouvoir
s’affaiblir très vite.26 Dans la Ville, il trouva des adversaires,27 les néroniens,
particulièrement nombreux dans les rangs de la plèbe, et peu présents au Sénat. Et il
commit des erreurs, dont une lui fut fatale. Quand Nymphidius Sabinus lui rappela la
promesse de verser aux prétoriens une gratification, il refusa: “J’ai l’habitude, dit-il, de
recruter des soldats, pas de les acheter”. Cette belle formule lui aliéna définitivement
ces hommes qu’il avait déçus dans leurs attentes financières.28
Que l’armée de Germanie ait marché contre Vindex signifiait indirectement qu’elle
ne reconnaissait pas le pouvoir de Galba. Et donc qu’elle n’approuvait pas le ralliement
des prétoriens. Mais parler de “l’armée”, c’est comme parler de “la Gaule”: il faut
s’entendre sur les mots. Les prétoriens, les légionnaires et les auxiliaires, sans parler des
marins, n’avaient pas toujours les mêmes intérêts ni les mêmes sentiments. Et, à
l’intérieur de chaque corps, les officiers, qui appartenaient soit à l’ordre sénatorial soit à
l’ordre équestre, ne partageaient pas toujours les avis des hommes de troupe, ce qui ne
les empê-chait pas de les suivre quand ils sentaient qu’ils ne pouvaient pas faire
autrement.29
L’armée de Germanie,30 chargée d’assurer la sécurité de la Gaule, représentait une
force considérable, d’abord parce qu’elle bénéficiait d’un entraînement qui se déroulait
parfois en conditions réelles, quand elle devait affronter les barbares qui vivaient à l’est
du Rhin. Elle était en outre numériquement très forte, représentant plus du quart des
effectifs de l’armée impériale: sept légions,31 des auxiliaires, des marins et des renforts
divers. Quatre légions étaient en garnison dans la Germanie qui a été appelée
“inférieure” par la suite,32 la Ve Alaudae33 et la XVe Primigenia34 dans le même camp, à
Xanten (Castra Vetera ou simplement Vetera), la XVIe35 à Neuß (Novaesium), la Ie36 à
Bonn. Dans la future Germanie supérieure,37 en revanche, on ne comptait plus que trois
23 SUÉTONE, Galba 10; PLUTARQUE, Galba 2; DION CASSIUS 63.27.2. LE GALL et LE GLAY, op.
cit. (note 4), 223.
24 SUÉTONE, Néron 40-50; DION CASSIUS 63.29.2. LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 223.
25 LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 349.
26 SUÉTONE, Galba 6; 12.1 et 3; 16; DION CASSIUS 64.3.3.
27 GRASSL, op. cit. (note 1), 82.
28 GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 12-31.
29 TACITE, Histoires 4.27.8; 4.36; 4.56.
30 TACITE, Histoires 1.8-9 et 55. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 187 n. 6; URBAN, op. cit. (note 1), 76-
77.
31 L. KEPPIE, ‘The changing face of the Roman Legions (49 BC-AD 69)’, Papers of the British School
at Rome 65 (1997), 89-102.
32 TACITE, Annales 4.19,4; 4.25,1.
33 E. RITTERLING, RE XII,2 (1925), s.v. Legio, 1568-1569; Th. FRANKE, in Y. LE BOHEC - C.
WOLFF (éd.), Les légions de Rome, Actes du Congrès de Lyon (Lyon 2000), 39-48.
34 TACITE, Histoires 4.19.4; 4.25.1. E. RITTERLING, RE XII,2 (1925), 1759-1760; Y. LE BOHEC, in
Y. LE BOHEC - C. WOLFF (éd.), Les légions de Rome, Actes du Congrès de Lyon (Lyon 2000), 69.
35 E. RITTERLING, RE XII,2 (1925), 1763-1764; M. REALI, in Y. LE BOHEC - C. WOLFF (éd.), Les
légions de Rome, Actes du Congrès de Lyon (Lyon 2000), 657.
36 E. RITTERLING, RE XII,2 (1925), 379; LE BOHEC, art. cit. (note 34), 83-85.
37 TACITE, Annales 4.19.4; 4.25.1.
L’armée romaine et le maintien de l’ordre en Gaule (68-70) 155
unités de ce type, la IVe Macedonica38 et la XXIIe Primigenia39 dans une seule enceinte,
à Mayence (Mogontiacum), et la XXIe Rapax40 à Windisch (Vindonissa). On ne connaît
pas avec précision le nombre d’auxiliaires qui les accompagnaient, car ils sont rarement
mentionnés. Les effectifs devaient être équivalents. On sait que huit cohortes de
Bataves, détachées de l’armée de Bretagne, avaient quitté la XIVe légion,41 en garnison
dans cette province, et avaient été installées à Langres.42 Quant à la marine de guerre,
elle était répartie entre trois flottes, basées l’une à Fréjus,43 l’autre à Boulogne44 (classis
Britannica) et la troisième partagée entre les différents ports établis le long du Rhin
(classis Germanica).45 Les hommes qui voyageaient sur des vaisseaux se considéraient
comme des soldats, s’appelaient milites, et non pas marins, nautae.46 Ils possédaient un
instrument de guerre très performant, des navires plus gros, plus solides et mieux armés
qu’on ne l’a cru jadis.47 Ajoutons pour être complet que la Gaule possédait une garnison
à Lyon, une cohorte, la XVIIIe;48 une légion, la Ie Italica, et une aile, l’ala Tauriana,
avaient été installées de manière provisoire dans cette ville en 68.49
Le parti néronien était pourtant divisé. D’un côté, les légionnaires tiraient orgueil de
leur titre de citoyens romains. Dans ce sentiment se trouve peut-être une des clefs du
‘secret de l’Empire’. La question du recrutement joua donc un rôle déterminant dans la
crise de 68-69.50 Se dévouant pour protéger l’empire et vivant à la dure, ils se consi-
déraient comme les seuls vrais héritiers du populus Romanus. Ils méprisaient les préto-
riens, des dégénérés qui vivaient au milieu des plaisirs de la Ville. Ils avaient un devoir:
si l’empereur, leur chef suprême, se révélait inférieur à sa fonction, il leur incombait de
lui désigner un successeur (remarquons que les auxiliaires n’interviennent que rarement
dans les affaires proprement politiques).51
Le 1er janvier 69, les soldats de Mayence se prononcèrent contre Galba.52 Le lende-
main, leurs collègues de Germanie dite ‘inférieure’ envoyèrent des délégués à Cologne
et proclamèrent empereur le légat Vitellius, bien connu pour ses sympathies
néroniennes.53 Toutes les légions de Germanie, ou plutôt leurs soldats, encouragés par
des centurions exclus54 et suivis par les officiers, se rallièrent à ce choix.55 Bien plus, les
notables de diverses provinces, la Rétie, les Espagnes, la Bretagne et au moins une
partie de la Gaule, manifestèrent leur approbation, car Galba avait provoqué leur
hostilité par sa fiscalité.56
Mais d’un autre côté, parce qu’ils vivaient dans Rome, dont beaucoup étaient
originaires, et parce qu’ils formaient la garde impériale, les prétoriens considéraient
qu’ils étaient plus Romains que les légionnaires, souvent nés en Italie, quand ce n’était
pas dans les provinces elles-mêmes; ils pensaient donc qu’ils avaient de ce fait plus de
responsa-bilités que les autres.57 Ainsi se manifestait, de façon parallèle au cas
précédent, la question du recrutement. Après avoir abandonné Galba, les prétoriens
portèrent leurs suffrages sur Othon, un autre néronien, qu’ils proclamèrent empereur le
15 janvier 69.58 Ils firent donc un “coup d’État”.59 Poussé par la peur, le Sénat les suivit.
Les légionnaires du Danube, d’Orient, d’Afrique et d’Égypte approuvèrent cependant ce
choix, sans doute impressionnés par le prestige de la capitale et par le rôle d’unités
d’élite confié aux cohortes prétoriennes. Abandonné de tous, Galba fut massacré.60
Deux compétiteurs au pouvoir suprême qui appartenaient au même camp restaient en
lice. Le conflit était inévitable.61
Othon tenta pourtant de négocier. Mais les lettres échangées prirent vite un ton
aigre, et les injures succédèrent aux amabilités. Othon prit donc des précautions
militaires et envoya des troupes et des navires vers l’Italie du nord et vers la
Narbonnaise.62 La Gaule est de nouveau concernée. Un parti de Vitelliens fort de 2000
hommes, car il était composé de deux cohortes de Tongres, de quatre turmes de
cavaliers et d’une aile de Trévires, aux ordres d’un certain Classicus dont nous
52 TACITE, Histoires 1.12; SUÉTONE, Vitellius 8.1; AURÉLIUS VICTOR 8.1. LE GALL et LE GLAY,
op. cit. (note 4), 350 (le 3 janvier).
53 SUÉTONE, Vitellius 7.5; DION CASSIUS 64.4.2. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 185-186; A.
MOMIGLIANO, ‘Vitellio’, Studi Italiani di Filologia Classica 9 (1931), 117-161; Z. YAVETS,
‘Vitellius and the Fickleness of the Mob’, Historia 18 (1969), 557-569; A.J. COALE, Vitellius
imperator, Diss. Univ. of Michigan (Ann Arbor 1971); R.F. NEWBOLD, ‘Vitellius and the Roman
plebs’, Historia 21 (1972), 308-319; GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 55-73; LE GALL et LE GLAY,
op. cit. (note 4), 352 et 354; B. RICHTER, Vitellius (Francfort 1992).
54 PLUTARQUE, Galba 18.1; 22.7-8 et 12; EUTROPE 12. CHILVER, art. cit. (note 1), 33; C.L.
MURISON, Galba, Otho and Vitellius (Hildesheim 1993), 2.
55 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 186.
56 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 185.
57 E. HOHL, ‘Der Prätorianeraufstand unter Otho’, Klio 32 (1939), 307-324, et H. HÜBNER, ‘Der
Prätorianertumult vom Jahre 69 n. Chr.’, Rheinisches Museum 101 (1958), 339-353.
58 PLUTARQUE, Othon 1.1; 4; EUTROPE 11; DION CASSIUS 64.5.3. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 187;
B.H. STOLTE, ‘Pro Othone’ [en néderl.], Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 85 (1972), 489-494; LE
GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 351; MURISON, op. cit. (note 54), 2.
59 GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 32-54 (“coup d’État” en français dans le texte).
60 SUÉTONE, Galba 19.5; DION CASSIUS 64.7.4.
61 GRASSL, op. cit. (note 1), 105.
62 GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 78-81; LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 353.
L’armée romaine et le maintien de l’ordre en Gaule (68-70) 157
reparlerons, fut défait vers Fréjus ou Antibes.63 Dans le même temps, Vitellius déplaçait
ses légions vers l’Italie. Les Helvètes essayèrent de leur barrer le passage.64 En vain.
Dans ce contexte, les peuples de la Gaule et les provinces qui la composaient
présentaient un intérêt stratégique majeur. Vitellius en personne passait par Lyon puis
gagnait Rome.65 La rencontre décisive entre les deux armées eut lieu, comme on sait, à
Bédriac, le 14 avril 69,66 et elle fut accompagnée de scènes de cruauté qui marquèrent
beaucoup les esprits des contemporains et en particulier Tacite. Vaincu, Othon se
suicida le jour suivant.67 Il ne restait plus qu’un empereur.68
Le retour au pouvoir des néroniens ne faisait pas l’unanimité. Le Sénat, les notables
des provinces et tous ceux qui formaient le parti de l’ordre cherchèrent un autre héraut,
un autre candidat à l’empire, et le trouvèrent en la personne de Vespasien,69 légat
désigné par Néron pour vaincre la rébellion des Juifs. Le préfet d’Égypte, Ti. Julius
Alexander, se dépensa beaucoup pour gagner à sa cause toutes les légions d’Orient.70
Un autre séna-teur, Cerialis, lui obtint l’appui des armées du Danube.71 Différents
ralliements se manifestèrent, celui de la flotte de Fréjus,72 celui, attendu, des notables de
Narbonnaise d’abord,73 de l’ensemble de la Gaule ensuite.74 On se trouvait de nouveau
avec deux compétiteurs au titre impérial, Vitellius soutenu par la seule armée de
Germanie et Vespasien par tous les autres.75
2 LA RÉVOLTE DE LA GAULE
63 TACITE, Histoires 2.14-15. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 190; HATT, op. cit. (note 14), 143.
64 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 187-189; HATT, op. cit. (note 14), 143; GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note
1), 140-160.
65 SUÉTONE, Vitellius 10-11; DION CASSIUS 65.1.2 et 4. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 191; HATT, op.
cit. (note 14), 143.
66 SUÉTONE, Othon 9; PLUTARQUE, Othon 8-13; DION CASSIUS 64.10.3; AURÉLIUS VICTOR 7;
OROSE 7.8.6. A. PASSERINI, ‘Le due bataglie presso Betriacum’, in: Studi di antichità classica
offerti a E. Ciaceri (Rome 1940), 178-249; HATT, op. cit. (note 14), 143; G.E.F. CHILVER, ‘The
war between Otho and Vitellius and the North Italian towns’, Atti del Centro Studi e
Documentazione sull’Italia 3 (1970-1971), 101-114; LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 353.
67 SUÉTONE, Othon 11. CHILVER, art. cit. (note 1), 33.
68 GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 105-123.
69 G.M. BERSANETTI, Vespasiano (Rome 1941); L. HOMO, Vespasien, l’empereur du bon sens (Paris
1949); G. DALTROP, U. HAUSMANN et M. WEGNER, Die Flavier: Das römische Herrscherbild
II.1 (Berlin 1966); B. BALDWIN, ‘Vespasian and Freedom’, Rivista di Filologia e di Istruzione
Classica 103 (1975), 306-308; M.A. LEVI, ‘I Flavi. III. Vespasiano’, ANRW II.2 (1975), 185-197; J.
NICOLS, Vespasian and the partes flavianae (Historia Einzelschriften, 28) (Wiesbaden 1978); H.
BENGTSON, Die Flavier (Munich 1979); Atti del Congreso Internazionale di studi Vespasianei,
Rieti, sett. 1979 (Rieti 1981), 2 vol.
70 DION CASSIUS 65.8.4-9.1; AURÉLIUS VICTOR 8.3. GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 124-139; LE
GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 355.
71 DION CASSIUS 65.9.3. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 197.
72 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 198 et n. 8.
73 TACITE, Histoires 3.42-43. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 198 et n. 8.
74 TACITE, Histoires 3.44; voir plus loin.
75 SUÉTONE, Vespasien 6; EUTROPE 13. CHILVER, art. cit. (note 1), 34; B. LEVICK, Vespasian
(Londres 1999).
Yann Le Bohec 158
Une complication supplémentaire vint d’un endroit inattendu. Au mois d’août 69, dit
Tacite, le Batave Civilis demanda à son peuple de ne plus reconnaître le pouvoir central,
l’autorité de Rome.76 Les légions, qui auraient dû intervenir immédiatement contre cet
acte d’insubordination, restèrent dans un attentisme plutôt favorable à Civilis, ce qui est
pour le moins curieux. Tacite interpréta cette attitude comme un début de trahison.
Le conflit entre Vitellius et Vespasien devait, par nécessité, trouver une issue en
Italie et dans Rome, “le centre du pouvoir”. Le premier pouvait certes compter sur
l’armée de Germanie mais il bénéficiait aussi de la sympathie du petit peuple de Rome,
resté fidèle à l’idéologie de Néron. Le second comptait sur toutes les autres légions, en
particulier les légions du Danube, car l’armée d’Orient était trop engagée contre les
Juifs pour intervenir sur un autre théâtre d’opérations. Il était en outre appuyé par les
débris de la garnison de Rome, emplis de ressentiment contre les Vitelliens après leur
défaite de Bédriac, et par le “parti flavien”, que l’on peut également appeler “parti de
l’ordre”.
Le 24 octobre 69, la bataille de Crémone fit pendant à celle de Bédriac, mais cette
fois les Vitelliens furent vaincus.77 Ils tentèrent de prendre leur revanche dans Rome
même. Une bataille en milieu urbain éclata entre les adeptes du parti flavien, appuyés
par la garni-son de Rome, et le peuple, renforcé par des soldats de l’armée de
Germanie.78 Au cours des combats, un incendie éclata. Une partie de la Ville fut
détruite, ce qui était grave, et, le 19 décembre 69, le capitole brûla, ce qui était pire. La
destruction de ce temple, qui abritait les divinités poliades, fut connue dans les
provinces et fut interprétée par certains comme un signe: les dieux abandonnaient les
Romains.79 Ils n’abandonnaient cependant pas le parti flavien qui, au prix de lourdes
pertes, prit le dessus. Le 21 décembre, Vitellius se suicida.80 Le 22 décembre, les
légionnaires venus des provinces danubiennes faisaient leur entrée dans la capitale de
l’empire, une ville qu’ils n’auraient jamais dû voir.
La mort de Vitellius et l’incendie du capitole furent suivis par une extension de la
révolte en Gaule, et il paraît difficile de ne pas mettre en rapport ces événements. Si une
partie des notables gardait beaucoup de sympathie pour Vespasien, d’autres passèrent
aux côtés de Civilis. Déjà rebelles à l’autorité de Rome en 21, les Trévires, habitants de
la région de Trèves, rejoignirent le mouvement. Ils envoyèrent un des leurs, Montanus,
prendre langue avec Civilis.81 Puis deux chefs, Tutor et Classicus, imposèrent leur
autorité et le ralliement au Batave, par hostilité envers Rome selon Tacite que personne
76 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 199; P.A. BRUNT, ‘Tacitus on the Batavian revolt’, Latomus 19 (1960),
494-517; LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 356; URBAN, op. cit. (note 1), 69.
77 TACITE, Histoires 2.41-43; DION CASSIUS 64.11.3-15; AURÉLIUS VICTOR 8.5. E. NISCHER, ‘Die
Schlacht bei Cremona’, Klio 20 (1925), 187-201; PASSERINI, art. cit. (note 66), 178-249; CHILVER,
art. cit. (note 66), 101-114; GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 152-153; LE GALL et LE GLAY, op.
cit. (note 4), 356.
78 LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 356-357.
79 TACITE, Histoires 4.54; DION CASSIUS 65.17.3; OROSE 7.8.7. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 199;
GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 161-190.
80 SUÉTONE, Vitellius 17; DION CASSIUS 65.21.2; AURÉLIUS VICTOR 8.6; OROSE 7.8.8. LE GALL
et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 357.
81 TACITE, Histoires 4.32.
L’armée romaine et le maintien de l’ordre en Gaule (68-70) 159
n’est obligé de croire.82 Chez les Lingons, qui vivaient sur le plateau de Langres, ce fut
également un notable, et non des moindres, Sabinus, qui entraîna ses compatriotes dans
le mouvement, celui-ci par fidélité à Vitellius dit le même Tacite.83 Fait plus
extraordinaire, et insupportable pour l’historien latin, les révoltés entrèrent en
pourparlers avec des légions, en particulier avec la Ie et la XVIe.84
En un premier temps, et assez rapidement, le succès couronna l’entreprise, tant sur
le plan militaire que sur le plan politique. Il y eut une bataille entre les Bataves et des
Ro-mains attachés au respect de l’autorité en place, Vespasien en l’occurrence.85
Classicus s’empara du grand camp légionnaire de Xanten (Castra Vetera).86 Au début
de l’année 70, les révoltés tinrent une grande assemblée à Neuß (Novaesium),87 au cours
de laquelle ils proclamèrent “l’empire des Gaules”, l’imperium Galliarum, entité sur
laquelle plusieurs chercheurs ont réfléchi.88 Mais ce nom même a suscité l’indignation
de Tacite, indignation accrue quand il lui faut ajouter que des légions prêtèrent serment
de fidélité à un nouvel État. L’entente politique entre soldats et civils provoqua une
accélération des succès militaires. Les camps de Bonn,89 Cologne90 et Mayence91 furent
emportés par les révoltés.
Pour comprendre ce que fut réellement l’imperium Galliarum et ce que voulaient
ses fondateurs, le chercheur dispose de peu d’instruments, et il doit se méfier de Tacite
qui vent surtout donner une leçon de morale, quitte à déformer la vérité historique. Et il
entend montrer la vilenie des soldats qu’il oppose à la dignité et à la vertu de ses
collègues sénateurs. En fait, nous connaissons surtout deux des chefs de la rébellion,
deux des pères de l’imperium Galliarum. Mais leurs portraits, tels qu’ils se dégagent
d’une lecture critique de Tacite, confrontée aux autres sources, cadrent mal avec la
vulgate.
Civilis est présenté par Tacite, suivi par C. Jullian,92 comme un ennemi extérieur,
un barbare, un Germain, un Batave.93 Tout le désigne comme tel d’après l’écrivain latin:
82 TACITE, Histoires 4.37; 4.55.1-3. H. HEINEN, Trier und das Trevererland in römischer Zeit (Trèves
1985), 67-81.
83 TACITE, Histoires 1.64.4; 1.78.1; 4.55.1-3.
84 TACITE, Histoires 1.53.5-54. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 205-206; HATT, op. cit. (note 14), 142 et
149.
85 TACITE, Histoires 4.18-20 et 37.
86 TACITE, Histoires 4.23; 4.28-30. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 203 et 211.
87 TACITE, Histoires 4.59.8; 4.61.2; 4.75.1.
88 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 205; LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 364; GREENHALGH, op.
cit. (note 1), 191-220; URBAN, op. cit. (note 1), 72.
89 LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 364.
90 TACITE, Histoires 4.60 et 63-65. LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 364.
91 LE GALL et LE GLAY, op. cit. (note 4), 364.
92 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 202.
93 Sur ce peuple et, surtout, les soldats qu’il a donnés à Rome: L. BESSONE, ‘Il ruolo dei Batavi nel
Bellum Neronis’, Atene & Roma 22 (1977), 138-146; K. STROBEL, ‘Anmerkungen zur Geschichte
der Bataverkohorten’, ZPE 70 (1987), 271-292; O. SCHMITT, ‘Anmerkungen zum Bataver’, Bonner
Jahrbücher 193 (1993), 141-160; M.P. SPEIDEL, ‘Germanen in der kaiserlichen Leibwache’, in B.
et P. SCARDIGLI (éd.): Germani in Italia (Rome 1994), 151-157; M.-Th. RAEPSAET-CHARLIER,
‘Cité et municipe chez les Tongres, les Bataves [notamment au temps de Civilis] et les
Canninéfates’, Ktema 21 (1996), 251-269.
Yann Le Bohec 160
sa conduite, son apparence physique,94 ainsi que l’armement de ses hommes.95 De plus,
il accorde sa confiance à une prêtresse et devineresse appartenant à ce peuple, Velleda.96
En outre, il fait alliance avec des Germains, les Frisons, les Canninéfates, les Bructères
et les Tenctères.97 Enfin, descendant de rois, il aspire à la royauté, régime qui
caractérise les barbares en général, les Germains en particulier.98
Il convient toutefois de se montrer très prudent avec Tacite quand il présente Civilis
sous ce jour, et M.-Th. Raepsaet-Charlier, la première, a relevé que “l’interprétation de
la révolte des Bataves n’est pas simple”, en tout cas pas aussi simple que beaucoup
d’auteurs l’ont écrite.99 Remarquons tout d’abord qu’on ne saurait reprocher à un
homme la place que ses ancêtres ont ou n’ont pas tenue dans l’État et la société; on ne
peut pas reprocher à Civilis de descendre de rois. C’est là un faux procès.
Mais il y a plus et mieux. Le même Tacite, par ailleurs, dit que Civilis s’appelait
Julius, et appartenait à l’élite de son peuple: Iulius Paulus et Iulius Ciuilis regia stirpe
multo ceteros anteibant. Il faut d’abord en déduire qu’un de ses ancêtres avait reçu la
citoyenneté romaine de César pour l’avoir aidé dans sa conquête de la Gaule, ou
d’Auguste. Que ce soit de l’un ou de l’autre, il était descendant de Bataves non
seulement romanisés mais même très romanisés: la civitas Romana n’était pas donnée à
des personnages qui n’avaient pas fait preuve de leur volonté d’intégration à l’empire; il
leur fallait parler latin, porter la toge, vivre à la romaine et soutenir les intérêts de l’État.
Un document bien postérieur, il est vrai, la tabula banasitana, explique clairement
toutes les obligations qui précédaient cette promotion.100 Mais Civilis était bien plus
qu’un simple descendant de citoyens romains. Comme il avait servi dans l’armée
romaine en tant que préfet de cohorte, on admet en général qu’il était un eques: En ego
praefectus unius cohortis, dit-il d’après Tacite.101 Ce titre d’eques fait problème. Il a été
employé par César pour désigner les puissants de la Gaule indépendante, les élites de ce
pays, et, dans ce cas, il faut comprendre que Civilis appartenait au milieu des notables
municipaux les plus importants, les primores Galliae. On s’est demandé si, au début de
l’empire, des personnages de ce rang pouvaient exercer ce genre de commandements,102
qui, selon d’autres historiens,103 étaient réservés aux chevaliers romains, les equites
Romani. De toute façon, les primores Galliae qui accédaient à ces responsabilités
étaient plus près de l’ordre équestre que de l’humble plèbe.
aussi avait commandé une unité militaire: sous Vitellius, il avait pris la tête d’une ala
Treverorum, comme nous l’avons dit plus haut.116 Cette carrière ne l’avait pas empêché
de se rallier à Civilis et à l’empire des Gaules. Le savant allemand R. Urban voit en lui
un autre Sabinus, et on ne saurait lui donner tort.117
Ces révoltés ont été mal compris, d’abord parce que Tacite a déformé le sens qu’il
fallait donner à leur action pour noircir les chefs qui s’étaient engagés dans la guerre
civile, et ensuite parce que les modernes ont commis des anachronismes. Dans une
phrase belle et donc célèbre mais manifestement fausse, Tacite affirma que “les Gaulois
(com-battaient) pour la libertas, les Bataves pour la gloire, et les Germains pour le
butin”.118 Si les motifs fiscaux ont été souvent oubliés, le patriotisme a été avancé
comme motif d’action surtout par C. Jullian. Ce grand historien, parce qu’il avait été
très marqué par la guerre entre la France et l’Allemagne, a proposé une interprétation de
ces événements moins heureuse que celles qu’il a souvent données. Il pensa que les
Gaulois se battaient pour la “liberté”,119 il décrivit “le complot national en Gaule”,120 et
il conçut cet empire des Gaules comme une restauration de l’État qu’avait gouverné
Luern et qu’avait voulu recréer Vercingétorix.121
Il y a en réalité une confusion sur le mot libertas qui a plusieurs sens, et duquel les
modernes ont donné une mauvaise interprétation.122 Comme Florus le Trévire et
Sacrovir l’Éduen, en 21,123 les révoltés de 69-70 veulent jouer un plus grand rôle en
Gaule, ils demandent plus d’autonomie par rapport au gouverneur, plus de respect de la
part de ce dernier, et ils souhaitent une fiscalité plus légère, la suppression du tribut,
humiliant parce qu’il est payé par les vaincus et qu’il est donc symbole de défaite. On
comprend d’ailleurs sans peine que tous ces Jules, descendants de Gaulois qui ont aidé
César à conquérir la Gaule, éprouvent quelque amertume à payer le tribut comme
n’importe quel patriote gaulois.
Il reste cependant un cas particulier, celui d’un personnage peu et mal connu,
Maricc le Boïen.124 Il tenta de restaurer “la Gaule de Vercingétorix”, comme le dit C.
Jullian qui, cette fois, a été mieux inspiré. Maricc, appartenant à un peuple que l’on a du
mal à localiser, vivait quelque part dans le centre de la Gaule. Il venait d’un milieu
social bien plus humble que les autres. Il se présenta en dieu, deus, ce qu’aucun des
autres n’avait fait, et se proclama adsertor Galliarum, “libérateur des Gaules”. Il
rassembla 8000 hommes et quelques volontaires venus des cantons proches. Vaincu sur
le champ de bataille, il fut livré aux bêtes dans l’amphithéâtre, conformément à son
statut social.
3 LE RETOUR À L’ORDRE
L’armée romaine, facteur de désordre, se fit aussi l’instrument du retour à l’ordre.125
Maricc avait été balayé, comme on l’a vu, par des cohortes de Vitelliens, donc peu
avant la mort de leur chef. Ce qui est plus intéressant, c’est que les troupes régulières
avaient été appuyées par des milices locales, par la iuventus des Éduens.126 On appelait
iuventus des sortes de clubs réservés aux fils de bonnes familles vivant dans les cités des
provinces.127 Les milieux aisés soutenaient clairement Rome et Vespasien.
Deux généraux furent particulièrement chargés du rétablissement de l’ordre.
Frontin, l’auteur du célèbre traité Sur les aqueducs de Rome et du moins connu
recueil de Stratagèmes, se rendit chez les Lingons. Il proposa la citoyenneté romaine
aux notables qui se rendraient sans combattre.128
Cerialis avait reçu une véritable armée, composée de huit légions, d’auxiliaires et de
forces navales.129 Des renforts, pris sur les IIe, XIIIe et XIVe légions, lui furent égale-
ment donnés.130 Avec ces forces, il bouscula sans peine les troupes des Trévires,
impres-sionnés notamment par la conduite des Romains lors de l’affaire de Rigodulum:
sur ordre et au prix de pertes notables, les légionnaires passèrent dans un endroit exposé
pour atteindre une hauteur voisine et mieux dominer la position de leurs ennemis.131 La
milice des Trévires se débanda.132 Classicus fut vaincu.133 Il choisit de s’enfuir en
Germanie indépendante, au-delà du Rhin, plutôt que de se suicider, comme auraient fait
des séna-teurs. Tutor fut emporté dans la défaite.134 Le général romain reprit Mayence,
où se trouvaient des cohortes de Bataves,135 puis Cologne136 et remporta une bataille
près de Xanten.137
L’armée romaine reçut un renfort inattendu et, au moins politiquement appréciable,
de la part des civils de la Gaule qui levèrent des milices pour l’aider dans son entreprise
de rétablissement de l’ordre. On a vu la iuventus des Éduens combattre les Boïens. Les
Séquanes se jetèrent avec plaisir sur les Lingons qu’ils détestaient depuis la nuit des
temps, et ils leur infligèrent une défaite sans appel.138 Sabinus, qui aurait pu se suicider
125 HATT, op. cit. (note 14), 152-154, parle d’une reconquête de la Gaule, ce qui paraît excessif;
GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 221-242.
126 TACITE, Histoires 2.61.
127 M. JACZYNOWSKA, Les associations de la jeunesse romaine (Wroclaw 1978).
128 FRONTIN, Stratagèmes 4.3.14. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 212; F. GALLI, ‘A proposito di Frontino,
Strat. 4,3,14’, Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica 55 (1997), 119-122.
129 TACITE, Histoires 4.79.4 et 6; DION CASSIUS 66.3.2.
130 TACITE, Histoires 5.14 et 16.
131 TACITE, Histoires 4.71.6-9. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 213-214; J. METZLER, ‘L’oppidum du
Titelberg et la cité des Trévires’, Revue Archéologique (1997), 210-213.
132 TACITE, Histoires 4.71.
133 TACITE, Histoires 4.70 et 77-78. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 215.
134 Voir note précédente.
135 TACITE, Histoires 4.15.4. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 213-214.
136 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 216.
137 JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 216-217.
138 TACITE, Histoires 4.67.2; FRONTIN, Stratagèmes 4.3.14; PLUTARQUE, De l’amour 25 (moralia
770 d-771 c). JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 212.
Yann Le Bohec 164
ou s’enfuir au-delà du Rhin, préféra, par amour pour son épouse Éponine, se cacher.139
Il incendia une grande demeure qui lui appartenait, et fit dire qu’il avait péri dans les
flammes. En réalité, il se terra pendant neuf ans. Sa femme le nourrissait, l’entretenait,
l’aimait. C’est ainsi qu’elle lui donna deux garçons. Mais au bout de neuf ans, il fut dé-
noncé, arrêté et transféré à Rome. Vespasien pleura sur son sort, mais, en tant qu’empe-
reur, se sentit obligé de le condamner à mort. Éponine demanda à partager son destin, et
elle obtint satisfaction au moins sur ce point. L’empereur, pour manifester ses bons
sentiments, s’engagea à assurer l’avenir des enfants du couple. Et c’est ainsi que l’un
d’eux, partant pour rejoindre un poste d’officier équestre, passa par Delphes où il ren-
contra Plutarque à qui il confia l’histoire admirable de son admirable mère.
Les notables de la Gaule et Civilis connurent le succès également dans le domaine
politique. Les premiers restaient attachés à la romanisation, à la paix, à l’ordre que leur
apportait la force des légions. Ils suscitèrent une nouvelle assemblée des Gaules, un
concilium Galliarum, qui se tint à Reims.140 Le nom donné à cette réunion et le lieu
choisi n’étaient pas sans évoquer César et la guerre des Gaules. Ils s’opposaient à la
rencontre de Neuß, qui avait proclamé l’imperium Galliae. Les Rèmes, et en particulier
Julius Auspex,141 affirmèrent que le choix était entre pax et libertas.142 Ils emportèrent
la décision. Les notables de Gaule choisirent Vespasien, Rome et la paix, abandonnant
jusqu’à l’idée d’autonomie.
Cerialis, pour sa part, a prononcé un discours célèbre, étudié par Ch.-M. Ternes qui
y voit un programme pour l’empire.143 Il faut sans doute se méfier des discours qui se
trouvent dans les ouvrages des historiens anciens: ils sont souvent récrits. Mais Tacite
sait respecter, à défaut de la forme, du moins le fonds. Le général affirmait que les
destins de la Gaule et de Rome était liés; il ajoutait que les provinces pouvaient faire
l’histoire; mais il rappelait aussi que, finalement, les grandes décisions se prenaient à
Rome.
De manière concrète, après sa victoire, il manifesta une vertu très chère à César et à
Auguste, la clémence. Il sut pardonner aux Trévires, aux autres peuples et aux légions.
C’était une nécessité politique, car il n’avait guère le choix, sauf à poursuivre une
guerre qui risquait de devenir un conflit sans fin. C’était aussi un stratagème qui, pour le
moins, divisait les forces ennemies.
Complètement vaincu, sur tous les plans, tant politique que militaire, Civilis
s’enfuit au-delà du Rhin en septembre ou octobre 70. À la fin de la même année 70,
l’ordre était complètement rétabli en Gaule.144
4 EPILOGUE
Civilis, Sabinus, Tutor et Classicus ne doivent pas être pris pour des barbares ennemis
de Rome, quoi qu’en ait écrit Tacite.
139 PLUTARQUE, pass. cité. LE BOHEC, art. cit. (note 109), 194-213.
140 TACITE, Histoires 4.69. HATT, op. cit. (note 14), 151-152.
141 TACITE, Histoires 4.69.
142 TACITE, Histoires 4.67. JULLIAN, op. cit. (note 11), 210; HOSE, art. cit. (note 118), 297-309.
143 TERNES, art. cit. (note 122), 112-122. Sur la réorganisation du temps de Vespasien, voir
GREENHALGH, op. cit. (note 1), 243-256.
144 DION CASSIUS 66.3.2.
L’armée romaine et le maintien de l’ordre en Gaule (68-70) 165
Les peuples de la Gaule ont, dans l’ensemble, manifesté une remarquable fidélité à
Rome, et leur intérêt pour les affaires de l’empire est allé jusqu’à l’engagement dans
une guerre civile. Les Éduens et les Arvernes ont soutenu l’action de Julius Vindex
contre Néron. Les Helvètes ont essayé de barrer la route de l’Italie aux Vitelliens pour
aider les Othoniens. Les Éduens, encore eux, ont aidé à réprimer l’insurrection de
Maricc, sans doute le seul mouvement vraiment celtique et patriotique de ce conflit. Et
les Séquanes ont, à eux seuls, écrasé l’insurrection des Lingons de Sabinus. Quant aux
insurgés, Bataves, Lingons et Trévires, ils souhaitaient seulement payer moins d’impôts
et obtenir un peu plus d’autonomie. À côté de ceux qui ont pris parti dans un sens ou
dans un autre, d’autres peuples, comme les Trévires et les Ubiens, ont tantôt appuyé
Civilis et tantôt l’ont combattu. Mais, dans un cas comme dans l’autre, ils se
conduisaient en habitants de l’empire, en fidèles sujets de l’empereur.
Pour leur part, les légionnaires eux aussi se sont, en fait, conduits comme des
citoyens romains, partisans dans une guerre civile. L’armée de Germanie a défendu
Néron contre Julius Vindex puis Galba; elle a ensuite soutenu Vitellius contre Othon. Et
les officiers ont suivi les soldats. Si ces derniers se sont finalement ralliés à Vespasien,
c’est parce que le monde romain était saoulé de violences. Leur attitude envers Civilis,
neutre puis bienveillante enfin hostile, ne s’explique pas autrement. Les auxiliaires,
même s’ils ressentaient quelque jalousie professionnelle à l’égard des légionnaires, les
suivaient sur le plan politique. Il en va de même des marins.145
M.-Th. Raepsaet-Charlier a fait une juste remarque sur la personnalité de Civilis;
son point de vue demandait à être développé: oui, la situation du révolté ne doit pas être
caricaturée. On la complètera par une autre observation de Ch.-M. Ternes qui, elle
aussi, appelle une légère amplification: le savant luxembourgeois voyait dans ces
événements de 69-70 une guerre à moitié civile et à moitié étrangère. Il semble que
Civilis a été un Romain de province pris dans une guerre entre citoyens, et que les choix
de l’armée de Germanie entrent dans le même cadre. Parce qu’il méprise les soldats et
pour montrer l’horreur de la guerre civile et ses dangers, Tacite a noirci le tableau.
145 TACITE, Histoires 4.79.4; 5.18; 5.21.4; 5.22.9; 5.23.4. Les marins se comportent comme des
auxiliaires aussi bien sur le plan tactique que sur le plan politique.
Power without Limit: ‘The Romans always win’ 167
Brian Campbell
1 INTRODUCTION
A recent discovery has brought us an enigmatic message scratched on a rock face in
southern Jordan — “The Romans always win. I, Lauricius write this, Zeno.”1 Is this a
boastful Roman, or a disgruntled local commenting on the pointlessness of dealing with
the Romans, seemingly unstoppable by war or negotiation? Many modern
commentators have discussed the role of the army and the place of warfare in Roman
culture and society. By contrast, a recent book on ancient diplomacy omitted the Roman
period completely.2 In a way this reflects the views of ancient writers. The Greek
historian Polybius in a famous generalization about Roman methods, said: “The
Romans rely on force in all their undertakings, and consider that having set themselves
a task they are bound to carry it through.”3 Virgil gave poetic expression to the self-
confident superiority of the high empire by making Jupiter say: “To this people I have
given power without limit.” While other peoples are to specialize in the arts or
astronomy, the Romans’ role is to govern nations and to teach mankind the habit of
peace, which however means that they will spare the downtrodden (i.e. those who gave
in) and war down the arrogant (i.e. those who resisted).4
We know comparatively little about how and why the Romans took major foreign
policy decisions, especially in the imperial period. Ancient writers rarely analysed how
the army ought to be deployed, or its role as an occupation force, or methods of imperial
control. There were few questioning voices among the Roman élite about the morality
of empire. Moreover, writers often fail to give clear accounts of wars of
aggrandizement, suppression or pacification. So, our picture of the army as it operated
in the subject territories is extremely fragmentary. In fact, much of our evidence does
not concern the army in action. Inscriptions tell us about the careers of officers and
soldiers but rarely about the conduct of war. Papyri have much detailed information
about the administration and organization of the army, but rarely anything about actual
fighting. Furthermore, although archaeology has much useful material to contribute, is
often difficult to interpret and cannot effectively illuminate individual campaigns and
their consequences for the local population. So, although Roman soldiers as instruments
1 Quoted in D.J. MATTINGLY (ed.), Dialogues in Roman Imperialism (Portsmouth, Rhode Island
1997), 185. In what follows CIL = Th. MOMMSEN et al. (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum
(Berlin 1863-); ILS = H. DESSAU (ed.), Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae (Berlin 1892-1916); Digest =
Th. MOMMSEN (ed.), Digesta; Corpus Iuris Civilis vol. 1 (Berlin 1872).
2 E. OLSHAUSEN and H. BILLER, Antike Diplomatie (Darmstadt 1979).
3 POLYBIUS 1.37.7.
4 Aeneid 1.279; 6.851-853.
Brian Campbell 168
5 These issues are discussed by G. FORNI, Il reclutamento delle legioni da Augusto a Diocleziano
(Milan 1953); ‘Estrazione etnica e sociale dei soldati delle legioni nei primi tre secoli dell’impero’,
in ANRW II.1 (Berlin 1974), 339-391; Esercito e marina di Roma antica (Stuttgart 1992).
6 See below.
Power without Limit: ‘The Romans always win’ 169
To sum up, most of the army was permanently based outside Italy in the territory of
peoples previously independent but now subject to Rome, supposedly in constant
readiness for war. Most people are likely to have viewed soldiers whatever their origins
as part of the Roman establishment, foreign occupying forces, who would obey the
orders of their commanders above all else, and who were in any case likely to act in
their own self-interest. Of course through military service many men acquired Roman
citizenship and became accustomed to the Roman way of life. Consequently the military
structure may have indirectly promoted Romanization or acculturation, though this can
hardly have been a deliberate policy.
7 LIVY 31.34.4; W.V. HARRIS, War and Imperialism in Republican Rome 327-70 B.C. (Oxford
1979), 51.
8 TACITUS, Annals 1.51; 2.17-18.
9 DIO 54.22.4-5.
10 VELLEIUS 2.115.2.
11 ILS 986.
Brian Campbell 170
and bring a war to a close after a successful battle.12 Indeed, the Romans occasionally
resorted to mutilation. The second century historian Florus, who apparently despised
foreign peoples, refers to war against the Thracians; “captives were savagely treated by
fire and sword, but the barbarians thought that nothing was more awful than that they
should be left alive with their hands cut off and be forced to survive their
punishment.”13 Leaders of hostile peoples who did not die in battle or commit suicide
(like Decebalus) were often brought back to Rome to be paraded in the emperor’s
triumphal procession, after which they were ceremonially executed, like Simon son of
Gioras in the triumph of Vespasian and Titus over the Jews.14
The Romans displayed determination, skill, and extreme violence in conducting
sieges and making a cruel example of those who took refuge behind walls. Polybius
noted the methods of the Romans during the storming of New Carthage in 209 B.C.:
“(Scipio Africanus) directed most of them, according to the Roman custom, against the
people in the city, telling them to kill everyone they met and to spare no one, and not to
start looting until they received the order. I suppose that the purpose of this custom is to
strike terror. One can often see in cities captured by the Romans not only human beings
who have been slaughtered, but even dogs sliced in two and the limbs of other animals
cut off.”15 That the Romans lost none of their aggressiveness we can see from Josephus’
account of the siege of Jotapata early in the Jewish revolt of A.D. 66-70. Josephus
commanded the Jews penned up in the city by Vespasian and three Roman legions
supported by auxiliaries and one hundred and sixty catapults. The end was
characteristic. “On that day the Romans massacred all the people who showed
themselves. On the following days they searched the hiding places and took their
vengeance on those who hid in underground vaults and caverns. They spared no one
whatever their age, except for children and women. One thousand two hundred
prisoners were collected, and the total number of the dead, both during the final capture
and in earlier battles, was calculated at 40,000. Vespasian ordered the city to be razed to
the ground and all the forts to be burnt.”16 The professional elimination by the Roman
army of besieged peoples contributed to an impression of overwhelming power that
could not be stopped, and could have a devastating psychological effect on
neighbouring communities. Tacitus comments on the massacre of 10,000 people at
Uspe in the Crimea: “The destruction of Uspe instilled terror into the others. Weapons,
fortifications, mountains and obstacles, rivers, and cities had all equally been
overcome.”17 It is indeed not surprising that many peoples quietly accepted the rule of
Rome and her agents, since the economic and social consequences of defeat by the
Roman army were incalculable.18
12 Stratagems 2.9.2-5.
13 1.39.7.
14 JOSEPHUS, Jewish War 7.153-155.
15 10.15.4-6.
16 JOSEPHUS, Jewish War 3.336-338.
17 TACITUS, Annals 12.17.
18 Note the warning to the Jews in A.D. 66 put into the mouth of Agrippa II (JOSEPHUS, Jewish War
2.362). For JOSEPHUS’ attitude towards the war, see T. RAJAK, Josephus (London 1983), 78-103;
M. GOODMAN, The Ruling Class of Judaea (Cambridge 1987).
Power without Limit: ‘The Romans always win’ 171
From the early Republic Rome often expressed her military domination over other
peoples by the systematic annexation of land. In a way this was an expression of the
power of the Roman soldiers, since if land was confiscated from the enemy and the
inhabitants expelled, it was often granted to the soldiers whose bravery had won it for
Rome. Siculus Flaccus noted, “Wars created the motive for dividing up land. For land
captured from the enemy was allocated to the victorious soldiery and veterans...”.19 The
captured land was divided up into rectangles or squares (often containing 200 iugera),
marked out by balks (limites) of regulation width, which made a dramatic and highly
visible statement of Rome’s overwhelming power to arrange the affairs of defeated
peoples as she thought best. Land settlements often accompanied the establishment of
colonies in strategic locations according to the military situation.
After the early period the Romans did not annex and divide land in large quantities
for distribution to her citizens, although they did continue to found military colonies
into the second century A.D. Instead, the Romans dominated defeated peoples and their
population centres, established territorial provinces, and exercised administrative
control through their officials, supported by a military garrison where necessary.
Naturally, the Romans sought to profit from the land of defeated peoples by imposing
taxation, but they did not usually rely on force alone and tried to win the co-operation of
the local élite, by offering concessions, a treaty, and polite communication.20 At
intervals throughout the imperial period the Romans embarked on major campaigns of
aggrandizement and conquest at the whim of emperors: in A.D. 43 the invasion of
Britain, the annexation of the kingdom of Dacia (Transylvania) in two wars (101-102;
105-106), and Mesopotamia (Iraq) in 197-199. In addition, other areas ruled by friendly
kings were peacefully absorbed into the empire, such as Cappadocia, Thrace,
Mauretania. Also troops were sometimes brought into provinces that previously were
free of them, e.g. Raetia, Noricum, Cappadocia, Arabia.
By A.D. 200 there were thirty-three legions in service, permanently and
prominently stationed in nineteen of the provinces of the empire.21 Furthermore, in
those provinces that escaped a legionary presence, there were often small detachments
of auxiliary troops based in forts whose job was to keep order and supervise roads and
other installations. There were also troops in attendance on the governor, acting as
bodyguards and messengers. Some provinces must have seemed much closer to a
permanent war footing. Britain had to find room for three legions, and around A.D. 210
there were legionary bases at Caerleon (Isca), Chester (Deva), and York (Eburacum), as
well as many smaller forts for auxiliary troops in a garrison of around 50,000 men.22
Throughout the empire legionary bases were sited wherever suited the Roman army’s
requirements. Many were at important road junctions and river crossings in an area with
potential for commerce and trade. Most of these locations have been more or less
19 C. THULIN (ed.), Corpus Agrimensorum Romanorum I.1 (Leipzig 1913 and sStuttgart 1971), 119.
20 For example, the treaty with Astypalaea in 105 B.C. (R.K. SHERK, Roman Documents from the
Greek East [Baltimore 1969], no. 16).
21 The provinces are: Britain (3), Spain (1), Lower Germany (2), Upper Germany (2), Raetia (1),
Noricum (1), Upper Pannonia (3), Lower Pannonia (1), Upper Moesia (2), Lower Moesia (2), Dacia
(2), Cappadocia (2), Mesopotamia (2), Syria Coele (2), Syria Phoenice (1), Syria Palaestina (2),
Arabia (1), Egypt (1), Numidia (1). There was also a legion stationed in Italy at Albanum, north of
Rome.
22 D. BREEZE and B. DOBSON, Roman Officers and Frontiers (Stuttgart 1993), 530.
Brian Campbell 172
continuously occupied thereafter, and many have remained or have become important
centres and indeed capital cities in the modern world, like Ara Ubiorum (Köln) and
Bonna (Bonn) in Lower Germany, Moguntiacum (Mainz) and Argentorate (Strasbourg)
in Upper Germany, Castra Regina (Regensburg) in Raetia, Vindobona (Vienna) in
Upper Pannonia, Aquincum (Budapest) in Lower Pannonia, Singidunum (Belgrade) in
Upper Moesia, Melitene (Malatya) in Cappadocia, Aelia Capitolina (Jerusalem) in Syria
Palaestina, Legio (León) in Spain. In the west legionary troops were generally quartered
in purpose built camps (normally containing a single legion, sometimes with auxiliary
troops), and garrison towns grew up with the legions. In the east garrisons were often
based in existing, long-established cities, such as Cyrrhus, Zeugma, and Samosata,
though some bases did influence the development of towns, e.g., Melitene and Satala.23
The Romans positioned the army so that it could march to defend the territories
from which they profited, or launch wars of conquest. But the army could also march
from its bases deeper into the provinces, and for much of the time was effectively an
army of occupation in subject territory with the task of supervising internal security.
This military structure was the basis of Roman government, administration, and control
and had consequences both for Rome and her subject communities. Most notably, local
communities, whether formally disarmed or not, were in no position to offer internal
security or policing and in any case looked towards the Romans to deal with these
problems since the army already exacted a heavy burden in taxation. This dependence
suited the Romans. They could act as they pleased and exploit the need of the local élite
for support.
alone. Earlier, in the aftermath of Trajan’s campaigns against Parthia, the Jews of the
Diaspora had risen in revolt, firstly in Egypt and north Africa in A.D. 115, and then in
Mesopotamia from 116. There were racist massacres as Jews and Greeks fought one
another, and over one million people were thought to have died; in Cyprus the Greeks
were massacred by the victorious Jews with the loss of 250,000 lives, and there was
fierce fighting all over Egypt.25 Other native revolts though less important, were
probably very damaging for local people.26 So, all out war was one instrument of
Roman power even within the confines of the territories they ruled, and the army did
not alter its methods and tactics whether dealing with revolts or waging wars of
conquest.27
25 In general, E.M. SMALLWOOD, The Jews under Roman Rule (Leiden 1976); E. SCHÜRER, The
History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (rev. G. VERMES, F. MILLAR, M. BLACK
and M. GOODMAN, 3 vols.; Edinburgh 1973-1987), 529-534 and 542-557; disturbances in Egypt: R.
ALSTON, Soldier and Society in Roman Egypt (London - New York 1995), 75-77.
26 For example, Tacfarinas in Africa: TACITUS, Annals 2.52; 3.20; 3.32; 3.73; 4.23-25. Note also the
rebellion of Florus and Sacrovir in Gaul (Annals 3.40-46). Boukoloi in Egypt: DIO 71.4; ALSTON,
op. cit. (note 25), 77.
27 We may note here the systematic violence perpetrated by the emperor Caracalla on the population of
Alexandria in A.D. 215 for their allegedly rebellious conduct, though the extent of the bloodshed has
perhaps been exaggerated by hostile sources (DIO 77.22-23; HERODIAN 4.9).
28 Annals 1.9.
29 Roman History, pr. 7. Note the discussion of this passage by C.R. WHITTAKER, ‘Where are the
frontiers now?’, in D.L. KENNEDY (ed.), The Roman Army in the East (Ann Arbor 1996), 36f.
30 ILS 986.
31 Stratagems 1.1.8.
32 ILS 8938.
33 Tiberius 41.
Brian Campbell 174
34 ILS 103.
35 ILS 371.
36 ILS 419.
37 For the Roman army as an army of occupation in the eastern provinces, see ISAAC, op. cit. (note 23),
especially 101-160.
38 ALSTON, op. cit. (note 25) 33-38; the army and internal security: ibid., 74-79.
39 This is emphasized by ISAAC, op. cit. (note 23), 160.
Power without Limit: ‘The Romans always win’ 175
stationarii (a kind of seconded road guard) expanded their role and acquired a doubtful
reputation as tax collectors and supervisors of the imperial post.40 At the local level
soldiers supported government officials and became enforcers of their decisions, in
some cases quite improperly. Lucilius Capito, rascally procurator of Asia under Tiberius
had used soldiers to enforce his commands.41 Pliny wrote to Trajan from Bithynia
asking for permission to carry on using soldiers to guard public prisons. Trajan replied
that as few soldiers as possible should be called away from their usual military duties,
but it is clear that soldiers were likely to be used in this kind of police job.42
From this it was a short step to a situation where soldiers detained or arrested small-
time criminals and hoodlums at the behest of those in authority. Then it made sense for
such men to be tried by the military authorities as well. In practice this meant that the
case would be delegated to the man in charge of a detachment of soldiers, in many cases
a centurion. A number of legal cases recorded on papyri in Egypt suggests that at least
in this province, and there is no reason to suppose that the same was not true in other
provinces, centurions informally exercised an effective legal authority and arrived at de
facto remedies for litigants. The cases deal with, among other things, assault, theft, tax
collecting, and the criminal activities of administrators. Centurions were asked to bring
individuals to justice, to carry out searches, or to provide protection.43 The litigants
presumably were unable or unwilling to exercise their full legal rights, and hoped for a
quick settlement. It is interesting that they or their legal advisers humbly supplicated
Roman centurions as figures of power and authority, the representatives of a mighty
army. Clearly local people would want to keep on the right side of them, In practice,
centurions, backed up by the soldiers they commanded, administered a kind of rough
justice. They brought the operation of the central government right into village life, and
emphasized the apparently all-seeing presence of the Roman army. In this, as in so
many activities, the army was both a source of potential benefits and also a threat.
Bandits brought one of the most persistent threats to law and order.44 The jurist
Ulpian, writing in the third century, said “Enemies (hostes) are those against whom the
Roman people has formally declared war, or who themselves have declared war against
the Roman people; others are called robbers or bandits.”45 Often the effects of banditry
could be limited, in that bandits tended to make rapid raids in order to steal cattle,
moveable possessions, liquor, and stored food. But in some areas banditry was a
persistent scourge, notably in Cilicia and Isauria, Judaea, Gaul at times, Sardinia, Egypt,
and also Numidia and Mauretania. In A.D. 145 with the assistance of a detachment of
the legion VI Ferrata from Judaea a road was built along the hills behind the legionary
base at Lambaesis to open up an area know as the Saltus Arausius, which was
apparently a hideaway for bandits. The trouble in Mauretania was followed by a general
40 Evidence in R. MACMULLEN, Soldier and Civilian in the Later Roman Empire (Cambridge, Mass.
1963), 50-59; ISAAC, op. cit. (note 23), 112f.; ALSTON, op. cit. (note 25), 79-86.
41 TACITUS, Annals 4.15.
42 PLINY, Letters 10.19-20.
43 See now the detailed discussion in ALSTON, op. cit. (note 25), 86-96.
44 See R. MACMULLEN, Enemies of the Roman Order (Cambridge, Mass. 1966), 192-241, 255-68; B.
SHAW, ‘Bandits in the Roman empire’, Past and Present 105 (1984), 3-52; K. HOPWOOD,
‘Bandits, elites and rural order’, in A. WALLACE-HADRILL (ed.), Patronage in Ancient Society
(London - New York 1989), 171-87; ISAAC, op. cit. (note 23), 77-89.
45 Digest 49.15.24.
Brian Campbell 176
uprising of the Moors, which required the dispatch of military reinforcements from
other provinces.46 Isolated cases like this give us a glimpse of what the Roman army
was up to.
In general, brigandage was not specifically nationalistic or anti-Roman, but
embraced men disaffected with the greed and oppression of Roman officials, the
destitute, escaped slaves, fugitives, people displaced by enemy incursions, and also
army deserters. Only in Judaea does the apparently persistent banditry described by the
literary sources seems to be exceptional, in that to some extent it was ideologically
motivated by Jewish religious and nationalistic beliefs and sometimes the Romans
themselves were specifically the targets.47
The Roman took vigorous steps to repress bandits. Sometimes local forces were
used, such as village guards under the command of the irenarch, a local official with
minor responsibility for law and order, and border or mountain guards.48 But often the
Roman army was deployed to deal with bandits, supported where appropriate by the
imperial navy. These full-scale military operations were sometimes accompanied by the
building of watch towers and guard posts to supervise main roads.49 An inscription from
Intercisa in Pannonia records the site of an army watchtower constructed in the reign of
Commodus for surveillance over “places liable to clandestine forays by bandits.”50
Although tough military measures might be effective in the short term, the problem was
that brigands could often retreat to mountain strongholds, which would have required a
disproportionate effort to storm. Doubtless they had sympathisers among the local
people who could help them to slip away. So, military action had to be repeated and this
in itself also involved disruption and probably expense for local communities. For
ordinary people in some regions, despite the presence of the Roman army and in the
midst of the Pax Romana, day to day life remained perilous. One memorial, set up by
parents to their son, must serve as an illustration: “Valerius Marcus lived for eighteen
years and was killed by bandits.”51
Mamertinus, prefect of Egypt (A.D. 133-137), about the improper requisition of boats
and animals and guides by soldiers travelling through the province. “Because of this
private persons are subjected to arrogance and abuse and the army has come to be
censored for greed and injustice.”59
This kind of evidence shows how absolute was the control of the army of
occupation among local communities and just how brutal and demoralising it might be.
Despite this it cannot be said that the empire was a military monarchy in which the
whole of society was arranged to suit the army and was subservient to its needs, or that
the government deliberately used the troops to crush the spirit of the population.
Furthermore, it is possible that the integration of the army into local life offered some
protection from bullying soldiers.60
stimulus to trade, since the evidence is fragmented and usually lacks chronological
precision.
In general the economic effects of the army’s presence should not be exaggerated.
Soldiers were often widely dispersed and based in small groups. Even a legionary base
might contain only five or six thousand men, and many could be dispersed on
secondment elsewhere. It is quite likely that many soldiers would often have little or no
money to spend, or spend it rapidly in the wine shop. Much military supply was based
on a command economy. The economic impact of the army may therefore have been
significant only in relatively small local areas, and much more limited in terms of a
whole province, although it is true that soldiers could sometimes contribute expertise
and muscle to local building projects.64 Naturally the consequences of the army’s
presence would vary from province to province, and in any case beneficial effects were
accidental. The army was sent where it was first and foremost in the military interests of
Rome.
Did the army of occupation act as an instrument of social change for the benefit of
the ruling power? In the imperial period, professional soldiers who were permanently
based near civilian communities, and who often had no fighting in prospect, will have
tended to move outside a strictly military environment and despite the official ban on
marriage during service establish relationships with the local population as husbands,
fathers, sons-in-law, or friends. Furthermore, the practice of local recruiting in some
provinces meant that soldiers might have other kin in the vicinity, or at least within a
few days’ journey.65 It is interesting to note the high level of commemorations among
military populations by the nuclear family in provinces like Africa and Pannonia, where
there was a significant degree of local recruitment.66 Furthermore, the permanent
movement of entire legions from one province to another became increasingly rare.
Instead the government sent a detachment (vexillatio) of a legion or individual auxiliary
units if reinforcements were required; this would have had less impact on the local
communities close to military bases.67
Over the first two centuries A.D., therefore, soldiers’ families emerged as a
significant aspect of military life. It seems unlikely that wives and children were
normally permitted to live in military camps or in military establishments in towns.
Indeed there is little clear sign of the provision of married quarters in camps even after
the ban on marriage had been removed.68 Instead families settled as close as possible to
the camps, where soldiers presumably tried to visit them when they could (it may be
that soldiers were not expected in peaceful conditions to sleep in the camp every
64 See e.g. MACMULLEN, op. cit. (note 40), 23-48; Dizionario Epigrafico vol. 4, s.v. legio 618-620.
65 See above.
66 R. SALLER and B. SHAW, ‘Tombstones and Roman family relations in the principate: civilians,
soldiers and slaves’, Journal of Roman Studies 74 (1984), 139-145.
67 DOBSON, in BREEZE and DOBSON, op. cit. (note 22), 121f.
68 However M. HASSALL, ‘Homes for heroes: married quarters for soldiers and veterans’, in A.
GOLDSWORTHY and I. HAYNES (eds.), The Roman Army as a Community (Portsmouth, Rhode
Island 1999), 35-40, has argued (though on rather slight evidence) that the forts and fortresses of the
legionaries and auxiliaries included a larger civilian element than has previously been recognised.
Brian Campbell 180
night).69 These settlements were originally temporary, but in time others were attracted
to them — traders, innkeepers, entertainers, craftsmen, women, hangers-on — all those
who had something to gain from an area where soldiers and civilians could mix. Some
veterans also preferred to settle locally with their families, close to the comrades with
whom they had served, rather than join a military colony in a distant region or live
individually in villages. These small communities that emerged adjacent to some
legionary camps were known as canabae, and some achieved independent existence,
e.g. Carnuntum on the Danube, base of legion XIV Gemina from time of Trajan.
Similar settlements called vici appeared on a smaller scale round camps and forts
housing auxiliary soldiers, who presumably formed the same kind of relationships, e.g.
at Rapidum (Sour Djouab) in Mauretania Caesariensis, from A.D. 122 the base of the
second cohort of Sardians.70
In some areas where troops were kept fairly much together and based in camps, and
where recruits generally came from outside the province, as in the case of Britain,
military contact with civilians might have been restricted to an area round the canabae
and vici. Elsewhere, long familiarity with the locals, little active service, and the
dispersal of the troops in smaller units could promote a considerable degree of
integration as the soldiers lived and worked side by side with the local population,
though there is little convincing evidence for this apart from Egypt.71 Against this we
must emphasize that Roman soldiers were thoroughly assimilated into army life and
were much more part of the military community than of any outside group, and it is
hard to see how most local communities would significantly benefit from living close to
soldiers. For many ordinary people either in war or peace soldiers were simply an
unavoidable part of life and they were indisputably the masters. John the Baptist’s
advice to soldiers was unambiguous: ”Do not extort money from anyone, do not use
blackmail, be satisfied with your pay.”72
69 TACITUS (Annals 13.35) noted that the legions in Syria had become slack and that some soldiers
had never been on guard and found ramparts and ditches a novelty. However we must allow for the
conventional view that the Syrian legions tended towards indiscipline.
70 J.-P. LAPORTE, Rapidum. Le camp de la cohorte des Sardes en Maurétanie Césarienne (Sassari
1989).
71 ALSTON, op. cit. (note 25), especially chapter 7; also ‘The ties that bind: soldiers and societies’, in
GOLDSWORTHY and HAYNES (eds.), op. cit. (note 68), 175-195.
72 New Testament, Luke 3.14.
73 Histories 1.4.
Power without Limit: ‘The Romans always win’ 181
governor by the emperor, who perhaps will have been principally concerned with
personal security rather than the governor’s talent as an administrator or a commander.
In the Later Empire civil war became endemic and the army of occupation arguably
spent more time in factional fighting than in waging foreign wars. Provincial
communities still paid the military bills but got much less in return. Indeed they were
absorbed ever more closely into the Roman war effort, with insistent demands for
recruits and in the east the development of fortified cities as part of Roman military
installations. But this had always been part of Roman attitudes to the exploitation of the
provinces. Tiberius, a reasonably enlightened emperor, could describe his subjects as
sheep and the provinces as existing for Rome’s benefit.74 The Roman soldiers were the
physical embodiment of these attitudes.
Benjamin Isaac
It was Brian Campbell’s brief to discuss ‘Army and Power in the Roman World’ and
mine to discuss his paper. In my view, it is a balanced, learned and fair paper on the
subject. It seemed therefore best here to focus on some topics which might bear some
expansion, namely the relationship between army and civilians in the Roman Empire
and the effect on the civilian population of large numbers of professional troops among
them. This is not to imply that Prof. Campbell should have discussed these topics more
than he did. I merely attempt to pay some extra attention to a field which is equally
important yet sometimes neglected. I shall briefly survey three subjects: 1) massive
violence in cities; 2) physical force in a judicial context; 3) physical abuse of
individuals by soldiers or civilians of superior social status.1 Before doing so, however,
it should be elucidated that this discussion will necessarily focus on regions for which
there is evidence in sufficient quantities and of sufficient quality. Notably the paper will
consider literary sources which, to some extent, give us an impression from the
perspective of the civilian population living in close contact with military forces. The
resulting account will obviously differ in essence from one based on a close study of,
for instance, public inscriptions which give the perspective of those belonging to the
circle of military men and officials. The latter are meant to convey a message to be seen
by those who are part of the provincial and imperial establishment, both in the military
and judicial and the financial sphere; they express public loyalty to the Emperor and the
Roman state as well as satisfaction at whatever has been achieved; they cannot be
regarded as statements of peoples’ private views, let alone as representative of the
reality of daily life for the subjects of the empire living in the provinces. It is entirely
legitimate to study government and army in the Roman provinces through the
interpretation of public monuments, but it is also necessary to keep in mind that the
resulting impression differs from one which tries to see reality through the sources
relating to the civilian population. If we want to understand why army and power in the
Roman world were successful in achieving the aims of the authorities, proper answers
can be reached only if we know something about the impact of the exercise of power at
the lower end of the social scale. This is not to suggest that this paper will result in an
over-all view. Pierre Ducrey, for instance, in his paper (pp. 55-60) pays much attention
to the crucial question of political control over the military apparatus. This is not a
question raised in the present paper, although some of the sources considered here
1 These subjects are all treated in R. MACMULLEN’s seminal study, Soldier and Civilian in the Later
Roman Empire (Cambridge, Mass. 1963). The present paper mostly addresses the earlier period not
covered by MacMullen’s book.
Benjamin Isaac 182
suggest that the limits of control exercised by the authorities over the military were
rather more flexible than one associates with proper government. It will be essential to
keep in mind that an assessment of the quality of life in the Empire will always be
influenced by the kind of sources we read. A dedication to a successful high officer
gives a radically different view from a satirical description of a brutal police action.
2 LIBANIUS, Oratio XX 32, as translated by C.P. JONES, ‘Egypt and Judaea under Vespasian’,
Historia 46 (1997), 249-253, at 251. In this article Jones discusses the testimonies of Dio
Chrysostom, Josephus, Libanius and the Chronicle of Eusebius concerning events in Alexandria
under Vespasian. He convincingly brings them together as referring to an armed suppression of
unrest in Alexandria in the last stage of the Jewish War.
3 CASSIUS DIO LXXVII 21-23; cf. Historia Augusta, Antoninus Caracalla 6; HERODIAN IV 9. F.
MILLAR, A Study of Cassius Dio (Oxford 1964), 156-158, for the evidence and discussion; C.R.
WHITTAKER (ed.), Herodian, Loeb Classical Texts, vol. I (Cambridge, MA 1969), 422 note 1, for
the reasons (local support for Geta?).
4 LIBANIUS, Oratio XX 17-20; XIX 45; II 11; I 3.
5 LIBANIUS, Oratio XIX 39 (To the Emperor Theodosius, About the Riots): mØ går dØ t«n
yruloum°nvn mhd¢n efiw ¶rgon ¶lyoi. t€na dØ taËtÉ ¶stin; ofl m¢n efiw èrpagØn t«n ˆntvn
•kãstoiw xrhmãtvn fas‹n §pafÆsein se strati≈taw, ofl dÉ §p‹ sfagåw t«n §xÒntvn tØn pÒlin, ofl d¢
diå meg°youw katad€khw émune›syai tØn Ïbrin, ofl d¢ ·mati t«n §n tª boulª gnvrimot°rvn.
6 LIBANIUS, Oratio XX 5 (For the expectation of a massacre).
7 SUETONIUS, Tiberius 37.3; TACITUS, Annales XIII 48, on which see also J.H. D’ARMS, ‘Tacitus,
Annals 13.48 and a new inscription from Puteoli’, in B. LEVICK (ed.), The Ancient Historian and
His Materials: Essays in Honour of C.E. Stevens (Farnborough 1975), 155-166.
8 CASSIUS DIO 47.17.1; TACITUS, Annales XV 38.7; JOSEPHUS, Antiquitates XIX (160).
Army and Power in the Roman World 183
cities, such as that carried out by Caracalla in Alexandria. Furthermore it is, of course,
quite likely that far more bloody clashes occurred in practice than those reported in our
sources. Literary sources would know about major conflicts in cities, but when the male
population of a village in the Nile Delta was killed in an army action, we know about
this only through the chance discovery of a papyrus which deals with the problems of
collecting the taxes that were the result.16
16 P.Thmouis 98, cited by R. ALSTON, Soldier and Civilian in Roman Egypt: A Social History
(London 1995), 83. ALSTON generally concludes that the soldiers in Egypt played a positive role
(conclusions on p. 101), but his book does not contain a list of complaints about soldiers in papyri, a
subject that presumably could be treated in this context, since the material exists. See my review in
American Historical Review (1998), 1230f.
17 Digest I 18.13, Praef.: nam et sacrilegos latrones plagiarios fures conquirere debet et prout quisque
deliquerit, in eum animaduertere, receptoresque eorum coercere, sine quibus latro diutius latere non
potest.
18 Acts 21: 30-34.
19 Ibid. 22: 24-29.
20 Ibid. 23.
Army and Power in the Roman World 185
in this period. For our present purposes we should note the reverse implication, namely
that a provincial without citizenship would not enjoy this protection. The soldiers would
have bound and examined him by scourging without the possibility of appeal. It is also
less often emphasized that, according to the same source, the governor Felix, “desiring
to do the Jews a favour, left Paul bound” for two years.21 It was only Felix’s successor
Festus, who sent Paul to Rome when the latter appealed to Caesar.22
Yet this was no exception. In the fourth century, Libanius devotes an entire speech
to the habit of governors to be quick to order detention but very slow to come to a
decision.23 “The prison is packed with bodies. No one comes out — or precious few, at
least — though many go in.” In these cases the governors apparently had the freedom to
act against the accepted norms of the times, but there was little or no appeal — Libanius
was indeed an important man, but we do not know what effect his speech had.
Juvenal’s sixteenth satire shows that common civilians suffered the same disad-
vantages vis-à-vis soldiers inside Italy:
“Let us consider first then, the benefits common to all military men. Not least is
the fact that no civilian would dare to give you a trashing — and if beaten up
himself he’ll keep quiet about it, he’d never dare show any magistrate his
knocked-out teeth, the blackened lumps and bruises all over his face, that
surviving eye which the doctor offers no hope for. And if he seeks legal redress
the case will come up before some hobnailed centurion and a benchful of
brawny jurors, according to ancient military law: no soldier, it is stated, may
sue or be tried except in camp, by court-martial. ‘But still, a centurion’s tribunal
sticks to the rule-book. It’s a soldier up on a charge, there will be justice done.
So if my complaint is legitimate I’m sure to get satisfaction.’ But the whole
regiment is against you, every company unites, as one man, to ensure that the
‘redress’ you get shall be something requiring a doctor, and worse than the first
assault,” etc.24
The following concrete information is to be derived from this satire:
1) There is a common assumption that simple soldiers would beat up civilians. From
the present passage it appears that this involved fairly extreme forms of physical force.
21 Ibid. 24, esp. y°lvn te xãrita katay°syai to›w ÉIouda€oiw ı F∞lij kat°lipe tÚn PaËlon dedem°non.
JOSEPHUS describes the procurator Florus as having scourged and crucified even Jews of equestrian
rank (Bellum Judaicum II 14.7 [308]); see above note 14.
22 He was dispatched to Rome only after Agrippa II had also heard him and concluded that Paul might
have been released if he had not appealed to Caesar (26: 32).
23 LIBANIUS, Oratio XLV.
24 JUVENAL, Satire XVI, trans. Peter Green, Penguin. Commoda tractemus primum communia,
quorum | haut minimum illud erit, ne te pulsare togatus | audeat, immo etsi pulsetur, dissimulet nec |
audeat excussos | praetori ostendere dentes | et nigram in facie tumidis livoribus offam | atque
oculum medico nil promittente relictum. | Bardaicus iudex datur haec punire volenti | calceus et
grandes magna ad subsellia surae / legibus antiquis castrorum et more Camilli | servato, miles ne
vallum litiget extra | et procul a signis. ‘iustissima centurionum | cognitio est igitur de milite, nec
mihi derit | ultio, si iustae defertur causa querellae.’ | tota cohors tamen est inimica, omnesque
manipli | consensu magno efficiunt curabilis ut sit | vindicta et gravior quam iniuria. Cf. E.
COURTNEY, A Commentary on the Satires of Juvenal (London 1980), 613-622.
Benjamin Isaac 186
2) In the case of a conflict between a soldier and a civilian, the judge would be a
military man. The soldier would thus have had a great advantage over civilians. The
civilian would suffer lengthy proceedings and constant adjournments; the soldier’s case
would be heard at a convenient moment and settled quickly (lines 42-50, not cited here).
3) The judge almost certainly would be a centurion.
4) Any civilian who dared to challenge a soldier who had beaten up him would suffer
physical violence in the camp.
Libanius, discussing fourth century Antioch, similarly describes the helplessness of
simple citizens as victims of random violence and robbery committed by soldiers in
town:
“A soldier provokes a market trader, mocking him and goading him, and then
he lays hands on him, pulling him and dragging him about. Then he too perhaps
is touched, but apparently the actions are not comparable: such men may not
raise voice or hand against the soldier, and so this man, who is bound to suffer,
is seized and finds himself at headquarters and buys exemption from being
beaten to death.”25
The similarities between Juvenal’s Satire and Libanius’ ironic rhetoric are striking. The
implication of Libanius’ description is that any market trader was liable to abuse at the
hands of soldiers and would find no protection of any kind through judicial channels at
headquarters. We may assume that the situation in the Book of Acts and the imaginary
scenes described by Juvenal and Libanius were typical of daily life. The point they were
meant to convey would come across forcefully only if the reader or listener indeed
recognized the reality around him in such descriptions.26 Roman troops apparently used
brute force both when they were acting under orders in a formal capacity (as with the
riots in Jerusalem) and, without being provoked, in a non-military social context. The
various sources cited here explicitly convey the message that judicial channels did not
lend support to civilians who had suffered unprovoked mistreatment from individual
soldiers.
There may be some evidence that even the inhabitants of Italian cities were not safe
from military men. Consider, for example, the following passage, in which Eumolpus
rushes into the street, repeatedly slapping his sword hilt, from Petronius’ Satyricon:
“But then I drew the attention of a soldier — he may have been a trickster, or a
mugger operating in the dark — who greeted me: ‘Ho there comrade! What is
your legion, who’s your sergeant-major?’ I wore a brave face as I lied about the
officer and the detachment. ‘So tell me,’ he said, ‘in your army do the troops go
round in soft shoes?’ Both my expression and my agitation showed I was lying.
25 Oratio XLVII 33; cf. ed. REISKE, II 522 n. 37; J.H.G.W. LIEBESCHUETZ, Antioch: City and
Imperial Administration in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford 1972), 115 with note 4.
26 Cf. J.B. CAMPBELL, The Emperor and the Roman Army (Oxford 1984), 234f. CAMPBELL notes
that this picture of soldier and civilian in the Roman Empire stands in stark contrast to the
conventional encomion of AELIUS ARISTIDES and DIO CHRYSOSTOMUS I 28, both of whom had a
different aim in their writings. One cannot expect social criticism in encomia.
Army and Power in the Roman World 187
He ordered me to hand over my arms, and to keep out of harm’s way. So not
only was I robbed, but my plan for revenge was aborted.”27
This passage should be interpreted with due caution, since it is satire rather than
real life, but it illuminates another aspect, not mentioned by the author. Armed and
impersonating a soldier. Eumolpus runs around in an Italian city. A random soldier
arrests him, checks his identity and finds that he is not a soldier; he then confiscates his
sword. The soldier has no formal authority to do this, and he presumably keeps the
sword for himself. This is the assumption attributed to Eumolpus, who says he was
robbed. Yet the actions of the soldier are those we would expect of military police: to
maintain discipline among those bearing arms on behalf of the state. Just as in the story
of Paul, we encounter in Eumolpus’ story a certain ambiguity, which we do not
recognize in the simple abuse of military power recorded by Libanius.
To start from the top, any Roman emperor was constantly surrounded by armed
soldiers, Praetorians and barbarian guards. As Fergus Millar observes, this directly
influenced what it meant to appear before the emperor and lent an increased a sense of
immediacy and force to any sign of imperial displeasure.28 The implication, clearly, is
that physical force might be expected at any time — at least under certain emperors.
There is no reason to assume that this presence of soldiers was strictly symbolic. It is
also likely that this phenomenon was taken for granted by those living in the Empire.
This was not the case, howeverm when emperors indulged in brawls and debauchery at
night in Rome,29 much like some vicious young noblemen.30 Such behaviour was felt to
be an outrage, even though there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Lower down the social scale, at the level of the individual, no ordinary inhabitant of
the empire would feel free to express anger at someone in a slightly higher social
position:
“... It is like a man who stands up in the market place and defies the bouleutes.
Those who heard him said to him: ‘You utter fool, you defy the bouleutes?
What if he wanted to beat you or tear your clothes, or throw you in prison,
what could you do to him? Or if he were a qitron (centurion), who is greater
than him, how much more so! Or if he were a hapatqas (hypatikos, governor)
27 PETRONIUS, Satyricon 82 (translated by P.G. WALSH, Oxford University Press): notavit me miles,
sive ille planus fuit sive nocturnus grassator, et ‘quid tu’ inquit ‘commilito, ex qua legione es aut
cuius centuria?’ cum constantissime et centurionem et legionem essem ementitus, ‘age ergo’ inquit
ille ‘in exercitu vestro phaecasiati milites ambulant?’ cum deinde vultu atque ipsa trepidatione
mendacium prodidissem, ponere iussit arma et malo cavere. despoliatus ergo, immo praecisa ultione
retro ad deversorium tendo.
28 F. MILLAR, The Emperor in the Roman World (31 BC - AD 337) (London 1976), 61-66; ‘Military
Escorts and Bodygards’. Private guard of barbarians: 62f., 64.
29 Nero: TACITUS, Annales XIII 25; cf. 47.2; SUETONIUS, Nero 26; CASSIUS DIO LXI 8.1; Lucius
Verus: Historia Augusta, L. Verus 4.7; Commodus: Historia Augusta, Commodus 3.7.
30 SUETONIUS, Otho 2; JUVENAL III 278-301. Cf. W. NIPPEL, Public Order in Ancient Rome
(Cambridge 1995), 105.
Benjamin Isaac 188
who is greater than the two of them, how much more so!”31
This Talmudic source gives a nice impression of the relative social standing of the
officials mentioned in the province of Palaestina. It is also quite obvious what means
men of influence had at their disposal when they wanted to intimidate the ordinary
citizens of a city. There was nothing to prevent them from using physical force, or
imprisoning citizens. There is no indication that it was important whether these officials
were acting in a formal capacity, as agents of the state, or in a private quarrel and for
personal reasons: ordinary people suffered violence if they dared to oppose men of
superior status, who could be military men or civilian officials. All this is implied in the
Talmudic source, which invites comparison with other descriptions of urban life.
Apuleius, in his Metamorphoses, for example, describes how the aedile/agoranomos of
a small Thessalian
town abuses a little old fish merchant without good reason, emptying the man’s basket
onto the pavement and stamping on his fish. The official comments afterwards: ”It is
sufficient for me (...) to have abused the old chap so thoroughly.”32
Violent robbery in the guise of exercising legitimate authority recurs frequently in
the literary and epigraphic sources. A well-known example is provided again in
Apuleius’ satirical work, in which a soldier confiscates an ass and falsely claims that he
needs it for official duty.33 It is worth noting what excuse the soldier produces in
support of his claim:
“‘Well, I need his services’, said the other. ‘He must carry our commanding
officer’s baggage from the nearby fort with all the other pack-animals.’”34
This is very different from Pliny’s and Trajan’s insistence that such services are
only to be enjoyed by those travelling in the Emperor’s service and provided with up-to-
date diplomata.35 The soldier in Apuleius, incidentally, carries a vitis, a staff, usually but
not always the mark of the centurionate. In this incident, indeed, he uses it to thrash the
civilian who did not want to give up his ass.36 The vitis was the symbol of the
centurion’s authority but also served as actual instrument for inflicting punishment. In
their struggle, the owner of the ass knocks down the soldier and makes off; he is then
pursued and when finally arrested, the soldier takes the ass and loads him with his own
baggage, carefully arranged with the armour conspicuous so as “to terrify poor
travellers.”37 After a while the soldier and the ass come to a small town where they stay,
not at an inn but in the house of a town-councillor. Once again, the soldier behaves as if
he is on official duty.38 In the end the soldier sells the ass for his own profit, when “in
dutiful obedience to an order from his tribune, he had to carry a letter to the great
emperor in Rome.”39 In other words, when he sets out on a genuine mission to the
Emperor in Rome, he sells the ass that he had stolen under false pretences. It is true that
32 APULEIUS, Metamorphoses I 24-25: ‘sufficit mihi, o Luci,’ inquit ‘seniculi tanta haec contumelia.’
33 APULEIUS, Metamorphoses IX 39 ff.; comments by F. MILLAR, ‘The World of the Golden Ass’,
Journal of Roman Studies 71 (1981), 67f. In this article the resemblance with EPICTETUS,
Disserationes IV 1.79 is noted: ”If a requisition takes place and a soldier takes (your mule), let it go,
do not hold on to it, and do not complain. For if you do, you will get a beating and lose your mule all
the same” (trans. B. CAMPBELL, The Roman Army, 31 BC-AD 337: A Sourcebook [London 1994]).
Cf. R.G. SUMMERS, ‘Roman Justice and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, Transactions of the American
Philological Asociation 101 (1970), 511-531, on Apuleius’ work as a subtle indictment of the
administration of criminal justice in the Roman provinces.
34 APULEIUS, loc. cit.: ‘Sed mihi’ inquit ‘opera eius opus est; nam de proximo castello sarcinas
praesidis nostri cum ceteris iumentis debet aduehere’; et iniecta statim manu loro me, quo ducebar,
arreptum incipit trahere.
35 PLINY, epistulae X 45; X 46; X 120. For requisition of transport: CAMPBELL, op. cit. (note 26),
246-254.
36 Cf. TACITUS, Annales I 23.4, on the centurion Lucilius who was nicknamed cedo alteram (‘bring
another’), because when he had broken one vitis on a man’s back, he would call in a loud voice for
another and yet another. Also: LIVY, Epitome 57; PLINY, Naturalis Historia XIV 19.
37 APULEIUS, Metamorphoses X 1: propter terrendos miseros viatores.
38 Ibid.: Confecta campestri nec adeo difficili uia ad quandam ciuitatulam peruenimus nec in stabulo,
sed in domo cuiusdam decurionis deuertimus. On compulsory billeting, ISAAC, op. cit. (note 15),
297-304.
39 APULEIUS, loc. cit.: tribuni sui praecepto debitum sustinens obsequium, litteras ad magnum
scriptas principem Romam uersus perlaturus.
Benjamin Isaac 190
40 Satire makes fun of what exists in real life and provides relief from insupportable experiences by
laughing at them. The passages quoted here clearly imply that more acceptable norms of behaviour
were deemed possible.
41 Digest I 18 6,5-7: Ne quid sub nomine militum, quod ad utilitates eorum in commune non pertinet, a
quibusdam propria sibi commoda inique indicantibus committatur, praeses prouinciae prouideat.
42 LUKE 3: 12-14.
43 Select Papyri II no. 221 (A.D. 133/137): ¶parxow AfigÊptou l°gei: §p°gnvn polloÁw t«n
strat[i]vt«n êneu dipl∞w diå t∞w x≈raw poreuom°nouw plo›a ka‹ ktÆnh ka‹ ényr≈pouw afite›n
parå tÚ pros∞kon, tå m¢n aÈtoÁw p[r]Úw b€an éposp«ntaw, tå d¢ ka‹ katå xãrin µ yerape€an
{yarape€an} p[a]rå t«n strathg«n lambãnontaw.
44 P.Oxy. 2234 (A.D. 31); P.Ryl. 2.141 (A.D. 37); P.Mich. 175 (A.D. 193) cited by B. CAMPBELL, op.
cit. (note 33), 172f. nos. 286-288. Note also the instances listed by R. ALSTON, Soldier and Civilian
(London 1995), 88-90 (only part of the complaints listed there is relevant for the present discussion).
45 ISAAC, op. cit. (note 15), Chapter VI, 289f. note 129, referring to H.I. BELL et alii, The Abinnaeus
Archive (Oxford 1962), 55-58 no. 13. For the collection of annona: ibid. 73-75 no. 26; 78ff. no. 29.
46 Cf. ISAAC, op. cit. (note 15), 289f. For the evidence from the Abinnaeus archives: BELL et alii, op.
cit. (note 45), nos. 13-15, 55-60; nos. 26 ou 29. Admittedly, these represent a brief period in a single
district, but there is no lack of corroborating material from other periods and other areas, such as the
well-known petition to the Emperors for redress from Philadelphia in Lydia: A.J. ABBOTT and A.C.
Army and Power in the Roman World 191
caused friction between the civilian and military authorities.47 Soldiers are accused of
looting and stealing cattle, of violent behaviour during the collection of taxes,48 and of
drunkenness combined with brutality.49 We should remember that the same troops
carried out policing duties in the region.50 As so often, the evidence from Egypt is better
than from other provinces, but it is by no means unique. Note, for instance, a well-
known inscription from Africa referring to soldiers who arrested and tortured imperial
tenants and beat up Roman citizens in an imperial domain.51
4 CONCLUSIONS
The Roman imperial army had for centuries been successful in carrying out one of its
main tasks: keeping the provincial population under control. This is the topic of the
present paper, for not considered here are the other roles of the army: to defend and
expand the Empire in its conflicts with external armies or its task of protecting the
regime against internal, armed enemies. The first point to make is that, over time, and as
the empire developed into an integrated whole, the ethnic origin of the troops mattered
less than their status and power among unarmed civilians. At the same time it is proper
to observe that the successes of the troops in keeping the civilian population under
control were achieved at a high cost and accompanied by serious imbalances. These are
indicated in the present paper. This is not to deny that there were substantial groups of
people who profited from a military presence: those who dedicated honorary
inscriptions to officers of the local garrisons were not necessarily hypocrites. The point
of the present paper is that there were others who did not make such dedications, not
only because they lacked the means to do so, but also because the relationship between
army and civilians was often very tense.
First to be noted is a pattern of massacres carried out by regular troops in major
cities, sometimes on instructions of the Emperor, sometimes initiated by governors. A
related phenomenon is the of extreme violence that was used in riot control. Urban
unrest, of which there may have been far more than we know in the large cities of the
Empire, was suppressed by troops that were not trained for the purpose and without
maintaining adequate control mechanisms.
Second, the lack of separation of judicial and police authority resulted in the
exercise of physical force in judicial contexts. Non-citizens could and were physically
JOHNSON, Municipal Administration in the Roman Empire (Princeton 1926), 142. The document is
translated by B. LEVICK in: The Government of the Roman Empire: A Sourcebook (Beckenham,
Kent 1985), 222f. no. 221. This contains the complaint of the villagers on an imperial estate
protesting against the exactions of imperial officials and municipal magistrates. The immediate
cause of complaint was the arrest of nine of the tenants by officers who claimed to be acting under
the authority of the procurator.
47 Op. cit., 75f. no. 27; P.Oxy. ii, 184 no. 240; V. EHRENBERG and A.H.M. JONES, Documents
Illustrating the Reigns of Augustus and Tiberius (Oxford 1955, 2nd edition) no. 117 (Greek); transl.
LEVICK, op. cit. (note 46), 181 no. 168.
48 BELL et al., op. cit. (note 45), no. 13, 55-8.
49 Op. cit., 76f. no. 28.
50 Op. cit., 50f. no. 9; 54f. no. 12; 96f. no. 42.
51 ILS 6870; CIL VIII 10570; cf. 14464 (A.D. 180-183): ... ut millis militib(us) in eiundem saltum
Burunitanum alios nostrum adprehendi et vexari ali[os vinc]iri, nonnullos cives Romanos virgis et
fustibus effligi iusse[rit].
Benjamin Isaac 192
Index
1 Names
Abydos 119 95-97, 99-103, 105, 108, 111
Achaemenids 39-49, 116, 118, 121 n Attaleia 105
Achaimenes 39 Attalids 100, 103, 105, 109, 117, 121
Achaia 100 Attalos I 106, 117
Aelia Capitolina 171 Augustus 127, 134
Africa 179 Axos 112
Agalasseis 29
Baetica 173
Agrammes 30
Bagoas 47-48
Ahura-Mazda 39-41, 48
Bardiya 41
Aigina, Aiginetans 103, 109, 121
Bassaeus Rufus, M. 125-126
Ainianes 100
Batavi 151, 154, 157-159
Aitolia 100, 111-112
Behistoun 39, 47
Akkaya 116
Bithynia 174, 177
Akrokorinthos 99, 102
Boiotia 59
Alexander the Great 15, 28-31, 35, 40, 47-49, 59-
Bonna 171
60
Boudicca 172
Alexandria 121, 174, 182-183
Brahmans 27-28
Alinda 117
Brasidas 56
Alkibiades 57
Brea 95
Ambri 30
Britain 155, 169, 171-172, 178
Amitrochates 31
Bructeri 159
Amyzon 116-117
Buddhism 27-28, 37
Antigonids 99, 108, 111, 117, 121
Antigonos Doson 102 Calpurnius Piso, C. 127 n
Antigonos Gonatas 103 Canninefates 159
Antiocheia 182, 186 Caracalla 182-183
Antiochos III 101 n, 117-120 Carnuntum 179
Appolonia of Salbake 118, 120 Castra Regina 171
Aquincum 171 Cerialis 157, 162, 164
Ara Ubiorum 171 Chaironeia 116, 120
Arabia 171 Chalkis 54, 73-75, 99, 117
Argentorate 171 Chandragupta 28, 31, 33, 36
Argos 71, 78, 90 Chersonesos (Thracian) 92
Aristotle 72-78, 83, 89 Cherusci 169
Arkadia 100 China 19
Arsinoe (Koresia) 103 Chosroes 45
Artapanos 42 Civilis 157-160, 163-164
Artaxerxes I 41-43, 46 Classicus 158, 161, 163-164
Artaxerxes II 40, 46, 47, 49 Claudius Maximus, Ti. 140, 145
Artaxerxes III 40, 49 Crete 52, 62, 70-71, 89, 99-100, 105-107, 109,
Artaxerxes IV 40 111-112
As“dod 9 Cyprus 99-100, 108, 110-112, 116, 172
Ashoka 36-37 Dacia 171, 173
Asia Minor 99-122 Dalmatia 169
Assyria 3- 23 Dareios I 39-41, 44, 46-48
Athens 52, 57, 65-68, 70, 72, 75-81, 84-88, 90-93,
Index 194
hasta pura 137 logistics 4, 8, 14, 16; see also food supply, water
Hellenization 121 supply
helots 62, 66 looting 190; see also booty
hierarchy, in the army 36; see also officers love 116
hippeis 54, 68, 74-75, 87, 93, 95-98 loyalty of soldiers 147
hippobotai 54, 74-75 manufacture of weapons and war equipment 14,
homo novus 124, 129 84
homosexuality 116 manumission 119, 121; see also freedmen
honesta missio 126, 139 marriage of soldiers 28, 111-112, 120, 179; mixed
honorific inscriptions for officers 103-104 marriages 110; see also family
hoplites 55, 62, 64-68, 71, 73-74, 76-79, 85-89, massacre 170, 182-183, 190; see also violence
91-94; mounted hoplites 74 mercenaries 10, 32, 41, 56, 80-81, 89, 100, 104-
horse 15, 29, 31-32, 34, 36, 54, 64, 68, 70, 73, 74- 105, 111-112, 118
75; as status symbol 64; see also cavalry mesoi 73
hospitality 177 messanger 8, 14
hostage 172 metic 93; see also foreigners
ilku 10-11 middle class 64 n, 73-74, 76
immunis 126, 136-137 migration 111
imperatoria manu 138 miles gregarius 126
imperialism 21, 117, 167 militarism 21
imperium Galliarum 159 military regulation 104, 117
imperium proconsulare ‘maius’ 126 military service 68; obligatory/compulsory 69, 87-
infantry 8, 11, 29-31, 35, 62 88, 93-94; voluntary 67-70, 86-87, 92-93;
intelligence, military 4, 19, 174 and legitimation of power 65, 67; see also
intimidation through the army 169 army, ethelontes, professional army,
volunteer
katalogos 67-68, 87, 92, 93-94 milites Augusti 137; milites caligati 136 n; milites
kingship, in Assyria 3-5, 17-19; in India 25-27; in gregarii 136-137
Achaemenid Persia 39-49; in early Greece militia equestris 134; prima militia 134; secunda
53-54, 56, 73; Hellenistic 99-100, 106-108, militia 134-135
115-118; assassination of kings 40, 42, 42, missus 132, 135; missus ab imperatore 131;
47; dynastic conflit 41-42, 48; hereditary missus ante tempus 139; missus honesta
monarchy 43-44, 48; monarchical ideology missione 139
17-18, 39, 106-108, 113, 116; participation of mountain guards 176
king in campaigns 17 (Assyria); ruler cult mule 14, 16
(Hellenistic) 107-108, 113, 120; victory and mutilation 169
monarchical ideology 39, 106; see also mutiny 105; see also revolt, riot
emperor, usurpation
kis`ir s“arrutte 10 native population, interaction with army 101, 105,
knights (in Rome) 123, 126, 128-132, 134-136, 112, 119, 179; recruitment of 168, 172, 179
143-144, 154 naturalisation 105, 111; see also citizenship
naukraria 67
land, grant of 11 (in Assyria), 33-34 (in India); nautes 94
division of conquered land 171; landed navy 35, 52, 66-69, 70, 72, 79, 86-87, 91-94, 155;
property and military service 86, 96-97 (in manning of the fleet 95; private warships 91;
Greece); territorium legionis 178; see also state-owned triremes 92; see also crew,
annexation oarsmen
law, legal disputes between soldiers and civilians neighbours, joint service 72
104; judicial authority of officers (in the neodamodeis 69
Roman Empire) 175, 184-185, 189-190
legatus Augusti 128, 130, 136 oarsmen 66-67, 79, 86-87, 91, 93-94; see also
libertas 162 navy
light-armed 62-67, 71, 85-87, 91 occupation, military 115, 172, 174, 177-178; see
liminality 115 also garrison
Linear B texts 52 officers, in Assyria 10, 11, 16, 18; in India 33, 36;
in Greece 99; in the Roman Empire 126-128,
Index 199
130, 146, 154, 156; honorific inscriptions for provincial administration, Roman 151, 153, 156-
officers 103-104; judicial authority 175, 184- 157, 171, 173-174, 176; provincial governor
185, 189-190 (in the Roman Empire); see 129-130, 142, 153, 183, 185; see also
also commander, cursus honorum proconsul
oligarchs, oligarchy, in Classical Greece 62, 69, public opinion 173
71-76, 78-80, 82, 85-86, 89-91, 93 punishment of soldiers 67
oppression 176-177 quartering 118; see also billeting, camp, winter
ordo senatorius, see senators quarters
ordo equester, see knights
ornamenta triumphalia 137 raid 25-26
recruitment 4, 9, 22, 28, 68, 155-156; of
pacification 173 barbarians 160; of local population 168, 172,
patronage 123, 130, 132 179; see also katalogos
peltasts 62-63, 85 religion 17-19, 28, 106, 108-109, 112, 120; see
pentakosiomedimnoi 87, 93, 96-98 also cult, dedication, priest, rituals, sanctuary
perioikoi 69 requisition, by the army 177, 188 n, 189, 191
peripoloi 71, 79 revolt 41, 43, 56, 105, 151, 157-159, 162; 172-
phalanx 55, 76 173, 175; Jewish revolt 170; peasant revolts
phalerae 137 in India 35; popular ‘revolution’ 82 (in
phroura 115-116; phrourarchos 105, 108, 110, Athens); see also mutiny
117 rewards for soldiers 139-140; see also decoration,
phylake 107, 116-117 praise
pioneers 8, 10 rich, see wealth
piracy 106, 112 riot 183, 190; see also mutiny, revolt
plethos 76 rituals 18-19, 27
police, policing 172, 174, 182, 184, 187, 189-190 roads 13, 117, 171, 174-177
politeia 73-76 robbery 177, 186, 188-189, 191
poverty 85-86, 88, 93, 98 Romanization 169
praefectus, Aegypti 129; alae 129, 131; castrorum
124; equitum Divi Augusti 135; legionis 129; s`aµb s“arri 10-11
militum 131 n; praetorio 124-125, 130; urbi ‘Sacred Band’, in Thebes 71
128; vigilum 129 safety 116
praemia duplicia 139 salary, of soldiers 33-34, 94, 126-127, 139; non-
praetorians 144-145, 153-156, 182; primus ordo payment of 36; raise of 132, 139
cohortium praetorianum Divi Augusti 137 sanctuary 108
praise, of soldiers 132-133 scout 12, 32
praeses 128-129 senate 152, 154, 156-157
priest 18; see also religion senators 124, 126, 128-130, 132, 153-154
primus pilus 124, 126, 140, 146-147 serfs 62 n, 70
principalis 136-137, 139 sesquiplicarius 126
prison 174, 185 shield, 62-63; round 55
prisoners-of-war 20, 32, 37, 112, 169-170 ships, see navy
proconsul 133-134, 184; see also provincial siege 34, 72
administration signifer 145
procurator Augusti 130, 136 slave, slavery 37, 62, 70-71, 93, 112, 123;
professional army / soldiers 8, 10-12, 25-26, 28, runaway slave 175; see also freedmen,
136, 168 manumission, serfs
promotion of soldiers 126-128, 131, 134, 136, sling 8, 10, 63
140-143, 145-146 society 61-150, 178-180; social boundaries 115-
property classes, in Athens 67-69, 77, 87-88, 92- 116, 118-122; social hierarchy 53 (in
96, 98; property qualification for service in Mycenaean Greece); social change 179;
Republican Rome 168 social mobility through army career 20, 28,
prostitution 34, 110 123-150, 178-180; social prestige of soldiers
protection, offered by army 106, 113, 116, 173- 126, 131, 144; see also aristocracy,
174, 190; see also defence benefaction, class, elite, family, freedmen,
knights, middle class, oligarchy, patronage,
Index 200
poverty, property classes, senators, serfs, veterans 11; veteranus Augusti 137
slave, wealth vexilla 137; vexillatio 179
soldiers, professional 8, 10-12, 25-26, 28, 136, vicus 179
167-180; see also abuse of power, victory and monarchical ideology 39, 106
associations, billeting, colony (military), viginti viri 128
commander, cult, cursus honorum, violence 169-170, 182-187, 190-191; see also
decoration, dedication, desertion, abuse, confiscation, coup d’état, execution,
disobedience, family, funerary practices, massacre, oppression, terror, torture
hoplite, law, love, loyalty, marriage, viri militares 129
mercenaries, officer, praise, promotion, virtus 138
punishment, recruitment, reward, robbery, vitis 188
salary, solidarity, wounded voluntary service, see military service
solidarity among soldiers 70-72
soteria 116 war, renouncement of 37; see also annexation of
speculatores Augusti 137 land, battle, booty, camp, campaign, civil
stasis 56; see also civil war war, deportation, fugitives, looting,
stationarius 174 occupation, prisoners, raid, siege, wounded
statores Augusti 136 water supply 15
strategos 57-59, 92; strategos autokrator 57 wealth 62-64, 68-69, 71, 73-74, 87-89, 93, 96, 98;
strategy 18 see also euporoi, property classes
stratopedarches 124 weapons, cost of 63-64; development of new 55;
successio 126 display of 63-64; private ownership of 35,
suffragium 142-143 61-62, 64, 69, 71, 84-85, 91; production of
supply, military 178; see also food supply, 14, 36, 61, 84; state ownership of 35, 92;
logistics, watter supply training in 70; see also archers, armour, bow,
syntaxis 73 chariot, elephant, shield, sling
synomosia 78 winter quarters 118-119; see also camps
women 82, 110-112, 169-170
tactics, military 84 wounded 20
taxation, collection of taxes 171-172, 178, 189-
190; see also tribute zeugitai 68-69, 77, 87-88, 93, 95-97
taxis 73
technology, military 27; see also fortifications,
weapons
telos 88, 95, 97-98; see also property classes
3 Sources
tents 72; see also camps
territorium legionis 178 Numbers in italics refer to page numbers in
terror 169-170 this book; n = note. For the abbreviations
theorodokos 110 used for epigraphical and papyrological
thetes 58, 67-69, 86-88, 92-96, 98; thetikon 96 publications see p. v.
‘Thirty’ (in Athens) 80, 85
‘Thousand’ (in Argos) 71, 78
3.1 Literary sources
torture 190 AENEAS TACTICUS 10.7: 62 n; 29.11-12: 63 n;
torques 137 30.2: 62
training, military 10, 32, 62, 70, 72, 183 AESCHINES ,On the Embassy 2.133: 94 n
transportation 8, 11, 15-16, 35 AGATHIAS, Historiae 125A: 45; 197: 45
tribunus militum 135; tribunus militum Augusti ALCAEUS, fr. 348: 81 n
136; tribunus militum Divi Augusti 135; AMMIANUS MARCELLINUS, Res gestae
tribunus militum Galbae imperatoris 136 16.12.18: 141 n; 20.11.12: 141 n; 23.6.1-88:
tribute 117; see also taxation 44 n
trireme 91; see also navy ANDOCIDES 1.38: 78 n
triumph 170 APPIANUS, Historia Romana pr. 7: 173 n
train 11 APULEIUS, Metamorphoses 1.24-25: 188 n; 9.39:
tyranny, tyrants 55-56, 75-77, 81-82, 89-91 188 n; 10.1: 188 n
usurpation 17, 39, 41 ARISTOPHANES, Acharnenses 162: 70, 87 n; 162-
163: 91 n — Daitaleis fr. 248 ed. K-A: 67 n
Index 201
LYSIAS 6.46: 70 n; 9.4: 92; 9.4-6: 67; 9.15: 92 n; 172 n; 12.17: 170 n; 13.25: 187 n; 13.35: 179
12.19: 62 n; 13.79: 72 n; 14.6: 92 n; 14.7: 93 n; 13.48: 182 n; 14.47.1: 129 n; 15.12.3: 138
n; 14.10-11: 93 n; 14.14-15: 93 n; 14.22: 93 n; 15.38.7: 182 n; 47.2: 187 n
n; 16.14: 72 n; 20.13: 69 n Historiae 1.4: 180 n; 1.4.2: 151 n; 1.8.3: 153
OROSIUS 7.7.13: 153 n; 7.8.6: 156 n; 7.8.7: 158 n; n; 1.8-9: 154 n; 1.12: 155 n; 1.53.5-54: 158
7.8.8: 158 n n; 1.55: 154 n; 1.59: 155 n; 1.64.4: 158 n;
1.64.9: 155 n; 1.67.2: 154 n; 1.78.1: 158 n;
PAUSANIAS 1.26.1-2: 102 n; 2.5.7: 46 n; 2.20.2: 2.14-15: 156 n, 161 n; 2.41-43: 158 n; 2.61:
78 n 162 n; 2.66: 155 n; 3.42-43: 157 n; 3.44: 142
PETRONIUS, Satyricon 82: 186 n, 157 n; 4.13.2: 160 n; 4.13.3: 160 n; 4.15:
PHILO, Legatio 299-302: 183 n 159 n; 4.15.4: 155 n, 163 n; 4.17.6: 153 n;
PLATO, Euthydemus 290 d: 59 n — Leges 706 c: 4.18-20: 158 n; 4.18.1: 159 n; 4.19.4: 154 n;
66 n, 67, 86 n — Symposium 219 e-220 e: 69 4.21: 159 n, 160 n; 4.23: 158 n; 4.24-27: 151
n, 72 n n; 4.25.1: 154 n; 4.27.8: 154 n; 4.28-30: 158
PLAUTUS, Miles Gloriosus 961-964: 112 n; 4.32: 158 n; 4.32.6: 160 n; 4.34.6: 151 n;
PLINIUS, Historia naturalis 6.21-22: 31 n; 14.19: 4.36: 154 n; 4.37: 158 n; 4.54: 158 n; 4.55.1-
188 n — Epistulae 10.19-20: 174 n; 10.45- 3: 158 n; 4.55.3: 161 n; 4.56: 154 n; 4.59:
46: 188 n; 10.77-78: 177 n; 10.120: 188 n 161 n; 4.59.8: 158 n; 4.60: 159 n; 4.61.2: 158
PLUTARCHUS, Vitae: Alexander 62: 31 n — n; 4.67: 163 n; 4.63-65: 159 n; 4.67.1: 161 n;
Aratus 38.10: 102 n — Artaxerxes 2.3-4: 44 4.67.2: 163 n; 4.69: 163 n; 4.70: 163 n;
n; 6.1: 42 n; 30.7-8: 46 n — Cimon 1-2.1: 4.71.6-9: 163 n; 4.75.1: 158 n; 4.77-78: 159
116 n; 5: 70 n; 17: 72 n — Galba 2: 153 n; n, 163 n; 4.78.3: 161 n; 4.79.4: 162 n, 164 n;
4.3: 152 n; 6: 151 n; 18.1: 151 n, 156 n; 19.1: 4.79.6: 162 n; 5.14: 162 n; 5.16: 162 n; 5.18.
151 n; 22: 151 n; 22.7-8: 156 n; 22.12: 156 n 164 n; 5.21.4: 164 n; 5.22.9: 164 n; 5.23.4:
— Lysander 3.2: 118 n — Otho 1.1: 151 n, 164 n; 5.26.3: 160 n
156 n; 4: 156 n; 8-13: 156 n — Pelopidas 18: Testamentum Vetus: Machabaeorum lib. ii 4.28:
71 n — Phocion 7.5: 58 n — Solon 18.1-2: 117 n
96 n; 20.1: 82 n; 30: 81 n Testamentum Novum: Evangelium secundum
Moralia 173 b: 46 n; 328 c-d: 43 n; 488 d: 46 Lucam 3.12-14: 180 n, 189 n; Actus
n; 639 f: 71 n; 770 d-771 c: 161 n, 163 n Apostolorum 21.30-34: 184 n; 22.24-29: 184
POLLUX, Onomasticon 8.108: 87 n; 8.129-132: n; 23: 184 n; 24: 185 n
96 n THEOPHRASTUS, Characteres 25: 72 n
POLYBIUS 1.37.7: 167 n; 10.15.4-6: 170 n; THUCYDIDES 1.1.4: 52 n; 1.126.7-8: 81 n;
15.24.2: 99 n, 101 n; 18.4.5: 106 n 1.128.5-130: 42 n; 2.79: 66; 2.79.1: 86 n;
PORPHYRIUS, De abstinentia 4.21: 43 n 2.79.3: 86 n; 3.16.1: 70 n, 95; 3.16.3: 93-94;
PROCOPIUS, De bellis 1.3.17: 44 n; 1.5.1: 44 n; 3.18.1-3: 86 n; 3.74.1: 82; 4.9.1: 63 n; 4.9.1-
1.5.2: 44 n, 45; 1.5.8-9: 44 n; 1.5.40: 44 n; 2: 62 n, 66 n, 86 n; 4.56.2: 66, 86 n; 4.93.3-
1.6.13: 44 n; 1.11.3-4: 44 n, 45; 1.11.34: 44 94.1: 66; 5.64.2: 66; 5.67.2: 71 n, 78; 5.72.3-
n; 1.11.37: 44 n; 1.17.28: 44 n; 1.18.52-54: 4: 78; 5.76.2: 78, 90; 5.81.2: 78; 6.43.1: 67 n,
44 n; 2.28.25-26: 44 n 68, 87, 92-95; 6.69: 66; 6.91.4: 86 n; 7.16.1:
STRABO, Geographica 10.1.10-12: 55 n; 11.11.3: 93-94; 8.1.2: 94; 8.24.2: 68, 92 n, 93-94;
43 n; 15.1.52: 34 n; 15.3.17: 47; 15.3.24: 48 8.47.2-48.3: 79; 8.48.2-30: 79, 90; 8.54.4: 78
n; 15.13-24: 43 n; 8.65.1: 78; 8.65.2: 79; 8.65.3: 67, 69 n;
SUETONIUS, Galba 6: 153 n; 10: 153 n; 10.3: 136 8.66.2: 79; 8.69.1: 79; 8.69.2: 79; 8.69.3: 78;
n; 12.1: 153 n; 12.3: 153 n; 19.5: 156 n — 8.69.4: 78-79; 8.70.2: 79; 8.72.2: 79; 8.73.4:
Nero 26: 187 n; 40-50: 153 n — Otho 2: 187 79; 8.73.5: 79; 8.73.5-75.2: 79; 8.74.1-2: 80;
n; 9: 156 n; 11: 157 n — Tiberius 37.3: 182 8.75.2: 79; 8.86.9: 80; 8.89.2: 79 n; 8.92.2, 4-
n; 41: 173 n — Vespasianus 6: 157 n — 5: 79 n; 8.9-10: 79 n; 8.92.10-11: 79; 8.93.1:
Vitellius 7.5: 155 n; 8.1: 155 n; 10-11: 156 n; 79; 8.93.1-97.3: 79 n
17: 158 n TYRTAEUS, fr. 19.7-9: 67
TACITUS, Annales 1.9: 173 n; 1.23.4: 188 n; 1.51: ULPIANUS, Digestae 1.18.6.5-7: 189 n; 1.18.6.6-
169 n; 2.17-18: 169 n; 2.52: 173 n; 3.20: 173 7: 177 n; 1.18.13, Praef: 184 n; 49.15.24:
n; 3.32: 173 n; 3.40-46: 173 n; 3.54: 180 n; 175 n
3.73: 173 n; 4.6: 176; 4.15: 174 n; 4.19.4:
154 n; 4.23-25: 173 n; 4.25.1: 154 n; 11.19:
Index 203
VELLEIUS PATERCULUS 2.115.2: 169 n; 2.117.3: 147 n; VI 41119: 133 n; VI 41141: 125 n; VI
172 n 41142: 131 n; VI 41185: 131 n; VI 41231:
VIRGILIUS, Aeneis 1.279: 167 n 131 n; VI 41276: 138 n; VIII 217: 138 n, 142
n; VIII 1237: 139 n; VIII 2354: 139 n; VIII
XENOPHON, Anabasis 3.2.7: 63 n; 3.4.47-9: 64 n; 2532+18042: 144 n; VIII 2797: 133 n; VIII
7.8.6: 64 n; 7.8.15: 118 n — Hellenica 4594+18649: 139 n; VIII 10570: 190 n; VIII
1.1.34: 86 n; 1.2.1: 63 n, 66 n, 86 n; 1.6.24: 14464: 190 n; VIII 14698: 143 n; VIII 21567:
93-95; 2.3.13-14: 80 n; 2.3.18-20: 85 n; 142 n; VIII 26582: 137 n; IX 1609: 145 n; X
2.3.20: 80 n, 84 n; 2.3.23: 80 n; 2.3.41: 80 n, 1127: 144 n; X 4868: 137 n; X 4872: 137 n;
84 n; 2.3.50: 80 n; 2.3.54: 80 n; 2.3.55: 80 n; X 5064: 136 n; X 6309: 135 n; XI 711: 137
2.4.1: 80 n; 2.4.2: 80 n; 2.4.5: 80 n; 2.4.8: 80 n; XI 5632: 135 n; XI 5272: 132 n; XI 5646:
n; 2.4.8-10: 80 n; 2.4.10: 80 n; 2.4.12: 62 n, 138 n; XI 5693-5694: 145 n; XI 5992: 144 n;
80 n; 2.4.25: 63 n, 80 n; 3.3.7: 62 n; 3.4.17: XIII 6728: 138 n, 142 n; XIII 6763: 131 n;
84 n; 4.4.17: 63 n; 5.4.61: 94 n; 6.2.27-32: 72 XIV 2947: 134 n
n; 6.4.11: 70; 7.4.13: 71 n; 7.16.31: 71 n —
Memorabilia 3.5.15: 71 n; 3.10.9-14: 61, 63 GAUTHIER, Ph., Nouvelles inscriptions de Sardes
n; 6.1.5: 71; 12.5: 71 n — Oeconomicus 2.3: 3: 119 n
69 n — Respublica Laceda-emoniorum 12.4: IAMlat 94: 160 n; 307: 131 n, 132 n
62 n; 15.8: 56 I.Cret. II v 19: 112 n; III iv 4: 107 n; III iv 9: 106
n; III iv 14: 109 n; III iv 18: 107 n
IG I 1: 84 n; I3 46: 95; I3 60: 92, 94 — II2 448:
3
3.2 Inscriptions 102 n; II2 469: 102 n; II2 657: 102 n; II2
AE 1900, 175: 136 n; 1900, 197: 145 n; 1912, 666: 102 n, 105 n; II2 667: 102 n; II2 834:
179: 131 n; 1917/18, 52: 133 n; 1917/18, 57: 102 n;II2 1225: 106 n; II2 1299: 108 n; II2
146 n; 1937, 101: 143 n; 1942/43, 102: 139 1424a: 84 n — IV 769: 108 n; IV 852: 108 n;
n; 1949, 38: 144 n; 1952, 153: 139 n; 1956, IV 854: 107 n; IV 1352: 108 n — VII 1: 104
124: 132 n, 139 n; 1960, 28: 131 n, 141 n; n; VII 2406: 102 n — XII 3, 327: 121 n; XII
1962, 193: 131 n; 1963, 52: 123 n; 1965, 3, 328: 106 n; XII 3, 331: 107 n; XII 3, 443:
236: 136 n; 1968, 30: 137 n; 1969/70, 136: 108 n; XII 3, 462: 107 n; XII 3, 463: 108 n;
137 n; 1969/70, 583: 138 n, 140 n; 1971, XII 3, 464: 107 n; XII 3, 465: 107 n; XII 3,
508-510: 133 n; 1975, 60: 137 n; 1977, 122: 468: 107 n; XII 3, 1296: 109 n; XII 3, 1389:
137 n; 1977, 179: 137 n; 1979, 149-150: 137 109 n; XII 3, 1390: 107 n; XII 3, 1391: 107 n
n; 1979, 601: 139 n; 1980, 105: 137 n; 1980, — XII 5, 647: 63 n; XII 5, 1061: 104 n —
213: 137 n; 1981, 322: 137 n; 1982, 860: 135 XII 6.1, 169: 104 n — XII 8, 156 A: 107 n
n; 1983, 325: 131 n; 1985, 849: 145 n; 1986, — XII 9, 192: 101 n; XII 9, 212: 99 n — XII
19: 137 n; 1987, 796: 141 n; 1987, 956: 141 Supplementum 644: 117 n
n; 1988, 154: 137 n; 1993, 302: 137 n; 1995, IGLS VI 2781: 144 n; VI 2796: 141 n; VI 2798:
1641: 138 n; 1997, 1522: 140 n 144 n
Amyzon 4: 103 n; 19: 116 n; 166: 118 n, 120 n IGRR III 80: 137 n; III 1432: 138 n; IV 1626: 136
n
CIL II 4461: 138 n; II2/14, 336: 135 n; III 25: I.Iasos 2: 101 n, 104 n
144 n; III 335: 135 n; III 1193: 138 n; III I.Ilion 45: 101 n
3653: 178 n; III 7334: 139 n; III 12336: 177 I.Labraunda 4: 117 n; 46: 104 n
n; III 13648: 138 n; III 14387ff+fff+k: 144 n; ILS 103: 173 n; 305: 139 n; 371: 173 n; 395: 176
III 14387i: 144 n; III 14416: 138 n, 139 n, n; 419: 174 n; 986: 169 n, 173 n; 1098: 131
140 n, 141 n; III 14453: 138 n; V 5262: 132 n; 1188: 131 n; 1326: 125 n 2021: 137 n;
n; V 5832: 139 n; V 7865: 143 n; VI 207: 2025: 137 n; 2034: 136 n; 2049: 137 n; 2064:
136 n; VI 1838: 134 n; VI 2426: 137 n; VI 137 n; 2080: 139 n; 2081: 138 n; 2133: 137
2510: 137 n; VI 2515: 137 n; VI 2545: 137 n; n; 2134: 137 n; 2145: 137 n; 2338: 139 n;
VI 2579: 137 n; VI 2584: 137 n; VI 2725: 2413: 133 n; 2479: 175 n; 2487: 144 n; 2558:
136 n; VI 2755: 137 n; VI 2949: 137 n; VI 144 n; 2609-2611: 142 n; 2655: 143 n; 2658:
2950: 137 n; VI 2952: 137 n; VI 2956: 137 n; 138 n, 142 n; 2661: 138 n; 2663: 138 n;
VI 2967: 137 n; VI 3505: 131 n; VI 30715: 2666: 145 n; 2666a: 145 n; 2667: 136 n;
136 n; VI 32744: 137 n; VI 32746: 137 n; VI 2688: 137 n; 2727: 134 n; 2735: 135 n; 2746:
32747: 137 n; VI 41071a: 129 n; VI 41118: 138 n; 2749: 134 n; 2927: 132 n; 4664: 143
Index 204
3.2 Papyri
P.Mich. 175: 189 n
P.Oxy. 240: 190 n; 2234: 189 n
P.Ryl. 2141: 189 n
P.Thmouis 98: 184 n
Select Papyri II no. 221: 189 n