A Community in Transition: Rome between Hannibal and the Gracchi 0197655246, 9780197655245

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A Community in Transition

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A Community in Transition Rome between Hannibal and the Gracchi

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MATTIA BALBO FEDERICO SANTANGELO

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Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2023 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Balbo, Mattia, editor. | Santangelo, Federico, editor. Title: A community in transition : Rome between Hannibal and the Gracchi / edited by Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo. Other titles: Rome between Hannibal and the Gracchi Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, 2023. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022029508 (print) | LCCN 2022029509 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197655245 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197655269 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Rome—History—Republic, 265–30 b.c. Classification: LCC DG241 .C65 2023 (print) | LCC DG241 (ebook) | DDC 937/.02—dc23/eng/20220629 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022029508 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022029509 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

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Contents

Acknowledgments

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List of Illustrations

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List of Contributors

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1. Introduction: Whence and Whither? Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo

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2 . Climate Change and Rome’s Changing Republic James Tan

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3. The Agrarian Policy of the Senate between Hannibal and the Gracchi  Mattia Balbo

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4 . The Political Culture of Coinage: The Introduction and Development of the Denarius System  Marleen Termeer 5 . Public Buildings and Urban Landscape: A View from the Riverfront  Fr ancesca de Capr ariis

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6 . Goodbye to All That: The Roman Citizen Militia after the Great Wars  146 Michael J. Taylor 7. The Administration of the Imperium Romanum in the Second Century bce  Michele Bellomo

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Contents

  8. Legislation, Politics, and Social Change in the Early Second Century bce 194 Thibaud Lanfr anchi   9. Interactions between Tribunes and Senate  Annarosa Gallo

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10. The Gentes Maiores and Aristocratic Competition in Rome (200–​134 bce)  Cyrielle Landrea

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11. The Arrival of Eloquence? The Changing Parameters of Public Speech in the Second Century  Catherine Steel

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12. Beyond Conservatism: Charting Roman Religion between Hannibal and Scipio Nasica  Federico Santangelo

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13. Epilogue—​Periodization in Perspective: Further Thoughts about the Second Century bce  Harriet I. Flower

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Index Locorum 

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General Index 

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Acknowledgments

This volume stems from a conference that took place at the British School at Rome on 18 and 19 January 2019. We are grateful to our home institutions, the School of History, Classics and Archaeology of Newcastle University and the Department of Historical Studies of the University of Turin, for the financial support that made that event possible. Silvia Giorcelli, Marco Maiuro, and Arnaldo Marcone generously agreed to take on chairing duties, and Elio Lo Cascio, Franco Luciani, and Manfredi Zanin offered crucial advice and support at various stages. Christine Martin, Elizabeth Bell, and Claire Holden provided much-​needed expertise on administrative and logistical matters. Our thanks to them all. The late Guido Clemente took part in the BSR conference, chaired a session, and offered customarily insightful advice on this project at various stages of its development. We deeply regret not to be able to share and discuss its outcome with him. Stefan Vranka at OUP has offered invaluable editorial advice and support throughout the process. The comments of the Press readers have made us think harder about matters large and small, and we should like to express our gratitude for their constructive and insightful feedback. Turin and Newcastle, April 2022

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List of Illustrations

Figure 4.1 Rome’s last silver didrachm, the quadrigatus, with its standard types: Janiform head/​Jupiter in a quadriga driven by Victory. RRC 30/​1. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​00189. 90 Figure 4.2 Denarius with standard types: Head of Roma/​Dioscuri galloping. RRC 53/​2. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​00223. 90 Figure 4.3 Bronze as of the sextantal standard, with standard types: Laureate head of Janus/​Prow. RRC 56/​2. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​00298. 93 Figure 4.4  Denarius, with second standard type on the reverse: Head of Roma/​Luna in biga. On the reverse, the letters TOD refer to the moneyer (Todus?). RRC 141/​1. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RE-​05134. 98 Figure 4.5 Early example of a “private” denarius: Head of Roma/​She-​ wolf suckling twins. On the reverse, the letters SEX PMO refer to the moneyer, Sex. Pompeius, while FOSTLVS identifies the figure on the left as Faustulus. RRC 235/​1b. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RE-​05181. 100 Figure 4.6  Early example of a “private” denarius: Head of Roma/​ Spiral column with statue on top, flanked by two togate figures. On the reverse, the letters C AVG refer to the moneyer, C. Minucius Augurinus, who chose to depict the columna Minucia on the coin. RRC 242/​1. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​01290. 101

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List of Illustrations

Coin from the Pompeian pseudo-​mint, combining types of Ebusus (obverse) and Massalia (reverse): Full figure of Bes facing/​Bull butting right. Not to scale. Source: Frey-​ Kupper and Stannard 2018, 341, fig. A, TC-​18. 105 Figure 4.8   Coin from Kos, overstruck with the types Head of Apollo/​She-​wolf suckling twins (informal production). The reverse type clearly uses the “private” type denarius RRC 235/​1 as a prototype (see fig. 4.5). Not to scale. Source: Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2018, 296, fig. 4, no. 9. 110 Figure 5.1   Testaccio and Trastevere. The archaeological evidence and the Severan Marble Plan (from Carettoni-​Cozza-​ Colini-​Gatti 1960). 119 Figure 5.2    (porticus) Aemilia or Naualia. On the right, fragment 23 of the Marble Plan: note the inscription ]LIA (© Sovrintendenza Capitolina). 120 Figure 5.3  Detail in raking light of fragment 24b; only the letters I and A were engraved under the main inscription (© Sovrintendenza Capitolina, photo by L. Frazzoni). 122 Figure 5.4    The urban banks of the Tiber (from Le Gall 1953). 123 Figure 5.5   Museo della Civiltà Romana, Plastico di Roma arcaica. The riverfront from the Campus Martius to the Aventine plain. 124 Figure 5.6   Aedilician and censorial works in the port area in the first decades of the second century bce.125 Figure 5.7a–​b Th  e commercial port in the second century bce according to the old scenario and the new one. 132 Figure 5.8   The area of the porticus Aemilia (slab 27 on the left) according to Pier Luigi Tucci (from Tucci 2011–​2012). 133 Pie chart 8.1  Statistical analysis of second-​century legislation: overall figures. 207 Pie chart 8.2 Statistical analysis of second-​century legislation: laws. 207 Pie chart 8.3  Statistical analysis of second-​century legislation: plebiscites. 208

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List of Contributors

Mattia Balbo, University of Turin Michele Bellomo, University of Milan Francesca de Caprariis, Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali, Rome Harriet I. Flower, Princeton University Annarosa Gallo, University of Bologna Cyrielle Landrea, Université Bretagne Sud Thibaud Lanfranchi, Université Toulouse–​Jean Jaurès Federico Santangelo, Newcastle University Catherine Steel, University of Glasgow James Tan, University of Sydney Michael J. Taylor, State University of New York at Albany Marleen Termeer, Radboud University, Nijmegen

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Introduction Whence and Whither? Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo

1.1. Periodizing the Second Century bce The title of this volume states some working assumptions, and seeks to engage with a debate that has a long and complex history. It explicitly alludes to a book that just over a decade ago put forward a radical reassessment of the history of the Roman Republic, its structure, and its periodization. In Roman Republics (2010), Harriet Flower argued that the five centuries or so between the end of the regal period and the emergence of the Augustan regime are not best understood as a coherent or unified Republican age, but should instead be viewed as a sequence of fundamentally different, if interrelated, Republican setups. Her periodization involved thirteen time periods and six republics.1 She envisaged an “experimental” early Republic (450–​367 bce), the regime that emerged from the settlement of the Struggle of the Orders (366–​300 bce), and three “republics of the nobles”: one from the lex Ogulnia of 300 bce, which opened up the control over the infrastructure of public religion to the plebeians, to the lex annalis of 180 bce, which rewrote the rules of political competition; one from 180 to the ballot law of 139; and another from 139 to 88 bce. Sulla stands out a major turning point: a bold reformer who establishes a new Republic, in which the conditions for the emergence of a monarchic regime readily materialize. This account has prompted lively debate and spirited disagreement in some quarters, both on its general conception and on specific aspects of the

1. Flower 2010: 33. Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Introduction In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0001

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periodization it puts forward: it has been argued that it is too heavily focused on constitutional factors, or that it unduly downplays the connection between external and internal developments.2 There is no question, though, that as a catalyst for further thinking Flower’s book has proved tremendously stimulating. Its methodological call to question long-​held periodizations and interrogate more closely the pace and quality of historical change remains an essential reference point. The Medieval motto distingue frequenter, as Carlo Dionisotti memorably argued, is a key principle of historical research: Flower’s Roman Republics are a highly effective illustration of its potential and value.3 An important strength of Flower’s approach is its capacity for flexibility. The organization of her discussion follows a different framework from the periodization that she puts forward, and is not strictly shaped by the sequence of periods and republics that informs the general interpretation. A central chapter in Flower’s volume is devoted to the second century bce as a whole, and places it under the rubric “A Community in Transition,” from which we have drawn the title of this volume.4 The bulk of Flower’s discussion is in fact devoted to the first three quarters of the century: the Gracchan reforms are the endpoint of the analysis, the key thesis of which is that they did not occur in a vacuum or as a major point of discontinuity after a long season of stability, but should in fact be read against the backdrop of complex, far-​reaching, and deep-​seated change. The argument that the period between Hannibal and the Gracchi is a reasonably distinctive and self-​contained unit in Roman history is of course not new, and has had wide historiographical currency, not least in textbook discussions.5 There is an obvious, even superficial appeal in singling out the period between the rise of Rome to the status of Mediterranean hegemonic power and the outbreak of political violence on an unprecedented scale as a discrete historical unit. Both moments were already identified as watersheds in Roman history in antiquity and throughout a complex historiographical tradition;6 one could trace back the view of a connection between Mediterranean expansion and political disruption at least as far back as Montesquieu. The “From Hannibal to the Gracchi” periodization is thus a straightforward one, and the intrinsic importance of both

2. Cf. North 2010: 469–​70; Crawford 2011: 307; Rich 2012: 307. 3. Dionisotti 1956: 193 (=​1967: 155). 4. Flower 2010: 61–​79, the full title of the chapter is “Political Innovations. A Community in Transition (Second Century).” 5. E.g., Astin 1989; Gabba 1990; Gargola 2006: 154–​64, without neglecting the influential and controversial discussion of Toynbee 1965 (on which see further below). 6. On 133 bce see Schropp 2017.

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dates is hard to argue against.7 On one reading, the period could be seen as a sort of lull before the storm: a moment in which Rome consolidates its position in the Mediterranean, and internal politics still retains a degree of stability and efficiency; the final stint of an “age of quiescence” that had been ushered in by the solution of the Struggle of the Orders.8 This has long been the prevailing account, not just in English-​speaking historiography. The attempt of Lily Ross Taylor, nearly sixty years ago, to problematize that reconstruction by fleshing out the aims of the “forerunners of Gracchi” was as influential as it was isolated.9 The concept itself of “forerunners,” albeit used with a degree of caution, betrays a somewhat skewed historical perspective, as it frames the Gracchi (without differentiating between Tiberius and Gaius) as the sole bearers of a moment of genuine discontinuity. Any sign of innovation in the political attitude of the tribunes of the plebs in the earlier history of the second century tends to be viewed as a sign that forebodes a conflict between tribunes and Senate—​thus not between tribunes and consuls, as one would have expected—​that would crudely unleash with the assassination of Tiberius Gracchus. This reading has significant ancient precedents: Quintus’ assertive comments on the tribunate of the plebs in Cicero’s On Laws; Velleius Paterculus’ assessment of Tiberius Gracchus, whom he accused of having parted company from the good men during his term in office; and the opening of Appian’s Civil Wars.10 Flower’s account of the second century bce has decisively undermined that convenient prevailing view. The lack of continuous ancient narratives for most of this period (notably for the years after 167 bce) has instead sharpened efforts to pursue a thematic approach, encompassing various layers of internal and external developments. If one takes that focus and starts unpicking various levels of change, then the scale and range of innovation appear in sharper focus. Speaking of a “community in transition” presents at least two advantages. The notion of transition does away with familiar ideas such as that of “classical Republic,” on the one hand, and of “late Republican crisis,” on the other. The latter is an

7. Cf. Padilla Peralta 2020: 12–​13 for a view of the Hannibalic War as “a watershed moment without equal.” 8. Brunt 1971b: 60–​61; cf. Williams 2004. 9. Taylor 1962, esp. 19 (“This was a revolutionary act, and it inaugurated a period of defiance of the will of Senate and magistrates by tribunes who may properly be described as forerunners of the Gracchi”) and 27 (“Their acts [. . .] were not directly revolutionary, but their continued interference in affairs of state [. . .] marked them out as forerunners of the Gracchi and also of the tribunes who served the rival leaders of the Age of Revolution.”). 10. Cic. Leg. 3.19 (“born in sedition and for sedition,” in seditione et ad seditionem nata); Vell. 2.2.2 (desciuit a bonis); App. BC 1.1.1. For a recent discussion of the tribunate see Lanfranchi 2022.

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especially pressing concern in Flower’s project, which is so keenly focused, as we have seen, on problems of periodization and on what they reveal on the scale and pace of historical change. Another key aim is to identify more precisely the cases in which it is proper to speak of a crisis. In principle the concept of crisis can equally apply to short-​term developments and to processes in the longue durée, and some have indeed lamented this potential for ambiguity and viewed it as a symptom of its limited analytical power.11 The caveat may also hold true for our period. Its two termini are the end of a military crisis and the start of a political one; nor is there a dearth of short-​term crises in Rome, whether the Bacchanalian affair of 186 bce or the disputes on military recruitment of 151 bce and 138 bce, and in the Mediterranean empire, from the lingering problems on the Ligurian front to the interventions in the Fourth Syrian War and the Viriathus revolt in Spain. Moreover, the second century has often been associated with a long-​term crisis: the economic and social developments that set in after the Hannibalic War and shaped the context in which Tiberius Gracchus put forward his land reform. In some versions of that account, the crisis of Italian agriculture is closely embedded with the crisis of a class—​that of the small landowners—​which in turn threatens the cohesion of Roman society as a whole.12

1.2. The Quality of Change No student of this period seriously questions that the Gracchi sought to address the consequences of a process of change. The terms of that process and the soundness of their attempt, however, have been intensely debated over the last half century. The old idea of a link between the impact of the Hannibalic War, large-​scale military conscription, and land ownership concentration that was the cornerstone of Arnold J. Toynbee’s great project has since been undermined by a vast body of archaeological work.13 Much of the interplay among agrarian, military, and demographic factors in this period remains debated; the focus of the discussion is mostly between “high counters” and “low counters,” and no consensus is in sight.14 Recent work has rightly advocated the importance of viewing changes in 11. Cf. Nicolet 1977: 117 (“Nous parlerons de « question » plutôt que de crise agraire: une crise ne dure pas plusieurs siècles”); Flower 2010: ix–​x ; Santangelo 2021: 178–​86. 12. So, just over a century ago, De Sanctis 1920: 11 (=​1976: 17). See Franco 2022. 13. Toynbee 1965. For recent favorable reassessments of that project cf. Cornell 1996 and Ando 2019. 14. The key milestones in this complex debate are Brunt 1971a; Lo Cascio 1994 (whose historiographical overview tersely sets the terms of the discussion); Kron 2005; Scheidel 2006; Launaro 2011; and de Ligt 2012. We should frankly acknowledge our siding with the high

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Italy against their wider Mediterranean backdrop. In the second century bce the Italian diaspora in the Mediterranean gains momentum, and new ties between Italy and the empire develop.15 We should be open to the possibility of a disconnect between reality and perception. The extent of the agrarian crisis in Italy may have been misconstrued by those who advocated change in good faith. It is possible that Tiberius Gracchus based his assessment on his personal, if limited experience of the agrarian landscape of Southern Etruria, which was hardly representative of the wider picture.16 It is also conceivable that the apparent decrease in census figures in the years preceding 133 bce, which remains a controversial topic in modern scholarship, may have persuaded some members of the nobility (e.g., C. Laelius, or Ap. Claudius Pulcher) of the urgency of a land reform that would consolidate the system of military recruitment.17 Nor should we lose sight of the fact that the Gracchan land reform was not presented by its backers as a major shift in outlook and practice: it was in fact asserted as a return to long-​standing and recently lost traditions. Whichever view one might take on this important area of debate, it is increasingly clear that progress can be attained only by integrating it with a wider set of problems, by discussing how change on the economic level measures up with change on the political and institutional fronts, and in turn by exploring how they relate to religious and intellectual developments. In this respect too the discussion that Flower put forward in Roman Republics provides a valuable blueprint: her thematic overview of the key areas of discontinuity in the history of second century bce sets an agenda that we seek to develop further in this volume.18 The fragmentary state of the evidence complicates any attempt to identify patterns of change, establish their depth and reach, and frame the discussion around some defining figures. If we had to identify two key individuals in the political history of our period, they would surely have to be the Elder Cato and Scipio Aemilianus. While their juxtaposition would give us the measure of the distance between them, and of the change that intervened between their generations, it would also suggest some lines of contact, and possibly of

counters (Santangelo 2007: 472; Balbo 2013: 24–​25)—​but that is immaterial to the concerns of the present discussion. 15. Roselaar 2019. 16. Plut. TG 8.9 =​FRHist 11 F 2. 17. References and discussion in Lo Cascio 2008 and Balbo 2017. 18. For other thematically oriented discussions of this period cf. Roldán 1981: 343–​93 and (specifically on 169 bce) North 2022.

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continuity.19 But it would not amount to more than the statement of a problem, and would not take us much further in the analysis of the quality of the historical change that might have intervened. What might prove more productive, on the other hand, is a thematic approach that focuses on areas in which change did occur: a category that is so much more capacious and productive in this context than that of crisis, and does not reflect any unspoken hierarchies or axiologies, unlike a concept like “decline.” In Roman Republics, Flower identified a number of areas of discussion: competition for public office; colonization; the calendar; the judiciary; foreign policy; controversies over land; ballot legislation; coinage production; and army recruitment. These themes are all discussed in the chapters included in this volume, albeit in a different thematic partition, which we have centered more closely upon the first two-​thirds of the second century, leaving out the age of the Gracchi and the rise of Marius, which Flower does include in her reconstruction. The key concern of our collective investigation is to identify the salient features of change in the pre-​Gracchan period and explore their interplay. Speaking of a transition entails recognizing that a fundamental shift did occur in this period. After the victory at Zama (202 bce), Rome entered a new phase as the fresh victor of a major military conflict, tasked with the challenge of reconstruction at home and of managing what would become a hegemonic position on the Mediterranean stage, while its endpoint (the killing of Tiberius Gracchus in 133 bce) was marked by highly controversial policy decisions that became the focus of disagreement and mobilization; violence emerged as a real and effective political option. A familiar caveat applies. To do justice to this period it is necessary to look beyond it, both before and afterward, and escape any temptation to focus on the endpoint: it would be highly reductive and ultimately mistaken to set the explanation of the Gracchan crisis as the central brief of this collective investigation. On the contrary, it is essential to be open to the possibility that events in the mid-​130s might well have taken a very different turn, and that the Gracchan developments were influenced by weighty contingent factors. On the other hand, it is clear that a set of structural conditions did change, and that they warrant close discussion in their own right. Change does occur on a number of fronts and at a varying pace; the challenge is to do justice to changes both in their granular detail and their long-​term dimension.

19. Cf. Passet 2020. Ennius would of course have to be central to any attempt to write an intellectual history of the period: for a recent discussion of his life under the rubrics of innovation and authority see Farrell and Damon 2020: 7–​15.

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1.3. Toward New Connections Change can of course be discerned and investigated on the levels of historical development. Some parameters and limitations are necessary to make the discussion manageable. The standpoint of the chapters gathered in this volume is that of the community: the Roman polity, the social groups that played a role in its institutions, and those that were affected by their decisions. In this vein, most of the focus is on the city of Rome, where the operations of the Roman polity unfold; the expansion of the urban settlement and the development of its infrastructure are also important concerns. Italy is discussed insofar as it allows a more effective understanding or a more precise contextualization of developments in the Urbs—​whether it is a discussion of the agrarian context (as in Mattia Balbo’s chapter) or of religious dynamics (Federico Santangelo). Catherine Steel discusses developments in political culture from the standpoint of public speaking, and on the contrasting assessments that the later tradition conveys of these, while Cyrielle Landrea revisits the dossier on political competition and the role of major patrician families in that context. The empire is a significant focus insofar as exploring its implications on the fabric of the res publica is concerned: the assignment of provincial commands (Michele Bellomo), the changes to the running of public finances and coinage production (Marleen Termeer), and the army recruitment processes (Michael Taylor). Choosing this approach does not involve prioritizing political history, or indeed adopting a narrow focus on the upper echelons of society—​much as that remains a rewarding field of investigation in which genuine progress remains possible, as Landrea shows in her contribution.20 Quite the contrary, the fundamental aspiration of our volume is to put different thematic approaches in conversation with one another, and to explore what the rewards of an integrative approach can be. It is time for debates on Roman political culture (well beyond our period of choice) to be engaging more strongly with developments in the economic and social domains, and for work on institutional history to be more attuned to debates on intellectual and religious dynamics. The developments in the res publica offer a meaningful vantage point on this whole range of themes, which all pertain to the functioning of the Roman polity, but are in fact of much wider significance. James Tan’s chapter, right at the outset of the volume, even takes us to a pre-​political level, and questions whether the period on which we focus is marked by a discernible set of favorable climate conditions that had only recently set in. 20. For recent insightful discussions of the dynamics of political competition in the first two decades of the second century bce see Beck 2016: 136–​52 and 2019.

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We surmise that such an integrative approach may also have valuable implications to the study of other periods in Republican history, notably its last century, for which the relative abundance of evidence has exacerbated the tendency of scholars to magnify narrow areas of specialism and regard specific aspects in isolation from their wider context, and where the presence of major political figures for whom a decent amount of evidence survives has slanted much of the conversation on the agendas of specific individuals and their impact. As we noted above, the relative dearth of striking and well-​documented personalities in our period presents a set of opportunities. The thematic approach that we take in this book is thus led by the ambition to take specific analytical angles on their own terms before seeking a new synthesis. We set out to produce an attempt to discuss this period to a degree of detail and diversity that has not quite been attempted to a comparable extent. Much of the ground we are covering develops the themes identified by Flower, but we also add altogether new ones. We have already touched upon climate developments, on which Tan’s chapter breaks new ground. The interaction between tribunes and Senate, notably in the domain of legislative production, is a distinctive area of interest, which Annarosa Gallo and Thibaud Lanfranchi explore from different angles in their contributions; so is the discussion of the development of the urban landscape and its relationship with the position of the city in the Mediterranean world, which is the focus of Francesca de Caprariis’s chapter. Some of our work avowedly runs against the grain of the evidence. The most pressing issue that any thematic study of the 200–​134 bce period inevitably faces is the fragmentary and discontinuous state of the sources. Making sense of the connections between the parts and the whole is an especially hard challenge.21 The first three decades, as is well known, are reliably documented in the historiographical tradition: until 167 bce we can rely on Livy’s text, whose narrative ends with the Senate debate on the embassy of king Prusias of Bithynia after the Third Macedonian War. Livy’s account is far from comprehensive or unproblematic, of course, but the extent of the consequences of its loss become apparent once one turns to the Periochae: they barely suffice to convey a skeleton outline of the main events of later years. The period between the Hannibalic War and the Third Macedonian War is also covered by the surviving books of Polybius’ Histories, a source on the political ties between Rome and the Greek poleis in the late Hellenistic period produced by a highly informed and involved witness. For the central and final years of the century, on the other hand, we lack a continuous

21. Cf. Padilla Peralta and Bernard 2022 for a recent plea for a connected history of the Middle Republic (esp. 5–​8 on problems of periodization).

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and wide-​ranging account. There are, to be sure, a number of surviving literary sources, which shed light on specific events and processes, often without delving further on their context. The gap we are confronted with after 167 bce entails a much weaker knowledge of many political aspects that, on the other hand, are arguably attested in exceedingly sharp focus for the early years of the century: the careers of the magistrates, the debates within the Senate, the backers of statutes and their chronology, the meaning of many political innovations that brief passages in Cicero, Valerius Maximus, or Gellius allude to without giving any context, the changes in public cult and law, and the needs of the army. Some areas stand out as especially soaring gaps in our evidentiary base: the lack of information on the agrarian and colonial legislation at a crucial stage of the Roman conquest of Italy; and the trajectory of the urban development of Rome at a time of emphatic demographic growth. Much of the historiographical debate has perpetuated the idées reçues of a halt in land assignments and in public works, and has established a connection between these developments and the economic and social background of the Gracchan crisis.22 This account and its wider implications are worth revisiting.

1.4. The Structure of This Book The chapters that make up this volume face in different ways the shape and outlook of the surviving evidence, and offer a range of alternative pathways by attempting new ways of intersecting and integrating the surviving literary tradition with the epigraphical evidence, the numismatic material, and the archaeological record. Cyrielle Landrea develops her prosopographical study of career patterns with a view to identifying the key political dynamics within the nobility and the signal role of the so-​called gentes maiores. Mattia Balbo develops his close reading of Appian’s account of the social and economic transformations of Roman Italy from the standpoint of the competition between large and small ownership. The numismatic evidence discussed by Marleen Termeer brings us to the intersections among political communication, monetary circulation, and macroeconomic developments, on both the public and private levels. The emphasis that Termeer places on private coinage—​a relatively understudied front—​ enables inroads into the understanding of political relations that the floundering of much of the annalistic evidence.

22. References and discussion in Tweedie 2011. On public works see Boren 1958 (with the weighty objections of Coarelli 1977).

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Catherine Steel, whose ongoing project on the fragments of Republican Roman orators will place our understanding of Roman political practice and culture on a new footing, shows how that cluster of fragmentary evidence can contribute to the interactions between magistrates and people, and how the language of political debate and controversy developed at that time. Similar challenges stand in the way of an attempt to reconstruct the pattern of religious change in second-​century Rome, which Federico Santangelo explores in his chapter; even the narrative accounts for the period up to 167 bce can hardly be expected to provide a comprehensive account, even if one confines the discussion to the domain of public religion. The case-​study pursued by Francesca de Caprariis in her discussion of the archaeology of the riverfront readily shows its significance well beyond the confines of that district of the Urbs, and alerts us to the wide host of material that speaks to the development of Rome into the capital of the new Mediterranean empire. A unifying theme of this project is the need that the Roman polity had to shift its operational model to respond to new and bigger challenges. Michael Taylor confronts the recruitment needs and the military expenses that the Republic faced in the first half of the century, and puts forward a new account on the basis of a reading of the census figures.23 On the institutional front, the changes in the running of the imperial Republic are a classic area of investigation. The remit of the powers of the magistrates—​an area in which the floundering of the accounts of Polybius and Livy is felt in an especially acute way—​is the focus of Michele Bellomo’s discussion. The study of legislative production, on the other hand, can rely on a wider set of fragmentary evidence, especially for the period that is not covered in Livy’s account: the studies of Thibaud Lanfranchi on the areas of discontinuity and of Annarosa Gallo on the interaction between tribunes and Senate bring out the potential of this problem. Each chapter addresses a specific level of change. James Tan critically revisits the scholarly literature on the so-​called Roman Warm Period, a theme that has been at the forefront of recent debates, well beyond traditional academia. Interest in climate history has experienced a major leap forward over the last decade, chiefly mobilized by the pressing debate on global warming, in the humanities and the sciences alike. Tan’s discussion has a strong methodological focus and seeks to address a question that is not central just for the ancient world: the role that climate change should have in the historical analysis of far-​reaching processes. Changes in this respect can be for the better, as well as for the worse: the 23. See also Pearson 2021, who argues that the mid-​Republican period was a crucial stage in the development of Roman military bureaucracy, and stresses the importance of record-​keeping in this remit.

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early Imperial period is a case in point. Tan pursues a problem of periodization, closely in keeping with the spirit of this book—​and periodization is ever related to choices of method. He contemplates the possibility that the second century bce might be the opening phase of a trend of climate improvement, which coincided with the early phase of the Roman hegemony in the Mediterranean. The core of his argument is a timely caveat against establishing causal relations between climate optimum and imperial expansion. To be sure, a degree of correlation between the “Roman Warm Period” and the “Golden Age” of Rome (c. 250/​ 200 bce—​200 ce) may be posited. It would be misguided, though, to explain a sustained period of geopolitical hegemony as the direct outcome of more favorable climate conditions. What we should envisage is a combination of factors—​ social, economic, political, and climatic. Climate can be part of the explanation for major developments, though; as Tan shows, work remains to be done on the role that the climate had on a salient aspect: the demographic situation and the trajectory that contributed to Rome’s imperial success. Any attempt to explore the history of the second century bce entails taking a view on the size and quality of Italian manpower. Mattia Balbo’s chapter tackles the issue from the standpoint of a specific problem that readily shows its wider significance: the famous passage of Appian on the background of the agrarian crisis that the Gracchi sought to address (BC 1.7.26–​31). An important strand of that account deserves closer attention than has so far been the case: the competition for land and its management—​competition between different kinds of workforce, between small and large ownership, and between different strategies of exploitation. In the second century bce the senatorial elite consolidated the ideological dimension of its role as landed elite, and invested a sizable share of the capital drawn from the Mediterranean conquest into the acquisition of new land.24 Balbo considers the involvement of the Senate as an institution in the development of an agrarian policy in Italy, alternating repressive interventions to restate the entitlement on the ager publicus with a laissez-​faire approach

24. The logic is entirely different from that of rentiers, in spite of some influential attempts to argue the contrary (see the definition of “rentier capitalism” in Weber 1909 =​1924: 1–​288). From a different standpoint, a number of “primitivist” scholars likened the economic outlook of the Roman landed elite and the social relations in the Italian countryside in Roman context with the model of the large estates of the Ancien Régime aristocracy (cf. Finley 1973: 95–​121; Finley 1976). On that reading, the land-​owning senator who was politically engaged at Rome was by definition an absentee landlord, and his economic initiative was strongly limited by the restrictions imposed by the law, on the one hand, and by the aristocratic ethos, on the other. A major revision of this model of Roman agricultural economy and its social context gained momentum from the early 1980s: cf. de Neeve 1984; Capogrossi Colognesi 1986; Lo Cascio 1993 (=​2009: 91–​113); Lo Cascio 2002 (=​2009: 19–​70). See the detailed historiographical discussion in Capogrossi Colognesi 2012: 1–​59, esp. 45–​51 on the developments of the 1980s.

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to the occupation of public land by private individuals—​possibly even offering occasional incentives. The role of institutions and their impact on social and economic development is a major theme of this volume. Termeer pursues the subject from the standpoint of the development and spread of silver coinage in Italy, an aspect that is closely related to the problem pursued in Balbo’s chapter. The increase in monetary circulation is a consequence of the greater, if uneven, reach of a market-​ oriented economy and of the political Romanization of Italy. With the increasing development of the denarius system in the third and second centuries bce, silver coinage becomes the centerpiece of the Roman monetary system, and replaces the role that bronze held in previous generations. Moreover, it ends up becoming the perquisite of Rome, while other Italian polities continue to produce bronze. That had a discernible impact on political communication: in the second century handling a silver denarius inevitably entailed coming into contact with Rome and her politics. Termeer’s study breaks new ground in an important respect. While the circulation of the coinage produced by the res publica in this period has received much attention, her focus on private coinage and its economic impact marks a fresh departure from the predominant modern scholarship. The second half of the century is a phase of increasing competition within the nobility, and the spread of private coin issues, whose volume and impact are not sufficiently well known yet, seems to have a significant political message: they captured the extent of the internal variability of the Roman elite, and of the range of its strategies in that period. Termeer’s chapter speaks directly to a central theme in any narrative of internal change and decline: elite competition and its intensification. The interplay between economic developments, magisterial activity, and political communication distinctively emerges from the rich evidence for major building projects that Francesca de Caprariis explores in her chapter. In the second century, Rome goes through a spell of major urban development, which can in many ways be regarded as a direct outcome of imperial expansion and the hegemonic role that the Romans played in Italy. With the Mediterranean expansion starts a long process of inurbation and demographic growth for the city of Rome, which had its peak in the early Principate. Its scope and significance have been much debated by modern scholars, as well as its connection with the developments across Italy that we mentioned above. Keith Hopkins viewed imperial Rome as a ville monstre that exponentially grew because of the migration from the countryside rather than by natural increment—​not unlike eighteenth-​century London.25 One does 25. Hopkins 1978: 64–​74; Hopkins 1995–​1996: 59–​60; see the discussion of this model in Jongman 2003; Morley 1996 and 2001.

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not have to accept this extreme view to concede that in the last two centuries of the Republic the urban landscape of the city went through major changes that were brought about by a combination of factors: imperial expansion, economic development, aristocratic competition, and the reshaping of public space.26 De Caprariis’s chapter focuses on a specific remit in which the trend neatly emerges, for all the problem of interpretation that it raises: the intended function of the new buildings along the banks of the Tiber. De Caprariis questions the long-​ held view that identified most of the new buildings on the riverfront as commercial installations, whose development was a direct consequence of the economic expansion of Rome. In the new scenario that she posits, a part of these spaces was taken up by military installations (naualia), and the urban development of the riverfront did not just address trading needs but was also the vivid reflection of a city that was constantly expanding and of a growing sea power that was gearing up to fully take the place of Carthage on the Mediterranean stage. Rome’s military rise in the second century bce is also the focus of the chapter of Michael Taylor, who investigates the changes in the recruitment system and in the setup of the army that the recent imperial position of Rome brought about. Taylor carefully charts the need for recruits on the basis of the military engagement required by the various wars that Rome fought in the second century. He divides the century up in two major phases: the first one is of great military commitment and intense recruitment, which goes from the Second Punic War to the Third Macedonian War (218–​168 bce). This period coincides with the increased momentum of the Roman expansion in the Mediterranean: the two processes are mutually influenced.27 The second phase is the main focus of the chapter: it begins with the victory over Perseus and goes down to the outbreak of the Social War (167–​91 bce): recruitment levels considerably decrease, and so does the experience on the field of soldiers and commanders alike. The establishment of the “professional” army (i.e., trained and permanent) met with a setback, suitable for the management of a new hegemonic position at Rome. Taylor productively applies the concept of stagnation, drawn from economics, to define the quantitative and qualitative contraction of military recruitment in the second half of the century. The political consequences of this phase of stagnation are especially

26. Mogetta 2015: esp. 29–​34 is a major recent account of the latter problem, which identifies the mid-​second century bce as a moment of sharp change, enabled by the emergence of concrete and swiftly leading to the “beautification of the new capital” (33). 27. See also Taylor 2020: 11–​12 on the importance of 168 bce as the “rough terminus” of a possible periodization framed around an “international system” that was in existence from ca. 280 bce, and included Rome, Carthage, and the three great Hellenistic kingdoms.

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apparent in the “crisis” that stemmed from the setbacks in the Third Celtiberian War (153–​133 bce) and in the Jugurthine War (112–​105 bce). Michele Bellomo’s chapter focuses on changes in the army from a different standpoint: the forms of power. Bellomo investigates the development of the concept of imperium and prouincia in an institutional setting, and reconstructs the historical backdrop against which those changes occurred. His analysis focuses on the connection between the real strategic need to increase the number and the duration of commands (imperia) and the appetite for regulating more stringently the office-​holding pattern. The ongoing tension between imperial demands and Republican politics is in a way the most pressing problem of the second century bce, which encapsulates the wider tensions of that period. Several major themes of the political history of the second century bce—​the regulation of career patterns, the development of promagistracies, the slow territorialization of the concept of prouincia, as well as the forms of political communication and sumptuary legislation—​reflect in different ways the tensions that stem from increasing elite competition and the constant quest for checks and balances in the institutional setup.28 Bellomo’s conclusions productively intersect with the themes explored on the economic front in the early chapters and the political aspects analyzed in the second part of the book. In his contribution, Thibaud Lanfranchi puts forward a close reading of the legislative activity in the second century, revolving around an analytical overview of the laws dating to this period, their typology, and the institutional context in which they were presented. He devotes a special focus to the legislation that pertains to the domain of private law, since the second century bce witnesses profound changes in the relationship between mos and lex, between consuetudinary law and positive law. An intense and recurring legislative activity impacts on the remit of private law. These new laws can be seen as the symptom of a political problem, and a reluctance to accept statute law in that field. Moreover, in the second century, Roman jurisprudence experienced a turning point and gained an increasingly significant role in intellectual life. Legislation and legal science, in Lanfranchi’s account, are closely related developments, and are powerfully shaped by the political and cultural changes brought about by imperial expansion. A striking outcome yielded by the quantitative and qualitative analysis offered by Lanfranchi is the increasing role of the tribunes of the plebs in legislative

28. Märtin 2012 (esp. 210–​87) has the merit of framing the problem of elite self-​regulation as an important theme in the second century bce, although the notion of “Erziehungsgesetze” (education laws) around which she frames her discussion raises some doubts. On “status coherence” see also Beck 2016: 149–​52.

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activity, which is the specific focus of Annarosa Gallo’s chapter. Her discussion of the interaction between tribunes and Senate has a special focus on the political and institutional problems raised by the procedure for the approval of the laws and by the connection between tribunician legislation and Senate decrees. The resulting account of the action of the tribunes of the plebs is noticeably distant from the political developments of the age of the Gracchi, of which it is at the same time the necessary premise.29 In the second century the tribunes of the plebs often act in close agreement with the Senate, as they are full-​fledged members of the nobility. By deploying their political activity exclusively within the city of Rome, they have a de facto monopoly on legislative activity: most magistrates cum imperio are by now committed in various ways in the administration of the empire—​both wars and provincial assignments.30 The tribunes are thus the prime force in the legislative process and often—​though not unfailingly—​act in agreement with the Senate, even when it comes to containing the power of the magistrates. Their enhanced role entails a widening of their competencies, and at the same time explains the importance of the tribunes of the plebs in the Gracchan experience. As is well known, though, after the assassination of Tiberius Gracchus the terms of the political controversy changed comprehensively. While in the second century we often see an arrangement being reached between tribunes and Senate, with the consuls being sidelined, in the later Republic the clashes between tribunes and Senate become much more frequent, and the consuls pick one side or the other, as the circumstances require. The institutional interaction between magistrates and Senate directly points to the problem of elite competition, which Cyrielle Landrea explores in her contribution by taking the realignment of the patriciate, notably of the gentes maiores, at the time of the greatest expansion of the patricio-​plebeian nobilitas as her standpoint. It is not by chance that in 172 bce the first attested consular pair made up of two plebeians is attested. Moreover, from this moment on, the old principle that granted the patricians a place in the consular pair was no longer upheld. The patrician monopoly over the curule magistracies was the final and heaviest restriction, which the literary tradition traced back to the Struggle of the Orders. The election of a patrician consul, while still rather frequent for the

29. From a different standpoint, Görne 2020: 79–​153 draws attention to the impact of the tribunician veto on decision-​making in the mid-​Republican period: not so much as a hurdle to deliberation, but as a device that decelerates decision-​making in order to bring about stronger political consensus. The “verabsolutierte Veto” of M. Octavius in 133 bce is an exception that proves the rule, and marks a fundamental shift in the history of tribunician intercession. 30. On the centrality of the tribunes in mid-​Republican lawmaking see Sandberg 2001, with the crucial qualifications of Crawford 2004.

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whole century, is no longer connected to an institutional practice, but depends on the context in which the candidacies are put forward, and on the ability of the patricians to assert a prominent political role in the new Roman elite. Internal competition and systematic clashes between magistrates are themes of great significance, which cannot be confined to the fields of political history and public law. They also have a considerable impact on the practice of public oratory, wistfully celebrated by the senatorial historiography of the early imperial period as the highest point reached by the res publica. Catherine Steel’s contribution focuses on the changes in public oratory, and builds on a critical analysis of the “typical” image of the second-​century bce orator that Cicero constructed in the Brutus. Steel tests the validity of Cicero’s account on the evidence of the surviving fragments of speeches given in the second century bce. The figure of the orator and his profile are significantly affected by the political and institutional changes that intervened at the time. Public speaking is central to any attempt to understand the makeup of the Roman Republic—​quite apart from the long-​standing debate on its “oligarchic” or “democratic” political character—​and the emergence of political innovations and their acceptance in the institutional setup. Public religion has long been regarded as a field in which conservative attitudes prevailed by default, notably in the age between Hannibal and the Gracchi. Santangelo’s chapter seeks to revisit this account, and focuses instead on the evidence for innovation and change. The documentary basis turns out to be both ample and diverse. Again, 167 bce turns out to be a watershed of sorts, as Livy conveys a picture of unrivaled richness, which is by no means confined to developments in public religion, and which becomes much hazier when his account ends. The evidence for the period, though, is by no means confined to the Ab Urbe condita libri and, as a whole, it does not point to a univocal pattern of rupture or continuity, but various levels of change are clearly discernible: the emergence of new strands of prophetic divination, the developments in the sacred landscape of the city (not least as result of the series of vows that are fulfilled after the end of the Hannibalic War), the establishment of new priesthoods, and the emergence of new modes of interaction within the priestly colleges. The reform of the political calendar in 153 bce that Flower rightly singles out as a major institutional development belongs in a dense and complex picture of debate and contestation. The subversive use of his pontifical lore and standing that Scipio Nasica made in 133 bce belongs in that very context: one in which religio is acutely relevant and inherently contested, and is a crucial aspect of any strategies through which the past and the future of the community are thought through. In this respect too, then, the second century bce emerges as an age of creative instability that must be understood in its own right.

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The study of religious developments brings into especially sharp focus the need for the integrative approach that we advocate throughout this volume—​an analytical agenda that cuts through various levels of change and brings out their mutual connections. It bears repeating that political, legal, economic, religious, and intellectual developments are much more closely interwoven than the long-​ established scholarly traditions of our sub-​disciplinary siloes have trained us to recognize. Exploring them in the context of a collective investigation enables a new look at periodizations—​at the pace at which events and processes unfold, and their consequences are felt and understood: a problem to which Harriet Flower returns in the Epilogue that she generously agreed to contribute to this volume, in which she identifies the changing positions of women and children in Roman society and the impact of mass enslavement as avenues of further inquiry that will require considerable attention in future work. The exercise of frequenter distinguere, of constantly pursuing the path of distinction and difference, is not about finding shelter in the comforting havens of skepticism or aporia. It is about thinking about new and better ways of positing connections and devising possible syntheses.31 B i b l i o gr a p h y Ando, C. 2019. “Hannibal’s Legacy. Sovereignty and Territoriality in Republican Rome.” In K.-​J. Hölkeskamp, S. Karataş and R. Roth (eds.), Empire, Hegemony or Anarchy? Rome and Italy, 201–​31 BCE, 55–​81. Stuttgart. Astin, A. E. 1989. “Roman Government and Politics, 200–​134 B.C.” In A. E. Astin, F. W. Walbank, M. W. Frederiksen and R. M. Ogilvie (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History. Second Edition, VIII.2, 163–​96. Cambridge. Balbo, M. 2013. Riformare la “res publica.” Retroterra sociale e significato politico del tribunato di Tiberio Gracco. Bari. Balbo, M. 2017. “Alcune osservazioni sul trionfo e sulla censura di Appio Claudio Pulcro (cos. 143 a.C.).” Athenaeum 105: 499–​519. Beck, H. 2016. “Wealth, Power, and Class Coherence. The ambitus Legislation of the 180s B.C.” In H. Beck, M. Jehne and J. Serrati (eds.), Money and Power in the Roman Republic, 131–​52. Brussels. Beck, H. 2019. “Pecuniam inlargibo tibi. Wahlbestechung und Wahlniederlage in der mittleren römischen Republik.” In K.-​J. Hölkeskamp and H. Beck (eds.), Verlierer

31. We are very grateful to Harriet Flower for her opening lecture at the Rome conference, which enabled us to bring into focus some of the issues discussed in this introduction, and for her comments on an early draft.

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und Aussteiger in der “Konkurrenz unter Anwesenden”. Agonalität in der politischen Kultur des antiken Rom, 31–​53. Stuttgart. Boren, C. 1958. “The Urban Side of the Gracchan Economic Crisis.” American Historical Review 63: 890–​902. Brunt, P. A. 1971a. Italian Manpower 225 B.C.–​A.D. 14. Oxford. Brunt, P. A. 1971b. Social Conflicts in the Roman Republic. London. Capogrossi Colognesi, L. 1986. “Grandi proprietari, contadini e coloni nell’Italia romana (I-​III d.C.).” In A. Giardina (ed.), Società romana e impero tardoantico, I:325–​56. Rome and Bari. Capogrossi Colognesi, L. 2012. Padroni e contadini nell’Italia repubblicana. Rome. Coarelli, F. 1977. “Public Building in Rome between the Second Punic War and Sulla.” Papers of the British School at Rome 45: 1–​19. Cornell, T. 1996. “Hannibal’s Legacy. Effects of the Hannibalic War on Italy.” In T. J. Cornell, The Second Punic War. A Reappraisal, 97–​117. London. Crawford, M. H. 2004. “Republican Legislation.” Classical Review 54: 171–​72. Crawford, M. H. 2011. “Reconstructing What Roman Republic?” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 54: 105–​14. De Sanctis, G. 1920. “Dopoguerra antico.” Atene e Roma n.s. 1: 3–​14, 73–​89 (=​De Sanctis 1976: 9–​38). De Sanctis, G. 1976. Scritti minori, IV. Rome. Dionisotti, C. 1956. Discorso sull’Umanesimo italiano. Verona. Dionisotti, C. 1967. Geografia e storia della letteratura italiana. Turin. Farrell, J., and C. Damon. 2020. “Introduction: History and Poetry in Ennius’ Annals.” In C. Damon and J. Farrell (eds.), Ennius’ “Annals”. Poetry and History, 1–​22. Cambridge. Finley, M. I. 1973. The Ancient Economy. Berkeley and Los Angeles. Finley, M. I. 1976. “Private Farm Tenancy in Italy before Diocletian.” In M. I. Finley (ed.), Studies in Roman Property, 103–​21. Cambridge. Flower, H. I. 2010. Roman Republics. Princeton. Franco, C. 2022. “Il «Dopoguerra antico» di Gaetano De Sanctis (1920).” Storiografia 26: 29–​45. Gabba, E. 1990. “L’imperialismo romano.” In G. Clemente, F. Coarelli, and E. Gabba (eds.), Storia di Roma, II.1:189–​233. Turin. Görne, F. 2020. Die Obstruktionen der Römischen Republik. Stuttgart. Hopkins, K. 1978. Conquerors and Slaves. Cambridge. Hopkins, K. 1995–​1996. “Rome, Taxes, Rents and Trade.” Kodai 6–​7: 41–​75. Jongman, W. 2003. “Slavery and the Growth of Rome. The Transformation of Italy in the Second and First Centuries BCE.” In C. Edwards and G. Woolf (eds.), Rome the Cosmopolis, 100–​22. Cambridge. Kron, G. 2005. “The Augustan Census and the Population of Italy.” Athenaeum 92: 441–​95.

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Lanfranchi, T. 2022. In nome del popolo romano? Storia del tribunato della plebe. Rome. Launaro, A. 2011. Peasants and Slaves. The Rural Population of Roman Italy (200 BC to AD 100). Cambridge. Ligt, L. de. 2012. Peasants, Citizens and Soldiers. Studies in the Demographic History of Roman Italy 225 BC–​AD 100. Cambridge. Lo Cascio, E. 1993. “Considerazioni sulla struttura e sulla dinamica dell’affitto agrario in età imperiale.” In H. Sancisi-​Weerdenburg et al. (eds.), De agricultura. In memoriam P. W. de Neeve, 296–​316. Amsterdam. Lo Cascio, E. 1994. “The Size of the Roman Population: Beloch and the Meaning of the Augustan Census Figures.” Journal of Roman Studies 84: 23–​40. Lo Cascio, E. 2002. “La proprietà della terra, i percettori dei prodotti e della rendita.” In G. Forni and A. Marcone (eds.), Storia dell’agricoltura italiana, I.2:259–​313. Florence. Lo Cascio, E. 2008. “Roman Census Figures in the Second Century BC and the Property Qualification of the Fifth Class.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 239–​56. Leiden and Boston. Lo Cascio, E. 2009. Crescita e declino. Studi di storia dell’economia romana. Rome. Märtin, S. 2012. Die politische Führungsschicht der römischen Republik im 2.Jh. v.Chr. zwischen Konformitätsstreben und struktureller Differenzierung. Trier. Mogetta, M. 2015. “A New Date for Concrete in Rome.” Journal of Roman Studies 105: 1–​40. Morley, N. 1996. Metropolis and Hinterland. The City of Rome and the Italian Economy. Cambridge and New York. Morley, N. 2001. “The Transformation of Italy, 225–​28 B.C.” Journal of Roman Studies 91: 50–​62. Neeve, P. W. de. 1984. Colonus. Private Farm-​tenancy in Roman Italy during the Republic and the Early Principate. Amsterdam. Nicolet, C. 1977. Rome et la conquête du monde méditerranéen 264–​27 avant J.-​C. I. Les Structures de l’Italie romaine. Paris. North, J. A. 2010. “The End of the Republic?” Journal of Roman Archaeology 23: 469–​70. North, J. A. 2022. “Roman Political Culture in 169 BCE.” In V. Arena and J. R. W. Prag (eds.), A Companion to the Political Culture of the Roman Republic, 524–​36. Hoboken, NJ, and Chichester. Padilla Peralta, D. 2020. Divine Institutions. Religions and Community in the Middle Roman Republic. Princeton. Padilla Peralta, D., and S. Bernard. 2022. “Middle Republican Connectivities.” Journal of Roman Studies 112: 1–​37 (FirstView). Passet, L. 2020. “Frugality as a Political Language in the Second Century BCE: The Strategies of Cato the Elder and Scipio Aemilianus.” In I. Gildenhard and C.

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Climate Change and Rome’s Changing Republic James Tan

2.1. Introduction Historians of Late Antiquity have become accustomed to incorporating climate issues into social, political, and economic history. Given that climate reconstruction has most commonly been used for narratives of imperial or civilizational collapse, this late Roman focus sits within a broad intellectual tradition of “falls.”1 There is, however, scope for climate issues to be integrated into the study of Roman Republican history as well. For starters, the story of Rome’s “rise” is also the story of so many “falls”; just ask the Carthaginians, Antigonids, Seleucids, Achaeans, Sardinians, Boii, Ligures, and so many others. The focus of this volume, moreover, is on a period of transition from Republican continuity to discontinuity, so the theme of a “fall”—​in this case, the Republic’s “fall”—​is not out of place. More than anything, however, it would be odd to argue that climate can only play a role in explaining how circumstances end, rather than elucidating how they emerge or persist. Every person, place, and period exists within an ecological and climatic context. This is especially true of an agrarian society like Rome’s, where political and social history was constrained by the possibilities that the environment imposed. Stuart Manning puts it well: “Climate does not cause or create history 1. From the “fall” of the Roman Empire to the “fall” of Easter Island, the bibliography is vast. The following is merely a selection from various fields: Shaw 1981; Tainter 1990; Weiss and Bradley 2001; Diamond 2005; Büntgen et al. 2011; McCormick et al. 2012; Middleton 2012; Schneider and Adalı 2014; Harper 2016; Harper 2017; Harper and McCormick 2018; Marx et al. 2018, Sessa 2019 (with further bibliography). Caseldine and Turney (2010: 90) are correct that much of the focus is on sudden catastrophes and reflects an “event mentality.” James Tan, Climate Change and Rome’s Changing Republic In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0002

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in some reductionist paradigm; but it does provide a context for human society, lives, interactions and decisions, and potentially provides opportunities or challenges which may influence both small scale and macro scale human history.”2 Whether it became warmer, wetter, cooler, or drier—​or whether it remained unchanged—​the climate played a role in human affairs. When it comes to establishing what the climate was like and how it affected Roman affairs, the field of Republican history is years behind the study of later Roman periods. This is partly because the climate data for the last centuries bce are less copious and more ambiguous than for subsequent periods, but even on a theoretical level, there has been less effort to examine the relationship between climate and the various developments of the Republic. Yet there are good reasons for examining the effects of climate on Republican history. The first is that all of Rome’s endeavors took place within a specific climate—​that is simply undeniable. The second is that there are important variables to examine here. Just how one conducts such a study will depend on whether the second-​century Republic is situated at the beginning of the so-​called Roman Warm Period or whether one insists that earlier, more volatile conditions prevailed. It matters whether climatic forces in the Republic and empire were similar or dissimilar. Finally, there is a broader conversation that demands our input. In Roman history, we have a case study of an electoral regime, in a multipolar region, that could not be insulated from climatic trends. For all of the obvious differences, resonance with the contemporary world is simply too important to neglect. Too many students—​and too many people in general—​are looking for ways to explore such dynamics.3 Detailed study might reveal that the Roman Republic has nothing to add to such a debate, or that a climate lens adds nothing to our understanding of the Republic. But the topic has to be explored before such a conclusion can be drawn. If Roman historians do not tackle this challenge, scholars from other fields will, and it is critical that those of us with an expertise in Roman history establish the parameters of such an investigation in its earliest stages. The focus here will be on old chestnuts such as Roman imperialism and the emergence of land disputes in the late second century, since these are issues that will be familiar to most readers. The goal is to show how developments in climate reconstruction might shape the way in which we analyze and interpret the

2. Manning 2013: 117. See also the discussion at Manning 2018: ch. 5, esp. 142–​45. 3. This chapter is in part a quiet plea to integrate climate studies into undergraduate classrooms. I have been teaching this material for most of a decade, but, while students are typically eager to have the discussion, they are often intimidated by many of the most useful readings. Harper 2016 and Harper 2017 are exceptions for their readability, but they focus on the Later Roman Empire. There is still plenty of room for a Republican account.

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evidence that is more conventionally employed within the field. There are, however, various problems when it comes to reconstructing the climate, and it is necessary to explore how that is done before proceeding any further.

2.2. What Was the Climate Like and How Can We Know? The overall climate comprises various forces, and they all have effects on Earth that in turn leave identifiable traces. The varying intensity of the sun, for instance, affects the Earth’s chemistry, while snowfall and temperature can determine the size of a glacier’s growth. Though there is no temperature reading or rain gauge data that record the actual climatic conditions of the Roman Republic, various proxies preserve the effects of weather in revealing ways. The best-​known proxy of all is that of dendrochronology. It is obvious from the size of a tree ring whether one year’s conditions were more or less conducive to a tree’s growth; even without knowing the precise temperature in degrees Celsius or the rainfall in millimeters, a thick tree ring is proof that the weather was warmer or wetter or whatever that species of tree requires to grow.4 A long series of tree rings can therefore reveal how the climate developed over time. Accurately reconstructing the climate relies on creating a chronological record from as many such proxies as possible. Although these can include data from a wide range of proxies, this is not the place to examine each of them in detail.5 So, what was the Roman climate like? Drawing upon a range of proxies from across the broader Mediterranean world, a degree of consensus has developed that the imperial period experienced unusually warm and stable temperatures, and this has been dubbed the “Roman Climatic Optimum” or the “Roman Warm Period.”6 Some evidence had indicated that the period was also relatively wet, but the most recent studies are showing that precipitation varied by period and especially by region.7 Whether there can be a generalization about precipitation

4. Erdkamp 2021 notes that not even dendrochronology can reveal the seasonal fluctuations that are so important for agriculture. 5. Various learned discussions are available: see inter alia Finné et al. 2011; McCormick et al. 2012; Hin 2013; Manning 2013; Harper and McCormick 2018. 6. Inter alia, Ljunqvist 2010; Büntgen et al. 2011; Finné et al. 2011; McCormick et al. 2012; Harper and McCormick 2018: esp. 34. For the perils of climate periodization, see Haldon et al. 2018. 7. Manning 2013; Peyron et al. 2017; Post 2017; Haldon et al. 2014: 121; Haldon et al.: 2018: 6; Manning 2018: 156; and Finné et al. 2019. My thanks to Duncan Keenan-​Jones for bring this to my attention.

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in the Roman empire is still to be settled.8 All of this does add up to something, however. The overall portrait for the empire is of a stable, warm climate with increased rainfall in some areas in some periods. I will be taking those conditions to be positives for Rome’s agricultural economy, but it should be noted that this might not have been true; the degree of change might have been enough to affect proxies but not enough to influence human society, while higher temperatures can accompany aridity or other problems. That is unlikely to have been the case here, however. The correlation between relative political quietude and the Roman Warm Period suggests that the climate was indeed a source of stability for the Empire from Augustus to the Antonines. That might be because the Roman Warm Period, regardless of whether it was warm or cool, was unusually stable. The Mediterranean typically suffers from intense variability, but the first two centuries ce experienced rare consistency, and consistency was an enormous aid to farmers.9 The Roman Warm Period thus emerges as a period in which climatic stability coincided with political stability, and it is not uncommon to link the two.10 That there was an “association” between stable climate and Roman flourishing appears “undeniable,” as Harper and McCormick note.11 That is the way I will interpret the Roman Warm Period in this chapter. Yet, although we have some impression of what the climatic conditions of the first two centuries ce were, there is much less precision about the climate of the second and third centuries bce.12 In other words, there is much more consensus about what the Roman Warm Period looked like than there is about when it began. Some are loath to identify it prior to the first century bce, while others are willing to push it back to the end of the fourth century bce.13 For the purpose of this volume, the date for the beginning of the Roman Warm Period is highly relevant. In fact, this chapter was in large part prompted 8. Haldon et al. 2018. 9. Horden and Purcell 2000: ch. 6. 10. Büntgen et al. 2011; Harper 2017: 14–​15. 11. Harper and McCormick 2018: 39. For resistance, see Haldon et al. 2018 and Erdkamp 2021. 12. Hin 2013: 68 notes that a great many paleoclimatological studies neglect the third and second centuries altogether. Recent examples include Ljunqvist 2010 and Labuhn et al. 2018. The canonical synthesis at McCormick et al. 2012 only goes back to 100 bce. 13. 100 bce: McCormick et al. 2012; Margaritelli et al. 2020 (focused on sea temperatures rather than air temperatures). Earlier: Martín-​Chivelet et al. 2011; Hin 2013: 65, 74–​76; Haldon et al. 2014: 121; Lieberman and Gordon 2018; Harper and McCormick 2018: 25 and 34; Manning 2018: 155; Sessa 2019: 213; and Manning 2013: esp. 132–​35 with respect to solar radiation from 14C and 10Be data.

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by the need to address a question that Harriet Flower raised during the conference from which this book stems: did the second century predate a period of climatic stability, or did it sit within it? The truth is that there is not currently a definitive answer. The evidence is far too limited and much of the context is too opaque. It is not clear, for example, just how much warming is required for climate change to become historically salient in one place as opposed to another. Much depends on the ways in which a community interacts with its preexisting ecology, how adaptable it is, and how competitive its neighborhood might be. Erdkamp notes that, across the long term, human factors are more likely than meteorological factors to determine agricultural productivity; it is perfectly possible that climate fluctuations were within a band that Roman social and agricultural resilience could withstand with only negligible effects.14 Moreover, so much of the Mediterranean is defined by local ecologies and conditions, that warming in two nearby places need not have the same effect.15 Precipitation might increase productivity in one place but increase erosion nearby. Thus, asserting that there was or was not a Roman Warm Period might be meaningful on one side of a hill, but not on the other. Thus, even if there were a perfect understanding of what happened to the climate, the “downstream” ramifications will have varied wildly from community to community. In other words, it is exceedingly difficult to write macrohistory in a world of microclimates. To make matters worse, our knowledge of the ancient climate is far from perfect. Looming over the matter are two of the most challenging methodological problems of evidence. First, does proxy evidence have the “resolution” to illuminate periods of years, decades, centuries, or millennia? If our research question requires a century-​by-​century answer, then some evidence has to be abandoned because it simply lacks the resolution for such a fine timescale.16 Second, can high-​resolution evidence from one region provide answers for the surrounding 10 km, 100 km, or 1000 km?17 The planet only has one sun, for example, and so solar radiation levels recorded in Northern Europe can generally be inferred for Southern Europe as well. On the other hand, although speleothems in caves can provide chronologically precise data, they relate to very local areas. Excellent studies from Iberian caves cannot necessarily inform debates about the Apennine

14. Erdkamp 2021, citing especially Ventrella et al. 2012 on the effects of climate change on crop productivity. 15. Horden and Purcell 2000: esp. ch. 3, Manning 2018: 143–​44. Haldon et al. 2014: 121: “the RWP was not warm and wet everywhere all the time.” 16. Labuhn et al. 2016: 67; Grey 2019: 45. 17. Manning 2013: 143–​45; Grey 2019: 37 and 39; Sessa 2019: 231.

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Mountains.18 And so for now, when a proxy has the necessary geographical specificity, it often lacks chronological precision (or vice versa). Therefore, based on the current state of the field—​and ongoing research may well remedy this sooner rather than later—​it is not easy to make a broad claim about the Italian climate and what it was like in 300 bce as opposed to 200 bce or 100 bce. The question for now is whether the adoption of one reconstruction or another affects our understanding of Roman history. Should we as a field be waiting with bated breath for new proxies, or does it not matter? In what follows, I will argue that the developments in paleoclimatology really will affect the study of the Roman Republic.

2.3. The Approach Even in the absence of definitive data, asking whether climate studies can inform our understanding of Rome’s second century remains a worthwhile endeavor. An analytical cascade leads from reconstruction of the climate, to second-​order examinations of biological and demographic effects on humans, to the third-​order history of political, social, and cultural responses.19 The goal of this chapter is to examine whether the history of second-​century Rome might be illuminated if viewed partly as the second and third order effects of a particular climate reconstruction. And so, in what follows, I intend to explore how an earlier or later Warm Period might affect some of the most asked questions in Roman Republican history. I will not argue here for an earlier or a later date. Instead, I will try to show how adopting one climate reconstruction or another might change how we view the second century bce. Although it makes instinctive sense that “good” climate leads to “good” periods of history, it remains exceedingly difficult to spell out the causal chain between the history of the climate and the history of human affairs.20 How should one approach that relationship? The perils of “environmental determinism”—​the idea that environment makes a certain historical outcome inevitable—​are well known, yet there is no agreed-​upon understanding of how we should view the relationship between the

18. For Iberian speleothems, see Martín-​Chivelet et al. 2011. For a “critical” study of speleothems across Western Europe, see Lechleitner et al. 2018. 19. Luterbacher and Pfister 2015: 248, reproduced at Manning 2018: 147. 20. For recent methodological discussions of how environment impacts “human practices, ideas, and development” in Roman history, see Sessa 2019, as well as Manning 2018: ch. 5.

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natural world and human history.21 Indeed, Sessa is correct that, in lieu of an explicit statement of methodology, many studies resort to metaphor or imagery to suggest a causal relationship.22 My approach here will be to examine Rome’s ongoing competitions in the generating, accessing, and deploying of resources. People could not win wars or achieve socioeconomic security without these many and varied resources, and all actors had a repertoire of practices that allowed them to generate, access, and deploy them. While not wanting to downplay the adaptability of different groups, there is no doubt that many actors could be characterized by these repertoires: for example, Rome’s ruling class was in certain ways defined by its landholding; Rome’s war machine was in many ways defined by its ability to raise and deploy enormous numbers of citizens and allies through its own unique mobilization mechanisms. Much of Roman history can be seen as a competition in which Rome pitted its methods of military mobilization against those of enemies, or one in which Rome mediated between different political constituencies vying in their own ways for social or economic goods. These were struggles of competing practices. And in these struggles, climate played a role, because climate affected the efficiency and efficacy of these many repertoires. This chapter asks whether Rome’s way of doing things was (knowingly or unknowingly) better suited to a changing climate than alternative ways were or would have been. Was the Roman military system better suited then those of opponents? Did the climate allow Roman politics or the Roman agricultural economy to neutralize or exacerbate certain challenges? I ask here whether a changing climate had an impact on the effectiveness of certain practices, practices that defined Rome’s victories and struggles, none of which were guaranteed to succeed. What follows is a reconnaissance of some possible avenues of inquiry in the hopes that some dots might be connected in an illuminating way. I have to be clear that, throughout this study, a degree of imprecision is inevitable. The first relates to chronology. There is no point in trying to make a case based on just a few decades, since climate data cannot sustain such precision, nor can climate be isolated as the definite cause of a particular event in this or that year.23 This study will have to zoom out to examine larger patterns over longer spans of time. The second cause of imprecision relates to causation. Since countless forces act upon history, trends in climate can only ever be one factor among many. Nor

21. Coombes and Barber 2005; Haldon et al. 2018; Manning 2018: ch. 5; Sessa 2019. On the abiding “implicit” environmental determinism of much scholarship, see Kearns 2017: 4. 22. Sessa 2019: 221–​22. 23. Büntgen et al. 2011: 578; Hin 2013: 63–​65.

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does climate tend to act directly upon human history. Instead, climate is a context that marginally increases or decreases the costs of certain practices, or presents obstacles more or less frequently. In essence, I am viewing many of Rome’s courses of action as risks and the most that can be argued is that the climatic context affected the odds of success and the costs of perseverance. The “gamble” of colonizing new regions or of establishing a costly maritime dominion could have come to naught if various challenges had been more pressing; if frosts or harsh winters had struck colonists and settlers more often, or if the sailing season had been shorter and more treacherous, then the costs of these enterprises would have been harder—​though not necessarily impossible—​to sustain. A more favorable climate, on the other hand, would have made such threats milder, rarer, and easier to bear. All of this affected whether Rome’s practices for generating and deploying resources would be effective in the face of various challenges. This is important, but it remains the case that anyone wanting a direct link between climate and a specific event will be frustrated here. That will be clear in the three main topics that follow: land, urbanization, and Rome’s extraordinary imperialist project.

2.4. Land The approach of this chapter is to examine how a warmer climate might have favored certain practices against other practices. When it came to warfare, this contest of practices was fairly simple: Rome’s way of war could win, could lose, or could find itself in some kind of stalemate. (It tended to win.) In matters of domestic politics, however, the alternatives are not so simple. There were moments of hostility when two sides were pitted against each other and there was a clear winner, but these were rare. Often a contrafactual serves as the alternative, a possibility that never in fact eventuated. The politics of land ownership is a case in point. It is undeniable that the distribution of land was an explosive issue in the fourth century, that it ceased to be so in much of the third and early second centuries, and that it returned with a vengeance in the late second century thanks to the Gracchi. This longer perspective does not lead to the question of why land emerged as a flashpoint in Tiberius Gracchus’ tribunate of 133; instead it asks why it disappeared in the preceding period. It was always a potential powder keg, but for over a century, nobody detonated it. Why not? Rome was running a high-​stakes game of satisfying the populations’ demand for land without confiscating any property of the elite. As a rule—​the lex Licinia and lex Sempronia of 367 and 133 bce are notable exceptions—​Romans alleviated the economic stress of the landless by creating new stocks of land rather than engaging in the messy business of rejigging the distribution of existing lands.

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This was ideal—​it prevented domestic “losers” who had to give up land—​but it depended on the availability of new land for settlers. To achieve this was an extraordinary and unlikely feat. One need only look at the bloody politics of fourth-​century Syracuse or third-​century Sparta—​or earlier or later Roman history, for that matter—​to realize how difficult it was to maintain a durable property regime over more than a century without calls for redistribution. That was a difficult practice. For the supply of land to outpace demand, a favorable climate would have been most desirable.

2.4.1. Marginal Land The first point to note is that the density of population per hectare was variable. Survey archaeology has shown a rise in rural density in the third century, and it might theoretically be possible to link better harvests to this increase in density; as various scholars have noted, warming periods tend to coincide with population growth, and more reliable harvests may well have allowed each farm to feed more mouths.24 That seems an unlikely cause of the demographic transformation in this case, however; the explosion in density was nothing like the marginal changes in climate. A more promising line of argument might be that a warming climate did not cause the increase in density, but, by aiding these more intensive practices, it helped to cement higher density or more intensive agriculture as a “new normal.” It decreased the costs and risks of such a practice. Yet we are far from being able to link such settlement patterns to a changing climate. Future scholarship might be able to do so, but we are not there at this time. Perhaps more promising than the number of people on existing lands was an increase in the total amount of land available. That is because the fertile fields at the foot of Vesuvius were far from ubiquitous in Italy. Much of the peninsula was “marginal,” or incapable of routinely turning a profit. The reason an area was marginal could vary from a lack of precipitation or sunlight, to a steep gradient, poor drainage, altitude, or an almost limitless range of shortcomings in the soil.25 Some of these problems were impervious to a warmer climate, but some were not. According to Lo Cascio and Malanima, a change of one degree Celsius can raise the limit of wheat cultivation by 100–​200 m in a mountainous area like

24. Samuels 2019; Malanima 2013: 73; Hin 2013: 89, with Huntley et al. 2002: 231. Terrenato 2019: ch. 3 demonstrates that this same increase in density occurred throughout the Western Mediterranean. 25. Harris 2018.

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the Apennines.26 The reason for this is that warmer weather increases the growing season and decreases damaging frosts; this must have been relevant in the Roman Warm Period.27 Of course this is no simple matter; such a blanket statement demands qualification.28 The relevance of higher elevations depends on terrain, accessibility, population density, forestation, and so many other factors. Moreover, illuminating evidence for high-​altitude settlement is as difficult to parse as it is to find. The fourth and third centuries saw an increase in sites as high as 800 m altitude in certain parts of Southern Italy, for example, but precisely why this occurred is unclear.29 At Signia (elev. 668 m), in the Monti Lepini southeast of Rome, there is clear evidence that a settlement’s center could shift without any role for climate: focus shifted from the valley floor to the higher elevation around the colony before any posited warm period; it appears in no other settlement in the area and it is probably explained as part of the colonization process.30 Yet areas that had been just below the limit of usefulness might have benefited enough from warmer conditions to justify regular occupation, and this would increase Italy’s overall stock of land.31 In managing the potentially fraught politics of land distribution, every bit helped. Moreover, there are two distinct issues that need to be addressed here. The first is whether marginal land was “productive”; the second is whether it became private property and hence part of a person’s census declaration. The politics of those two categories are separate. It would be an understatement to say that the role of marginal land is complex. The local effects of climate change could vary wildly depending on microclimates and a dizzying array of variables.32 Low-​lying areas, for example, could become swampy and malarial if rainfall increased—​this appears to have occurred in the Pontine Marshes in the Imperial period.33 Moreover, the resources of marginal areas such as forests, wetlands, and grazing tracts were crucial to sustaining the diverse needs of Mediterranean diets and economies, and hence were long

26. Lo Cascio and Malanima 2005: 27, with Hin 2013: 86–​87. 27. Harris 2018: 393. 28. See Erdkamp 2021 for objections. 29. Quilici and Quilici Gigli 2001, cited by Samuels 2019: 50–​51. 30. Attema and van Leusen 2004. 31. Samuels 2019: esp. 209–​10 contains various data for the increased use of marginal land. 32. Hin 2013: 87; Harper and McCormick 2018: 14–​15. 33. Walsh et al. 2014: 42. The thriving of this area in the Republican period likely testifies to successful landscape management strategies, but that would obviously have been harder in wetter conditions.

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part of the Roman rural fabric—​there was nothing “bad” about much of Italy’s non-​cereal land.34 It would thus be a mistake to assume that Romans were eager to turn every patch of suitable land into a wheat field.35 And even farming on “good” land was subject to constant innovation, adaptation, and variety across regions and history.36 At issue here, however, is not simply the economic or nutritional issue of subsistence. Instead, the problem of the land supply in the Late Republic was also about ownership. On that front, by offering farmland to those who might otherwise have agitated for radical reform, an increase in the availability of land would have eased political pressure. This included both those who were born landless and those from families with insufficient land to distribute a sustainable plot to each child.37 The availability of a bit more land for grain farming may also have granted farmers the space to fallow their existing land (i.e., to leave a field unplanted for season) in order to rejuvenate it and restore fertility lost after successive seasons of planting the same crops; or it could provide more options to diversify.38 If the climate did indeed warm, then “demarginalization” likely contributed to an increase in the potential availability of land.39 It would be left to the Romans to manage or mismanage that development, but a changing climate provided and removed options. Of course, this is all hypothetical. Parts of the Italian countryside have been very well surveyed by archaeologists, but as Pelgrom has noted, it is exceedingly difficult to survey land that is overgrown or is not under recent cultivation.40 By definition, this affects the study of marginal land. Thus, studying this problem empirically confronts enormous barriers. There are, moreover, countless ecological and human factors that determine the productivity of land, and climate was just one of them.41 Yet there is a compelling logic to the case that some areas of Italy became more desirable under the conditions of the Warm Period.42 Dating

34. Horden and Purcell 2000: ch. 6; Capogrossi Colognesi 2012: ch. 4, with Walsh et al. 2014 on wetlands. 35. Erdkamp 2021. 36. Horden and Purcell 2000: 201–​2; Grey 2019: 44. 37. Harris 2018: 396 on the importance of partible inheritance. 38. Harris 2018: 394. 39. Hin 2013: 87. 40. Pelgrom 2008: 392–​93, with Perego and Scopacasa 2018: 16 on our limited knowledge of certain areas. On the other hand, see the collection of evidence synthesized at Samuels 2019. 41. See the diagram at Currie 2015: 31, reproduced at Manning 2018: 146, with Erdkamp 2021. 42. Harris 2018: 393.

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that warming then becomes critical. If the Roman Warm Period began around 300 bce or soon after, then the “demarginalization” of land occurred in the same period that witnessed the defusing of volatile land politics. To the extent that it brought previously undesirable land under cultivation and/​or ownership, a warmer climate in the third and second centuries would need to be considered in any explanation of Rome’s tempered land politics. It helped to feed demand for new farms. In that sense, it incentivized Rome’s risky practice and made it a little more likely to succeed. If, however, the Warm Period began in the first century, then it cannot have played a role in smoothing the politics of land ownership. In this case, we should see the Warm Period as a factor in Augustus’ successful ending of Late Republican turmoil. The date of the Roman Warm Period’s beginning matters. When it came to managing the political issue of land distribution, warmer climate offered options that cooler climate did not.

2.4.2. The North If third-​and second-​century Romans managed to satisfy their demand for new farms without the aid of a warmer climate, then they must have sourced that land in the zero-​sum game of conquest. Taking other people’s territories was of course the most obvious way to acquire new land in any case—​the conquest of the Po Basin increased the supply of Italian farmland by an order of magnitude. Cisalpine Gaul contains most of Italy’s land below 300 m in altitude, and over half of Italy’s land below 600 m that is suited to wheat cultivation.43 The distribution of so much territory redefined Rome’s stock of land. Settlers received 44,000 hectares just around the three colonies of Bononia, Mutina, and Parma, and as Roncaglia notes, “Out of approximately 764,900 iugera distributed in new Latin and Roman colonies founded in the first half of the second century, 559,000 were in Cisalpine Gaul.”44 The total number of Italians who settled there is unknown—​and is the subject of widely divergent schools of thought—​but the least that can be said is that there was enormous potential. If people began to grow disgruntled with a shortage of land in Central Italy, Cisalpine Gaul was long able to siphon a great deal of it away.45 It was a pressure valve. 43. Morley 1996: 69–​70; Maiuro 2017: 105–​6. 44. Roncaglia 2018: 32. 45. The population of Cisalpine Gaul is of critical importance to the long debate about whether Rome had a high or a low population, in part because its potential carrying capacity was so large and so the range of possibilities is huge. For discussion, see Broadhead 2000 and more recently Broadhead 2017, with de Ligt 2017; Kron 2017; and Bourdin 2017 on the issue of cities and towns; and Maiuro 2017 for an excellent overview of the issues and the debate.

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This northern conquest should be seen in light of a warming climate. In these campaigns, the Romans pushed further north than Mediterranean powers were accustomed to go. At a little over 45 degrees north, the latitude of Roman colonies at Placentia and Cremona exceeded Massilia at 43.3 degrees and, at 45.7 degrees, Aquileia exceeded even the most northerly parts of Alexander’s Balkan campaign of 335 bce. Only the Black Sea colonies—​tethered to the South by maritime routes—​could claim to be more northern tendrils of the Mediterranean, and of course Caesar’s Gallic campaigns would far exceed even those outposts.46 Hin has noted that the warmer weather and rarer frosts of the Roman Warm Period increased the North’s appeal.47 Romans were not slow to bring their crops with them; in the Po plain, the earliest remains of a typically Roman plant like poppy appear at Parma around the time of its colonization in 183 bce, and much the same can be said of coriander, “an archaeobotanical marker of the spread of Roman culture.”48 To these were added orchards, hemp, and flax.49 They also promptly traversed parts of the Po plain with roads and canals.50 Finally, they would reorder the land through centuriation alongside various colonies.51 Whether one argues that the Italian population was high or low, the settlement of Northern Italy will be central to any demographic reconstruction.52 The Romans spent a fortune in blood and treasure to settle the Po Plain. Was climate a factor? The Po Plain had been well populated long before Romans existed as a group, and it would be absurd to claim that the area only became habitable or attractive with the coming of the Roman Warm Period.53 Nor did the area empty out after the end of the Roman Warm Period (though it did

46. Harper 2017: 8 and Harper and McCormick 2018: 14 note the extraordinary and unusual span of the Roman Empire from North to South. 47. Hin 2013: 74–​75, 86. 48. Bosi et al. 2011: 1630. 49. Bosi et al. 2015, Marchesini and Marvelli 2017. 50. Bandelli 1988: esp. 50–​53 on Aquileia, with Purcell 1990: 12–​13; Broadhead 2000: esp. 159; Maiuro 2017; Roncaglia 2018: 33–​34. 51. Centuriation south of the Po appears to occur in the immediate wake of colonization, between 190 and 173, but the situation north of the Po is less clear (Dall’Aglio and Franceschelli 2017: 264–​66, with bibliographical discussion). Though various scholars have argued that the centuriation around Cremona, on the north bank of the Po, predates the Via Postumia of 148 (De Franceschini 1998: 86 and Tozzi 2003), centuriation seems instead to be a phenomenon of the late second or even early first century (Mete 2014). 52. Maiuro 2017: esp. 103–​4. 53. For a stimulating overview of the Bronze Age Po and its regional context, see Broodbank 2013: ch. 9.

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join the rest of Italy in experiencing early medieval population decline). Yet the Roman occupation of the North was not a foregone conclusion. I have already mentioned that no Mediterranean power had—​with the exception of Greek colonies on the Black Sea coast—​ever settled at such high latitudes; the Po, for example, was and remains beyond the realm where olives typically grow.54 For a Mediterranean city-​state to conquer and settle this area so successfully was all but unprecedented, and certainly not as inevitable as it can seem from the twenty-​ first century. It carried real risks of failure. Yet Romans went to enormous effort not only to win the region but to transform its countryside. A warmer climate softened the risks by increasing the likelihood of agricultural success. In that sense, it increased the likelihood that Rome’s investment in men and money would yield a strong return. That was never inevitable, but it is the way it turned out. Warmer climate favored the venture of northward expansion and that in turn favored Rome’s practice of relieving political pressure through land distributions. Rome’s ability to generate and deploy resources was much improved as a result. The successful conquest of the Po and any “demarginalization” of the rest of Italy gave the Romans the space they needed to satisfy a demand for land without expropriating the property of their own citizens. It gave that policy a chance of success. The climate favored those who practiced such a policy of land distribution as a means of maintaining political stability. It is even possible that “demarginalization” helped to offset the grievances caused by conquest. A hallmark of Rome’s period of overseas expansion was the stability of Italy and the acquiescence of so many former enemies, from Etruscans to Samnites to Greeks.55 Many of these peoples were victims of land confiscation, and the opening of previously marginal tracts may well have offset that loss to some extent.56 New land thus bought the Romans time, even though all this new land would inevitably run out, and tensions would re-​emerge. It is possible to present two tentative and simplistic reconstructions based on divergent dates for the Roman Warm Period. If that climate began around 300 bce, then we can perhaps see its effects in Rome’s unusually peaceful agrarian politics, as new lands were made desirable and supply outpaced demand. Eventually, however, once the Warm Period had been entrenched for many decades, all that new land was exhausted. It had bought a long period of peace, but it could only last so long once the climate stabilized and no new lands were added. We can

54. Horden and Purcell 2000: 14. 55. The bibliography on this is vast. See inter alia the essays collected in Jehne and Pfeilschifter 2006; Roselaar 2012; and Hölkeskamp et al. 2019. 56. For one case study of such displacement onto marginal land, see Perego and Scopacasa 2018.

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then see the period from the mid-​third to the mid-​second century as a period of breathing space as Rome adjusted to a new and very favorable ecology. Once demand caught up with that “new normal,” however, the old problems returned. Caesar and Augustus would be forced to solve these problems in the same climate in which the problems had arisen. An alternative reconstruction would posit a later Warm Period. In this case, Rome conquered its way through its land problems in the face of a cooler climate and tighter land supply in the peninsula. It was all about capturing new land. Once that was exhausted, problems could no longer be resisted. As the Republic came to an end, however, the climate happened to be improving, and Augustus faced the task of ameliorating social problems in a period in which some new land was becoming available thanks to the new, warmer conditions. The principate in this case existed in a measurably more favorable climate than the Middle Republic had enjoyed. Once again, much depends on the date of the Warm Period.

2.5. The Megacity The increase in Italy’s stock of arable land contributed to one other, momentous demographic development as well. The number of Romans clamoring for land was reduced in part by the siphoning of people into the city. Quantitative estimates vary but the overall picture is clear enough. Scheidel has argued that the city of Rome expanded from 150,000 residents in 200 to something less than 375,000 in 130.57 Morley’s more optimistic reconstruction has the city expand from approximately 200,000 residents in 200 to approximately 500,000 in 130; factoring in the low life expectancy of those who lived in the city’s unsanitary environment, that must have required something like 6,000 or 7,000 new residents each year to grow the city.58 Lo Cascio has argued that there was also an increase in the size of cities and towns throughout Italy, with Harris estimating that upward of one million rural Italians left the land for towns, cities, or the provinces over the last four centuries bce.59

57. Scheidel 2004: 14. 58. Morley 1996: 39. The high mortality rate within an urban “graveyard effect” is itself a topic of debate (Lo Cascio 2001). 59. Lo Cascio 1999; see Scheidel 2004: esp. 6 for a critical reply. Lo Cascio 2001 notes that the issue of urbanization must reckon both with the total number of people living in cities and with the ratio of urban population to rural population, and Scheidel 2008: 31 recognizes that his low rural population implies a very high urbanization rate of around 25 percent. Harris 2018: 409, with the proviso that he does not show his working for this estimate of over one million.

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This was a terrifically complicated dynamic, since it involved moving people out of agricultural production without reducing the overall food supply. As the rate of urbanization went up, the proportionally smaller agricultural workforce had to produce as much as it had before. This implies increased productivity per worker.60 Thus there had to be additional land for farmers to cultivate and perhaps greater yields on old lands. The changing climate likely offered marginal benefits on both fronts. It brought new land under cultivation while also increasing the productivity of old land. The bountiful production of the Po Plain was especially important in this. According to Polybius, the Po Plain supplied almost all of Italy’s pork in the middle of the second century, while wheat, millet, and wine were in rich supply; food was so abundant in Cisalpine Gaul that it was standard for Gallic innkeepers to operate on an all-​you-​can-​eat basis.61 Strabo repeats all of this, and adds that most of Italy was also clothed in wool from Cisalpine Gaul.62 To the extent that warmer weather made Gaul more accessible and more productive, this was a boon to Italy and its many urbanites. Much the same could be said of the wider Mediterranean. Bread baskets were conquered by force, but as Saskia Hin has noted, the real benefit of the stable Warm Period may have been in the increased ease of maritime transportation from the likes of Sicily and Africa; the Roman Warm Period likely created “better opportunities for trade and travel, via reductions in transport risks and costs.”63 An inscription from Thessaly reminds us that shipping was a notable challenge for those in charge of sourcing grain, and even a fractionally longer sailing season must have helped.64 Once again, Rome’s control of the seas was critical. Moreover, ease of importation helped Italian farmers as well. Though some of the provincial grain presumably made it onto the open market, Erdkamp has argued that most was destined for the legions.65 This freed Italian farms from the burden of feeding the troops and allowed them to focus on feeding Italian families, and especially those in the capital. Once again, the timing of the Warm Period matters. The conquest of Cisalpine Gaul and the boom in the urban population were prominent parts of the first half 60. Wilson 2011. 61. Polyb. 2.15.1–​6. See also Varro RR 2.4.11 for pork. For further references and discussion, see Morley 1996: 153; Broadhead 2000: esp. 147–​49; Marchesini and Marvelli 2017; and Roncaglia 2018: 22–​23. 62. Strabo 5.1.12. 63. Hin 2013: 88–​89. 64. SEG 34.558, lines 29–​34; see Garnsey, Gallant, and Rathbone 1984. 65. Erdkamp 1995: esp. 177–​78.

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of the second century. If the Roman Warm Period began as late as 100 bce, then all of this is moot; in this case, the northward expansion and the doubling of the city’s population occurred before any such Warm Period occurred (and are all the more striking as anomalous historical developments). If, however, the Warm Period was beginning in the third century, then we can ask how it interacted with the various Roman enterprises of settling Cisalpine Gaul, developing a pan-​ Mediterranean granary, and creating the largest city Europe would know until the Industrial Revolution. Each of these was a risky venture. Rome was leveraging its naval and military dominance to construct a complex system of maritime supply, and failure on this front would prevent the city’s growth. To the extent that the Roman Warm Period was conducive to farming and sailing, it made such practices less risky and thereby rewarded those who engaged in them. The growth of Rome as a megacity was one of the hallmarks of those rewards.

2.6. Imperialism The conquest of Northern Italy and the accessing of the wider Mediterranean grain supply were both premised on Rome’s astonishingly successful form of imperial expansion. Contemporaries sought explanations for this success. Polybius famously offered a constitutional analysis in book six that at first attributed Rome’s manifest excellence to the mixed constitution. Even Polybius, however, was not satisfied with this explanation. Noting that Carthage also had a mixed constitution, he added a kind of biological cycle to explain that Rome was entering her prime when facing a Carthage that was already on the decline. Still within book six, he then offered the more (at least to modern scholars) satisfying explanation that Rome immersed young men in stories, symbols, and rituals that raised military success above all other forms of distinction and motivated citizens to pursue excellence in war. Later, understanding that winning battles meant winning an empire, he suggested that the tactical flexibility of the legion might actually be the reason that the Romans kept conquering.66 Clearly, even for Polybius, there was no one obvious reason that explained Rome’s relentless expansionism.67 Nor have modern scholars agreed upon one single factor. Harris went far beyond Polybius in showing just how much Roman culture incentivized military activity, while Eckstein argued that Romans excelled in a dog-​eat-​dog world less because they were unusually bellicose than because they were unusually adept at

66. Polyb. 18.28–​32. 67. Though see the compelling cases that Polybius is focused on the Romans’ order, efficiency, and ability to from experience at Erskine 2013 and Moore 2017.

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incorporating non-​Romans to fuel the demographic war machine.68 There is a lot at stake here. Imperial success underpinned all of Roman history in the second century, and a clearer understanding of it will clarify a lot. Can climate add anything to this debate? At first, it seems intuitively obvious that a warmer, more stable climate will make conquest easier. One might assume that there would be more young men to do the fighting, higher economic activity to fund it, longer campaigning seasons, and greater mobility for transporting armies. The problem is, of course, that all of that would apply to the Carthaginians, the Samnites, and the Macedonians as well.69 It might apply even more so to the Gauls, whose northern homes would benefit most from a warmer turn. So the question cannot be whether climate made conquest easier or more likely; the question has to be whether climate favored the Romans’ efforts relative to those of their foes. Was there a way in which climate favored Rome’s military practices more than those of rivals? There seem to me to be three basic possibilities here. The first is simply to deny that there is any connection and to end the debate there. That may well be the correct option, but it adds nothing of interest here. The second is what I call the “musical chairs” explanation. According to this view, there was nothing unusual about the Romans except that they had lucky timing; they happened to be the dominant power when the climate improved and this helped the Romans to entrench their dominance. When the climate “music” stopped, they happened to be next to the chair. The third possibility is to argue that there really was something about the Roman military, economic, and political system that made them better suited to warring in the warm than other people. Options two and three can be unpacked in potentially interesting ways.

2.6.1. Musical Chairs Suppose for a moment that the climate really did improve from around 300 bce onward, and suppose further that global domination and mass-​mobilization warfare really were easier in a warmer and more stable climate. That scenario is in essence the picture of the High Empire; political stability was to some extent underpinned by a long Warm Period. Under these conditions, one might argue that the key to success was simply to be the dominant party when the Warm

68. Harris 1979 and Eckstein 2006. 69. Haldon et al. 2018: 5–​6. An exception might be Ptolemaic Egypt, which relied on the monsoons of the Indian Ocean (Manning 2018: 168). On the other hand, Egypt remained on the periphery of Roman expansion until the mid-​first century.

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Period began. Rome, in other words, was consolidating a position as the most powerful actor right when the climate rewarded that kind of dominance. Just when they were acquiring the ability to send bigger fleets with more troops, the climate favored precisely that sort of activity. Just when they first developed rule over provinces, a stable climate ensured a marginally higher economic surplus and dampened potential sources of unrest over taxation or whatever else. There were good reasons to resent Roman domination, but at least consistent, stable, strong harvests in Italy and the provinces made discontent that little bit less pressing. There was not, however, anything peculiar about the Romans in this.70 They just happened to be the rising hegemon when hegemony became easier and more durable. They won the game because, as climate variability softened and the proverbial “music” stopped, they were best positioned to sit down in the one chair. That won them the game. If the Roman Warm Period had been a century earlier, then perhaps the Carthaginians or Macedonians would have enjoyed more durable domination. If it had been two or three centuries earlier, so goes the hypothesis, then perhaps Persian satraps would have been the beneficiaries. The Warm Period arose, however, when the Romans were best placed to maximize its potential. This is not dissimilar to Polybius’ argument that Rome overcame Carthage because the great clash emerged just at the right time for one party, and just a little too late for the other.71 That was never a satisfying claim. It was too abstract in its analogy to biology, and it begged important questions, like why the Romans used their peak to establish their dominance while the Carthaginians did not. Climate, however, could offer some traction to Polybius’ view. Rome won the defining wars of the Western Mediterranean just as the climate was making it easier to maximize the spoils of those victories. According to this theory, the timing really was important. It increased the victors’ return on investment. At this stage, it is important to establish what a “musical chairs” hypothesis is trying to explain. Do we (like Polybius) want to know how the Romans won their empire? Or do we want to know how, after they had won it, they retained it so successfully? If one accepts that the climate played a role in Roman imperialism, is it that it made it easier for the Romans to conquer everyone else, or to govern everyone else once conquered? If the climate began stabilizing at a warm average around 300, then both issues are relevant; both occurred within the Warm Period. If, however, it began in 100, then the key issue is how a changed climate

70. This might reinforce Rome’s “relatively easy” maintenance of unipolarity discussed at Eckstein 2012: 357. 71. Polyb. 6.51.

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affected the preservation—​rather than the creation—​of imperial rule from the first century onward. Much of the empire was already won by this time, so the issue of durability is of chief relevance. While acknowledging that there was no flicked switch that overnight replaced one discrete climate with another, the separate issues of acquiring empire and retaining empire reveal how important it might be to establish when the Roman Warm Period began. When the Warm Period began, which processes of Roman imperialism were affected? There is one aspect of imperialism that is perhaps more conducive to the “musical chairs” hypothesis than any other. For all of Polybius’ detailed discussion of the legion, it was the navy that underpinned Rome’s extraordinary reach across the Mediterranean. From the Battle of the Aegates Islands in 241, Rome’s naval dominance was never seriously threatened. Its scale is not hard to show. In 229, around Corcyra, the Achaeans intervened by sending ten ships and the Acarnanians sent seven. The Romans showed up with two hundred.72 In the First Macedonian War, they and their allies harried Greece while simultaneously dominating the seas around Carthage, Italy, and Spain. That naval dominance—​ cemented for good after the defeat of the Seleucid fleet at Myonesus in 190—​ would not be seriously challenged for over six centuries.73 Climate may well have played a role in this. Once again it is necessary to isolate what questions are being asked here. Given the similarities between fleets, it is unlikely that climate granted one side a significant advantage over another; what benefited the triremes of one state presumably benefited those of another. Hin has argued, however, that a more stable climate with a longer summer likely benefited maritime trade, and the same may well have applied to navies.74 If this were the case, then a state that had attained naval supremacy in the third century would be able to leverage that dominance more effectively than predecessors were able to. Climate might not explain how the Romans managed to defeat the Carthaginian and Hellenistic fleets, but it might lead us to conclude that, with longer sailing seasons and less interannual variability, naval dominance was worth more in this age than it had been in earlier ages. Deploying fleets from Syria to Spain, Rome was clearly able to project force in ways that had never been seen before; climate may well have been of assistance in that. Again, with Roman naval dominance in place by the early second century, the date of the Warm Period matters. Did they earn their dominance as the weather “improved?” Or did the Warm Period benefit them as the already entrenched naval superpower? When 72. Polyb. 2.10–​11. 73. For Myonesus, see Murray 2012: 219–​25. 74. Hin 2013: 88–​89.

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the music stopped, were they nearest the chair, or as the sole remaining player, were they already sitting in it?

2.6.2. Warm Weather Warriors Is it possible that Rome’s methods of warfare were better able to leverage favorable climate than others’ were? The “musical chairs” hypothesis identifies nothing qualitatively different about Rome, but instead focuses on the context or timing of Rome’s dominance. But there is a case to be made that more favorable agricultural conditions really did favor Rome’s war machine and its utilization of farmer-​soldiers. It is clear that Rome was able to dominate the Mediterranean in large part thanks to the mobilization of extraordinarily high numbers of young men. Just how high has been the subject of fierce debate, but the overall portrait is clear.75 Scheidel (who believes in a relatively small Roman population) has argued persuasively that the Republic annually enlisted 10–​20 percent of the free adult male population in almost all periods, and would occasionally lift that to something like 25 percent.76 Lo Cascio (who envisages a larger population) has reminded us that the pool of recruits was also limited to propertied classes of military age, so the mobilization rate among landowners and their children must have been even higher.77 These rates are breathtaking when compared to other historical cases. With some reinterpretation of the numbers, de Ligt extrapolated the mobilization rate across the entire population including slaves, women, and children. The result was a mobilization rate in the peak year of the Hannibalic War of something like 7.7 percent of all Romans.78 This is slightly higher than Prussia’s extraordinary exertions in the Seven Years’ War (7.1 percent)—​most other European nations were mobilizing roughly 2 percent. As a proportion of the free population (i.e., if we ignore the slave population), de Ligt argues that Rome annually mobilized 8.5 percent of free people in the years after the battle of Cannae, compared to an estimated 8 percent of the non-​slave population enlisted by the Confederate South at the height of the US Civil War.79 Perhaps even more striking is that Romans, having emerged from the seventeen-​year Hannibalic War

75. Lo Cascio 2001; Morley 2001; Scheidel 2006; de Ligt 2012. 76. Scheidel 2006: esp. 221–​23. 77. Lo Cascio 2001: 127–​28. This leaves aside the all-​important question of the fleet, which did recruit poorer Romans—​see Rosenstein 2002: esp. 169–​70. 78. De Ligt 2012: 73–​74. 79. Numbers for both Rome and the Confederacy remain estimates, and figures like the Roman slave population are especially speculative. For example, Scheidel 2008: 40–​41 employs a

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ready for more, embarked on further campaigns in Spain, Italy, and Greece. Rome maintained astonishingly high rates of enlistment much longer than comparative cases, and never took the foot off the pedal afterward.80 In contrast, the South had been vexed by the demand for manpower quite quickly in the Civil War. As early as 1862, soldiers on fixed-​term enlistment were agitating to return home, and the mobilization of so many free white men changed the politics of women and slaves in ways that eroded the entire rationale of the Confederacy.81 Rome matched the highest mobilization rates in Western history, and barely asked for a rest afterward. The factors that influence mobilization rates are numerous and complicated. In effect, the more intensive and industrialized an economy is, the more workers are required to remain on the home front. This means that a peasant society will be able to mobilize a greater percentage of manpower than an industrial one, and a hunter-​gatherer society will be able to mobilize a greater percentage than a peasant one. Leaving aside obvious gender and age issues, requiring more people to operate farms and factories will always leave fewer to do the fighting. The first constraint on mobilization rates is thus the amount of surplus male labor floating around an economy.82 How does this pertain to Rome? Rosenstein showed that there is every reason to believe that Roman farms had quite a bit of surplus labor available for conscription.83 Modeling a small, more or less subsistence farm, he showed that a family could easily send its men to the army and still produce enough to feed the remaining women and children, since there was surplus labor to spare and, in any case, the enlistment of men reduced the calories consumed by the household—​less needed to be produced without the appetite of an eighteen-​ year-​old male to sustain. There is, of course, a lot left unexamined by Rosenstein’s work. For example, Rosenstein argued that, with fewer mouths to feed, farms could reduce output and still survive, but that would be a disaster across the

lower overall population figure for a mobilization rate exceeding 10 percent of the free citizen population. 80. Hopkins 1978: 11 n. 19 and Scheidel 2019: 79–​82 for a summary. 81. McCurry 2012, with the more concise Escott 2019. See also McPherson 1988: 611–​19 and Ayers 2017: 138: “While the war-​born and war-​fed nation sustained its fighting power, mobilizing every human and material resource it possessed, that mobilization fractured and eroded the South. Soldiers wrestled with desertion, including their own. Slaveholders and their government wrestled with impressment and taxation. States wrestled with the central government. People of property and means wrestled with those without. Most important, slaves wrestled against the order that kept them as slaves.” 82. De Ligt 2012: 75–​76. 83. Rosenstein 2002.

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whole of Italy. Whether the men were at home or in the army, the countryside still had to produce enough to feed them, and if every farm pursued Rosenstein’s frugal tactics, Italy’s aggregate food supply would have collapsed. That is where slaves, landless labor, and the adoption of less intensive agricultural methods (raising pigs or ungulates, for example) must have come into play.84 But this is also where climate may well have played a role. The most obvious advantage of a more favorable climate is that a marginally healthier food supply likely sustained larger families and thus increased manpower, though this may have been limited by an increase in infectious disease (especially malaria) in warmer weather.85 As already noted, archaeologists have indeed found an increase in (detectable) rural population in the third century.86 I have also discussed how improved climate likely made previously marginal land more productive. This increased supply of land not only boosted the “carrying capacity” of Italy, it also allowed land that had hitherto not been worth including in a census to be improved to the point that it would be registered as property. This in turn would have allowed poorer farmers to claim enough property to serve in the legions. Overall, combining any increase in productivity and land availability would have raised the number of troops available and improved the output of the farms on which they grew up. If climate really did have this effect on agriculture, it must logically have had a beneficial effect on Rome’s military demographics. The problem is that such a beneficial dynamic would have been available to any society experiencing the same climatic shift.87 It cannot, therefore, be that the new climate simplistically led to “victory,” since it apparently led to “demise” for all of Rome’s foes. Any deterministic forces had to apply to all those in the same region. If climate played a role in Rome’s unique success, there needs to be a way in which Rome’s structures and practices uniquely benefited from climate change. Could improved military demographics benefit Rome more than other states? Possibly. There is some reason to think that no other state had crafted a war machine so able to leverage improved demographics of citizen soldiers and to incorporate further stocks of allied manpower.88 Carthage certainly mobilized enormous forces for the Hannibalic War, but the mobilization of a citizen

84. On the variety of agricultural practices available, see Hollander 2018. 85. Hin 2013: 85–​86, 89, 92. 86. For a clear overview, see Samuels 2019. 87. Despite a long trope to the contrary, Romans seem not to have been uniquely wonderful farmers who could outproduce rivals; see Pelgrom 2018 and Terrenato 2019: esp. ch. 3 for the history of this notion and the evidence to the contrary. 88. On Rome’s integration of allies into the army, see Jehne 2006.

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or allied population was not the cornerstone of Carthaginian efforts that it was for Rome; improved demographics thus benefited just one part of their war machine.89 The Hellenistic kings marshalled huge armies for their various campaigns, but none were able to sustain the mobilization rates that Rome achieved. As Taylor has shown, Antigonid Macedonia was the only major power that could match Rome’s rate of enlistment, but there simply was not the pool of manpower to fuel such intensity on such a scale; they knew how to mobilize manpower like Rome, but they lacked the population to take advantage of that trick in the way that Rome could. The Seleucids seem not to have pushed the rate of mobilization as far as the Romans, even if the enormous population allowed for giant armies on occasion.90 The Ptolemies were much more willing to enlist native ethnic Egyptians than has been commonly thought, but certainly not at the rate of Roman citizens.91 But if Rome could and did recruit more soldiers than rivals, this simply pushes the burden of the inquiry one step further back. Why was Rome able to do that, and how does that factor relate to climate? Leaving aside a community’s cultural and political willingness to pursue warfare, the ability to deploy armies was constrained first by the number of men available for recruitment, but then second by the financial reserves to fund them. Part of Taylor’s explanation for Rome’s enormous pool of “strategic manpower” is not simply that there were a lot of Roman men, but that Romans soldiers were paid a fraction of what Carthaginian and Hellenistic soldiers were paid: something like two obols per day against six to nine obols in the East.92 Given the same reserve of manpower, Rome could deploy more men because it cost less per soldier to do so. Thus we can imagine two variable constraints on recruitment. As climate improved, it is likely that the pool of men available for recruitment went up across the Mediterranean. If all states then had access to more men, they became subject to a second constraint: how many men could each state fund? As the first constraint loosened, each state stood to improve its deployments to the extent that the second factor did not intervene. Rome’s cheap troops offered very little constraint, so Rome was able to maximize the benefits of improved demographics. Rivals, however, may have had similar reserves of men, but their

89. Taylor 2020: 59–​73. 90. Taylor 2020: 178. 91. Fischer-​Bovet 2014: 161–​66. With roughly 4,000,000 souls, even a force of 100,000 would only mobilize something like 2.5 percent of the overall population. As a proportion of the Greek/​Macedonian population of roughly 200,000, however, mobilization could be much higher. See Fischer-​Bovet 2014: esp. 167–​77 for discussion and data. 92. Taylor 2020: 180–​81.

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public finance systems, their domestic politics and their methods of mobilization did not permit them to leverage that improvement in the way that Rome could. And so, unlike that of rivals, the economic and political constraints on Rome’s military did not prevent them from capitalizing upon improved demographics. The exceptions among Rome’s rivals may well have been among the Gauls and Ligures. There, communities may have benefited even more from improved climate because their northern homes began cooler, and it seems unlikely that their soldiers were paid the lofty sums earned in the Hellenistic kingdoms or in Carthage.93 It is perhaps no surprise, then, that Romans fought the Gauls and Ligurians so often, so fiercely, and for so long; almost one third of consular commands between 264 and 91 were in Northern Italy.94 Once again, the Po basin and its inhabitants loom over the second century.

2.7. Conclusions The purpose of this chapter has been to explore ways in which developments in paleoclimatology are likely to benefit our understanding of several conventional topics in Roman Republican history. I have argued that a warmer, more stable climate would indeed have aided various endeavors undertaken by the Romans, most particularly in managing the availability of land, in creating a megacity, and in successfully waging such vast wars of conquest. In particular, I have argued that these endeavors could easily have failed if costs and hardships imposed by a more difficult climate had exerted themselves more often than they in fact did. Much depends on the dating of the climatic conditions that underpinned the two centuries from the end of the first century bce to the end of the second century ce. Though it remains the subject of debate, it is not unusual to argue that the Roman Warm Period contributed to stability in the High Empire or that its demise contributed to the instability of the third century ce.95 If the beginning of that period is pushed back to the third century bce—​and that remains an “if ”—​then there seems little reason not to consider its role in Roman Republican history as well. If, on the other hand, the Warm Period began in the last decades after Caesar, then scholars will need to ask how the earlier, more variable climate affected the Republic, and how the climatic transition to the Warm Period affected the political transition to the principate.

93. Hin 2013: 86. 94. Prag 2017: 298, Roncaglia 2018: 24–​25. 95. Harper 2017: ch. 2.

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At its simplest, Rome was a machine tuned for converting land into human energy and political successes.96 Production of food and natural resources fueled a population and a society that engaged in a range of (according to the Romans’ own values) remarkably successful enterprises throughout the third and second centuries. The results might be political stability thanks to satisfaction at home, or they could be domination through armies abroad. There were and had been various means for achieving those “goods.” Assyrians, Persians, Spartans, and Athenians had all tried out their own means of achieving such ends, and contemporary with the Romans, there were Hellenistic kingdoms, Italian rivals, Carthaginians, Gauls, and more who were striving in diverse ways for similar goals at home and abroad. Yet, in that competition, Rome’s practices proved unusually efficacious. They consistently held off less preferred outcomes, whether that was defeat to military rivals, or the emergence of the fractious politics that terrorized earlier and later periods. The case being made here is that Rome’s various endeavors did not occur in a vacuum, but took place in specific ecological and climatic conditions. It is possible that Rome’s practices would have proved successful in any period, but it is worth asking whether success in Rome’s many gambles were made a little more likely by a warmer climate. And gambles they were. No Mediterranean power had unified the Western half of the sea, or linked it to the Aegean; there was little precedent for a Mediterranean city permanently conquering as far north as Cisalpine Gaul, or for creating hegemony over an area as large as Italy with so little rebellion; and for over a century Rome deftly navigated the fraught issues of land politics. If any or all of these endeavors had failed, no observer would have been surprised. Instead, they all succeeded. The desired outcome won out over the alternatives in each case. There is of course no single reason Romans proved so successful in overcoming their various problems in this period—​nor was there a single approach or an unwavering refusal to adapt or to change. Entire careers have been dedicated to the study of how Roman culture and politics affected historical trajectory. Yet Rome’s various methods or practices were built on certain foundations that can be thought of as something like constants. For all of the Roman war machine’s flexibility in this period, it always enjoyed an enormous “strategic pool

96. Harper and McCormick 2018: “The labours of environmental historians have yielded a much clearer understanding of both the enabling power of the natural world and the constraints it imposes. At the centre of the field, it might be suggested, has been an effort to describe how the imperative of extracting energy from the environment has shaped human societies.”

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of manpower.”97 And, from the middle of the third century, its many wars were predicated on an assumed control of the seas. It is not impossible to hypothesize how a power that enjoyed those advantages would benefit more from a warmer, stable climate than its many rivals would. This did not preclude Rome’s failure, but it did perhaps impede Rome’s success a little less than a different climate would have. Similarly, decades of scholarship have examined the cultural and communicative factors that contributed to the Republic’s political stability, but, if a warmer climate increased the availability of land in any way, then it does not take much bravery to argue that this was a factor contributing to Rome’s quiescent politics in this period. There is little clarity right now as to when the Roman Warm Period began, and I have not focused in this chapter on how the preceding, cooler climate might have affected Rome’s historical course. Instead, I have asked how we might examine the possible effects on Rome’s third-​and second-​century history if the Warm Period was indeed in place by that time. It is of course possible that students and scholars will emerge from all this convinced that climate played no role. It is also possible, however, that an ongoing conversation will yield some valuable outcomes, such as new ways of understanding Republican history, and new ways of linking Republican and Imperial history. Reconstructing the climate will be an ongoing task reliant on new proxy data, and the work to integrate those climate findings into a historical model will follow in their wake. This should ensure that Roman historians are better able to approach questions of climate history, and that the Roman Republic will take its place in larger conversations about climate’s role in global history. B i b l i o gr a p h y Attema, P., and M. van Leusen. 2004. “The Early Roman Colonization of South Lazio: A Survey of Three Landscapes.” In P. Attema (ed.), Centralization, Early Urbanization and Colonization in First Millennium BC Greece and Italy. Part 1: Italy, 157–​95. Leuven. Ayers, E. L. 2017. The Thin Light of Freedom. The Civil War and Emancipation in the Heart of America. New York. Bandelli, G. 1988. Ricerche sulla colonizzazione romana della Gallia Cisalpina. Rome. Bini, M., G. Zanchetta, E. Regattieri, I. Isola, R. N. Drysdale, F. Fabiani, S. Genovesi, and J. C. Hellstrom. 2020. “Hydrological Changes during the Roman Climatic Optimum in Northern Tuscany (Central Italy) as Evidenced by Speleothem Records and Archaeological Data.” Journal of Quaternary Science 35: 791–​802.

97. Taylor 2020: 167–​70.

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The Agrarian Policy of the Senate between Hannibal and the Gracchi Mattia Balbo

3.1. Introduction It is very difficult to reconstruct the agrarian history of Italy before 133 bce—​ that is, before the lex Sempronia. This difficulty is due to the very nature of our sources, which only partly enable us to fill in the serious gaps in our knowledge of the mid-​second century bce. Moreover, the few attempts to describe the overall picture of the agrarian history of the middle Republic that are known to us from antiquity all revolve around the lex Sempronia, or take into account the controversy sparked by the Gracchi. This is the case with the famous Appian passage offering a miniature history of agriculture in Italy, which had already succinctly been described by Plutarch, with minor differences.1 The same distorted perspective also marks other late Republican or early Imperial sources, such as Varro, Velleius, and Columella, who combine the Gracchan demands with various issues

1. Plut. TG 8; App. BC 1.7–​8. While presenting many similarities to Appian’s account, Plutarch’s version is far more succinct in its description of the economic conditions in Italy. Plutarch dwells on the management of the ager publicus (sales, leases), without focusing—​as Appian does—​on the demographic purposes of these measures. Moreover, in Appian the pro-​ Italic perspective is far more marked compared to Plutarch, who instead shifts the focus onto the Romans. In both accounts, the pro-​Gracchi aim is evident, as the history of inequality in the countryside is designed to illustrate Tiberius Gracchus’ motivations (and, in Plutarch, those behind C. Laelius’ attempted reform). For these reasons, scholars have long debated whether the two accounts are based on a common source, which some have sought to identify as Posidonius or Asinius Pollio: Fraccaro 1914: 11–​29, 66–​76; Tibiletti 1948: 192–​209 (=​ 2007: 42–​59); Forsén 1991: 44–​59; Rich 2015: 113; 2020: 168. Mattia Balbo, The Agrarian Policy of the Senate between Hannibal and the Gracchi In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0003

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pertaining to the fourth, third, and second centuries bce.2 Most significantly, it marks the writings of the Gromatici: the latter feature some references to the work of the Gracchi and, with a chronological leap, to the actions of Sulla and Octavian.3 The only significant exception is the Elder Cato, whose treatise on agriculture is a most useful source to the study of the functioning of the pre-​ Gracchan agricultural economy and to the understanding of the economic outlook of the Roman senators in the second century bce; yet it does not offer a general picture of the transformation of the Italian agricultural landscape. Plautus’ role is more controversial, although he has been singled out as a significant source for the study of how villas functioned in the middle Republican period.4 In turn, the interpretation of archaeological data offers some interesting insights, but does not allow us to fill in all the gaps: in certain cases, archaeology seems to corroborate the literary sources with regard to the work of the Gracchi—​in Campania and Lucania, for instance—​while in other contexts it forces us to carefully reconsider them. This is the case with the ager Cosanus in southern Etruria, which has sometimes been identified as one of the areas that inspired Tiberius Gracchus’ agrarian reform.5 Ultimately, we have no way of knowing whether the economic problems that dramatically emerged in 133 bce were the inevitable outcome of the overall development of middle-​Republican agrarian history, or whether they are part of a broader picture. Alternatively, they might even have been an unexpected innovation: a product of the “Gracchan revolution.” In this chapter I will be considering the impact of post-​Hannibalic settlements on the agrarian landscape in Italy and the policies adopted by the res publica, as these two aspects would appear to have been the long-​term causes of the social inequality underlying the demands of the Gracchi. In particular, I will be focusing on the increased competition for land that was made possible by Roman expansion in Italy, by the likely demographic growth, and by the influx of capital and resources deriving from the growing Roman hegemony over the Mediterranean. The concept of competition for land is key to explaining the emergence of a

2. Varro RR 1.2.9; Vell. 2.2.3; 2.6.1–​3; Colum. RR 1.3.10–​11, about the so-​called lex Licinia de modo agrorum. 3. E.g., Sic. Flac. p. 102–​3; 132 Campbell; Hyg. Grom. p. 136; 156 Campbell; Lib. Col. p. 164; 166; 168 Campbell. Cf. De Martino 1984; Gabba 1992; Grelle 1992; Roselaar 2009. 4. De Nardis 2009. 5. Plut. TG 8.9 reports that, according to Gaius Gracchus, his brother became aware of the need for reform after witnessing the deplorable state of the countryside in Etruria, although it remains unclear which specific territory he may have had in mind (=​FRHist 11 F 2). For an agrarian history of Cosa, see Rathbone 1981; 2008: 324–​26; Witcher 2008: 289–​91; Pelgrom 2008: 337–​42.

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social “crisis” in the mid-​second century, as described by Plutarch and Appian: I will attempt to identify elements revealing the emergence of this problem in the light of the recent debate on demography and society in the middle Republican period. The second part of the chapter will therefore be devoted to the agrarian policy of the res publica. I will consider the agrarian measures (in the broader sense of the concept) taken by magistrates and the Senate prior to the Gracchan period. It will seek to identify the existence of one or more competing policies, and will examine those who promoted agrarian measures, their aims, and their possible consequences on the political debate in the middle Republic.

3.2. Is Appian Still Our Main Source? Recent work has drastically redefined the picture of the social, economic, and demographic decline of small farming estates in the second century bce, as developed by A. J. Toynbee’s classic theory and further refined by P. A. Brunt and K. Hopkins.6 According to the traditional model, post-​Hannibalic Italy experienced a progressive drop in its free population, accompanied by the replacement of the subsistence agricultural economy, which was based on the ager publicus, by a system revolving around large estates pursuing a market economy. A crucial role in this context is played by a famous Appian passage that significantly contributed to the development of the traditional theory regarding the decay of small farming estates. In the first book of his Civil Wars, the Alexandrian historian outlines the socioeconomic conditions that, in his view, gave rise to the Gracchi’s reformative attempts. This is a gloomy picture, as Appian describes the large-​scale occupation of the ager publicus and the appropriation of land resources in Italy by an elite, to the detriment of Italian manpower: In the course of their military conquest of Italy, region by region, the Romans used to take a part of the land and establish towns on it, or enroll colonists of their own to settle in already existing towns. They intended these to take the place of garrisons. Of the land acquired by war on each occasion, they would immediately distribute, sell, or lease what was under cultivation to the colonists. Since they did not yet have the time to allot the land that was currently unworked because of the war—​and this was generally the greater part—​they offered it in the meantime to those willing to work it for a tax on the annual crops, ten percent of what was sown, five percent of what was planted. A tax was also imposed on those who

6. Toynbee 1965; Brunt 1971; Hopkins 1978.

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kept livestock, whether larger or smaller. The purpose in doing this was to increase the Italian population, which in their view was capable of the greatest endurance, and so have allies at home. But the very opposite thing happened. For the rich, getting possession of most of the undistributed land, and being encouraged by the lapse of time to believe that no one would ever dispossess them, absorbed any adjacent strips and their poor neighbors’ allotments, partly by persuading them to sell, and partly by taking their land by force. In this way they came to cultivate vast tracts instead of single estates, and used slaves they had bought as farmers and herdsmen, to avoid the situation where free men were taken from farming for military service. At the same time this ownership of slaves brought them great profit from the large number of children produced by slaves, who increased in number because they were not subject to military service. For these reasons men of power became extremely rich and the slave population multiplied in the countryside, while the Italian people decreased in number and suffered from a shortage of manpower, worn down by poverty, levies, and military service. If they had any respite from these pressures, they remained out of work, because the land was held by the rich, who employed slaves instead of freemen as agricultural workers.7 In recent years several scholars have especially focused on the final section of this text, which illustrates the demographic and social developments in the countryside in Roman Italy and the complex interplay between slaves and freemen

7. App. BC 1.7.26–​31 (transl. B. McGing, LCL, 2020): Ῥωμαῖοι τὴν Ἰταλίαν πολέμῳ κατὰ μέρη χειρούμενοι γῆς μέρος ἐλάμβανον καὶ πόλεις ἐνῴκιζον ἢ ἐς τὰς πρότερον οὔσας κληρούχους ἀπὸ σφῶν κατέλεγον. καὶ τάδε μὲν ἀντὶ φρουρίων ἐπενόουν, τῆς δὲ γῆς τῆς δορικτήτου σφίσιν ἑκάστοτε γιγνομένης τὴν μὲν ἐξειργασμένην αὐτίκα τοῖς οἰκιζομένοις ἐπιδιῄρουν ἢ ἐπίπρασκον ἢ ἐξεμίσθουν, τὴν δ’ ἀργὸν ἐκ τοῦ πολέμου τότε οὖσαν, ἣ δὴ καὶ μάλιστα ἐπλήθυεν, οὐκ ἄγοντές πω σχολὴν διαλαχεῖν ἐπεκήρυττον ἐν τοσῷδε τοῖς ἐθέλουσιν ἐκπονεῖν ἐπὶ τέλει τῶν ἐτησίων καρπῶν, δεκάτῃ μὲν τῶν σπειρομένων, πέμπτῃ δὲ τῶν φυτευομένων. ὥριστο δὲ καὶ τοῖς προβατεύουσι τέλη μειζόνων τε καὶ ἐλαττόνων ζῴων. καὶ τάδε ἔπραττον ἐς πολυανδρίαν τοῦ Ἰταλικοῦ γένους, φερεπονωτάτου σφίσιν ὀφθέντος, ἵνα συμμάχους οἰκείους ἔχοιεν. ἐς δὲ τοὐναντίον αὐτοῖς περιῄει. οἱ γὰρ πλούσιοι τῆσδε τῆς ἀνεμήτου γῆς τὴν πολλὴν καταλαβόντες καὶ χρόνῳ θαρροῦντες οὔ τινα σφᾶς ἔτι ἀφαιρήσεσθαι τά τε ἀγχοῦ σφίσιν ὅσα τε ἦν ἄλλα βραχέα πενήτων, τὰ μὲν ὠνούμενοι πειθοῖ, τὰ δὲ βίᾳ λαμβάνοντες, πεδία μακρὰ ἀντὶ χωρίων ἐγεώργουν, ὠνητοῖς ἐς αὐτὰ γεωργοῖς καὶ ποιμέσι χρώμενοι τοῦ μὴ τοὺς ἐλευθέρους ἐς τὰς στρατείας ἀπὸ τῆς γεωργίας περισπᾶν, φερούσης ἅμα καὶ τῆσδε τῆς κτήσεως αὐτοῖς πολὺ κέρδος ἐκ πολυπαιδίας θεραπόντων ἀκινδύνως αὐξομένων διὰ τὰς ἀστρατείας. ἀπὸ δὲ τούτων οἱ μὲν δυνατοὶ πάμπαν ἐπλούτουν, καὶ τὸ τῶν θεραπόντων γένος ἀνὰ τὴν χώραν ἐπλήθυε, τοὺς δ’ Ἰταλιώτας ὀλιγότης καὶ δυσανδρία κατελάμβανε, τρυχομένους πενίᾳ τε καὶ ἐσφοραῖς καὶ στρατείαις. εἰ δὲ καὶ σχολάσειαν ἀπὸ τούτων, ἐπὶ ἀργίας διετίθεντο, τῆς γῆς ὑπὸ τῶν πλουσίων ἐχομένης καὶ γεωργοῖς χρωμένων θεράπουσιν ἀντὶ ἐλευθέρων. Cf. the seminal commentary by E. Gabba (recently reissued in Gabba 2021: 10–​19), and see also the important discussions in Gabba 1992: 400–​2; Gargola 2008; Roselaar 2019: 147–​51.

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on the labor market. John Rich, for instance, has convincingly argued that the second century bce did not at all witness an inexorable decline of the free population in the countryside, and that Appian’s words actually refer to Tiberius Gracchus’ fears that the adsidui belonging to the fifth census class could no longer maintain sufficient birth rates to meet enlistment requirements. This is alluded to not just in fragments of his speeches, but also by the reference to the Roman policy of promoting an increase of the Italian manpower (“the purpose in doing this was to increase the Italian population”). This “manpower anxiety” was shared by other members of the elite too, including those not politically aligned with the Gracchi.8 Equally stimulating is also the hypothesis formulated by Elio Lo Cascio, who has interpreted the passage in question in the light of Malthusian categories: in his view, it refers to an (existing or potential) demographic “crisis” caused not by a drop in the free population, but rather by its considerable increase over the previous generations, unaccompanied by an effective policy of resource redistribution. Lo Cascio interprets the two terms oligotes and dusandria that Appian uses to capture the predicament of Italy not as synonyms, but rather as logically connected: the worsening of economic conditions (dusandria) may have triggered the kind of repressive mechanisms theorized by Malthus, thus leading to a demographic crisis (oligotes). This brilliant hypothesis is aligned with the most recent reconstructions of Roman Italy’s demography, which envisage a growth trend (although there is no firm scholarly consensus on this count), or at any rate a tendency toward stability, as also argued by Luuk de Ligt.9 This growth may have increased the pressure on resources, posing the risk of a Malthusian crisis, particularly for the class of small landowners. Furthermore, recent studies on the agrarian landscape suggest that small and medium-​sized farming estates preserved a considerable degree of vitality throughout the late Republican period, which would appear to confirm that the traditional idea of decline is an inadequate model for the social transformations of the second century bce.10 The debate on these two theories has shifted its focus to the interpretation of the data from Republican and Augustan censuses transmitted by the sources, with significant epistemological consequences. Brunt’s reconstruction revived and fine-​tuned a hypothesis first put forward by Beloch, according to which the millions of individuals recorded in Augustan censuses must be taken to refer to the entire population of Roman citizens, and not to adult males alone, as is

8. ORF4 18 F 4: 107–​8 (Q. Caecilius Metellus Macedonicus); 34, F 13–​15: 149–​50 (Ti. Gracchus); cf. Rich 1983: 299–​305. 9. De Ligt 2012. 10. Launaro 2011.

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instead the case with Republican censuses. On this basis, the estimate for the overall free population in Italy would not vary significantly between the middle Republic and the early Empire, thereby reinforcing the idea of demographic stability, if not decline, between the third and first century bce. On the contrary, Lo Cascio maintains—​in Tenney Frank’s footsteps—​that the Augustan censuses only include adult males and that, therefore, the demographic estimate for Augustan Italy must be tripled or even quadrupled, which would suggest a progressive growth. Generally speaking, however, scholars agree that it is difficult to use second-​century censuses to come up with an overall demographic estimate for Roman Italy: the problem lies not so much with the figures provided, which most scholars consider to be quite reliable, but rather with the degree to which they are actually representative of the overall picture.11 The roughly 300,000 citizens recorded over the course of the second century are bound to represent only a tiny portion of the inhabitants of peninsular Italy, since this figure must be taken to refer to adult male ciues who resided in an area much smaller than Augustan Italy and who—​according to Lo Cascio—​carried out their professio in Rome.12 At the same time, studies on the functioning of slave villas have introduced new insights, altering in several respects the picture suggested by G. Tibiletti and Toynbee. First of all, the very notion of latifundium has been subjected to extensive epistemological criticism, similarly to the (no doubt intriguing) definition of “plantation” suggested by P. de Neeve some thirty years ago: the excessive connotation of these two concepts, which point to economic circumstances that are quite removed from those of the ancient world, has made it necessary to redefine the very terminology used for the study of large Roman landed estates, along with their underlying conception. The Italian term latifondo suggests the idea of a large estate that is underexploited by the owners-​rentiers—​who chiefly devote themselves to urban politics—​and is entirely cultivated by slaves or colonists in a completely subordinate juridical position. Nothing could be further from the model of the Roman villa sketched out by our literary sources, which according to the most recent theories ought to be interpreted as an efficient farm whose management in many cases involved the functional integration of specialized laborers, servile status, and free, seasonal hired laborers.13

11. Lo Cascio 1994; 2008: 243–​44; cf. Frank 1924; Jones 1948. For the opposite view see esp. Beloch 1886: 342; Brunt 1971: 113. 12. Lo Cascio 1990: 308–​17; 1994: 30–​32; 2001: 591–​92; 2008: 251. 13. Lo Cascio 1982 (=​2009: 71–​90); Capogrossi Colognesi 1999; Launaro 2015. For the alternative concept of “plantation” see de Neeve 1984: 75–​78, and 83; cf. the discussion in Capogrossi Colognesi 2012: 8–​9, and 148 n. 28.

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On the basis of recent discoveries, even the chronology of the development of the villa model has been backdated compared to the traditional account, which assigned it to the second century.14 Likewise, the way in which Appian describes the creation of large estates is being reassessed, compared to the traditional idea that the chief constitutive element involved was the occupation of the ager publicus: while stressing the role of public land, which was the focus of the Gracchan initiative, Appian states that property concentration also occurred through the purchase of adjacent private lots, and that therefore the elite’s large estates were managed according to a mixed system of ownership and occupation.15 Appian’s Civil Wars are no doubt a “valuable book” for studies on Roman Italy, which “gets to the bottom of the material basis of things,” to borrow Karl Marx’s insightful definition.16 In other words, the passage quoted above on the conditions of the inhabitants of peninsular Italy is still a crucial source for understanding social and economic changes in the Italian countryside during the second century bce. However, it is safe to say that this is the case for reasons completely different from those envisaged in the interpretation that prevailed fifty years ago.

3.3. Competition for Land The concept of competition for land still provides the best key to interpret the Appian passage quoted above. Appian’s description does not contain detailed chronological references: as has rightly been noted, it seems to generically refer to the period of Roman expansion in Italy between the fourth and second centuries bce, particularly as regards the settlement policies pursued by the res publica. Appian identifies colonies as the linchpin of Roman agrarian policies in Italy. In his account he combines two elements that modern historiography tends to treat separately (even though, in actual fact, they cannot be completely separated): the role of political-​administrative garrisons played by small colonies of citizens and that performed by the larger Latin colonies as a means to populate certain areas and to lighten the demographic pressure on cities in Latium. According to a modern interpretation, indeed, one of the aims of the citizens colonies was to set military and administrative garrisons in areas where the presence of Roman 14. Terrenato 2001; 2012; Smith 2006: 153–​55; Rich 2020: 172 (remarks based on the Auditorium site in Rome). 15. Gargola 2008: 492, 502; Rich 2008: 546; Balbo 2010: 294–​95. 16. K. Marx, Letter to F. Engels, 27 February 1861: “Rather, in the evenings for recreation I have been reading Appian’s Roman Civil Wars in the Greek original. Very valuable book. The fellow is Egyptian by origin. Schlosser says he has no soul, probably because he gets to the bottom of the material basis of things in these civil wars” (transl. Bonnell 2015: 15).

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citizens had become significant. As well as acting as garrisons, they were venues for judicial administration and city markets: not just places to exchange goods, but centers where trade matters could be dealt with under the protection of Roman law.17 On the other hand, the Latin colonies seem to have had a demographic function: they too had military repercussions, since they provided a recruitment pool in the medium to long term, but their premises were slightly different. To some extent, the demographic function may also hold true for the colonies established in the period before the Punic Wars: yet it was in the second century that a major development occurred. So while the colonial policy described by Appian is rather vague and difficult to define chronologically, the land grab described in the second part of the passage quoted above is a phenomenon that fits quite neatly the post-​Hannibalic context and the new role played by the ager publicus in that period. Therefore, we must assume—​as Toynbee already did—​that the crisis of small-​scale farming described by Appian was one of the consequences of Hannibal’s defeat and of the consolidation of the so-​called Imperial Republic in the second century bce. Given the interpretative difficulties outlined so far, it seems as though—​from an agrarian standpoint—​the main problem in second-​century Italy was the sudden and considerable increase in competition for land. In itself, competition over access to the fundamental economic resource in antiquity is hardly a novelty in the history of the Roman Republic: agrarian conflicts are attested from the very beginning and it is not necessarily the case that their history, as we know it, was rewritten a posteriori in the light of the Gracchan events, even though certain interferences certainly occurred. The actual novelty in the second century perhaps lies in the extent of this competition, which occurred on multiple levels and involved the whole of peninsular Italy, as had never been the case before. Here I would like to consider three processes that are likely to have increased the competition for land: (1) changes in manpower; (2) investments in large estates; and (3) the spread of a market economy. As far as manpower is concerned, the conflict—​recorded by several sources, but made famous chiefly by Appian—​is between servile and free labor. According to the Alexandrian historian, the imperial expansion of Rome entailed a vast influx of slaves into the Roman economy on account of the fact that they cost less than free laborers. The traditional interpretation of this processes, as recalled above, consisted—​with various nuances—​in the hypothesis of a considerable and constant fall of the free population in the Italian countryside, or at any rate a 17. See, e.g., Gabba 1975a: 90; Zaccaria 1991: 56; Balbo and Amabili 2019: 259–​61 on the specific (late Republican) case of Eporedia in Cisalpine Gaul (100 bce). A broader discussion of the patterns of law administration in Italy is provided by Gallo 2018.

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lower growth rate compared to the slave population. On the contrary, the more recent hypotheses by Rich, Lo Cascio, and Launaro suggest exactly the reverse demographic trend for Roman Italy. In turn, recent studies on the functioning of villas offer a different model for their exploitation, based on the use of mixed manpower, with the presence of a stable number of specialized slaves in charge of permanent tasks, suitably integrated with a variable contingent of seasonal laborers hired for the more toilsome tasks such as harvesting, grape-​picking, and haymaking. Scholars believe that a traditional reservoir for the recruitment of seasonal laborers was the free population in the countryside—​for example, families of small landowners (who would thus increase their income) and the plebs from nearby towns. One famous description of the phenomenon of seasonal labor is provided by Varro, who stresses the importance of hired laborers as an intrinsic and theoretically functional prerequisite for the existence of the country villa.18 This passage is all the more significant because, from a chronological perspective, it dates from the high point in the alleged crisis of Italian manpower (mid-​first century bce). Therefore, it is misleading to speak of a radical replacement of free laborers with slaves; rather, a form of competition between the two work forces may have existed. Nevertheless, even without necessarily envisaging a demographic decline, it cannot be denied that the use of servile labor, be it systematic or occasional, constituted a significant problem in the second century. Slave revolts in Sicily, coupled with fears that they might spread to peninsular Italy—​and, for a number of possible reasons, even to other social groups in the countryside—​were a serious problem emphasized by several sources highlighting social conditions in the 130s bce.19 Slave revolts in Italy are already attested in the early second century, particularly in Etruria (196 bce) and Apulia (185 bce).20 Moreover, Cicero reports that in 138 bce distinguished citizens were massacred in an attack jointly perpetrated by slaves and free laborers who were collecting tar in the Sila mountains for a company owned by publicans.21 While we should not generalize from episodes such as these, they certainly suggest the need to envisage the relationship

18. Varro RR 1.17.2, on which see esp. Lo Cascio 2009: 71–​90. 19. Diod. 34–​35.2; Flor. 2.7.7; App. BC 1.8.32; 1.9.36. On the involvement of the plebs in the Sicilian uprising, see La Rocca 2004, who departs from the traditional interpretation of the episode: in his view, the massacres of landowners carried out by organized gangs of free men did not stem from any alliance with the rioters, but from popular attempts to quash the revolt, and which degenerated into indiscriminate acts of violence (cf. Brunt 1966 for the conceptual categories involved). 20. Livy 33.36.1–​3; 39.29.8–​9. 21. Cic. Brut. 85.

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between slave and free labor in the countryside in less contrasting terms. The two forms of labor would appear to have been integrated in the Italian countryside in the middle-​Republican period, in some cases giving rise to conflicts. Indeed, it is possible that in a context of military expansion, the price of chattel-​slaves dropped—​either because of their increased presence on the market, or because their “trade” became more efficient—​and that many landowners found it cheaper to employ slave laborers in various economic sectors, such as sheep farming, even for seasonal farm labor, through contractors of operae. Appian himself does not state that slaves replaced free laborers in all fields, but rather that they constituted fierce competitors. Manpower contractors may have played a significant role in this process, by offering domini both slave and free labor. Ultimately, the competition between the two forms of labor may have brought about a gradual drop in freemen’s salaries, from which much of the problem springs. A relation of this kind between labor supply and salaries—​which is typical of the industrial world—​did not necessarily apply to ancient Italy as well, but it is certainly an issue worth bearing in mind. Another significant form of competition was between agriculture and sheep farming, and their respective forms of labor. The literary tradition ironically attributes to Cato the impartial advice of making massive investments in animal husbandry, from which profit could easily be reaped in a short time.22 One epigraphic source is even more direct: the famous Lapis Pollae, which Mario Adamo has recently proposed to backdate to the 140s by interpreting the reference to the ager publicus found in the document as reflecting the activity of the anonymous subject as a praetor in Sicily rather than in Lucania.23 While in some respects I still favor the reconstruction provided by Gabba, who instead associates the document with the Gracchan context, I am persuaded by Adamo’s interpretation of the sentence primus fecei ut de agro poplico aratoribus cederent paastores (“I was the first to provide that shepherds would give priority to ploughmen with regard to public land”).24 He does not connect the magistrate’s work to new 22. Cic. Off. 2.89; Colum. RR 6 praef. 4–​6: I will leave aside the issue of the actual attribution to Cato in this form. 23. CIL 12. 638 =​ILS 23, ll. 9–​15: “And I, when I was praetor in Sicily, pursued 917 fugitive slaves of the Italians and returned them [to their masters], and I was the first to provide that shepherds gave up on public land to ploughmen. Here I built the forum and the public buildings” (transl. Adamo 2016: 74). 24. Adamo 2016: 86 (“The difference may look minimal, but is in fact substantial. So far all translators have assumed that the magistrate forcefully removed the shepherds, and settled ploughmen. According to my translation, by contrast, ploughmen were not brought in from elsewhere. Both groups appear to have been already present, and to have used ager publicus in competition; the magistrate intervenes at a later stage, and rules that the claim of ploughmen

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allotments of ager publicus seized to shepherds, but rather to a favorable attitude toward farmers’ demands for privileged access to the ager publicus. This is a most intriguing reconstruction, but—​given the dearth of sources—​it does not provide any hypothesis on how the anonymous character in question may have concretely sought to meet the farmers’ demands, and by means of what measure (a recognitio?). In fact, the traditional assumption that this person promoted the distribution of arable land furnishes a simpler explanation of his pro-​farmers policy, but Adamo’s alternative suggestion deserves attention. Furthermore, Adamo links the farmers’ demands (as a genuine act of “lobbying”) with the Italo-​Roman elites’ expansion in provincial areas, and not with the rural plebs’ expansion in the Lucanian countryside, as the traditional interpretation would have it. In relation to Sicily—​but the same argument might also hold for Southern Italy—​Adamo paints a picture in which agriculture and sheep farming tended not to replace each other, but rather to operate in a state of competition or, better still, within an integrated economic system in which the two forms of labor coexisted—​not without some tensions. The idea of a brutal contrast between shepherds and farmers in the ancient world, in many cases involving forms of ethnic and social opposition, is often an artificial one, since it is based on a distinction that is all too schematic. Let us consider, for instance, the case of ancient Campania.25 In the second century it would appear to have been a markedly agricultural area, which nonetheless had a high level of artisan activities; moreover, an extensive amount of ager publicus was created in the wake of the post-​Hannibalic confiscations, especially in the former territory of Capua, the so-​called ager Campanus. Indeed Campania was surrounded by areas chiefly, albeit not exclusively, devoted to transhumant sheep farming: Lucania, Hirpinia, Samnium, and—​further afield—​Daunia.26 It is reasonable to assume that these phenomena coexisted in integrated form, involved the same social actors (large landowners, slaves, and the rural plebs), and found the same outlet in a market economy. The competition between agriculture and stock-​raising in Southern Italy is reflected in the problem of a territory’s carrying capacity. The unrestrained increase in sheep-​farming investments drained agricultural resources and increased soil erosion. In a context of on public land has priority over that of shepherds”). Cf. Gabba 1968: 441; 1975b: 381–​82; 1990: 677–​78 n. 13. On the uexata quaestio of the identification of the anonymous magistrate with pro-​Gracchan or anti-​Gracchan figures, see Mommsen in CIL 12.638 and 10.6950; Bracco 1962: 441; Wiseman 1964: 36; Panebianco 1963–​1964: 7–​9; Verbrugghe 1973; and Gabba 1975b. 25. See Balbo 2019 for a full summary of the evidence. 26. Gabba 1979; see the discussions in Corbier 2016 and Grelle 2016.

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possible demographic growth, this inevitably entailed a marked competition over resources. Recent scholarship has partly challenged the idea of a preponderant development of cattle-​breeding to the detriment of agriculture in many areas of the southern Apennines, and has envisaged a more differentiated model, in which various forms of exploitation coexisted.27 However, a strand of the literary tradition outlines for the third and second centuries bce an increasingly complex set of issues caused by the expansion of stock-​raising on public land, and stress out how the “greed of the rich” caused political frictions.28 Even without imagining a large-​scale shift from agricultural to pastoral land, it is evident that frictions related to pastoral investments were perceived as one of the problems that plagued the competition on the ager publicus. Let us turn now to the competition between large and small farms, which is assigned a prominent place in Appian’s account. The sources suggest that large estates were the primary driving force behind social change, although scholars now tend to trace the origins of villas back to the fourth and third centuries, as has been compellingly demonstrated by Capogrossi Colognesi.29 Certainly, the investments made by large landowners entailed significant changes in the Italian agricultural landscape. What favoured such investments was not just the greater availability of ager publicus following post-​Hannibalic confiscations, but also—​and especially—​the need to invest the revenue from this conquest and from other economic activities in the agro-​pastural economy. The “economic revolution” of the second century entailed a considerable increase in financial and commercial activities, thanks to the greater political and juridical integration of the Mediterranean.30 However, at some point the Italo-​Roman economic elite felt the need to invest part of its revenue in the land, which was regarded as the “asset back-​up” par excellence in timocratic Roman society. According to a widespread hypothesis, the origin of this rush for land is to be found in the plebiscitum Claudianum of 218 bce, which, in times of war, set a specific limit on senators’ potential trade activities. However, we should not overestimate the weight of a reform that some already perceived as backward-​looking in Cicero’s day.31 A perfect device to circumvent this ban through slave peculium is further

27. Adamo 2016: 90–​5. 28. Diod. 34–​35.2.1–​3 (Sicily); Ov. Fasti 5.279–​294 (Italy); the idea that stock-​raising on public land was a lucrative and risk-​free investment seems to have become a cliché: cf. the “Catonian advice” quoted above (n. 22). 29. Capogrossi Colognesi 2012: 127–​33. 30. Kay 2014. 31. Cic. Verr. 2.5.45; cf. Tchernia 2016: 150–​73.

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attributed to Cato.32 In this respect, it is interesting to note that, among the juridical innovations of the second century, peculium became a means to ensure more efficient investments by establishing the modes of reimbursement for subjects who were not sui iuris. Peculium included both movable and immovable assets; most important, the dominus was required to acknowledge only the initial and final balance, while he was free to ignore the modes of use: the investment risks, therefore, did not involve other items within his patrimony, thereby lowering transaction expenses.33 The real area where the Roman aristocracy’s concern about land ownership found application was actually the review of the senatorial roll (lectio senatus): it is reasonable to assume that censors behaved as guardians of senatorial morality even in the economic domain by assessing their patrimonies on the basis not so much of the plebiscitum Claudianum as of the degree to which these patrimonies were in line with the mos maiorum, which the censors themselves contributed to defining. Indeed, the second century comes across as the golden age of the censorship, which is to say as the period when this magistracy attained the height of its prestige and considerably expanded its discretionary powers.34 One is led to wonder whether the profits accrued from the peculium could be directly included in the census or whether it was necessary to link them to activities that were lawful for a senator. Although at this stage no minimum census to enter the Senate is attested (the main prerequisite was to have held curule magistracies), the moral evaluation to which senators were periodically subjected may well have included the economic sphere, which was not separate from other aspects of the life of a Roman citizen. But in order to fully appreciate the significance of the plebiscitum Claudianum, we need to set the problem in the opposite way: it is not the law—​which, according to Livy, was quite unpopular among senators—​that

32. Plut. Cat. Mai. 21.6–​7: “[Cato] used to loan money also in the most disreputable manner, that is on ships ventures. He asked his borrowers to form a large company and when a company of fifty partners, and as many ships, was formed, he took one share in the company himself, and was represented by his freedman Quintio, who accompanied his debtors in the venture. Thus, only a small part of his money was exposed, and his profits were large. He used also lend money to those of his slaves who wished it” (ἐχρήσατο δὲ καὶ τῷ διαβεβλημένῳ μάλιστα τῶν δανεισμῶν ἐπὶ ναυτικοῖς τὸν τρόπον τοῦτον. ἐκέλευε τοὺς δανειζομένους ἐπὶ κοινωνίᾳ πολλοὺς παρακαλεῖν· γενομένων δὲ πεντήκοντα καὶ πλοίων τοσούτων, αὐτὸς εἶχε μίαν μερίδα διὰ Κουϊντίωνος ἀπελευθέρου, τοῖς δανειζομένοις συμπραγματευομένου καὶ συμπλέοντος. ἦν οὖν οὐκ εἰς ἅπαν ὁ κίνδυνος, ἀλλ’ εἰς μέρος μικρὸν ἐπὶ κέρδεσι μεγάλοις. ἐδίδου δὲ καὶ τῶν οἰκετῶν τοῖς βουλομένοις ἀργύριον). 33. Peculium could include money, movable goods, real estates, and credits; cf. Chiusi 2018: 292–​94 (with references). 34. Clemente 2016; Bur 2018: 159–​90.

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required them to convert their capital into agricultural investments, but it was rather the prevailing agricultural mentality that created the conditions for that measure.35 Investing in landed estates was a way for domini to safeguard their capital against speculation risks, and was perfectly consistent with their other activities. The rush for land was not limited to the senatorial order, but extended to the Italo-​Roman elite as a whole, including emerging groups and municipal aristocracies that modeled themselves after the Roman senatorial order. The plebiscitum Claudianum—​assuming it did not remain a dead letter—​may ultimately have intensified an already existing process by requiring landowners to make their estates more productive. To be clear, I am not seeking to revive a primitivist reading of the Roman economy. Where were the landed investments of wealthy Romans concentrated? While the picture we have of the phenomenon is highly fragmentary, it is interesting to note that some very faint clues suggest that major investors turned to areas that were already highly productive and developed from an agricultural perspective, and to the infrastructures related to them. Purely for the sake of example, I will note that extensive stretches of Latium, the ager Campanus, and Etruria appear to have been privileged areas in this respect.36 From a demographic perspective, even based on the highest possible estimate for peninsular Italy (8–​10 mln?), the problem was not the availability of land in general but rather that of productive estates, which is to say those included within a well-​developed economic circuit and possessing infrastructures, manpower, and markets. Such estates had a high value and yielded considerable revenue, which made them worth investing in. For convenience’s sake, private individuals tended to invest in existing structures, whereas the creation of an agricultural landscape from scratch needed to be encouraged by political communities, given the huge expenses involved. An attitude of this sort inevitably entailed an increase in land prices in certain areas and hence the expulsion of small landowners from the land market. The Appian passage is often quoted in discussions of the ager publicus, which has been the focus of most scholars from Niebuhr onward. What is equally important is a statement—​particularly emphasized by Rich—​about the purchase of small properties: the acquisition of estates by “the rich” entailed both the occupation of public land and the purchases of other people’s properties, either freely (i.e., in accordance with market laws) or forcibly. Appian’s remark is not extemporaneous. The same topic appears at the end of his account of the Gracchi, where he recalls that, through the counter-​reforms made between 120 and 111 bce, the rich

35. Livy 21.63.3 (on senatorial opposition to this law). Cf. Santangelo 2019: 117–​18. 36. Further discussion in Balbo 2013: 94–​97; see also below on the agrarian interventions.

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once again started acquiring other people’s estates following the lifting of the ban on the alienation of Gracchan plots of land.37 The scenario described thus entails the following developments: private capital investments, a rise in agricultural land prices, and a nominal concentration of landed property, which obviously does not also imply a concentration of land management, as it may well have entailed a greater development of agricultural leases. It is also interesting to note—​again, by reading between the lines of Appian’s account—​that after 111 bce a picture of this sort may even have extended to those areas which the Gracchi’s centuriations had made economically more desirable through the development of a more complex agrarian landscape. Appian states that, after the fall of the Gracchi, the rich purchased plots of land that had previously been assigned; however, we have seen that many of the Gracchan allotments concerned areas that, according to Gabba, needed to be newly converted to agro-​pastoral use. Clearly, this is just a hypothesis. The increase in large estates went hand in hand with the development of market-​oriented agriculture. In all likelihood, the development of a market is a phenomenon that occurred much earlier than the second century bce, and obviously it was not a privileged outlet for large estates alone. It may be over-​simplistic to envisage a rigid dichotomy between large, market-​oriented farms and small farms devoted to domestic consumption: it is reasonable to assume that where a market-​oriented economy developed, it involved the whole system of production. Nevertheless, one of the problems related to the competition for land in the second century may derive precisely from the substantial growth of a market economy: the increased spread of coinage from the third century onward and the political and infrastructural integration of Italy are two phenomena that may have contributed to the development of a higher number of farms exclusively devoted to the market.38 It is most likely that this commercial development did not affect all areas of Italy equally, as we need to take local variations in land management into account.39 Still, this phenomenon involved the richest areas from an agricultural standpoint, those which constituted the elite’s chief focus of interest. In a possible context of this sort, large landowners would appear to have enjoyed a considerable advantage over small and medium ones, as they would have been more competitive and would have had far greater bargaining power, even in setting the prices of goods.

37. App. BC 1.27.121. 38. On coinage output see Marleen Termeer’s contribution to this volume. 39. Roselaar 2008.

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3.4. Senatorial Policy Taken individually, the aspects outlined above (manpower competition, land investments, the market) may not have undermined the existing agricultural system, although their overall scale may have led to social imbalances. What remains open is the question of whether the agrarian demands at the basis of the Gracchan reform were contingent, which is to say associated with the political and recruitment difficulties of the 140s bce, or they reflect a long-​term change. The lex Sempronia is not the only significant agrarian measure taken in the second century: Plutarch informs us that in the 140s Gaius Laelius attempted a reform, which was later withdrawn.40 The anonymous magistrate from the Lapis Pollae boasts of some interventions in the management of the ager publicus, which can be dated between 150 and 130 bce. However, we know nothing about the content and scope of these “rival” projects. Other specific measures are better documented, but—​as we shall see—​took widely divergent directions. The first problem to be addressed when discussing the economic policy of the Roman Republic concerns the very definition of the concept. “Economic policy” is a modern expression that implies a rational, stable, and planned management of the economic sphere by political institutions. In a way, it may seem like an anachronistic concept applied to the res publica of the second century bce. This does not change the fact that the Roman authorities, on one hand, felt the need to manage the goods belonging to the populus as well as public revenues and expenses, and on the other, had legal tools to manage economic relations between private individuals. In their contributions to this volume, Annarosa Gallo and Thibaud Lanfranchi point out from a variety of standpoints how the management of public land required the intervention of three institutional actors: the people (the formal owner of public goods), the Senate (exercising an advisory function), and magistrates (who would take the initiative). However, certain clues suggest that over the course of the second century the Senate acquired specific competences in agrarian matters. Significantly, the last agrarian law that is known to have been ratified by the popular assembly against the patres’ opinion before the lex Sempronia was Gaius Flaminius’ rogatio on the ager Gallicus of 232 bce, prior to the Hannibalic War. By contrast, it seems as though in certain cases in the second century it was enough for a senatus consultum to authorize colonial deductions and viritane allotments.41 To be sure, the literary tradition does not always 40. Plut. TG 8.5. 41. Laffi 2012: 427–​61 against the dominant thesis formulated by Mommsen 1887: 624–​39, which instead assumes the need for popular ratification.

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focus on the procedures by which individual measures were adopted, particularly if they left no testimonies on conflicts surrounding their adoption. Hence, laws ratifying such senatus consulta may well have been passed without receiving a mention in the surviving sources. This does not change the fact that the Senate’s increased centrality (either de iure or de facto) as far as land management is concerned is a development typical of the second century. In my view, this does not merely depend on a generic increase in the Senate’s importance in public life, which may seem like a defining feature of the middle Republic, but rather may directly involve two factors. First, the management of the ager publicus in the early second century was strongly influenced by the post-​Hannibalic context: surveys, confiscations, colonies, allotments, and sales more generally reflect the need to redefine relations with local communities in Roman Italy. In a way, agrarian matters fall within the sphere of Rome’s so-​called foreign policy—​an expression that is improperly used to define the way the Romans managed their relations with other communities, be they allies or enemies—​which was, precisely, a specific competence of the Senate. The first twenty years after Hannibal’s defeat (c. 200–​180 bce) would appear to have been marked by the reconstruction of the post-​Hannibalic agricultural landscape, as most of the agrarian measures documented by surviving sources can variously be traced back to the impact of the Second Punic War. This is not an absolute novelty in itself, since the process of the ager publicus’ creation over the course of the two previous centuries was strictly connected to military conquest and in many cases it depended on Roman expansion. The novelty rather lay in the number, and much greater complexity, of political relationships connected to the management of the ager publicus, which required the Senate’s involvement. Secondly, the senatorial aristocracy was directly implicated in this process, not only from the point of view of decision-​making, but also—​and especially—​ as one of the interested parties. In illustrating the development of large landed estates, Appian—​who was writing in the Imperial age, when senatorial properties were no longer the major force shaping the Italian agrarian landscape—​states that the rich took advantage of the Senate’s tolerance in order to seize the best plots of land. This statement suggests that the Senate adopted a laissez-​faire policy in order to favor the interests of its members. We can also interpret in these terms Appian’s statement regarding the existence of a “decree” authorizing people to cultivate unassigned public land: these words may refer not so much to a generic measure, but rather to a de facto policy or to a sum of specific measures that the Alexandrian historian explains with the same logic. This kind of policy promoted the individual occupation of land and, in a way, safeguarded the development of a competitive land market in which the elite played the leading role.

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This approach can be inferred from several episodes that reflect the Roman elite’s economic outlook with regard to land. The first and frequently discussed case is the creation of the so-​called ager in trientabulis in Latium. As is well known, 200 bce was the deadline for the repayment of the money that a number of private citizens had lent the public treasury for the war effort against Hannibal. However, the Macedonian War required considerable sums to equip the army and the navy, making any repayment of the loan unfeasible. In order to safeguard the legitimacy of the requests of private citizens on the one hand and Rome’s strategic requirements on the other, the Senate offered a solution inter aequum et utile, to quote Livy’s famous definition, which is to say a solution that struck a compromise between justice and raison d’état: it offered every private citizen the possibility of receiving, as a concession, a stretch of land within 50 miles from Rome of the same value as the loan he had provided.42 These plots of land would formally remain the property of the res publica and, should the holders change their minds, they could return the land in exchange for the money owed to them as soon as the treasury was in a position to repay them. In examining this episode, scholars have probably failed to adequately emphasize the fact that the solution adopted by the Senate was agreed with the creditors—​and not imposed from the top down—​on the basis of their specific economic interests. The creditors, Livy notes, did not ask for their money back out of sheer greed, but because they needed it in order to invest in land, a reason that was deemed as noble as the defense of the res publica: “Many creditors had stated that there was land everywhere for sale and they needed to purchase; the senate accordingly decreed that they could take a great part of the public land that existed within fifty miles of the City.”43 If these words are reliable and convey the development of the actual senatorial debate held on that occasion, then they show how, already from the very first years after the end of the Punic War, private citizens were searching for money to invest in agricultural land, and how the Senate was ready to meet this requirement, for a number of reasons. One primary source that would appear to bear witness to the existence of the same kind of outlook among the senatorial aristocracy is a famous passage from Cato’s Pro Rhodiensibus (167 bce). Here the orator offers a series of examples to illustrate that intentions cannot be punished by paraphrasing the content of a law de modo agrorum: he states that the prohibitions it establishes apply to actual possession of immoderate goods and not to the mere aspiration to possess them.

42. Livy 31.13. 43. Livy 31.13.6: decreuerunt, ut, quoniam magna pars eorum agros uolgo uenales esse diceret et sibimet emptis opus esse, agri publici qui intra quinquagesimum lapidem esset copia iis fieret.

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The example chosen is an instructive one, not only because it constitutes the only source about the limit of 500 iugera—​whether this is identified with the so-​called lex Licinia or not—​from the period before the Gracchi, but also because it chooses precisely agricultural matters as a paradigm of the Romans’ economic outlook. In keeping with his economic perspective, Cato argues that the desire to (lawfully) increase one’s patrimony is a legitimate and reasonable aspiration: “but we always wish to increase our estates, and we are not punished for this desire!”—​that is, as long as this desire does not degenerate into greed and luxury—​against which the law has set certain limits.44 Moreover, it is possible that Cato’s words are not said on the spur of the moment: they may refer to a specific context in which private initiative was subjected to certain measures adopted by the res publica (as we shall see later on). There has been much talk about the introduction of a lex de modo agrorum in the second century, a hypothesis that has recently been called into question.45 Indeed, there is no need to posit the existence of a new law to explain the meaning of Cato’s words, which might just as easily refer to a more ancient law that used to be variously applied. However, we know that between 173 and 165 bce some interventions on the ager Campanus were made that, on account of their peculiar nature, may have contributed to the emergence of an agrarian question in political debate, or which may have attracted the interest of an orator who was already very sensitive to this issue. These two examples—​Livy on trientabula, Cato on the modus agrorum—​are in a way the mirror opposite of Appian’s portrayal: they present the rich’s agricultural investment and the way in which it was safeguarded by the Senate in a rather positive light, whereas Appian offers a negative picture of this investment insofar as it took an excessive form and gave rise to considerable social imbalance. Generally speaking, I would argue that, through its agrarian policy, the Senate in the second century stimulated individual transformations of the agricultural landscape based on private initiative, on the one hand, while taking action on the other by introducing specific measures whenever the res publica’s interests were threatened.

3.5. Agrarian Interventions This section will consider certain kinds of agrarian intervention recorded for the second century bce, subdividing them thematically in order to identify the

44. Cato Rhod. 5 (ORF4 F 167: 65–​66): atque nos omnia plura habere uolumus, et id nobis impune est. Cf. Livy 34.4.8. 45. References and discussion in Rich 2008 and 2020; Balbo 2010.

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different strategies adopted by the res publica in its concrete management of the land pertaining to it. By examining individual episodes recorded by our sources, it is possible to identify three forms of intervention that are roughly complementary and meet specific political requirements: the allotment of land to citizen-​ soldiers, with or without the deduction of colonies; the affirmation of the public ownership of certain land, associated with agricultural surveys in specific areas; and the granting of public land to private citizens wishing to invest in the agricultural economy (a topic already partly discussed in the previous section). As far as the first aspect is concerned, the marked upswing in colonization and viritane distributions in Italy approximately between 200 and 180 bce is directly connected to the post-​Hannibalic context. After their victory over the Carthaginians, the Romans felt the need to reassert and expand their hegemony over the Italian peninsula, to the north as much as to the south. Much of the second-​century colonization was directed toward Cisalpine Gaul, where the frequent outbreak of clashes with the Gauls and Ligurians entailed an organized presence in the area through the establishment of new settlements and the re-​founding of existing ones. In turn, in Southern Italy (especially in Campania, Lucania, and Bruttium) actual colonization went hand in hand with a redefinition of agreements with local communities, since this area had a denser urban network compared to Cisalpine Gaul. In this regard, most colonies established in the early second century in Italy enjoyed Latin rights and served a demographic function: on the one hand, they helped lighten the growing demographic pressure in Central Italy; on the other, they served the purpose of settling an increasing number of soldiers with many years of service behind them. This point warrants some further remarks. It may be inaccurate to speak of “veterans” in the strict sense of the term in relation to the middle Republic since the recruitment system was still largely based on division into classes and centuriae. Moreover, the literary sources seem to be interpreting the allotment of land to former soldiers in the light of the context of the first-​century bce civil wars, where the need to settle veterans had acquired a primary role in the political debate.46 On the other hand, the substantial recruitment effort made during the Hannibalic War entailed a broadening of the military base to the lower census classes. This explains the need to resume the policy of agrarian assignments and, in certain cases, to apply it chiefly in the case of citizens who had served in the

46. Some famous cases: L. Appuleius Saturninus’ measures toward Marius’ veterans (Vir. Ill. 73), the Sullan colonization (on which see Santangelo 2007: 147–​57, 183–​88), and the political struggle around Pompey’s veterans (e.g., Cic. Att. 1.19.4; Cass. Dio 38.5.1–​2).

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army for a considerable period of time: a significant case is provided by the large amount of Scipio’s “veterans” who were demobilized after 201 bce.47 The need to pay back the citizens who had served in the army by granting them land was hardly a novelty in the second century. However, precisely in the aftermath of the Second Punic War this policy would appear to have acquired a peculiar significance within the context of the gradual professionalization of the army. The transition from a citizen army to a professional one was not a linear development and depended on the wars being fought as much as on its commanders’ political perspective. Recently, François Cadiou has strongly questioned the traditional interpretation which identified the “proletarization” of the army as the main driving force for social change in the late Republic.48 Cadiou stresses the importance of adsidui in the recruitment system in force after Gaius Marius’ levy of 107 bce. However, this does not change the fact that in the late Republican political discourse the traditional role played by citizen-​soldiers was radically redefined. In this context, it was veterans as such—​regardless of their social class—​who emerged as the privileged beneficiaries of the land distribution promoted by the so-​called warlords.49 The personalization of armies in the Civil War era considerably reinforced the bond between commanders and soldiers (which had already been close even in previous periods) regardless of the class from which the latter had been recruited. In the second century, however, this tendency had not yet fully emerged. One generation after Scipio, the problem of “veterans” vanished from the horizon of political debate, and in the mid-​second century it was replaced by the distribution of spoils of war after victories, which would appear to have acquired considerable importance in Roman politics. Scholars have long debated whether, after the founding of Lunae in 177 bce, colonization and viritane allotments came to a halt or not. This alleged interruption in the distribution of land to citizens has often been invoked as one of the causes of the pre-​Gracchan agrarian crisis. Although the problem may largely lie in the loss of some of Livy’s books, it is likely that in the second half of the century far fewer colonies were established in Italy compared to previous years by contrast to an increased presence of Roman citizens in the provinces.50 One of the explanations adduced to account

47. Bellomo 2020; see also his chapter in this volume, to which I shall refer for more specific remarks on the context of second-​century wars. 48. Cadiou 2018. 49. For wide-​ranging discussions of this term see Rich 2017 and Rosenstein 2017. 50. Tweedie 2011: 473, who posits a concentration in land distribution only from the 140s, as opposed to either the period of the Punic Wars or the 200–​167 bce years.

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for this significant change is the hypothesis that, once the Hannibalic emergency was over, military recruitment chiefly became a concern of the traditional class of adsidui, for whom the prospect of receiving allotments in faraway lands may have been less appealing than a payout in cash (spoils of war) to be invested in the purchase of land closer to home.51 The influx of movable wealth following the great military victories in Macedonia might partly substantiate this explanation. As regards the second and third aspect associated with the management of the ager publicus, it is noteworthy that the early second century witnessed a number of steps designed to reaffirm the res publica’s authority over Roman land. In 196 and 193 bce, the aediles imposed a series of hefty fines on cattle farmers.52 The nature of their transgression is not recorded, and may concern a number of illegal uses of the ager publicus, ranging from failure to pay the scriptura to exceeding the modus agrorum. Although surviving testimonies are fragmentary and casual, it is interesting to note that similar episodes are also attested in other contexts pertaining to the reorganization of the Roman countryside, for example in the early and mid-​third century bce (298, 296, 293, and around 241 bce).53 The early third century witnessed the establishment of Roman hegemony over Central Italy and the acquisition of new territories, while in the aftermath of the First Punic War (which had been chiefly waged outside Italy) two new tribes were created and the comitia were reformed. By way of hypothesis, it may be supposed that magistrates’ surveys of public land were part of the reorganizing or the Roman domains, as had been the case after the Hannibalic War.54 It should go without saying that the fines imposed on cattle farmers did not necessarily depend on special, extensive surveys: in principle, they fell within the magistrate’s ordinary tasks.55 But the fact that these episodes were so relevant as to find a place in the annalistic tradition suggests that the problem tended to emerge in specific historical contexts. Literary sources attest some important, and politically significant, surveys on an area which the Romans were especially interested in: this is the land that was confiscated from Capua in 211 bce, the ager Campanus. After an initial 51. See Michael Taylor’s contribution to this volume, which suggests that there was a significant drop in the need for recruits in the second half of the century. For a broader discussion see also Taylor 2020. 52. Livy 33.42.10–​11; 35.10.11–​12, on which see Piacentin 2018 and 2021; Rich 2020: 184–​85. 53. Livy 10.13.14; 10.23.13; 10.47.4; Ov. Fasti 5.279–​94. 54. For example, even in 179 bce, at the height of the post-​Hannibalic readjustment, a reform of the tribes was promoted by the censors M. Aemilius Lepidus and M. Fulvius Nobilior (Livy 40.51.9). The Livy passage is too succinct to allow us to grasp the content of this reform and the motivations behind it, but the historical context is no doubt significant. 55. Cf. Piacentin 2018: 117–​18 on their building activity.

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phase between 209 and 188 in which land leases are documented that may have also—​or especially—​included new holders, we know of some important measures designed to confirm the public ownership of the land that had been confiscated in the aftermath of the Second Punic War. The first noteworthy episode is no doubt the extensive survey by the consul Lucius Postumius Albinus, who in 173 bce spent his entire year in office in the ager Campanus re-​establishing the boundaries between public and private land, which had been unlawfully erased by the landowners. It is likely that at this stage those unlawfully occupying public land were for the most part Campanians. Postumius was acting directly on the Senate’s behalf, and we know of no significant conflicts in Rome surrounding this operation. It is likely that Postumius’ mission targeted the ueteres possessores from Campania and was carried out with the aim of reasserting the public ownership of the confiscated land, which a generation afterward was starting to be disputed. In this context, the tribune of the plebs Marcus Lucretius proposed that the censors be authorized to lease out the land retrieved by the consul.56 The recipients may have been the previous occupants, in which case Lucretius’ rogatio would actually be mitigating Postumius’ measure by regularizing the possession of such land through rental contracts. If this were the case, we could see Postumius’ and Lucretius’ measures as being connected: the consul would have restored the public ownership of the land, while the tribune would have applied this principle so as to swell the public coffers with the revenue from the uectigal’s collection, notwithstanding the equal status in the actual use of the land. Alternatively, it is conceivable that the contracts were granted to new owners, who replaced or coexisted alongside the previous ones. As we have seen in relation to the establishment of the so-​called ager in trientabulis, a significant portion of senatorial politics was devoted to the promotion of private investments in high-​quality land. As in Latium, investments focused on estates that were agriculturally productive and close to urban markets, of which there were plenty in Campania: the market-​ oriented perspective in the use of capital is quite clear. A few years after these events, the praetor Publius Cornelius Lentulus carried out a new survey of the ager Campanus with the aim of increasing the extension of public land.57 We have two potentially discordant sources on this episode, which have become the object of a lively debate.58 Cicero states that Lentulus purchased private land at the public treasury’s expense that bordered on public ones or were surrounded by them: this would be an attempt to recompose 56. Livy 42.19.1–​2. Cf. Gallo in this volume. 57. MRR I, a. 165 BCE; Manzo 2002: 152–​59; Balbo 2019: 107–​8. 58. Cic. Agr. 2.82; Gran. Lic. 28.29–​37 Criniti.

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the plots of land owned by the res publica by different means from those of Postumius. Lentulus would have purchased them, as he lacked any other legal means (iure) to acquire them—​for in this case, he was dealing with agri priuati. Granius Licinianus instead suggests that the plots of land purchased by Lentulus were public ones that had been de facto “privatized” over the course of the previous years. This source stresses Lentulus’ fairness in adopting a mild approach so as to mediate between the res publica’s interests and those of the landowners and find a solution agreeable to both parties. By way of hypothesis, Lentulus’ different attitude might partly be explained by the nature of his (praetorian) mandate, which may have led him to take a more moderate course compared to the land one followed by the consul Postumius. Moreover, it has sometimes been supposed that the land purchased by the praetor continued to be available to their owners: according to this view, all he did was to reassert the res publica’s nominal ownership of them and to impose the collection of the uectigal, while reimbursing the occupants. It is possible that the Roman elite was starting to focus on land investments in Campania following the events of the 170s, and that therefore an operation of retrieving (or extending) the ager publicus required extreme caution. Lentulus purchased 50,000 iugera of land, whether they were retrieved or added from the previous ager publicus; finally, he published a forma agri Campani that established the survey’s outcome. All these episodes, which are widely known and debated, bear witness to the existence of significant claims over the ager Campanus, as well as to a marked competition over land in the Capua area.59 The frequency of these interventions (two in eight years) is indicative of the enduring pressure on resources and on the huge economic interests attached to the most profitable stretches of the Roman countryside. As already noted, it was in these very years that Cato drew upon what in his view was a Roman inborn propensity toward land investment as a rhetorical example to illustrate the tension between the law and personal interests.

3.6. Conclusion The attempt to identify a coherent agrarian policy in the second century bce is likely to prove impossible, or even misleading: the sources are fragmentary, and do not consistently cover the period in question; the Republic faced manifold needs and issues; and the protagonists of the political scene had quite different, or

59. For example, see the various aspects outlined by Frederiksen 1981: 276–​77 and 1984: 273–​75; De Martino 1984: 3136; Chouquer, Clavel-​Lévêque, Favory, and Vallat 1987: 217–​20; Manzo 2002: 144–​59; Roselaar 2010: 117; Gallo 2018: 63.

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indeed conflicting aims. Trying to find a common thread that binds together the relatively little amount of surviving information on senatorial approaches to the agrarian question is thus a real challenge for modern scholars. On closer examination, a serious attempt to trace a consistent direction in mid-​Republican agrarian policy is provided by Appian, who offers a comprehensive explanation for a long-​ term series of events and for measures adopted in different contexts: his account of the Roman Republic revolves around the idea that, alongside the Roman expansion, a conflict arose between rich Romans and poor Italians over the exploitation of public land. This idea enables him to explain the origin of the civil wars, which involved, from time to time, the Roman elite itself, the Republican institutions (Senate vs. tribunes), the inhabitants of the Italian peninsula (Romans vs. Italians), and different social groups (slaves vs. freemen). In Appian’s view the agrarian policy of the Senate was among the causes of civil strife, at least in the Gracchan period, since it intensified the competition for public land and raised serious political issues. Appian’s account of the mid-​Republican agrarian policy revolves around three interrelated aspects: the demographic function of the colonies, a senatorial policy of tolerance toward the occupation of ager publicus by large landowners, and plebeian claims for fairer land redistribution. Such a sequence enables a precise, if partial, explanation for the rise of the Gracchan agenda and for the subsequent conflict with the Senate, which is central to several modern reconstructions of the history of the Gracchi. If one disregards Appian’s explanation, the question whether before the Gracchi the Senate had a general plan for the management of the ager publicus is bound to remain unsolved. Most of the senatorial measures attested in the second century bce (colonization, viritane distributions, land surveys) depended to a large extent on specific contexts, and were affected by specific political debates, which Appian tends to efface in his unifying explanation. The measures mentioned in the previous sections may even be interpreted as responses to shifting circumstances. Nevertheless, in these responses some consistent elements can be identified, and may be understood as part of a general policy, for which only some key principles can be defined with a good margin of approximation. For instance, the res publica is often interested in claiming ownership of land to which it is entitled and in using the uectigalia to keep public revenues in balance, especially after the collection of tributum was suspended in Italy. An excellent case study of this attitude is the ager Campanus, as we have seen, although it cannot be generalized as a model for the whole of Italy.60 In what precedes, I have suggested that the harshest

60. Cic. agr. 1.21; 2.80 (on uectigalia from the ager Campanus). On the problems posed by the Campanian model see Maiuro 2019.

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initiatives were taken against the Italians, but nothing rules out that Roman possessors also ran into the repressive action of the magistrates: the political debate witnesses the emergence of a sumptuary ideology, which also affected excessive landholding. Accusations of “greed” directed at cattle breeders and illegal occupiers of the ager publicus were sometimes interpreted in that vein.61 At the same time, the specific interest of the Senate—​which in the second century assumed a wide-​ranging role of strategic direction in agrarian matters—​in stimulating land exploitation across Italy emerges. These two aims were in fact complementary, even though they also caused tensions and contrasts, and responded to the need of managing a complex landscape in transformation. Roman agrarian policy in the second century bce presents a very complex scenario, with a variety of social actors and needs at stake. In this respect there is a clear difference from the late Republican period, when the political debate on land seems to be monopolized, at least in the historiographical tradition, by the veterans, who leave hardly any room for other demands. B i b l i o gr a p h y Adamo, M. 2016. “The Lapis Pollae. Date and Contexts.” Papers of the British School at Rome 84: 73–​100. Balbo, M. 2010. “La Lex Licinia de modo agrorum. Riconsiderazione di un modello storiografico.” Rivista di Filologia e di Istruzione Classica 138: 265–​311. Balbo, M. 2013. Riformare la res publica. Retroterra sociale e significato politico del tribunato di Tiberio Gracco. Bari. Balbo, M. 2019. “Un’ipotesi demografica sulla mancata assegnazione dell’ager Campanus in età graccana.” In M. Maiuro and M. Balbo (eds.), Popolazione, risorse e urbanizzazione nella Campania antica. Dall’età preromana alla tarda antichità, 103–​16. Bari. Balbo M., and G. Amabili. 2019. “Colonizzazione e sfruttamento delle risorse nelle Alpi occidentali.” Bulletin d’études préhistoriques et archéologiques alpines 29–​30: 259–​72. Bellomo, M. 2020. “Aspetti e problemi della gestione dell’ager publicus all’inizio del II secolo a.C.” In M. Faraguna and S. Segenni (eds.), Forme e modalità di gestione amministrativa nel mondo greco e romano. Terra, cave, miniere, 253–​68. Milan. Beloch, K. J. 1886. Die Bevölkerung der griechisch-​römischen Welt. Leipzig. Bonnell, A. G. 2015. “A ‘Very Valuable Book’. Karl Marx and Appian.” In K. Welch (ed.), Appian’s Roman History. Empire and Civil War, 15–​21. Swansea. Bracco, V. 1962. La Valle del Tanagro durante l’età romana. Rome. Brunt, P. A. 1966. “The Roman Mob.” Past and Present 35: 3–27. 61. E.g., Livy 34.4.8 includes the landholding issue in Cato’s speech against the repeal of the Oppian law. On the sumptuary ideology of the second century bce see esp. Zecchini 2016 (with references).

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Brunt, P. A. 1971. Italian Manpower 225 BC–​AD 14. Oxford. Bur, C. 2018. La Citoyenneté dégradée. Une histoire de l’infamie à Rome (312 av. J.-​C–​96 apr. J.-​C.). Rome. Cadiou, F. 2018. L’Armée imaginaire. Les soldats prolétaires dans les légions romaines au dernier siècle de la République. Paris. Capogrossi Colognesi, L. 1999. “Proprietari e contadini nell’Italia romana. la preistoria della villa schiavistica (IV–​II secolo a.C.).” In Le travail. Recherches historiques. Besançon and Paris: 87–​100. Capogrossi Colognesi, L. 2012. Padroni e contadini nell’Italia repubblicana. Roma. Chiusi, T. 2018. “A che cosa servivano le actiones adiecticiae qualitatis? Sulla funzione delle cosiddette azioni adiettizie.” In E. Lo Cascio and D. Mantovani (eds.), Diritto romano e economia. Due modi di pensare e organizzare il mondo (nei primi tre secoli dell’impero), 289–​322. Pavia. Chouquer, G., M. Clavel-​Lévêque, M. Favory, and J.-​P. Vallat. 1987. Structures agraires en Italie centro-​méridionale. Cadastres et paysages ruraux. Rome. Clemente, G. 2016. “I censori e il senato. I mores e la legge.” Athenaeum 104: 446–​500. Corbier, M. 2016. “Interrogations actuelles sur la transhumance.” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome–​Antiquité 128: 269–​86. De Martino, F. 1984. “Gromatici e questioni graccane.” In Sodalitas. Scritti in onore di Antonio Guarino, 3125–​50. Naples. De Nardis, M. 2009. “Plauto, Catone e la ‘villa schiavistica.’ ” In J. Carlsen and E. Lo Cascio (eds.), Agricoltura e scambi nell’Italia tardo-​repubblicana, 141–​55. Bari. Forsén, B. 1991. “Lex Licinia Sextia de modo agrorum”—​Fiction or Reality? Helsinki. Fraccaro, P. 1914. Studi sull’età dei Gracchi. La tradizione storica sulla rivoluzione romana. Città di Castello. Frank, T. 1924. “Roman Census Statistics from 225 to 28 B.C.” Classical Philology 19: 329–​41. Frederiksen, M. 1981. “I cambiamenti delle strutture agrarie nella tarda repubblica. La Campania.” In A. Giardina and A. Schiavone (eds.), Società romana e produzione schiavistica 1. L’Italia. Insediamenti e forme economiche, 265–​87. Bari. Frederiksen, M. 1984. Campania. Edited by N. Purcell. London. Gabba, E. 1968. “I Gracchi.” In I protagonisti della storia universale, II, 421–​48. Milan. Gabba, E. 1975a. “Il sistema degli insediamenti cittadini in rapporto al territorio nell’ambito delle zone subalpina ed alpina in età romana.” In P. Bassetti (ed.), Le Alpi e l’Europa II. Uomini e territorio, 87–​107. Bari. Gabba, E. 1975b. “Review of V. Bracco (ed.), Inscriptiones Italiae, III, 1 (Rome 1974).” Athenaeum 53: 380–​82. Gabba, E. 1979. “Sulle strutture agrarie dell’Italia romana fra III e I sec. a.C.” In E. Gabba and M. Pasquinucci (eds.), Strutture agrarie e allevamento transumante nell’Italia romana (III–​I sec. a.C.), 15–​73. Pisa.

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Gabba, E. 1990. “Il tentativo dei Gracchi.” In G. Clemente, F. Coarelli, and E. Gabba (eds.), Storia di Roma, II, 1, 671–​89. Turin. Gabba, E. 1992. “Storia e politica nei Gromatici.” In O. Behrends and L. Capogrossi Colognesi (eds.), Die römische Feldmeßkunst. Interdisziplinäre Beiträge zu ihrer Bedeutung für die Zivilisationsgeschichte Roms, 398–​409. Göttingen. Gabba, E. 2021. Appiani Bellorum civilium liber primus. Introduzione, testo critico e commento con traduzione e indici, ed. F. Santangelo. Bari (Florence 1958, 1967). Gallo, A. 2018. Prefetti del pretore e prefetture. L’organizzazione dell’agro romano in Italia (IV–​I sec. a.C.). Bari. Gargola, D. J. 2008. “The Gracchan Reform and Appian’s Representation of an Agrarian crisis.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 487–​518. Leiden and Boston. Grelle, F. 1992. “Struttura e genesi dei Libri coloniarum.” In O. Behrends and L. Capogrossi Colognesi (eds.), Die römische Feldmeßkunst. interdisziplinäre Beiträge zu ihrer Bedeutung für die Zivilisationsgeschichte Roms, 67–​85. Göttingen. Grelle, F. 2016. “Allevamento equino, transumanza e agricoltura nella Puglia romana, fra quarto e primo secolo a.C.” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome–​Antiquité 128: 297–​303. Hopkins, K. 1978. Conquerors and Slaves. Cambridge. Jones, A. H. M. 1948. Ancient Economic History. An Inaugural Lecture Delivered at University College London. London. Kay, P. 2014. Rome’s Economic Revolution. Oxford. Laffi, U. 2012. “Leggi agrarie e coloniarie.” In J.-​L. Ferrary (ed.), Leges publicae. La legge nell’esperienza giuridica romana, 427–​61. Pavia. La Rocca, A. 2004. “Liberi e schiavi nella prima rofes servile di Sicilia.” Studi Storici 45: 150–​67. Launaro, A. 2011. Peasants and Slaves. The Rural Population of Roman Italy (200 BC to AD 100). Cambridge. Launaro, A. 2015. “The Nature of the Villa Economy.” In P. Erdkamp, K. Verboven, and A. Zuiderhoek (eds.), Ownership and Exploitation of Land and Natural Resources in the Roman World, 173–​86. Oxford. Ligt, L. de. 2012. Peasants, Citizens and Soldiers. Studies in the Demographic History of Roman Italy 225 BC–​AD 100. Cambridge. Lo Cascio, E. 1982. “Obaerarii (obaerati). La nozione della dipendenza in Varrone.” Index 11: 265–​84. Lo Cascio, E. 1990. “Le rofessions della Tabula Heracleensis e le procedure del census in età cesariana.” Athenaeum 78: 287–​317. Lo Cascio, E. 1994. “The Size of the Roman Population. Beloch and the Meaning of the Augustan Census Figures.” Journal of Roman Studies 84: 23–​40.

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Lo Cascio, E. 2001. “Il census a Roma e la sua evoluzione dall’età ‘serviana’ alla prima età imperiale.” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome–​Antiquité 113: 565–​603. Lo Cascio, E. 2008. “Roman Census Figures in the Second Century BC and the Property Qualification of the Fifth Class.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 239–​56. Leiden and Boston. Lo Cascio, E. 2009. Crescita e declino. Studi di storia dell’economia romana. Rome. Maiuro, M. 2019. “Conclusioni.” In M. Maiuro and M. Balbo (eds.), Popolazione, risorse e urbanizzazione nella Campania antica. dall’età preromana alla tarda antichità, 249–​55. Bari. Manzo, A. 2002. “L’ager Campanus. Dalla deditio di Capua alla redazione della forma agri Campani di Publio Cornelio Lentulo.” In G. Franciosi (ed.), La romanizzazione della Campania antica 1, 125–​59. Naples. Mommsen, Th. 1887. Römisches Staatsrecht. Leipzig. Neeve, P. W. de. 1984. Colonus. Private Farm-​Tenancy in Roman Italy during The Republic and the Early Principate. Amsterdam. Panebianco, V. 1963–​1964. “Il ‘lapis Pollae’ e le partizioni di ‘ager publicus’ nel II sec. a.C. nel territorio dell’antica Lucania.” Rassegna storica salernitana 24–​25: 3–​22. Pelgrom, J. 2008. “Settlement Organization and Land Distribution in Latin Colonies before the Second Punic War.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 333–​72. Leiden and Boston. Piacentin, S. 2018. “The Role of Aedilician Fines in the Making of Public Rome.” Historia 76: 103–​26. Piacentin, S. 2021. Financial Penalties in the Roman Republic. A Study of Confiscations of Individual Property, Public Sales, and Fines (509–​58 BC). Leiden and Boston. Rathbone, D. 1981. “The Development of Agriculture in the ‘Ager Cosanus.’ ” Journal of Roman Studies 71: 10–​23. Rathbone, D. 2008. “Poor Peasants and Silent Sherds.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 305–​32. Leiden and Boston. Rich, J. 1983. “The Supposed Roman Manpower Shortage of the Later Second Century B.C.” Historia 32: 287–​331. Rich, J. 2008. “Lex Licinia, Lex Sempronia. B. G. Niebuhr and the Limitation of Landholding in the Roman Republic.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 519–​72. Leiden and Boston. Rich, J. 2015. “Appian, Polybius and the Romans’ War with Antiochus the Great. A Study in Appian’s Sources and Methods.” In K. Welch (ed.), Appian’s Roman History. Empire and Civil War, 65–​123. Swansea.

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The Political Culture of Coinage The Introduction and Development of the Denarius System Marleen Termeer*

4.1. Introduction Roman coinage changed dramatically during the two hundred years after its first appearance in the late fourth century.1 While coin production was initially small scale, intermittent, and fragmented, the volume and frequency of production increased in the later third century and further intensified in course of the second century.2 In this chapter, I discuss how changing Roman practices and attitudes to coinage both reflect and constitute important developments in Rome’s political culture. The focus will be on the century that followed the start of the

* This chapter has been written in the context of my project “Coining Roman Rule,” funded by the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO) VENI scheme (project number 016.Veni.195.134), as a result of the kind invitation by Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo to contribute a paper to the conference in Rome and to this volume. I would like to thank Mattia and Federico for their invitation, and Clive Stannard for his detailed and helpful comments on an earlier draft of this chapter. Of course, he is not responsible for the views expressed here or any remaining errors. 1. All dates are bce. 2. For the increase in volume in the late third century: Crawford 1985: 71; Burnett 2012: 310. Keith Hopkins famously postulated an enormous increase in the production of Roman denarii in the second half of the second century (Hopkins 1980), based on Crawford 1974: 633–​707. Recent discussion by Kay 2014: 89–​93. Marleen Termeer, The Political Culture of Coinage In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0004

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Hannibalic War, the period that, in the words of Harriet Flower, shows “a community in transition.”3 This chapter thus attempts to include coinage in the broader debate on Roman political culture in the second century. The potential role of coinage as a message medium has been widely recognized as an important source in this regard: as “miniature monuments,” coins allow us to trace messages that reflect political and cultural values.4 At a more fundamental level, we may ask to what extent the Roman state appropriates the production of coinage: is coinage the result of political decisions made in Rome, or are other players involved? The answer to this question changes through time and varies between coinages in different metals (silver or bronze), indicating variability in the political significance of various kinds of coinage. If political culture is shaped by the worldview and cultural values of those that are involved in politics,5 their attitude to coinage—​ including the degree to which they may be prepared to use it to convey political messages—​is an integral part of this. My argument is structured around two well-​known and important changes in Roman coinage that took place at the edges of the period on which this chapter focuses.6 The first is the introduction of the denarius system during the Second Punic War, in the years between 215/​214 and 212/​211.7 The second is the appearance of “private” or “family” denarius types in the 130s. While these changes are mainly visible in the silver coinage, they were accompanied by changes in the coinage system as a whole. Indeed, as I hope to show, they can only be understood in the context of other significant developments in Roman coin production, such as the introduction of the quadrigatus in the third century and the changing relation between silver and bronze in the second century.

3. Flower 2010: ch. IV; see 62 for a definition of the period as the century following the start of the Second Punic War. 4. For coins as “miniature monuments”: Meadows and Williams 2001. See also Flower 2010: 75–​76; recently Woytek 2018: esp. 355–​56. 5. See Hölkeskamp 2006: 363 for this particular point. Both this article and more recently Hölkeskamp 2017 give a wide-​ranging discussion of the concept of political culture and its application to the Roman Republic. 6. Woytek 2018 uses these same changes to define three main phases in the typological development of Roman coinage. 7. This date is now widely accepted, with most scholars preferring a date in 212/​211: e.g., Crawford 1974: 28–​35; Burnett 2012: 305; Woytek 2012: 316–​17; Coarelli 2013: 9. A slightly earlier date in 214 is proposed by Marchetti 1993: 29–​35 and recently by Debernardi and Lippi 2019: 120–​21.

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The significance and impact of these changes depends both on the decisions taken at the level of production and on the circumstances of use of the coins. In terms of production, the main question that I am interested in is how the political culture of coinage relates to the res publica. The concept of res publica was in itself dynamic, shaped on the basis of “political debate and commonly undertaken initiatives designed to further the public interest.”8 In this context, the coins may not only be a reflection of changes in the res publica, but could even actively contribute to changes in the way the res publica was perceived. Innovations in coin production and coin designs may illuminate priorities and interests at a political level: what were the reasons for production, and what was the rationale behind the coin designs? In section 2, as a background to our main period of interest, these questions will be briefly considered for the pre-​denarius coinage. Sections 3 and 4 move on to a closer discussion of the period after the introduction of the denarius (section 3) and the period with “private” denarius types (section 4). The potential role of the coins as contributing to changes in the res publica also requires attention to their users. Who were they, and how do they relate to the Roman political body? Should we imagine that the use of a common coinage in itself strengthened social ties within the community? And who would have been able to see and understand the messages on the coins? Section 5 addresses these questions, and argues that the changing attitudes of the Roman political elite toward coinage are an integral part of more broadly shifting values in Roman society.

4.2. Background: Rome’s Pre-​Denarius Coinage Coinage was introduced in the Roman world at the start of Flower’s “first Republic of the nobiles” (late 4th century–​c. 180).9 This period saw important developments in the Roman political system and its institutions. The political culture of coinage can be seen as an integral part of these developments: in the third century, we can trace how the relation between the res publica and coinage develops and crystallizes. The earliest Roman coinage was highly varied in nature.10 Large cast bronze coins and bars coexisted with Greek-​style silver and bronze coins, and at least initially, these circulated in different areas and do not seem to be part of the same monetary system. Coin types changed from issue to issue, production was 8. Flower 2010: 65. 9. Flower 2010: 24–​26, 33. 10. See Burnett 2012.

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intermittent and—​to a certain extent—​decentralized (not all issues were produced in Rome), and the quantity of coinage produced was relatively low. Coin production was most probably related to military activity, but the small size of the issues indicates that coinage only played a minor role: other forms of money and payment must have been used in a military context as well.11 The sheer variety of coinages produced in the name of Rome in this early period may be understood as the result of a process of unintentional experimentation; the role of coinage, and its relation to Rome as a political entity, was not yet clearly defined. Indeed, it has recently been plausibly suggested that attitudes toward coinage within the Roman elite varied in this period, and that the emergence of coinage can best be understood in the context of a broader reconfiguration of wealth and political power, stimulated by early imperial expansion.12 In the second half of the third century, we see a development toward a more unified system, signaled by the use of the same symbols on coins in different metals. Moreover, the volume of production increased: Rome’s last silver didrachm, the quadrigatus, was produced in substantially larger numbers than any previous Roman coins. This was accompanied by another significant change: the quadrigatus and its associated bronze are the first Roman coins that used the same types for a longer period on several issues. The silver quadrigatus itself featured a Janiform head on the obverse (either Janus or the Dioscuri) and Jupiter in a quadriga driven by Victory on the reverse (figure 4.1), while the accompanying bronze always has a prow on the reverse, and a standard deity for each denomination on the obverse (see figure 4.3). On the basis of these observations, it is clear that in the period before the introduction of the denarius, the relation between coin production and the res publica was already in development. The variable and fragmented nature of the earliest Roman coinage probably indicates that initially the decision to produce coinage was taken ad hoc; only some members of the Roman elite would have been inclined to produce coinage, and it may have served as one of several ways in which Roman generals could deal with the spoils acquired after military victory.13 This means that coinage in this period was not used to represent the state in a uniform way, and the extent to which the Roman state was involved in its production needs further investigation.14 In addition, different coinages were aimed

11. Termeer forthcoming discusses the relation between early Roman coin production and military activity. 12. Bernard 2018; see also Bernard 2019. 13. Further discussion in Termeer forthcoming. 14. See Heymans and Termeer 2020; Terrenato 2020.

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Figure 4.1 Rome’s last silver didrachm, the quadrigatus, with its standard types: Janiform head/​Jupiter in a quadriga driven by Victory. RRC 30/​1. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​00189.

Figure 4.2  Denarius with standard types: Head of Roma/​Dioscuri galloping. RRC 53/​2. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​00223.

at different users. The earliest silver coinage does not appear to have circulated in Rome itself and was aimed at a foreign audience in the south of the peninsula,15

15. See Burnett and Molinari 2015 on the absence of silver from Rome in most of the third century.

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while the cast bronze coins remain closer to the city of Rome and may in that sense be regarded as the coinage of the Roman people in this period. The development toward a more unified system in the course of the third century signals a larger degree of central control over the production process. The use of shared symbols on the silver and bronze coinage coincides with the shift in the legend from romano to roma.16 Perhaps this is where we see the first manifestation of the res publica in Roman coinage.17 The quadrigatus then represents a next step, with coinage being produced at a much larger scale and the introduction of standard types for multiple coin issues.18 Indeed, it has been suggested that only with the quadrigatus we see the appearance in Roman society of a “state coinage.”19 The explanation for this change depends on the date of the quadrigatus, which has been hotly debated in recent years.20 I am inclined to place it close to the Second Punic War, thus understanding the larger production in relation to payments related to (preparations for) the war.21

4.3. The Introduction of the Denarius System Against this background, the introduction of the denarius system can be regarded as a next step in the involvement of the Roman state in coin production. It shows active, centrally organized control of the coin system and confirms the preference

16. The shift in legend is interesting, as the legend romano[rum] (“of the Romans”) follows the Greek convention of presenting the community as a group of people, while the legend roma seems to underline the importance of the city. 17. This may have involved the centralization of production at the Roman mint; cf. Mitchell 1966: 70. 18. See Bernard 2017: 502 for the observation that “a simple die count suggests that there were over a level of magnitude more quadrigati than any Romano-​Campanian didrachm.” 19. Coarelli 2013: 58–​59: “Si tratta infatti della prima coniazione che presenti [. . .] caratteristiche qualitative (metrologiche e iconografiche) e quantitative tali, da corrispondere ai parametri fondamentali di una ‘moneta di stato’: parametri che invece sono del tutto assenti nella precedente monetazione romano-​campana, caratterizzata da una variabilità dei tipi iconografici e da un’esiguità del numerario incompatibili con una tale funzione ‘ufficiale.’ ” Discussion by Burnett and Crawford 2014: 241–​42; Bernard 2017: 511–​13. 20. The suggestion to place the quadrigatus in 269 by Coarelli 2013 has not been widely accepted; e.g., Lo Cascio 2014; Burnett and Crawford 2014; Debernardi and Legrand 2014; Bernard 2017. A reaction to Burnett and Crawford in Coarelli 2014. See Vitale 2019 for a recent overview of the debate on the dates of all pre-​denarius silver, including the quadrigatus. 21. Cf. Debernardi and Legrand 2014; they argue that all quadrigati should be dated in the decade between 220 and 210, and production was mainly aimed at payments related to the Second Punic War. Some of the quadrigati are heavily debased, with less than 50 percent silver, indicating Rome’s financial problems in the war.

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for the use of fixed types. In what follows, I will briefly discuss the changes to the system, and how they were carried out. Based on this discussion, I will consider the implications of this central organization of coin production for the relation between coinage and the res publica. The denarius system was introduced when the Second Punic War had been going on for at least a few years. Although the exact reasons to change the coinage system in these trying times remain poorly understood, the general consensus is that the Roman coinage system was under pressure in the years before, as can be glimpsed from the strong reduction in silver content in the later quadrigati and the weight reductions of the bronze coinage. In practical terms, the introduction of the new system was probably sustained by newly acquired access to silver resources (initially perhaps from plunder of cities like Capua and Syracuse22) and the re-​melting of silver coinages that had been in circulation in Italy in the third century (see below). In addition, after the Second Punic War, silver from the Iberian peninsula became an important resource: at the initial stage it probably was mainly the result of plunder, while in the course of the second century the exploitation of the mines developed.23 An important innovation of the new system was that the different metals were fully integrated, and explicitly so: numerals indicate the value in asses of the silver and gold coins. The system also introduced a new weight standard for the silver coinage, which was now made of almost pure silver, after the debasement of the quadrigatus under the financial pressure of the war.24 The associated bronze coinage was on a sextantal standard (i.e., the as weighed one-​sixth of its original weight), although in reality the weights varied widely.25 Interestingly, one element is not explicitly linked to the overall system: the silver victoriatus lacks

22. E.g., Woytek 2012: 329; this seems to be corroborated by isotope analysis; see Hollstein 2000: 116–​18; Albarède et al. 2016. 23. See the recent geochemical analyses by Westner et al. 2020. For an overview of the development of Roman mining activities in the second century, see Kay 2014: ch. 3. See also Rowan 2013: 362–​66 on the relatively slow development of Roman mining activity on the Iberian peninsula. 24. See Woytek 2012: 315: the silver content of the quadrigatus had gone down from c. 98 percent for the first issues to around 72 percent and for some groups to only around 36 percent in the course of the Second Punic War; the usual explanation for this is the enormous financial strain on the Roman treasury caused by the war. 25. Crawford 1985: 56–​57. Recently, McCabe 2013: 103, 219–​22 has argued that the sextantal standard is not clearly recognizable in the bronze coinage of this period. This even leads him to cautiously suggest that the introduction of the denarius happened in different phases (220 n. 105).

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Figure 4.3  Bronze as of the sextantal standard, with standard types: Laureate head of Janus/​Prow. RRC 56/​2. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​00298.

a value mark.26 This coin was produced in large numbers until c. 170 at three-​ quarters of the weight of the denarius and in less pure silver.27 Production of gold coins in the denarius system was restricted to a few issues in the period of the Hannibalic War, and the system in practice consisted mainly of silver and bronze coinage. All silver coins had standard types that were to remain in use for decades to come: the denarii, quinarii, and sestertii featured the head of Roma on the obverse and the Dioscuri on the reverse (figure 4.2), while the victoriati wore the more generic types of the head of Jupiter and Victory with trophy. The bronze kept the same standard types that had been introduced earlier with the quadrigatus: all bronze denominations had a prow on the reverse, while each denomination had its own deity on the obverse (figure 4.3). During the Second Punic War, the production of coinage was not centralized in Rome; many mints throughout the Italian peninsula, in Sicily and Sardinia, and perhaps in Cisalpine Gaul produced Roman coinage.28 These should be understood as “military mints,” as

26. For a discussion of the questions surrounding the victoriatus: Marra 2001; Parisot-​Sillon 2018 offers important new insights. 27. Parisot-​Sillon 2018: 243–​52 notes that the silver content of the victoriatus is quite consistently half of that of the denarius, and concludes that the victoriatus was valued as a half-​ denarius from the start of its production. Its higher weight is due to the addition of copper, which would have made the production process easier. 28. Crawford 1974: 12–​24; Crawford 1985: 58. McCabe 2013 provides additions and corrections to Crawford’s classifications; see also Schaefer and McCabe 2011; Stannard 2018a: 104–​5.

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they disappeared after the war, when production was centralized in Rome.29 This dispersed production underlines the conscious policy behind the uniformity in coin types in this period. Such a proactive approach may also be reflected by the rapid disappearance of earlier silver coinages that circulated in Italy. It has been suggested that this was the result of a Roman policy to demonetize the coins of Italian communities and replace them with Roman ones.30 If the disappearance of non-​Roman silver was indeed the result of a such a “monopolization” of silver coinage by Rome, it presumably happened for practical reasons, as it allowed Rome to have greater control over the silver coinage in circulation.31 In addition, it must have had a strong ideological connotation, representing “a forceful assertion of Roman identity.”32 However, it is not absolutely necessary to hypothesize an active Roman policy of “monopolization.” We may also explain this development in more pragmatic terms: the last Italian communities had stopped minting silver by 225, and the silver that was in circulation was likely used at the Roman “military mints” for the production of large numbers of denarii during the Second Punic War. In this way, the denarii could become the common coinage of Italy. Even if such a more pragmatic scenario is accepted, however, we may suspect that the exclusive presence of Roman silver coins on the Italian peninsula in the period following the Second Punic War carried some ideological weight. Interestingly, bronze coinage in this period is much less exclusively Roman. Even though Rome produced more bronze than silver in the first decades after the Second Punic War,33 Roman bronze was not supplied widely throughout the Italian peninsula, and a wide variety of other bronze coinages remained in circulation in the second century and later (see section 5). How exactly should we imagine the political process that formed the basis of this active Roman involvement in the coinage system? Our knowledge is limited. Festus gives some clues as to the political bodies involved, although his information is not unequivocal: one entry states that the Senate made the decision to introduce the sextantal weight standard for the bronze coinage, while we read in a different entry that this was the decision of the

29. Production concentrated in Rome: Crawford 1985: 72. 30. E.g., Burnett 1995: 313–​14; Burnett 2012: 308. Silver would have provided the raw material for the production of denarii. For a similar, but more cautious suggestion: Crawford 1985: 113. 31. Ñaco del Hoyo 2011: 390. 32. Burnett 2012: 308 connects this to the “devastating physical and psychological effects of Hannibal’s invasion”; see Burnett 1987: 33; Woytek 2014: 212; Rowan 2014: 82. 33. Crawford 1985: 72.

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people.34 Crawford preferred the version involving the intervention of the populus Romanus, and postulated that a law was passed to organize the entire denarius system.35 It is widely assumed that the introduction of the system was accompanied, or soon followed, by the institution of the executive office of the moneyer that we know to have later been in place under the title of IIIuiri aere argento auro flando feriundo (IIIviri A.A.A.F.F.).36 The implications for our initial question about the relation between coinage and the res publica are wide-​ranging. While Rome’s active policy to change the existing coinage system during the Second Punic War must be related to the practical goal of financing the war, it also had an effect on the political culture of coinage. If Rome was actively “monopolizing” silver coinage in Italy, that may have meant that Rome was starting to use coinage as a medium to increase her own power at the expense of others.37 In addition, the fact that practically all silver coinage in circulation was issued by Rome means that the Roman government explicitly operated as the authority that guaranteed the value of the coins. In contrast, Rome does not play such a central role for the bronze coins, as is shown by the variation of bronze coinage in circulation.38 Bronze coinage was much needed as small change, and this “utility value” probably meant that a guaranteeing authority was less important.39 As a consequence, the relation between bronze coinage and the Roman res publica was less exclusive. The adoption of standard types is especially revealing about the relation between coinage and the res publica. In contrast to the variation that was typical of the first Roman coinage, the coins now featured a fixed “state emblem,” as was common in the Greek poleis. As such, the coins reflect a development in the way that Rome relates to the Greek coinage tradition. The pre-​denarius Roman coins often use types that were current in the Greek world, thus showing the general influence of the Greek practice of coin production on the adoption of coinage by 34. Fest. s.v. Sextantari asses (Lindsay p. 468) for the Senate; Fest. s.v. grave aes (Lindsay p. 49) for the populus Romanus. See discussion by Crawford 1974: 611–​12. 35. Crawford 1974: 612; on this supposed law, see Suspène 2002. 36. For this view as the “current orthodoxy”: Woytek 2018: 361. It goes back to Pink 1952: 50–​ 52. Suspène 2002 puts forward the attractive argument that the inclusion of gold in the job title does indeed point at an early date for the institution of the office, as Rome produced no gold after the Second Punic War until the first century. 37. As argued by Rowan 2014: 84. 38. This is noted for parts of Southern Italy by Rowan 2014: 78. The phenomenon is probably broader; a broad range of different bronze coins were in circulation also in Central Italy in the second century: Stannard and Frey-​Kupper 2008; Stannard 2018b. 39. Stannard 2018b: esp. 161–​62 on “utility value.”

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Rome.40 However, the use of these different types also implies that one important feature of Greek coinage was not adopted: the concept of coins wearing a state emblem, and thus at the same time being authorized by and representing the polis (think of the Athenian owl or the dolphin rider of Tarentum). This changed with the fixed types of the quadrigatus, and the head of Janus (or the Dioscuri) and the quadriga with Jupiter can be regarded as fitting emblems of the res publica. The introduction of the denarius not only confirms the preference for fixed types, but the head of Roma and the Dioscuri again, perhaps even more clearly, represent the res publica.41 While it has been suggested that the use of standard types for the denarius was mainly aimed at identifying the issuing authority,42 I would argue that this must have been a conscious and innovative move to put the res publica center stage. The pre-​denarius coins show that it was perfectly possible for Rome to produce coins without state emblem that were still acceptable currency, so the emblem was not needed per se to have the coinage function as such. This innovative application of a state emblem on Roman coinage cannot be seen separately from Rome’s move “from koinē to imperium” in the third century.43 Rome’s newly acquired status as a Mediterranean power as a result of the conquest of the Italian peninsula and the outcome of the First Punic War had an impact on the modes of cultural interaction between Rome and the Greek world. Denis Feeney has recently argued that the “translation project” that created the earliest Latin literature—​based on Greek models—​shows a new, more intense and conscious interaction with the Greek world, as a direct consequence of political decisions (in this case, decisions about the plays that would be performed at the Ludi Romani of 240).44 Of course, Greek cultural models had been an integral part of the rich and varied cultural koinē of Italy in the fourth and third centuries—​something that we see reflected in Rome’s pre-​denarius coinage. However, the later third century saw the emergence of a more powerful and self-​ conscious Rome, which wilfully appropriated and adapted Greek models,45 and the introduction of the quadrigatus and then the denarius should be seen as an

40. Burnett 1989. See Rowan 2016a: 34–​37 and Rowan 2016b: 281–​83 on the possible meanings of Greek imagery on Roman coins. 41. E.g., Wallace-​Hadrill 1986: 74: “The dominant concern is to mark the coin as Roman.” See also Woytek 2018: 360. 42. E.g., Crawford 1974: 712; Flower 1996: 79. 43. Cf. Feeney 2016: 114–​19. 44. Feeney 2016. 45. The change in Roman attitudes to the Greek world has of course been noted before: e.g., Veyne 1979; Gruen 1992: 1 on the increasing significance of the question how to deal with

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integral part of this process.46 It shows that conscious decisions were made by the Roman elite to adopt the Greek concept of a state emblem on Roman coinage, while at the same time this concept was shaped to Roman taste, by choosing types that were explicitly related to the res publica. As we have seen, the new Roman state coinage was to be the only silver coinage in Italy—​and it is noteworthy that the exclusive presence of Roman silver is specific to Italy, in contrast to other parts of the Mediterranean where Rome established her power in the course of the second century.47 It is tempting to relate this to Feeney’s observation that Rome had started to formulate “increasingly coherent views of the integrity of [its] new conquest.”48 This “monetary policy” is thus one field where we can recognize a developing ideology of the political elite. In addition to a more self-​conscious attitude toward Greek models, it also hints at the internal dynamics among the nobilitas in this period. The strong competition between members of the nobilitas was always grounded in consensus about the rules of the game that created a sense of collective identity and stability in the system.49 The exceptional circumstances of the Second Punic War, followed by a rapid Mediterranean expansion in the first decades of the second century, gave an extra impulse to this internal competition, and thus also created the need to maintain stability by stressing the importance of the collective.50 It is tempting to see this reflected in the stability of the coin types: the actual individual players that are involved in coin production are hardly visible on the coins; instead, they display a collective Roman identity. This was to change in the course of the second century.

Greek influences in a period “when the Roman elite felt compelled to articulate national values and to shape a distinctive character for their own corporate persona.” 46. Cf. Rowan 2016a: 35: “the numismatic iconography of Rome’s denarius system was intended to show Rome as a Hellenistic power” (original emphasis). 47. During the Second Punic War, the situation in Spain was different from that in Italy: hoard evidence indicates that a range of different silver coinages entered Spain during the Second Punic War, and these were probably used for paying troops (Ripollès 2008). Rome did not attempt to unify the coinage system in the East. 48. Feeney 2016: 115; cf. Russo 2012. 49. Hölkeskamp 2006. 50. Cf. Beck 2019 on the period after the Second Punic War; on pp. 36–​41 he discusses how the Senate took measures to maintain a sense of collectivity and consensus.

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Figure 4.4  Denarius, with second standard type on the reverse: Head of Roma/​Luna in biga. On the reverse, the letters TOD refer to the moneyer (Todus?). RRC 141/​1. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RE-​05134.

4.4. Changes in the Denarius Coinage In the half century after the conclusion of the Second Punic War, the Roman coinage system remained relatively stable. The bulk of production was bronze coinage, consistently bearing the head of a deity on the obverse and a prow on the reverse (see figure 4.3).51 The silver coinage saw some slow changes to the types that were in use: in the 190s a second standard type appeared on the reverse of the silver coinage: a deity (initially Luna, but others followed from the 150s onwards) in a biga or quadriga (figure 4.4).52 Both on the traditional denarius types and on the new type, the names of the moneyers figured prominently. Around the

51. Crawford 1985: 72; 143. Woytek 2018: 366 notes the cultural significance these types must have acquired due to their longevity. 52. Recognizable deities thus depicted on second century denarii include Luna in biga (RRC 133/​3; 136/​1; 140/​1; 141/​1; 156/​1; 158/​1; 159/​2; 161/​1; 163/​1; 187/​1; 207/​1; 230/​1; 303/​1), Victory in biga (RRC 197/​1; 199/​1; 200/​1; 202/​1; 203/​1; 204/​1; 205/​1; 206/​1; 208/​1; 225/​1; 226/​1; 228/​ 1; 245/​1; 247/​1; 260/​1; 261/​1; 274/​1; 284/​1; 289/​1; 300/​1; 302/​1; 318/​1; 322/​1; 323/​1; 324/​1; 328/​ 1), in quadriga (RRC 246/​1; 249/​1; 253/​1; 275/​1; 280/​1; 283/​1), or in triga (RRC 299/​1), Jupiter in quadriga (RRC 221/​1; 227/​1; 238/​1; 241/​1; 248/​1; 256/​1; 257/​1; 271/​1; 273/​1; 276/​1; 279/​1; 285/​1; 285/​2; 310/​1; 311/​1; 325/​1) or in biga of elephants (RRC 269/​1), Diana in biga (RRC 222/​ 1), Juno in quadriga (RRC 223/​1; 240/​1) or in biga of goats (RRC 231/​1), Hercules in biga of centaurs (RRC 229/​1) or in quadriga (RRC 255/​1), Mars in quadriga (RRC 232/​2; 244/​1; 252/​ 1), Apollo in quadriga (RRC 236/​1) or in biga (RRC 254/​1), Sol in quadriga (RRC 250/​1; 309/​ 1 [facing]), Venus in biga (RRC 258/​1; 313/​1) or in biga of Cupids (RRC 320/​1), Libertas in quadriga (RRC 266/​1; 270/​1), Saturn in quadriga (RRC 317/​2; 317/​3).

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middle of the century, the system started to change more profoundly, with silver coinage gaining prominence compared to bronze.53 After a period with very low silver production in the 160s, the 150s saw the start of a long and continuous annual production of silver at the Roman mint.54 Around 141, the denarius was revalued from 10 asses to 16, either confirming or creating a decrease of value of the bronze coins in comparison to the silver.55 It has been plausibly suggested that these changes are connected to a change from bronze to silver coinage as military pay.56 Between 146 and 114, the largest bronze denomination, the as, was not minted, and there was a general dip in bronze production.57 This change in prominence from bronze to silver in itself shows how the Roman attitude toward coinage had changed. For centuries, bronze had been at the heart of the Roman value system, performing monetary functions even before the introduction of coinage. In the first half of the second century, the bulk of coin production was still in bronze, and the unit of account was the bronze as.58 In the course of the second half of the century, however, bronze lost its primary position in practical terms: silver was now produced in much larger quantities, and the silver sestertius became the unit of account.59 The huge growth in silver production in this period was not accompanied by a similar growth in bronze coin production, and it has indeed recently been argued that this caused a “crisis of small change” in Italy in the course of the second century.60 Roman coin production was triggered by the need to make state payments, not by any attempt to provide adequate numbers of small change for the market.

53. See Stannard 2018b: 101, ­figure 1. 54. Crawford 1974: 641–​93 dates the start of the sequence in 157; Mattingly 2004: 251 criticizes the exact date. The increase in coin production in this period has in general lines been confirmed by Backendorf ’s study of hoards from the Italian peninsula (Backendorf 1998). 55. Crawford 1985: 145–​46; the re-​tariffing did not apply to coins used for military pay; see Lo Cascio 1989. Indeed, the change may not have been as sudden as often portrayed, as discussed by Bransbourg 2013, although I am unconvinced by his argument that the rate between silver and bronze was unstable for several decades. 56. Crawford 1970: 47; Crawford 1985: 72 and 146; Lo Cascio 1989: 106–​7. 57. See Stannard 2018b: 102–​3, tab. 1. 58. More detailed discussion in Stannard 2018b: 100–​1. 59. Crawford 1974: 624–​25; brief discussion by Bransbourg 2013: 199. The continued symbolic importance of bronze may be gleaned from its continued role in the mancipatio. 60. Stannard 2018b; see esp. 102–​5 on the relatively low volumes of Roman bronze production in the second half of the second century.

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Figure 4.5 Early example of a “private” denarius: Head of Roma/​She-​wolf suckling twins. On the reverse, the letters SEX PMO refer to the moneyer, Sex. Pompeius, while FOSTLVS identifies the figure on the left as Faustulus. RRC 235/​1b. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RE-​05181.

These circumstances may at least in part explain why in the second half of the second century the standard types on the silver denarii were slowly abandoned,61 and so-​called private types made their appearance from the 130s onward (figures 4.5 and 4.6). While it had been normal for moneyers to put their names on the standard denarii that were produced under their supervision, they now decided on the type of the coins as well, resulting in a wide variety of silver coins. The broader social and political relevance of the appearance of these “private” types has been widely noted. A recent contribution by Bernhard Woytek pertinently points out how “the development in coin design may be taken to be emblematic of the history of Rome in this period, characterized by a fragmentation of interests in the élite. Images standing for the res publica were gradually replaced by images which primarily had a meaning to individuals or groups of the society.”62 The coins were thus drawn into the sphere of elite competition, rather than stressing consensus and a collective identity as they had done in the previous decades. It has been suggested that the appearance of “private” types was related to the lex Gabinia of 139, which introduced the secret ballot for elections in Rome.63

61. The traditional reverse type with the Dioscuri was last used in the 120s; the last issue (RRC 278) is dated by Crawford to 121. 62. Woytek 2018: 363. 63. Wiseman 1971: 4, 148–​49; Crawford 1974: 728.

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Figure 4.6  Early example of a “private” denarius: Head of Roma/​Spiral column with statue on top, flanked by two togate figures. On the reverse, the letters C AVG refer to the moneyer, C. Minucius Augurinus, who chose to depict the columna Minucia on the coin. RRC 242/​1. Not to scale. Source: National Numismatic Collection, De Nederlandsche Bank, Amsterdam, inv. no. RO-​01290.

With the voting now being anonymous, so the argument goes, it was more difficult for politicians to control their support base, and the coins offered the opportunity for self-​advertisement of junior individuals at the start of their careers. A broader argument has also been made that the coins were not so much used as direct campaign material for individuals, but rather were part of a fierce competition for status between families in this period that found expression in different media.64 The two views are not mutually exclusive,65 and in any case the “private” types are testimony to the increasing competition between families of the nobiles. Indeed, the introduction of the secret ballot has been identified as “a political revolution that moved away from earlier consensus rituals,” and in this sense, the lex Gabinia remains a significant turning point for the coinage as well.66 Seen from a broader, Mediterranean perspective, the enormous variety in types seen in Roman coinage after the 130s is unprecedented. Indeed, it has been suggested that the appearance of “private” types implies a “paradigm shift” in which, for the first time, the “basic rule of conservatism that dictated that a state’s

64. Flower 1996: 79–​88; Meadows and Williams 2001. 65. As noted by Woytek 2018: 365. 66. Flower 2010: 25; she views the lex Gabinia as the turning point from the second to the third “republic of the nobiles.”

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coin design should remain to a large degree static” was abandoned.67 However, as we have seen briefly in section 2, the first Roman coinage did not follow this “basic rule” either. If, as I have argued above, the choice to adopt a fixed state emblem was taken consciously in the late third century as part of Rome’s process of self-​definition as a Mediterranean player, this makes the decision to abandon it even more remarkable. It shows that the Greek model, even in its adapted, Roman form, did not suit the needs of Roman society anymore. From a Roman perspective, the “norm” of coinage with a state emblem can even be viewed as a relatively brief intermission in a much more dynamic history of coin production—​at least for the silver. Although the pre-​denarius coinage and the silver production of the second half of the second century are incomparable in terms of scale, the variety in “private” types is reminiscent of the variety that we encounter in the first phase of Roman coinage. Some kind of active commemoration of the pre-​denarius phase is evidenced by “private” types that are clearly modeled on third-​century coin types.68 It is tempting to suggest that such a variety in types fits the competitive internal dynamics in Roman society. Only in the period of c. 80 years following the introduction of the denarius system was the expression of internal difference suppressed by the active adaptation of the Greek model of coinage with a state emblem that suited the collective ideology of the nobilitas. Clearly, the freedom for the individual moneyers to create a design of their liking resulted in a more fragmented representation of the res publica in the coinage. Some of the coins did not even carry any explicit reference to Rome. While this has been read as the sign of a starting disintegration of the res publica,69 Andrew Meadows and Jonathan Williams have rightly pointed out that it is rather indicative of how the res publica was socially constructed: “the story of the populi Romani gesta (‘the deeds of the Roman people’) was mostly understood by members of the great political families from the partial viewpoint of their own traditions.”70 We should also note that some moneyers still opted to produce “traditional” types, showing that the “state emblem” had not lost its relevance. The possibility of creating Roman coins that do not explicitly refer to Rome must be understood in a context where the power of Rome was unquestioned, and silver was still exclusively produced by Rome.

67. Meadows and Williams 2001: 37–​38. 68. Woytek 2018: 361. 69. E.g., Hölscher 1982: 271. 70. Meadows and Williams 2001: 43.

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4.5. Coin Use A closer look at patterns of coin use can contextualize the changes in the Roman coinage system described in the previous sections, and thus provide further insights into the political culture of coinage. The intended audience may have affected decisions about coin types, but in fact the coins would probably have reached a larger group of actual users. In this context, it is necessary to ask to what extent different members of the audience would have understood the messages on the coins. Of course, these are difficult questions, and this is further complicated by the present state of knowledge on coin finds: dated archaeological contexts for coins are relatively rare and, as a result, we have little information about when and how exactly the coins were used.71 For this reason, my discussion of the intended and real users of the coins will focus on a rough classification of “monetary zones” in the Roman Republic, building on the work of David Hollander.72 When studying the potential audience of the coins, a first basic observation is that coinage was not the only kind of money available to the Romans.73 Coinage was usually produced with a specific purpose, related to state payments.74 Hollander has observed that coinage was used in the Late Republic mainly in the “governmental monetary zone” and the “urban monetary zone.”75 In the “governmental monetary zone,” it is clear that coins were often used for military expenses, in part as military pay.76 Indeed, we may regard the army and navy not only as the main recipients of coinage in this period, but as the main incentive for coin production.77 In addition, coinage was probably used for state expenditure on public works and as an allowance for magistrates to facilitate the performance of their duties.78 While state payments, even in the form of military pay for soldiers, most likely happened mainly in relatively large denominations (whether it was the bronze as in the first half of the second century or the silver denarius later), we do see deeper monetization developing in the “urban monetary zone” in the second century.

71. Cf. Kemmers 2016: 347. 72. Hollander 2007. 73. As argued extensively by Hollander 2007. 74. Crawford 1970: 46, 48; Crawford 1974: 633, 694; Hollander 2007: 97–​101. 75. Hollander 2007: ch. 5. 76. E.g., von Reden 2010: 51; Hollander 2007: 98. 77. Ñaco del Hoyo 2011: 391. 78. Hollander 2007: 99–​101.

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Andrew Burnett has suggested that a high level of urban monetization started around 200 when “there was a full range of denominations small enough to be useful for the everyday needs of retail trading.”79 In this context, the interesting observation has been made that during the Second Punic War only the mint located in Rome produced low denominations such as the uncia and semuncia in significant amounts, while the military mints that were active in other parts of Italy in this period did not.80 Apparently, for military purposes, the lower denominations were not necessary. The original purpose of the small denominations is not clear, but they obviously found their way to the local urban marketplace. This observation fits the broader differences between silver and bronze coinage. We have already seen that while silver coinage in Italy was exclusively Roman from the start of the denarius system onward, this was not the case for bronze coinage. There was no Roman policy to provide bronze coinage to the communities of Italy, and while Roman bronze coins were spread throughout Italy, especially in the context of the Second Punic War, they did not arrive in local communities in high enough numbers to become the exclusive currency in local market use.81 As a result, a range of local solutions were developed in Italy, especially in the second half of the second century,82 causing a wide availability of non-​Roman bronze coin in Central Italy that continued into the first century.83 The non-​Roman bronze came from various sources. Bronze coins that had been produced already in the third century remained in circulation in the following centuries,84 and several cities on the Italian peninsula continued to produce their own bronze coinages in the second century.85 In addition, in recent years attention has been drawn to two interesting phenomena that affected the availability of bronze coinage in Central Italy in the second century. The first is the importation of foreign bronze coins in “blocks,” large quantities of specific types

79. Burnett 1987: 95. 80. McCabe 2013: 216; cf. Crawford 1970: 48. 81. Stannard 2018b: 97–​100. 82. It is probably not a coincidence that this period saw strong economic growth: see Kay 2014: esp. ch. 5. The range of local solutions in Central Italy is discussed in detail by Stannard 2018b; for a rough indication of differences between Central Italy, Southern Italy, and Sicily, see Kemmers 2016: 358–​60. 83. Stannard 2019. 84. The long life of bronze coins was already noted by Crawford 1970: 43, based on the finds at the site of Francolise. 85. Crawford 1985: 71. See Kemmers 2016: 359–​60 for the observation that locally produced bronzes remain important especially in Sicily and Southern Italy.

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Figure 4.7 Coin from the Pompeian pseudo-​mint, combining types of Ebusus (obverse) and Massalia (reverse): Full figure of Bes facing/​Bull butting right. Not to scale. Source: Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2018, 341, fig. A, TC-​18.

that were then either overstruck or simply used.86 Two “blocks” are directly relevant to our period: Koan coins imported into Central Italy in a period between 180/​170 and 140, and Ebusan coins imported in the 140s/​130s. The second is the production of coins by other actors than Rome or the cities on the Italian peninsula, including non-​state coinages and the production by so-​called pseudo-​ mints.87 The best-​known example of this in the second century is the Pompeian pseudo-​mint, which produced coinage with types copied mainly from Ebusus and Massalia (figure 4.7), but also from Rome and, in one attested case, Athens. Types of the various prototype mints were mixed on the coins of the pseudo-​ mint, indicating that these were not simple imitations.88 Thus, the silver “monetary landscape” in Italy was fundamentally different from the bronze. Roman silver dominates the hoard evidence in Italy from the start of the second century onward.89 Indeed, for most of the second century,

86. See most recently Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2018, with previous bibliography. The idea has been challenged (e.g., doubts expressed by Hobbs 2013: 35–​36; disputed by Pardini 2017: 174–​76), but I find both the method outlined by Frey-​Kupper and Stannard and the evidence they present convincing; see also their counterarguments in Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2019: 168–​81. 87. On non-​state coinages: Stannard 2018b: 119–​138. Important contributions on the pseudo-​ mints include: Stannard 1995; Stannard 2005; Stannard and Frey-​Kupper 2008; Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2010; Stannard and Carbone 2013. 88. See discussion by Stannard 2018b: 113–​16. 89. See the evidence presented by Kemmers 2016: 358, with ­figures 11 and 12 at 357.

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Italy and Sicily were the main areas where the denarius circulated: it only found its way to other provinces in the later second century and later.90 In contrast, on the level of bronze small change, the day-​to-​day market economies of different towns in Central Italy were not intimately linked: a different range of bronze coinage was in circulation in Rome, Minturnae, and Pompeii (the only towns for which relatively good data are available).91 Even the denominational system does not seem to have been unified throughout Italy: the bronze coins that were produced by the Pompeian pseudo-​mint are not easily matched to the Roman system.92 While Roman silver spread fast throughout Italy, bronze had no such unifying force. Against this background, we may further assess the political and cultural significance of the changes in the denarius coinage. For its first phase it has been suggested that the fixed emblems should be read as “advertising the coming of Rome to the world.”93 The question is, Who were the recipients of this message? In the second century, coins of the denarius system initially circulated mainly in Italy. Many people would have received coinage from the state in the form of military pay, probably paid out upon discharge, mainly in large bronze denominations, but also in silver.94 In addition, two other kinds of state payments should be taken into account: to contractors responsible for the construction of public infrastructure, and to publicani responsible for the provisioning of the army.95 This provides us with an important context in which we can understand the standardization of Roman coinage that started with the quadrigatus. As we have seen, coinage was mainly perceived in Roman political culture as a means of payment, and it is in this context that the application of a state emblem acquires additional significance: the message on the coins was aimed at the immediate receivers—​in this case, mainly citizens who fought in the Roman army or were active as contractors or publicani. In this way, the coins would have disseminated the developing ideology of the political elite in Rome (see section 3) to the people. In the early phase of the denarius system, the victoriatus was produced alongside the denarius. It is likely that these two denominations served different 90. See Kemmers 2016 on the differences between Italy (including Sicily) and Iberia; Hollander 2007: 140 for an overview. 91. Stannard 2018b: 163–​64. 92. Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2018: 331. 93. Woytek 2018: 359. 94. See Kemmers forthcoming. For the use of silver as military pay in the early second century: Parisot-​Sillon 2018: 255–​6. 95. Kay 2014: 216–​24; see Kemmers forthcoming.

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audiences, as they are rarely found together96 It has been suggested that the victoriatus was mainly aimed at Roman allies,97 or at least was originally intended to function mainly in Southern Italy and Sicily, where victoriati were initially hoarded most intensively.98 If the victoriatus was indeed primarily aimed at non-​Romans, it is interesting that its types did not refer to Rome specifically, in contrast to the denarius types. However, a recent study shows that the hoarding pattern changes in the second century, when victoriati are more often hoarded in the northern part of the peninsula. It tentatively connects this pattern to large colonization programs in Central Italy, the Po Valley and the ager Gallicus, suggesting that the main audience of the victoriati in this period were veterans and colonists, who would perhaps receive these coins as donatives, on the occasion of the triumph.99 In this scenario, it matters less whether the recipients of the victoriati were citizens or allies. The coins communicated a message of military success to those who had contributed to it. In contrast to these consistent messages on the silver coinage, the bronze shows a more varied picture, especially for the smaller denominations that were not needed for military pay. These smaller denominations were mainly used for day-​to-​day transactions. At this level, a range of different local realities developed. If towns produced their own bronze coinage, it is likely that this was the main local currency. In Pompeii, non-​Roman bronze coins—​mainly produced by the local pseudo-​mint—​made up the majority of the monetary stock in the late second to early first centuries.100 Even in Rome, a large minority of the bronze coins dated to the second and first centuries is non-​Roman.101 The consequence is that, as a by-​product of Rome’s apparent disinterest in producing small change, no uniform message of Roman civic identity was communicated at the local level. Against this background, it may not be a coincidence that the innovation of “private” types in Roman coinage in the 130s appeared only on silver, a medium

96. Debernardi and Lippi 2019: 106. 97. Marchetti 1978; accepted by Marra 2001: 131–​34 and Debernardi and Lippi 2019: 117. 98. King 2007: 17–​18; see also Marra 2001: 99, 102. Note that this would imply an interesting continuity with the early pre-​denarius Roman silver discussed in section 2. 99. Parisot-​Sillon 2018: 256–​61 and passim. 100. Hobbs 2013: 53, 98–​99, based on the finds of the Anglo-​American Project in Pompeii. Stannard 2018b: 142–​50 brings together evidence from various recent excavation projects in Pompeii, but uses a wider chronological resolution (see esp. 147, ­figure 17). 101. Barbato 2016: 142: in the dataset of the Capitoline Museum, 31 percent of the bronze coins of the second and first centuries is non-​Roman; see Stannard 2018b for the argument that these were indeed used as currency, with discussion of Barbato’s data at 140–​41.

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that was exclusively Roman and growing both in bulk and in relative importance compared to the bronze. Based on the rich iconography of the coins themselves and their connections with family prestige, it has been suggested that the coins had a wide audience.102 This idea indeed matches the enormous increase in silver production in the second half of the century, which implies that the group of intended users of the silver coins grew strongly as well. There is some evidence that silver coinage became more widely used in this period from the coin find data from Pompeii, although absolute numbers are quite low.103 It does seem likely, however, that military pay was still the main reason for coin production,104 and that the intended audience for the coins in that sense had not changed much.105 Of course, this raises the question of the communicative quality of the coin designs: were the coins designed for a specific audience, and would users have been able to understand the messages? While this is not the place for an extensive discussion of visual language in the Roman Republic, some relevant observations can be made. The intelligibility of the “private” types in silver is often discussed in terms of the “depth of knowledge” of the audience: to what extent would they have been able to interpret the images and textual abbreviations on the coins?106 The details of the “private” coin designs would demand an intimate knowledge of visual language and specific family histories, and thus have been seen as an indication that the target audience was the well-​educated, urban nobility. This seems hardly compatible with the rather broad audience of Roman citizens and soldiers suggested above. So how can we solve this apparent contradiction? Tonio Hölscher has recently drawn attention to the ways in which visual culture in the ancient world created meaning beyond a direct “message transfer.”107 He notices that works of art were not always meant to be directly seen or understood: the Parthenon Frieze or

102. Flower 1996: 82; see also Woytek 2018: 369. 103. Pardini 2017: 190 n. 32. 104. See Lockyear 2018 for an analysis of the patterns in silver hoards in Italy and Spain in the late second century, noting that a gap in hoards in Italy between 113 and 104 can only be explained as the result of a different supply of coins by the Roman state (146–​48). This implies that the silver was indeed still mainly used for military state payments. See, however, Kemmers forthcoming for the publicani as important recipients in a military context. 105. Contra Flower 2010: 76, who suggests that the silver denarii were now “mainly and more explicitly aimed at ordinary citizens, rather than at foreigners.” It is doubtful that foreigners would have been the main audience in the period before the introduction of “private” types. 106. I borrow the term “depth of knowledge” from Woytek 2018, who explains it on p. 356 and gives an overview of the discussion at 367–​74. 107. Hölscher 2018: ch. 6.

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most of the reliefs on the Column of Trajan, for example, were just poorly visible. For the specific example of the coins, he notes the rather elusive nature not only of some of the coin designs and legends, but also of broader visual programs in which several contemporary coin issues form a set of related images—​a relation that would hardly have been recognizable to any individual user.108 He explains this in reference to the notion of decor. In keeping with the double sense of the Latin decor and decorum (“adornment” and “appropriate form and expression”), this concept of decor refers not just to superficial “decoration” as often implied in modern usage of the term, but it rather “refers to the visual qualities by which objects of social practice and works of art are endowed with cultural value and significance.”109 Thus, the decoration of an object is not only meant for embellishment or to get a message across, but it gives the object itself meaning and autonomy. Hölscher’s parallel to modern stamp design is worth quoting in full:110 Normally, few people care for the images on stamps, and even less do they study the configuration of images on whole series of stamps. But if a series of stamps with ten famous national monuments or ten universities were conceived, a sharp competition among various cities would immediately arise. The autonomy of the product entails the autonomy of production. In much the same way, we can imagine that the fact alone that the coins would have a permanent presence was a strong enough reason to stamp them with “private” types, thus consolidating the messages in them. The question whether the users would have understood the message is then only secondary. I do not think that this makes users wholly unimportant: just as the Parthenon and its visitors are the context in which the Parthenon Frieze acquires meaning, the intended users of the coins can be seen as the context in which the messages on the coins—​ even if not fully understood—​become relevant. Some information about the “reception” of coin designs can be gleaned from the informal production of bronze coinage in Italy, discussed above. In general, the repeated copying of types shows that they must have been viewed with interest by at least some users. When legends are copied by the pseudo-​mints, they are

108. Hölscher 2018: 318. 109. Hölscher 2018: 322. For the coins, this means that he moves away from his earlier treatment of the subject, where he argued that (numismatic) art in this period was mainly aimed at an audience of insiders with a high level of education (Hölscher 1982: esp. 281 n. 27). See Woytek 2018: 372. 110. Hölscher 2018: 330.

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Figure 4.8  Coin from Kos, overstruck with the types Head of Apollo/​She-​wolf suckling twins (informal production). The reverse type clearly uses the “private” type denarius RRC 235/​1 as a prototype (see fig. 4.5). Not to scale. Source: Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2018, 296, fig. 4, no. 9.

sometimes garbled,111 which can be taken as an indication that full understanding of the legend may not have been important. As for the types, the production of the Pompeian pseudo-​mint shows that not only Roman types were of interest: the pseudo-​mint mixed the types of various prototype mints, and only a small part of them were Roman types that were already over a century old when the types were copied.112 However, in the case of the imported Koan coins, the overstrikes do show a preference for Roman types. At the same time, they do not imitate specific Roman coins, and should therefore not be considered as counterfeits; rather, they can serve as testimony that the Roman types were known and somehow deemed to be an example.113 In view of the discussion above, it is interesting that there is only one Roman “private” type that repeatedly features as a prototype for the informal production of bronze in Italy in the late second and first centuries: the image of the she-​wolf with twins that was used on a denarius of the moneyer Sex. Pompeius, dating to 137 (figure 4.8; see figure 4.5).114 While its use as a prototype is evidence that the “private” types were at least viewed with 111. This is mainly the case with the so-​called Latin pseudo-​mints; see Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2010: 135–​42; Stannard and Carbone 2013: 258–​59. 112. See for an overview: Frey-​Kupper and Stannard 2018: 298–​301. They note on p. 303 that no specimens of the Roman prototypes are known from the excavations in Pompeii. 113. Cf. Stannard 2018b: 156: “these issues were not counterfeits, but products of a milieu where Roman culture was dominant.” 114. RRC 235/​1; see Stannard 2018b: 107–​9 (used on overstrikes on Koan coins), 134 (used on informal issues of what Stannard calls the “Central Italian Assemblage”).

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some attention, at the same time, it does not seem a coincidence that this specific type was copied. Unlike many other “private” types, this was probably an image that was understandable for many users and as such may have resonated more strongly. Thus, the use and perception of coinage developed throughout the second century. As coinage became more widely used, we can trace how its cultural significance changed. While for most of the third century, coinage was relatively rare and varied in the messages it communicated, the higher volumes of production in the late third century were accompanied by the adoption of a state emblem, which advertised a shared identity to Roman citizens. The growing importance of silver coinage in the course of the second century reflects changes in the Roman value system at large. The consequence was that silver coinage, rather than bronze, grew to be the main message medium in Roman political culture: by the time the “private types” appeared, the denarius was the most important and widely available coin, and was therefore most suitable to bear significant messages. However, these messages only rarely made it to the bronze that was the main currency in local market use, where coinages abounded that were not issued by the Roman state, but were nonetheless an integral part of the monetary culture on the Italian peninsula in this period.

4.6. Conclusions Coinage affords significant insight into several aspects of the changing cultural values of Rome’s political elite in the century following the start of the Second Punic War. First of all, the cultural significance attached to coinage in itself changed—​and this is not surprising in a period when coinage was still relatively new to Roman society and was being integrated into different areas of Roman society. An important step in this process was the introduction of the denarius system during the Hannibalic War. This marks the conclusion of a process in which Rome gradually centralized and standardized its coin production: a process in which coinage was adopted as an integral part of Roman political culture. In this development, we can trace changes in the value attached to silver and bronze coinage. While bronze had traditionally been the main unit of value in Roman society at large and the early coinage system, silver grew more important as the second century progressed. From the start of the denarius system, silver had been more exclusively connected to Rome than bronze: Rome was the only silver producer on the Italian peninsula, while a range of other players continued to produce bronze. In the course of the second century, the size of Roman bronze production decreased in relation to the silver.

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These general changes in attitude toward coinage have implications for its communicative potential. Throughout the second century, ever more people would get into contact with coinage—​if only because of the strong increase in production in the later second century. I have argued that the transformation in political expression in the second century, specifically with the introduction of “private” types, should not so much be related to a change in target audience, as army payments most likely continued to be the main incentive for coin production. Rather, in the second half of the second century, the sheer increase in the number of silver coins produced must have given them a more robust and lasting presence in Roman society. In this context, the coins consolidated the messages of the “private” types, even if many users may have found them difficult to understand. In this “community in transition,” the relation between coinage and the res publica changed as well. The introduction of the denarius system involved a conscious decision to represent the res publica on the coins, as part of a process in which Greek cultural models were adopted and adapted with growing intensity. This uniformity dissolved in the later second century, with the appearance of “private” denarius types. While the early denarius coinage stressed the unity of the Roman people, the political culture of coinage in the later second century acknowledged the internal diversity of the Roman elite. Thus, the competitive internal dynamics in Roman society resurfaced, after having been suppressed temporarily by the collective ideology of the nobilitas. They were there to stay, until the autocratic turn of the mid-​first century bce. B i b l i o gr a p h y Albarède, F., et al. 2016. “A Glimpse into the Roman Finances of the Second Punic War through Silver Isotopes.” Geochemical Perspectives Letters 2: 127–​137. Backendorf, D. 1998. Römische Münzschätze des zweiten und ersten Jahrhunderts v.Chr. vom italienischen Festland. Berlin. Barbato, M. 2016. “Presenza di moneta straniera a Roma in epoca tardo-​repubblicana. il caso delle monete di Cirene.” In M. Asolati (ed.), Le monete di Cirene e della Cirenaica nel Mediterraneo. Problemi e prospettive, 141–​56. Padua. Beck, H. 2019. “Pecuniam inlargibo tibi. Wahlbestechung und Wahlniederlage in der mittleren römischen Republik.” in K.-​J. Hölkeskamp and H. Beck (eds.), Verlierer und Aussteiger in der “Konkurrenz unter Anwesenden.” Agonalität in der politischen Kultur des antiken Rom, 31–​53. Stuttgart. Bernard, S. 2017. “The Quadrigatus and Rome’s Monetary Economy in the Third Century.” Numismatic Chronicle 177: 501–​16.

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Rowan, C. 2013. “The Profits of War and Cultural Capital: Silver and Society in Republican Rome.” Historia 62: 361–​86. Rowan, C. 2014. “The Value of Coinage in the Second Punic War and After.” In A. Bokern and C. Rowan (eds.), Embodying Value? The Transformation of Objects in and from the Ancient World, 77–​88. Oxford. Rowan, C. 2016a. “Ambiguity, Iconology and Entangled Objects on Coinage of the Republican World.” Journal of Roman Studies 106: 21–​57. Rowan, C. 2016b. “Imagining Empire in the Roman Republic.” In F. Haymann, W. Hollstein, and M. Jehne (eds.), Neue Forschungen zur Münzprägung der Römischen Republik. Beiträge zum internationalen Kolloquium im Residenzschloss Dresden 19.–​ 21. Juni 2014, 279–​92. Bonn. Russo, F. 2012. “The Beginnings of the First Punic War and the Concept of Italia.” In S. T. Roselaar (ed.), Processes of Integration and Identity Formation in the Roman Republic, 35–​50. Leiden. Schaefer, R., and A. McCabe. 2011. “A Fresh Look at Roman Republican Star Bronzes, RRC 113 and 196.” Numismatic Chronicle 171: 99–​108. Stannard, C. 1995. “Iconographic Parallels between the Local Coinages of Central Italy and Baetica in the First Century BC.” Acta Numismàtica 25: 47–​97. Stannard, C. 2005. “The Monetary Stock at Pompeii at the Turn of the Second and First Centuries BC. pseudo-​Ebusus and pseudo-​Massalia.” In P. G. Guzzo and M. P. Guidobaldi (eds.), Nuove ricerche archeologiche a Pompei ed Ercolano, 120–​43. Naples. Stannard, C. 2018a. “‘Chopped’ Neapolitan Bronze Coins at Minturnae, Overstrikes with Roman Types, and the Coin Stock in Southern Latium and Northern Campania about 200 BC.” Numismatic Chronicle 178: 99–​106. Stannard, C. 2018b. “The Crisis of Small Change in Central Italy of the Second and First centuries BC, and the Function of Overstriking.” Revue Belge de Numismatique 164: 97–​170. Stannard, C. 2019. “The Purse-​hoard from the Republican Bathhouse at Regio VIII 5.36 in Pompeii.” Numismatic Chronicle 179: 109–​22. Stannard, C., and S. Frey-​Kupper. 2008. “‘Pseudomints’ and Small Change in Italy and Sicily in the Late Republic.” American Journal of Numismatics 20: 351–​404. Stannard, C., and F. Carbone. 2013. “Pseudo-​Mints Again: A Die-​Study.” In S. Frey (ed.), La numismatique pour passion. Études d’histoire monétaire offertes à Suzanne Frey-​Kupper par quelques-​uns de ses amis à l’occasion de son anniversaire 2013, 255–​ 301. Lausanne. Suspène, A. 2002. “Sur la loi monétaire de c. 212 (?).” Cahiers du Centre Gustave-​Glotz 13: 33–​43. Termeer, M. K. forthcoming. “Spoils and the Allies: Roman Warfare and Coinage Production in Italy.” In S. T. Roselaar and M. Helm (eds.), Spoils in the Roman Republic—​A Re-​Evaluation. Stuttgart.

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Terrenato, N. 2020. “Discussion.” In E. Heymans and M. K. Termeer (eds.), Politics of Value: New Approaches to Early Money and the State—​Proceedings of the 19th International Congress of Classical Archaeology, Cologne/​Bonn 2018 (panel 5.11), 69–​ 75. Heidelberg. Veyne, P. 1979. “The Hellenization of Rome and the Question of Acculturations.” Diogenes 27: 1–​27. Vitale, R. 2019. “La prima moneta romana in argento. l’apporto dei ripostigli negli studi recenti.” Dialoghi di Numismatica 1: 185–​207. Wallace-​Hadrill, A. 1986. “Image and Authority in the Coinage of Augustus.” Journal of Roman Studies 76: 66–​87. Westner, K. J., et al. 2020. “Rome’s Rise to Power. Geochemical Analysis of Silver Coinage from the Western Mediterranean (Fourth to Second Centuries BCE).” Archaeometry 62(3): 577–​592. https://​doi.org/​10.1111/​arcm.12547 (last accessed 17 July 2020). Wiseman, T. P. 1971. New Men in the Roman Senate, 139 BC–​AD 14. Oxford. Woytek, B. E. 2012. “The Denarius Coinage of the Roman Republic.” In W. E. Metcalf (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Coinage, 315–​34. Oxford. Woytek, B. E. 2014. “Monetary Innovation in Ancient Rome. The Republic and Its Legacy.” In P. Bernholz and R. Vaubel (eds.), Explaining Monetary and Financial Innovation. A Historical Analysis, 197–​226. Cham. Woytek, B. E. 2018. “The Depth of Knowledge and the Speed of Thought. The Imagery of Roman Republican Coins and the Contemporary Audience.” In P. P. Iossif, F. de Callataÿ, and R. Veymiers (eds.), ΤΥΠΟΙ. Greek and Roman Coins Seen through Their Images. Noble Issuers, Humble Users? (Proceedings of the International Conference Organized by the Belgian and French Schools at Athens, 26–​28 September 2012), 355–​85. Liège.

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Public Buildings and Urban Landscape A View from the Riverfront Francesca de Caprariis L’intérêt de ces découvertes est surtout de nous démontrer que, dès le début du IIe siècle, l’activité du port de Rome était transportée du Forum Boarium à l’emporium situé en aval de l’Aventin. Rome était donc bien, dès cette date, une des plus importantes places du commerce méditerranéen. Piganiol 1950: 171

5.1. Introduction Since the 1970s at least, the topographical and monumental history of the city of Rome has been increasingly integrated with what may be termed “mainstream ancient history.”1 A cultural perspective has become central to the understanding of wider dynamics in Republican history: notably, the analysis of key political spaces (above all the Forum and the Campus Martius)2 or social aspects (e.g., aristocratic competition and aristocratic housing).3 From an economic standpoint, the relationship between Rome’s sudden growth in the first decades of the second

1. Patterson 1992: 214 and 2010: 215. 2. On the definition and perception of public space: Russell 2016. On the political spaces, above all Forum and Campus Martius: Ziółkowski 2013. The recent debate about saepta and comitia exemplifies what can (or cannot) be evinced by topographical analysis (Mouritsen 2001: 28–​30 and 2017: 56–​57; Coarelli 2005: 27). 3. See, e.g., Hölkeskamp 2016 (although the bibliography on this subject is of course immense). An important survey on the “territorial strategies” in the topographical distribution of private housing: Guilhembet-​Royo 2008. Francesca de Caprariis, Public Buildings and Urban Landscape In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0005

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Figure 5.1  Testaccio and Trastevere. The archaeological evidence and the Severan Marble Plan (from Carettoni-​Cozza-​Colini-​Gatti 1960).

century bce and the development of the river port facilities downriver from the Forum Boarium to the Aventine plain has long been considered crucial evidence for the understanding of the city’s economic and demographic development. The key monument in this account is the porticus Aemilia (figure 5.1). Guglielmo Gatti’s identification of the huge building in the Aventine plain with the porticus built by M. Aemilius Lepidus and L. Aemilius Paullus in 193 bce (Livy 35.41.10), along with his work on the Severan marble plan,4 encompasses the archaeological discoveries mentioned in the quote from André Piganiol cited at the outset of this chapter:5 the expansion downstream of the river port is evidence that “Rome was . . . one of the most important centers of Mediterranean trade from that date.”

4. Gatti 1934. 5. Here Piganiol takes up again (and corrects) an old view of his (Piganiol 1909) about the Republican city walls between the Aventine and the Capitol: Coarelli 1988: 13–​16; Wiseman 1990: 730–​32.

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Figure 5.2 (porticus) Aemilia or Naualia. On the right, fragment 23 of the Marble Plan: note the inscription ]LIA (© Sovrintendenza Capitolina).

In a much-​discussed 2006 essay, Lucos Cozza and Pier Luigi Tucci reject the identification of the building in Testaccio with the porticus Aemilia, proposing the supplement [Naua]lia instead of [Aemi]lia on the fragmentary inscription of this section of the marble plan: according to their reading, the original function of the building was to accommodate the military fleet (figure 5.2). This theory is of crucial importance to the understanding of the port system of Republican Rome and its growth, but has since become so popular that it has sometimes been accepted without considering its wider implications. In this chapter I will first try to summarize the terms of the problem and its history; I will then consider the Naualia identification and the complex topographical issues that it raises. Finally, I will argue how accepting one theory instead of the other implies accepting or rejecting one of two different scenarios, both of paramount importance to the definition of the city’s trajectory during the second century bce.

5.2. Old Theories, Natural Characters, and the Literary Sources Gatti’s identification of the opus incertum building on the Aventine plain with the porticus Aemilia has been virtually unchallenged for many decades, and has been

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a significant part of the picture sketched by modern scholarship of Rome’s growing trajectory and its cultural and social changes after the transmarine wars.6 The porticus Aemilia was, as Mario Torelli put it, the “most spectacular enterprise”: The real novelty was generated by the urgent demands of the urban population of Rome which depended on corn distribution and by the new building techniques, which together served to open up a new chapter in the development of the city. Starting in 193, the censors [sic] set to work on the old Tiber port, rebuilding jetties, adding barriers and access ramps to the river. The most spectacular enterprise of this movement was the colossal porticus Aemilia: . . . the building had fifty naves roofed by barrel vaults and measured 487m long and 90m deep, serving in its turn as the prototype of all the great mercantile warehouses (horrea) which became more and more numerous at Rome and at Ostia in the late Republican period.7 Alongside the archaeological evidence, the Severan marble plan clearly shows the system of dockyards, warehouses, and port facilities that was present in the area since the late Republican period, but the porticus Aemilia was invoked as proof that such system should be dated back to the early second century bce. The making of a Mediterranean capital was thus a swift process,8 in a period marked by a key change in the modalities of grain supply, when Rome—​now reliant on imports from overseas—​experienced a different and more intense flow of traffic toward her ports.9 Rome’s port infrastructures have always fought with “the constraints of geography”10 between Ostia and the lower course of the river, and the Tiber’s urban banks are no exception (figure 5.4). The Forum Boarium area, certainly

6. The most cohesive studies are Torelli in Gros and Torelli 1988: 104–​16 and Gros 1990: 385–​ 98. More recently: Cornell 2000; Torelli 2006. On public contracts in this period see Coarelli 1977 and, in more recent years, Steinby 2012 and Davies 2017. 7. Torelli 2006: 98. 8. See, again, Gros-​Torelli 1988; Gros 1990: these (and several other important studies) stemmed from the epoch-​making Hellenismus in Mittelitalien conference (on urban and demographic growth Gabba 1976 =​1994: 105–​17 is seminal). Here the chronological base for the social and economic changes in Central Italy is mid-​century and the first half of the century is essentially a backstory of sorts. The idea of a swift growth in the first decades of the century has been partly influenced by the loss of Livy’s narrative after Book 45 (Davies 2013: 442; Davies 2017: 2). 9. Zevi 1994 and 2002: 44–​45 on the “frumentarizzazione della Sicilia” from the late third century and the new transport dynamics. 10. Tchernia 2000: 751.

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Figure 5.3  Detail in raking light of fragment 24b; only the letters I and A were engraved under the main inscription (© Sovrintendenza Capitolina, photo by L. Frazzoni).

the main commercial port by the third century bce, was prone to floods that became particularly violent in the first decades of the second century bce11, while the Aventine plain downstream—​south of the narrow strip of land between the Aventine rock and the river—​was not encumbered by extensive urban settlement and therefore offered greater potential for remarkable development of port facilities (figure 5.5).12 The Aventine floodplain set the spatial terms of the city’s demographic, social, and economic growth, and embodied the culmination of the development of port facilities extra portam Trigeminam, downstream from the old port in the Forum Boarium.

11. Floods: 202, Circus Maximus (Livy 30.38.10–​12); 193, 192 (the area around the porta Flumentana, wherever it may have been located: Livy 35.9.2; 21.5–​6). See Aldrete 2007: 13–​17. 12. On the buildings in the area is frequently brought up the evidence of Livy 21.42.3 (in foro boario bouem in tertiam cotignationem sua sponte escendisse atque inde tumultu habitatorum territum sese deiecisse).

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Figure 5.4  The urban banks of the Tiber (from Le Gall 1953).

A cursory look at the natural features of the riverfront shows the modalities and the extent of this expansion downriver of what were previously rather modest harbor facilities. The literary evidence for the first stages of commercial expansion point to two separate areas: the old port and the extra Portam Trigeminam area. The first mention of a portus—​no doubt the portus Tiberinus13 in the Forum Boarium—​appears in the list of buildings contracted during the pivotal censorship

13. Chioffi 2014: 43–​46, with relevant sources and bibliography.

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Figure 5.5  Museo della Civiltà Romana, Plastico di Roma arcaica. The riverfront from the Campus Martius to the Aventine plain.

of M. Fulvius Nobilior and M. Aemilius Lepidus in 179 bce: M. Fuluius plura et maioris locauit usus: portum et pilas pontis in Tiberi . . . [et forum] et porticum extra portam Trigeminam . . . (Livy 40.51.4–​6). The distinction made by Livy, or by his source, between the portus and the extra portam Trigeminam area marks out a difference between the two zones.14 It has been assumed by several scholars that the activities at the portus entailed much substantial building work and a wider overall plan, which could not possibly be carried out to completion within a single censorship.15 The literary evidence for the extra portam Trigeminam area goes back to the first decades of the century, with the building activity being only carried out by the aediles until Fulvius Nobilior’s censorship,16 and indicating large-​scale development of commercial facilities (figure 5.6). By the mid-​second century bce the river banks from the Aventine plain to the old port were taken up by docks and commercial facilities, corroborating our

14. The items are separated by the mention of the building program in the Forum Romanum. On the topography of the contracts of this censorship: de Caprariis 2019: 164–​66. 15. Steinby 2012: 47–​50, 79–​82. The works in the Roman Forum, on the Cloaca Maxima, and in the Forum Boarium with the new embankments were clearly interconnected; it has been estimated that they engaged all the first half of the Century (Gros 1990: 389). Overviews of the archaeological evidence: Cressedi 1984: 273–​74, 279–​80; Davies 2017: 130–​33. 16. On aedilician building projects see Davies 2017: 131.

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Figure 5.6  Aedilician and censorial works in the port area in the first decades of the second century bce.

only certain indicator of demographic growth for the City of Rome,17 that of Frontinus’ well-​known reference to the incrementum Urbis (Aq. 7.2) that created enough demand for water supply to warrant the construction of the Aqua Marcia in 144 bce.18 Yet, in the last decade this process of demographic, urban, and economic growth has become almost completely undetectable: not because of a lack of scholarly interest, but because of an objective lack of evidence, exacerbated by the topographical “Naualia debate.”19 It is significant, for instance, that the second century bce has virtually disappeared from the recent Companion to the City of Rome: in an essay almost entirely built on archaeological evidence, the second century has fallen between the cracks of two sub-​sections (fourth to the second and from 100 bce to 600 ce), thus demonstrating the difficulties surrounding Roman archaeological data for this period.20 Significantly, the Testaccio building

17. As it is known, it is assumed an arc of growth from 200,000 to 375,000 from c. 200 to 130 bce (Brunt 1971: 376–​88, on which Morley 1996: 39–​40; Cornell 2000: 376); Hin 2013: 49, 218–​20. Cf. Tchernia 2016: 188 on the risks of circular reasoning. 18. On aqueducts and urban sprawl: Patterson 2006: 359. Elkins 2015: 22–​23 takes up again the idea (Stuart 1943: 440–​44 and 1945: 226–​51) that the aqua Marcia was in fact the completion of the aqueducts planned by Lepidus and Nobilior in 179 (Livy 40.51.7). But see already Morgan 1978: 35–​41; Evans 1997: 83–​93. On the Aqua Marcia affair cf. F. Santangelo’s contribution to this volume. 19. See esp. Palombi 2010 and Davies 2017. 20. Claridge 2018: 113–​15.

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is presented as Naualia–​“porticus Aemilia”–​Horrea: the most hyphenated monument of ancient Rome. As mentioned above, the identification of the building in Testaccio with the porticus Aemilia was rejected on typological grounds by Cozza and Tucci, who pointed out that the plan of the building is more akin to a shipshed complex for the protection and maintenance of Roman warships rather than to the typology of a porticus.21 The technical aspects of this proposal, which involves comparanda, dimensions, position in relation to the riverbanks, maneuverability of the ships for landing, and other factors, have been much debated.22 Notwithstanding some dissenting voices, the Naualia identification has gained momentum and found its place in handbooks and reference discussions. It was readily welcomed as “an immediately more attractive proposition”;23 attractive as it is, one wonders if this proposal and its consequences have been fully worked out.24 With the porticus Aemilia out of the equation, we are left with little evidence of occupation south of the Aventine in the second century bce, as a matter of fact we are not even left with the name Emporium that we conventionally give to the district.25 The trajectories and modalities of the urban and economic growth of Rome should in turn be reconsidered.

5.3. Which Naualia? There has often been a sort of prejudice around debates on Roman topography.26 The charge of “provincialismo aulico”,27 (“lofty provincialism”) that Ranuccio

21. Cozza-​Tucci 2006: 175–​201; Tucci 2012: 575–​91. 22. See infra, n. 29. 23. Claridge 2010: 404. 24. See, e.g., Tuck 2013: 240–​41; Mignone 2016: 84–​86. 25. Unlike place names like “Testaccio” or “Marmorata,” which bear evidence through the centuries of the commercial nature of the area, the term Emporium has left no traces in historical toponomastic. As a place name, Piazza dell’Emporio predates Gatti’s work on the area and was selected in 1920 by the Consiglio Comunale. The reason given for the name (“dall’antico emporio di Roma costruito nel 574 dal censore Marco Fulvio” (Proposta al Consiglio Comunale n. 201 del 21/​07/​1920) shows that some councillor must have been a keen reader of Livy. 26. Cozza and Tucci 2006: 194. In this section I develop some observations made in de Caprariis 2019: 166–​69. 27. Bianchi Bandinelli 1965: 764: “la venerazione impedisce o ritarda la visione storica e sospinge piuttosto alla creazione del mito. Questo, a sua volta restringendo l’orizzonte critico, tende a cristallizzare una situazione in forme di mentalità provinciale. . . . Da questo rischio non è andato esente lo studio archeologico di Roma antica, anche se si tratta, come è evidente, data

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Bianchi Bandinelli leveled at the topographers of his day has still carried some weight in recent times.28 Topographical debates are frequent and often heated, and may well get lost in minutiae, but they are rarely pointless. In this specific case, Roman topography (that is, the study of urban spaces and their functions) is paramount to a discussion that has been instead dominated by archaeological, typological, and architectural aspects.29 One of the original epigraphic arguments for the identification of the porticus Aemilia as Naualia is inconclusive: the main inscription on fragment 23 shows for certain only the letters ]lia (figure 5.2). On fragment 24b, that is under the main inscription, only the last two letters of the presumed supplement [Nau]alia are actually visible (figure 5.3).30 The old Aemilia, or Naualia, or indeed other readings are all possible. The commercial function of the building in the imperial age is undisputed; the label Naualia might recall the first name of the building and its former military function. According to Cozza and Tucci’s original thesis, these new Naualia were built around the middle of the century, as a substitute or as an addition to the old shipsheds in the Campus Martius. The new location was eminently more practical and operational, while the “old” Naualia were to be gradually dismantled, and only a sort of monumental memory of them remained in the area.31

l’altezza dell’argomento, di un provincialismo aulico. Il tono aulico, d’altra parte, fu anche conforme al tono tutto particolare di una cultura locale che per la sua particolarissima situazione storica divenne incline, nei suoi ultimi due secoli, nella maggioranza dei suoi rappresentanti, anche insigni, meglio alla esaltazione che alla indagine critica, più alla elegante accademia erudita e formale che alla concreta ricerca scientifica.” 28. See, e.g., Beard 2017: 18, who notes that the field of Roman topography “can seem narrowly arcane—​a fair point about a field that has its beginnings in the Italian Renaissance,” or Bernard 2018: 3–​11 on the topographical approach to research on middle-​Republican Rome. 29. Without any claim to exhaustivity: Muzzioli 2009: 24–​26; Claridge 2010: 403–​4; Guilhembet 2010: 187; Quaranta 2011: 9–​26; Davies 2013: 454–​55 and 2014: 35; Mogetta 2015: 7–​14; Davies 2017: 84–​86. Among the dissenting voices: Arata and Felici 2011: 127–​53 (with a response in Tucci 2012: 175–​201); Tuck 2013: 329 (with an entirely different hypothesis); Tchernia 2016: 205. Balanced accounts of the question, with ample bibliography: D’Alessio 2014: 7–​23 and Rankov 2014: 39–​41. 30. See Arata-​Felici 2011: 130. Both the first “A” and the “L” of ALIA are in fact the result of the misreading of a drawing by Emilio Rodríguez Almeida (it must be noted that Cozza and Tucci could not check the original fragment). The second set of letters were probably a much later attempt to copy the main inscription. The supplement ALIA would be an important corroborating point in the interpretation of Cozza and Tucci, but not a definitive one: as Tucci has stated several times, their hypothesis stands regardless of the epigraphic argument. 31. On Aeneas’ ship in Proc. Goth. 7.22.7–​16: Purcell 1996: 268–​69; Tucci 1997: 37–​42.

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As a matter of fact, the Naualia are consistently located in the Campus Martius from the fourth century to 25 bce at least. Not much is known about them beyond their approximate position. It is possible that they occupied the riverbanks and the marshy inland parts of the area, where the arsenal (textrinum) was also located;32 that would be in keeping with the sources that describe it as a secluded and safe place (figure 5.5).33 The Macedonian royal ships were hauled there in 167 bce (naues regiae captae de Macedonibus inuisitatae ante magnitudinis in campo Martio subductae sunt: Livy 45.42.12), and similarly, when the Younger Cato brought back the fleet of Ptolemy of Cyprus in 56 bce, the Naualia in the Campus Martius were fully operational. As Plutarch relates: The news did not fail to reach Rome that he [Cato] was coming up the river. All the magistrates, the priests, and the whole senate, with a great part of the people, went out to meet him; both the banks of the Tiber were covered with people; so that his entrance was in solemnity and honour not inferior to a triumph. But it was thought somewhat strange, and looked like willfulness and pride, that when the consuls and praetors appeared, he did not disembark nor stay to salute them, but rowed up the stream in a royal galley of six banks of oars, and stopped not till he brought his vessels (ton stolon) to the dock (eis to neorion).34 The location in the Campus Martius is inherent to Plutarch’s narrative. An almost triumphal entrance is mentioned,35 with the ship continuing its voyage upstream, beyond the anchorage where Senate and magistrates were waiting for the quaestor to dock. The only possible setting for such an event is the gate to the city from the river: in the Forum Boarium and by the Temple of Portunus, the liminal god

32. Enn. ap. Serv., Aen., 11.326 (Ann., 504 Skutsch): idem campus habet textrinum nauibus longis. A full overview of the Campus Martius Navalia: see Coarelli 1996a: 339–​40; 1997: 345–​61; on this area see also de Caprariis 2019: 169–​72. 33. Polyb. 36.5.9; Pliny NH 26.40; also Plut., Cat. Mi. 39 (on which infra, and indirectly, Vell. 2.45). 34. Plut. Cat. Mi. 39: περαιωθεὶς δὲ ταῖς ναυσὶν οὐκ ἔλαθε τοὺς Ῥωμαίους, ἀλλὰ πάντες μὲν ἄρχοντες καὶ ἱερεῖς, πᾶσα δὲ ἡ βουλή, πολὺ δὲ τοῦ δήμου μέρος ἀπήντων πρὸς τὸν ποταμόν, ὥστε τὰς ὄχθας ἀμφοτέρας ἀποκεκρύφθαι καὶ θριάμβου μηδὲν ὄψει καὶ φιλοτιμίᾳ λείπεσθαι τὸν ἀνάπλουν αὐτοῦ, [2]‌καίτοι σκαιὸν ἐνίοις τοῦτο ἐφαίνετο καὶ αὔθαδες, ὅτι τῶν ὑπάτων καὶ τῶν στρατηγῶν παρόντων οὔτε ἀπέβη πρὸς αὐτούς οὔτε ἐπέσχε τὸν πλοῦν, ἀλλὰ ῥοθίῳ τὴν ὄχθην παρεξελαύνων ἐπὶ νεὼς ἑξήρους βασιλικῆς οὐκ ἀνῆκε πρότερον ἢ καθορμίσαι τὸν στόλον εἰς τὸ νεώριον. 35. The connection with the naval triumph is clear (Purcell 1996: 269), even if the modalities of the ceremony are not known (Dart and Vervaet 2011). A real triumph by conferring Cato an exceptional praetorship seems to have been considered: Cass. Dio 39.23.

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who held the keys to the ports. This was the ceremonial entrance to the city and here doubtless started the celebration of naval triumphs.36 Cato’s ships landed upstream from this point, that is in the Naualia of the Campus Martius, which were evidently in use in 56 bce. Again, and even more significantly, Livy indicates the Naualia in the Campus Martius as a landmark to locate the Vatican allotment of Cincinnatus, on the other side of the river in front of the Naualia37: contra eum ipsum locum ubi nunc Naualia sunt.38 These literary attestations are clear and unambiguous: any source that mentions Naualia with a topographical indication of sort unfailingly refers to the Campus Martius. It is perfectly possible that other shipsheds existed along the riverbank, but the Naualia with a capital N—​the landmark, not the building typology—​were upriver from the Tiber Island. So, if the building in Testaccio where a group of naualia, it would be a nonspecific, new group of shipsheds, as Tucci has recently conceded.39 This point, which is not always considered or fully understood, makes the “which Naualia?” question especially significant. No sources refer to new naualia. It is true that the scantiness of data on public buildings in Rome after 167 bce should warn against drawing general conclusions, but the fact is that the label Naualia on the Severan marble plan fragment would be the only evidence for other Republican naualia; its considerably later date is an important factor too.40 Chronology presents yet another difficulty. A passage of Cicero’s De oratore (1.62)41 attributes naval works to the architect Hermodoros 36. On Portunus see Diosono 2016: 81–​98. 37. Livy 3.26.8: L. Quinctius . . . trans Tiberim contra eum ipsum locum ubi nunc naualia sunt, quattuor iugerum colebat agrum, quae prata Quinctia uocantur. The location of the prata Quinctia is given by Pliny NH 18.20: quattuor sua iugera in Vaticano, quae prata Quintia appellantur. 38. On the importance of these topographical references in Livy’s account of early Roman history, see Feldherr 1998: 120; Aberson 2014: 7–​40; on the river and the Naualia, see Jaeger 2015: 68. 39. Tucci 2012: 579, the Testaccio building is “un gruppo di naualia di età repubblicana, non i Navalia con la N maiuscola, dato che altri ricoveri per navi dovevano esistere lungo il Tevere.” 40. Interestingly, the same term appears in another fragment of the Marble Plan (2a–​b : naualemfer), but not in relation to military ships, let alone Republican ones. See Coarelli 1997: 359–​ 60 and 2000: 375–​78. On the functional aspect: Manacorda 2005: 28; Gianfrotta 2008: 82; Muzzioli 2009: 30–​31; Rankov 2014: 31 n. 34). Under this perspective, Laura Chioffi’s proposal (2014: 49 n. 67) to interpret the alleged [Naua]lia as Imperial age bricks workshops or warehouses is attractive; yet it does not solve the question of the original function (and possible identification) of the Republican building. 41. Neque enim si Philonem illum architectum, qui Atheniensibus armamentarium fecit, constat perdiserte populo rationem operis sui reddidisse, existimandum est architecti potius artificio disertum quam oratoris fuisse; nec, si huic M. Antonio pro Hermodoro fuisset de navalium opere

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of Salamis (Cyprus): this piece of information, traditionally referred to the Naualia in the Campus Martius, has now been connected to the Testaccio building. In the context of the dialogue, Cicero mentions M. Antonius the Orator (rate. 102, cos. 99, cens. 97) and, following an interpretation of the text proposed by Filippo Coarelli about fifty years ago, Antonius has been considered the contractor of the Testaccio building.42 This therefore lowers the chronology of both the building and the activity of Hermodoros to the beginning of the first century bce. Coarelli is now a firm supporter of the Naualia identification, but has discarded his own previous reading of the implications of Cicero’s passage, stating that the context of Cicero’s dialogue demonstrates—​if anything—​the absolute lack of relation between Antonius, the architect, and the naval works.43 This hypothesis, that is Hermodoros as Antonius’ architect, has nonetheless gained some traction and, while a more reasonable chronology is maintained by several scholars,44 a puzzling early date has lately been proposed.45 Hermodoros is considered the leading figure in the Hellenization of Rome’s architecture during the Middle Republic. He is known to have built two temples in the Circus Flaminius area: that of Iuppiter Stator (c. 143), the first temple in Rome to be made entirely of marble, and that of Mars (c. 133), identified with the Pentelic marble remains under the church of San Salvatore in Campo.46 Cicero’s mention of opus nauale might indicate another work of Hermodoros in Rome, but it does not necessarily follow that he was the architect of the presumed naualia in the Testaccio area. It is—​on some level47—​another attractive theory. Henry Hurst has recently

dicendum, non, cum ab illo causam didicisset, ipse ornate de alieno artificio copioseque dixisset (“If, again, it is established that Philo, that master-​builder who constructed an arsenal for the Athenians, described the plan of his work very eloquently to the people, his eloquence must be ascribed not to his architectural, but rather to his oratorical ability. So too, if Marcus Antonius here had had to speak on behalf of Hermodorus upon the construction of dockyards, having got up his case from his client, he would then have discoursed gracefully and copiously of an art to which he was not a stranger,” transl. E. W. Sutton, LCL). 42. Coarelli 1968: 340–​42. 43. Coarelli 1997: 356–​57; 2019. 44. Cozza-​Tucci 2006; Tucci 2012; Davies 2014: 34–​36; Coarelli 2019. 45. Claridge 2018: 96; Rice 2018: 203–​4; Davies 2017: 177. 46. See Coarelli 2019: 545–​569 for a recent reappraisal of Hermodorus’ work. 47. Such an attribution would tell more about the ability of a Greek architect to deal with unfamiliar materials than about the Roman evolution of concrete and the (presumed) industrial development of sorts (DeLaine 2018: 475. The dating for opus incertum has recently been challenged: Mogetta 2015).

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underlined the symbolic role and the extreme rarity of monumental shipsheds (e.g., in Carthage and in Athens), which were intended, above all, as a display of naval power. If Hermodorus was indeed involved with naval works in Rome, the most likely location of these projects would have been the Naualia (with a capital N) in the Campus Martius, in plain sight of both the citizen body and the foreign ambassadors, and in the same area as the architect’s other celebrated works.48

5.4. The New Scenario If we were to accept the functional association of the Testaccio building with the Republican military shipsheds, then we would be forced to assume a considerable resizing of the space devoted to commercial activities. Not a mere change of labels, but a change of functions and logistics (­figure 5.7a). We would have to conclude that almost 500 m of the ripa were occupied by military installations. Military ports, ancient or otherwise, have always been consistently separated from commercial ones. Apart from security reasons and the primary necessity of being fully operational, the riverbanks had to be kept free for the docking of the ships and for repair works.49 In this scenario, the expression extra Portam Trigeminam would mean a location in the close vicinity of the gate.50 The gate itself is only roughly located at the foot of the Aventine Hill51 but the direction it faced—​south or west—​is paramount and still to be ascertained.52 From the literary sources listed in figure 5.653 it is clear that the distinctive features of the extra Portam Trigeminam area are the porticus (Aemilia, inter lignarios, the porticus commissioned by Nobilior) and

48. This was, in fact, the common view before the whole naualia issue came to the fore. On monumental naualia see Hurst 2010: 33. 49. The idea of a harbor basin in front of the building, to give room for the ships to be maneuvered has to my knowledge no foundation (Rice 2018: 203–​4). See the surveys and excavations in the area (Sebastiani and Serlorenzi 2011; Sebastiani et al. 2016, with further bibliography). 50. This was an old objection to Gatti’s porticus Aemilia location: more on this infra. 51. The label Porta Trigemina in figure 5.8 roughly summarizes its position (Tucci 2011–​ 2012: 180, fi ­ gure 2) but it must be kept in mind that the location of the gate is connected to the cliuus Publicius (either the modern Clivo dei Publici or the Clivo di Rocca Savella); see the following footnote. 52. This is in fact another topographical debate (of no little consequence to the history of the development of the Republican city): Coarelli 1988: 25–​34, with the observations of Wiseman 1990: 730–​32 and Ziółkowski 1994: 184–​96. See now Tucci 2011–​2012: 178–​83. 53. An Aventine setting of Ter. Adelph. 584–​586 as proposed in Gilula 1991: 245–​47 seems to be excluded: see Palombi 2005: 25–​27.

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(a)

(b)

Figure 5.7a–​b   The commercial port in the second century bce according to the old scenario and the new one.

the emporium. The porticus Aemilia and the emporium were part of a system that was materially linked to the riverbanks.54 This whole set of infrastructures would have to be moved upstream,55 together with all the other construction projects overseen by the aediles in the early decades of the second century. The porticus Aemilia would then be a much smaller building, supposedly a colonnaded street similar to those that lined the ripa at a later time. A possible precedent of the porticus in the Severan marble plan has been pointed out by Tucci (figure 5.8).56 The emporium would thus be a much smaller area between the porticus and the river. According to Tucci, the wharf depicted in the marble plan may have been the gateway to the emporium area, or to what remained of it in the Severan age.

54. Castagnoli 1980: 30. This excludes, for instance, the position of the emporium as shown in Mignone 2016: 86 or Claridge 2018: map 13. 55. Forni 2012; D’Alessio 2014: 18; Rice 2018. 56. Muzzioli 2009; Tucci 2011–​2012: 196–​200; de Caprariis 2019.

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Figure 5.8  The area of the porticus Aemilia (slab 27 on the left) according to Pier Luigi Tucci (from Tucci 2011–​2012).

It must be conceded that the Roman emporium escapes definition.57 As a place name it is not attested beyond the first half of the second century, and its dimensions have probably been overestimated.58 A useful comparison may be offered by the emporium of Puteoli, pictured in the Mérida and Prague flasks59 as a separate, not especially large area behind the ripa. It may well be what was left of a larger zone gradually built up in the Imperial age, but the idea of the Roman emporium as a large district seems to be a byproduct of modern scholarship. Regarding the position, there would be no viable alternatives to the proposal made by Tucci, since the strip of land between the Aventine cliff and the river is a signally unsuitable area for port facilities, and was possibly even narrower in Roman times.60 This is not an entirely impossible scenario, but it remains underwhelming, and

57. Marco Maiuro has recently set the Roman emporium within the specific milieu of early second century Rome, as a place of trade with modalities influenced by Greek emporia: a phenomenon that is also attested in coeval colonies (e.g., Puteoli, Aquileia), and appears not to be paralleled in Rome (Maiuro forthcoming). 58. See, e.g., Tuck 2013: 328: emporium as “the place where goods bound for Rome were offloaded, warehoused and sold.” 59. Ostrow 1979: 77–​137; Cooley 2012: 108–​10, with further bibliography. 60. Merlin 1907: 18–​20; Cozza-​Tucci (Tucci) 2006: 195; Davies 2017: 177.

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the issues become especially apparent when we attempt to fill these spaces with specific functions. There is no doubt that the main activity in the extra portam Trigeminam area was the offloading of goods. The explicit mention by Plautus61 (Capt. 90) clinches the matter: uel ire extra Portam Trigeminam ad saccum licet. The expression ad saccum ire has been occasionally interpreted as “go to beg,” but apart from the reference to the saccarii, the dockworkers, the remarks made more than a century ago by Friedrich Leo are compelling. Plautus’ imagery and witticisms in dealing with a scrounger life draw heavily on the New Comedy, and Leo highlighted a perfect parallel for Capt. 90 in (the sources of ) Alciphron, 3.7.5: “I will go down to the Piraeus to move cargoes from the vessels to the warehouses.”62 The Piraeus and the extra Portam Trigeminam area were comparable locations. Plautus’ evidence locks together with Livy’s record of aedilician activity and illustrates the spaces and the functions in the first decades of the second century: the new modalities of supply and the increased traffic flow with grain coming in bulk from Sicily and Sardinia. If the naualia hypothesis is correct, then an important street leading to the via Ostiensis, numerous buildings, and other infrastructures such as the emporium and docks (including the porticus Aemilia) and all their accompanying functions, such as the unloading of goods, would have been confined in what is a very narrow space. Moreover, temporary storage and distribution would be out of the question. The old port area would have been only partly functioning in the first decades of the second century because of the ongoing works, and the development of the extra Portam Trigeminam area would entail a relocation rather than an expansion.63 Yet there are not many possibilities to fit the commercial area. Any gradual shift downriver would have been thwarted by the massive military facility, built presumably around 140 bce or, if one were to follow the later dating, around

61. Leo 1895: 157. See also Lindsay 1892: 9 (“then hey! For Three Arches and the porter’s bag”); Fraenkel 1922 (2007): 388. It must be noted also the mention of the emporium in Amphitruo, 1012: it may be due to the Greek setting of the play, but it has been noted that the word at least had to be familiar to the roman audience. Le Gall 1953: 100 n. 2. The dating of both these Plautine works (and many others) depends much from allusions to Roman monuments and Roman life, and the risk of circular reasoning is real: see in general Sedgwick 1930, 1949; on the Roman setting see Moore 1998: 50–​66. Dating of Amphitruo: Harvey 1981; Christenson 2000: 293–​94. 62. Leo 1895: 157. 63. Gros 1990: 389; Steinby 2012: 79–​82.

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100–​97.64 Moreover, it is highly unlikely that in the second century the opposite bank of the river consistently played a role in unloading or storing goods; unless it progressed further downstream, beyond the Testaccio building, we would have to conclude that the development of the port in the first half of the second century bce has been much overestimated (figure 5.7a–​b).

5.5. The Old Scenario As briefly mentioned earlier, Gatti’s identification was already challenged before Cozza and Tucci’s hypothesis. First, concisely but authoritatively, by Armin von Gerkan,65 then more fully by Lawrence Richardson, who argued that the porticus Aemilia identification fitted “neither topographically nor architecturally with what we know about early porticus in Rome.”66 The topographical question is based on the assumption that the expression extra Portam Trigeminam cannot indicate a location too far from the gate, but this point can easily be argued.67 Gauging the meaning of locative prepositions is reasonably easy for an expression such as ad portam that refers to a location outside the gate, but not far from it;68 extra portam is considered essentially a sort of extended synonym, but setting a maximum distance is clearly impossible. The case of the Tomb of the Scipiones is instructive: it is located by Livy extra portam Capenam (38.56.4),69 and it lies more than 1,000 m away from the Republican gate, that is, farther than the Testaccio building in relation to the porta Trigemina.70

64. The latter chronology for the building would raise, among other problems, a question of horizontal stratigraphy in relation with the horrea Galbana. The two buildings would be almost contemporary (the common date for the horrea is late second century: Coarelli 1996b: 40–​42; on the functional identification of the three large court halls: Virlouvet 2006, with bibliography). The dating of the horrea Galbana may be further discussed, but again it is a matter not of construction technique, but of logistics: due to the blocking of the military port whatever goods were stored in the horrea, they must have been unloaded further downstream, roughly in the area of Monte Testaccio. Evidence of Republican commercial structures south of the Aventine is scanty: Castagnoli 1980; Mocchegiani Carpano 1985: 58–​61. For a reassessment of the archaeological evidence see Moffa-​Marcelli 2014: 371. 65. Von Gerkan 1955 and 1958. 66. Richardson 1976: 57. 67. Richardson’s conclusions, which were at first critically challenged, are now fully accepted: see, e.g., Coarelli 2019. 68. Säflund 1932: 198; Coarelli 1988: 94–​95; Ziółkowski 1992: 58–​59. 69. If ad Portam Capenam in 38.55.2 refers to the Tomb and not to an event on the way of the funeral procession, the two expressions would actually have the same meaning in Livy. 70. See already Wiseman 1996: 61.

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The argument that, if the Testaccio building was the porticus Aemilia, it would have been defined by Livy as extra portam Lauernalem, that is, the nearest Republican gate, is equally debatable.71 The topographical reference is not so much to the gate, but to the street that departs from it and Porta Trigemina refers to the via Ostiensis and the Salinae. It was the main gate of the Aventine: an entry in the Regionary Catalogues—​the only Republican gate, along with Porta Capena, to feature in the list—​and still a landmark in the Late Antique period.72 If the topographical argument is untenable, since the expression extra portam Trigeminam can unquestionably apply to the Aventine plain and to the Testaccio building, the architectural and typological issue is more complex, but equally debatable. The building is undeniably an anomaly, both as a “commercial Greek stoà” and as a typical Ostian horreum with cellae and wide courtyard,73 but the trajectory of both these architectural types is not as straightforward as has been previously held. For the porticus in particular, the idea of a progression from the utilitarian building—​essentially a covered passage (in most cases considered as a provisional timber building)—​to the monumental porticus proposed by Richardson is now prevailing, but is one-​sided.74 It does not take into account the period of intense architectural experimentation in the late third or early second century, during which, as Pierre Gros argued, terminology is not aligned with reality:75 “Les mots, une fois de plus, ne paraissent pas en phase avec les choses.”76 It must also be noted that the distinction between utilitarian works by censors and aediles, and monumental ornamenta by victorious commanders, is rather incongruous, especially on the riverbanks facing the most significant ceremonial

71. This point was raised, among others, by Giovanna Forni (2012: 39). 72. It is worth to notice the use of words in Livy 41.27.7–​9 about the activity of the censors of 174; the passage is hopelessly corrupt, but the choice of words extra and intra portam (Trigeminam) may well explain the name of the gate and point to three possible directions: the city and the Circus Maximus; the via Ostiensis; the route roughly covered by the clivus Publicius—​vicus Armilustri. The latter crossed the Aventine rock and, as Giovanni Colonna (1994) pointed out, it represented the alternative to the bottleneck along the Tiber that led to the Salinae and pons Sublicius from coastal Latium. 73. Cozza-​Tucci 2006: 56 (Cozza). 74. Under this perspective, removing the vaulted concrete building from the evolution of the porticus has been perceived as the clarifying purging of a problematic link. See Richardson 1976; Senseney 2011: 438 n. 47; Davies 2017: 128–​30. 75. Issues with terminology are evident if we think about the origins of the Roman basilica, literally a sort of stoà. On this subject the important studies of Pierre Gros, Marcello Gaggiotti, and Fausto Zevi are summarized in Welch 2003; Gaggiotti 2004: 47–​54 must be added. 76. Gros 1996: 465.

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and commercial artery of the city.77 The temples in the Forum Boarium and the Circus Flaminius (probably lined with the works of Fulvius Nobilior) are effective examples of the coexistence of these two components. The term porticus could be used to define a building with storage functions, and the later association of the porticus Minucia frumentaria with the storage and distribution of cereals is well known. Its identification is unfortunately yet another topographical puzzle, but if the connection made by Fausto Zevi with the building in via dei Calderari (in the Circus Flaminius) is correct,78 the architectural range of the term would be even more varied and the analogies with granaries of later periods stronger.79 The actual anomaly of the identification of the Testaccio building with the porticus Aemilia is in its size. Livy (or his source) places emphasis on the reputation made by the aedileship (insignis aedilitas) that it is bound to refer to something more complex than a simple timber colonnade; even so the colossal dimensions of the building remain baffling. We have no certain terms of comparison:80 the Athenian stoai used for cereal storage81 are considerably smaller, and there is no certain identification of the Aiakaion where cereals from three islands were temporarily stored, as is mentioned in the Grain Tax Law of 374/​3 bce.82 It is possible, as Enrico Felici states, that the anomalies may be explained by the antiquity of the porticus Aemilia: an experimental response to new logistical issues.83 In a study that has so far found no room in the scholarly debate, Elio De

77. Purcell 1996: 268–​69. 78. Zevi 1993. Status quaestionis in Bernard 2018: 8–​10. 79. Gros 1996: 95, on the lack of “a univocal functional definition” of the porticus. See also Nunnerich-​Asmus 1994: 25–​46. 80. Analogue features are noticed in the enigmatic Building 5 of Portus (Keay et al. 2012: 503–​9). 81. The stoà alphitopolis of the Piraeus and the Agorà South Stoa I, recently recognized as the Athenian counterpart of the Piraeus building (Di Cesare 2012: 147–​53). They both belong to the elongated and narrow kind of building, but with a significant row of large rooms along the back wall. Sources and bibliography in Virlouvet 1995: 98, 113–​14; Fantasia 2010: 68 n. 3; Longo 2014; Chankowski 2018: 23–​24. 82. If the identification with the so-​called Heliaia is correct, the square monument in the southwest of the Agorà (Stroud 1998; Di Cesare 2012; contra Lippolis 2007: 189–​90, 569–​70; Moreno 2007: 113 n. 163), it was in these times a peribolos of around 26 × 31 m. The building had to be roofed and provided with a door (l. 15.; text:https://​www.attici​nscr​ipti​ons.com/​insc​ript​ ion/​RO/​26?text_​t​ype=​greek) [last accessed 19 December 2020]. It is not clear what is meant by “roofing,” but it may refer to the temenos and not to the whole area, which would make the space for heaping up the grain even smaller. 83. Felici in Arata-​Felici 2011: 142.

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Magistris proposes a different identification, one that is nevertheless consistent with the logic and functions of the identification of the porticus Aemilia.84 The huge building, together with the elusive constructions near the horrea Galbana depicted in the Marble Plan (figure 5.1), would make sense if explained in the light of the need for space, both for drying the grain coming in by water and for its initial storage. From this perspective, the anomalies in both dimensions and plan of the Testaccio building could be explained through the necessities imposed by new modalities of grain supply from the late third century onward, with the cargo being subject to the humidity of a long stowage: “il grano di barca” was in fact a real problem—​with its own scholarly and medical dimension—​up to the nineteenth century.85 The coincidence of the works in the dock area with the establishment of regular grain deliveries has long been remarked upon, but its practical aspects, above all unloading and storing, have been difficult to gauge, even before introducing the new naualia to the larger context.86 In this regard the evidence of the Grain Tax Law of 374/​3 bce on the practice of transport (SEG 47.96, ll. 10–​21) gives us a valuable insight into what was a long and complex process. The cargo was to be brought up from the Piraeus and heaped up in the Aiakaion, where it would be weighed and checked for dryness and darnel within thirty days. Likewise, the cargoes from Sicily and Sardinia under the responsibility of the aediles could not be sampled or brought directly to their sales or distribution place (the Circus Flaminius? the central Campus Martius?) but had first to be checked and dried: both operations required a great deal of space.

5.6. Conclusion The only safe conclusion is that topography is not of much use “without the history of practices and functions—​what the space was used for and how uses changed.”87 We have the traditional scenario: in the first half of the second

84. De Magistris 2012: the new reading of the marble plan fragmentary inscription is horrea fisca[lia: a supplement that sounds in many respects problematic and anachronistic. However, the global analysis of the architecture of the area that follows shows all the potential of a cohesive reading (that actually fits better with the porticus Aemilia supplement and the history of the site). 85. De Magistris 2012: 345–​47. 86. See De Ruggiero 1925: 58; Steinby 2012: 51; Davies 2017: 132. 87. Cf. Harris 1999: 10 about Late Antique Rome.

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century bce the Aventine plain—​the only vast area of the riverbank nearest to the old port—​was occupied principally by commercial installations: in terms of speed this would have been a dramatic change and would immediately reflect the needs of a rapidly growing capital on the urban fabric. With the development of the porticus Aemilia and the emporium in the Aventine plain, M. Aemilius Lepidus and L. Aemilius Paullus did indeed hold an insignis aedilitas: a brilliant and forward-​looking urban plan, and the provision of a suitable infrastructure for the safe supply of grain. The old scenario has undoubtedly the advantage of providing a consistent historical context, and frankly seems by far more realistic. Historical consistency is an advantage that the new scenario lacks; it is founded on evocative visual and planimetric analogies, but the actual evidence is less telling and far more uncertain. Moreover, the two scenarios are not compatible: one rules the other out.88 The historical consequences of this topographical debate can be summarized in ­figure 7a–​b. The first actually suitable spot downriver for the commercial expansion is the site of the presumed naualia. Choosing it in order to duplicate an already existing and functioning arsenal implies a specific choice of urban layout in which the military aspect is paramount: the choice of a city-​state at war, rather than that of a Mediterranean capital. B i b l i o gr a p h y Aberson, M. 2014. “Des lieux, des dieux, des marques de mémoire: Tite-​Live et les monuments de Rome.” In D. Nelis and M. Royo (eds.), Lire la Ville. Fragments d’une archéologie littéraire de Rome antique, 17–​40. Bordeaux. Aldrete, G. 2007. Floods of the Tiber in Ancient Rome. Baltimore. Arata, F. P., and E. Felici. 2011. “Porticus Aemilia, navalia o horrea? Ancora sui Frammenti 23 e 24 b-​d della Forma Urbis.” Archeologia classica 62: 127–​53. Beard, M. 2017. “Reading the Ruins of Ancient Rome.” New York Review of Books 64.12 ( July 13): 18–​20. Bernard, S. 2018. Building Mid-​Republican Rome. Labor, Architecture, and the Urban Economy. Oxford. Bianchi Bandinelli, R. 1965. “Roma. Premessa.” Enciclopedia dell’Arte Antica, Classica ed Orientale 6: 764–​68. Rome. Brunt, P. A. 1971. Italian Manpower 225 BC–​AD 14. Oxford.

88. See, e.g., the position of the emporium as shown in Mignone 2016: 86 and Claridge 2018: map 13.

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Carettoni G., L. Cozza, A. M. Colini, and G. Gatti. 1960. La pianta marmorea di Roma antica. Rome. Castagnoli, F. 1980. “Installazioni portuali a Roma.” In J. H. D’Arms and E. C. Kopff (eds.), The Seaborne Commerce of Ancient Rome. Studies in Archaeology and History, 35–​42. Rome (=​Castagnoli 1993: 593–​607). Castagnoli, F. 1993. Topografia antica. Un metodo di studio. I. Rome. Chankowski, V. 2018. “Stockage et distribution: un enjeu dans les circuits économiques du monde grec.” In V. Chankowski, X. Lafon, and C. Virlouvet (eds.), Entrepôts et circuits de distribution en Méditerranée antique, 15–​42. Athens. Chioffi, L. 2014. “Portus Tiberinus e altri scali fluviali a Roma.” In C. Zaccaria (ed.), L’epigrafia dei porti. Atti della XVIIe Rencontre sur l’épigraphie du monde romain, 41–​63. Trieste. Christenson, D. 2000. Plautus’ “Amphitruo”. Commentary. Cambridge. Claridge, A. 2010. Rome. An Oxford Archaeological Guide. Oxford. Claridge, A. 2018. “The Development of the City. An Archaeological Perspective.” In A. Claridge and C. Holleran (eds.), A Companion to the City of Rome, 95–​135. Oxford. Coarelli, F. 1968. “Navalia, Tarentum e la topografia del Campo Marzio meridionale.” Quaderni dell’Istituto di Topografia 5, 27–​37. Rome. Coarelli, F. 1977. “Public Building in Rome between the Second Punic War and Sulla.” Papers of the British School at Rome 45, 1–​23. Coarelli, F. 1988. Il Foro Boario. Dalle origini alla fine della Repubblica. Rome. Coarelli, F. 1996a. “Navalia.” In Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae, III: 339–​40. Rome. Coarelli, F. 1996b. “Porta Trigemina.” In Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae, 332–​33. Rome 1996. Coarelli, F. 1997. Il Campo Marzio. Dalle origini alla fine della repubblica. Rome. Coarelli, F. 2005. “Pits and Fora. A Reply to Henrik Mouritsen.” Papers of the British School at Rome 73: 23–​30. Coarelli, F. 2019. “Hermodoros di Salamina.” In S. Rogge, Ch. Ioannou, and Th. Mavrojannis (eds.), Salamis of Cyprus. History and Archaeology from the Earliest Times to Late Antiquity, 545–​69. Münster and New York. Colonna, G. 1994. “Winckelmann, i vasi ‘etruschi’ dall’Aventino e il tempio di Diana.” Parola del Passato 49: 286–​304. Cooley, A. I. 2012. The Cambridge Manual of Latin Epigraphy. Cambridge. Cornell, T. J. 2000. “The City of Rome in the Middle Republic (400–​100 BC).” In J. Coulston and H. Dodge (eds.), Ancient Rome. The Archaeology of the Eternal City, 42–​60. Oxford. Cozza, L., and P. L. Tucci. 2006. “Navalia.” Archeologia Classica 57: 175–​201. Cressedi, G. 1984. “Il Foro Boario e il Velabro.” Bullettino della Commissione Archeologica Comunale 89: 249–​96. D’Alessio, A. 2014. “L’edificio in opus incertum del Testaccio a Roma. Status quaestionis e prospettive di ricerca.” Atlante Tematico di Topografia Antica 24: 7–​23.

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Goodbye to All That The Roman Citizen Militia after the Great Wars Michael J. Taylor

This chapter examines the Roman militia system from the end of the Third Macedonian War to the outbreak of the Social War (167–​91 bce). This period saw dramatically lower military deployments and significantly less intensive fighting than had characterized the years from 218 to 167 bce, defined by persistent and intensive hegemonic warfare. The reduction in both deployment tempo and combat intensity had important implications for Rome’s citizen militia, namely: (1) diminution in the collective military experience within the citizen body; (2) increased military failures by less-​experienced soldiers, officers, and commanders; and (3) increased reluctance of citizens to serve in campaigns, especially in Spain from 153 to 133 bce, in Numidia against Jugurtha, and against the Cimbri and Teutoni from 112 to 101 bce, operations characterized by repeated debacles and significant casualties. The later second century bce was therefore not a period defined by professionalization and transformation (the so-​ called Marian reforms), but rather by amateurism and stagnation. If there was a moment of institutional discontinuity and rapid transition for the Roman army, it likely came with the Social War.

6.1. At the End of an Era According to Livy, in 171 bce, during a dispute over the levy at the start of the Third Macedonian War, the former centurion Spurius Ligustinus addressed the Roman people and recounted his splendid career. He listed twelve campaigns

Michael J. Taylor, Goodbye to All That In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0006

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over the course of twenty-​two years of militia service. He had fought in the wars against Philip V and Antiochus the Great, and served in Spain during years of bloody fighting, moving up the various grades of centurion, including four times as primus pilus, the senior centurion of the legion, a position to which he was reassigned again following his speech.1 Spurius Ligustinus is often taken as a forward-​looking figure, perhaps ominously so.2 A man who supposedly farmed only a single iugerum of land and had clearly found a vocation in military service, it is easy to imagine him as the proto-​professional forerunner of the hard-​bitten soldiers who swelled the armies of military dynasts and provided the manpower that muscled the Late Republic into the abyss of civil war and autocracy. Ligustinus was indeed a proto-​professional soldier. But to draw a straight line between him and the loyal centurions of Caesar, not to mention the professionals of the Principate, is patently incorrect. In 171 bce, Ligustinus and his storied career was in fact on the cusp of becoming a relic of a passing era. He was the product of the breakneck deployments of the period from 200 to 167 bce, which had called him (quite willingly it seems) to serve again and again, even as he married, fathered a brood of children, and, occasionally, demobilized back to his small Sabine farm. The pace of military deployments had given Spurius intensive combat experience in Greece, Spain, and Northern Italy, and the skills and experience to rise into a series of leadership roles. The operational tempo of the early second century had required almost every able-​bodied adsiduus to serve repeatedly as a soldier, with many reaching or exceeding the theoretical sixteen-​year requirement reported by Polybius (6.19.2). We must remember that Rome’s army was a citizen militia, manned by amateur peasants recruited for specific campaigns, and commanded by elected officers and generals. The ancient world in general lacked even rudimentary institutions to educate officers or train recruits, such as West Point or Sandhurst. Education for officers was informal: young aristocrats learned about war through military service, as cavalrymen, as junior members of the general’s staff (contubernium), and as elected military tribunes. Likewise, there was no ancient equivalent to modern basic training regimes to drill raw recruits into soldiers. Young Roman men learned to be soldiers by first serving as light infantry (uelites), where they

1. Livy 42.34.2–​15, with Cadiou 2002 for discussion, including the exact nature of Ligustinus’ campaign history. Taylor 2020 argues for the basic authenticity of the information, suggesting the biographical details may come from Ligustinus’ census return. 2. E.g., de Blois 2008: 166–​67.

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did not fight in formations and enjoyed the ability to fall back in battle, before graduating to the heavy infantry line.3 Furthermore, the Roman army did not have standing units (e.g., the US 82nd Airborne) that might serve as institutional repositories for military knowledge even as individual recruits transitioned in and out. Fresh legions were formed to meet new threats, and often made contact with the enemy within months of mustering into service. Battle-​hardened legions were generally discharged when a campaign was over, although some legions did indeed serve for long stints during periods of prolonged warfare: for example, the continuous service of the legiones Cannenses from 216 to 201 bce. Still, legions routinely demobilized throughout the Middle Republic, often after triumphs, dissipating whatever institutional knowledge accrued during the past campaign. The maintenance of standing units with corporate identities and institutional continuities was a key aspect of the true professionalization of the army under Augustus and his successors.4 This fundamentally amateur system worked quite well when prolonged periods of intensive warfare essentially provided every able-​bodied Roman citizen with substantial levels of combat experience. Young nobiles saw hard fighting as cavalrymen; served on staff conducting complex and intensive field operations, which prepared them to serve as military tribunes; and sought higher office as quaestors (who served when attached to armies as quartermasters overseeing pay and logistics), praetors, and consuls.5 Similarly, Roman legionaries by and large needed little training, because each freshly legion already contained a critical mass of combat veterans and enough experienced centurions (or proven soldiers ready to promote to the rank of centurion) to provide small unit leadership. The entire citizen body in Rome and Italy during the great wars period served as an institutional repository for military knowledge. Between the years of 200 and 167, Rome never had fewer than six legions, and on average fielded 8.9, requiring nearly 50,000 citizens a year to staff them (see Table 6.1 for Roman deployments and census returns).6 These brisk deployments represented a modest reduction from the brutal pace of mobilizations during the Second Punic War, which saw at its peak deployment twenty-​five legions, likely understrength, but on Brunt’s estimation at least 80,000 citizen troops.7 Yet with 3. Anders 2015. 4. Gilliver 2007: 188–​90. 5. Taylor 2022 argues that experience gained through frequent warfare largely offset the structural amateurism inherent in elected generals commanding in brisk rotation. 6. Brunt 1971: 424. 7. Brunt 1971: 418.

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the end of the Third Macedonian War, the mobilizations were sharply reduced. While our detailed information of Roman legionary deployments abruptly ends with the loss of Livy, Brunt reconstructed only four to six legions deployed annually between 167 and 150 bce, requiring at most 33,000 citizen troops.8 Furthermore, the intensive mobilizations of 200–​167 had been drawn from a significantly smaller total population than those of the 160s and 150s. The census of 189 bce, the first census to re-​register the Campanians disenfranchised during the Second Punic War, returned 258,000 adult male citizens. In 190, during the war with Antiochus III, Rome mobilized 13 legions, which required some 71,500 citizens to achieve a paper strength of 5,200 infantry and 300 cavalry. Assuming that the census returns reflected adult males, and that men aged seventeen to forty-​five (iuniores) accounted for roughly 70 percent of the total, then the mobilization of 190 would have required 40 percent of registered iuniores to serve in the legions that year—​not counting another 10,000 or so serving in the fleets. The year 190 bce saw the largest mobilization of the period between 200 and 167. The census of 159 bce, which reflected the brisk demographic recovery in the generations after the Hannibalic War, returned 328,000 men. Manning six legions from this population would only require roughly 15 percent of the population of registered iuniores, while four legions would require less than 10 percent of the registered iuniores. For most historical societies, this would still be an extraordinarily intensive military mobilization. But for the Romans, this was a substantial relative demobilization. The census records for the second century bce indicate population growth, with returns increasing from 258,000 to 394,000 between 189 and 115 bce. One question was how many men were adsidui, men who owned sufficient property to qualify for legionary service. Past models of adsidui were extremely pessimistic: Brunt believed that there were only 110,000 adsidui during the time of the Second Punic War, and speculated this number may have fallen to as low as 75,000 by the Gracchan period.9 If this were the case, it would place an extraordinary burden on the minority of the population who qualified for military service. Nathan Rosenstein has argued that adsidui were far more numerous in the Middle Republic—​perhaps as many as 90 percent of the registered citizen population, a figure that corresponds far better to the size and scope of Roman mobilizations, the considerable evidence for the overall economic prosperity of Italy in the Middle Republic, and the brisk pace of land distribution and colonization.10 8. Brunt 1971: 432. 9. Brunt 1971: 77, 419–​20. 10. Rosenstein 2002: 189; see Rosenstein 2004 for extended discussion.

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Still, Luuk de Ligt has argued that the population growth over the second century bce may have had the insidious effect of squeezing adsidui onto smaller and smaller plots through partitive inheritance, until many were reduced to the level of proletarii, especially with the end of major colonization programs in the 170s bce, and has posited increased recruitment from rural tenants.11 Gabba had seen the seen proletarianization of the Roman army as a phenomenon that stretched back to the desolation of the Second Punic War, which Marius merely completed; for Gabba, proletarization and professionalization were the same thing, believing that landless men had no other option but to become professional soldiers.12 But some caution is necessary. We have no evidence that the total number of adsidui decreased over the course of the second century bce. De Ligt is quite likely correct that population growth without agrarian distribution squeezed some adsidui to the status of proletarii. But to make a purely hypothetical model: if the total number of registered adsidui stood at 90 percent in 169 bce (or 280,800 out of 312,000), then the percentage of registered adsidui could have fallen to 75 percent in 124 bce, yet the gross number of adsidui would have still increased to 296,250. Furthermore, a decrease in the property requirement in the later second century bce would have administratively increased the proportion of adsidui, or at the very least prevented many marginal adsidui from falling below the threshold. When Polybius wrote in the 150s bce, the minimum requirement for the Fifth Class was 400 denarii.13 In or around the 140s bce, the requirement was lowered to 1,500 asses, or 375 HS, worth 93.75 denarii under the reformed currency system with 16 uncial asses to the denarius.14 Rathbone has argued that the downward adjustment may have simply been an administrative reform linked to the re-​tariffing of the bronze as around 140 bce, while Lo Cascio has doubted that any drop took place at all in the second century bce.15 I suspect that the decrease in minimum census requirement did indeed take place in the second century bce, but that it should not prima facie provide evidence of a dire manpower shortage. One additional factor that should be considered in the reduction of the minimum census rating was the end of major

11. De Ligt 2007a; 2012: 167–​69. 12. Gabba 1973: 1–​45 (Engl. transl. 1976: 1–​19). 13. Polyb. 6.19.2. 14. See Rathbone 1993 for discussion. Gabba 1973: 24 (=​1976: 10) placed the reassessment after 131 bce, believing it explained the spike in census registrations in 125 bce. 15. Rathbone 1993: 140. Lo Cascio 1988 argues that the dramatic date of Cicero’s De Republica in 129 bce cannot be used as a chronological hanger for the reform, as the manuscript may in fact read 1,100 asses, the anachronistic heavy as valuation from prior to the Second Punic War.

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naval deployments. Since the First Punic War, the Romans had relied on a large pool of proletarii to serve as rowers, and indeed one reason to maintain the property requirement was to relegate poorer men to naval service.16 The Third Macedonian War saw the last major fleet deployments, and with the annihilation of Macedonia and the burning of the Seleucid fleet in 163 bce, there were simply no opposition navies left in the Mediterranean to cause the senate to think that large fleets would be needed in the future, allowing for the requirement to be lowered (perhaps concurrently with currency reforms) to make former rowers eligible for legionary service. Regardless, there is no demographic reason to think the Romans during the Republican period lacked the raw manpower to fill the legions. Rather than a citizen body exhausted by warfare, we see a previously hypermilitarized peasantry enjoying an extended relative lull. The demobilization had in many ways started before the Third Macedonian War, with a notable drop in deployments starting in 178 bce, when conditions in the Spains markedly improved following the settlement of Tiberius Gracchus (cos. 177 bce). Brunt suggested that this allowed the Romans to remove a legion from each of the Spanish provinces, dropping legionary deployments for most years between 178 and 173 bce down to seven, with the exception of 176 bce, when ten legions were mobilized.17 Indeed, 178 bce marks Spurius Ligustinus’ last listed campaign, and he may have retired back to his farm as the overseas wars waned. In 172 bce, a mere six legions were under arms. While the causes of the Third Macedonian War are complex, the Senate’s new willingness to confront Perseus, after largely taking a hands-​off approach to Macedonia in the 180s and 170s bce, may stem in part from the fact that the reduced deployments made the prospect of raising four new legions (some 25,200 citizens, given that by 170 bce these has been supersized to 6,000 infantry and 300 cavalry) demographically and politically feasible.18 And yet some of the problems caused by the modest demobilization from 178 to 171 bce were already apparent. Facing a new enemy, concerns emerged that new recruits, centurions, and officers would prove insufficient against Perseus’ well-​organized army; even those who had seen fighting in the 170s had mostly done so in brushfire wars in Liguria, Spain, Sardinia, and Corsica. Thus, we see the desire to recall experienced centurions including men who, like Spurius

16. Polyb. 6.19.2. 17. Brunt 1971: 662–​63. 18. For the debate on the causes of the Third Macedonian War see Harris 1979; Gruen 1984; Eckstein 2008; and Burton 2017.

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Ligustinus, had experience of fighting against Macedonian-​style armies during the Second Macedonian and Syrian wars. With the end of the war, however, Roman mobilization rates plummeted. This relative demobilization explains the curious decision to launch a war in Illyria in 157 bce, according to Polybius (32.13.8) “to regenerate, so to speak, the aggression and ardor of their citizen body” (ὡσανεὶ καινοποιῆσαι τὰς ὁρμὰς καὶ προθυμίας τῶν ἰδίων ὄχλων). This passage has been often taken as proof of the fundamental bellicosity of the Roman people.19 The Senate seems to have taken the decision in moral terms (Polybius is probably translating uis and uirtus20), but the relative demobilization did pose a significant institutional problem for Rome’s militia system. Quite simply, the Romans had limited capacity to train green troops, and the system relied heavily on the fact that recently levied legions were basically ready to fight within a few months of mustering in. The key to Roman military readiness from the Second Punic War onward had been the transformation of the entire male citizen body into a pool of combat veterans, so that any freshly levied legion, while inevitably containing some first-​time troops, were also chock-​full of experienced men. Take, for example, Lucius Scipio’s soldiers at Magnesia in 190 bce, who supposedly were able to deal with the Seleucid elephants precisely because they had previously fought Hannibal’s elephants at Zama.21 This was easy enough with the breakneck deployments of 218–​167 bce, which saw intensive military participation of virtually every able-​bodied male of military age. But as the deployment rate waned, the overall military experience within the citizen body waned as well. Furthermore, most of the deployments from 167 to 150 bce were much less combat-​intensive than those of the violent years of 218–​167 bce. One way to judge the intensity of warfare, given that we have lost Livy’s narrative, is the frequency of the triumph, given that commanders seeking a triumph had to attest substantial victorious operations, usually inflicting heavy casualties upon the enemy. In the frequency of triumphs compiled by John Rich, there were 41 triumphs between 200 and 166 bce, or 1.17 triumphs a year on average. But from 165 to 130 bce, there are only 11 attested triumphs, and perhaps as many as 8 unattested triumphs; even assuming 19 triumphs, this still only results in 0.53 triumph a year, suggesting a significant diminution in the intensity of military

19. Harris 1979: 233–​34. 20. See Lendon 1999 for these concepts in Roman moral thinking on warfare, as reflected in Caesar. 21. Livy 37.42.5–​6.

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Table 6.1  Roman Military Deployments and Census Demographics, 190–​91 bce Year

190 189 188 187 186 185 184 183 182 181 180 179 178 177 176 175 174 173 172 171 170 169 168 167 166 165 164 163 162 161 160 159

Legions

Citizens mobilized

13 12 10 8 10 8 8 8 10 8 8 8 7 7 10 7 7 7 6 10 10 8 10 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 6

71,500 66,000 55,000 44,000 55,000 44,000 44,000 44,000 55,000 44,000 44,000 44,000 38,500 38,500 55,000 38,500 38,500 38,500 33,000 55,000 55,000 44,000 55,000 33,000 33,000 33,000 33,000 33,000 33,000 33,000 33,000 22,000

Citizens registered*

258,318

[258,000?]

258,294

269, 015

312,805

337,000

328,000

Mobilization as % of registered citizens 27 24 21 17 21 17 17 17 21 17 17 17 15 15 21 15 14 14 12 20 20 14 18 11 11 11 10 10 10 10 10 7 (continued)

154

Table 6.1  Continued Year

158 157 156 155 154 153 152 151 150 149 148 147 146 145 144 143 142 141 140 139 138 137 136 135 134 133 132 131 130 129 128 127 126 125 124

Legions

Citizens mobilized

6 6 6 6 6 6 5 5 5 9 10 10 12 8 6 6 7 7 7 7 8 8 8 10 6 6 5 5 5 7 5 3 5 7 9

22,000 22,000 22,000 33,000 33,000 33,000 27,500 27,500 27,500 49,500 55,000 55,000 66,000 44,000 33,000 33,000 38,500 38,500 38,500 38,500 44,000 44,000 44,000 44,000 33,000 33,000 27,500 27,500 27,500 38,500 27,500 16,500 27,500 38,500 49,500

Citizens registered*

324,000

[324,000?]

328,442

[328,000]

317,933

[317,000]

394,736

Mobilization as % of registered citizens 7 7 7 10 10 10 9 9 9 15 17 17 20 14 10 10 12 12 12 12 13 13 14 14 10 10 9 9 9 12 9 5 9 12 13

15

Table 6.1  Continued Year

Legions

Citizens mobilized

123 122 121 120 119 118 117 116 115 114 113 112 111 110 109 108 107 106 105 104 103 102 101 100 99 98 97 96 95 94 93 92

8 6 7 3 5 7 3 5 7 6 8 6 6 8 8 8 7 7 11 9 10 10 11 5 3 4 5 5 7 5 6 6

44,000 33,000 38,500 16,500 27,500 38,500 16,500 27,500 38,500 33,000 44,000 33,000 33,000 44,000 44,000 44,000 38,500 38,500 60,500 49,500 55,000 55,000 60,500 27,500 16,500 22,000 27,500 27,500 38,500 27,500 33,000 33,000

91

6

33,000

Citizens registered*

[395,000?]

394,336

[395,000?]

[400,000?]

[400,000?]

[400,000?]

Mobilization as % of registered citizens 11 8 10 4 7 10 5 7 10 8 11 8 8 11 11 11 10 10 15 12 14 14 15 7 4 6 7 7 9 7 8 8 8

* After Brunt 1971: 13. Where census figures are absent, I have filled the gap by replicating a rounded version of the previous census.

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operations. The numbers tick up a bit from 129 to 91 bce, when there were 26 triumphs, or 0.67 a year.22 This does not mean that non-​triumphal deployments were free from combat, but overall, the Roman soldiers had fewer opportunities to practice warfighting skills, ranging from set piece battles, skirmishing, and siege-​warfare. The Illyrian War of 157 bce was essentially seen as a sort of training operation, designed to provide military tribunes, centurions, and common soldiers (Polybius’ idioi ochloi) with expeditionary experience. Yet even with the Dalmatian operation (which produced a triumph in 155 bce), it is certain that by the late 150s bce, most Roman citizen soldiers had served less and seen less combat than their fathers and grandfathers. In 153 bce, the War in Hispania Citerior erupted, prompting the dispatch of a consular army to the province (although this only increased the total deployed legions, on Brunt’s tabulation, from four to five). Still, the fighting was intensive and bloody, and 151 bce saw several manifestations of renewed reluctance to serve. The levy of that year proved so contentious that the tribunes of the plebs threw the consuls into jail.23 Furthermore, not enough candidates for the office of military tribune presented themselves during the election, until Scipio Aemilianus announced his candidacy.24 Even aristocratic young men did not want to be ground up by a bloody and mismanaged war.25 This sudden reluctance has been taken as evidence for Roman manpower shortage, a proposition soundly refuted by John Rich.26 Such reluctance was common throughout history in the face of a particularly dangerous and difficult wars; we hear of such recruitment issues in 279 bce against Pyrrhus, in 214 bce against Hannibal, and in 169 bce as the campaign in Macedonian stagnated.27 The Iberian War was a modest conflict compared to these, but may have seemed relatively dangerous to prospective soldiers attuned to the post-​168 bce operational environment.

22. Rich 2014: 231–​35. 23. Livy Per. 48. See Taylor 1962: 21–​22 for discussion. 24. Polyb. 35.4. 25. De Ligt 2007b: 123–​24. 26. Rich 1983. 27. Pyrrhus: Val. Max. 4.3.4; Non. 28 L; Livy Per. 14. Hannibal: Livy 24.18.1; Macedonia: Livy 43.14.

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6.2. Remobilizations In 149 bce, Roman mobilization numbers suddenly spiked to levels not seen since the Third Macedonian War, with two consular armies (four legions) dispatched to Carthage, while still maintaining deployments in Spain (two legions) and Cisalpine Gaul (two legions). The decision to initiate the Third Punic War must be tied into both the possibilities and anxieties created by the relative demobilization of the past seventeen years. The possibility, as with Macedon in 171 bce, was manifested in the fact that low mobilizations (five legions in 150 bce) allowed four legions to be assigned to the new project without straining male military demographics. But the cultural anxieties of a long period of relatively low conflict likely weighed heavily upon the decision. An entire generation of Roman politicians had experienced careers marked by light fighting, unlike the epic military feats that their recent ancestors had undertaken. As Jessica Clark has noted, the elite may have even been conscious of the relative dearth of triumphs, compared to the period that had come before.28 It is likely not a coincidence that the most fervent advocate of war, Cato the Elder, was a living fossil from an earlier time. Four legions were deployed to Carthage, and remained there until the destruction of the city in 146 bce. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the dearth of intensive combat since 168 bce, the army that landed in Africa was poorly prepared for war, and its leader, the consul M’. Manilius, was soon handily defeated. Ironically, the Carthaginians, who had spent the previous two years desperately fighting a losing war against Massinissa, were on more of a war-​footing than their Roman counterparts. The surprise election of Scipio Aemilianus to the consulship for 147 bce can be seen as simply a manifestation of a deferential impulse among Roman voters: a war with Carthage required a commander from the line of Scipio Africanus. But it was not necessarily an insane choice, even in the hindsight of Aemilianus’ subsequent military accomplishments. Scipio Aemilianus was an experiential link to the previous phase of hegemonic warfare, having served as a youthful cavalryman at the Battle of Pydna, under the command of his biological father, L. Aemilius Paullus.29 His service in Spain as a military tribune, including a bout of monomachy, also marked him as one of the few Roman aristocrats of his generation to have intensive combat experience. The war against Carthage was a war of choice, which took advantage of Rome’s limited military commitments and cultural anxieties about military decline. But

28. Clark 2014: 94–​171. 29. Plut. Aem. 22.3–​7.

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as the Third Punic War quickly developed into a quagmire, the Roman distraction emboldened Andriscus to pursue his claim on the throne of Macedonia. After the destruction of a praetorian legion in 148 (another disaster that reflected the low state of preparedness of Roman troops), two legions were dispatched to Macedonia, and two more to Greece for the outbreak of the Achaean War. Thus in 146, Rome had a total of twelve legions under arms, roughly 66,000 citizen troops, a deployment that rivaled the mobilization for the Romano-​Seleucid War (thirteen legions, 71,500 soldiers, in 190 bce). There were three further mobilization spikes in which more than eight legions were deployed: between 138 and 135 bce due to the war in Spain, in 125 and 124 bce as a result of the Sicilian slave revolt, and from 110 to 101 bce as a result of the Jugurthine war and Cimbric invasions. On the other end of a mobilization spike was the sudden discharge of citizen soldiers, and notably such demobilizations corresponded to agitation for land distribution, although against a background of a broader if still much-​debated agrarian crisis. The 140s bce saw a transition from twelve down to six legions after the end of the Third Punic and Fourth Macedonian wars, demobilizing roughly 33,000 citizens. In 140 bce, the consul Gaius Laelius proposed an agrarian bill, although he withdrew it under senatorial opposition.30 The end of the Sicilian Slave Wars saw a drop from nine legions in 124 bce down to six in 121 bce, a demobilization of 15,000 that corresponded to the colonization schemes of Gaius Gracchus and the subsequent colonization of Narbo Martius in 118 bce. The Jugurthine and Cimbric wars, when mobilizations again spiked to eleven legions in 107 bce and then were drawn down to five 101 bce (a demobilization of roughly 33,000), resulted in the land laws of L. Appuleius Saturninus, working in close alliance with Gaius Marius. Agrarian unrest and the toxic politics it engendered were a complex phenomenon, dealt with by several other contributions in this volume. Still, political demand for redistribution peaked with the rapid demobilization of several tens of thousands of soldiers, which triggered traditional expectations of land grants for veterans.

6.3. Amateurism and Failure Rather than an increase in “professionalization” during the second century bce, we see after the Third Macedonian War a renewed cascade of amateurism, revealed in a long series of humiliating defeats. These were obviously not the first instances of Roman military defeat, as the Romans had lost battles before, often in spectacular fashion. But Rome’s famous defeats during the Hannibalic war, while at

30. Plut. TG 8.5.

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times involving freshly formed armies (particularly Cannae), also were inflicted by one of the greatest captains in antiquity in command of a battle-​hardened army. But by the 140s bce, the Romans routinely suffered embarrassing defeats to subpar enemies who quite simply should not have been a threat.31 A short list of debacles will suffice. In 149 bce the Carthaginians stalemated the Roman army that sought an easy victory, and even embarrassed the Romans in several sharp engagements.32 In 148 bce, the praetor P. Iuventus Thalna was killed by the Macedonian pretender Andriscus and his force, probably a legion, was routed.33 Viriathus inflicted a series of defeats on Romans armies in Spain, including the successive destructions of two praetorian armies in 147 and 146 bce.34 In 138 bce, a Celtiberian army surrounded the consul C. Hostilius Mancinus and compelled his surrender, a humiliating event that tainted the promising career of his quaestor, Tiberius Gracchus.35 A similar string of failures defined the opening years of the First Servile War, with Livy reporting the defeat of citizen troops backed by a Sicilian militia.36 In 130 bce, the consul Marcus Crassus was defeated and killed in Asia Minor by Pergamene rebels led by the pretender Aristonicus.37 While the Romans still doggedly pursued these wars to successful conclusions (and fought other campaigns unmarred by gross incompetence and defeat), such defeats were warning lights of an underperforming system. The problem of low mobilizations and poor military performance persisted beyond the Gracchan period, with the dismal performance against Jugurtha from 112 to 107 bce, and a series of devastating losses inflicted by the Cimbri and Teutoni between 112 and 105 bce, culminating in the brutal defeat at Arausio, the worst Roman military disaster since Cannae.38 In addition to defeats, we also see commanders compelled to undertake regimes of training and discipline. Admittedly, the first example of a commander training his troops comes from the Second Punic War, when Scipio Africanus imposed a regime that included physical toughening and weapons handling for

31. See Clark 2014: 134–​72 for the cultural and political implications of this string of defeats. 32. App. Lib. 97–​99, 102. 33. Livy Per. 50.14; Per. Oxy. 50; Zonar. 9.28. 34. App. Ib. 63–​64. 35. Plut. TG 5–​7. 36. Livy Per. 56.11. 37. Livy Per. 59.4. 38. Livy Per. 67. 2; Diod. 36.1; Gran. Lic. 33.1–​11 (Criniti).

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his army in Spain.39 Yet Scipio was not training raw recruits, but rather veterans who had recently won a smashing victory at New Carthage. Scipio may have wanted to improve his troops’ stamina and skill, but he did not seem to lack basic faith in their discipline and efficacy. And he had little reason to: while his army contained some recent reinforcements levied in 210 bce, a cadre of veterans had served in Spain since 218 bce. The training was merely a prudent measure to maintain his already experienced and victorious army in fighting trim, and is presented by Polybius as a practice unique to the genius of Scipio. The need to train is presented with a quite different urgency when in 145 bce, Fabius Maximus did not dare confront Viriathus before taking over a year to train and toughen the freshly raised legions dispatched with him to Spain.40 Fabius’ biological brother Scipio Aemilianus likewise was compelled to take action to restore discipline to the army he found at Numantia in 133 bce, including kicking whores and merchants out of the camp.41 Caecilius Metellus in 109 bce put the legions in Numidia through a series of toughening exercises, by forcing them to shift camps and construct earthworks on a daily basis.42 Gaius Marius forced his troops in Gaul to carry their own equipment on long marches as muli Mariani.43 Marius’ action is often, curiously, taken as part of the reform to create a new professional army. On the contrary, the need for commanders to constantly reassert rigorous discipline upon raw troops was in fact a marker of chronic amateurism. Indeed, Marius’ actions were little different from those of his rival P. Rutilius Rufus, who also set up a training regime for his troops using gladiatorial instructors.44 Commanders facing an actual war confronted soldiers, centurions, and military tribunes with less overall service experience and very little combat experience, and therefore felt the need to whip them into shape before even attempting to engage the enemy. Of course, a similar problem applied to the commanders themselves. As fewer elite men were exposed to combat situations as military tribunes, quaestors, and legates, the pool of effective commanders shrank markedly, and the temptation increased to make extensive use of the few men who proved 39. Polyb. 10.20.2–​7. 40. App. Ib. 65. 41. Front. Strat. 4.1.1. Aemilianus undertook similar measures after taking command at Carthage; App. Lib. 114. 42. Val. Max. 2.7.2. Front. Strat. 4.1.2 also credits him with odd regulations on the preparation of meat. 43. Front. Strat. 4.1.7; Plut. Mar. 13.1. 44. Val. Max. 2.3.2.

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themselves as combat commanders, starting with Scipio Aemilianus himself, who having sacked Carthage was recalled the consulship in 134 bce to deal with the humiliation at Numantia. The iterative consulships of Gaius Marius were perhaps the culmination of this dynamic; Marius supposedly excoriated his peers in a speech for knowing nothing of warfare, beyond what they learned in Greek tactical treatises.45 Even if this rhetoric was merely the invention of Sallust, it is quite true that the upper crust of the Roman elite had less experience in combat operations in the late second century bce than it did between 218 and 167 bce.

6.4. Marius and After A standard trope in modern historiography has been that Gaius Marius swept away the old citizen militia and created a professional army manned by proletarii. This view, always feebly rooted in the ancient sources, has been increasingly discredited, especially by François Cadiou.46 Most of Marius’ supposed reforms were simply the result of the fact that the sudden requirements of both the Jugurthine War and the Cimbric invasions overtaxed the militia system: only four legions were mobilized annually from 115 to 112 bce, but the new threats required a spike to eleven legions, with the expectation to engage in intensive combat. Green soldiers, green officers, and green commanders performed poorly in both Numidia and against the Cimbri, culminating in the annihilation of four legions and allied wings at Arausio. Marius’ controversial decision to recruit some proletarii as reinforcement for his African legions was almost certainly a response to recent heavy casualties and corresponding reluctance among citizens to be conscripted. He certainly had no intention to use the proletarii as a cadre for a professional army: they were discharged with Marius’ African legions in 105 bce, and he used the troops levied and trained by the consul P. Rutilius Rufus when he headed north to fight the Germans.47 When the threat was finally over, these troops too were discharged upon the conclusion of the campaign, as citizen legions always had been, and Marius focused his waning political capital on securing land for his veterans. Appian reports that these veterans were “from the countryside” (ἀνὰ τοὺς ἀγρούς).48 Rather than being proletarii, these men likely represented the

45. Sall. Iug. 85.12. 46. Cadiou 2018. 47. Front. Strat. 4.2.2. Taylor 2019: 78–​79 suggests that this swap of legions may also explain Pliny’s curious report that Marius did away with certain totems, which may have been legion-​specific. 48. App. BC 1.29.132.

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standard audience for land distribution efforts: the sons of adsidui seeking new plots of land rather than suffering their father’s farm to be broken up by partitive inheritance. There is no reason to believe that Marius represented a particularly significant break with the past. The moment of sea change comes with the Social War. After deploying 3–​6 legions between 100 and 91 bce, the Romans raised roughly 15 citizen legions to deal with the Italian rebellion, a mobilization that rivaled the levels of the Second Punic War. Subsequent mobilizations from 88 to 49 bce, owing to a combination of civil war and renewed conquests, roughly matched the levels of 218–​167 bce: between 15 and 41 legions.49 We must here adjust the numbers somewhat, given that prior to the Social War every legion was matched by an Italian wing (ala), but with the enfranchisement of the Italians those wings converted to legions, so this was the equivalent of 7–​20 pre–​Social War legions, and therefore quite similar to the 7–​25 legions manned from 218 to 167 bce. If we are looking for a moment when the Roman army dramatically shifted from one organized along the lines described by Polybius to the one that appears in Caesar, it most likely took place post–​Social War.50 The enduring spike in deployments, coupled with the incorporation of Italians into legionary structures, likely accelerated such changes such as cohort tactics, increased use of earthworks and entrenchment, the extinction of citizen cavalry and light infantry, and the rise of a professional cadre of centurions.51 More ominously, a key manpower strategy for maintaining 15–​41 legions in the field was to keep soldiers under arms for extended periods, often serving under the same commander thanks to the simultaneous innovation of extended commands of the sort given to Pompey and Caesar. Back in 171 bce, Spurius Ligustinus listed five different imperatores by name under which he had personally served; in 48 bce the centurion Gaius Crastinus had been serving continuously under Julius Caesar alone for a decade in Gaul and was willing to die on his commander’s behalf.52 It was the three decades prior to Caesar’s crossing the Rubicon, and not during Marius’ consulships (or earlier), that saw the emergence of the dangerous model of the long-​tenured soldier more loyal to his commander than the abstraction of the Republic.

49. Brunt 1971: 434–​37. 50. Taylor 2019; Gauthier 2020. 51. On the changes in the Roman army between Polybius and Caesar, see Potter 2010, with Taylor 2019 for cohort tactics in particular. 52. Caes. BC 3.91.

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B i b l i o gr a p h y Anders, A. 2015. “The ‘Face of Roman Skirmishing.’ ” Historia 64: 263–​300. Baronowski, D. 1995. “Polybius on the Causes of the Third Punic War.” Classical Philology 90: 16–​31. Blois, L. de. 2007. “Army and General in the Late Roman Republic.” In P. Erdkamp (ed.), A Companion to the Roman Army, 164–​79. Malden, MA. Brunt, P. A. 1971. Italian Manpower, 225 BC–​AD 14. Oxford. Burton, P. 2017. Rome and the Third Macedonian War. Cambridge. Cadiou, F. 2002. “À propos du service militaire dans l’armée romaine au IIe siècle av. J.-​C. Le cas de Spurius Ligustinus.” In P. Defosse (ed.), Hommages à Carl Deroux, II. Prose et linguistique, médecine, 76–​90. Brussels. Cadiou, F. 2018. L’Armée imaginaire. Les soldats prolétaires dans les légions romaines au dernier siècle de la République. Paris. Clark, J. H. 2014. Triumph in Defeat. Military Loss and the Roman Republic. Oxford. Eckstein, A. 2008. Rome Enters the Greek East. From Anarchy to Hierarchy in the Hellenistic Mediterranean, 230–​170 BC. Malden, MA. Gabba, E. 1973. Esercito e società nella tarda Repubblica romana. Florence. Gabba, E. 1976. Republican Rome, the Army and the Allies. Berkeley. Gauthier F. 2016. “The Changing Composition of the Roman Army in the Late Republic and the So-​Called Marian Reforms.” Ancient History Bulletin 30: 103–​20. Gauthier F. 2020. “The Transformation of the Roman Army in the Last Decades of the Republic.” In J. Armstrong and M. Fronda (eds.), Romans at War. Soldiers, Citizens, and Society in the Roman Republic, 283–​96. London. Gilliver, K. 2007. “The Augustan Reform and the Structure of the Imperial Army.” In P. Erdkamp (ed.), A Companion to the Roman Army, 183–​200. Malden, MA. Gruen, E. 1984. The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome. Berkeley. Harris, W. V. 1979. War and Imperialism in Republican Rome. Oxford. Lendon, J. 1999. “The Rhetoric of Combat: Greek Military Theory and Roman Culture in Julius Caesar’s Battle Descriptions.” Classical Antiquity 18: 273–​329. Ligt, L. de. 2007a. “Roman Manpower Resources and the Proletarization of the Roman Army in the Second Century BC.” In L. de Blois and E. Lo Cascio (eds.), The Impact of the Roman Army (200 B.C.–​A.D. 476). Economic, Social, Political, Religious and Cultural Aspects, 3–​20. Leiden and Boston. Ligt, L. de. 2007b. “Roman Manpower and Recruitment.” In P. Erdkamp (ed.), A Companion to the Roman Army, 114–​31. Malden, MA. Ligt, L. de. 2012. Peasants, Citizens and Soldiers. Studies in the Demographic History of Roman Italy, 225 BC–​AD 100. Cambridge. Lo Cascio, E. 1988. “Ancora sui censi minimi delle cinque classi «serviane».” Athenaeum 66: 273–​302. Potter, D. 2010. “Caesar and the Helvetians.” In M. Trundle and G. Fagan (eds.), New Perspectives on Ancient Warfare, 305–​29. Leiden and Boston.

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Rich, J. 1983. “The Supposed Manpower Shortage of the Later Second Century B.C.” Historia 32: 287–​331. Rich, J. 2007. “Tiberius Gracchus, Land and Manpower.” In O. Hekster, G. de Kleijn, and D. Slootjes (eds.), Crisis and the Economy. Proceedings of the Seventh Workshop of the International Network Impact of Empire (Nijmegen, June 20–​24, 2006), 153–​ 66. Leiden and Boston. Rich, J. 2014. “The Triumph in the Roman Republic. Frequency, Fluctuation and Policy.” In C. Hjort Lange and F. Vervaet (eds.), The Roman Republican Triumph beyond the Spectacle, 197–​258. Rome. Rathbone, D. 1993. “The Census Qualifications of the assidui and the prima classis.” In H. Sancisi-​Weerdenburg (ed.), “De Agricultura”. In Memoriam Pieter Willem de Neeve, 121–​52. Leiden. Rathbone, D. 2002. “Marriage and Manpower in the Hannibalic War.” Historia 51: 163–​91. Rosenstein, N. 2004. Rome at War. Farms, Families and Death in the Middle Republic. Chapel Hill. Taylor, L. R. 1962. “Forerunners of the Gracchi.” Journal of Roman Studies 52: 19–​27. Taylor, M. 2019. “Tactical Reform in the Late Roman Republic: The View from Italy.” Historia 68: 76–​94. Taylor, M. 2020. “A Census Record as a Source in Livy? The Life and Career of Spurius Ligustinus.” Mnemosyne 73: 261–​78. Taylor, M. 2022. “Generalship and Knowledge in the Middle Roman Republic.” In R. Evans and S. Tougher (eds.), Generalship in Ancient Greece, Rome and Byzantium, 86–​97. Edinburgh.

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The Administration of the Imperium Romanum in the Second Century bce Michele Bellomo*

7.1. Introduction A decade ago, in her seminal work Roman Republics, Harriet Flower aptly emphasized that “innovation marked the turn of the second century, as the Romans boldly decided to engage, both diplomatically and militarily, in the Hellenistic world of the eastern Mediterranean rather than to retrench at home after the long war with Hannibal,” and that “this choice, which was to bring them vast wealth and prestige, only encouraged subsequent generations to innovate further and to think beyond traditional roles and societal boundaries.”1 The decision of the Roman government to engage in an ambitious and wide-​ranging expansionist policy just a few months after the conclusion of the Hannibalic War has in fact been the subject of countless analyses (and much surprise) since the time of the near contemporary Polybius. For a long time, the modern studies of this process have been influenced by the need to explain what looked like an apparent inconsistency, namely that the development of the Roman “empire” had not always been accompanied by the physical annexation of *  I would like to thank my colleagues at the University of Milan (Laura Fontana, Silvia Gazzoli, Laura Mecella, Pier Giuseppe Michelotto, Federico Russo, and Simonetta Segenni) for their helpful comments on an earlier version of this chapter. My deep gratitude goes to the editors of this volume, Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, for their kind invitation and their thoughtful advice. I am of course solely responsible for any error. All dates, where not explicitly stated, are bce, while translations of the ancient sources are from the LCL, with minor modifications. 1. Flower 2010: 63–​64. Michele Bellomo, The Administration of the Imperium Romanum in the Second Century bce In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0007

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the conquered territories. Especially during the first half of the twentieth century, when the notion of empire was tightly connected with the concept of territorial expansion, scholars agonized over the need to explain Rome’s non-​annexation policy. Theories such as “defensive imperialism” or “hegemonic” expansion rapidly grew up, and only in recent times have a number of studies challenged this approach and brought to a redefinition of the parameters by which concepts like “annexation,” “empire,” or “hegemony” might be applied to the Roman world.2 Henceforth, while discussions on Roman expansionist aims and ambitions will probably know no end,3 a consensus has now been reached at least on the need to analyze the extension of the imperium Romanum in the overall Republican period with purely “Roman” features: not as the process by which a sum of territories were progressively annexed, but as the way in which the commands (imperia) that Rome exercised through her supreme magistrates (imperatores) came to be obeyed by most of the peoples of the Mediterranean world.4 Studies on the mechanisms through which the boundaries of these commands (prouinciae) and the institutional and political relationships between Rome’s several imperium-​holders were defined have consequently grown fast over the last few years. But if, on the one hand, they have produced innovative approaches for the understanding of Roman expansion both at the beginning and at the end of the Republican period,5 on the other hand, little attention has been paid to 2. The bibliography on this theme is immense. See the classic works of Frank 1914; Holleaux 1921; Badian 1979; Harris 1979 and 1984; Gruen 1984; Sherwin-​White 1984, for the problems connected with the character of the Roman expansion (aggressive vs. defensive) and the nature of the supremacy that Rome came to exert over the Mediterranean world especially in the first half of the second century (territorial empire vs. hegemony). For a comprehensive account of later historiographical developments see Burton 2019. The turning point in the study of concepts like prouincia or imperium was marked by the fundamental work of Richardson 2008. 3. See Eckstein 2006 and Burton 2011 for the analysis of these aims in the light of modern theoretical approaches to the studies of international relations. 4. As had already been recognized by Polybius, e.g., Polyb. 3.4.2–​3. As is well known, Polybius adopted a quite assorted terminology to define the Roman dominion (δυναστεία, ἀρχή, ἡγεμονία), but apart from this (apparent) inconsistency, he was very clear on two points: (1) that by 168 the Romans did possess an empire; and (2) that this empire was not limited to the territories annexed by Rome. On these crucial points see the seminal work of Derow 1979; Finley 1978: 1–​15 and Lintott 1981 are also essential reading. For the need to see the history of Rome’s expansion in Republican times as the history of the formation of different empires (in a very similar fashion to Flower’s idea of the existence of different Roman republics), see Richardson 2008: 4, “The question that needs to be addressed is not, ‘What was the Roman Empire like?’, but rather, ‘How did the empire change in the long period of its overseas expansion?’, or even, ‘What were the Roman empires like?’ ” Cf. also Crawford 2008 for the “noua genera imperii” and “alternative states” that characterized the history of the Late Roman Republic. 5. See especially Vervaet 2014; Drogula 2015; Díaz Fernández 2015; Armstrong 2016; Morrell 2017.

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the evolution of these practices in the second century. This is rather surprising indeed, since they do present a strong interest both for the major innovations that were introduced in the sphere of the yearly distribution of military commands and prouinciae, and for the intense political debates that they entailed.6 In this chapter I will try then to give a brief summary of how the imperium Romanum—​here understood as the sum of the imperia that were granted year after year to magistrates, promagistrates, and priuati—​was managed during the second century bce, and how discussions on provincial administration shaped foreign policy debates, and even more so those on domestic policy.

7.2. The Early Stages (367–​201) In order to fully appreciate the distinctive key features of the second century’s “provincial” administration, we shall begin with a quick overview of the considerable changes that have occurred in the system of commands’ distribution during the early stages of Rome’s expansion in Italy and in the western Mediterranean world (367–​201). After a long period of experimentation (509–​367), whose traits are for the most part unintelligible to us, it is quite safe to assume that following the intense institutional reorganization promoted in the context of the leges Liciniae Sextiae (367), the Roman community begun to be administered, in the military sphere, by three supreme civic magistrates, who exercised the right to command (imperium) the Roman armies in virtue of their yearly election in a popular assembly and within a specific field of action (prouincia) determined by the Senate.7 Roman warfare in Central and Southern Italy during the fourth and third centuries demanded the quite continuous commitment of at least two of these magistrates (the consuls), and a hierarchical division rapidly grew up between them

6. This point was already made by Eckstein 1987: xxi, “each spring the Senate established the magisterial and promagisterial prouinciae and the forces that were to be allotted to their respective commanders. This annual decision constituted, in the most fundamental sense, the administration of the empire of the Roman people, and officially established which regions around the Roman horizon might need to feel the full impact of Roman power.” It is true that both Vervaet 2014 and Drogula deal (sometimes rather diffusely) with this period too, but they do not establish a direct connection between institutional innovations and the changes in the dynamics of Rome’s foreign (and domestic) policy. Rich 2014 provides useful insights into the political interactions between magistrates, promagistrates, and Senate during the second century bce, even though he mainly focuses on triumphal grants, rather than on provincial allocations. 7. For the reorganization (at all levels) of the Roman government in 367 see Armstrong 2017: 124–​48 and Drogula 2020: 17–​34. On the Senate’s control over provincial distributions see Vervaet 2006: 626–​32.

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and the third imperium-​holder (the so-​called urban praetor), who was usually left with the less prestigious task of running Rome in the consuls’ absence.8 This top-​ down distribution of military duties among the three imperium-​holders did not qualitatively change, either during Rome’s first transmarine endeavor (the First Punic War, 264–​241), or after its conclusion, when the number of praetors was firstly raised to two (242) and then to four (227).9 The men that held the consulship kept to being assigned to the most difficult military operations, whereas the four praetors received more fixed (and not always military) duties—​such as the government of the newly acquired territories of Sicily and Sardinia—​and continued to be deployed in the field only if a threat unexpectedly broke out while the consuls were already engaged on another front.10 In order to face grave and specific emergencies, the Roman government had also established (starting from 327) a system that modern scholars have named prorogatio imperii, and that actually consisted in the extension of one of the three imperium-​holders’ right to command beyond the end of his annual magistracy.11 However, while we have clear proof that this device was regularly used so that a 8. There is disagreement among scholars on the moment when this hierarchical distinction became clear. I am inclined to accept Brennan’s hypothesis (Brennan 2000: 58–​73) that the divide had already been made very clear in 367, and that it followed the tripartite division of military duties between the six tribuni militum consulari potestate that we can see at work during the first thirty years of the fourth century (cf. Bellomo 2019: 37–​44). Contra Stewart 1998: 95–​136 and Bergk 2011: 61–​74, who believe that the hierarchy gradually evolved throughout the fourth and third centuries. 9. The only difference we can discern is quantitative, as the consuls assumed the control of both the land and naval forces that operated in Sicily (and Africa), while the praetors were asked to protect not just the city of Rome, but the coasts of all the Italian peninsula from the attacks of the Carthaginian fleet (see Lazenby 1996 for the military operations of this period, and Bellomo 2019: 92–​116 for the distribution of the commands). 10. This is the pattern that we can see at work in 234, e.g., when all the three imperium-​holders were deployed to face three simultaneously revolts in Sardinia, Corsica, and Liguria. That consuls continued to be committed in the most important field of operation, however, can be inferred from what happened in 225, when the Senate decided to send a consul in what have recently become a typically praetorian prouincia—​Sardinia—​in order to crush a serious revolt (Polyb. 2.23.5–​6 and Zonar. 8.19). Contra Drogula 2015: 231, who believes that the idea of “rank and hierarchy among military commanders” emerged only at the beginning of the second century as a result of the creation of priuati cum imperio, who decoupled the concept of military authority from “the trappings of magisterial office.” I shall discuss this position later (cf. n. 45). 11. On the introduction of this practice see Livy 8.23.12: actum cum tribunis est, ad populum ferrent, ut, cum Q. Publilius Philo consulatu abisset, pro consule rem gereret, quoad debellatum cum Graecis esset (“the Senate got the tribunes to propose a popular enactment, providing that Quintus Publilius Philo should, on the expiration of his consulship, conduct the campaign as proconsul until the Greeks should have been conquered”), who trustfully reports that this exceptional grant had to be approved both by the Senate and the plebeian assembly. Cf. Jashemski 1950: 1–​16; Kloft 1977; Buti 1992: 245–​67.

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commander might complete the military task that had been assigned to him in his year of office, there is very poor evidence for arguing that in this period (i.e., the fourth and third centuries) prorogatio was considered a system through which the pool of annual imperium-​holders could be increased in order to commit their armies on more fronts, consequently increasing the Roman expansionist ambitions.12 On the contrary, the fact that we have quite no traces of prorogationes in the aftermath of the First Punic War may be interpreted as revealing of the unwillingness of the Roman nobility to grant exceptional extensions of imperium to individuals that could henceforth claim a position of superiority over their peers.13 The Second Punic War (218–​201) produced tremendous changes within this system. Hannibal’s victorious march and long permanence in Italy determined an unprecedented and unthinkable broadening of the military operations, and for at least fifteen years the Romans had to engage in hard fighting throughout the Italian peninsula as well as in Spain, Greece, Sicily, Sardinia, and finally Africa, in what actually became a Mediterranean-​wide conflict.14 The number of imperatores deployed in the field dramatically increased, and the Senate was forced to turn once again to prorogations, as well as taking even more exceptional measures—​such as the granting of imperium to private citizens—​in order to engage the enemy on these multiple fronts.15 Now, even if Rome had already experienced times of particular crisis that had required the short-​term adoption of extraordinary solutions—​such as the Third Samnite War (298–​290)—​what made the Hannibalic War a real turning point was the extensive and continuous use of these exceptional practices, which in turn determined significant and far-​reaching consequences for the entire system of provincial administration. This is most clearly revealed by the wide range of military tasks that were gradually entrusted to prorogued magistrates and priuati cum imperio. If during 12. The lack of promagistrates for this period (327–​218, and especially 291–​218 bce) cannot be entirely explained with the loss of Livy’s second decade (as Jashemski 1950: 9 and Loreto 1993: 73, n. 102 believe). See Develin 1975: 716–​722 (even though he is surely too radical in his argument that quite all the prorogations of this period were connected with the need, for a commander, to keep his (pro)consular imperium until the day of his triumph, or with the need to stay with the army until the arrival of his successor), and cf. Beck 2005: 106–​13, and Bellomo 2019: 58–​59, 104–​8. 13. Beck 2005: 109. For discussion on the political climate of this period see Cassola 1962 (esp. 209–​44: an analysis that remains valid to this day) and, more recently, Loreto 2007. 14. For a strong account of the military operations of the conflict see Lazenby 1978. 15. The average yearly number of promagistrates for the period 215–​203 was eight. List of all the imperium-​holders in Bellomo 2019: 222–​30.

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the early stages of the war the Senate followed the traditional practice of granting prorogations of command only in order to allow a commander to complete a task he had received in his year of office, or to cover unexpected short-​term emergencies, these extensions of imperium soon came to be considered as a weapon with which Rome could pursue a much more aggressive military strategy by sending more armies on the “external” fronts, while her supreme magistrates dealt with Hannibal’s movements in Italy. This is what happened through the central years of the conflict in Spain (the Scipiones), Greece (M. Valerius Laevinus), Sicily (M. Claudius Marcellus), and, especially during the last stages of the war, in Africa, when this (by now established) pattern was used by the young P. Cornelius Scipio in order to promote and pursue a bold invasion of Carthage’s North African territory while Hannibal was being blocked on the Italian soil by the consuls.16 This extensive and innovative use of prorogatio, however, also determined significant (and even more far-​reaching) changes in power relations between the various imperium-​holders. Since its introduction in 327, a general principle had regulated the use of prorogatio imperii, namely that the main military tasks had to be assigned to the magistrates in their year of office, and moreover that if a magistrate and a promagistrate operated within the same prouincia, the magistrate in charge always detained the right to exercise the supreme command (the so-​called summum imperium auspiciumque) on the combined Roman forces:17 an attitude that clearly reflected the need to offer equal prospects of glory for all the members of the nobility that reached the highest magistracies.18 The principle had been duly followed during the first part of the Second Punic War, when the consuls had been regularly deployed against Hannibal (that clearly 16. For a comprehensive analysis of the use of prorogatio imperii during the Second Punic War see Buti 2014: 1–​41, and Bellomo 2019: 150–​54, 162–​71, 183–​87, 195–​202, 215–​31. 17. The power relations between magistrates and promagistrates within the same prouincia have been analyzed by Vervaet 2014: 131–​213, with a detailed analysis of the best-​known cases that occurred during the Second Punic War (152–​55). 18. I do not think that this attitude had religious motives based on the individual magistrates’ right to take proper auspices, since there is no reason to believe that promagistrates and priuati cum imperio did not possess independent auspicia. The right of taking the auspices was strictly connected with the election in the centuriate assembly and the proclamation (renuntiatio) by the presiding magistrate. Promagistrates that exercised their prorogued imperium out of their annual curule magistracy did not need any special provision in order to possess full auspicia, as their military auspicia (which they had undertaken in their capacity as elected magistrates) lasted until the end of the campaign—​and not the end of their magistracy. Nor did this problem affect priuati cum imperio: both those elected in the centuriate assembly (as Scipio Africanus) and those elected in the plebeian council (such as the commanders sent to Spain at the end of the third century) had received the right to auspicari from a curule magistrate and a fictitious election by a popular assembly. The question has been very effectively discussed by Dalla Rosa 2003.

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represented the most dreadful menace for Rome), and the promagistrates had always acted in their support. However, when Scipio’s successes in Africa forced the Carthaginian synedrion to call back Hannibal, a problem arose, because the Senate found itself in the delicate position to handle the relationship between its most successful general—​now a proconsul—​and the consuls in charge, who were clearly eager to play a decisive role in the final stages of the war.19 The seriousness of the situation is fully revealed by a long passage of Livy that describes the discussion on the consular provinces for the year 202, and that deserves a long quotation. At the beginning of this year—​says Livy—​the consuls M. Servilius and Ti. Claudius summoned the Senate to the Capitol and raised the question of the provinces. They wished that lots should be cast for Italy and Africa, both of them being eager to have Africa. But chiefly owing to the efforts of Q. Metellus Africa was not refused nor yet given them. The consuls were instructed to arrange with the tribunes of the plebs that, with their approval, they should bring before the plebs the question whom they wished for the conduct of the war in Africa. All the tribes voted for P. Scipio. In spite of that the consuls cast lots for Africa as a province, for so the Senate had decreed. Africa fell to T. Claudius, with the provision that he should take a fleet of fifty ships, all of them quinqueremes, over to Africa, and that he should be commanding general with an authority equal to Scipio’s.20 The first point that we can observe is that the solution eventually adopted by the Senate, albeit apparently advantageous for the serving consul, was in fact fully supportive of the proconsul Scipio: even if Africa was designated as a consular province, the consul was left in control only of the naval operations and, most important, was ordered to exert his imperium on an equal footing with Scipio. The latter provision meant that the consul could not rely on his traditional

19. For the development of the relationships between Scipio, the Senate, and the consuls during the last years of the war see Eckstein 1987: 233–​67 and Bellomo 2013. 20. Livy 30.27.1–​6: principio insequenti anni M. Seruilius et Ti. Claudius senatu in Capitolium uocato de prouinciis rettulerunt. Italiam atque Africam in sortem conici, Africam ambo cupientes, uolebant; ceterum Q. Metello maxime adnitente neque negata neque data est Africa. Consules iussi cum tribunis plebis agere ut, si iis uideretur, populum rogarent quem uellet in Africa bellum gerere. Omnes tribus P. Scipionem iusserunt. Nihilo minus consules prouinciam Africam—​ita enim senatus decreuerat—​in sortem coniecerunt. Ti. Claudio Africa euenit ut quinquaginta nauium classem, omnes quinqueremes, in Africam traiceret parique imperio cum P. Scipione imperator esset: M. Seruilius Etruriam sortitus. In eadem prouincia et C. Seruilio prorogatum imperium si consulem manere ad urbem senatui placuisset.

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prerogatives as magistrate in his year of office in order to impose his will on the promagistrate: a fatal blow for the consul’s expectations, especially since the proconsul had just received a full endorsement of his command by the people. Indeed, the second important factor that emerges from this episode is the role played by the people in the whole debate on the consular provinces. In order to defend the position of the proconsul P. Cornelius Scipio, his political ally Q. Caecilius Metellus called for the help of the tribunes of the plebs and the concilium plebis, a (successful) practice that was repeated in the following year, when Scipio’s African command was yet again threatened by one of the consuls in charge.21 Provincial allocations (and the debates that surrounded them) had always been—​as far as we know—​the domain of the Senate, which each year autonomously decided which commanders had to be sent on what front.22 The interference of the plebeian assembly in this decision-​making process reveals the major changes that the exceptional magnitude of the Hannibalic War produced in the political interactions between Senate, magistrates, and the people.23

7.3. Hannibal’s Long Shadow (201–​194) With the end of the war and the turn of the century the Romans, as we noted at the very beginning of this chapter, did not “retrench at home” but immediately engaged their forces on three new fronts—​the Greek East, Northern Italy, and Spain.24 It is reasonable to assume that one of the reasons that prompted this extraordinary (and to some extent unprecedented) willingness to fight was the confidence that the practices that have been introduced and constantly used

21. Livy 30.40.7–​16. 22. Before the passing of the lex Sempronia de prouinciis consularibus (123), provincial allocations were decided only after the elections of the new magistrates, and voters in the comitia could not always predict where the Senate would deploy the men they were going to elect. Cf. Rafferty 2019: 27–​60. 23. Even though it is hard to establish whether the popular vote was called by Scipio’s supporters in order to buttress the proconsul’s position, or the Senate turned to the people as an independent arbitrator of tensions and competition among the factions of the patres that were not prepared to reach a solution in the Curia. On this (supposed) role of the popular element in the political conflicts of the Mid-​Republican period see Feig Vishnia 1996. The topic would deserve much more extensive discussion; however, cases such as that of Scipio Africanus, Flamininus, and the switch in the way the Spanish commands were regulated at the beginning of the second century point to the conclusion that during this period the popular element acted not as a final and neutral arbitrator, but as the supporter of powerful leaders. 24. For in-​depth discussions of the military operations on these new fronts see Richardson 1986 (Spain); Eckstein 2008 and Thornton 2014 (Greece and Macedonia); McDonald 1974 and Bandelli 1985 (Northern Italy).

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during the Hannibalic War could now support an expansion on an altogether novel scale.25 Indeed, the possibility to rely upon a higher number of imperium-​ holders that could be simultaneously engaged on multiple fronts represented a stimulating prospect for those senators determined to lead Rome toward an endless expansion. The same internal political dynamics favored this kind of concerns: most of the men that held key positions in the Senate had grown up in a period that had seen the proliferation of special commands, and we may think that they now favorably regarded the chance to use these practices in order to enhance not only the power of Rome, but also their personal prestige and the glory of their families, just as Scipio had done in the last stages of the war.26 This is clearly revealed by the distribution of the military prouinciae during the early years of the second century, and notably by the dynamics that regulated the political and institutional relationships between the traditional supreme commanders—​the consuls—​and the new players that had emerged from the Hannibalic crisis—​the proconsuls. Just as the last stages of the Second Punic War had been dominated by contrasts between a proconsul (P. Cornelius Scipio) and the consuls in charge on the right to exercise the high command in the African campaign, so similar conflicts marked the organization of the commanding structure for Rome’s subsequent major military endeavour: the Second Macedonian War (200–​194). Indeed, after a first phase in which the Senate regularly bestowed the command of the conflict upon one of the newly elected consuls, from 198 and until 194 one man, T. Quinctius Flamininus, was able to monopolize the control of the war and to lead the Roman legions in his capacity as prorogued magistrate while the new consuls were deployed in what they seemed to consider less prestigious campaigns in Northern Italy.27

25. On Roman ambitions at the end of the war see Polyb. 1.3.6, 3.2.6, with the comments in Derow 1979. 26. On the “generational gap” produced in the Senate by the Second Punic War see Barber 2020. 27. The contraposition between eastern and western campaigns and the supposed superior prestige of the Hellenistic front upon the western Mediterranean has been recently discussed by Prag 2017. He has tried to show how it can be mainly considered a modern (early twentieth-​ century) myth, as both the ancient sources and most recent researches on the nature of Roman imperialism do not allow this principle anymore (in fact during the second century most Roman magistrates were deployed on the western-​northern front, and consequently most of the economic revenues and prestigious victories came from this sector). However, it seems to me that at the beginning of the second century the campaigns in the East did in fact look more profitable—​at least in money and personal prestige—​than the ones that Rome was fighting in Northern Italy and Spain: something which is itself revealed by the discussions that surrounded the hierarchical organization of their commands. It was only in the absence of an

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Our sources have preserved the debates on at least two of Flamininus’ prorogations. For the first one, that occurred just at the end of Flamininus’ consulship (in the early months of 197), Livy records that “as the consuls were making ready to draw lots for Italy and Macedonia, the tribunes of the plebs, L. Oppius and Q. Fulvius, intervened,” and after a long speech, where they stressed the need to ensure continuity in the chain of command, they forced the consuls “to leave full discretion on the matter to the Senate,” which in turn decreed: (1) that the consuls should have Italy as province; and (2) that the term of T. Quinctius’ command had to be prorogued “until a successor, authorized by decree of the Senate, should have arrived.”28 The situation of the following year (196) was slightly different. The new consul M. Claudius Marcellus tried to force the Senate to turn down the peace settlements arranged by Flamininus in order to continue the war in Macedonia. Once again, the political and institutional position of the proconsul was defended by two tribunes of the plebs, who persuaded the Senate to bring the matter before the plebeian assembly, where Flamininus’ peace conditions were approved by all the tribes.29 The parallel with the case of Scipio in 202 is striking, and that the precedent of the Africanus had deeply affected the position of the consuls as supreme commanders of the Roman armies is also confirmed by what happened on another front, Northern Italy, where the consuls had to face the threat of magistrates that in the military sphere had always been their subordinates. In 200 the praetor L. Furius Purpurio, who had been assigned to Cisalpine Gaul, fought a pitched battle against the Gauls without waiting for the arrival of the consul who had received the same province. Later on, the praetor demanded the right to celebrate a triumph for his victory, and despite a strong opposition by the elder members (maiores natu), the majority of the Senate eventually approved his request.30 The following year, another praetor, Cn. Baebius Tamphilus, no doubt encouraged

open-​war state in the East that military commitments in Northern Italy or Spain returned at the center of institutional debates (cf. infra section 5). 28. Livy 32.28.3–​10. 29. Livy 33.25.4–​7, 10–​11. The tribunes that defended Flamininus’ position were C. Atinius Labeo and Q. Marcius Ralla. Labeo is also recorded because he contrasted a request of the consuls of 197 to celebrate a double triumph for their victories in Northern Italy (see Livy 33.22.2). Little is known about Ralla, apart from the fact that he was IIvir aedibus dedicandis in 194 and 192, and probably a relative of one of the praetors of 204 (cf. Briscoe 1973: 297). On the consuls’ desire to have Macedonia as a consular province cf. also Polyb. 18.42.1–​4. 30. Livy 31.47.4–​49.4.

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by this precedent, invaded the territory of the Insubres before the consul’s arrival and without his formal approval.31 The best-​known case of a consul deprived of his (legitimate) right to command, however, is—​quite paradoxically—​that of the same Scipio Africanus, who during his second consulship (194) did not manage to have the Senate declaring Macedonia as a consular province (that being his wish in order to find himself ready on the spot in the occurrence of the outbreak of a new war against one of the Hellenistic rulers), and he had to spend his year of office in minor engagements.32 In these rather abnormal instances, we can glimpse the long shadow of the Hannibalic War. The institutional changes produced by the conflict—​especially the possibility to rely on an elastic use of prorogatio in order to increase the yearly number of imperatores—​had positive “administrative” outcomes as they enabled the res publica to commit its armies on many fronts simultaneously (Greece, Cisalpine Gaul, Spain) and to pursue aggressive military operations without relying on the traditional monolithic structure of the consular chain of command. But on the other hand, they were prompting harsh political debates within the senatorial elite, as the competition now went far beyond the traditional (and accepted) struggle over the consular elections, which no longer guaranteed the exclusive right to exercise the high command in the most prestigious theater of war. Moreover, the people were no longer excluded from those debates.33

7.4. The New Administration of Spain (201–​197) The cases we have just analyzed show indeed that some members of the nobility were starting to use their influence with the people in order to promote their personal interests and gain the most attractive commands. The concern that the senatorial order started to feel about these new (and dangerous) practices is revealed by the way the Senate decided to reorganize the administration of the new Spanish provinces.

31. Livy 32.27.5–​8. 32. His colleague, Ti. Sempronius Longus, was heavily involved with a military campaign in Northern Italy (Livy 34.46.4–​47.8). Scipio’s participation in the second phase of this campaign is much disputed: Livy himself cast doubts about the tradition he followed (34.48.1). Briscoe 1972: 47 believes that Scipio’s failure was caused by a powerful and temporarily alliance between Flamininus, who feared that the Africanus would undo all his diplomatic efforts in Greece, and the traditional enemies of Scipio (which he identifies with the “Fulvian” group), who did not want him to secure another major command. 33. On the plebeian intervention and the interactions between tribunes and Senate during this period see infra and cf. Annarosa Gallo’s chapter in this volume.

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The Iberian peninsula had been the theater of major administrative innovations during the Hannibalic War, and all the commanders who had acted on that front throughout the conflict had received their imperium in rather unusual ways. In 217, Cn. Cornelius Scipio Calvus, who had served as legate of his brother (the consul of 218) during the previous year, became the first man to receive a command without exercising (or having just held) any magistracy (priuatus cum imperio), and he maintained this consular imperium for six years until he was killed—​along with his brother—​in 211.34 His place was momentarily taken by C. Claudius Nero (praetor in 212), who had his praetorian command prorogued and enhanced to consulare by a vote of the plebeian council followed by a decree of the Senate.35 Shortly afterward, in light of Nero’s unsuccessful attempts to counterattack the Carthaginian forces in Spain, another Cornelius Scipio, Publius (the nephew of Gnaeus, and future Africanus), though only twenty-​four years old and with no previous experience of military command, was granted a full consular imperium through a direct election in the comitia centuriata,36 and kept his command—​along with a second-​rank commander, M. Iunius Silanus (praetor in 212 and propraetor in 211), who like Nero had his praetorian imperium enhanced to consulare by the Senate—​until 206.37 With their departure from the Iberian peninsula, the command of the Roman armies was left in the hands of 34. For Gnaeus acting as legate of his brother in 218—​probably with (delegated) praetorian imperium—​see Polyb. 3.49.4; Livy 21.32.3–​4, 40.3, 60–​61; App. Ib. 14; Zonar. 8.23. For the following years Livy records that Gnaeus and Publius commanded the Roman armies in Spain on an equal footing (e.g., Livy 23.26.2 and 25.3.6). It follows that Gnaeus’ position as colleague of his brother was regularized by the Senate (and probably by the concilium plebis) roughly between 217 and 211. This upgrade of his imperium from praetorium to consulare may well have happened as early as in 217 and have been prompted by Gnaeus’ outstanding victories in Spain during the second half of the previous year (on which see Polyb. 3.97.2; Livy 22.22.3; App. Ib. 15). Cf. Jashemski 1950: 22–​24; Broughton 1951: 247; Sumner 1970: 86, 88; Develin 1980: 356. Contra Brennan 2000: 155, who thinks that Gnaeus kept commanding half of the Roman forces in Spain only with praetorium imperium. 35. The upgrade of his imperium was also stimulated by the fact that in the aftermath of the death of the Scipios’ brothers a knight called L. Marcius Septimius had gathered the survived Roman forces in Spain and had addressed the Senate by calling himself propraetor (Livy 25.37–​ 39, 26.2). The Fathers had been mostly displeased by this unprecedent election of a commander by the army. Henceforth, Nero’s appointment with a full consular imperium aimed to put L. Septimius in a second-​rank position. 36. On Scipio’s election see Livy 26.18.3–​10 and cf. Sumner 1970: 87; Brennan 2000: 157; Vervaet and Ñaco del Hoyo 2007: 24; Beltramini 2020: 215–​23. 37. The legal status of C. Claudius Nero and M. Iunius Silanus is hotly disputed by modern scholars. Brennan (2000: 155–​56) believes that they both held praetorium imperium, while Vervaet and Ñaco del Hoyo (2007: 24) have suggested that their imperia were raised to a consular level by the Senate and (maybe) the plebeian assembly. The discussion mostly depends on the evaluation of Gnaeus Scipio’s command, since both men were appointed to be his

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two other proconsules—​L. Cornelius Lentulus and L. Manlius Acidinus—​who received their imperium through a vote of the concilium plebis38 and remained in Spain until 201 (and 200), when they were replaced by C. Cornelius Cethegus, whose title of proconsul also derived from a vote of the plebeian assembly.39 The practice of granting imperium to priuati through a plebiscitum did not end with the Hannibalic War, and is duly recorded for the year 199, when the command of the Iberian armies was bestowed to Cn. Cornelius Blasio and L. Stertinius.40 But then, after one year’s silence (198), Livy records that in 197 “for the first time, six praetors were elected to meet the increase in the number of provinces and the expansion of the empire,” and that two of these magistrates received the task to govern the Iberian peninsula, now divided between the two provinces of Hispania citerior and ulterior.41 Our sources—​both literary and epigraphic—​explicitly state that, contrary to what happened to their praetorian colleagues, these new praetors were invested with a full consular imperium as soon as they departed for their provinces.42 And successors. As I do believe that Gnaeus’ status was that of a priuatus cum imperio consulari, I am more inclined to accept the position of Vervaet and Ñaco del Hoyo. Cf. also Sumner 1970: 87. 38. Or the comitia tributa: this is the (rather vague) formula recorded by Livy 29.13.7: de Hispaniae imperio quos in eam prouinciam duos pro consulibus mitti placeret, latum ad populum est. omnes tribus eosdem, L. Cornelium Lentulum et L. Manlium Acidinum, pro consulibus, sicut priore anno tenuissent, obtinere eas prouincias iusserunt (“As for the command in Spain, the question what two men it wished to send to that province as proconsuls was brought before the people. The tribes unanimously ordered that the same men, L. Cornelius Lentulus and L. Manlius Acidinus, should hold these provinces as proconsuls, as they had done in the preceding year”). 39. Livy 30.41.4–​5. 40. Livy 31.50.10–​11. 41. Livy 32.27.6: sex praetores illo anno primum creati crescentibus iam provinciis et latius patescente imperio. On the (vague) division between Hispania citerior and ulterior see Ebel 1991: 439–​48. 42. See the records of the Fasti triumphales (Inscr.It. 13.1.78) for the years 195, 191, 178, 175, 174, and cf. the fundamental passage of Plu. Aem. 4.1: Συστάντος δὲ τοῦ πρὸς Ἀντίοχον τὸν μέγαν πολέμου τοῖς Ῥωμαίοις, καὶ τῶν ἡγεμονικωτάτων ἀνδρῶν τετραμμένων πρὸς ἐκεῖνον, ἄλλος ἀπὸ τῆς ἑσπέρας ἀνέστη πόλεμος, ἐν Ἰβηρίᾳ, κινημάτων μεγάλων γενομένων, ἐπὶ τοῦτον ὁ Αἰμίλιος ἐξεπέμφθη στρατηγός, οὐχ ἓξ ἔχων πελέκεις, ὅσους ἔχουσιν οἱ στρατηγοῦντες, ἀλλὰ προσλαβὼν ἑτέρους τοσούτους, ὥστε τῆς ἀρχῆς ὑπατικὸν γενέσθαι τὸ ἀξίωμα (“After the Romans had gone to war with Antiochus the Great, and while their most experienced commanders were deployed against him, another war arose in the West, and there were great commotions in Spain. For this war Aemilius was sent out as praetor, not with the six lictors which praetors usually have, but adding other six to that number, so that his office had a consular dignity”). The idea that praetors sent to govern Spain had a consular imperium from the very beginning (197) was firstly suggested by Mommsen and has been accepted by most of modern scholars. See Vervaet 2012: 59 n. 52 for further references.

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if the need to have men of consular rank on the Spanish front has already been flagged up by some scholars as a necessary measure in order to intimidate the hostile Spanish tribes with a full show of consular authority, what really demands explanation is why the Senate decided to change the formula by which these consular imperia were granted.43 What we can say on the basis of a practice that had probably been established during the Hannibalic War is that if a priuatus necessarily needed a vote of the popular (mainly plebeian) assembly in order to receive the full consular authority, in the case of a praetor—​who already held imperium—​the Senate had likely acquired the right to upgrade his existing command to a consular level without calling for the intervention of the people.44 It is clear, then, that in order to make sense of this institutional change (from priuati to propraetores) we have to look for a political motive.45 Spain was one of the most dangerous theaters of war at the beginning of the second century. Rome’s control over the country was far from certain, and the men that fought there found many opportunities to acquire a military prestige from which they could yield significant political rewards once back in Rome.46 It 43. Brennan 2000: 620; cf. Vervaet 2012: 76–​77. 44. The development may be appreciated through the comparison between three cases that occurred during the war. In 217 the magister equitum M. Minucius Rufus had his imperium raised to dictatorium through a plebiscitum voted ex senatus consulto (Livy 22.25.17–​26.4). Then in 211 we only hear of a consultation of the people on quem cum imperio mitti placeret in Hispaniam (Livy 26.2.5), with no reference to a vote concerning the “qualitative” level of the imperium, which was probably discussed by the Senate in the context of C. Claudius Nero’s ornatio prouinciae (Livy 26.17.1 and cf. Vervaet 2012: 58). Finally, in 210 Livy’s text seems to imply that only the Fathers were involved in the decision to send M. Iunius Silanus in Spain, and probably to enhance his imperium from praetorium to consulare (26.19.10: ad eas copias quas ex uetere exercitu Hispania habebat quaeque a Puteolis cum C. Nerone traiectae erant, decem milia militum et mille equites adduntur; et M. Iunius Silanus propraetor adiutor ad res gerendas datus est). 45. According to Drogula 2015: 255, this change reflected the difference between two types of prouincia: “the traditional prouincia that normally constituted a military campaign against a particular enemy; and the new, permanent prouincia that was characterized by the supervision of a specific (but perhaps only vaguely defined) territory.” When Spain became one of the permanent prouinciae, the choice of its commanders fell upon the Senate because being “basically a staffing issue, rather than a question of war and peace, the people probably cared little that they were no longer consulted in such prorogations.” I would be more cautious in calling the operations in Spain during the first decades of the second century a “staffing issue”; one of the reasons that prompted the Senate to take full control on the appointment (and prorogations) of the new commanders that were sent to the Iberian peninsula was chiefly its military importance. 46. Brennan 2000: 163 downplays the attractiveness of the Spanish front as “few men of talent could have been eager to set out for the warlike Iberian peninsula in possession of an office which lay outside the recognized cursus, for an unspecified length of time, with no real hope

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is not a coincidence that many of these imperatores easily secured their election to the consulship, and Livy’s account of the debates on their continuous requests for triumphs (and/​or ouationes) reflects the suspicion with which some members of the nobility started to look at these privileged peers.47 It is possible, then, that with the shift from priuati proconsules to (pro)propraetores proconsules the (most conservative part of the) Senate was trying to put under its control this important springboard for exceptional careers and to regularize the path through which men had to climb their way to the senior commanding positions. It is also conceivable that the Fathers were concerned about the role that the plebeian assembly and the tribunes of the plebs have come to play in the sphere of provincial administration, and were consequently taking all the steps required to reaffirm the senatorial monopoly on this important decision-​making process.48

of celebrating a triumph.” It must be said, however, that by this time there was no (or not yet any) “recognized cursus”; moreover, the cases of P. Cornelius Scipio (procos. 210–​206, cos. 205), L. Cornelius Lentulus (priuatus 206–​201, cos. 199), and C. Cornelius Cethegus (priuatus 200–​199, cos. 197) show that the Spanish command did offer the chance for swift political progression. 47. Peers that thanks to the great prominence conferred by their proconsular position held high confidence of obtaining something that was normally precluded to commanders (i.e., praetors) who had not yet reached the consulship. For the contested triumphs of these years see Richardson 1975: 50–​63. They involved P. Cornelius Scipio (Africanus), who in 205 did not receive the right to celebrate a triumph because neminem ad eam diem triumphasse qui sine magistratu res gessisset (“down to that time no one who had commanded without being a magistrate had triumphed”: Livy 28.38.7); L. Cornelius Lentulus, that despite the opposition of a tribune—​Ti. Sempronius Longus—​succeeded in performing an ouatio (Livy 31.20.1–​ 7), and then L. Manlius Acidinus, whose similar request was successfully hindered by the tribune P. Porcius Laeca (Livy 32.7.4). This tribunician opposition surely had narrow political motives. L. Cornelius Lentulus was the brother of Cn. Cornelius Lentulus (cos. 201), who had been a fierce opponent of P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus (see above). It is not surprising, then, to find out that the tribune that opposed Lucius’ triumphal request in 200 was the same Ti. Sempronius Longus who six years later held the consulship along with the Africanus (their fathers too had shared the consulship in 218, and we may infer a long-​standing association between the two families). 48. Although most of the plebiscites that created priuati cum imperio at the end of the third century had been approved ex senatus consulto, it is nonetheless important to note that the plebs could always take independent and radical decisions. This is shown by what happened in 201, when the Senate instructed the tribunes to convey the plebeian assembly in order to choose only one commander for the Spanish front, instead of the traditional two, so that both L. Cornelius Lentulus and L. Manlius Acidinus could be sent back to Rome (Livy 30.41.4–​ 5). Livy does not report the choice of the plebs, but we know that few months later only L. Cornelius Lentulus went back, while L. Manlius Acidinus remained in Spain with his new colleague (C. Cornelius Cethegus) for one more year. It is evident, then, that while the Senate wanted to decrease the Roman effort in Spain to a singular army, the plebs took a very different approach and (autonomously?) decided to prorogate the command of L. Manlius Acidinus.

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7.5. A Wavering Balance (192–​187) The reorganization of the Spanish commands reveals the willingness of at least part of the Roman nobility to modify the practices that were introduced during the Second Punic War in the field of provincial administration, and to reduce the opportunities for outstanding military successes created by long and sometimes independent commands. In the sphere of domestic politics this principle found its equivalent in the concomitant adoption of measures that sought to create a clear and well-​defined path toward the attainment of the highest magistracies.49 The problem was clearly represented by the difficult coexistence between this principle and the need to sustain an expansionist policy that by now required the simultaneous commitment of numerous armies on many fronts. Especially at times of particular crisis, it was difficult to believe that the imperium Romanum could be expanded (or defended) by simply relying on the traditional annual magistracies and without using those exceptional practices that proved so successful in crushing the Punic threat. The choice, then, soon became “qualitative” rather than “quantitative.” That is, the conflict within the nobility revolved around whether in the allocation of military commands priority had to be granted to the newly elected magistrates and the traditional (i.e., annual) alternation at the helm of the operations, or rather if the priority was to ensure continuity to the chain of command through an extensive use of prorogations or special assignments. The first occasion where we can observe this tension at work is in the context of the Syrian-​Aetolian war (192–​187), when the outbreak of a new and demanding conflict in the East once more put the entire system of provincial allocations under particular stress. The gravity of the situation is proved by the fact that as early as in the late spring of 192, when war against Antiochus had not been officially declared yet, the Senate decided to take preventive measures and to raise two additional armies in order to protect the coasts of Southern Italy and operate in Greece against Antiochus’ allies—​the Aetolian League and King Nabis of Sparta.50 Provincial allocations had already been determined for that year, with both the consuls assigned to the war in Cisalpine Gaul and the praetors allotted

Cf. Vervaet and Ñaco del Hoyo 2007: 27–​28, and, on the people’s role in the allocation of provinces, Day 2017 (even though he does not discuss this specific instance). 49. On these reforms, which probably begun as early as in 196/​4 when the praetorship became a necessary prerequisite for the consulship, see Astin 1958 and cf. Develin 1979: 81–​95; Billows 1991: 112–​33; Brennan 2000: 168–​89; Beck 2005: 141–​47. 50. For the outbreak of the war see the classic works of Badian 1959; Harris 1979: 219–​25; and, more recently, Eckstein 2008: 308–​27 and Russo 2018.

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to their traditional spheres of influence (the two Spains, Sicily, Sardinia, the urban and peregrine jurisdiction). We would expect then the Senate (or the plebeian assembly) to create two special commanders for the newly raised forces, but on the contrary (and quite surprisingly), the Fathers decided to arrange—​with the aid of the concilium plebis—​a “swap of provinces” (permutatio prouinciarum) for the two praetors that had just received the command of the Spanish front (M. Baebius Tamphilus and A. Atilius Serranus): they were immediately dispatched to Southern Italy and put in charge of the new levies, while the control of Spain was left to the praetors of the previous year.51 The rather unprecedented modality with which the new provincial allocations were decided shows the political importance of the debate on the yearly distribution of commands. It also proves that—​at least during the first stages of the conflict—​the view of those that favored the need to entrust the most prestigious campaigns to magistrates in their year of office prevailed within the Senate, a detail that can be appreciated also at a consular level, as control over the operations in Greece and Asia Minor was subsequently assigned to one of (or both) the consuls of the years 191, 190, and 189.52 No debates are recorded on these provincial appointments, and this fact, along with the circumstance that during the same years consular elections were dominated by harsh contrasts within the senatorial elite, can be (at least partly) explained with the suggestion that a sort of gentlemen’s agreement had been reached whereby the winners of the

51. Livy 35.20.9, 13: sed his duobus primum senatus consulto, deinde plebei etiam scito permutatae prouinciae sunt: Atilio classis et Macedonia, Baebio Bruttii decreti . . . hi duo praetores et duo exercitus, terrestris naualisque, aduersus Nabim aperte iam oppugnantem socios populi Romani dicebantur parari. 52. Livy 36.1.6–​2.2 (191), 37.1.7–​10 (190), 37.50.1–​7 (189). Vervaet 2006: 629 rightly emphasizes “the unusual extent” of Baebius’ and Atilius’ commands in 192. I do not think (as Brennan 2000: 187–​88; Ferrary 2003: 139–​40; and Drogula 2015: 255 do) that the plebiscitum was requested because the Senate wanted to modify a legally defined pool of “fixed” praetorian provinces. Neither do I believe that the plebeian vote was called in order to forestall the opposition of Atilius and Baebius, who would have preferred to receive the more remunerative Spanish provinces instead of “taking command of forces that would primarily have been charged with defensive duties” (Day 2017: 17–​18). If we want to look for a possible opposition to the permutatio prouinciarum, I think that we should turn our eyes on Atilius’ and Baebius’ colleagues because, as far as we know, the change of provinces was not followed by an additional sorting of the lots (sortitio)—​and in this specific context the prospect of the forthcoming war in the East probably made the control of military forces that would have been operating off the shores of Greece more attractive than a command in the far West. Finally, the political and institutional importance of entrusting two praetors with such outstanding forces and spheres of influence completely explain the decision to have the permutatio confirmed also by a vote of the plebs.

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forthcoming elections were to be peacefully granted the prestigious commands in the East.53 At any rate, the pact was short-​lived. At the beginning of the year 188, Livy records that as the time for the consular elections was approaching, one of the consuls in charge—​M. Fulvius Nobilior—​came back to Rome to hold the comitia and, “after engineering the defeat of his enemy M. Aemilius Lepidus, who was also seeking election that year,” returned to his province (Greece) as soon as “both he and his colleague Cn. Manlius Vulso had their commands prorogued for a year.”54 Livy does not place any emphasis on the fact that the major front of the war was not assigned to the new consuls, but the moves made by M. Fulvius Nobilior, that is, the maneuvers with which he assured the defeat of his personal enemy Lepidus and the detail that he left Rome only after receiving assurance that his command was to be prorogued, reveal that a debate had effectively taken place and that the political balance was wavering. Indeed, the following year (187) a new and tougher conflict arose in the Senate. One of the newly elected consuls, M. Aemilius Lepidus, stated his desire to receive the Eastern command, but met with strong senatorial opposition that wanted to send the new magistrates in Liguria. Lepidus’ arguments reveal that the decision of the previous year had broken a precarious balance in the provincial appointments. According to Livy, he insisted that “as the consul L. Scipio had replaced M’. Acilius, and then M. Fulvius and Cn. Manlius had as consuls replaced L. Scipio, so the consuls C. Livius and M. Valerius should have replaced Fulvius and Manlius,” and moreover that “if the Senate wanted armies stationed in those lands, it should be consuls who commanded them, not private citizens.”55 The entire debate brings us back to the days of Scipio Africanus and Quinctius Flamininus, and shows that the rules on the regular turnover between magistrates and promagistrates had not been clearly defined yet. Moreover, if we move down to the praetorian level, we see that the practice of sending newly elected praetors to the most prestigious war theaters had been readily discontinued, and

53. For the consular elections of these years see Rosenstein 1993: 313–​38; Phillips 2004: 48–​60; and Stern 2011: 29–​46. Even the discussion that in 190 involved the two consuls and that was resolved by the famous intervention of P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus was only about which of the two consuls should have been sent to Greece, and not on the possibility to let the command of the operations to one of the ex-​magistrates (see Livy 37.1.7–​10 and cf. Cic. Phil. 11.17). 54. Livy 38.5.1–​3. 55. Livy 38.42.8–​13: consules iis potius quam priuatos praeesse oportere . . . sicut M’. Acilio L. Scipio consul, L. Scipioni M. Fuluius et Cn. Manlius successissent consules, ita Fuluio Manlioque C. Liuium et M. Ualerium consules debuisse succedere.

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that the command of operations had once again been entrusted to prorogued magistrates.56

7.6. New Patterns in Provincial Allocations (187–​167) If the war against Antiochus reveals that in especially stressful situations the system of provincial distributions was still influenced by the prevailing practices of the late third century, a very different picture emerges from the analysis of the division of the consular and praetorian provinces over the following two decades (187–​167). Indeed, since the passing of the lex Villia Annalis and of the other laws that at the end of the 180s redefined the standard sequence of the political career, a new pattern seems to have been (finally) established in the distribution of military commands too. The training ground for the development of this new system was Rome’s main military focus during the 180s and 170s, that is, Northern Italy. Here we do find both a regular (that is, yearly) alternation of commanders at the head of operations, and a general tendency, by the proconsuls, to submit themselves to the authority of the incoming magistrates when they had to cooperate in especially complex campaigns.57 No single striking episode can firmly be identified as the turning point that determined this change of policy. The new pattern was probably the outcome of years of negotiations, and it is tempting to assign to this period M. Porcius Cato’s regrettably lost speech Ne imperium sit ueteri ubi nouus uenerit (“That the

56. In 192, M. Baebius and A. Atilius had been able to bring their forces in Greece, but at the end of the year only Atilius was recalled to Rome, while Baebius had his imperium prorogued and his successor—​A. Cornelius Mammula (pr. 191)—​had to stay in Bruttium with the less attractive task of protecting its coast from a possible invasion (Livy 36.2.6–​15). This arrangement was repeated in the following year, when one of the new praetors—​M. Tuccius—​had to stay in Bruttium while the (by then) propraetor A. Cornelius Mammula was finally able to bring his forces in Macedonia (Livy 37.2.6–​9). In 189 the “special” province of Bruttium was suppressed, and the only praetor that received a military task was Q. Fabius Labeo—​who was put in charge of a fleet—​whereas three of the praetors of the previous year received a prorogation of their imperium (Livy 37.50.8–​13). 57. See the cases of L. Porcius Licinus (cos. 184 and procos. 183), M. Claudius Marcellus and Q. Fabius Labeo (coss. 183, procoss. 182), and Cn. Baebius Tamphilus (cos. 182, procos. 181). The only outstanding achievement by a promagistrate during these years is that of L. Aemilius Paullus (cos. 182), who won a decisive victory in Liguria and celebrated a triumph as proconsul in 181 (sources in Broughton 1951: 384). However, this happened at the beginning of the year, when the consuls had not yet been able to leave Rome with their new armies (see Livy 40.26.4–​6).

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retiring magistrate [or promagistrate] should not have imperium when the new one has come”), which clearly aimed to reassert the magistrates’ rights to command over the promagistrates.58 However, it is beyond dispute that throughout these decades the majority of the Senate favored a regular turnover at the head of the operations, and aimed to relaunch the importance of traditional magistracies, in the provincial sphere as well as in the domestic one. This is revealed by a telling episode that occurred in 182. At the beginning of the year, the command of the operations in Northern Italy had been assigned to three imperium-​holders: the two consuls, who had received the task to wage war in Liguria, and the ex-​consul (183) M. Claudius Marcellus, who had been granted a prorogation of his imperium in Cisalpine Gaul. During the summer the consuls successfully led the operations in Liguria, but then some Ligurian tribesmen that wanted to surrender traveled to the border of Cisalpine Gaul and asked to be placed under Marcellus’ (and not the consuls’) protection. Marcellus—​who found himself in a delicate position—​wrote to the Senate asking for instructions, and the patres reaffirmed the consuls’ primacy by stating that uerius fuisse consules, quorum prouincia esset, quam se, quid e re publica esset, decernere (“it was more proper for the consuls, whose province it was, than for them, to decide what was to the advantage of the state”).59 The tendency to favor the traditional system may also be observed at the praetorian level, where the distinction between the military prerogatives of the magistrates in their year of office and their prorogued equivalent became even sharper.60 When, between 175 and 173, Rome had to face a serious revolt in

58. ORF4 frg. 223. See Astin 1978: 120. 59. Livy 40.16.4–​6. According to Vervaet (2014: 155), “this case yet again clearly shows that when a prouincia was assigned to one or both consul(s), this province ipso facto was consularis, irrespective of the presence of a proconsul who by decree of the Senate had the same province, and that in this province the consulare imperium auspiciumque of the consul(s) by definition took precedence over the consulare imperium auspiciumque of the proconsul.” I do agree with Vervaet’s interpretation of the episode, even if I am not fully convinced by the fact that the consuls “by definition” took precedence on the proconsuls. It was the specific political context and the new cursus inaugurated within the field of provincial administration that, in my view, prompted the patres to produce such a reply to the proconsul’s request. 60. Prorogations of praetorian magistrates were not normally contemplated during this period (with the exception of the Spanish front, where “regular” prorogations of one year were granted to meet with the logistic problems created by the geographical distance with Rome). However, it is worth noting a rather interesting case in 177, when Ti. Claudius Nero, who as praetor in 178 had been put in charge of a military force near Pisae, is called by Livy with the title proconsul (Livy 41.12.1: Ti. Claudius proconsul, qui praetor priore anno fuerat, cum praesidio legionis unius Pisis praeerat). Here we can either think of a mistake by Livy, or that the Senate had decided to adopt the “Spanish practice” (i.e., enhancement of the (pro)praetor’s imperium to a consular level) in order to intimidate the Ligurian tribes with a display of consular authority.

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Corsica (which traditionally fell under the jurisdiction of the praetor serving in Sardinia) and henceforth to split the control of the two islands between two different imperium-​holders, the Senate regularly decided to entrust the command of the military operations to the newly elected praetors, and to entrust the control of (by then) pacified Sardinia to prorogued magistrates.61 Clearly, despite the Senate’s general willingness to reassert the traditional supremacy of the new-​elected magistrates there were still moments of tension. In 177, provincial allocations became once more the focus of a harsh conflict when the Senate decided to entrust the war in Istria to one of the new consuls—​C. Claudius Pulcher—​and to extend for one year the command of the (by then) ex-​ consuls A. Manlius Vulso and M. Iunius Brutus, who had already fought in the region. When the latter were informed of the decision, they launched another campaign against the Histri, and this prompted the new consul to leave for his province at night, without offering vows, without assuming the military garb, and unaccompanied by his lictors (non uotis nuncupatis, non paludatis lictoribus). Livy’s account continues with more interesting details: when Claudius arrived in Istria and demanded for the right to exercise the high command, the proconsuls refused to hand him over their armies until he would have come in the province “in the regular manner, in accordance with ancient practice” (cum is more maiorum, secundum uota in Capitolio nuncupata, lictoribus paludatis profectus ab urbe esset). The consul was forced to come back to Rome, to offer his vows in the Capitol and set out again for his province, where he was finally able to take up his command.62 While the episode shows that the old debates on the institutional relationship between different imperium-​holders were still very relevant, it also confirms that in one way or another the consuls were able to impose their will. And this, along with the circumstance that we do not hear of any outstanding achievement by promagistrates (or priuati) in this period, does indicate that the new pattern was (at least for the moment) effective.

The overall military situation—​a defeat suffered by the two consuls in Istria, combined with the fear of a general uprising of the Ligurian and Gallic communities—​would justify the latter hypothesis. Cf. Brennan 2000: 146–​48. 61. See Livy 41.21.1–​2 (174); Livy 42.1.3–​4 (173). Livy does not record the provincial allotments for the year 175, but in 174 we do find a Ser. Cornelius Sulla serving as a prorogued magistrate in Sardinia. It is possible then that he too was in Corsica during his year in office (175). 62. Livy 41.6.1–​3, 10.5–​7. Briscoe 2013: 51–​52 believes that the annual prorogation granted to the consuls of 178 might be an error of Livy, as “it is inconceivable that the Senate would have sent the consul to a province still held by proconsuls, thus creating a potential clash of imperia aequa.” We should perhaps regard this episode as proof of the survival of a current of thought that held different views on the methods for the yearly assignment of provincial commands.

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The system developed in this period (187–​172) successfully got through the challenge of the outbreak of a new great war in the East, this time against King Perseus of Macedonia (171–​167).63 Both at a consular and praetorian level, we are presented with a regular sequence of the yearly elected magistrates at the command of the military operations,64 and the few prorogations we hear of in these years were only granted to secure a smooth transition at the head of the armies, or in order to widen the pool of the magistrates that could be deployed in the field during their year of office.

7.7. The New Burdens of the Imperial Administration (166–​133) The cessation of Livy’s narrative in 167 makes it difficult to offer a detailed reconstruction of how Rome dealt with the administration of her empire in the second half of the century. Yet some points may be stressed. It seems that the system devised between 187 and 167, having ensured a regular (and peaceful) succession of magistrates at the head of the main military operations, was consistently adopted over the following two decades. For at least sixteen years, no outstanding prorogations of imperium are recorded, and the outbreak of two major crises in Africa and Macedonia in 149 shows that the Senate continued to rely upon serving magistrates for the most prestigious commands. We know that as early as in 150 the consuls of the previous year were kept in Spain, probably because the new elected magistrates foresaw the opportunity to bring war in Africa, and both the Third Punic War and the Fourth Macedonian War were managed through a regular succession of magistrates at the head of the operations.65 Even when the lack of military expertise within the nobility brought to 63. On this conflict see the recent discussion in Burton 2017. 64. The command of the war was regularly assigned to one of the two consuls in charge for every year from 171 to 167, while praetors mainly served in Epirus against Perseus’ ally king Gentius, and at the command of the fleet (see Broughton 1951 ad loc. for their armies and provinces). Some of these praetors obtained outstanding victories and celebrated triumphs at the end of their term in office (e.g., Cn. Octavius and L. Anicius Gallus in 167). The Senate’s willingness to rely on praetors as active commanders is shown by the fact that at the outbreak of the war—​in a similar fashion to what had happened with the Syrian War—​it decided to unify the Spanish command in order to have a free slot in the praetorian sortition (Livy 42.28.6: his praetoribus prouinciae decretae, duae iure Romae dicendo, Hispania et Sicilia et Sardinia, ut uni sors integra esset, quo senatus censuisset). The difference with the war against Antiochus lies in the fact that on this occasion the provision was maintained until the defeat of Perseus. 65. See Broughton 1951 for a list of our limited sources for this period. One of the two consuls of 149 received a prorogation of his African command, but only to await the arrival of his successor (Val. Max. 5.2, ext. 4; Livy Per. 50; App. Lib. 108–​9; Zonar. 9.27). The praetors that

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the decision to entrust the African command to an outstanding character—​the young P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus—​that was done by allowing him to run for the consulship instead of granting him an exceptional imperium.66 The confidence that this system could definitely endure the pressures of imperial administration might partly explain the curious decision to keep the number of annual magistrates at eight (two consuls and six praetors) despite the annexation of three new territorial provinces—​Macedonia with Greece, Africa, and Asia—​between 146 and 133.67 Indeed, the fact that the sum of prouinciae now outstripped the number of the yearly elected magistrates necessarily implied that, in order to guarantee the continuous presence of imperatores in all the territories, prorogations or special commands had to come back to the fore, especially in the case of the outbreak of unexpected threats.68 But the members of the nobility may have believed that they could easily deal with the problem (as they had recently done), and that any competition between imperium-​holders would ultimately be resolved within the Senate. If that was indeed the case, they were wrong. As prorogations flourished, they brought with them a revival of ancient, deep-​seated rivalries that the Senate found

fought in Macedonia were P. Iuventius Thalna (149) and Q. Caecilius Metellus (148). Brennan 2000: 224 seems to believe that Metellus was sent to Macedonia only when news came that Thalna had been killed in military operations (thus implying that under different conditions the latter’s command would have been prorogued). However, we have no clear proof of that, and it is possible that Metellus had already been appointed to replace the (by then) propraetor when the Senate learned of his death. 66. For the lack of military expertise among the nobility—​due to a significant decrease of military commitment after the end of the Third Macedonian War—​see Michael J. Taylor’s contribution to this volume. This might explain the decision to entrust the most difficult provincial assignments to a limited number of men. What does seem interesting, however, is that these provincial allocations were made by trying to maintain the regular sequence of elected magistrates. 67. See Letta and Segenni 2015 for a comprehensive and updated analysis of Roman provincial administration of these territories. On Africa see also Gargola 2017, who emphasizes how the scanty evidence casts serious doubts on the existence of a “regular” praetorian province in Africa during the second half of the second century bce. However, even if praetors were not regularly sent to Africa every year, the limited number of yearly elected magistrates, along with the need to also control Africa after 146, meant that the outbreak of unexpected incidents could bring the entire system of provincial administration under stress much more speedily than before. 68. One of the reasons that contributed to the decision not to increase the number of praetors was probably the need to limit the competition for the consulship. See Brennan 2000: 239–​40 and cf. Badian 1979: 792–​94.

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increasingly difficult to settle.69 In 144 the young (but already most influential) Scipio Aemilianus successfully maneuvered in order to have his blood brother Q. Fabius Maximus’ command in Spain prorogued by one year, notwithstanding the wish of both serving consuls to be entrusted with the war in the Iberian Peninsula.70 And if it is true that the slave revolt in Sicily (136–​132) was dealt with a fairly regular succession of magistrates at the head of the operations—​ with a system that recalls the one adopted in Corsica forty years before—​in the meantime one of the consuls of 138, D. Iunius Brutus, benefited from a very long prorogation (six years) in Spain, soon followed by the examples of M’. Aquilius in Asia (three years) and L. Aurelius Orestes in Sardinia (four years).71 The system successfully rolled out from the time of the Third Macedonian War was evidently wavering, and it is no surprise that in 131 the debate over a prestigious command, this time in the East, moved (once again) from the Curia to the Comitium. Our main source, Cicero, reports that as the two consuls were struggling on the right to be put at the head of the operations against Aristonicus, and the Senate failed to resolve the dispute, “the people were asked whom they wished to conduct it.” The final choice fell upon the consul P. Licinius Crassus, but the most significant piece of information we get from Cicero is that Scipio Aemilianus tried (this time unsuccessfully) to use the involvement of the people in order to obtain—​as priuatus—​the command of the war for himself.72 A bold 69. For long prorogations see esp. Brennan 2000: 178. For the official status of the individuals that governed the provinces of the imperium Romanum during this period, see the detailed overview in Díaz Fernández 2015. 70. Val. Max. 6.4.2: idem, cum Ser. Sulpicius Galba et Aurelius consules in senatu contenderent uter aduersus Uiriathum in Hispaniam mitteretur, ac magna inter patres conscriptos dissensio esset, omnibus quonam eius sententia inclinaretur expectantibus, “neutrum” inquit “mihi mitti placet, quia alter nihil habet, alteri nihil est satis,” aeque malam licentis imperii magistram iudicans inopiam atque auaritiam. quo dicto ut neuter in prouinciam mitteretur obtinuit (“Of the same Scipio: Consuls Ser. Sulpicius Galba and L. Aurelius Cotta were disputing in the senate which of them should be sent to Spain against Viriathus, and there was great dissension among the Conscript Fathers. As all waited to see which way Scipio’s opinion tended, he said: “I do not think either one should be sent, because one of them has nothing and the other never has enough.” He judged that poverty and greed were equally bad instructors for unfettered authority. By that saying he won his point that neither be sent to a province”). 71. For the succession of praetors at the head of the operations in Sicily during the first slave revolt see Brennan 2000: 151. Under that system the newly elected magistrates fought in the most important operations, while the former ones were sometimes kept on the island for administrative purposes. 72. Cic. Phil. 11.18: sed ne tum quidem populus Romanus ad privatum detulit bellum, quamquam erat Africanus qui anno ante de Numantinis triumpharat; qui, cum longe omnis belli gloria et virtute superaret, duas tamen tribus solas tulit. Ita populus Romanus consuli potius Crasso quam privato Africano bellum gerendum dedit (“But not even on that occasion did the Roman people entrust the war to a private individual, though Africanus was available, who had celebrated his

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attempt, which however shows how the stage was being prepared for the renewal of those conflicts that had dominated the beginning of the century, and which the senatorial elite—​perhaps naively—​had thought could be peacefully restrained through its internal mediation.

7.8. Conclusions Recent studies of Rome’s institutional history and the organization of her command structures have tended to overlook the distinctive features of the second century. This period is usually analyzed as a repository of historical examples that offer evidence for structural models of the hierarchical relations between imperium-​holders, or for the evolution of the meanings that concepts like prouincia and imperium came to assume in the political and administrative language of the Roman Republic.73 Even though these approaches have been important in reframing the debate on Rome’s provincial administration and the development of her empire, they fail to offer a comprehensive vision of this important period and to emphasize the fundamental connection that by this time was established between imperial expansion, institutional reforms, and internal political debate. At the beginning of the second century, Rome found herself at the center of a system of distribution of military commands that, although primarily conceived in order to survive the exceptional and unexpected extension of the Second Punic War, soon proved equally effective for the prosecution of an aggressive (and definitely successful) military strategy. Many nobles found that the practices that were introduced in the field perfectly suited both Rome’s new imperial aims—​which by then far exceeded the control of the Italian peninsula—​and their own personal ambitions. It is the confidence that they felt in these practices that explains the boldness with which they engaged in new dreadful conflicts that brought about a steady and unprecedented extension of the imperium Romanum in the following years. However, the other side of the coin was that more far-​reaching imperium

triumph over Numantia the previous year. Despite standing far above everybody in military renown and ability, he carried only two tribes. So the Roman people gave the conduct of the war to the consul Crassus in preference to the private citizen Africanus.”). Cicero discussed the defeat suffered by Aemilianus in order to praise the “ancient custom” of bestowing the commands of the most prestigious wars to the consuls. However, his argument is clearly shaped by the political agenda of the speech, which aimed to prevent the concession of an imperium extraordinarium to a private citizen (P. Servilius Isauricus) for the war against Dolabella. Scipio’s defeat in 131 should rather be explained with his loss of popularity in the aftermath of Tiberius Gracchus’ death: cf. Astin 1967: 234–​37. 73. For the first view see Vervaet 2014; for the second one see Drogula 2015 and Díaz Fernández 2015.

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grants—​which had been tacitly accepted in the darkest hours of the Second Punic War—​now provoked a dangerous escalation in the struggles between the members of the elite. It is true that political competition had always been fierce, but the opportunities created by the prospects of long commands in remunerative campaigns now brought the contest well beyond the traditional and widely accepted rules. The second century thus emerges as a period dominated by a continuous tension between the necessity to deploy a high number of imperatores in the field in order to guarantee the extension (or indeed the defense) of the imperium Romanum, and the desire to suppress the measures introduced during the Hannibalic War in order to safeguard political stability at Rome. For some time, the nobility believed in the possibility to maintain a precarious balance between these opposite forces. But when the burdens of imperial administration increased, and a restoration of exceptional practices became once again necessary, the balance broke up, and the Roman polity found itself sank into the irreversible crisis of the late Republic. B i b l i o gr a p h y Armstrong, J. 2016. War and Society in Early Rome. From Warlords to Generals. Cambridge. Armstrong, J. 2017. “The Consulship of 367 BC and the Evolution of Roman Military Authority.” Antichthon 51: 124–​48. Astin, A. E. 1958. The lex Annalis before Sulla. Brussels. Astin, A. E. 1967. Scipio Aemilianus. Oxford. Astin, A. E. 1978. Cato the Censor. Oxford. Badian, E. 1959. “Rome and Antiochus the Great. A Study in Cold War.” Classical Philology 54: 81–​99. Badian, E. 1979. “Review of H. Kloft, Prorogation und außerordentliche Imperien 326–​ 81 v. Chr.” Gnomon 51: 792–​94. Bandelli, G. 1985. “Momenti e forme della politica romana nella Transpadana orientale (III–​II secolo a. C.).” Atti e Memorie della Società Istriana di Archeologia e Storia Patria 33: 5–​29. Barber, C. 2020. “Uncovering a ‘Lost Generation’ in the Senate. Demography and the Hannibalic War.” In J. Armstrong and M. P. Fronda (eds.), Romans at War. Soldiers, Citizens, and Society in the Roman Republic, 154–​70. London and New York. Beck, H. 2005. Karriere und Hierarchie. Die römische Aristokratie und die Anfänge des cursus honorum in der mittleren Republik. Berlin. Bellomo, M. 2013. “Le trattative di pace del 203–​201 a.C. Scipione e il Senato.” Cahiers du Centre Gustave-​Glotz 24: 37–​62.

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Bellomo, M. 2019. Il comando militare a Roma nell’età delle guerre puniche (264–​201 a.C.). Stuttgart. Beltramini, L. 2020. Commento al libro XXVI di Tito Livio. Pisa. Bergk, A. 2011. “The Development of the Praetorship in the Third Century BC.” In H. Beck, A. Duplà, M. Jehne, and F. Pina Polo (eds.), Consuls and res publica: Holding High Office in the Roman Republic, 61–​74. Cambridge. Billows, R. 1991. “Legal Fiction and Political Reform at Rome in the Early Second Century B. C.” Phoenix 43: 112–​33. Brennan, T. C. 2000. The Praetorship in the Roman Republic. Oxford. Briscoe, J. 1972. “Flamininus and Roman Politics, 200–​189 B.C.” Latomus 31: 22–​53. Briscoe, J. 1973. A Commentary on Livy. Books XXXI–​XXXIII. Oxford. Briscoe, J. 2013. A Commentary on Livy. Books XLI–​XLV. Oxford. Broughton, T. R. S. 1951. The Magistrates of the Roman Republic. Vol. I. New York. Burton, P. J. 2011. Friendship and Empire. Roman Diplomacy and Imperialism in the Middle Republic (353–​146 BC). Cambridge. Burton, P. J. 2017. Rome and the Third Macedonian War. Cambridge. Burton, P. J. 2019. Roman Imperialism. Leiden and Boston. Buti, I. 1992. “Appunti in tema di ‘prorogatio imperii’. I. Scansioni temporali delle magistrature.” Index 19: 245–​67. Buti, I. 2014. “Appunti in tema di ‘prorogatio imperii’. III.” Annali della Facoltà Giuridica dell’Università di Camerino 3: 1–​41. Cassola, F. 1962. I gruppi politici romani nel III secolo a.C. Trieste. Crawford, M. 2008. “States Waiting in the Wings.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land, and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 631–​43. Leiden and Boston. Dalla Rosa, A. 2003. “Ductu auspicioque. per una riflessione sui fondamenti religiosi del potere magistratuale fino all’epoca augustea.” Studi Classici e Orientali 49: 185–​255. Day, S. 2017. “The People’s Rôle in Allocating Provincial Commands in the Middle Roman Republic.” Journal of Roman Studies 107: 1–​26. Derow, P. S. 1979. “Polybius, Rome, and the East.” Journal of Roman Studies 69: 1–​15. Develin, R. 1975. “Prorogation of imperium before the Hannibalic War.” Latomus 34: 716–​22. Develin, R. 1979. Patterns in Office-​Holding 366–​49 B.C. Brussels. Develin, R. 1980. “The Roman Command Structure and Spain 218–​190 B.C.” Klio 62: 355–​67. Díaz Fernández, A. 2015. “Prouincia et Imperium”. El mando provincial en la República romana (227–​44 a. C.). Seville. Drogula, F. 2015. Commanders & Command in the Roman Republic and Early Empire. Chapel Hill.

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Drogula, F. 2020. “The Institutionalization of Warfare in Early Rome.” In J. Armstrong and M. P. Fronda (eds.), Romans at War. Soldiers, Citizens, and Society in the Roman Republic, 17–​34. New York. Ebel, Ch. 1991. “Dum populus senatusque vellet.” Historia 40: 439–​48. Eckstein, A. M. 1987. Senate and General. Individual Decision Making and Roman Foreign Relations, 264–​194 B.C. Berkeley. Eckstein, A. M. 2006. Mediterranean Anarchy, Interstate War and the Rise of Rome. Berkeley. Eckstein, A. M. 2008. Rome Enters the Greek East. From Anarchy to Hierarchy in the Hellenistic Mediterranean, 230–​170 BC. Oxford. Feig Vishnia, R. 1996. State, Society and Popular Leaders in Mid-​Republican Rome 241–​ 167 BC. London and New York. Ferrary, J.-​L. 2003. “La législation romaine dans les livres 21 à 45 de Tite-​Live.” In T. Hantos (ed.), Laurea internationalis. Festschrift für Jochen Bleicken zum 75. Geburtstag, 107–​42. Stuttgart. Finley, M. I. 1978. “Empire in the Graeco-​Roman World.” Greece and Rome 25: 1–​15. Flower, H. 2010. Roman Republics. Princeton. Frank, T. 1914. Roman Imperialism. New York. Gargola, D. J. 2017. “Was There a Regular Provincia Africa in the Second Century?” Historia 66: 331–​61. Gruen, E. S. 1984. The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome. Berkeley. Harris, W. V. 1979. War and Imperialism in Republican Rome (327–​70 B.C.). Oxford. Harris, W. V. 1984 (ed.). The Imperialism of Mid-​Republican Rome. Rome. Holleaux, M. 1921. Rome, la Grèce et les monarchies hellénistiques au IIIe siècle avant J.-​C. (273–​205). Paris. Hurlet, F. 2012. “Pro consule uel pro praetore? À propos des titres et de pouvoirs des gouverneurs prétoriens d’Afrique, de Sicile et de Sardaigne-​Corse sous la République romaine (227–​52 av. J.-​C.).” Chiron 42: 97–​108. Jashemski, W. F. 1950. The Origins and History of the Proconsular and the Propraetorian imperium to 27 B.C. Chicago. Kloft, H. 1977. Prorogation und außerordentliche Imperien, 326–​81 v. Chr. Untersuchungen zur Verfassung der römischen Republik. Meisenheim am Glan. Lazenby, J. F. 1978. Hannibal’s War. A Military History of the Second Punic War. Warminster. Lazenby, J. F. 1996. The First Punic War. London. Letta, C., and S. Segenni (eds.). 2015. Roma e le sue province. Rome. Lintott, A. 1981. “What Was the ‘Imperium Romanum?’” Greece and Rome 28: 53–​64. Loreto, L. 1993. Un’epoca di buon senso. Decisione, consenso e stato a Roma tra il 326 e il 264 a.C. Amsterdam. Loreto, L. 2007. La grande strategia di Roma nell’età della prima guerra punica (ca. 273–​ ca. 229 a.C.). l’inizio di un paradosso. Naples.

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McDonald, A. H. 1974. “The Roman Conquest of Cisalpine Gaul (201–​191 B.C.).” Antichthon 8: 44–​53. Morrell, K. 2017. Pompey, Cato, and the Governance of the Roman Empire. Oxford. Prag, J. 2017. “Die Römische Republik und der Westen.” In M. Haake and A.-​C. Harders (eds.), Politische Kultur und soziale Struktur der römischen Republik. Bilanzen und Perspektiven, 287–​307. Stuttgart. Phillips, D. A. 2004. “Voter Turnout in Consular Elections.” Ancient History Bulletin 18: 48–​60. Rafferty, D. 2019. Provincial Allocations in Rome. 123–​52 BCE. Stuttgart. Rich, J. 2014. “The Triumph in the Roman Republic. Frequency, Fluctuation and Policy.” In C. H. Lange and F. J. Vervaet (eds.), The Roman Republican Triumph beyond the Spectacle, 197–​258. Rome. Richardson, J. S. 1975. “The Triumph, the Praetors and the Senate in the Early Second Century B.C.” Journal of Roman Studies 65: 50–​63. Richardson, J. S. 1986. “Hispaniae”. Spain and the Development of Roman Imperialism (218–​82 B.C.). Cambridge. Richardson, J. S. 2008. The Language of Empire. Rome and the Idea of Empire from the Third Century BC to the Second Century AD. Cambridge. Rosenstein, N. 1993. “Competition and Crisis in Mid-​Republican Rome.” Phoenix 47: 313–​38. Russo, F. 2018. Diplomazia e propaganda a Roma ai tempi delle guerre d’oltremare. Milan. Sherwin-​White, A. N. 1984. Roman Foreign Policy in the East, 168 B.C. to A.D. 1. London. Stern, G. 2011. “The Rarely Heard Voices of Rome’s Lower Classes in Consular Elections.” Ancient History Bulletin 25: 29–​46. Stewart, R. 1998. Public Office in Early Rome. Ritual Procedure and Political Practice. Ann Arbor. Sumner, G. V. 1970. “Proconsuls and provinciae in Spain, 218/​7–​196/​5 B.C.” Arethusa 3: 85–​102. Thornton, J. 2014. Le guerre macedoniche. Rome. Vervaet, F. J. 2006. “The Scope of the lex Sempronia Concerning the Assignment of the Consular Provinces (123 BCE).” Athenaeum 94: 625–​54. Vervaet, F. J. 2012. “The Praetorian Proconsuls of the Roman Republic (211–​52 BCE). A Constitutional Survey.” Chiron 42: 45–​96. Vervaet, F. J. 2014. The High Command in the Roman Republic. The Principle of the summum imperium auspiciumque from 509 to 19 BCE. Stuttgart. Vervaet, F. J., and T. Ñaco del Hoyo. 2007. “War in Outer Space. Nature and Impact of the Roman War Effort in Spain, 218/​217–​197 B.C.E.” In L. de Blois and E. Lo Cascio (eds.), The Impact of the Roman Army (200 BC–​AD 476). Economic, Social, Political, Religious, and Cultural Aspects, 21–​46. Leiden and Boston.

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Legislation, Politics, and Social Change in the Early Second Century bce Thibaud Lanfranchi

8.1. Introduction In her book Roman Republics, Harriet Flower offers an important insight into Sulla’s constitutional reforms: The new system relied almost entirely on the rule of law and on norms and guidelines that had been clearly encoded in Sulla’s legislation. In other words, lex was to replace mos maiorum. The basic foundation of Sulla’s republic was new, therefore, even to the extent of being a revolutionary change in political life at Rome.1 In Flower’s assessment, Sulla’s legislation marked a major discontinuity in Roman history, from a system operating mainly through mos to a system increasingly operating through legislation and relying on leges and plebiscita. The use of legislation and the place of law-​making thus became increasingly prominent in the first century bce: this is a major aspect of the deep historical significance of Sulla’s dictatorship, as he gave law-​making an altogether new role in his attempt to restore the Republic. This view, which has now been put to the test in other areas,2 carries considerable traction, and one might add that this period also witnessed a transition from oral to written law. Flower’s argument also paves the way

1. Flower 2010: 129. 2. See the case of infamia, recently studied in Bur 2018. Thibaud Lanfranchi, Legislation, Politics, and Social Change in the Early Second Century bce In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0008

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for a reconsideration of the increasingly important role that law-​making had in the longer-​term trajectory of late Republican period. Indeed, a distinctive use of legislation undoubtedly began well before Sulla and, in this important respect, the second century bce (or in fact even the age of the Hannibalic War) stands out as a crucial period, whose significance cannot be restricted to the Gracchan legislation. It is precisely on the role of law-​making in Roman political life and its possible evolution that this chapter will be focusing. The study of Roman legislation in the second century bce may be approached in several ways: from a quantitative standpoint, from a qualitative angle, or through the lens of voting procedures. All three modes of study require a keen awareness of the specific context of the time and of the peculiarities of our sources. It should be emphasized right at the outset that our knowledge of Roman legislation is rather patchy, and depends on the sources available for different historical periods; the fact that all the modern lists of Roman laws differ, albeit slightly, from one another is a symptom of this underlying issue. They are all based on choices and interpretations, which must be acknowledged and taken into account. To be clear: there is no such thing as a complete official list of all Roman laws, and we have to attempt a reconstruction on the basis of a highly fragmentary range of surviving sources. Yet a cautious statistical analysis is worth attempting for at least two reasons. Firstly, we do not rely on a single source in compiling these lists of laws, and it is thus possible to mitigate the bias of a particular author, who might be favoring a specific type of measures. Secondly, the number of preserved laws is already significant enough to enable a statistical analysis if we are content not to seek absolute conclusions, but general patterns. Their existence, notwithstanding the nature itself of the evidence, is a fact of great interest, and an explanation must be sought, without losing sight of J.-​L. Ferrary’s caveat: the best we can hope to produce is “a certain number of hypotheses that might at best aspire to probability.”3 A quantitative and statistical approach therefore provides insights that must be handled with caution, but are nonetheless significant. Without claiming to achieve a comprehensive coverage, I shall therefore address the three different aspects mentioned above in order to show that important developments were clearly taking place at that time, and that the second century was unquestionably one of a community in transition. After some quantitative remarks, and a brief

3. Ferrary 2003: 141 (“un certain nombre d’hypothèses qui ne pourront au mieux prétendre qu’à la probabilité”).

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general account of this legislation, I shall then focus on legislation regarding private law, with a view to elucidate the ongoing processes.4

8.2. Roman Legislation during the Second Century bce 8.2.1. Some Quantitative Remarks The simplest way of studying Roman legislation is most probably to start with the quantitative dimension. How many legislative texts do we have and of which kind? I am obviously not the first to ask this question, but I have nonetheless undertaken a new count, using the three main existing collections of Roman laws by G. Rotondi, D. Flach, and M. Elster, as well as the calculations made by C. Williamson in a book in which she emphasized the importance of lex publica in the Roman political system.5 To make the survey even more interesting, a recount for the whole Republican period can be examined first. It gives a total of 644 legislative measures, divided into 309 leges (statutes passed by the popular voting assemblies, the comitia) and 335 plebiscita (laws passed by the plebeian council) over the period from 509 to 45 bce.6 If we divide up this period by century, the results are as follows: • 509–​401: 40 laws and 43 plebiscites; • 400–​301: 38 laws and 28 plebiscites (for the period of the Struggle of the Orders, 509–​287, we can count 85 laws and 78 plebiscites); • 300–​201: 47 laws and 40 plebiscites (however, the Second Punic War witnesses a significant increase in legislation and is often studied separately, with good reason).7 For the second century bce, 171 legislative texts are mentioned, distributed in the following way: 58 comitial laws and 113 plebiscites. Finally, for the period 4. This chapter may be read along with A. Gallo’s contribution to this volume, which deals with closely related problems from a different angle. 5. Rotondi 1912; Flach 1994; Elster 2003; Williamson 2005. On the late Republican period see Elster 2020. It should be added that these collections of Roman laws traditionally give a list of laws, plebiscites, and rogationes (see, e.g., the Rogatio de aere alieno minuendo in Elster 2003: 119–​20). As the number of rogationes is rather small and as all these collections mention them, I have decided to keep them for my figures. 6. For the period from 509 bce to 96 ce, Williamson 2005: 7 finds 669 laws and plebiscites, which is a similar figure. 7. See Williamson 2005: 11–​12. One can also note that Botsford 1909: 333–​46 already emphasized the importance of the age of C. Flaminius.

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Legislation, Politics, and Social Change

197

from 100 to 45 bce, 126 laws and 111 plebiscites are attested. These figures are obviously interesting in their own right, as well as in comparison with previous and subsequent periods. There is a significant rise in the number of legislative measures. This is undoubtedly a reflection of wider and more diverse evidentiary base, but there are other reasons. It may also be evidence for a greater use of legislation, which would be confirmed by its continuing increase in the first century. This calculation only corroborates the analysis of J. Bleicken, who in his classic book Lex Publica pointed out that the second century marked the beginning of this rise in the number of laws and therefore an increasingly significant use of this tool.8 Yet the second century also has at least two distinctive features. First of all, it is the century with the greatest imbalance between the use of plebiscites and the use of laws: there are twice as many plebiscites. By all means, the Gracchan legislation plays a major role in this imbalance, since 35 plebiscites are recorded for the years 133, 123, and 122. Beyond these exceptional years, the importance of tribunician legislation remains clear, but is no longer quite as prominent in merely quantitative terms. If we focus on the period from 200 to 134, we encounter 42 laws and 50 plebiscites. As stated above, the most significant element is the overall pattern. This evolution persisted during the first century, without such a stark imbalance between plebiscites and laws: a pattern that, of course, confirms the exceptional profile of the Gracchan episode, but also the highly distinctive profile of the second century. A second remarkable feature has already been noted by Williamson: over the period from 200 to 134, there is no peak in legislative activity in any particular year, whereas this is often the case in other periods, such as in 217, in 133, or in 81.9 Law-​making began to intensify rather steadily, but was quite evenly spread over the period, before peaking with the Gracchan legislation. Thus, if there seems to be a clear tendency to resort to plebiscites during the second century, particularly after 134, the phenomenon clearly begins before that date. Williamson’s analysis converges with Bleicken’s: from a slightly different list of laws, she also observes this rise in the number of legislative measures from the second century onward, and draws attention to the greater use of the plebiscite and the increasing role of the tribal assembly. Some of her calculations are worth recalling: the largest number of public laws were presented to or were intended for presentation to the concilium plebis. . . . Between 350 and 219, 32 percent

8. Bleicken 1975: 399, 404–​5. On the other hand, Jehne 2012: 427, while following this idea, considers that we should not envisage a fully consistent development in this direction. 9. Williamson 2005: 8.

198

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A CO MMUN IT Y IN T R ANSIT ION

of all proposed and enacted laws involved this assembly; between 218 and 201, 60 percent; between 200 and 134, 54 percent; between 133 and 91, 66 percent; and between 91 and 44, 44 percent.10 Her division by period is not the same, but the trends are similar and there is an increase compared to the second half of the fourth century and the third century (excluding the Second Punic War). We can then go further into the detail of this legislation for the second century:11 This data set is interesting in itself because of its thematic distribution. In a study based on a paper by J.-​L. Ferrary, M. Jehne concluded that from 218 to 167, 44 percent of the laws mentioned by Livy concerned public bodies, but that, if we focus on laws mentioned only by other authors, the figure goes down to 15 percent. He concluded that ancient authors (and especially Livy among them) considered this kind of law more deserving of a mention than others.12 A slightly more in-​depth statistical analysis of the legislation from the second century produces the following elements of interest, summarized in what follows by a series of graphs. The first one (chart 8.1) focuses on the various attested types of legislation: The following two figures (charts 8.2 and 8.3) summarize the situation for leges and plebiscites:13

10. Williamson 2005: 21: “Over much of the Middle and Late Republic, from the Second Punic War to the dictatorship of Sulla, half or more of recorded laws for the period passed through Rome’s concilium plebis.” See also Williamson 2005: 16–​17 and 31. 11. Some important caveats must be issued here: I have kept the hypothetical date of 187–​186 for the lex de ciuitate Latinorum, and I note that Livy 41.8.9 mentions it in connection with the lex Claudia of 177. However, Humbert 1978: 114–​17 suggests that it could well date to the fourth century, and Ferrary 2003: 115–​16, building on an argument of U. Laffi, suggests a date after 338, but well before 187. The three leges Porciae on prouocatio are a heavily debated issue, and for the purposes of this discussion I follow the traditional and prevailing view that dates them to the 190s. The leges Licinia and Aebutia predate the Gracchan legislation (here I follow De Martino 1973: 423 rather than Mommsen). The lex agraria mentioned by Rotondi 1912: 281 for 173 has not been included because it would then have been necessary to include all other similar cases: this law is not mentioned in the sources (see Ferrary 2003: 129–​30) and is merely a hypothesis. Among the leges de sponsu, only the lex Cicereia has been included. The date of the leges Apuleia, Publilia, and Furia is unknown, but they clearly predate the lex Cicereia and should probably be placed in the third century (see Mantovani 2012: 730–​31). Last but not least, it must be acknowledged that the Latin titles of these laws are largely modern constructions: useful shorthand references at best, which only focus on what is known about the contents of a piece of legislation. 12. Jehne 2012: 406. 13. For plebiscita, see also the tables given by Gallo in the same volume.

4 leges 1 plebiscitum

2 plebiscita

c. 195 c. 195 c. 195 195

195

196

196

1 plebiscitum

200 200

198 198 197

2 leges

200

1 lex 3 plebiscita

200

Date

Amount

Lex de bello Philippo Macedonum regi indicendo Plebiscitum de ouatione L. Cornelii Lentuli Plebiscitum de imperio in Hispania Plebiscitum de iureiurando C. Valerii Flacci Lex de foedere cum Achaeis faciendo Lex de creandis praetoribus sex Plebiscitum Atinium de coloniis quinque deducendis Plebiscitum Licinianum de IIIviris epulonibus creandis Plebiscitum Marcium Atinium de pace cum Philippo facienda Plebiscitum Valerium Fundanium de lege Oppia abroganda Lex Porcia de prouocatione Lex Porcia de prouocatione Lex Porcia de prouocatione Lex Porcia de sumptu prouinciali

Name

lex lex lex lex

repeal of a lex from 215 judiciary judiciary judiciary sumptuary laws

foreign affairs

plebiscitum plebiscitum

religion

foreign affairs magistrates colonies

foreign affairs oath-​taking

honors

foreign affairs

Theme

plebiscitum

plebiscitum plebiscitum ex s.c. lex lex plebiscitum

lex consularis ex s.c. plebiscitum

Type of law

Rotondi 1912: 268–​69 Rotondi 1912: 268–​69 Rotondi 1912: 268–​69 Rotondi 1912: 269–​70

Rotondi 1912: 267–​68

Rotondi 1912: 267

Rotondi 1912: 267

Rotondi 1912: 266 Rotondi 1912: 266 Rotondi 1912: 266–​67

(continued)

Elster 2003 n° 142 Elster 2003 n° 142 Elster 2003 n° 142 Elster 2003 n° 143

Elster 2003 n° 141

Elster 2003 n° 140

Elster 2003 n° 139

Elster 2003 n° 136 Elster 2003 n° 137 Elster 2003 n° 138

Elster 2003 n° 134 Elster 2003 n° 135

Elster 2003 n° 133

Rotondi 1912: 265–​66 Rotondi 1912: 266 Rotondi 1912: 266

Elster 2003 n° 132

Elster

Rotondi 1912: 265

Rotondi

Table 8.1  Legislation attested in the second century bce

19

1 plebiscitum

3 leges 1 plebiscitum

2 leges

1 lex 1 plebiscitum

2 plebiscita

194

2 plebiscita

c. 189 188

189

192? 191 191 189 189

192

c. 193

193

194

Date

Amount

Type of law

Plebiscitum Baebium de coloniis plebiscitum deducendis Plebiscitum Aelium de coloniis plebiscitum ex duabus latinis deducendis s.c. Plebiscitum Sempronium de pecunia plebiscitum ex credita s.c. Plebiscitum Laetorium de plebiscitum circumscriptione adulescentium Plebiscitum de permutatione plebiscitum ex provinciarum s.c. Lex Iunia de feneratione lex Lex Acilia de intercalatione lex Lex de bello Antiocho indicendo lex Lex de pace cum Antiocho facienda lex Lex de pace cum Aetolis facienda lex (or plebiscitum?) Plebiscitum Terentium de plebiscitum libertinorum liberis Lex Maevia (de prouincia Asia?) lex Plebiscitum Valerium de ciuitate plebiscitum cum suffragio Formianis Fundanis Arpinatibus danda

Name

Rotondi 1912: 272–​73

provinces citizenship

census

Rotondi 1912: 274 Rotondi 1912: 274–​75

Rotondi 1912: 274

money and credit Rotondi 1912: 273 religion Rotondi 1912: 273 foreign affairs Rotondi 1912: 273 Rotondi 1912: 273–​74 foreign affairs foreign affairs Rotondi 1912: 274

provinces

Elster 2003 n° 155 Elster 2003 n° 156

Elster 2003 n° 154

Elster 2003 n° 149 Elster 2003 n° 150 Elster 2003 n° 151 Elster 2003 n° 152 Elster 2003 n° 153

Elster 2003 n° 148

Elster 2003 n° 147

money and credit Rotondi 1912: 271–​72

Elster 2003 n° 145

Rotondi 1912: 270–​71

Elster 2003 n° 146

Elster 2003 n° 144

Elster

Rotondi 1912: 270

Rotondi

money and credit Rotondi 1912: 271

colonies

colonies

Theme

Table 8.1  Continued

20

1 plebiscitum 1 lex 2 plebiscita

2 lex

1 plebiscitum 1 plebiscitum

Lex Cornelia Baebia de ambitu

181

Lex Baebia de praetoribus (doubtful) 180 Plebiscitum Villium annalis 179 Plebiscitum de quaestione instituenda c. 179 Lex de triumpho? between Plebiscitum Papirium de aedibus 179 and terra ara consecrandis 154

181

no later than 186 186 Plebiscitum de P. Aebutio et de Faecenia Hispala c. 185 Lex or rogatio Pinaria annalis 182 Plebiscitum Orchium de cenis

1 lex 1 plebiscitum

Rogatio Petillia de pecunia regis Antiochi (its authenticity is doubtful) Lex Atilia de tutore dando

187?

1 plebiscitum

judiciary

plebiscitum ex s.c. plebiscitum plebiscitum ex s.c. lex consularis ex s.c. lex Rotondi 1912: 276

Rotondi 1912: 275–​76

magistrates judiciary honors religion

plebiscitum plebiscitum lex plebiscitum

magistrates

judiciary

Rotondi 1912: 279

Rotondi 1912: 278–​79 Rotondi 1912: 279

Rotondi 1912: 277–​78

Rotondi 1912: 277

magistrates Rotondi 1912: 278 sumptuary laws Rotondi 1912: 276

guardianship

money and credit Rotondi 1912: 275

lex

plebiscitum

(continued )

Elster 2003 n° 167 Elster 2003 n° 168

Elster 2003 n° 164 Elster 2003 n° 165

Elster 2003 n° 162

Elster 2003 n° 161

Elster 2003 n° 163 Elster 2003 n° 160

Elster 2003 n° 159

Elster 2003 n° 158

Elster 2003 n° 157

201

2 leges

1 lex 1 lex 3 plebiscita

171

171

172

172

177 177–​176 174 c. 173 172

citizenship

lex

foreign affairs

magistrates

agrarian issues

magistrates

magistrates magistrates religion judiciary judiciary

foreign affairs

magistrates

Theme

plebiscitum

Type of law

lex consularis ex s.c. Lex de imperio veteris proconsulis lex Lex de lege Baebia deroganda lex Lex de feriis vovendis lex Lex Cicereia de sponsu lex Plebiscitum Marcium de Liguribus plebiscitum ex s.c. Rogatio Marcia de M. Popillio plebiscitum Laenate Plebiscitum Lucretium de agro plebiscitum ex Campano s.c. Lex Licinia Cassia de tribunis lex consularis militum a populo non creandis ex s.c. Lex de bello Perseo indicendo lex consularis ex s.c.

Rogatio Licinia Papiria de A. Manlio imperio abrogando before 177 Lex de ciuitate Latinorum (187/​186? Or maybe during the 3rd century?) 177 Lex Claudia de sociis

177

4 leges 1 plebiscitum

Name

Date

Amount

Table 8.1  Continued

Elster 2003 n° 175

Rotondi 1912: 281–​82

Rotondi 1912: 282

Rotondi 1912: 282

Elster 2003 n° 179

Elster 2003 n° 178

Elster 2003 n° 176

Elster 2003 n° 172 Elster 2003 n° 166 Elster 2003 n° 173 Elster 2003 n° 226 Elster 2003 n° 174

Rotondi 1912: 280–​81 Rotondi 1912: 279 Rotondi 1912: 281 Rotondi 1912: 477 Rotondi 1912: 281

Rotondi 1912: 282

Elster 2003 n° 171

Elster 2003 n° 170

Elster 2003 n° 169

Elster

Rotondi 1912: 280

Rotondi 1912: 280

Rotondi 1912: 280

Rotondi

20

1 lex 1 lex 2 plebiscita

1 lex

1 lex 2 leges 1 plebiscitum

1 lex

1 plebiscitum 3 plebiscita

before 169 Plebiscitum Furium testamentarium plebiscitum 169 Plebiscitum Voconium de mulierum plebiscitum hereditatibus 169 Rogatio Rutilia de locatione censoria plebiscitum 169 or 105 Lex Rutilia de tribunis militum plebiscitum? 168 Lex de prouincia L. Aemilio Paulo lex extra sortem danda before 167 Lex de modo agrorum? lex 167 Plebiscitum Sempronium de plebiscitum ex triumpho L. Aemilii Paulli, Cn. s.c. Octavii, L. Anicii Galli 167 Lex de ornamentis triumphalibus lex L. Aemilii Paulli 167 Rogatio Iuventia de bello Rhodiis lex indicendo 166 Lex de regibus Romam non lex admittendis 161 Lex Fannia cibaria lex consularis 159 Lex Cornelia Fulvia de ambitu lex consularis c. 158 Plebiscitum Aelium de iure et de plebiscitum? tempore legum rogandarum c. 158 Plebiscitum Fufium de iure et de plebiscitum? tempore legum rogandarum Elster 2003 n° 182 Elster 2003 n° 183 Elster 2003 n° 184

Rotondi 1912: 284–​85

magistrates magistrates provinces

(continued )

Elster 2003 n° 192

Rotondi 1912: 288–​89 religion

Elster 2003 n° 190 Elster 2003 n° 191 Elster 2003 n° 192

Elster 2003 n° 188

sumptuary laws Rotondi 1912: 287–​88 judiciary Rotondi 1912: 288 Rotondi 1912: 288–​89 religion

Rotondi 1912: 286

Rotondi 1912: 286

foreign affairs foreign affairs

Elster 2003 n° 186

Rotondi 1912: 285–​86

honors

Elster 2003 n° 187

Elster 2003 n° 177 Elster 2003 n° 185

Rotondi 1912: 285

agrarian issues honors

Rotondi 1912: 285

Elster 2003 n° 180 Elster 2003 n° 181

Rotondi 1912: 282–​83 Rotondi 1912: 283–​84

inheritance inheritance

203

c. 151

c. 150?

149?

1 plebiscitum

1 plebiscitum

1 lex 3 plebiscita

1 plebiscitum 1 lex 1 plebiscitum 1 plebiscitum

1 lex 1 plebiscitum

154

1 lex

146 145 145 143

147

147

149 149

149

Date

Amount

Type of law

Lex Caecilia de quaestione lex consularis extraordinaria instituenda Plebiscitum de consulatu non plebiscitum iterando Plebiscitum Plaetorium de plebiscitum dedicatione Rogatio de rege Attalo et de lex vectigalibus Asiae Plebiscitum Atinium plebiscitum de usucapione Rogatio Scribonia de Lusitanis plebiscitum Plebiscitum Calpurnium de pecuniis plebiscitum repetundis Plebiscitum de lege soluendo plebiscitum P. Cornelio Scipione Lex de prouincia P. Cornelio S lex cipioni extra sortem danda Lex Liuia plebiscitum Rogatio Laelia agraria lex Rogatio Licinia de sacerdotiis plebiscitum Plebiscitum Didium s plebiscitum umptuarium

Name

Rotondi 1912: 294

Rotondi 1912: 293–​94

foreign affairs agrarian issues Rotondi 1912: 294–​95 religion Rotondi 1912: 295 sumptuary laws Rotondi 1912: 295

provinces

magistrates

Rotondi 1912: 292 Rotondi 1912: 292

Rotondi 1912: 291

usucapio foreign affairs judiciary

Rotondi 1912: 291

Rotondi 1912: 290–​91

Rotondi 1912: 289–​90

Rotondi

foreign affairs

religion

magistrates

judiciary

Theme

Table 8.1  Continued

Elster 2003 n° 204 Elster 2003 n° 206 Elster 2003 n° 207 Elster 2003 n° 208

Elster 2003 n° 203

Elster 2003 n° 202

Elster 2003 n° 199 Elster 2003 n° 200

Elster 2003 n° 198

Elster 2003 n° 197

Elster 2003 n° 196

Elster 2003 n° 195

Elster 2003 n° 193

Elster

204

141

140

139 139

137 137 136

134

1 lex

1 lex

2 plebiscita

1 lex 1 plebiscitum 1 lex

1 lex 1 plebiscitum

134

142

1 plebiscitum

Plebiscitum Cassium tabellarium Lex de foedere infirmando Lex Furia Atilia de C. Hostilio Mancino Numantinis dedendo Plebiscitum de lege soluendo P. Cornelio Scipione Lex de prouincia Hispania P. Cornelio Scipioni extra sortem danda magistrates provinces

lex

magistrates nighttime assemblies judiciary foreign affairs foreign affairs

foreign affairs

foreign affairs

judiciary

plebiscitum lex lex consularis ex s.c. plebiscitum

Plebiscitum Mucium de L. Hostilio plebiscitum Tubulo Lex de foedere cum Viriatho lex confirmando Lex de foedere informando Rogatio lex de Q. Pompeio Numantinis dedendo Plebiscitum Gabinium tabellarium plebiscitum Plebiscitum Gabinium de coitionibusplebiscitum

Rotondi 1912: 298

Rotondi 1912: 298

Rotondi 1912: 297 Rotondi 1912: 296 Rotondi 1912: 297–​98

Rotondi 1912: 297 Rotondi 1912: 297

Rotondi 1912: 296

Rotondi 1912: 295–​96

Rotondi 1912: 296

(continued )

Elster 2003 n° 218

Elster 2003 n° 217

Elster 2003 n° 214 Elster 2003 n° 215 Elster 2003 n° 216

Elster 2003 n° 212 Elster 2003 n° 213

Elster 2003 n° 211

Elster 2003 n° 210

Elster 2003 n° 209

205

? (before Lex Maenia 162, according to Rotondi)

2nd half Lex Licinia de magistratibus of the 2nd extraordinariis century, but before 133 2nd half Lex Aebutia de magistratibus of the 2nd extraordinariis century, but before 133 2nd Plebiscitum theatralis de XIV century ordinibus equitibus dandis 2nd Plebiscitum Scantinium century?

1 lex 4 plebiscita

Name

Date

Amount

honors judiciary

plebiscitum plebiscitum ?

magistrates

plebiscitum

lex

magistrates

Theme

plebiscitum

Type of law

Table 8.1  Continued

Rotondi 1912: 286–​87

Rotondi 1912: 293

Rotondi 1912: 294

Rotondi 1912: 290

Rotondi 1912: 290

Rotondi

Elster 2003 n° 189

Elster 2003 n° 201

Elster 2003 n° 205

Elster 2003 n° 194

Elster 2003 n° 194

Elster

206

207

Repeal of a law 1% Census Assemblies 1% 1%

Oath taking 1% Citizenship 2% Agrarian laws 3% Colonies 4%

TOTAL

Foreign affairs 20%

Money and credits 4% Sumptuary laws 4% Provinces 5% Private law (Guardianship/Inheritance /Usucapio) 5%

Magistrates 18%

Honours 5%

Religion 9%

Judiciary 15%

Pie chart 8.1  Statistical analysis of second-​century legislation: overall figures.

Money and credits Agrarian laws 2% Private law 5% (Guardianship/Inheritance /Usucapio) 5% Sumptuary laws 5%

LEGES

Citizenship 2%

Foreign affairs 33%

Religion 5% Honours 5%

Provinces 10% Magistrates 12%

Judiciary 17%

Pie chart 8.2  Statistical analysis of second-​century legislation: laws.

208

208

A CO MMUN IT Y IN T R ANSIT ION Citizenship 2% Repeal of a law Provinces 2% 2% Assemblies 2% Oath taking 2%

Agrarian laws 2% Census 2%

PLEBISCITA

Magistrates 24%

Sumptuary laws 4% Private law (Guardianship/Inheritance /Usucapio) 6% Money and credits 6%

Judiciary 14%

Colonies 6% Honours 6%

Foreign affairs 8%

Religion 12%

Pie chart 8.3  Statistical analysis of second-​century legislation: plebiscites.

As we can see, the three main areas are foreign affairs, magistracies, and the judiciary. In these fields, statute law is the most widely used tool for international relations, whereas plebiscites dominate for magistracies, and both measures are equally used to regulate the administration of justice. These statistical data also show that statute law is not used for the following areas (for which only plebiscites are attested): oath-​taking (one plebiscite), assemblies (one plebiscite), colonies (three plebiscites), repeals of laws (one plebiscite), or census-​related cases (one plebiscite). The lex remains the main tool for provincial issues. In that field we find a rather traditional partition between laws and plebiscites, but the latter are used for a wider range of issues and appear to be the favored option when a legislative intervention is required.14 Having established these general principles, it must be borne in mind that Roman institutions were largely based on tradition and had not been created by law, contrary to T. Mommsen’s well-​known thesis.15 The eventful history of the consulship between 509 and 367 is the best evidence for that. The need to legislate usually becomes apparent only at a later stage, when the need to bring order into the system emerges. The same applies to a whole series of private law procedures that were not initially regulated by legislation. Moreover, as A. Watson pointed out, at this time “the law was far less abstract and less conceptualized

14. On this point see A. Gallo’s contribution to this volume. 15. See, e.g., Mommsen 1887: 1.21 and 1887: 2.181–​82.

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Legislation, Politics, and Social Change

209

than is often supposed.”16 But these statistics—​and the wider evolution of Rome since the fourth century BCE, in fact—​show an increasing use of law for institutional issues (and especially, but not only, for magistracies and judicial matters), and this seems to have become a more clearly established pattern in the second century. Jehne’s calculations for the second and first centuries also show such rising trend, with a disproportionate number of laws concerning magistrates.17 Furthermore, my calculations corroborate these principles: a rising number of laws and an increasing use of plebiscites in order to regulate various aspects of public life. The second century marks a significant step from this point of view, in spite of clear gaps in our evidence. On colonial foundations, for example, one may wonder about omissions in our sources. Mommsen’s thesis was built on the assumption that legislative ratification was always necessary. As is well known, U. Laffi rejected this thesis by making the Senate the master of the colonization policy.18 Yet this view is exaggerated: even if senatorial endorsement was indispensable for the creation of new colonies, ratification by the people was necessary, and we rarely see this vote mentioned for the second century.19 We can therefore assume that our figures are in fact conservative.

8.2.2. The Importance of Plebiscites Then comes the problem of the considerable number of plebiscites, clearly enhanced by the decreasing involvement of consuls in law-​making during the second century.20 Of course, this does not necessarily indicate a shift toward a more “popular” or “democratic” character of the Roman polity, at any rate not before the Gracchi. Ferrary pointed out that many of these plebiscites are in fact ex senatus consulto and therefore contributed to strengthening the consensus around the senatorial hegemony.21 Bleicken, in turn, in his classic study on the tribunate of the plebs, analyzed this evolution as a sign that the tribunes participated in the political system and as an indication of their collaboration with the Senate

16. Watson 1971: 4. 17. Jehne 2012: 410–​11. 18. Laffi 2012. 19. Ferrary 2003: 131. On this topic, see the discussion in Gallo’s chapter, with which I broadly agree. 20. Williamson 2005: 16–​17. 21. Ferrary 2003: 107–​8.

210

210

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from the Second Punic War onward.22 This is an old idea: in his book on the Roman assemblies, G. W. Botsford entitled the section on legislation from 201 to 134 “The Era of the Completed Plutocracy, based on A Recognition of Popular Sovereignty.”23 In her contribution to this volume A. Gallo also shows that we possess much more plebiscita cum auctoritate patrum than sine auctoritate patrum ones. As she puts it, during the middle Republic the Senate was still “the driving force,” and I am in broad agreement with her interpretation of the place of the tribunes of the plebs in the Roman political system at the time.24 There was undoubtedly an increasing use of the tribunes of the plebs and of the comitia tributa, even though E. Badian, followed by Ferrary, demonstrated that Livy (arguably the key source for the period under discussion here) has little interest in the tribunes during these years, and often overlooks them altogether.25 The fact that, despite Livy’s bias, tribunician legislation is so well represented can only corroborate the idea that, even before the Gracchi, it occupied a special place in the first half of the second century: that is a significant development. One would probably have to go back to the Conflict of Orders to see plebiscites play a comparably important role. It is difficult to explain this evolution, but a clue may be found in F. Pina Polo’s book on the consulship, notably in the argument that, during the first century, consuls regained a civil role thanks to the development of promagistracies.26 We can imagine, then, that during the second century, as tribunes had to remain in Rome while consuls were in military campaigns, they were used to put forward legislation and oversee its passing. In this connection,

22. See Bleicken 1975: 144: “Doch insofern das Volkstribunat im dritten und zweiten Jahrhundert lediglich den Willen der Majorität der Aristokratie reflektiert, bedeutet die tribunizische Gesetzesinitiative auf diesem Gebiet eher eine Erinnerung an die Herkunft des Gegenstandes als die Konsequenz eines mit dem Volks tribunat verknüpften und auf es beschränkten Aufgabenkreises.” And Bleicken 1975: 158: “Die meisten Gesetze des dritten und zweiten Jahrhunderts bis auf die Zeit der Gracchen wurden ex auctoritate senatus beantragt oder sind, wenn die Autorisation des Senats nicht ausdrücklich gegeben ist, doch jedenfalls nicht gegen den Willen des Senats vor die Volksversammlung gebracht worden.” See also Bleicken 1975: 306: “Der Senat hat sich zur gesetzlichen Verwirklichung seines Willens meist der Volkstribune bedient, die seit dem Ende des dritten Jahrhunderts mehr und mehr Instrument des Senats zur Beherrschung des Kompetenzbereichs der Magistrate wurden.” 23. Botsford 1909: 346–​47 (“A stage in the development of the plutocracy and of its control over the plebeian tribunate is marked by the enactment of the lex annalis of L. Villius, tribune of the plebs in 180”). 24. See esp. Gallo’s conclusion. 25. Ferrary 2003: 123. 26. Pina Polo 2011: 331–​34.

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it is worth recalling Badian’s idea that routine legislation at that time was largely the work of the tribunes. That was obviously the case. Furthermore, this integration of the tribunes in the Roman political system and their importance can be shown not only by the number of plebiscites, but by their intrinsic importance. The classic example here is the lex Villia annalis, but one could also consider the plebiscitum Valerium on the citizenship and voting rights of the people of Formia, Fundi, and Arpinum (188 bce). At first, four tribunes opposed the measure because the Senate had not been consulted. Bleicken relied on this episode to support his thesis that the tribunes were integrated into the workings of the Roman state and that the Senate had control over these magistrates at the time. However, Ferrary went further in this regard, seeing this episode as a first example of a conflict over the prerogatives of the people. In 188, the conflict was quickly contained and the veto was withdrawn because it was agreed, as he wrote, “that the competence of the people made it impossible to prevent the plebs from expressing a view on the proposal of the tribune.”27 It was only in 133 that this principle was breached by the action of Octavius. However, we can see that through these actions new problems were emerging.28 We may therefore ask whether the tribunes are indeed discarding this routine framework at that moment. Can we not imagine that the Gracchan legislation was, in fact, partly made possible by over half a century of enhancing the role of the tribunes? It must be clear by now that important developments in Roman legislation were undoubtedly underway at the beginning of the second century, well before the Gracchi. This rather well-​known process can be appreciated more fully through a more qualitative approach, notably by considering the legislation on private law. From this angle it should not only be possible to confirm the aforementioned patterns, but one may also reinforce the idea that such developments cannot be explained only by some bias in our sources. Therefore, private law is not something extraneous to other developments in Rome’s public life: it constitutes the necessary complement to the study of Roman legislation in the early second century. Only through this route can we attain a full picture of the historical developments of the period, as these laws involved significant change in the whole social setup.

27. Ferrary 2003: 112 (“que la compétence du peuple interdisait qu’on empêchât la plèbe de se prononcer sur la proposition du tribun”). Cf. also, from a different standpoint, Görne 2020: 136–​37. 28. See Gallo’s analysis of the plebiscite in this volume.

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8.3. Legislation on Private Law Studies on Roman law-​making have tended to overlook this legislation, which is rather technical and often badly documented. Yet it is an illuminating topic of investigation. Moreover, and important for our purposes, Roman legislation seems to begin to focus on this area in the second century. It has long been assumed that there were not many pieces of public legislation, especially on private law; a strong proponent of this thesis was Rotondi.29 In fact, legislation on these matters must have been more copious than the sources suggest, as convincingly argued by Ferrary and, more recently, by D. Mantovani, who gives a list of 58 laws and plebiscites on private law throughout Roman history.30 Of this tally, around 24 laws may be dated between the fifth and the second century bce, and 12 for the second century only.31 A. Watson already had an inkling of this when he wrote: “No innovation in these forty years (sc. 220–​180) at first sight seems world-​shattering. But the time did see statutes on private law which were to keep their importance for centuries to come. . . . No other period of similar length in the Republic after the XII Tables produced so many.”32 To put it most concisely: Roman sources were not interested in private law and rarely mentioned it, even though this area of legislation was an important one. In this framework, however, a significant number of such measures are suddenly attested for the second century, notably in its first half. We can quite confidently assume that this increase in the evidence on this topic, despite the bias of our sources, shows an interesting trend, especially if we take a closer look at these measures. Indeed, a whole series of interesting bills may be taken into consideration here, and can be combined with more traditional political aspects. This kind of bill is actually even earlier, and brings to mind the famous Claudian plebiscite of 218 that regulated the economic activities of senators.33 My hypothesis is that, far from being a random occurrence, this is evidence for a deeper evolution in the use of law.

29. Rotondi 1912: 100 n. 2. 30. Ferrary 1998: 162–​63 and Mantovani 2012. 31. I here use the figures given by Mantovani 2012: 729–​39. 32. Watson 1971: 2. 33. See Tchernia 2007.

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8.3.1. Age Threshold and Youth Protection The first relevant example is a law that created an age threshold of twenty-​five years: the lex Laetoria.34 In Rome, the definition of childhood varied, particularly for legal purposes, with the aim of protecting orphans, that is, children without any paterfamilias who had thus become sui iuris. Roman law was subsequently forced to set age thresholds at which one’s legal capacity developed. Initially, under the reforms of Servius Tullius (as they are reported by the literary tradition), the Romans distinguished three age groups: the children (pueri), up to seventeen years old; the youngest (iuniores), from seventeen to forty-​six years old; and the oldest (seniores), over forty-​six years of age. This distinction was used to identify the citizens that were fit for active military duty, and evolved throughout the Republic. Thus, until puberty (until the age of around fourteen), the wards were under guardianship; they then acquired some rights (such as the right to make a will or to contract debts), but remained under guardianship until the age of twenty-​five. Only then could they fully become adult. This age threshold was created precisely at the beginning of the second century under the lex Laetoria (presumably a plebiscite), which was passed probably between 193 and 191.35 Little is known about the provisions of the law, which was later replaced by other measures. It is sufficiently clear, though, that it aimed at protecting young adults by declaring them minors (minores) up until the age of twenty-​five. They were defined as such because of their inexperience. The introduction of the age of twenty-​five to mark the full extent of legal capacity is what was most precisely remembered under the Principate. The law punished fraudulent action (as Plautus explicitly states, dolo malo) committed by businessmen seeking to take advantage of the inexperience of young men by making them take out risky loans before that age. In Plautus’ contemporaneous testimony, money loans were the main target of the law. However, as Y. Thomas points out, it cannot be ruled out that the law may

34. Here I follow the LEPOR entry, which indicates that one should prefer this name to that of Plaetoria, attested only by the Table of Heraclea. On the iter legis of such measures, see Gallo’s remarks in her contribution to this volume. 35. See Costa 1889. This chronology can be established from two passages of Plautus (Pseud. 303–​304 and Rud. 1380–​1386), since it is known that Pseudolus was first represented at the Megalesian Games in 191. The law is therefore undoubtedly prior to that date. Yet a dating as precise as 193–​191 cannot be proven on the basis of the surviving sources. On the other hand, the measure probably dates from the 190s, as maintained by Di Salvo 1979: 19–​42, if one accepts the idea that Plautus uses a recent legislative measure in order to stress the comic element of the situation he is depicting. See the discussions in Ferrary 2003: 119 n. 46 and Bur 2018: 340–​41.

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have concerned other contractual exchanges.36 Cicero mentions that the criminal sanction was implemented by a iudicium publicum rei priuatae, which is usually considered an actio popularis.37 The action was therefore not only granted to the minor, but potentially to any citizen, in keeping with its protective aspect. The nature of the punishment has been debated: S. Di Salvo suggests an action equal to four times the value, but Thomas insists that there is no evidence to prove it, and that a different sentence may have been possible. The praetor later supplemented the law with an exceptio (the minor could choose to postpone the action) and a restitutio in integrum to the minor. A curatorship (optional at the beginning) of the minor under twenty-​five years old was therefore created to avoid this risk for the lenders. The law therefore added to the legal categories of impuberes and puberes that of uiginti quinque annis or adulescentes. Before the age of twenty-​ five, the young man is called a minor or adulescens. Tellingly, this law is later mentioned in the Heraclean Tablet, where a conviction lege Laetoria is among those that prevented access to the decurionate.38 We also find it in the lex Irnitana, where it is one of the cases excluded from local justice. It shows the long life of a measure that was incorporated in regulations of local municipalities.39 This is highly significant; the Heraclea Tablet also includes this reference in a whole series of prohibitions on the exercise of public duties in municipalities. These prohibitions are linked to public convictions in Rome, a series of infamous offenses or a series of activities that were deemed shameful. They refer to a code of behavior, and we see that the law has eventually acquired (even though it probably already existed from the beginning) a moral value: it is clearly a question of curbing behavior that was considered disgraceful. The condemnation lege Laetoria was a disgrace because it involved an attack on the fides, which was made all the more serious by the fact that it affected an already weakened family and was committed by relatives.40 From this point of view, the way in which the law incorporates the downgrading measures of the Heraclean Tablet is indicative of its profound nature: it was established not only to punish poor behavior, but also to promote specific habits. This law must be analyzed in parallel with the lex Atilia (190), which established a new form of guardianship for impuberes, reviving the old legal distinction of the XII Tables between puberes

36. Thomas 2007a. 37. Cic. Nat. Deor. 3.74. See also Watson 1971: 42. 38. Tabula Heracleensis, l. 108–​12, see Crawford 1996: 367. 39. Lex Irnitana, see AE 1986, 333, ch. LXXXIV. 40. See Bur 2018: 340–​41, 373, and 419.

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and impuberes.41 The law ordered the praetor to appoint a guardian (a tutor) when an impuber had neither a testamentary guardian nor a legitimate one. Again, here we find a focus on younger age groups, with an obvious protective intent. It is no coincidence that these laws came into force shortly after the end of the Second Punic War—​a conflict that left many orphans. It should then be considered to concern cases that were not so exceptional from a quantitative point of view. Suffice to recall here the suppression of the cult of Bacchus in 186. If the political reaction was so swift and strong, it is partly because, according to our sources, not a few young men were involved in those rites.42 Obviously, we face here the very complex debate on the evolution of the Italian population during the second and first centuries. Recent studies tend to question this population decline: after a demographic drop caused by the Second Punic War, Italy started to grow again quite quickly.43 But even this new account would successfully explain the need for such laws since it recognizes an early demographic drop. It is also significant that the same decades saw the first bills regulating the cursus honorum. If it is true that these bills do not belong to private law, they do fall within the same outlook and the same approach, steeped in the demographic and social developments of the end of the third century, which were then heavily affecting Rome, as I shall try to show.

8.3.2. Age Threshold and cursus honorum Regulation Barely ten years after the lex Atilia, the lex Villia Annalis organized the cursus honorum for the first time by setting minimum age requirements. Laws of this kind had already existed in the fourth century, again in an interesting context. As early as 432, a plebiscite against electoral bribery is mentioned. In 358 a lex de ambitu was passed for the first time. Then, in 342, two measures are recorded: the first prohibited the plurality of offices during the same year and the second tackled the frequent iteration of the same magistracy, imposing a ten-​year interval before being able to run again for an office they had already held. An initial harmonization process of the magistracies seems thus to have occurred in the context following the Licinio-​Sextian plebiscites of 367 (when the nobilitas took shape) and

41. See, e.g., tab. VIII.9 in Humbert 2018: 485–​91 (=​Crawford 1996: 684–​85, tab. VIII.5). 42. See Pailler 1988: 520 and 567–​80, where he explains the ferocity of the repression precisely through the fact that the Romans aimed to protect young men and women without parents after the Second Punic War. 43. See especially the presentation of the debate in Lo Cascio 1994; de Ligt 2004; de Ligt 2007; Lo Cascio 2008; and Scheidel 2008.

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in the context of the conquest of Italy through the reorganization of Latium (338) and the Samnite Wars. This internal and external context undoubtedly explains these measures. It was the core of the theses of R. Rilinger and K.-​J. Hölkeskamp on the link between cursus honorum, expansion, and the implementation of these first measures, quite early in Roman history.44 A similar, but more pronounced, phenomenon occurred at the beginning of the second century, and is the context of the plebiscite of Villius. However, this law is in fact poorly known, because the sources on it are extremely brief. Ten years of military service in the cavalry were required in order to run for a magistracy; this created the age threshold of twenty-​seven years as the starting age (and therefore twenty-​seven years for the candidacy and twenty-​eight years for the tenure of office). It also enacted debated age thresholds. It should be noted that the lex Villia was not actually the first one of its kind. In the 180s, a rogatio Pinaria annalis is mentioned by Cicero (De Or. 2.261). According to Mommsen, the author of the bill was M. Pinarius Rusca, praetor in 181, who unsuccessfully proposed it as tribune of the plebs, around 185.45 The reason for its rejection is unknown, but shows that the subject was heavily debated at the time. It is worth adding that A. E. Astin, followed by Bleicken, envisaged the existence of a bill around 197 (mentioned in no source, however) setting the praetorship as a prerequisite for the consulship.46 T. C. Brennan also dates the introduction of the ten-​year interval between two consulships around 196, without specifying whether or not it was the subject of a law.47 Finally, Ferrary reminds us that the same period may also have seen the introduction of a one-​year interval between plebeian aedileship and praetorship, although this point is controversial.48 These measures are recovered mainly through the detailed analysis of individual careers. At any rate, they show that the lex Villia was not an isolated piece of legislation, and did not come out of nowhere. On the contrary, there was a strong desire to regulate political careers in light of recent political developments and the consequences of the Second Punic War. Indeed, this period was marked by a strong renewal among Rome’s political elites because of the war losses. According to Livy (22.49), 80 senators were killed at the battle of Cannae, while Polybius (3.117) reports that, of the 6,000 Romans 44. See the discussion in Rilinger 1978, Hölkeskamp 1993, and Lanfranchi 2015: 337–​49. 45. Mommsen 1887, I: 529 n. 1; De Martino 1973: 414–​15; Kunkel-​Wittman 1995: 45 n. 31; Ferrary 2003: 120. 46. Astin 1958: 27 and Bleicken 1975: 175. 47. Brennan 2000: 648–​51 and Ferrary 2003: 121. 48. Ferrary 2003: 121.

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in the cavalry, only 70 survived and took refuge in Venusia.49 Moreover, the lectio senatus made by M. Fabius Buteo in 216 concerned 177 new senators. It was therefore necessary to recruit citizens who would never have thought themselves eligible for joining the Senate.50 This may have led to a conflict between these new senators and their descendants on the one hand, and the ancient families who wanted to regain their place, on the other. If one adds to this situation the disrespect toward mos during the war (e.g., with Scipio’s career), it is easy to see why such legislation may have been deemed necessary. The very occurrence at the same time of these bills regulating the cursus honorum and of laws concerning private law is far more than a coincidence. It is testimony to a will that goes far beyond straightforward political regulation. It was the outcome of the awareness of the existence of a distinctive age between puberty (fourteen to seventeen years old) and the age at which political careers could actually begin (twenty-​five to twenty-​seven years old, although this obviously concerned in the first place the children of noble families), and it helped at the same time to create the perception of a specific phase in a young man’s life. Later on, in 81 bce, the lex Cornelia was added to these provisions, raising the minimum age for being a quaestor to thirty years and setting three different dates as the end of the adulescentia: twenty-​five years under the lex Laetoria, twenty-​seven under the lex Villia, and thirty under the lex Cornelia. The law eventually further refined these distinctions, particularly for children, by separating the category of impuberes into early childhood (infantia, from birth to seven years old) and from seven to eleven years old (pubertati proximus). This distinction existed at the end of the Republic, but it is not clear when it emerged.51 It probably appeared quite late and presumably not at the beginning of the second century. In any case, this results in the transition from three age groups (childhood, youth, old age) to five (early childhood, childhood, adolescence, youth, and old age) through a series of measures affecting both private law and public careers.52 This evolution reflects both a willingness to regulate specific behavior and an evolution in the wider perception of the youngest portion of the population.

49. See Stein 2007 on this topic. 50. See here again Stein 2007, who speaks of the social renewal of the Senate enabled by Buteo’s lectio senatus. 51. It is at any rate known to Livy since it appears in his account of the accession to the throne of Tarquinius Priscus. According to Livy 1.35.1, the sons of Ancus Marcius were excluded as they were almost puberes and therefore potential competitors: prope puberem aetatem. 52. Even if Cic. Sen. 33 speaks of four groups: a sign of the somewhat theoretical nature of the operation.

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The combination of these laws raises questions about a desire both to protect young people and to raise a barrier to their impatience.53 J. Timmer sees this as a way to ease tensions by extending the duration of socialization for sons of knights and senators.54 For Bleicken, these laws are the perfect example to illustrate his concept of “Jurifizierung” of the mos, that is, the idea that, from that time on, an increasing number of themes formerly left to the mos was now regulated by specific legislation. Both ideas are perfectly plausible and may credibly be integrated. It was thus necessary to extend the period of socialization of young men, not least because, after M. Fabius Buteo’s lectio senatus, members of different quarters of the nobilitas were now in competition with one another. At the same time, since a significant proportion of these young men were war orphans, it became necessary to protect them more effectively, and such statutes may have seemed the ideal tool to achieve that. It might have sounded an even better idea in a society like that of Rome, which was based on the example of the ancestors, the maiores. Since many of them had died during the war, it was necessary to find a new element to replace them: the law. One may also wonder whether these changes should be linked to renewed Greek influence in the second century bce. It is maybe the evidence for a desire to shape a kind of Roman paideia and to better organize these hitherto forgotten years, without adopting a full suite of Greek customs. These laws must thus be analyzed together, and legislation on private law effectively illustrates these important political and social developments, as proved by other pieces of legislation on inheritance.

8.3.3. Inheritance Regulation and Social Change It is important to note that the same period saw a considerable evolution in the modalities of inheritance with new regulations on donations and women’s inheritance, which notably include the leges Furia and Voconia. While the date of the former is uncertain, it precedes in any case the lex Voconia and is therefore prior to 169.55 It is generally assumed to originate from the second century. This lex Furia restricted bequests and donations mortis causa (“because of an imminent death”) to a maximum of 1,000 asses when the beneficiary was not a close relative (with exemption of the relative of the donor, up to the children of second cousins). The law authorized the possibility of making bequests to individuals, which

53. Néraudau 1979: 106–​8. 54. Timmer 2005: 61–​63 and Jehne 2012: 423–​26. 55. Thomas 2007b convincingly demonstrates that it cannot be stated with certainty that this law is later than the lex Cincia.

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had to be stated in the will. These legacies could be of several kinds, and traditional legal practice has tended to refine these possibilities. Gaius (Inst. 4.23–​24) gives the following justification for the law: to avoid donations due to imminent death that may result in giving away all of the inheritance. In addition, as Y. Thomas puts it, “the circle of the cognati (and maybe of the allies) that were exempted indicates a certain propensity for a transmission of assets within the number of relatives.”56 The overarching concern was seemingly to favor the immediate family. As Gaius invites us to consider, this law must be linked to the famous lex Voconia. Passed in 169, this plebiscite prohibited citizens belonging to the first class from appointing women as their heirs.57 In addition to this prohibition—​ and without limiting the number of possible (potentially endless) inheritances—​ it prohibited the arrangement of legacies higher than the amount the heir (or heirs) affected by the legacy would receive (thus partly repealing the lex Furia for the class of citizens concerned). This prohibition on legacies applied to both sexes. Later, in 40, the lex Falcidia stated that legacies may not exceed three quarters of the net assets of the estate, precisely to avoid a situation in which an inheritance was completely devoured by legacies and donations. It is understandable that the lex Voconia also regulated legacies because they may have been a means of circumventing the provision on heirs: notably legacies mortis causa. In addition to this, it was also a way to bypass possible will bans. This is why the lex Furia and then the lex Voconia also concerned these legacies mortis causa: they aimed to limit their consequences for the heirs mentioned in the will. The sources do not specify whether these provisions on legacies and successions only concerned first-​class citizens, although that would be a logical inference. Thus, following these measures, a woman could only inherit by bequests or donation, and could not expect more than a certain amount: at most, half of a testamentary succession. However, nothing was modified for intestate successions (i.e., when someone died without leaving a valid will). Because of the lex Voconia, a young woman had therefore to be explicitly disinherited in the will, failing which, the will would be deemed invalid; in that case, there is a return to a situation of intestacy. Thomas has given a thorough analysis of the practical consequences of the law through the example of six situations (three for a widow, three for a daughter). It clearly shows that women not only lost a substantial part of the inheritance but also lost autonomy in the management of what was left to 56. Thomas 2007b: “le cercle des cognats (et peut-​être des alliés) exemptés indique une certaine faveur pour une transmission des biens à l’intérieur de la parentèle.” 57. The text targeted those with more than 100,000 asses, probably according to a similar formula to the one we know for the extraordinary contribution of 214 from Livy 24.11.7: qui supra centum milia aeris census est.

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them.58 Of course, legacies and donations could limit these effects. But it must be stressed that this law was defended by Cato the Elder, who emphasized its necessity in the face of the wealth and independence that had become so important for married women sine manu.59 This law can then be linked to another important process. We do know that this kind of marriage was developing at the expense of others at that time, even though we have no idea of the real proportions of the phenomenon.60 For Cato, it was a question of limiting the scope for a woman to manage her wealth without her husband. The law probably also had a sumptuary dimension, even if A. Weishaupt is skeptical on this point.61 Nevertheless, it clearly aimed to regulate testamentary successions, to the privilege of the agnatic lineage, in a context where significant financial resources were increasingly necessary to political competition, and where it was necessary to curb bad habits developed during the Second Punic War. In doing so, the unlimited freedom of the testator, recognized in the Law of the XII Tables, began to be curbed.62 Unfortunately, we have almost no such examples for the second century, although it is clear that these laws existed for good reason, and their very existence is another testimony of the transition that the community went through for the best part of the second century bce. One known female will is that of Aemilia, who died in 162, shortly after the passing of the lex Voconia. Her designated heir was Scipio Aemilianus (her adoptive grandson), and her two surviving daughters received nothing through the will. Yet they were both already married at the time, and are known for very important dowries (50 talents for each daughter, according to Polybius, 31.27.2), with half of the sum already paid by Aemilia, and the other half to be paid by her heir. According to A. McClintock, such dowries may have been a way to pass on some of the inheritance to her.63 We can find at least three other examples of female inheritance that may reflect the complexities of the law, but are later ones. Two are mentioned by Cicero,64 the latter being the one reported by the famous Laudatio Turiae, an

58. Thomas 2007b. 59. It is often assumed that Cato had Aemilia (Scipio Africanus’ wife) in mind when he wrote his speech. See McClintock 2013: 196. 60. Dixon 1992: 73–​74 and Thomas 2007b. 61. Milazzo 2012: 120–​21. Cf. Weishaupt 2000: 128–​39 and the review by Benke 2002. 62. See tab. V.3 in Humbert 2018: 183–​94 (=​Crawford 1996: 635–​40, tab. V.3). 63. McClintock 2013: 197. 64. Cic. Verr. 2.1.107 and Cic. Verr. 2.1.111.

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inscription probably from around 7 bce.65 Even if it is a late example, this case is most interesting because Turia had to defend her father’s will in court.66 Thanks to the inscription, we know that her parents had been killed by unknown people. However, it seems that the father, probably married sine manu for a long time, made a coemptio with his wife, before their death, but after an initial drafting of his will. Or, at least, he was accused of having contracted this coemptio. In doing so, his wife became legally subordinated to him, but also became his heiress. That was where the problem lay. Obviously, the initial will had named Turia, her future husband (the text seems quite clear on this point), and, probably, her sister as heirs. But since the coemptio had changed the family’s legal situation, the father should have updated the will, which could in fact be challenged. Indeed, because of the coemptio, the mother was automatically an heiress, and therefore the will had to explicitly indicate whether or not she was crossed off the list of potential heirs (it did not matter whether the mother died at the same time as the father). Without this clarification, the will was void. If the will was deemed invalid in court, then the father would be considered intestate. In this case, the law provided that Turia and Turia alone (the sister, being in manu, could not inherit) would inherit the whole estate. For her, it changed nothing (if anything, she inherited more). But what was the interest for those who brought the case? The interest was that to void the father’s will would also have another consequence: all guardianship measures potentially taken by Turia’s father on her behalf would also be made invalid. Moreover, since she had no agnate (her sole close relative being her sister), the closest male relative could claim guardianship over her and thus over the management of her properties. It would also give him some control

65. Here we follow the interpretation suggested in Osgood 2014, especially ch. 1. 66. However, the problem is that the lex Voconia only applied to those who had been registered during a census. Was it the case for Turia at a time when the censorship was so heavily disrupted? The civil war, triggered by Caesar’s return in 49, prevented subsequent censuses from being held, and many previous censuses were incomplete. The censors of 61 are unknown, but it is known that they did perform at least three of the tasks assigned to them: the lectio senatus, the tax leasing of the Asian province, the population census (at least in part, see Cic. Att. 1.17 =​23; 1.18.2 =​24; 2.1.11 =​27; Cass. Dio 37.46.4). On the other hand, the operations do not seem to have resulted in a lustrum, since Augustus claimed, without any other source contradicting him, that in 28 he brought to completion the first lustrum after that of 70 (see RG 8.2). In 55, M. Valerius Messalla and P. Servilius Vatia Isauricus were apparently confronted with the same tribunician obstruction as the censors of 64 (Cic. Att. 4.9.1 =​126). In 50, at last, Ap. Claudius Pulcher carried out his task of renewing the Senate and equestrian lists with great rigor, which his colleague L. Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus could not restrain (Cass. Dio 40.63). The text of the laudatio dates back to around 7 bce, and it can be reasonably assumed that Turia’s marriage was decided around 49/​48. She was at least twelve years old at the time, and may have been born in 61. It is thus reasonable to assume that she could have been properly registered (in 55?) and that she was subject to the full force of the law.

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over her and her own will, enabling this man to inherit the estate in due course. According to J. Osgood, it is thus clear that the people who initiated the case hoped, in this way, to claim guardianship over Turia and her fortune by attacking them when they were vulnerable: at a time of mourning and with their future husbands abroad. Hence the hypothesis that they may also have been involved in the parents’ murder, even if it is entirely unverifiable.67 The whole ploy was probably also linked to the original desire of the father to circumvent the lex Voconia. The cum manu marriage was of some interest here (and, since we know that the sister was married in that way, we can assume that it was probably also the case for Turia): it allowed the inheritance to be passed on to the daughters by using their husband as a trust, taking the risk, of course, that the husband would keep everything for himself. In the case of this family, where we can see fairly strong agreement between parents and children, that may suggest a matrimonial strategy. This idea reinforces the proposed interpretation of the will: through the husbands (true heirs named in the will, as it is conceivable that Cluvius was also mentioned and as the girls probably only received bequests), the father could bypass the lex Voconia and passed the inheritance on to his daughters. Albeit late, this example shows the impact that this kind of law could have on family strategies. Once again, why was such legislation produced at this time? Precisely because of the changes that had been affecting Rome: notably the expansion and wealth acquisition that took on an unprecedented scale during the second century bce. The agonistic competition that was the very core of Rome’s political setup required a form of minimal equality among aristocrats. But the economic and social imbalance generated by the conquest, and already made apparent by the prominence acquired by Scipio Africanus during the Hannibalic War, risked distorting the political game. The importance of the stability of family fortunes (essential in a community like Rome based on property qualification) and the need to formalize some minimal rules for the functioning of the Republic justified these legislative interventions in domains that had hitherto been left to the free initiative and goodwill of private individuals: guardianship, inheritance, and the cursus honorum.

8.4. Conclusion The few measures mentioned in what precedes form a fairly coherent pattern, the purpose of which is to encompass a whole series of practices that were previously somewhat overlooked by the law and mainly depended on mos. This refers, once

67. Osgood 2014: 17–​24.

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again, to the concept developed by Bleicken of a “Jurifizierung” of mos. This idea of legalization seems to be well illustrated by these measures concerning private law, which appear to be a kind of social technology deployed by the Romans at a pivotal moment in their history. The idea was to use the law to influence not only private behavior, but public practice as well. The analysis of private law legislation is especially revealing in terms of these developments. It is not insignificant that this kind of practice emerged during the second century, a period of both accelerated conquest and major transformation in the field of Roman law. There was an obvious need to contain the excesses of political competition.68 If this phenomenon had begun earlier for magistracies (we have seen that in the fourth century), the novelty shown by these private law measures is the way in which the focus shifted to new areas, and behavior was constrained. Obviously, we must also note that these bills were repeated at regular intervals. This could be interpreted as a need to re-​legislate because the law was not respected. Nonetheless, it is also the sign of a characteristic of Roman-​style legislation: its poor legal quality.69 However, all of this also took place in an important and related remit, at a time of major developments in Roman law and in the legislative process. We can start from Pomponius, who, in the Enchiridion, characterizes the second century bce as a crucial period in the history of Roman law: After these men came Publius Mucius and Brutus and Manilius, who laid the foundations of the ius ciuile. Of this group, Publius Mucius left as many as ten short books, Brutus seven and Manilius three. There even survive uolumina [books in the form of rolls] of Manilius. The two former held consular rank, Brutus having served as praetor, Publius Mucius however having actually been pontifex maximus.70 The period witnessed, in fact, the emergence of classic legal works. There is not much activity in this remit during the mid-​Republican period, except for Ap. Claudius Caecus (fourth century bce), but things really did change in the

68. Jehne 2012: 411. 69. See Benke 2002: 503–​4: “Die römische Gesetzgebung ist eine Anlassgesetzgebung, die immer wieder ‘Schnellschüsse’ von geringer legistischer Qualität produziert. Dies können sich die Römer freilich insofern leisten, als die interpretatio der iurisconsulti die weitere Gestaltung der Gesetze übernimmt und juristisch exzellente Regelwerke entwickelt.” 70. D. 1.2.2.39: post hos fuerunt Publius Mucius et Brutus et Manilius, qui fundauerunt ius ciuile. ex his Publius Mucius etiam decem libellos reliquit, Brutus septem, Manilius tres: et extant uolumina scripta Manilii monumenta. illi duo consulares fuerunt, Brutus praetorius, Publius autem Mucius etiam pontifex maximus.

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second century with the Tripertita of Sextus Aelius (consul in 198 and the first jurist who is known not to have held a priestly office), M. Iunius Brutus, or P. Mucius Scaevola. A series of figures who did not work together on a common project were nevertheless at the center of an intellectual revolution, effectively described by A. Schiavone.71 This story is entwined with that of a family: the Mucii Scaevolae. Moreover, it was between the second and the first centuries that the practice of devising a general edict was adopted at the beginning of the year. This edict was thus taken over and eventually amended year after year, and became the perpetual edict. Cicero could then say that it was a kind of lex annua of considerable importance. In a sense, all the bills discussed in this chapter were passed at a time when there were not many tools available to amend the mos. Roman jurists did not yet have a prominent role. Finally, it may be noted that this is a period of change for the voting assemblies, notably the comitia centuriata, with the little-​known reform of the third century that reduced the first property class from eighty to seventy centuries, perhaps correlating this figure to the thirty-​ five existing tribes.72 We do not know much about this project and its objectives, especially since there is also a very imprecise account of Livy for the year 179. This testimony, which evokes a change decided by the censors, could relate to the reform of the comitia centuriata, which is often dated to the third century, or could be an additional modification that Rotondi considered transitional.73 The Roman legislation of the second century therefore forms part of a very unusual and distinctive legal context. This led Bleicken to write: “The decision of the people as a source of law (thus as lex in a strong sense) emerged gradually, and gained importance only from the second century.”74 The pattern is further accentuated by even better-​known political developments: the victory against Carthage in 202 with its consequences, as well as the increasingly rapid expansion in the Mediterranean, especially in the Greek world. Yet Schiavone argued that the Romans gave up on the idea of basing their society on law in the fifth century, despite the attempt of the XII Tables. Is it impossible to imagine that when the accelerated Hellenization of the second century intervened, it helped to reshape Roman practice on that front? Flower’s argument on the role of law in the Sullan settlement could find full explanation in such a process. This hypothesis cannot,

71. Schiavone 2005: 134–​97. 72. The exact date and provisions of this reform are debated. See Taylor 1957; De Martino 1973: 157–​61; Nicolet 1976: 299–​302; Develin 1978; and Grieve 1985. 73. Rotondi 1912: 35–​36. 74. Bleicken 1975: 75 (“Der Volksbeschluß als Rechtsquelle (also lex im strengen Sinn) drang nur allmählich durch und gewann erst seit dem zweiten Jahrhundert Bedeutung”).

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of course, be ignored. As J. Bleicken, again, puts it: “It is not to be overlooked that the increasing number of laws cannot be regarded as independent from the development in the third and second century through which the Roman res publica in a specific sense and the hegemonic space of the Romans were increased to a gigantic extent.”75 B i b l i o gr a p h y Astin, A. E. 1958. The Lex Annalis before Sulla. Brussels. Benke, N. 2002. “Review of A. Weishaupt, Die lex Voconia, Cologne-​Weimar-​Vienna, 2000.” Zeitschrift der Savigny-​Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte 119: 488–​510. Bleicken, J. 1975. Lex Publica. Gesetz und Recht in der römischen Republik. Berlin and New York. Botsford, G. W. 1909. The Roman Assemblies from their Origin to the End of the Republic. New York. Brennan, T. C. 2000. The Praetorship in the Roman Republic. Oxford. Bur, C. 2018. La citoyenneté dégradée. Une histoire de l’infamie à Rome (312 av. J.-​C.–​96 apr. J.-​C.). Rome. Costa, E. 1889. “Della data della lex Plaetoria de circumscriptione adolescentium.” Bullettino dell’Istituto di Diritto Romano 2: 72–​77. Crawford, M. H. ed. 1996. Roman Statutes. London. De Martino, F. 1973. Storia della costituzione romana, II. Naples. Develin, R. 1978. “The Third Century Reform of the Comitia Centuriata.” Athenaeum 56: 346–​77. Di Salvo, S. 1979. Lex Laetoria. Minore età e crisi sociale tra il III e il II secolo a.C. Naples. Dixon, S. 1992. The Roman Family. Baltimore and London. Elster, M. 2003. Die Gesetze der frühen römischen Republik. Text und Kommentar. Darmstadt. Elster, M. 2020. Die Gesetze der späten römischen Republik. Von den Gracchen bis Sulla (133–​80 v.Chr.). Göttingen. Ferrary, J.-​L. 1998. “Chapitres tralatices et références à des lois antérieures dans les lois romaines.” In M. Humbert and Y. Thomas (eds.), Mélanges de droit romain et d’histoire ancienne. Hommage à la mémoire de André Magdelain, 151–​67. Paris.

75. Bleicken 1975: 159 (“Es ist nun nicht zu verkennen, daß die wachsende Anzahl von Gesetzen nicht unabhängig von jener Entwicklung im dritten und zweiten Jahrhundert zu sehen ist, durch die römische res publica im engeren Sinne und der Herrschaftsbereich der Römer ins Gigantische gesteigert wurde”). Cf. also Williamson 2005: 8 on the “relationship between crises and the incidence of public lawmaking as the Romans extend their control across Italy and the Mediterranean.”

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Ferrary, J.-​L. 2003. “La Legislation romaine dans les livres 21 à 45 de Tite-​Live.” In T. Hantos (ed.), Laurea internationalis. Festschrift für Jochen Bleicken zum 75. Geburtstag, 107–​42. Stuttgart. Flach, D. 1994. Die Gesetze der frühen römischen Republik. Text und Kommentar. Darmstadt. Flower, H. 2010. Roman Republics. Princeton. Görne, F. 2020. Die Obstruktionen der Römischen Republik. Stuttgart. Grieve, L. J. 1985. “The Reform of the comitia centuriata.” Historia 34: 278–​309. Hölkeskamp, K.-​J. 1993. “Conquest, Competition and Consensus. Roman Expansion in Italy and the Rise of the Nobilitas.” Historia 42: 12–​39. Humbert, M. 1978. Municipium et civitas sine suffragio. L’organisation de la conquête jusqu’à la guerre sociale. Rome. Humbert, M. 2018. La Loi des XII Tables. Édition et commentaire. Rome. Jehne, M. 2012. “Statutes on Public Powers and Their Relationship to mos.” In J.-​L. Ferrary (ed.), Leges publicae. La legge nell’esperienza giuridica romana, 405–​28. Pavia. Kunkel, W., and R. Wittmann. 1995. Staatsordnung und Staatspraxis der römischen Republik, 2, Die Magistratur. Munich. Laffi, U. 2012. “Leggi agrarie e coloniarie.” In J.-​L. Ferrary (ed.), Leges publicae. La legge nell’esperienza giuridica romana, 429–​61. Pavia. Lanfranchi, T. 2015. Les Tribuns de la plèbe et la formation de la République romaine (494–​287 avant J.-​C.). Rome. Ligt, L. de. 2004. “Poverty and Demography. The Case of the Gracchan Land Reforms.” Mnemosyne 57: 725–​57. Ligt, L. de. 2007. “Some Thoughts on the Nature of the Demographic ‘Crisis’ of the Second Century BC.” In O. Hekster, G. de Klejin, and D. Slootjes (eds.), Crises and the Roman Empire, 167–​81. Leiden and Boston. Lo Cascio, E. 1994. “The Size of the Roman Population: Beloch and the Meaning of the Augustan Census Figures.” Journal of Roman Studies 84: 22–​40. Lo Cascio, E. 2008. “Roman Census Figures in the Second Century BC and the Property Qualification of the Fifth Class.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land, and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy 300 BC–​AD 14: 239–​56. Leiden and Boston. Mantovani, D. 2012. “Legum multitudo e diritto privato. Revisione critica della tesi di Giovanni Rotondi.” In J.-​L. Ferrary (ed.), Leges publicae. La legge nell’esperienza giuridica romana, 707–​67. Pavia. McClintock, A. 2013. “The lex Voconia and Cornelia’s Jewels.” Revue internationale des droits de l’Antiquité 60: 183–​200. Milazzo, F. 2012. “Cic. de fin. 2.17.55. Tanti problemi e un giuramento.” Iura 60: 75–​123. Mommsen, T. 1887. Römisches Staatsrecht. Leipzig. Néraudau, J.-​P. 1979. La Jeunesse dans la littérature et les institutions de la Rome républicaine. Paris.

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Nicolet, C. 1976. Le Métier de citoyen dans la Rome républicaine. Paris. Osgood, J. 2014. Turia. A Roman Woman’s Civil War. Oxford. Pailler, J.-​M. 1988. Bacchanalia. La repression de 186 av. J.-​C. à Rome et en Italie. Rome. Pina Polo, F. 2011. The Consul at Rome. The Civil Functions of the Consuls in the Roman Republic. Cambridge and New York. Rilinger, R. 1978. “Die Ausbildung von Amtswechsel und Amtsfristen als Problem zwischen Machtbesitz und Machtgebrauch in der Mittleren Republik (342 bis 217 v.Chr.).” Chiron 8: 247–​312. Rotondi, G. 1912. Leges publicae populi Romani. Milan. Scheidel, W. 2008. “Roman Population Size: The Logic of the Debate.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land, and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy 300 BC–​AD 14, 17–​70. Leiden and Boston. Schiavone, A. 2005. Ius. L’invenzione del diritto in Occidente. Turin. Stein, C. 2007. “Qui sont les aristocrates romains à la fin de la République?” In H.-​ L. Fernoux and C. Stein (eds.), Aristocratie antique, modèles et exemplarité sociale, 127–​59. Dijon. Taylor, L. R. 1957. “The Centuriated Assembly before and after the Reform.” American Journal of Philology 78: 337–​54. Tchernia, A. 2007. “Le plebiscitum Claudianum.” In J. Andreau and V. Chankowski (eds.), Vocabulaire et expression de l’économie dans le monde antique, 253–​78. Bordeaux. Thomas, Y. 2007a. “Loi Laetoria (pl. sc.) sur le crédit aux mineurs de vingt-​cinq ans.” In J.-​L. Ferrary and Ph. Moreau (eds.), Lepor. Leges Populi Romani. Paris. [Online]. URL: http://​www.cn-​telma.fr/​lepor/​notice​595/​. Last updated: 18 January 2020. Thomas, Y. 2007b. “Loi Voconia (pl. sc.).” In J.-​L. Ferrary and Ph. Moreau (eds.), Lepor. Leges Populi Romani. Paris. [Online]. URL: http://​www.cn-​telma.fr/​lepor/​notice​ 757/​. Last updated: 18 January 2020. Timmer, J. 2005. “Zwischen Militär und Recht. Altersgrenzen politischer Partizipation in der römischen Republik.” In C. Gusy and H.-​G. Haupt (eds.), Inklusion und Partizipation. Politische Kommunikation im historischen Wandel, 49–​69. Frankfurt and New York. Watson, A. 1971. Roman Private Law around 200 BC. Edinburgh. Weishaupt, A. 2000. Die lex Voconia. Cologne, Weimar, and Vienna. Williamson, C. 2005. The Laws of the Roman People. Public Law in the Expansion and Decline of the Roman Republic. Ann Arbor.

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Interactions between Tribunes and Senate Annarosa Gallo*

9.1. The Context of the Second Century bce Society and institutions change over time, not least because of the state of necessity that war brings about. The Hannibalic War is a significant example in that regard: it produced nothing short of an upheaval in institutional practice, through the granting of imperium to a private citizen, the election of a dictator, and the creation of another by the praetor on the basis of a comitial law. Even the activity of the tribunes was not unscathed by that process of dramatic change: in 204 bce the Senate attributed to the entire tribunician college some functions of coercitio outside the pomerium.1 Similarly, the state of necessity brought about by the conflict also affected the economic fabric of the community (e.g., loans contracted by the res publica with private individuals) and its wider social ties (e.g., the enlistment of slaves with the promise of manumitting them, limitations to luxury). At the end of the war, it was possible to restore the institutional status quo ante through a range of measures that sought to contain the impact of those recent changes: for example, by regulating the cursus honorum through the lex Villia annalis and prohibiting the iteration of the consulship. Yet Roman society

*  I am grateful to Dr Guido Rossi (Edinburgh) for his comments on a previous draft. 1. On the prerogative of the tribunes to arrest individuals cf. Gell. 13.12.3–​9. Its use was necessary to compel P. Cornelius Scipio to explain some ostensibly inappropriate military choices that the Senate had criticized: had those been ascertained by the tribunes, the aedile that oversaw their inquiry would have had to arrest Scipio. But that did not come to pass, as the tribunes considered that they were satisfied with Scipio’s arguments: Plut. Cat. Mai. 3.6–​7. Annarosa Gallo, Interactions between Tribunes and Senate In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0009

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had gone through a degree of transformation that could not be undone quite so easily. Faced with that new situation, the Roman government identified from time to time different solutions in relation to the new circumstances: it was no longer the time for emergency measures, despite the many conflicts in which Rome was implicated in the early stages of its imperialist phase. At the end of the Second Punic War, the Senate, the magistrates, and the people were committed, each in their own sphere of action, to tackling the problems presented by the construction of a new order, not only in international relations, but in the institutional, economic, and social setup of the polity itself. The regeneration and protection of the nobilitas took place with characteristic attention to the preservation of assets through measures that avoided excessive expenditure (limitation to luxury),2 safeguarded family fortunes (testamentary matters), and even reduced the risk of financial losses (discouragement of financial and commercial initiatives, and outright prohibition of contract bonds involving people under twenty-​five years of age). Of course, some of these interventions also fulfilled the task of regulating political competition, with the effect of limiting individualistic and personal agendas: the story of Scipio Africanus set an example for those (and there were not a few) who saw the great potential offered by the wars in the East. The key objective of the consuls was to hold commands that could enable them to carry out memorable enterprises and would further enhance their political and social standing:3 this testifies to the degree of intensity reached by political competition. The assignment of provinces and military commands then became the reason for the clashes between imperium-​holding magistrates and the Senate, in which the tribunes intervened in support of the latter. Even ordinary citizens had glimpsed the economic potential offered by the wars of conquest, and wider attitudes had gradually shifted as a result. In 200 bce the centuriate assembly voted against the war against Philip V, the Hannibalic War having just ended; by the time of the war declaration on Antiochus III, the approach to new military endeavors had changed, and would become increasingly assertive over the years. Until then, substantial economic resources had been made available to support the citizens; in the first quarter of the second century bce, impoverishment was countered by the usual measures against debt (e.g., interest rate laws) and in favor of land allocation.

2. Clemente 1981. 3. Cf. Livy 31.2.11; 32.7.8; 9.4; 26.1; 34.48.1; 38.42.1; 39.56.3; 40.16.10; 37.8; 43.9.1; 44.1.5; 45.44.1; Val. Max. 1.5.3.

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A vast colonization program was promoted across Southern Italy: it had mostly military purposes, which were not altogether disjointed from commercial purposes, at least for Campania.4 The deduction of colonies took on new forms. In Northern Etruria, Picenum, and Cisalpine Gaul it also served economic and social purposes: the size of the lots assigned to each settler was between five and ten iugera. The nobility continued to view land as a primary source of income, although senators did not disdain resorting to more profitable income sources since the second half of the third century bce.5 These, however, were flanked by land ownership, which remained the core of senatorial assets, and was now the focus of new management strategies.6 The allocation of land was thus one of the possible strategies for the exploitation of the ager publicus, which was increasingly affected by private occupation. Against this practice, which was also favored by the abandonment of those land allotments, during the 170s, the Senate, the magistrates, and the people7 set the limits to their possession (lex de modo agrorum, 167 bce)8 and devised other ways of exploitation (the charging of rents, at least for ager Campanus, under the plebiscitum Lucretium of 172 bce). In the aftermath of the Hannibalic War, Scipio Africanus used the land assignments not for the benefit of the proletarians, but for his own veterans. This initiative combined the new need to reward the loyalty of soldiers after long years of service with traditional visions of land tenure, exploitation of public land, and military service.9 Notably, Scipio’s initiative did not preclude the possibility of a voluntary recruitment of veterans, to which the Senate immediately resorted in the run-​up to the second war against Philip V.10 This recruitment method is representative of the transformations that took place on several levels of Roman society since the beginning of the century: it shows at work a substantial shift

4. On the foundation of colonies in Southern Italy see Camodeca 1991: 13–​20. 5. Clemente 1984; Gabba 1981 (=​1988: 27–​44). 6. Capogrossi Colognesi 2012: 127–​65. 7. The procedure for the assignment of public land involved the concerted action of these three subjects, or of magistrates and the people only, if the magistrates decided not to interact with the Senate, as was the case with Flaminius’ plebiscite of 232 bce. 8. The nature and scope of this measure have gained much attention in recent years: see Rich 2008 and Balbo 2010. 9. In addition to the donatives drawn from the division of the booty (Livy 30.45.3), the veterans received parcels of land whose surface area was calculated on the basis of their stipendia: Livy 31.4.1–​3; 49.5. 10. Livy 31.8.6; 14.1. Five thousand of them still fought in the army of Lucius Scipio: Livy 37.4.3.

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in Roman mentality on the strategies toward independently achieving economic prosperity, without waiting for or being satisfied with what the res publica might be willing to grant. The trend toward the professionalization of the army that stemmed from the events of the beginning of the century took place over the course of twenty-​five years: the episode of Spurius Ligustinus records in a paradigmatic way a phenomenon that had been gaining momentum over time.11 However, the enrichment prospects began to decrease with the military campaigns of the second half of the century. The material rewards of the campaigns in the Western Mediterranean appeared less profitable than what had been extracted from the Hellenistic kingdoms: Transalpine Gaul is an obvious case in point. However, the people increasingly expressed their consent to war, led by the prospects of victory and wealth, which could benefit the whole community as well as those who directly took part in the campaigns.12 As always, individual advantages or disadvantages steered the expression of the vote. There certainly was no shortage of changes of heart: in those cases, the sources tend to draw attention to the intentions of the Senate or the magistrates (often of the tribunes themselves) to get the electoral body to vote again, and represent the voters in the grip of their own passions. The tendency is so deep-​seated that it has prompted the well-​founded suspicion that this tradition derives from late annalistic sources, which may have represented the popular assemblies in light of later developments. In 167 bce the tributum was suspended indefinitely thanks to the income generated by the final victory over Macedonia: by then the public income was guaranteed by the direct control of the conquered territories that had been transformed into provinces. In these territories the illicit appropriations and embezzlement marked the activities of the promagistrates, until at the middle of the century such misconduct began to be targeted by specific repetundae legislation. Even in the absence of offences, the senators always watched over the sums used by magistrates, such as the sums employed to organize public shows: in this case the apprehension concerned the illicit or excessive use of public money as a tool of political competition and struggle. In addressing these issues, the Senate interacted and discussed with the magistrates and the people. This took place primarily with the tribunes because of the effectiveness of their veto (obviously used against the Senate too) and because of their permanent presence in Rome, which furthered the impact of their legislative action. In the course of the second

11. Cf. Livy 42.27.5–​6; 42.34.5–​10; 45.35.8–​9; Plut. Aem. 29–​31, 32.1. See Hoyos 2007: 63–​64, with references. On Spurius Ligustinus see Taylor 2020. 12. Gabba 1984.

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century the number and range of the legislative measures increased,13 and the use of tribunician legislation was more frequent than that of the consular and even more limited praetorian legislation.14 This was possible because, on the one hand, the consuls were always in a hurry to reach their provinces and thus, at the most, they were able to submit a proposal of their own to the meeting before their departure; on the other hand, the tribunician legislative process was less complicated than that promoted by the praetors. The action of the tribunes was then often combined with that of the Senate, but sometimes was taken autonomously. At the beginning of the 180s the tribunes dealt with the matter of suffragium in open dissent with the Senate. Their interest focused on the size of the electoral body and the practicalities of the voting operations and took into account the high number of citizens engaged in various war theaters (it is perhaps no coincidence that these two plebiscites took place during the war against Antiochus). The question concerned the enlargement of the citizen body not through citizenship grants to new subjects, in keeping with the decisions of the Senate, but rather through the extension of voting rights to those citizens who were deprived of them: the sons of freedmen (under the plebiscitum Terentium, 189 bce) and the ciues sine suffragio (under the plebiscitum Valerium, 188 bce). The granting of voting rights would have strengthened the comitia and the plebeian council, and consequently given even greater weight to the decisions of the people and its legitimacy to fulfill legislative, electoral, and judicial functions. The opposition of the Senate was strong.15 We do not know to what extent the two measures were part of an original political project to be developed over time, or whether the plebiscitum Valerium was in the wake of the plebiscitum Terentium.16 Although the urban plebs accepted these proposals and saw no threat to its interests, these two plebiscites remained an isolated normative experience.17

13. Bleicken 1975: 73–​111. 14. Williamson 2005: 20–​23. 15. According to Mouritsen 2007, in the case of the plebiscitum Valerium the Senate opposed the objective of some municipes of gaining access to the urban magistracies. According to Humbert 1978: 350–​52, the plebiscite represents the first measure aimed at granting political rights to municipal citizens. 16. Cels Saint-​Hilaire 2000: 188–​90 assumed that the two tribunes belonged to the Scipiones’ group. The proposal to grant voting rights to municipia could have at least gained the non-​ belligerence of Cato, who was attentive to the interests of the Italian communities. 17. The inscription of the freedmen in the urban tribes is a problem that arose again in 169 and was solved by the censors (Livy 45.15.1–​7). The municipia obtained voting rights only after the Social War: see Mouritsen 2007, with references.

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9.2. Senate and Tribunes The account handed down by Valerius Maximus offers a useful insight into the relationship between the Senate and the tribunician college: the tribunes were originally unable to attend the Senate sessions, and were seated at the door of the meeting venue, whence they tried to listen, almost eavesdropping, to what was discussed and decreed by the patres.18 By recognizing plebeian representations by means of the lex Hortensia, the tribunes were invited to join the Senate; they were thus recognized to play a role in it and more generally in the institutions of Rome, as a formally accepted body.19 From the third century bce onward, the tribunes were given the right to address the Senate and to convene it.20 When the Republic was at war, the plebeian magistrates stood out as major interlocutors of the Senate: they were the only magistrates who were always present in Rome,21 and could thus ensure immediate legislative capacity. Despite some differences, the seventeen years of the war against Hannibal were the period of strongest consensus between the Senate and the tribunes.22 However, not all the tribunes would have subscribed to this vision of their relationship with the Senate: some would subscribe to it in general terms, others only on specific issues. A limitation in our reconstruction and interpretation of the varying internal dynamics of the tribunician colleges is of course dictated by the lack of information on the tribunes that annually made up the college: it is enough to glance at the great corpora of Niccolini or Broughton to realize that at most the names of four to five tribunes out of ten are known.23 We do not know what and measures they promoted and how many, and we thus cannot

18. Val. Max. 2.2.7; cf. Zonar. 7.15. 19. On the tribunate as magistracy see Mommsen 1887: 306–​30; Kunkel and Wittmann 1995: 552–​664 (mainly 637–​38 on the relationships with the Senate). 20. Gell. 14.8.2. The earliest attested case of a tribune summoning the Senate and presiding at the passing of a decree is recorded for 210 bce (Livy 27.5.15–​17, with Badian 1996: 207). See Mommsen 1887: 311–​317; De Martino 1973: 247–​57 and Bleicken 1968: 43–​105 insisted on the subordination of the tribunes to the Senate, which they considered as instruments of its will. As we shall see, this judgment appears reductive, and does not hold against the complexity of the relationship between the Senate and the tribunes. In fact, the sources report cases in which the tribunes sometimes take autonomous decisions, while often agreeing with the position of the Senate. 21. The consuls were almost always engaged on the war front (on their imperium militiae see Mommsen 1887: 114–​18), while the urban praetor and the peregrine praetor were not always exempted from the uacatio militiae (see Brennan 2000: 102–​97). 22. Badian 1996. 23. Niccolini 1898; Niccolini 1934; Broughton 1951.

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understand what direction they decided to impress to their tribunician experience; finally, we do not know the career trajectory of each one of them (even if the general impression is that during the Middle Republic the tribunate was intended as an interim stage toward the curule magistracies); and lastly, only in a few cases can we reconstruct the actions and conduct of individual in his capacity as tribune and then as magistrate cum imperio. Equally little is known about the debates held in the Senate and the opinions expressed there on every issue; in a few cases the sources testify to unanimous vote for the senatus consulta, then leaving room for the impression that above all these enactments were passed by a majority vote. We usually do not know which magistrate summoned and questioned the Senate either. Nevertheless, in the post-​Hannibalic period, the dialectic between the Senate and the tribunes was marked by a convergence of intents, but there were also political disagreements. Generally, such disagreements concerned (it would seem) a part of the tribunes and not the whole college. The interaction between the Senate and the tribunes constitutes a genre of its own, whether it manifested itself in terms of cooperation or dissent, and can be examined through three standpoints: assignment of tasks, legislative activity of the tribunes, and relationship between veto and auctoritas patrum.24 The first approach focuses on the reciprocal powers of intervention from the tribunes to the Senate, and from the Senate to the tribunes; the second examines the normative activity of the tribunes distinguishing between plebiscita founded on a previous senatus consultum and plebiscita passed without an earlier senatorial decree, and “uncertain” plebiscita; the third investigates the cases of opposition between tribunes and Senate through the use of the veto by the former, and of auctoritas by the latter. Of course some modes of action intersect and overlap with each other, offering multiple keys of interpretation for the same event. In order to deal with these issues, at least for the first thirty years of the second century bce, Livy’s account is our guiding source, which draws on that annalistic tradition which was more attentive and interested in the internal events of the Roman people.25 Anyway, the reconstruction of the period after 168 bce and up to 134 bce is less exhaustive, as Polybius’ account up to 146 bce pays substantial attention to the relations between Rome and the Greek communities;26 and after all, Valerius Maximus

24. This syntagm can assume different meanings, from a general level to a technical one. In this chapter we shall use translations that reflect this semantic plurality. 25. Livy’s account of the legislative measures in the third and fourth decade is analyzed by Ferrary 2003 (=​2012: 119–​52). On senatus consulta in Livy 21–​30 see Cavaggioni 2018. 26. Schettino 2018.

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and the “Livian” authors and epitomators appear to be interested in individual and specific situations that do not always reveal clues on such topics.27 It hardly needs stating that the available sources offer only a partial sample of interventions and measures, which does not allow for definitive interpretations or reconstructions, but enables us to identify some general patterns.28

9.3. Cooperation between Tribunes and Senate The relationship between Senate and tribunes may be compared to an elastic band that is being pulled at both ends. The gap between the positions of the Senate and the tribunes determines the extent to which the elastic band may be stretched; conversely, a closer alignment determines a contraction. In both cases the tension or contraction will be determined by political variables. The Senate could entrust the tribunes with certain tasks, such as the questioning of the concilium plebis; it could also accept proposals from one or more tribunes, and it sometimes could not but support the tribunician initiative on specific legislative measures:29 in those cases the proposal was corroborated by the auctoritas patrum, suitably recorded by a senatus consultum passed on the matter. Harmony and cooperation between tribunes and senators became apparent when the former recognized the competence of the Senate on some matters,30 but also when the latter gave the tribunes specific mandates, which were usually implemented in bills (rogationes) and eventually in laws passed by the plebs (plebiscita).

9.3.1. Attribution of Tasks and Duties The tribunes intervened in response to appeals made to them by private citizens or civic communities: however, these did not always lead to the involvement of the Senate or of the other magistrates, even when disagreement arose among the tribunes themselves. Evidence for this can be found in the case of the twenty-​ three centurions who in 171 bce, during the recruitment operations, objected to the rank assignment criteria adopted by military tribunes, and appealed against them to the tribunes of the plebs. Most tribunes would have conducted their own

27. On Valerius Maximus and the Senate see Marino 2018. 28. For a catalogue of leges and plebiscita see Elster 2003. 29. Gell. 14.8.2. 30. Polyb. 6.13.1–​9. Bleicken 1975: 237 speaks of a “concurrence of competencies.” On the competences of the Senate and the people in the field of international relations see Laffi 2016 (=​ 2020: 161–​88).

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investigation to ascertain whether unfair arrangements had indeed been made, but two tribunes thought that such a task pertained to the consuls, who were responsible for the recruitment operations and the military command.31 The due recognition of the competencies of each governing body became a driving criterion for tribunician action, as we shall now see by closely focusing on some instances of confrontation between tribunes and Senate. In some circumstances the tribunician college refers matters to the Senate; there are also cases in which the Senate decides to involve the whole tribunician college. In all these cases the tribunes are generally represented as a single entity. As a college, they interact and work with the Senate and the curule magistrates. However, there is no shortage of cases of the intervention of some tribunes in an individual capacity. In 197 bce the tribunes L. Oppius (Salinator) and Q. Fulvius opposed the intention of the consuls to attribute the provinces of Italy and Macedonia to themselves. The tribunician opposition focused on the fact that the annual change of command in the war against Philip V determined unproductive results; they thus proposed to extend the imperium of T. Quinctius Flamininus, and in any case to leave such a decision to the authority of the Senate. However, this happened after the same tribunes reassured the consuls on their compliance with the senatorial decision. In this way the curule magistrates neutralized any veto imposed by any tribune, had the senators ruled against the tribunician proposal. However, this was taken up by the Senate, which then extended the command to Flamininus, until a new magistrate was sent to replace him on the basis of a further senatus consultum.32 With this clarification, the Senate balanced the needs and expectations of each side without belittling, mortifying, or displeasing the role of the consuls who had just taken office, but at the same time without being too close to the positions and aspirations of the former consul and his supporters.33 With that second decree, the senators postponed any decision on the matter; their choice was based on a long-​standing tradition of pragmatism and on the awareness of how changeable the situation could be: it is no coincidence that the Senate never replaced Flamininus, and extended his imperium until the end of the conflict. Episodes of appeal to the tribunes and subsequent referral to the Senate are documented a few years later. During the Syrian War, in 191 bce, some Roman

31. Livy 42.32.6–​8. Until the matter was discussed in a contio of the people (Livy 42.33.1–​6; 34.1–​15) and was then resolved with the centurions’ renunciation to their appellatio: Livy 42.35.1–​2. 32. Livy 32.28.4, 8–​9. 33. Plut. Flam. 7.1–​3.

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colonies appealed to the tribunes to obtain dispensation from military service in the navy for their citizens, contrary to what was established by the praetor C. Livius, who commanded the fleet.34 The tribunes then took the matter back to the Senate, which unanimously rejected the settlers’ request.35 In this case the whole college turned to the Senate, because the general management of military matters fell within its general remit: after all, it would not have escaped them that a senatus consultum had entrusted C. Livius with the preparation of the fleet and its deployment on the Macedonian front. The events of 181 bce, revolving around the accidental discovery of books attributed to Numa Pompilius, are of an altogether different nature.36 The urban praetor Q. Petilius Spurinus, after having seen and read these books thanks to the liberality of their owner L. Petilius, decided to destroy them because of their contents. This did not happen anyway before Lucius had claimed his rights over the objects through the tribunes, who in turn appealed to the Senate. The senators, accepting the request of the praetor conveyed by the tribunes, decreed the public destruction of the books and a reimbursement for their owner, to be equitably established by the praetor himself and by the majority of the tribunes: a provision that pre-​empted the possible veto of those in the minority.37 In this case the senatorial intervention on matters of ius diuinum was founded on the principle that the Senate, as guardian of the mos, represented the collector of requests to be submitted to the priestly colleges.38 However, the involvement of the college was not necessary, because the urban praetor, an expert both in ius ciuile and ius sacrum, expressed an authoritative opinion, and was also willing to swear on the soundness of his proposal.39 On the other hand, the involvement of the tribunician college by the Senate is clear in the fifth senatus consultum about the Bacchanalia of 186 bce, that is, the one concerning the rewards to be conferred to P. Aebutius and Hispala Faecenia. The second part of the Senate decree instructed the consul L. Postumius Albinus to agree with the tribunes in order to question the concilium plebis about the request to exempt Aebutius from his military duties and from the registration in

34. Livy 36.3.4–​6. 35. Livy 36.3.5. 36. On this episode and its relevance to wider religious developments see F. Santangelo’s contribution to this volume. 37. Livy 40.29.3–​14; Per. 40.5–​7. 38. See Gallo 2016. 39. According to Brennan 2000: 123 the praetor fulfilled his religious duties.

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the equestrian centuria by the censors,40 as his estate should by now be allocated to the first census class.41 On the other hand, the plebiscite was conceived after a senatorial intervention, even in the absence of an explicit and univocal reference to a preliminary deliberation. However, it could also be that the Senate left to the discretion of the consuls the task or the tasks to be eventually entrusted to the tribunes. In 199 bce the entry into office of the aediles curules was not possible because one of them, C. Valerius Flaccus, could not take the oath as flamen Dialis, and the other one, C. Cornelius Cethegus, could not leave Spain, his province, to reach Rome. In order to overcome these obstacles, the Senate decreed that the eventual involvement of the tribunes be evaluated by the consuls, as attested by the use of the discretionary clause si iis uideretur (“if they so decided”) contained in the senatus consultum. At that point, the consuls decided to involve the tribunes,42 asking them to submit to the concilium the measures devised by the Senate to overcome the stalemate: in one case to resort to a legal fiction, admitting another person to swear in place of Flaccus;43 in the other one, to send promagistrates to Spain to take Cethegus’ oath. The two plebiscites derived from such an involvement of the tribunes. They were not directly solicited by the Senate, but were promoted by the consuls: therefore, they were based on the senatus consultum. The Senate, in other words, generally involved the tribunes. That could be done directly or through the mediation of the consuls, who were left the final decision in one way or the other. The tribunes intervened in a wide variety of matters, such as public ritual, the exercise of magisterial powers, or the legal status of citizens. On the other hand, the tribunes requested the intervention of the Senate on a much more limited basis. That was typically the case when a conflict arose between the tribunes themselves and the consuls, or when the tribunes were invested with issues of strict senatorial competence, such as military matters. Faced with a possible veto, the tribunician college itself could commit to abiding by the senatorial decision, or the Senate could request that the college’s decisions be taken by simple majority.

40. Livy 39.19.3–​4. On the measures deliberated on that occasion see Gallo 2017. 41. The estate consisted of 100,000 asses granted to him (as well as to Hispala) by the Senate with this same decree: Livy 39.19.4. 42. Livy 31.50.6–​11. 43. Flaccus’ request to be exempted from observance of the law (Livy 31.50.8) was clearly contrary to practice and potentially a dangerous precedent.

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9.3.2. Plebiscita based on a senatus consultum The interaction between Senate and tribunes had a major impact on the legislative activity of the concilium plebis, with the plebiscites being voted on the basis of a senatus consultum. However, this should not lead to the conclusion that in such cases the Senate has always “suggested” to the tribunes the matters on which the view of the concilium was to be sought. In fact, the tribunes, with their competence to convene the Senate, could have drawn its attention to matters worthy of discussion. It would certainly be useful to know which magistrate had summoned the Senate; nevertheless, it is possible to see traces of the decisional autonomy sometimes asserted by the tribunes in identifying the topics to be discussed in the Senate and then submitted to the concilium. There is evidence for various measures relating to a wide range of subjects, some of which were also subject to comitial legislation (e.g., norms on banqueting or electoral procedure). As already mentioned above, the attention paid to these subjects was determined either by external factors (social, economic, environmental) or by autonomous evaluations, independent of the general context and contingent situations. The plebiscite voted in 186 bce for the rewards of P. Aebutius and Hispala Fecennia during the repression of the Bacchanalia has already been mentioned. Ten years earlier, in 196 bce, the tribunes Q. Marcius Ralla and C. Atinius Labeo had instead consulted the concilium plebis on the basis of a senatus consultum to ratify the peace with Philip V of Macedon. The new consuls urged the senators to decide on the assignment by lot of Macedonia as a consular province, overriding a previous senatus consultum that had entrusted both of them with the command over Italy only. In particular, M. Claudius Marcellus sought to take up arms against Philip, and for that reason he instilled doubts and fears in the senators about the real intentions of the Macedonian king. During a session of the Senate, perhaps in the run-​up to the passing of a senatus consultum that was closely aligned with Marcellus’ interests, the tribunes threatened to put their veto, if the people did not first express their opinion on the peace treaty: they had in fact realized the potential consequences of that decision. Therefore, the Senate, probably not unanimously, was induced by the action of the tribunes themselves to support such a proposal. The operation of Q. Marcius Ralla and C. Atinius Labeo was a masterstroke, because it neutralized on a point of law the danger of a new war and politically defeated the personal ambitions of Marcellus: his opposition was fruitless, because all the tribes voted to ratify the peace treaty.44

44. Polyb. 18.42.1. Livy 33.25.6–​7.

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With regard to the foundations of colonies, in 194 bce a senatus consultum was at the base of the plebiscite that established the foundations of the Latin colonies of Thurii and Vibo Valentia.45 It must be underlined that with regard to the deductions, the sources do not always remember the plebiscite or the law, but, since Mommsen, the existence of such an enactment is generally hypothesized because only the comitia or the concilium plebis could have decided on ways and forms of exploitation of the ager publicus, unless delegating other subjects to that task.46 However, U. Laffi has recently argued that for colonial deductions and viritane allotments only a senatus consultum was necessary, and that only specific situations would have determined the need for a popular vote.47 The question remains controversial, and the interplay between procedure and practice is never straightforward. The people could have put the matter back to the Senate, but the Senate could have operated autonomously; indeed, from time to time, it claimed this competence on the basis of this precedent. Unfortunately, the sources do not help us to understand the complexity of every single measure pertaining to viritane allotments. The complexity of this matter should caution against putting forward overly clear-​cut reconstructions, because both actions by the people or by the Senate might have coexisted in ways and times unknown to us. In 193 bce the Senate was urged to address the indiscriminate increase in loan interest rates. Although there were many measures formally limiting these rates, they were frequently eluded by making loans to Italian allies and to Latins, who were not bound by Roman legislation.48 Despite a first senatorial attempt to curb that situation, the amount of debt was so high that it was necessary to extend the provisions of the legislation to non-​Roman citizens.49 This extension was achieved by a plebiscitum Sempronium de pecunia credita, again voted on the back of a senatus consultum: the action of the tribune M. Sempronius (Tuditanus) was finalized to protect and guarantee the indebted citizens against anyone, Roman or peregrine, who threatened their welfare. This law represents an exceptional case of coercive extension, iure imperii, of Roman norms to citizens of other communities.50

45. Livy 34.53.1–​2; 35.9.7–​8; 40.5–​6. 46. Mommsen 18872: 624–​39. See also T. Lanfranchi’s contribution to this volume. 47. Laffi 2012 (=​Laffi 2020: 115–​47), with references. 48. Plaut. Curc. 509–​11. 49. Livy 35.7.2–​5. 50. Laffi 1990: 291–​93.

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In wartime, it was possible for two magistrates to exchange their provinces, either on their own initiative or under a decision of the Senate.51 However, a different case occurred in 192 bce, on the eve of the Syrian War, when the replacement did not concern the magistrates, but the provinces themselves. After the lot of the praetorian provinces, the Senate decided to select two more provinces, namely the command of the fleet and the province of the Bruttii. These two provinces were conferred to the two praetors who had obtained by lot the two Spains, which continued to be managed by the previous praetors, whose command was extended. In the imminence of the war against Antiochus, while the senators were still waiting for his envoys, the senatorial decision was a preventive measure especially targeted against Nabis, who in the meantime openly attacked the Roman allies.52 However, in peacetime the creation of new provinces and the derogation from their assignment would not have been possible without a popular vote.53 There is no information on the senatorial debate and therefore nothing is known about the position taken by the tribunes on that occasion or about who summoned the plebs;54 yet there is the impression that the Senate’s respect for the roles and competences of the concilium plebis was accompanied by the senators’ intention to commit the plebs with some preliminary war measures, in view of the necessary comitial vote on the declaration of war to the king of Syria.55 In general, from a normative standpoint the second century was characterized by the attention paid to specific matters, as a consequence of the economic and social transformations that followed the affirmation of Rome in the East.56 Between 182 and 181 bce the Senate and magistrates had been for the first time involved, in force of a senatus consultum, in regulating luxury in the banqueting and in punishing electoral fraud, when the first legislative interventions on the subject were promulgated by a senatus consultum. The first enactment was the plebiscitum Orchium, which limited the number of guests at banquets; the second one was the consular lex Baebia Cornelia.57 It is known that the matter 51. Livy 35.20.8–​10. 52. Livy 35.20.9–​10. 53. See Briscoe 1981: ad 35.20.9 for an explanation of the use of a plebiscite. According to Laffi 2012: 444 (=​2020: 130), the involvement of the concilium was determined by political reasons. 54. We know the name of two tribunes, the Titinii. They threatened the veto to a possible senatus consultum to be approved in order to grant the triumph to L. Cornelius Merula: see Livy 35.8.1–​9; see also section 4.2 infra. 55. On the usual procedure adopted for declarations of war at least until 167 bce cf. Livy 45.21.5. 56. See Gabba 1981 (=​1988: 27–​44). 57. Livy 40.19.11.

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of electoral fraud was strictly the prerogative of curule magistrates because of its political implications.58 The repression of embezzlement was instead promoted by a tribune (plebiscitum Calpurnium of 148).59 The regulation of banqueting was alternatively regulated by comitial laws, such as the Fannia cibaria (161),60 or by plebiscites, such as the Didium sumptuarium (143).61 In the case of the lex Fannia, the source explicitly states that the question was posed autonomously by both consuls. The initiative of these measures can be ascribed to the Senate in agreement with the tribunes. In 172 bce the Senate debated the consul of the former consul M. Popillius Laenas, who had unjustly attacked the Statielli, thus provoking the revolt of other Ligurian communities. However, the discussion was delayed by the obstruction of the new consuls (one of whom was Popillius’ brother, Gaius), who artfully delayed their departure for their provinces. The unanimous condemnation of consuls and former consuls by the senators prompted two tribunes of the plebs, M. Marcius Sermo and Q. Marcius Scylla, to threaten to sanction the consuls and to read out in the Senate a proposal for the release of the Statielli. On the basis of a senatus consultum, the proposal was presented to the concilium plebis and then passed.62 Livy’s account states that the tribunes acted with the consent of the senatorial assembly, and perhaps in agreement with the rest of the college. They presented themselves as the makers of the senatorial will, evidently sharing the assumptions and evaluations of the patres, and then in clear opposition with the consuls: in this way the dissent of consuls with the Senate was also more clearly asserted.63 It is more than likely that, in agreement with the Senate, the two tribunes also threatened to present another proposal, in order to force Popillius to appear before a court specifically set up to hear his case.64 The praetor entrusted with that

58. Cf. Ferrary 2006. 59. Schol. Bob. 96 St.; Cic. Brut. 106; Off. 2.75; Verr. 2.3.195, 2.4.56; Lucil. frg. 573–​74 Marx; Tac. Ann. 15.20.3; Val. Max. 6.9.10. 60. Macr. Sat. 3.13.13–​14; 17.3–​8. Gell. 2.24.2. Pliny NH 10.139. On sumptuary legislation see Clemente 1981: 1–​14. Coudry 2012: 489–​513. 61. Macr. Sat. 3.17.6–​7. Pliny NH 10.139. 62. Livy 42.21.4–​8. 63. The consular law Licinia Cassia de tribunis militum was in fact presented ex auctoritate senatus: Livy 42.31.5. 64. Santalucia 2020: 535 n. 1 thinks that the quaestio promoted by the Senate against the former praetor M. Furius Crassipes for his arbitrary military operations against the Cenomani (Livy 39.3.1–​3; Diod. 29.14) was established through a plebiscite as early as in 187 bce.

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court acted in a different manner: under the pressure of Popillius and of his family, he avoided to pronounce the sentence and deferred it to his successor.65 He therefore did not show himself to be an interpreter of the position of the Senate, the tribunes, and the people;66 as Livy’s source (perhaps dating to the Gracchan period)67 pointed out, it was only thanks to the subterfuge (ars fallax) that the plebiscite was disregarded.68 In 167 bce the Sempronian plebiscite was also based on a senatus consultum, providing for the prorogation of the command of the consul L. Aemilius Paullus and of the pro-​praetors Cn. Octavius and L. Acilius Gallus until the day of their triumph.69 The extension was voted without any hesitation for the two pro-​praetors; on the contrary, Aemilius’ extension was opposed by his own army, which was disappointed because of the little booty it had gathered. The soldiers then stirred up the plebs to such an extent that the first tribes called to vote expressed themselves against the proposal, and only the intervention of some senators and of the former consul M. Servilius reversed the result in favor of Aemilius.70 The plebiscite voted, again on the basis of a senatus consultum, in 147 bce to exempt Scipio Aemilianus from the provisions of the lex Villia annalis is rather different. In that year, in fact, Aemilianus was a candidate to the aedileship, but he had been elected by the assembly to the consulship. In fact, since he had distinguished himself during the siege of Carthage as a military tribune, a majority of voters hoped that his exceptional abilities would put an end to the Third Punic War. This election caused a heated and bitter contrast between Senate and people. The Senate called for compliance with the law, while the people claimed their autonomy in choosing the magistrates. Only when the pressure from the people and their representatives was brought to bear, did the Senate decide that the tribunes should put forward a plebiscite to suspend the effects of the lex Villia

65. Livy 42.22.7–​8. 66. Who in the meantime had decided to give freedom to the Statielli and to assign them some land: Livy 42.22.5–​6. 67. It could be an interpretative scheme that anticipates the conflict between consuls and tribunes, according to the developments and dynamics of the Gracchan age. 68. Livy 42.22.8. 69. Livy 45.35.4. One of the clauses would have allowed Aemilius Paullus to wear the triumphal dress during the ludi circenses, unless we should envisage another plebiscite ex auctoritate patrum, such as the plebiscitum Sempronium; cf. Vir. ill. 56. 70. Livy 45.35.5–​9; 36.1–​10; 37.1–​14; 38.1–​14; 39.1–​19; 40.4–​5.

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for one year.71 A decade later, in 134 bce, because of the failures in the war against the Numantines, the Senate and the people agreed that Aemilianus would hold the consulship for a second time, in that case exempting him from observing the law on the iteration of magistracies, which was suspended for the elections of 134 bce.72

9.3.3. Plebiscita Possibly Based on a senatus consultum The sources are often silent as to whether or not the plebiscite was based on a preliminary senatorial decision; sometimes the nature of an enactment itself, that is, whether it was a plebiscite or a comitial law, is not specified either. In such cases, the comparison with plebiscites of similar content, known to have been preceded by a senatus consultum or to be dealing with matters that fell within the competence of the Senate, leads to the hypothesis that the Senate’s decision was the basis for some plebiscites for which this aspect remains unknown. This can be envisaged for the plebiscitum Atinium (197 bce) on the foundation of Roman colonies in Southern Italy73 and for the plebiscitum Licinium (196 bce) on the establishment of the priesthood of the tresuiri epulones.74 Similar reconstructions can also be envisaged for other pieces of legislation. In 187 bce, the proposal of the tribunes Q. and Q. Petilii to set up a commission on the sums paid by the defeated Antiochus was first discussed in the Senate, where two other tribunes, L. and Q. Mummii, initially expressed their negative opinion. Other senators proposed further solutions.75 With the support of a consular like Cato, the Petilii led the Senate to support their initiative. The matter continued to be debated in a contio, until Cato’s favorable opinion led the Mummii to withdraw their veto and perhaps to direct the favorable vote of all the tribes to the proposal deriving from the senatus consultum.76 In 172 bce the plebiscitum Lucretium established that the censors should rent the ager Campanus that had become part of the ager publicus in 211 bce.77 In 173 bce the consul had completed on Senate’s mandate the delimitation of public

71. Livy Per. 50.11–​12; App. Pun. 112. 72. Livy Per. 56.8; App. Ib. 84. 73. Livy 32.29.3–​4; Vell. 1.15.3. 74. Livy 33.42.1. The measure was requested by the pontifices: Cic. De orat. 3.73. 75. Livy 38.54–​56; Gell. 4.18.7; Val. Max. 8.1. damn. 1; Plut. Cato. 15.1 76. Livy 38.54.1–​12. 77. Livy 42.19.1–​2.

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lands from private ones in this area.78 In 174 bce the problem of the persistent undue occupation of those fertile lands, with the movement of the boundary stones by private citizens, had in fact been imposed to the attention of the Senate. The malicious occupation practices were then contrasted by the combined action of the Senate and magistrates, first with the consular activity, then with the tribunician, and finally by the censors. Between 211 and 210 bce, the decision of the Senate to expropriate the lands that had belonged to the municipium of Capua and to its citizens had led indeed to a change in the legal regime of the ager Campanus, which had thus become part of the Roman possession.79 As its owner, the Roman people was competent to decide on exploitation’s forms of such lands, once it had been urged to do it. For this reason, once in 172 bce the perimeter of this part of the ager publicus had been re-​established, the decision on how to use these areas ultimately belonged to the people. The different governing bodies contributed, each one for its own part of competence, to the resolution of the problem; this process was well orchestrated from an institutional point of view, but we do not know to what extent such a decision was shared in the Senate, among the magistrates themselves and then in the assemblies: we completely ignore debates and discussions about it. Similarly, the plebiscite of 167 bce on the limitations to the occupation of public land by private individuals and its use as pasture enjoyed the support of the Senate; the senators were indeed concerned to find effective solutions to a problem that had become endemic.80 On the other hand, with regard to the extraordinary courts, that his, those established by a vote of the concilium plebis for specific individual crimes, the procedure used for the approval of the plebiscitum Marcium of 172 bce (see above) could have represented the legal precedent, whenever it was necessary to repress the abuses of the magistrates. These abuses generally took place against the subjugated populations, and therefore a lex Caecilia was approved in 154 bce against the consul L. Cornelius Lentulus Sura, accused of embezzlement;81 in 149 bce a rogatio Scribonia was proposed but not approved against Ser. Sulpicius Galba, accused of having enslaved the Lusitani.82

78. Livy 42.1.6; cf. 42.9.7. 79. Livy 26.16.8–​10; 34.1–​13. On these measures see Gallo 2018a, with bibliography. 80. App. BC 1.33–​34; Gell. 6.3.37. See also n. 8 above, with references. 81. Val. Max. 6.9.10. Cf. Livy Per. 47; Fest. 360.26–​27L. 82. Cic. De orat. 1.227; Brut. 89; Mur. 59; Livy Per. 49.17–​20; Val. Max 8.1.2; App. Ib. 60.

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The lex Mucia of 141 bce concerned the former praetor L. Hostilius Tubulus accused of concussion in presiding over the court de sicariis the year before.83 Unlike the courts established in force of only a senatus consultum,84 in this case the Senate provided for an approval before the concilium to better protect the effects of this criminal judgment through an explicit popular delegation. Moreover, the involvement of the tribunes would have underlined more strongly the Senate’s position against the arbitrariness of the magistrate’s imperium: in the course of the second century bce, abuses recurred frequently, threatening relationships with allies and with foreign people and at the same time violating the institutional practice. As part of the legal system, the discipline relative to the magistrate’s progression also presupposed preliminary senatorial deliberations before the vote of the plebs for laws as the lex Villia annalis (180),85 the Aelia and the Fufia on obnuntiatio (c. 158),86 the Licinia and the Aebutia on the incompatibility of the magistrates who had presided over the extraordinary courts (perhaps 154),87 or the anonymous plebiscite that prohibited the iteration of consulships in 151 bce.88 Likewise, this can be conjectured also for the late legislation on voting procedures, attested by the plebiscitum Gabinium (139),89 but not also by the plebiscitum Cassium (137).90 Similarly, if we turn to the plebiscites in the domain of private law91—​such as the leges Laetoria de circumscriptione adulescentium (first decade of the second century bce),92 Furia testamentaria (169 bce?),93 Voconia de mulieribus (169

83. Cic. Fin. 2.54; 4.77. Cf. Alexander 1990: 5. 84. For the repression of the Bacchanalia in 186 bce (Livy 39.17.7), of some cases of ueneficia in 184 (Livy 39.41.5–​6) and in 180 ce (40.37.4–​7), and of some murders committed in the Sila in 138 bce (Cic. Brut. 85–​88). According to Santalucia 2020, the latter quaestio set up a trial (cognitio). 85. Livy 40.44.1. Cic. Off. 2.59; Fam. 10.25.2; Phil. 5.47. Tac. Ann. 11.22. App. Pun. 112; Ib. 84; Fest. 25.5–​6L. 86. Cic. Har. Resp. 58; Att. 1.16.13; 2.9.1; Vat. 5; Pis. 10; Red. Sen. 11; Prov. 46; Ascon. Pis. 9. 87. Gai. 2.226; 274; Paul Sent. 4.8.20; Cic. Balb. 21; Clu. 21; Caec. 12, 15; Livy Per. 41.9; Gell. 20.1.23; Fest. 356.23–​27L; Cass. Dio 56.10.2. 88. Livy Per. 56.8; Fest. 282.6–​7L. 89. Cic. Leg. 3.35; Lael. 41; Leg. agr. 2.4. 90. See infra section 4.1. 91. See also T. Lanfranchi’s contribution to this volume. 92. Cic. Off. 3.61; Nat. Deor. 3.74; Plaut. Pseud. 301–​4; Rud. 1380–​82. The Latin formula that is here used to designate this law, like the following ones, is a modern invention, and a widely used scholarly convention. 93. Cic. Balb. 21; Verr. 2.1.109; Gai. 2.225; 4.22–​24; Frg. Vat. 301 Paul. ed.

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bce),94 and Atinia de usucapione (second century bce)95—​it is hard not to envisage a preliminary discussion and senatorial decision, in keeping with the procedure that had introduced the legis actiones. That scenario is made likely by the social and economic implications of those measures, which called for the widest possible participation in the debate, and by the technical contribution to the drafting of the proposal that the jurists who sat in the Senate could offer. On the other hand, it is difficult to establish whether the senatus consultum passed in 159 bce concerning the conduct of the Tiburtes was transposed into a comitial law or a plebiscite. Although the senators had held the Latin community of Tibur not responsible for certain misconducts (not specified in the praetorian epistula containing the text of the senatus consultum), they nevertheless considered it necessary to question the people on such a matter.96 This leads to postulate the existence of a law or plebiscite, although there are no other sources about its enactment. The close scrutiny of these events, in spite of their significant differences, points to the conclusion that the decision to turn the Senate decree into an order of the plebs (thus allowing it to be enacted as law) occurred even when the matter concerned the patres and, even more so, the people. By taking these very parameters, one can then speculate that a senatus consultum could be the basis for a subsequent plebiscite. However, the reasons for calling on the plebeian council are not to be sought solely in the careful observance of procedure, together with the constant presence of the tribunes in Rome. Procedure was in fact the means of giving legal form and substance to political positions and visions. For this reason, some of the measures mentioned above had more of a political connotation than others. It is evident that the tribunes themselves also acted as expressions of senatorial groups and factions, of which they were members. In such a context of competition and affirmation of opposing political visions, the tribunes played a crucial role in curbing or supporting the military ambitions of the curule magistrates, in sanctioning or supporting their behavior, ever conscious of the impact of these conducts on the internal and external relations of the ciuitas.

94. Gai. 2.226, 274; Paul Sent. 4.8.20; Cic. Cato 14; Balb. 21; Clu. 21; Caec. 12, 15; Livy Per. 41.9; Gell. 20.1.23. Fest. 356.23–​27L.; Cass. Dio 56.10.2. This measure on women’s capacity to inherit was supported by Cato. 95. Cic. Verr. 2.1.109; Phil. 3.16. Gell. 17.7.1. Gai. 2.45; 49. Iul. 4 dig., Dig. 41.3.33pr.; Paul 54 ad ed., Dig. 41.3.4.6; Paul l.s. ad leg. Fufiam, D. 50.16.215. This tribune could be identified as C. Atinius Labeo (trib. pl. 196 bce, the author of the plebiscitum Marcium Atinium on the peace with Philip, then praet. per. 195 bce). 96. CIL 14.3584 =​ILS 19 =​Bruns Fontes7 39 =​FIRA2 33 =​ILLRP 512.

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9.4. Conflicts Despite what has been said so far, the Senate could decide to oppose a proposal coming from the tribunes by depriving them of its support, either with a senatus consultum or without a formal decree. At the same time, it could use its own opinion (auctoritas) to circumvent the tribunician veto. On the contrary, one or more tribunes, having perceived the resistance of the senators against their proposal, could decide to initiate the legislative procedure without a prior discussion in the Senate. They could also disagree on issues dealt with in the Senate, threatening to use their veto already during the debate, just to avoid the deliberation of a senatus consultum. However, it could also occur that the tribunes would veto a senatus consultum after its deliberation.97

9.4.1. Plebiscita without senatus consultum Contrasts between Senate and tribunes emerge in front of the plebiscites explicitly voted without a preliminary senatus consultum or with a contrary senatus consultum. The wording plebiscitum non ex auctoritate patrum is only attested for the plebiscitum Valerium of 188 bce, but a similar situation may be envisaged for four other plebiscites, if we just take into account the subject matter and the procedures that were followed. Likewise, it is also likely that there were rogationes without the backing of a senatus consultum that were withdrawn or dismissed by the concilium plebis.98 In 188 bce one of the tribunes in office, C. Valerius Tappo,99 presented to the plebeian assembly a proposal to grant full voting rights to the municipia sine suffragio of Fundi, Formia, and Arpinum without the authorization of the Senate.100 As many as four members of the tribunician college had thought to express their veto. Valerius, however, managed to dissuade his colleagues from so doing by arguing that the Senate had no direct competence over the granting

97. On tribunician intercessio on senatorial acts see also Görne 2020: 142–​44. 98. The rogatio Rutilia of 169 bce on the invalidity of the contracts established by the censors of that year did not have the support of the Senate (unable to limit the censoria potestas as instead requested by the veteres publicani damaged by that contracts) nor that of the other tribunes, because Rutilius also acted for personal hostility against the censors (Livy 43.16.1–​16). It is not certain whether the rogatio Licinia on the election of the priests in 145 bce had been endorsed by the auctoritas patrum (Cic. Nat. Deor. 3.5, 43; Sest. 98; Brut. 83). 99. Maybe a relative of the tribune of 195 bce; a cousin, according to Briscoe 2008: 214. 100. Livy 38.36.7–​9. Fundi and Formiae became municipia sine suffragio in 338 bce, Arpinum in 303 bce. See Gallo 2018b: 137–​41, 151–​52, and now also Görne 2020: 136.

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of voting rights:101 in other words, he supported the principle of the division of functions and powers between two key powers in the res publica, at least between the people and the Senate. In this circumstance at least (since we know nothing else about his political activity), Valerius interpreted the role of the tribunes as the bulwark of popular interest, firmly set up against the power of the nobility, unlike what had happened during between the third and the very beginning of the second century bce. This interpretation may be seen to have constituted a chronological precedent, perhaps not the only one, of some similar claims made by the Gracchi. On that occasion, the Senate’s hostility against Valerius Tappo would have resided in the attempt to defend the effectiveness and the consistency of the electoral body, avoiding further insertions: in fact, in 189 bce the plebiscitum Terentium had already forced the censors to enroll the sons of the freedmen and their fathers in the rural tribes. As Plutarch (our only source on this measure) affirms, the rogator of this plebiscite, the tribune (Q.?) Terentius Culleo, wanted to upset “the aristocrats” (ὃς ἐπηρεάζων τοῖς ἀριστοκρατικοῖς). In Plutarch the term ἀριστοκρατικοί may indicate the nobilitas, that is, the families of consular standing, but can also allude to the senators tout court. Valerius’ remarkable move can thus refer to a conflict between this tribune and the Senate, but can also underline, on the other hand, the ineffectiveness of a Senate decree eventually passed on this matter, because of the prerogative of the people to grant voting rights and to enroll citizens in the tribes (this is the same argument that we find applied to the plebiscitum Valerium).102 A few years earlier, in 195 bce, the tribunes M. Fundanius and L. Valerius (Tappo) made a proposal to repeal the lex Oppia sumptuaria, because it was the product of the pressing needs of the war, after the defeat of Cannae:103 in other words, these two tribunes argued that this lex had been the inevitable response to the particular historical context but was by now clearly outdated.104 Both the consul M. Porcius Cato and the tribunes, M. and P. Iunii Bruti, opposed the abrogation. They threatened to use the veto, after the debate on the proposal during the trinundinum,105 but according to the tradition they gave up the intent only 101. It has already been seen that in the case of the rogatio Petilia it was the auctoritas of Cato that dissuaded the tribunes from vetoing such a rogatio. 102. On this law see Gallo 2021: 118–​23. 103. Livy 34.1.3; Per. 34; Val Max. 9.3.1; Vir. ill. 47.6; Oros. 4.20.14; Zonar. 9.17.1. Cf. Culham 1982: 786–​93. 104. Livy 34.5.5; 34.6.6–​10. 105. Livy 34.5.1.

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because of the vehement reaction of the matrons.106 Otherwise Cato, even before raising the matter in the contio,107 expressed his strong opposition in the Senate seeking the support of the senators and thus dissuading the tribunes. It is not clear if the Senate did not vote a senatus consultum or explicitly decreed against the proposal of Fundanius and Valerius: even without the auctoritas patrum, though, the rogatio Valeria Fundania was put forward and then voted by all the tribes.108 Another possible example of a plebiscitum without a preliminary senatorial agreement is the plebiscitum Aufidium (probably in 170 bce),109 which circumvented a previous senatus consultum that had prevented the transportation of panthers from Africa to Italy,110 also prohibiting it to Latins and Italian allies. A passage by Pliny the Elder, the only source on this subject, does not mention the date of the senatus consultum111 nor in what circumstances it was conceived by the senators; however, Pliny makes clear that against this senatorial decree the tribune Cn. Aufidius questioned the plebs about the possibility of using those animals in the ludi. By proposing an exception to the prohibition, the tribune acted then autonomously and in opposition to the Senate. In fact, had the Senate agreed to the proposal, it could have deliberated autonomously—​thereby overriding its previous decision—​without any formal or substantial need to involve the magistrate, even if he had raised such an issue at an earlier Senate meeting. But it seems that the Senate considered it to be reasonable and appropriate to maintain the prohibition. On the other hand, the tribune proposed himself as an interpreter of the expectations of the people.112

106. Livy 34.1.5–​6; Val. Max. 9.1.3; Zonar. 9.17.1. 107. Livy 34.1.7; 2.1–​14; 3.1–​9; 4.1–​21; Vir. ill. 43; Zonar. 9.17.1. On the suasio of the tribune see Livy 34.5.1–​13; 6.1–​18; 7.1–​15. The discussions and debates previously held in the Senate could continue in the contio. 108. Livy 34.8.1–​4; Per. 34.; Oros. 4.20.14; Vir. ill. 43. We obviously do not know the voting percentages of the electoral body of each tribe. 109. According to the dating proposed by Lange and followed by Broughton 1951: 423. Rotondi 1912: 328–​29 dates it to 103 bce. 110. Pliny NH 1.23–​24; 8.64. 111. But it is noteworthy that it is called vetus if compared to the first century ce. On the use of senatus consulta in the Pliny see Vial-​Logeay 2019, to be integrated with Pedroni 2004: 37–​45; according to the latter scholar, Pliny NH 37.85 alludes to a senatus consultum that integrated the lex Oppia. 112. Cf. Livy 44.18.8, where the performance of numerous panthers (together with bears and elephants) during the games of 169 bce is singled out as a display of luxury. On these measures see Gallo forthcoming.

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In the instance of the plebiscitum Cassium on the secret ballot (137 bce) it may be suggested that no senatorial opinion was expressed on the bill.113 According to Cicero’s evidence, the tribune promoted a proposal to introduce a secret vote for the judgments given by the popular assemblies (iudicia populi),114 because he wanted to gain the favor of the common populace (dissidente a bonis atque omnes rumuscolos populari ratione aucupante) in disagreement with the boni.115 The mention of the boni indicates how many aristocrats opposed that proposal; for sure another tribune and one of the consuls, but also one of the senators. Yet Scipio Aemilianus may also be included among its supporters.116 According to Cicero, Cassius gave voice to those who feared their freedom being in danger, whereas the principes (the boni uiri) feared that the secrecy of the vote would support the recklessness of the people.117 However, a more detailed allusion to the contrast between the tribune and the Senate in this circumstance seems to emerge in Cicero’s De amicitia, in which the activity of C. Cassius Longinus is associated with that of the Gracchi and A. Gabinius.118 Quantitatively speaking, the plebiscites voted without the support of the Senate are fairly few. Despite the gaps in the evidence for a significant relevant part of the second century, it seems clear that the reasons for conflict between plebs and Senate were limited, and at any rate did not affect the policies and the strategies of the patres, as we will see later, in the final section of this chapter.

9.4.2. Veto vs. Senatorial Opinion Through the veto the tribunes generally operated by lending substance to their functions and competences.119 A single tribune’s veto was sufficient to block the action of one or more colleagues or even of all the other members of the tribunician college,120 as well as the action of the curule 113. Cic. Leg. 3.35; Lael. 41; Brut. 97, 106; Sest. 103; Ascon. Corn. 69. On the electoral legislation see Salerno 1999 and Yakobson 1999. 114. Cic. Brut. 106. 115. Cic. Leg. 3.35. 116. Cic. Brut. 97. 117. Cic. Sest. 103. 118. Cic. Lael. 41. 119. Polyb. 6.16.4; Gell. 11.3.2. 120. Cf. the rogatio Licinia Papiria of 178 bce: Livy 41.6.2. A case of lack of intercessio is in Pliny NH 7.143. The opposite could also happen, namely, that the tribune’s arguments discouraged his colleague from interceding, as in the case of the plebiscitum Valerium of 188 (see above);

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magistrates,121 and also to oppose the decisions of the Senate, to be voted on or already agreed.122 The surviving sources demonstrate that the veto of the tribunes could concern even the granting of the ovation or triumph by the Senate. It should first be noted that during the second century, the granting of the triumph became the focus of a clash between the curule magistrates, the tribunes, and the Senate. As is well known, the Senate expressed its opinion on the imperator’s request for a triumph, but this decision was not sufficient in case of substantial or formal objections raised by the tribunes.123 Over time, the indiscriminate request to obtain the triumph led to the establishment by law of the formal criteria for it to be requested: this happened with the so-​called law of the 5,000, a measure (perhaps a comitial law), which required the killing of at least 5,000 enemies.124 For instance, in 199 bce the veto of the tribune P. Porcius Laeca prevented the proconsul L. Manlius Acidinus from being honored with an ovation upon his return to Rome after his campaign in Spain, already granted to him by the Senate.125 We know nothing else about the affair, for example, about the reasons behind the tribune’s decision. Despite the strictness of Livy’s account, it is possible to assume that the tribune might have acted autonomously, or in close

or when in 187, the tribune Ti. Sempronius Gracchus made his colleague M. Aburius desist from opposing the concession of the triumph to the proconsul M. Fulvius (Livy 39.4.1–​13; 5.1–​6). Sempronius’ reference to the role and purpose of the tribunician mandate pro auxilio ac libertate priuatorum (Livy 39.5.2; 5) would come from a pro-​Gracchan source, careful to underline the ideological continuity between the tribunate of the father and that of his sons. According to Görne 2020: 82–​83, this episode reaffirms the possible degeneration in the use of a potentially “destructive” act, such as the intercessio, which was opposed by the other tribunes themselves. The story of the veto feared by tribunes in 184 bce against two senatus consulta on the employment of Roman armies in Spain (Livy 39.38.8–​9) is also interesting. In 167 bce two tribunes opposed the rogatio Iuventia (proposed by the peregrine praetor without consulting the Senate or informing the consuls) but they infringed the discussion procedure during the trinundinum (Polyb. 30.4.4; Livy 45.21.1–​8). 121. Livy 38.60.3–​5; Val. Max. 4.1.8; Livy 45.21.1–​8. 122. Gell. 14.7.6. On the “mise en cause de l’intercession tribunicienne” see Bonnefond-​Coudry 1989: 562–​69, even though she reports later episodes, dating back to the middle of the first century bce. 123. More generally, Görne 2020: 121–​25 emphasizes the political significance of the veto on matters of personal nature, which were instrumentally exploited in the Senate. 124. The nature and date of the measure, which established the killing of at least 5,000 enemies, are unknown, but cf. Val Max. 2.8.1 and Oros. 5.4.7. See Bastien 2007: 293–​96. Beard is skeptical on the historicity of the measure (2007: 209–​10); the present discussion takes a very different approach. 125. Livy 32.7.4.

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agreement with the opponents of the proconsul; at any rate, the veto was the last tool that could be deployed to oppose the will of the Senate. In 193, however, faced with the insistent request of the consul L. Cornelius Merula to obtain a triumph for his success over the Boii, and in spite of the uncertainty that arose in the Senate concerning the concrete development of the campaign, in the face of the discrepancy between the consul’s account and that of his legate, the tribunes M. and C. Titinius threatened to oppose their veto, should the Senate decree the triumph.126 In 168 the tribune Cn. Tremellius threatened instead to veto the proposal of the censors themselves to extend their office in order to complete the maintenance of the buildings and the control over the works contracted out, a proposal on which the Senate should have expressed its opinion.127

9.4.3. Senatorial Ruling vs. Tribunician Veto Sometimes, on the other hand, senators made use of their auctoritas to induce the tribunes not to intercede. It could happen for various reasons. In 200 bce the tribune Ti. Sempronius Longus opposed the granting of the ovation in favor of the proconsul L. Cornelius Lentulus. The Senate had denied him the triumph, because he had held the promagistracy without having first been dictator, consul, or praetor: according to the exemplum a maioribus only the former magistrates could have the right to triumph. At the same time, the Senate granted him an ovation for his achievements in Spain. The tribune Ti. Sempronius Longus pointed out the absence of a precedent in that regard. However, after a lengthy discussion (postremo), the unanimous consensus of the senators led him not to put his veto to the ovation.128 In 191 bce, instead, the tribune P. Sempronius Blaesus did not oppose the triumph over the Boii of the consul Scipio Nasica, but asked for its postponement, because he thought it would be useful for the consul to lead also his own army against the Ligurians, not yet defeated by the other consul.129 However, after listening to Nasica’s report on his actions and on the role of the Ligurians as allies of the Boii,130 the Senate unanimously granted him the triumph, and induced the

126. Livy 35.8.9. This intercession is also listed by Görne 2020: 269 no. 39. 127. Livy 45.15.9. 128. Livy 31.20.1–​6. 129. Livy 36.39.6; 40.10. On this subject see also Görne 2020: 97–​102. 130. Livy 36.40.1–​9.

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tribune to renounce the veto.131 Other comparable instances may be invoked. In 198, the tribunes M. Fulvius and M’. Curius opposed the candidacy of T. Quinctius Flamininus to the consulship, since he had been only quaestor. On the contrary, the Senate stated that the people had the right to choose their magistrates, albeit in compliance with the laws governing access to the magistracies; the tribunes submitted to this senatorial decree.132 In 193 bce, in the imminence of the war against the Ligurians, the Senate led the tribunes not to recognize the exemption from military service for those soldiers of the urban legions who had invoked preposterous reasons in order to avoid fighting.133

9.5. Conclusions Because of the considerable gaps in the documentation, in a period covering almost seventy years, from 200 to 134 bce, we hear of measures related to the dialectic between Senate and tribunes, with the involvement of the concilium plebis, over a period of only thirty-​four years. Most of them are characterized only by a single measure, generally a plebiscite based on a senatus consultum;134 several measures (plebiscites,135 vetoes, and senatorial rulings136) are known for seven years only. The result is a picture in which relations between Senate and tribunes often oscillated between greater interaction and greater distance within the year of office of each tribunician college. This can be observed in 200 bce (when there were two plebiscites ex s.c. and one case of senatorial opinion vs. veto), in 199 (one case of veto vs. senatorial opinion and one case of senatorial opinion vs. veto), in 193 (one plebiscite with one senatus consultum and one senatorial opinion vs. veto), in 187 (one plebiscite and two renunciations to the veto), and in 169 (two plebiscites ex s.c. and one proposal, most probably without a supporting senatus consultum). However, the balance within each tribunician college contributed quite a lot to 131. Livy 36.40.10. 132. Livy 32.7.8–​11. 133. Livy 34.56.9–​11. Taylor 1962: 21 stresses how much this kind of contrast had never occurred during the Hannibalic war, while in the following period such appeals were remitted by the tribunes to the senatorial decision. 134. 197 (plebiscitum), 196 (p), 194 (p), 192 (p), 191 (senatorial ruling), 189 (p), 186 (p), 182 (p), 180 (p), 178 (renunciation to the veto), 173 (p), 172 (p), 170 (p), 168 (v), 167 (p), 159 (p/​ l), 151 (p), 149 (p), 148 (p), 147 (p), 145 (r), 143 (p), 141 (p), 139 (p), 137 (p), 134 (p). These examples alone obviously do not demonstrate the possible cohesion and cooperation between the tribunes and the Senate. 135. In 200, 195, 158, and 154. 136. In 200, 199, 195, 188, and 187.

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the changeability of the relations with the Senate. A greater community of intentions among the tribunes also determined greater cooperation with the Senate in 167 bce, with regard to the proposal on the triumph of Aemilius Paullus and of the other proconsuls, and the veto concerted with the Senate (and perhaps also with the consuls) against the rogatio Iuuentia, put forward by the praetor peregrinus. On the contrary, the measures of 195 and 188 prove the existence of a sharp rift between the tribunes, as the intention of vetoing initiatives considered not to be in line with senatorial policies suggests. For a better understanding of the impact of the tribunician action toward the Senate, it is possible to analyze the circumstances that determined its initiative. The different matters were not always in themselves the object of concord137 or contention but could be used in an instrumental way in the great political game; it happened for the most different reasons, which remain often unclear in the absence of sources. Already during the debate in the Senate, the proposals could catalyze consensus or dissent around themselves, and this happened more often during the contiones:138 proof of this may be seen in the presence of supporters and dissuaders of proposals presented ex s.c. (plebiscitum Voconium) as well as without a previous senatus consultum (plebiscitum Valerium Fundanium). These “partisans” were committed to addressing the choices of citizens at the time of the vote. The matters that prompted internal dissent (between the tribunes themselves) as well as external disputes (with the Senate) reveal more clearly the greater autonomy of tribunician action, but this can also be seen in the analysis of plebiscites, which, while enjoying senatorial support, were generated by the autonomous initiative of the tribunes. In some circumstances, the initiative of the tribunes was triggered by what was discussed or had previously been discussed in the Senate. In 196 the plebiscite for the ratification of peace with Philip was imposed to the Senate by the tribunes; they were moved by the consideration that the consul’s machinations were detrimental to the decisions of the Senate itself and then of the people; but the tribunes also claimed the absolute competence of the people over declarations of war and peace. This affair demonstrates the rigor with which the tribunes fulfilled their function as representatives of the people before the Senate, so as to induce Marcellus to engage in a political battle against the tribunician proposal in the unsuccessful attempt to persuade the people to reject it.

137. This word is here used in the neutral sense of harmony; no reference to concordia ordinum is implied. 138. See Hiebel 2009.

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The Petilii, strengthened by Cato’s support, urged an inquiry into the sums paid by Antiochus: a clause of the proposal required the Senate to choose the praetor charged to lead the process. In 172, when the Senate debated M. Popillius Laenas’ reprehensible conduct, the tribunes proposed to the patres to set up a tribunal against the magistrate: a decision that evidently supported the Senate’s position, which was disappointed by the misconduct of Popillius and his supporters. Something similar happened in 149 with the proposal of the tribune Scribonius to establish a tribunal against Sulpicius Galba. It can still be assumed that the tribunes of 154 and 151 had autonomously submitted to the Senate the proposals on the prohibition of election to the extraordinary magistracies for those who had proposed their establishment, as well as on the prohibition of the iteration of the consulship. For the other plebiscites it may be thought that the Senate had indicated to the tribunes the issues to be submitted to the concilium or that Senate and tribunes together had concerted them, because of the absence of more precise indications. The plebiscites voted without a prior senatorial decree reveal more clearly the autonomy in the action of the tribunes, as much as the contrasts that eventually arose with the Senate. In this regard, it seems appropriate to leave out of account the grants of triumphs and ovations, because over time these practices increasingly became an instrument of political controversy between groups or even individuals, in which some tribunes were embroiled (suffice to mention the case of M. Aburius in 187 bce). Such events suggest the emergence of individualisms. The Senate fought against them even with the support of the tribunes, in order to keep on managing and governing the res publica collectively, but they seem to be of little use in grasping the significance of the tribunician initiative. It can then be assumed that the tribunician initiative took shape autonomously from the Senate by dealing with voting rights, with the costs of the elections, and with the voting procedures. Suffrage offered tribunes ample scope for political struggle between 189 and 188 bce, allowing them to address such a political issue in a formal way. On the other hand, the proposals of 195, 170, and 137 addressed the demands of society, in one case intercepting the malaise of a section of it (those women who devoted themselves to reaching their objectives),139 and in the other probably interpreting its aspirations (not separated from the interests of individual groups) as well as its fears and ambitions. In all these cases more than others, the people were involved on issues of direct concern to them.

139. On this matter see Arena 2011.

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At any rate, all these measures define the development of a relationship that is never linear, static, and preordained, but rather very complex, because of the coexistence of multiple positions, contingencies, and events, to be gradually submitted to the decision of the tribunes, the Senate, and eventually the people. The dialectic with the people could not be avoided when faced with the division of competences: however, the formal motivations were often combined with political evaluations aimed at a greater share of the choices to be taken and the responsibilities to be shared. The popular vote could strengthen the role of the tribune if his proposal was opposed by the Senate or by other magistrates;140 on the other hand, it could strengthen the link with the Senate, in respect to the magistrates against whom the patres had acted. In spite of that, the people did not fail to often show a degree of fickleness by electing those same magistrates whom they had at times helped to convict in the wake of senatorial rulings. Throughout the mid-​Republican period, the Senate continued to be the driving force in directing the government of the Roman polity: it was the seat of political debate, it deliberated autonomously on some issues, it directed the activity of the magistrates on others, and it entrusted them with tasks and assignments on the division of competences or contingent political evaluations. The activity of the tribunes of the plebs did not escape this blueprint, but they sometimes promoted an autonomous political line. This line, however, was not conflictual, or at least it was not always so, as the plebiscite on peace with Philip in 196 bce and the plebiscites of 189 and 188 on the granting of voting rights respectively show. According to L. R. Taylor, the tribunician initiative became more autonomous since 151 bce, when some tribunes arrested the consuls because of their handling of military recruitment.141 Although based on the enforcement of coercitio, the tribunes’ decision was so drastic that the (probably anti-​Gracchan) source used by Livy dismissed it as a sectarian move, insinuating that the tribunes had acted in this way only to benefit some of their friends. There would have been no connection with the Senate, which would have disagreed with the decision taken by the whole college, or at least without any opposition from its members. According to Taylor, these tribunes were the precursors of the Gracchi, attesting between 151 and 134 bce a reversal of the previous agreement trend between the tribunes and the Senate.142 Even E. Badian granted the tribunes a certain margin 140. The absence of auctoritas patrum did not imply the rejection of the proposal by the people: if they had shared its assumptions, they would have voted for it, as often happened. 141. Livy Per. 48.16; App. Ib. 49. 142. Taylor 1962. Urso 2021 provides a survey of the forerunners of the Gracchi from the standpoint of the notion of popularitas: it is essentially an overview of the consuls, their elections, and their legislative activity, with a brief reference to the tribunes of the years 189 and 188 bce.

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of autonomy since the plebiscitum Terentium (189 bce), without singling out the episode of the plebiscitum Valerium (188 bce) as a relevant example in that regard. Above all, the episodes recalled by Taylor constituted acts of force, a striking muscular manifestation in the conflict that arose with the consuls and the Senate. However, since the beginning of the second century bce the tribunician action was autonomous and resolute in claiming its own areas of competence and its own margins of action, while respecting the institutional practice. There is a rich historiographical tradition on the political trajectory of the Gracchi and, before them, on that of C. Flaminius; an important strand criticizes them sternly for their “subversive” aims and methods. The surviving sources suggest that there was no comparison with the activity of those tribunes who, between the end of the Hannibalic War and 134 bce, expressed independent positions and opposed the line embraced by the Senate. Such a comparison would not have been possible because the Fundanii, Valerii, Terentii, Sempronii (including the father of the Gracchi himself ), Fulvii, Curii, and Cassii did not exceed their functions, did not abuse their role, and did not resort to violence by stirring up the people. On the contrary, they engaged in their own struggles against the Senate and the other magistrates by disputing and arguing on points of law. This generation of tribunes often succeeded in persuading its interlocutors, quite apart from the contents of the proposals that were put forward, and the personal interpretation of the magistracy that each tribune had. Although some subjects attracted more attention and interest, these tribunes did not overlook that they were fully part of the ruling elite. Divergences were handled in the institutional practice within a dialectic that was harsh in tone, but never violent in its concrete actions and never undermined the cohesion of government, until the Gracchan age. The realization that a radical change in tribunician action had intervened only with the Gracchi, to the point of assuming their tribunates as a chronological boundary, is already apparent in some ancient discussions of the period. On the other hand, respect for institutional practice did not lead to an uncritical alignment of the tribunes with the positions of the Senate, nor did it result in the systematic exploitation of the magistracy by the Senate. The curule magistrates, especially the consuls, obviously intervened in the dynamics of the relations between the Senate and the tribunes. This had always happened, but in the second century it can be seen how the consuls themselves also operated independently of institutional practice and mos, and therefore in an opposite way to the will of the Senate. The main focus of the disputes between consuls and Senate was the nature of imperium. In this period such a power instrument was subjected to a radical rethinking of its scope, its application, and its effects. In the dynamics of these further relations between consuls and Senate, the tribunes often intervened in support of the latter. This gives the measure of an

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age of continuous fluctuation: in that context the tribunes cooperated in a balanced manner with the Senate, even amid the differences and divergences that, as we have seen, sometimes opposed them. Appendix 9.1  List of plebiscites backed by a Senate decree Plebiscita with senatus consultum Certain cases Plb. de iure iurando C. Valerii Flacci Plb. de imperio in Hispania Plb. Marcium Atinium de pace cum Philippo facienda Plb. Aelium de coloniis deducendis Plb. Sempronium de pecunia credita Plb. de permutatione prouinciarum Plb. de iis quos pro indicibus consules habuerunt Plb. Orchium de coenis Plb. Marcium de Liguribus Plb. Sempronium de triumpho L. Aemilii Pauli, Cn. Octavii, L. Acinii Galli Plb. de lege soluendo P. Cornelio Scipione Aemiliano Plb. de lege soluendo P. Cornelio Scipione Aemiliano

200

Livy 31.50.10

200 196

Livy 31.50.10–​11 Polyb. 18.42.1; Livy 33.25.6–​7

194

Livy 34.53.1; 35.40.5

193

Livy 35.7.4–​5

192

Livy 35.20.9–​10

186

Livy 39.19.3–​4, 7

182 172 167

Macr. Sat. 3.17.2–​3 Livy 42.21.3–​5 Livy 45.35.4

147

Livy Per. 50.11–​12; App. Pun. 112

134

Livy Per. 56.8; App. Ib. 84

197

Livy 32.29.3–​4; Vell. 1.15.3

196

Livy 33.42.1. Cf. Cic. De orat. 3.73

Likely cases Plb. Atinium de coloniis quinque deducendis Plb. Licinium de tresviris epulonibus creandis

(continued)

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Appendix 9.1  Continued Plebiscita with senatus consultum

154?

Cic. Off. 3.61; Nat. Deor. 3.74; Plaut. Pseud. 301–​4; Rud. 1380–​82. Livy 38.54–​56; Gell. 4.18.7; Val. Max. 8.1. damn. 1; Plut. Cat. Mai. 15.1 Livy 40.44.1; Cic. Off. 2.59; Fam. 10.25.2; Phil. 5.47; Tac. Ann. 11.22; App. Pun. 112; Ib. 84; Fest. 25.5–​6L Livy 42.19.1–​2 Cic. Balb. 21; Verr. 2.1.109; Gai. 2.225, 4.22–​24; Frg. Vat. 30 Paul. ed. Gai. 2.226, 274; Paul. Sent. 4.8.20; Cic. Balb. 21; Clu. 21; Caec. 12, 15; Livy Per. 41.9; Gell. 20.1.23; Fest. 356.23–​ 27L.; Cass. Dio 56.10.2 App. BC. 1.33–​34; Gell. 6.3.37. CIL 14.3584 =​ ILS 19 =​Bruns Fontes7 =​ FIRA7 33 =​ILLRP 512 Cic. Har. resp. 58; Sest. 114; Att. 1.16.13, 2.9.1; Vat. 5; Pis. 10; Red. Sen. 11; Prov. 46; Ascon. Pis. 9 Cic. Har. resp. 58; Att. 1.16.13; 2.9.1; Vat. 5; Pis. 10; Red. Sen. 11; prov. 46. Ascon. Pis. 9 Val. Max. 6.9.10. Cf. Livy Per. 47.16; Fest. 360.26–​27L. Cic. Dom. 51; agr. 2.21

154?

Cic. agr. 2.21

151 149

Livy Per. 56.8. Fest. 282.6–​7L Cic. De orat. 1.227; Brut. 89; Mur. 59; Livy Per. 49.17–​20; Val. Max 8.1.2; App. Ib. 60 Schol. Bob., 96St; Cic. Brut. 106; Off. 2.75; Verr. 2.3.195, 2.4.56; Lucil. frg. 573–​74 Marx; Tac. Ann. 15.20.3; Val. Max. 6.9.10 Macr. Sat. 3.17.6–​7; Pliny NH 10.139

Lex Plaetoria de circumscriptione first adulescentium decade Plb. Petilium de pecunia regis 187 Antiochi Plb. Villium annale 180

Plb. Lucretium de agro Campano 173 Lex Furia testamentaria 169? Plb. Voconium de coercendis mulierum hereditatibus

169

Plb. de modo agrorum Lex de Tiburtibus

167 159

Lex Aelia de modo legum ferundarum

158 ca.

Lex Fufia de modo legum ferundarum

158 ca.

Lex Caecilia de quaestione extraordinaria instituenda Lex Licinia de magistratibus extraordinariis Lex Aebutia de magistratibus extraordinariis Lex de consulatu non iterando Rogatio Scribonia de Lusitanis

154

Plb. Calpurnium de repetundis

148

Lex Didia sumptuaria

143

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Appendix 9.1  Continued Plebiscita with senatus consultum Plb. Mucium de L. Hostilio Tubulo Plb. Gabinium de tabellis Lex Atinia de usucapione

141

Cic. Fin. 2.54; 4.77

139 II cent.

Cic. Leg. 3.35; Lael. 41; Leg. agr. 2.4. Cic. Verr. 2.1.109; Phil. 3.16; Gell. 17.7.1; Gai. 2.45, 49; Iulian. quart. dig. Dig. 41.3.33 pr.; Paul. ad edict. Dig. 41.3.4.6; Dig. ad leg. Fufiam 50.16.215

Appendix 9.2  List of plebiscites and bills without a Senate decree Plebiscita and rogationes without senatus consultum Certain cases Plb. Valerium de ciuitate cum 188 suffragio Formianis, Fundanis et Arpinatibus danda Rogatio Rutilia de locatione 169 censoria

Livy 38.36.7–​9

Livy 43.16.1–​16

Likely cases Plb. Fundanium Valerium 195 de lege Oppia sumptuaria abroganda Plb. Terentium de 189 libertinorum liberis Plb. Aufidium de feris Africae 170 Plb. Cassium de tabellis 137

Livy 34.1–​7; 8.1–​3; Per. 34; Val. Max. 9.1.3; Vir. Ill. 43; Oros. 4.20.14; Zonar. 9.17.1 Plut. Flam. 18.1–​2 Pliny NH 1.23–​24, 8.64 Cic. Leg. 3.35; Lael. 41; Brut. 97, 106; Sest. 103; Ascon. Corn. 69.

Uncertain cases Rogatio Licinia de sacerdotiis

145

Cic. Nat. Deor. 3.5; 43; Sest. 98; Brut. 83; Lael. 96

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Appendix 9.3  Specific cases of vetoes in the second century bce Veto vs. auctoritas 199 196 168

ouatio prouincia Macedonia prorogatio of the potestas censoria

Livy 32.7.4 Livy 33.25.5 Livy 45.15.9

Auctoritas vs veto 200 199 193 191

Triumph Candidacy to the consulship Military recruitment Triumph

Livy 31.20.1–​6 Livy 32.7.8 Livy 34.56.9–​11 Livy 36.39.6; 40.10

Renunciations to the veto 188 187 187 178 167

Plb. Valerium de ciuitate cum suffragio Formianis . . . Plb. Petilium Triumph Rogatio Licinia Papiria de A. Manlii imperio Rogatio Iuuentia

Livy 38.36.7–​9 Livy 38.54.5, 11 Livy 39.4–​5 Livy 41.6.2 Livy 45.21.1–​8; Polyb. 30.4.4

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Bastien, J.-​L. 2007. Le triumphe romain et son utilisation politique à Rome aux trois derniers siècles de la République. Rome. Beard, M. 2007. The Roman Triumph. Cambridge, MA, and London. Bleicken, J. 1968. Das Volkstribunat der klassischen Republik. Munich. Bleicken, J. 1975. Lex Publica. Gesetz und Recht in der römischen Republik. Berlin. Bonnefond-​Coudry, M. 1989. Le Sénat de la république romaine de la guerre d’Hannibal à Auguste. Rome. Brennan, T. C. 2000. The Praetorship in the Roman Republic. Oxford. Briscoe, J. 1981. A Commentary on Livy, XXXIV–​XXXVI. Oxford. Briscoe, J.2008. A Commentary on Livy, 38–​40. Oxford. Broughton, T. R. S. 1951. The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, I. New York. Camodeca, G. 1991. “L’età romana. La colonizzazione romana dal II secolo a.C. all’età imperiale.” In Storia del Mezzogiorno, I, 2, 9–​79. Naples. Capogrossi Colognesi, L. 2012. Padroni e contadini nell’Italia repubblicana. Rome. Cavaggioni, F. 2018. “L’attività deliberativa del senato nell’opera di Tito Livio. Note di lettura ad AUC XXI–​XXX.” In A. Balbo, P. Buongiorno, and E. Malaspina (eds.), Rappresentazione e uso dei senatus consulta nelle fonti letterarie della repubblica e del primo principato, 259–​345. Stuttgart. Cels Saint-​Hilaire, J. 2000. “Citoyenneté et droit de vote: à propos du procès des Scipions.” In C. Bruun (ed.), The Roman Middle Republic. Politics, Religion, and Historiography c. 400–​133 BC, 177–​94. Rome. Clemente, G. 1981. “Le leggi sul lusso e la società romana tra III e II secolo a.C.” In A. Giardina and A. Schiavone (eds.), Società romana e produzione schiavistica, III, 1–​14, 301–​4. Bari. Clemente, G. 1984. “Lo sviluppo degli atteggiamenti economici della classe dirigente fra III e sec. a.C.” In W. V. Harris (ed.), The Imperialism of Mid-​Republican Rome, 165–​83. Rome. Coudry, M. 2012. “Lois somptuaires et regimen morum.” In J.-​L. Ferrary (ed.), Leges publicae. La legge nell’esperienza giuridica romana, 489–​513. Pavia. Culham, P. 1982. “The Lex Oppia.” Latomus 41: 786–​93. De Martino, F. 1973. Storia della costituzione romana, II. Naples. Elster, M. 2003. Die Gesetze der mittleren römischen Republik. Darmstadt. Ferrary, J.-​L. 2003. “La Legislation romaine dans les livres 21 à 45 de Tite-​Live.” In T. Hantos (ed.), Laurea Internationalis. Festschrift J. Bleicken, 107–​42 (=​Ferrary 2012, 119–​52). Stuttgart. Ferrary, J.-​L. 2006. “Les Lois de répression de la brigue et leurs conséquences sur la création et le gouvernement des provinces.” Rivista Storica dell’Antichità 36: 9–​21. Ferrary, J.-​L. 2012. Recherches sur les lois comitiales et sur le droit public romain. Pavia. Gabba, E. 1981. “Ricchezza e classe dirigente romana fra III e I sec. a. C.” Rivista Storica Italiana 93: 541–​58 (=​1988: 27–​44).

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Gabba, E. 1984. “Il consenso popolare alla politica espansionistica romana fra III e II sec. a.C.” In W. V. Harris (ed.), The Imperialism of Mid-​Republican Rome, 115–​29. Rome. Gabba, E. 1988. Del buon uso della ricchezza. Saggi di storia economica e sociale del mondo antico. Milan. Gallo, A. 2016. “I sacra del municipio in età medio-​repubblicana e il ruolo del senato romano.” In D. Bonanno, P. Funke, and M. Haake (eds.), Rechtiliche Verfahren und religiöse Sanktionierung in der griechisch-​römischen Antike, 75–​85. Stuttgart. Gallo, A. 2017. “Senatus consulta ed edicta de Bacchanalibus. documentazione epigrafica e tradizione liviana.” Bollettino di Studi Latini 47: 519–​40. Gallo, A. 2018a. “‘La punizione dei vinti’. dibattiti e decreti senatori su Campani e Tarentini dopo la riconquista (211–​208 a.C.).” Klio 100: 785–​824. Gallo, A. 2018b. Prefetti del pretore e prefetture. L’organizzazione dell’agro romano in Italia (IV–​I sec. a.C.). Bari. Gallo, A. 2021. “Intorno alla censura del 189–​188 a.C.” Bullettino dell’Istituto di Diritto Romano 115: 109–​38. Gallo, A. forthcoming. “Le belve, i giochi e la competizione politica nel II secolo a.C.” In A. Gallo, S. Lohsse and P. Buongiorno (eds.), Miscellanea Senatoria II. Stuttgart. Görne, F. 2020. Die Obstruktionen in der Römischen Republik. Stuttgart. Hiebel, D. 2009. Rôles institutionnel et politique de la contio sous la république romaine. 287–​49 av. J.-​C. Paris. Hoyos, D. 2007. “The Age of Overseas Expansion (264–​146).” In P. Erdkamp (ed.), A Companion to the Roman Army, 63–​79. Oxford and Malden, MA. Humbert, M. 1978. Municipium et civitas sine suffragio. L’organisation de la conquête jusqu’à la guerre sociale. Rome. Kunkel, W., and R. Wittmann. 1995. Staatsordnung und Staatspraxis der Römischen Republik. Munich. Laffi, U. 1990. “Il sistema di alleanze italico.” In A. Momigliano and A. Schiavone (eds.), Storia di Roma, II, 1., 285–​304. Turin. Laffi, U. 2012. “Leggi agrarie e coloniarie.” In J.-​L. Ferrary (ed.), Leges publicae. La legge nell’esperienza giuridica romana:, 427–​61. Pavia. Laffi, U. 2016. “Le concezioni giuspublicistiche romane sulle competenze del senato e dei comizi e le dinamiche dei processi decisionali nel campo della politica estera.” Athenaeum 104: 418–​45. Laffi, U. 2020. Nuovi studi di storia romana e di diritto. Naples. Mantovani, D. 2017. “Quando i giuristi diventarono ‘Veteres’. Augusto e Sabino, i tempi del potere e i tempi della giurisprudenza.” In Augusto. La costruzione del principato. Atti del Convegno Linceo 309, 257–​325. Rome. Marino, S. 2018. “Uso e rappresentazione dei senatus consulta nei Facta et dicta memorabilia di Valerio Massimo.” In A. Balbo, P. Buongiorno, and E. Malaspina (eds.), Rappresentazione e uso dei senatus consulta nelle fonti letterarie della repubblica e del primo principato, 347–​406. Stuttgart.

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Mommsen, Th. 1887. Römisches Staatsrecht. Leipzig. Mouritsen, H. 2007. “The civitas sine suffragio. Ancient Concepts and Modern Ideology.” Historia 56: 144–​52. Niccolini, G. 1898. Fasti tribunorum plebis. Pisa. Niccolini, G. 1934. I fasti dei tribuni della plebe. Milan. Pedroni, L. 2004. “Un ‘mulierum senatusconsultum’ sugli oggetti preziosi? (Plin. NH 37, 85).” Römische Mitteilungen 46: 37–​45. Rich, J. W. 2008. “Lex Licinia, Lex Sempronia. B. G. Niebuhr and the Limitation of Landholding in the Roman Republic.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land, and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 519–​72. Leiden and Boston. Rotondi, G. 1912. Leges publicae populi Romani. Milan. Salerno, F. 1999. Tacita libertas. L’introduzione del voto segreto nella Roma repubblicana. Naples. Santalucia, B. 2020. “La quaestio consolare del 138 a.C. per la strage della Sila.” In G. A. Cecconi, R. Lizzi Testa, and A. Marcone (eds.), The Past as Present. Essays on Roman History in Honour of Guido Clemente, 525–​39. Turnhout. Schettino, M. T. 2018. “Polybe et les actes officiels du Sénat romain.” In A. Balbo, P. Buongiorno, and E. Malaspina (eds.), Rappresentazione e uso dei senatus consulta nelle fonti letterarie della repubblica e del primo principato, 13–​35. Stuttgart. Taylor, L. R. 1962. “Forerunners of the Gracchi.” Journal of Roman Studies 52: 19–​27. Taylor, M. J. 2020. “A Census Record as a Source in Livy? The Life and Career of Spurius Ligustinus.” Mnemosyne 73: 261–​78. Urso, G. 2021. “Precursori dei Gracchi? Ricerca del consenso e prime tentazioni ‘populiste’ nella media repubblica.” In G. Urso (ed.), Popularitas. Ricerca del consenso e “populismo” in Roma antica, 73–​100. Rome. Vial-​Logeay, A. 2019. “Entre action et image. quelques remarques sur la presence du sénat dans l’Histoire naturelle de Pline l’Ancien.” In A. Balbo, P. Buongiorno, and E. Malaspina (eds.), Rappresentazione e uso dei senatus consulta nelle fonti letterarie della repubblica e del primo principato, 13–​30. Stuttgart. Yakobson, A. 1999. Elections and Electioneering in Rome. A Study in the Political System of the Late Republic. Stuttgart. Willems, P. 1883. Le Sénat de la République romaine. Louvain. Williamson, C. 2005. The Laws of the Roman People. Ann Arbor.

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10

The Gentes Maiores and Aristocratic Competition in Rome (200–​134 bce) Cyrielle Landrea

10.1. Introduction When he delivered the eulogy of his father, the plebeian grandee Q. Caecilius Metellus (cos. 206 bce) characterized the ethos of the Roman nobility by focusing on the qualities of the man he was commemorating: “For he had made it his aim to be a first-​class warrior, a supreme orator and a very brave commander . . ., to be deemed the most eminent member of the Senate . . . and to achieve supreme distinction in the state.”1 This brief portrait shows that the aristocrats could define themselves by their service to the res publica.2 Indeed, aristocratic competition and exercise of State responsibilities (civil, military, and religious) were essential to keep a family in the circles of power, and to enable its members to aspire to the consulship. The members of powerful families with a political pedigree were collectively identified as nobiles (literally, “the well-​known”). The nobilitas was structured around the experience of holding high office, notably the consulship, over several generations. Since public offices were elective, there was

1. Pliny NH 7.140: uoluisse enim primarium bellatorem esse, optimum oratorem, fortissimum imperatorem . . ., summum senatorem haberi . . . et clarissimum in ciuitate esse (transl. H. Rackham, LCL). His father was L. Caecilius Metellus, pontifex maximus, consul in 251 and 247, triumphator in 250, master of the horse in 249, and dictator in 224. 2. See esp. the historiographical overview in Badel 2005: 18–​24. In the period between 233 and 133 bce, two hundred consulships were shared by a few lineages (fifty-​eight gentes), three quarters of the consuls descended from a mere twenty-​six gentes, and half of the consuls belonged to ten gentes like the Aemilii, the Cornelii, and the Fulvii. In each generation, the Senate was dominated by around twenty-​five families (Badel 2013: 107). Cyrielle Landrea, The Gentes Maiores and Aristocratic Competition in Rome (200–​134 bce) In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0010

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not a permanent nobility in Rome, although some families maintained political power and secured electoral success generation after generation.3 However, there was an exception: the patriciate was a “nobilitas par excellence”—​a closed, permanent, and hereditary group within the nobility.4 Its members traced back the history of their families to Rome’s earliest days or to the beginning of the Republic. Some patrician lineages formed an even more closed circle, that of the gentes maiores, the most prestigious ones, which included the Aemilii, the Claudii, the Cornelii, the Fabii, the Manlii, and the Valerii.5 The ancient sources do not explicitly record a list of such families, but Th. Mommsen drew up a convincing one.6 In his view, which obtained wide acceptance, the oldest patrician families were later called gentes maiores, while the gentes minores were a group of “new” patricians that were co-​opted at a later time. However, the

3. The emergence of the nobilitas in the fourth century bce has received a classic discussion in Hölkeskamp (1987, 20112). This new ruling order, created by the compromise between the patricians and the plebeians, became a functional nobility: according to Hölkeskamp, it was an open group based on meritocratic principles; however, the patriciate was never eradicated. Hölkeskamp 2011: 204–​40 also emphasized the identity and social behavior of this ruling elite, which developed an ethos that allowed it to identify and represent itself (“Selbstverständnis” and “Selbstdarstellung”). On the gentes maiores see Hölkeskamp 2011: 32–​33. 4. Baudry 2006: 171. 5. There was an internal distinction in the patriciate between gentes maiores and gentes minores, which has prompted considerable scholarly disagreement (a valuable summary in Smith 2006: 254–​56). According to the prevailing ancient tradition—​supported, in particular, by Cicero (Rep. 2.36) and Livy (1.35.6)—​the incorporation into the patriciate occurred at the time of Tarquinius the Elder. Cicero establishes clearly the distinction between these clans (Rep. 2.36): isque ut de suo imperio legem tulit, principio duplicauit illum pristinum patrum numerum, et antiquos patres maiorum gentium appellauit, quos priores sententiam rogabat, a se adscitos minorum. “After having caused a law to be passed confirming his royal authority, he first of all doubled the original number of senators, and gave to those who had previously been called ‘Fathers’ the title of ‘senators of the greater families’ (these were always asked for their opinion first), and those whom he himself had added he designated ‘senators of the lesser families’ ” (transl. C. W. Keyes, LCL). Livy follows the same historiographic tradition and he specifies that the hundred new patres belonged to the gentes minores (1.35.6). This means that the first patres belonged to the gentes maiores. For other authors, this is much too early, during the merger of the Romans and the Sabines (Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.47.1). The dating of this incorporation is challenged, and the status of the Claudii as a gens maior is a hurdle to this explanation. Tacitus (Ann. 11.25.2) supports a much later date, at the time of the fall of the monarchy, on Brutus’ initiative: isdem diebus in numerum patriciorum adsciuit Caesar uetustissimum quemque e senatu aut quibus clari parentes fuerant, paucis iam reliquis familiarum, quas Romulus maiorum et L. Brutus minorum gentium appellauerant. “Much at the same time, the Caesar adopted into the body of patricians all senators of exceptionally long standing or of distinguished parentage: for by now few families remained of the Greater and Lesser Houses, as they were styled by Romulus and Lucius Brutus” (transl. J. Jackson, LCL). 6. Mommsen 1887: 31. The Papirii were the only gens that is explicitly labeled as minor (Cic. Fam. 9.21.2).

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assumption that the gentes maiores were the oldest patrician clans presents some difficulties, notably in the case of the Claudii, who—​in spite of being maiores—​ were supposed to have arrived in Rome only at the beginning of the Republican period. The prestige of the gentes maiores conferred these families a superior status to that of the other patricians. As there was no legislation on the patriciate in Rome, it is difficult to distinguish what is simply a statement of fact or custom, and what might describe real privileges, if they existed (such as the title of princeps senatus, for instance).7 In the second century bce, the so-​called gentes maiores still formed an aristocracy within the patriciate, which retained a prominent role across the centuries, basing its legitimacy on formal hereditary qualifications, consistent holding of elected offices, and established symbolic capital.8 The argument of this chapter is that the gentes maiores remained highly distinguished, even if some individuals failed and some families went through political, demographic, and economic difficulties. They always retained a distinctive place in Roman political culture and collective memory. At the end of the Second Punic War, the nobiles gained even greater prominence and influence. The second century bce was marked by the closing of access to the consulship, with fewer newcomers to the Senate holding that office. Political competition to attain the upper magistracy thus took place between a few dozen families, and the consulship remained a major stake. In the realm of political competition, it was no longer the consulship that determined access to the nobility, but the noble status that often determined access to the consulship.9

7. According to Th. Mommsen (1864: 258–​259), this patrician had to be a member of the gentes maiores. This hypothesis was accepted by several scholars, such as Münzer 1920: 11 =​1999: 16); Sumner 1964: 48; Suolahti 1972: 208, and Bonnefond–​Coudry 1993: 107–​109. According to F. Münzer, the nobiles who could claim the title of princeps senatus formed a “higher aristocracy, a kind of princely class” (1920: 98 =​1999: 95). Until the first century bce, only the member of the gentes maiores occupied this post. However, the sources never explicitly state that this post was reserved to them. F. X. Ryan explained that no patrician status was necessary in fact (1998: 225–​32): for example, in his view (1998: 200–​203), M. Tullius Cicero (cos. 63) was princeps senatus. 8. The concept of “symbolic capital” comes from the sociology and the research of P. Bourdieu; it later came to be used by historians of the ancient world. K.-​J. Hölkeskamp was especially interested in the importance of symbolic capital for the Republican aristocracy (e.g., 2010: 107–​ 24). Even if there is a “meritocracy,” the symbolic capital is essential in the reproduction system of the Roman aristocracy (2010: 198). 9. See Baudry 2006: 171. Indeed, some ancient sources do stress that these families often passed the consulship from hand to hand: see, e.g., Sall. Iug. 63.6.

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And what about the gentes maiores? Between 200 and 134 bce, there were sixty patrician consuls, forty-​one of whom belonged to those great lineages.10 This chapter aims to trace the basic coordinates of their political culture and the evolution of political competition subsequent to the Second Punic War until the eve of the Gracchan crisis. This question has been extensively debated in modern scholarship, and much attention has been devoted to the foundations of their power (e.g., clientelae, political communication, military conquests, triumphs) and the competition mechanisms (e.g., inimicitia, factional dynamics, legal proceedings).11 The emphasis was placed more on family dynamics in the political competition, the maintenance of rank, and the quest for continuity in the exercise of power.12 Moreover, prosopographical studies have focused on the gentes as a whole, taking the unifying criterion of a gens as a collective of people who shared the same princeps gentis and the same nomen.13 However, these highly distinguished lineages were not necessarily allied in the political game of the second century bce; their differences, at the same time, did not prevent them from sharing a common ancestral identity.14 Some branches (stirpes) were separated from the rest of the gens for long stretches of time.15 Therefore, these great lineages did 10. Cf. the prosopographical table at the end of this chapter. H. Beck analyzed the consulship before the introduction of the lex Villia Annalis. The analysis of the consuls between 200 and 180 bce may well suggest that the consulship was passed from father to son for a significant number of the patricians (2005: 142–​44). He also emphasized the predominant role of the gentes maiores, which attained 71 percent of the consulship held by the patricians between 200 and 180 bce. This is not new, because the same proportions are also observed in the 290–​180 bce period (Beck 2005: 144). 11. The bibliography is extensive: Flower 2010: 61–​79 must be singled out. 12. The Cornelii Scipiones and the great figures of the period, such as Scipio Africanus, L. Aemilius Paullus, and Scipio Aemilianus, have often gained most of the attention. Therefore, we have chosen to leave them to one side, wherever possible, even though their overrepresentation in the sources will invite us to study them. On the Cornelii Scipiones see Etcheto 2012. 13. In his wide-​ranging treatment of Roman politics between 220 and 150 bce, H. Scullard stressed the dominant role of the great gentes such as the Aemilii, the Claudii, and the Fulvii. Only the Scipiones form a coherent group at the level of the stirps: see esp. Scullard 1973: 75–​78 (for the period between 206 and 201 bce) and Etcheto 2012 for the Cornelii Scipiones. 14. The unity of the gens was still apparent in the celebration of the sacra of the clan: for example, the Cornelii had a specific link to Jupiter, and shared inhumation as their funeral practice (the tomb of the Scipiones records its persistence until the second century bce: Etcheto 2012: 16). Brunt 1982: 3–​4 shows that those who had an identical gentilician (even those of patrician status) were not necessarily related. Indeed, for the end of the mid-​Republican period, the identity and political unity of the gens is no longer an irrefutable fact, as will be argued below. 15. Between 200 and 134 bce three stirpes of the gens Valeria reached the consulship. These branches are the Valerii Flacci, the Valerii Laevini, and the Valerii Messallae; they had been

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not form a unified whole. There are no “parties” or “factions,” just as there was no common political leadership. Stirpes were the main focus of kinship-​based loyalties, and the Cornelii Scipiones are the best example of that. In the first section of this chapter, we will focus on symbolic capital, the political culture of these great lineages in aristocratic competition, and the specific dimension of patrician status. We will then study internal and family dynamics by transferring the analysis to the scale of the stirpes. It will be possible to show the family mechanisms at work in the competition in order to discern forms of political solidarity. In the final section of this chapter we will focus our attention on the difficulties that these patricians faced.

10.2. The Past and Symbolic Capital as Sources of Legitimization According to the literary tradition, the nobilitas emerged as the new ruling class after the Struggle of the Orders. However, patrician identity lived on in the mos maiorum, in the wider political culture, in the vestiges of their ancient domination (e.g., the interregnum and the flaminate of Jupiter), corroborating their political claims down to the end of the Republic.16 The nobilitas thrived in a competitive context in which ideology played a central role in establishing and consolidating political power.

10.2.1. A Political Culture Marked by Social Reproduction The patricians shared the main features of the ethos of the nobility, while priding themselves on greater seniority in the exercise of power.17 That moral paradigm

separate branches of the Valerian clan since the third century bce, thanks to L. Valerius Flaccus (cos. 261), P. Valerius Laevinus (cos. 280), and M’. Valerius Messalla (cos. 263), their respective founders. 16. On the links between patriciate and nobility in the late Republic see Baudry 2006: 169–​78, esp. 171, who argues that the political strategy of the patricians revolved around appropriating the values of the nobility and emerging as its upper echelon. Cf. Badel 2005: 21, who speaks of a “nobility from before the nobility.” 17. For example, the staging of nobiliary power is well known, notably thanks to Polybius’ account of the funus (6.53–​54). Cf. the words of M. Aemilius Lepidus (cos. 187 and 175) reported by Livy (Per. 48.11): imaginum specie, non sumptibus nobilitari magnorum uirorum funera solere (“For the dignity of the funerals of great men was properly enhanced not by expenditure, but by the parade of ancestral portraits,” transl. A. Schlesinger, LCL). The patrician stresses the superiority of imagines on extraordinary expenditure: a reminder that the gentes maiores had a

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promoted the exempla, which were valuable assets in political competition.18 Exemplarity is fundamental, since the descendants must imitate ancestral models, equal them, and even surpass them. Funerary inscriptions, such as the elogium of Cn. Cornelius Scipio Hispanus (pr. 139), convey this sentiment: Cn. Cornelius Cn. f. Scipio Hispanus /​pr. aid. cur. q. tr. mil. II Xuir sl. Iudik /​Xuir sacr. fac. /​ uirtutes generis mieis moribus accumulaui, /​progeniem genui, facta patris petiei /​ maiorum optenui laudem, ut sibei me esse creatum /​laetentur, stirpem nobilitauit honor.19 The honors designate the magistracies, and the epitaph records the stages of Cn. Cornelius Scipio Hispanus’ career in reverse order.20 A well-​known name such as Cornelius Scipio’s could be a real electoral asset. Moreover, the inscription stated that the exercise of power enhanced the prestige of the stirps of the Cornelii Scipiones, rather than that of the gens Cornelia. In his full-​scale discussion of the Cornelii, H. Etcheto emphasizes the “mirage of gentilician solidarity in the historical period.”21 The process of individualization of the branch turned into a real asset. There was a fundamental difference between the ancestors that had fallen into oblivion and those who had gone down in history, which served as a warning for the young nobles. Getting an eminent place in the city could only be the outcome of services rendered to the community. It was the possibility of being recognized as an individual in a gens, rather than being yet another addition to the sequence of generations. However, political competition became social constraint for descendants of well-​established families. The young nobiles had to conform to the family tradition and had to become magistrates. Finally, the feeling that one was

large number of imagines corroborating their claims to power and prominence. More widely on the funerals of noble families, cf. Flower 1996: 91–​127. 18. The memories of the great families were linked to the exempla. The extensive bibliography on this classic topic cannot be fully summarized here: see esp. Hölkeskamp 1996: 301–​28; Walter 2003: 255–​78; Walter 2004b: 406–​25; Richardson 2012; and Roller 2018: 1–​31, 290–​312 for some general orientation. 19. CIL 12.15: “Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio Hispanus, son of Gnaeus, praetor, curule aedile, quaestor, military tribune twice, member of the board of ten who judge legal cases, member of the board of ten who oversee religious matters. I increased the uirtutes of my family by my actions, I produced offspring, I tried to equal the deeds of my father. I maintained the renown of my ancestors, so that they are happy that I was born into their line; public office ennobled my family” (transl. from McDonnell 2006: 39). 20. Thanks to this inscription it is possible to follow his career: since he was praetor peregrinus in 139, he may have attained the quaestorship in 150 and the aedileship in 141 or perhaps a few years before. 21. See Etcheto 2012: 16 (“mirage de la solidarité gentilice à l’époque historique”). On this inscription and Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio Hispanus, see Etcheto 2012: 253–​54.

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not equal to his ancestors could lead to death.22 In 140 bce the biological son of T. Manlius Torquatus (cos. 165), D. Junius Silanus (pr. 141), was accused of misappropriation of funds by the Macedonians. Even though Junius had been adopted and transferred to the plebs, this did not prevent the biological father from disowning him. This dishonor pushed him to commit suicide in the wake of the repetundae trial. T. Manlius Torquatus did not attend the funeral, because he was not prepared to forsake the rite of the morning salutatio. He sat in his atrium among the imagines of his ancestors, who were known for their severity. Among them the depiction of T. Manlius Torquatus Imperiosus (cos. 347, 344, and 340), who had put to death his own son in the fourth century bce, had a prominent place. Not entering the political fray could be a source of dishonor. When a member broke with tradition, he had to find a justification for that. The epitaph of L. Cornelius Scipio explains that he died too young to aspire to the most junior magistracy (he died at the age of twenty), but makes clear that he did have the required qualities.23 The past is not only a memorial heritage: it also had real consequences for careers. In the second century bce the patricians still had rare privileges and prerogatives, such as the interregnum,24 the title of princeps senatus,25 and the flaminate of Jupiter.26 22. Val. Max. 5.8.3. Flaig 2004: 78–​82 and Walter 2004a: 109–​10. 23. CIL 12.11: L(ucius) Cornelius Cn(aei) f(ilius) Cn(aei) n(epos) Scipio /​magna sapientia /​ multasque uirtutes aetate quom parua /​posidet hoc saxsum quoiei uita defecit non /​honos honore is hic situs quei nunquam /​uictus est uirtutei annos gnatus XX is /​l[oc]eis mandatus ne quairatis honore /​quei minus sit mandatus (“Lucius Cornelius Scipio, son of Gnaeus, grandson of Gnaeus. This stone holds great sagacity and many virtutes, but a short life. Here lies a man whose life not his esteem, denied him office, who was never conquered in virtus. He was given to this place with twenty years. Do not ask about an office that was not given to him,” transl. McDonnell 2006: 39). 24. During the period under discussion, only L. Aemilius Paullus (cos. 182 and 169) was interrex in 162 (CIL 12, p. 194; cf. Gohary 2010: 477–​79). He may have backed the election of P. Cornelius Lentulus, his former legate during the war against the king Perseus of Macedon. 25. The title of princeps senatus was held by a patrician (cf. Suolahti 1972: 207–​18 and Bonnefond-​ Coudry 1993: 103–​37). Three essential elements characterized that position. When the censors carried out the lectio senatus, a senator was chosen as princeps, a status that conferred upon him a special legal status, because he was chosen to head the list of senators. Furthermore, he had the privilege of giving his opinion before all others, when a magistrate sought the advice of the Senate. Finally, his dignitas was higher than that of other senators until his death, as the title was conferred for life. Moreover, the senator chosen could be the oldest censorius alive or someone with a comparable record of achievement (Livy 27.11.9–​11) without apparently departing from the tradition of appointing a patrician. The choice did not seem to be made among the members of all the patrician gentes, but rather within the gentes maiores. Nevertheless, that criterion of recruitment is not explicitly stated in the sources. 26. Goldberg 2015: 334–​54. The priest of Jupiter must be a patrician whose parents had been married according to a particular form of marriage, the confarreatio (Tac. Ann. 4.16.2).

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The title of princeps senatus was given only to the gentes maiores, and the principes senatus of the period were P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus (199–​184), L. Valerius Flaccus (184–​180), M. Aemilius Lepidus (179–​152), P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Corculum (147/​142–​136), and Ap. Claudius Pulcher (136–​131). Even though the Cornelii Scipiones had the lion’s share, there was a distribution between four gentes maiores, each coinciding with different periods of political supremacy.

10.2.2. Patrician Exceptionalism: the Unusual Career of the flamen Dialis C. Valerius Flaccus (pr. 183) The Valerii Flacci offer an unusual example of political competition with C. Valerius Flaccus (pr. 183).27 He belonged to one of the most prestigious patrician lineages, the gens Valeria, who had contributed to the establishment of the Republican regime with Valerius Publicola (cos. 509), according to the tradition. He could look forward to a distinguished career, like many of his ancestors. The flamen Dialis C. Claudius abdicated in 211. There was a vacancy until 209, when C. Valerius Flaccus was inaugurated. His political ambitions were first countered by the enmity of the pontifex maximus P. Licinius Crassus Dives (pont. max. 212–​ 183), who forced him to become a flamen in 209: And Publius Licinius, the pontifex maximus, compelled Gaius Valerius Flaccus to be installed as flamen of Jupiter, although unwilling. . . . The reason for installing a flamen perforce I should gladly have passed over in silence, had not his reputation changed from bad to good. Because of his irresponsible and dissipated youth Gaius Flaccus, who was odious to his own brother, Lucius Flaccus, and other relatives on account of the same vices, had been seized upon as flamen by Publius Licinius, pontifex maximus.28

According to Livy (1.20.1–​2), the office of flamen Dialis was created by Numa. This priesthood entailed many privileges, as well as many restrictions (Gell. 10.15.1–​25). 27. Münzer 1891: no. 19; Münzer, RE VIII.A.1 (1955), col. 5–​7, s.v. Valerius no. 166; Rüpke 2005, no. 3393. Cf. also Goldberg 2015: 337–​38, 342. 28. Livy 27.8.4–​10: et flaminem Dialem inuitum inaugurari coegit P. Licinius pontifex maximus C. Valerium Flaccum. . . . causam inaugurari coacti flaminis libens reticuissem, ni ex mala fama in bonam uertisset. ob adulescentiam neglegentem luxuriosamque C. Flaccus flamen captus a P. Licinio pontifice maximo erat, L. Flacco fratri germano cognatisque aliis ob eadem uitia inuisus (transl. F. Gardner Moore, LCL).

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According to Livy, Flaccus had led a dissolute life, tainted by luxuria; the priesthood transformed him into a paragon of modestia.29 However, it would be wrong to believe that the aim of this priesthood was to improve the moral qualities of the unruly patrician. The inauguration of Flaccus was mainly linked to Crassus’ inimicitia.30 In fact, it is possible to see a wider opposition between the Valerii Flacci and the Licinii Crassi.31 Besides the imposition of the role of flamen Dialis, it was another Licinius, P. Licinius Varus, perhaps a cousin of the pontifex maximus,32 who opposed the admission to the Senate of the flamen Valerius Flaccus in 208. According to an old privilege, a flamen Dialis could have the right to be admitted to the Senate. As a young nobilis, Flaccus claimed this privilege and did everything in his power to carve out a career, even securing access to the Senate. He succeeded and became senator only one year after taking up the priesthood.33 Nevertheless, that role involved a number of restrictions, and presented a number of significant hurdles to any political career: most notably, its holder was not allowed to submit his candidacy for magistracies.34 Despite the enmity of Crassus and the restrictions attached to the priesthood, he secured election to two magistracies thanks to the support of his influential brother, L. Valerius Flaccus (cos. 195), in a signal example of family and brotherly solidarity.35 In 199,

29. Val. Max. 6.9.3. 30. Hayne 1978: 224. 31. One notable example was the uer sacrum of 195–​194 (Livy 34.44.1–​2). This sacrifice was the fulfillment of a vow taken in 217 during the Second Punic War. In 195, under the consulship of Cato the Elder and L. Valerius Flaccus, the brother of the flamen, the uer sacrum was conducted. Later, in 194, the pontifex maximus P. Licinius Crassus explained to the pontiffs’ college and to the Senate, that the uer sacrum of 195 was inappropriately conducted and not considered as complete. The irregularities were not known, but the previous uer sacrum was canceled, and the Senate resolved that the uer sacrum must be repeated. L. Valerius Flaccus was pontifex and he may have voted against the repetition. 32. Münzer 1920: 184 (=​1999: 169). 33. MRR 1.291. See esp. Livy 27.8.7–​10. 34. See the restrictions mentioned in Gell. 10.15. Some restrictions, such as the prohibition to set eyes on a military formation, were incompatible with the holding of the consulship. 35. Just after the period under discussion, a second case of senatorial opposition to the Flacci emanating from the branch of the Crassi is attested. The consul of 131, L. Valerius Flaccus (Münzer 1891: no. 23 and 1955, RE, VIII.A.1, col. 21-​22, s.v. Valerius no. 175; MRR 1.489), is prevented from leaving Rome by his colleague, the pontifex maximus P. Licinius Crassus Dives, on the grounds that he was the flamen Martialis. According to Cicero (Phil. 11.18): Crassus consul, pontifex maximus, Flacco collegae, flamini Martiali, multam dixit, si a sacris discessisset: quam multam populus [Romanus] remisit, pontifici tamen flaminem parere iussit. “The consul Crassus, who was pontifex maximus, threatened a fine against his colleague Flaccus, who was the priest of Mars, if he should abandon his religious duties: the people remitted the fine,

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C. Valerius Flaccus was elected to the curule aedileship. Livy then described a notable event: the two curule aediles elected by the comitia could not perform their duties.36 C. Cornelius Cethegus was still in Hispania, while, being flamen Dialis, Flaccus could not swear an oath of obedience to the laws.37 Livy makes clear that it was impossible to exercise a magistracy for more than five days without having sworn that oath. Flaccus therefore requested a dispensation from the Senate; according to Livy, “the Senate decreed that if the aedile could find someone, approved by the consuls, who would take the oath on his behalf, the consuls, if it seemed wise to them, should request the tribunes to bring a resolution before the assembly.”38 The flamen could then rely on the solidarity of his brother, since it was L. Valerius Flaccus (pr. 199) who, as praetor designate, swore an oath in the flamen’s stead, under the provisions of a plebiscite, and with the backing of the tribunes of the plebs. This support might tentatively be related to the popular tradition of the Valerii. C. Valerius Flaccus’ career progression was slow, as he reached the urban praetorship only in 183.39 By way of comparison, his colleague in the curule aedileship in 199, C. Cornelius Cethegus, reached the consulship in 197, without even having been praetor. The career of C. Cornelius Cethegus was not necessarily an example, as it included many anomalies: he was sent as priuatus to Hispania in 201, with proconsular privileges. He would later reach the censorship, in 194. C. Valerius Flaccus was the first flamen Dialis to obtain a magistracy with imperium, thus setting a precedent, by breaking with the mos maiorum.40 How did but ordered the priest to obey the pontifex” (transl. D. R. Shackleton Bailey, LCL). Once again the priestly status was invoked as an argument that effectively hindered the career of one of the Flacci. 36. Livy 31.50.6–​10. During their aedileship, the two patricians celebrated the ludi Romani with great pomp (Livy 32.7.14). On these two individuals and their election to the curule aedileship, cf. MRR 1.327. 37. On this inability to take an oath cf. Gell. 10.15.5. 38. Livy 31.50.8: senatus decreuit ut si aedilis qui pro se iuraret arbitratu consulum daret, consules si iis uideretur cum tribunis plebis agerent uti ad plebem ferrent (transl. W. Heinemann, LCL). 39. Livy 39.45.2, 4. See MRR 1.379. As praetor peregrinus, Valerius introduced ambassadors from the Gauls to the Senate (Livy 39.54.5). 40. C. Valerius Flaccus had already put himself forward to replace C. Decimius Flavus, a praetor who died during his term in office in 184. Among his strongest competitors was Q. Fulvius Flaccus (cos. 179), who was designated curule aedile. The debate focused on the possibility of cumulating two curule magistracies. Livy’s detailed account does not address Valerius’ position as flamen (Livy 39.39.1–​15). After extensive discussion, it was decided not to replace C. Decimius Flavus (Livy 39.45.2). However, although the election was in fact planned at the beginning of the year 184, Fulvius was no longer an aedile designate, but was by then in office: the cumulation of the two magistracies could not be envisaged.

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he attain this post? He benefited from several favorable factors, including once again the support of his brother L. Valerius Flaccus (cos. 195), who was elected to the censorship along with Cato the Elder shortly afterward, in 184. The two former consuls were weighty players in the political life of the time. Moreover, the influence of the pontifex maximus P. Licinius Crassus was perhaps ebbing away; at any rate, he died the following year.41 Moreover, Flaccus’ priestly status brought about the change in the rules for drawing lots for the assignment of provincial commands. Since he could not leave Rome, he necessarily had to obtain one jurisdiction in Rome, and indeed he was given the peregrine praetorship.42 He thus managed to reconcile the demands of his priesthood with the exercise of a magistracy with imperium. Moreover, Livy does not mention the fact that it was impossible to swear an oath. We do not know whether it was an oversight, the omission of a secondary issue, or an intentional silence.

10.3. Gentes maiores in the Political Competition 10.3.1. Stirpes and gentes maiores Unsurprisingly, it was the Scipiones who obtained the highest number of consulships between 200 and 134. Their ubiquity led some modern scholars to coin the terms “century of the Scipiones”43 or “Scipionic age”: nine consulships achieved by seven individuals, since P. Scipio Nasica Corculum (cos. 162 and 155) and P. Scipio Aemilianus (cos. 147 and 134) became consuls twice.44 Moreover, as is well known, the highest concentration of consulships occurred after the Second Punic War. Scipio Africanus became consul for the second time in 194; P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica held the consulship in 191 and Scipio Asiaticus in 190. One of the angles from which to view political life in this period is to seek to identify the terms and the impact of the “group of the Scipiones.” An example,

41. P. Licinius Crassus could then have no longer been able to assert his point of view, both as the priest responsible for strict religious observance and as a political opponent from Cato. On the links between Crassus and the Scipiones, see Münzer 1920: 184–​91 (=​1999: 170–​76). 42. Livy 39.45.4. 43. This is the formula used by P. Grimal for the title of his classic work, Le siècle des Scipions. Rome et l’hellénisme au temps des guerres puniques (1953). 44. Between 200 and 134: P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus (cos. 194), P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica (cos. 191), L. Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus (cos. 190), Cn. Cornelius Scipio Hispallus (cos. 176), P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Corculum (cos. 162 and 155), P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus (cos. 147 and 134), and P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio (cos. 138).

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among others, of this influence in the political game and in the elections of other senators is the election of M’. Acilius Glabrio, consul in 191.45 The Scipiones were followed by the Aemilii Lepidi, the Claudii Pulchri, and the Cornelii Lentuli, who obtained four consulships respectively.46 Several branches of the same lineage generally gained access to the consulship. The only exception were the Claudii Pulchri, the only members of their gens to reach that magistracy during the period discussed in this volume.47 That achievement is an obvious sign of the vitality of the branch in aristocratic competition, while the Claudii Centhones were politically marginalized for several generations and then disappeared from record after C. Claudius Centho, who took part in a diplomatic mission in 155.48 This disappearance from the circles of power does not of course entail the physical disappearance of the stirps, but at the very least reflects its absence from the political scene.

10.3.2. Gentilician Solidarity and Continuity of Power Gentilician solidarity could exist between several different stirpes involved in the political competition. For example, the campaign for the consulship of 192 involved three patricians: P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica (Scipio Africanus’ cousin), Cn. Manlius Vulso, and L. Quinctius Flamininus (brother of the recent triumphator T. Quinctius Flamininus). Livy does not hide his surprise after the defeat of Scipio Nasica, although the centuriate assembly was presided by another Cornelius, L. Cornelius Merula (cos. 193).49 Moreover, as we saw above, these years were marked by the extraordinary set of consulships achieved by the Scipiones in

45. Dondin-​Payre 1993: 219–​21. 46. See the prosopographical table at the end of this chapter. 47. The Claudii Nerones reached their highest splendor at the end of the third century bce. At the end of the Second Punic War, two brothers or cousins were indeed consuls (C. Claudius Nero, consul in 207 and censor in 204, and Ti. Claudius Nero, consul in 202). At the beginning of the second century bce, several Claudii Nerones remained blocked in the praetorship and did not accede to the consulship, like Ap. Claudius Nero (pr. 195). Three people with the name Ti. Claudius Nero were praetors in 181, 178, and 167. The stirps then moved away from the circles of power. 48. This patrician branch occasionally participated in the exercise of power: notably, it produced a consul in 240, C. Claudius Centho. Ap. Claudius Centho was an aedile in 179, praetor in 175, but did not rise to the consulship. Its last well-​known member, C. Claudius Centho, was one of the legates sent to dissuade Prusias from waging war against Attalus II in the winter of 155 (Polyb. 33.1.2). 49. Livy 35.10.1–​10. The election was hotly contested, and the term ambitio has a derogatory connotation here: it hints to the deployment of illicit methods to secure victory. On the

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194, 191, and 190. Nevertheless, the recent glory and the triumph of Flamininus were more prominent in people’s minds.50 Apart from the patrician candidates and the political competition, a competition between their relatives was expressed here: the greatest military commanders of the period, the hero of the Second Punic War, P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus (cos. 205 and 194), and the triumphator T. Quinctius Flamininus (cos. 198). The latter openly supported his brother, and Scipio Africanus campaigned on behalf of his relative. The end of Livy’s account shows the limits of the Scipionic power and the role of Flamininus in the campaign for the consulship of 192: Scipio had the greater distinction (which also left him more exposed to envy) but Quinctius’ distinction was more current, since he had celebrated his triumph that year. There was also the further consideration that the former man had now been constantly in the public eye for almost ten years—​something that decreases respect felt for great men simply from overexposure—​and had served as consul for the second time after the defeat of Hannibal, and as censor, too. As for Quinctius, his entire record being fresh and recent could win him support; he had asked for nothing of the people since his triumph and had been accorded nothing. He kept emphasizing that he was canvassing for a real brother, not a cousin, and for his erstwhile legate and partner in the conduct of the war—​he himself had campaigned on land, his brother at sea. With these arguments he secured victory for his brother over a candidate who had the support of Africanus (his cousin), and of the Cornelian family (with a Cornelius presiding over the election as consul).51 L. Quinctius Flamininus helped his brother Titus. Moreover, the stirpes network of the Cornelii is clearly visible in this passage, but it seems powerless. Scipio

attractiveness of remunerative provincial commands to the consuls cf. M. Bellomo’s contribution to this volume. 50. He triumphed in 194 for his victories over the Macedonians and the Spartan king Nabis (Livy 34.52.3–​12). 51. Livy 35.10.5–​9: maior gloria Scipionis et quo maior eo propior inuidiam, Quincti recentior ut qui eo anno triumphasset. accedebat quod alter decimum iam prope annum adsiduus in oculis hominum fuerat, quae res minus uerendos magnos homines ipsa satietate facit: consul iterum post deuictum Hannibalem censorque fuerat; in Quinctio noua et recentia omnia ad gratiam erant, nihil nec petierat a populo post triumphum nec adeptus erat. pro fratre germano, non patrueli se petere aiebat, pro legato et participe administrandi belli: se terra, fratrem mari rem gessisse. his obtinuit ut praeferretur candidato quem Africanus frater ducebat, quem Cornelia gens Cornelio consule comitia habente (transl. J. C. Yardley, LCL).

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Africanus supported his cousin P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica for the consulship. We should, however, qualify the Livian account of this gentilician solidarity between the Cornelii Scipiones and L. Cornelius Merula (cos. 193) who presided the centuriate assembly, as they were a very recent branch, only appearing in the sources at the beginning of the second century bce, and we know nothing of their origins. The stirps had probably no time to establish its own profile. The multiple candidacies did not necessarily reflect internal competition. It was also a way of multiplying their chances to obtain a magistracy for these stirpes and ensuring their place in the circles of power. For example, the censorial elections of 184 were marked by prestigious patrician candidacies, including L. Valerius Flaccus (cos. 195) and two cousins, P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica (cos. 191) and L. Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus (cos. 190), the brother of Scipio Africanus. The campaign was hard-​fought, but no Cornelius Scipio was elected. The two censors elected were Flaccus and Cato the Elder.52

10.3.3. The Lex Villia annalis and the Regulation of Careers The hypothesis of a distinctively patrician cursus honorum has been put forward in modern scholarship. Before the lex Villia annalis of 180 the patricians could have gained earlier access to the magistracies.53 However, the ancient sources do not allow us to affirm this postulate with any certainty. The regulation of careers with the lex Villia annalis introduced a stricter hierarchy of magistracies, a minimum entry age, and gaps between terms in office. The patricians complied with these new rules, and the exceptions were not related to patrician status. Indeed,

52. Livy 39.40.2–​3: censuram summa contentione petebant L. Valerius Flaccus P. et L. Scipiones Cn. Manlius Vulso L. Furius Purpurio patricii, plebeii autem M. Porcius Cato, M. Fuluius Nobilior Ti. et M. Sempronii, Longus et Tuditanus. sed omnes patricios plebeiosque nobilissimarum familiarum M. Porcius longe anteibat (“For the censorship there was fierce rivalry among the candidates—​the patricians being Lucius Valerius Flaccus, Publius and Lucius Scipio, Gnaeus Manlius Vulso and Lucius Furius Purpureo, and the plebeians Marcus Porcius Cato, Marcus Fulvius Nobilior, Tiberius Sempronius Longus and Marcus Sempronius Tuditanus. Although these were patricians and plebeians from the most eminent families, Marcus Porcius stood head and shoulders above them all,” transl. E. T. Sage, LCL). 53. Develin 1979: 58–​60 compares the ages of election to the magistracies for patricians and plebeians between the Licinio-​Sextian law and the lex Villia annalis. The historian notes that the patricians reached certain offices earlier than the plebeians. However, even if the patricians sometimes reached some magistracies at a younger age, the difference does not seem to be significant. H. Beck has studied the evolution of the cursus honorum before the lex Villia Annalis; for the period 200–​180, see Beck 2005: 141–​47. He has also highlighted the importance of symbolic capital for the aristocracy.

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the extraordinary career of P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus (cos. 147 and 134), who gained direct access to the consulship, can be better explained by the military context (the Third Punic War and the Numantine campaign) than by his background. According to Valerius Maximus: Aemilianum enim populus ex candidato aedilitatis consulem fecit. Eundem, cum quaestoriis comitiis suffragator Q. Fabi Maximi, fratris filii, in campum descendisset, consulem iterum reduxit.54 When he was elected consul for the first time, he was a candidate for the aedileship.55 Other difficulties emerged in the period from 200 to 134 bce, for which the sources on the access to the lower magistracies are remarkably elusive. For example, the only quaestorships that we know to have been held by members of the gentes maiores in the early second century are those of Q. Fabius Labeo (cos. 183) in 196, of L. Aemilius Paullus (cos. 182 and 168), probably in 195 (according to T. R. S. Broughton, “this is the latest probable date, since he held the aedileship in 193”56), of L. Cornelius Scipio (q. urb. 167), of C. Cornelius Scipio Hispanus (q. by 150) and of Q. Fabius Maximus in 134 (cos. 121) with the support of his uncle Scipio Aemilianus.57 To this list of quaestors could be added P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica (cos. 191) (q. between 203 and 199) and L. Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus (cos. 190), who would have been quaestor before 196.58 A Q. Fabius of unknown cognomen held the quaestorship in 188.59 However, any reconstruction of their careers is hypothetical, because nothing shows that the holding of magistracies suo anno was especially sought after by the patricians.

54. Val. Max. 8.15.4: “The people made Aemilianus a consul from being a candidate for the aedileship. When he went down to the Campus at the quaestorian elections to support his nephew Q. Fabius Maximus, they brought him back as consul for the second time” (transl. D. R. Shackleton Bailey, LCL). At the time of his first consulship, he was thus underage. He was released from another legal obligation for his second consulship. Indeed, a law passed in 151 bce prohibited from being consul twice (Livy Per. 56.8). 55. Livy Per. 50: he was supported by the people against the advice of the Senate for his first election; in his second election, he supported his nephew Q. Fabius Maximus. 56. MRR 1.340. 57. On Q. Fabius Labeo, see Livy 33.42.2; on L. Aemilius Paullus, see CIL 12 p. 194. Cf. also the quaestorship of Q. Fabius Maximus in 134 bce (cf. above, n. 49). Pina Polo and Díaz Fernández 2019: 208 (on L. Aemilius Paullus), 245–​46 (on L. Cornelius Scipio and C. Cornelius Scipio Hispanus), and 254 (on Q. Fabius Labeo and for Q. Fabius Maximus). 58. Pina Polo and Díaz Fernández 2019: 245–​46. 59. Pina Polo and Díaz Fernández 2019: 253.

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10.4.1. The Break of 172: a Plebeian Consular Pair Since the Licinio-​Sextian laws of 367 bce, the patricians had access to one consulship every year.60 A new development intervened in 172, when two plebeians were elected: P. Aelius Ligus and C. Popilius Laenas.61 Unlike the Fasti Capitolini, Livy does not even mention the absence of patricians from the consular college.62 According to A. Piganiol, these plebeian consuls were new men who had become rich through their business activities, and opposed old agrarian families from the Senate.63 Livy did not much like the plebeian consuls of 173–​171, and perhaps would not have wished to draw much attention to their electoral achievements.64 This election proved the end of a certain kind of patrician solidarity. This creates a precedent, and an apparent break with mos maiorum.65 Indeed, even though only one consular election took place, there were practically two “distinct elections.”66 In his accounts of elections, Livy does refer to patrician candidates for the consulship separately from the plebeian ones. However, from 172 onward, the patricians also had to overcome plebeian opponents; a consulship was no longer assigned to them by default. The patricians lost again in the two following years (171 and 170), and this situation was also repeated in 167, 163, 153, 149, 139, and 135. These years without patrician consuls created a crisis in

60. However, the plebiscite could not legally coerce the patricians (cf. Humbert 1998: 221–​24). This was the reason many patrician consular pairs were elected between 355 and 343, perhaps seven patrician consular pairs. 61. Cf. MRR 1.410–​41. 62. Livy 42.9.8. Cf. Degrassi 1954: 67. 63. Piganiol 1967: 316. 64. Livy stresses the brutality of the plebeian consul of 173, M. Popilius Laenas (42.7.4–​10). The consul of 172, C. Popilius Laenas, supported the unjust acts of his brother Marcus (Livy 42.10.10–​12). P. Licinius Crassus, consul of 171, is linked to the Popilii (Livy 42.22.7). 65. The consular election of 215 bce showed that two plebeian consuls could be elected. However, the context of the Second Punic War and the weight of the tradition prevented the suffect consul M. Claudius Marcellus from keeping his office. Indeed, his election was invalidated because of a storm interpreted by the augurs as the divine refusal to have, contrary to the customs, two plebeian consuls. This religious interpretation of unfavorable auspices was also a reminder of the ancient link of the patricians with the religious sphere. According to Livy, the patricians insisted that it did not please the gods to have two plebeian consuls (Livy 23.31.13–​ 14); See also Plut. Marc. 12.1–​2. MRR 1.254. The Fasti Capitolini also mention the abdication of M. Claudius Marcellus (Degrassi 1954: 61). 66. On these two parallel elections, cf. Baudry 2008: 47–​49.

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political competition; the patricians had to reassert their specific status to legitimize their entitlement to one place in the consular pair. This line of argument was especially lively in the late Republican sources; the patricians were essentials for the Republic.67 Inherited glory was perpetuated in many ways. Some events were golden opportunities to remind the Roman community, such as funerals and triumphs. Funerals celebrated and enhanced the reputation of patricians and the whole nobility by demonstrating their commitment to public service and to the Republic.68 The patricians could also heavily rely on “lieux de mémoire,” and buildings in Rome who served the reputation of future generations, such as the Basilica Aemilia for the Aemilii. In the Thirteenth Philippic, Cicero quotes the plurima urbis ornamenta of the censor of 179, M. Aemilius Lepidus (a bridge, a portico, and especially a basilica).69 These references were used to portray Lepidus in a dithyrambic and self-​serving manner. The public buildings linked to the memoria of the Aemilii extolled the prestige of the family. The basilica is also the example of a takeover. It was also commissioned by the other censor, M. Fulvius Nobilior, and was initially called Basilica Fulvia, or Basilica Aemilia and Fulvia. It became the Basilica Aemilia thanks to the restorations commissioned by the Aemilii at the end of the Republic. This memorial strategy is widely shared by the nobiles, who use the Urbs as a “memoryscape.”70

67. See, e.g., Cic. Dom. 37–​38. 68. For the fullest treatment of this issue see Flower 1996. 69. Cic. Phil. 13.8. 70. Hölkeskamp 2018a: 422. The memory of the Cornelii and Fabii has been studied in Hölkeskamp 2018a: 422–​76 and Hölkeskamp 2018b: 709–​64. H. Etcheto has discussed the building activity of the Cornelii Scipiones on the Capitol (2012: 79–​81). These patricians did not choose the Capitoline Hill at all by chance, since it was inseparable from the triumph and the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus (see Etcheto’s table at 80 for the ancient sources). Eight potential actions of the Scipiones are listed by Etcheto from the end of the Second Punic War to the Gracchan crisis. In 190, P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus had erected a fornix over the cliuus Capitolinus; two years later, in 188, a golden chariot was placed in Capitolio, possibly by Cn. Cornelius Scipio Hispallus. In the same year, L. Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus had a painting of the victory over Antiochus placed in the Capitolium and a statue of Scipio Asiaticus in Greek costume was erected. However, the commissioner of this statue poses a problem, as it is either Asiaticus or one of his descendants. The imago of Scipio Africanus could have been placed in the cella of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus in 183. It was not until 159–​158 that the Scipiones were again active on the hill, when the censor P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Corculum built a portico. In the 140s, one or two statues of Scipio Aemilianus were erected. Finally, during his censorship, Scipio Aemilianus had the paneling of the Capitol gilded. By choosing that hill on various occasions, the Scipiones increased their prestige and symbolic capital.

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10.4.2. The Demographic Decline of the Patricians and the Risk of Impoverishment Although the patricians were still nobiles and the patriciate was a closed and hereditary nobility, some highly distinguished families had political problems in the second century bce. Their ethos still involved an exemplary career, marked by the achievement of the consulship.71 However, to secure a consulship in each generation was not an easy task, even for families of great luster. Although birth and ancestors were very important, a political career depended upon electoral success. A patrician had no individual guarantee of personal success. Patricians had to face up to plebeian families who could also mobilize electoral and political support through ties of patronage. Accessing the consulship was not easy. For example, the Fabii Maximi only secured two consulships during our period, in 145 and in 142. Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus (cos. 145) and Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus (cos. 142) were adopted.72 Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus was L. Aemilius Paullus Macedonicus’ eldest son and Cn. Servilius Caepio (cos. 169) was perhaps the father of Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus. These adoptions show that family perpetuation was a real problem and adoption represented a survival strategy. This survival strategy is both symbolic and biological, since the adoption allows the transmission of the nomen and ensures the social survival of these lineages. However, the importance of adopted consuls should not be overestimated. Indeed, G. Burton and K. Hopkins have shown that only 4 percent of the consuls in the period between 249 and 50 bce were adopted.73 However, the demographic decline of the patricians was a serious problem for some lineages, because the pool of potential candidates was smallest. These difficulties were not only related to patrician status; other plebeian families were vulnerable.74 A relative impoverishment also compounds the problem. After the death of L. Aemilius Paullus (cos. 182 and 168), P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus 71. Moreover, there was a practical necessity, since patrician consulares constituted the pool of the interregnum, even if that institution had become obsolete. 72. Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus (cos. 145): see Münzer, RE, VI.2 (1909), col. 1792–​94, s.v. Fabius no. 109. In 142 the consulship was held by his adoptive brother Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus (Münzer, RE, VI.2, 1909, col. 1811–​14, s. v. Fabius no. 115). According to F. Münzer, he was Q. Servilius Caepio’s brother (cos. 140), and his father was thus Cn. Servilius Caepio (cos. 169). 73. Burton and Hopkins 1983: 74. 74. More widely on wartime mortality and demographic problems after the Hannibalic War (177 senators had died during the Second Punic War) cf. Barber 2020, who stresses the impact of senatorial mortality and speaks of a “lost generation” in the Senate.

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(cos. 147 and 134) and Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus (cos. 145) were his last two living sons. Scipio Aemilianus left his brother his share of the inheritance, which leads us to believe that Fabius Aemilianus’ fortune was at a low ebb.75 One of the best-​known examples of relative poverty is the family of the patrician M. Aemilius Scaurus (cos. 115).76 His direct ancestors were ruined and had not been elected to a magistracy for three generations. The Aemilii Scauri were no exception. A comparable example was the Cornelii Sullae. Although Sulla (born in 138) belonged to a patrician family of the gentes maiores, his stirps often lived in obscurity, and was the least distinguished member of the Cornelian gens. The sources mentioned two reasons: ignauia for Sallust, and poverty for Plutarch.77 Nevertheless, the risk of impoverishment could affect the whole nobility because of the impact of inheritance law and the need to ensure equal distribution between children. The political difficulties of the patriciate must be seen within a broader context of the demographic decline and male mortality of the patricians. This demographic decline went hand in hand with political decline. The patricians represented 57 percent of the consulships in the fourth century bce, 50 percent in the third century bce, but only 28 percent in the second half of the second century bce.78 For example, the gens Valeria was very prolific, and its branches thrived in the circles of power. However, in the second century bce some were already extinct or no longer held any political role.79 The Valerii Messallae did not hold the consulship between 161 and 61,80 and the Valerii Laevini are not known to have held public office after the suffect consul of 176. Nevertheless, they could rely on their ancestors’ glory; the branch already occupied important posts. Indeed, the careers of two of the three children of M. Valerius Laevinus (cos. 210) were known. The first, his homonym, M. Valerius Laevinus, may have been an aedile in 185. This identification of aedileship is perhaps possible, according

75. Cic. Par. Stoic. 48. 76. See Vir. Ill. 72.1: M. Aemilius Scaurus was a nobleman, but poor, because his father was reduced by poverty to working in the coal trade. We must of course relativize the value of this judgment. 77. Sall. Iug. 95.3. Their ignauia, that is, the refusal to participate in political life, must be qualified. Before Sulla, the stirps had not risen above the praetorship for several generations. On the Cornelii Sullae, their obscurity and relative poverty, cf. Plut. Sull. 1.2, with Reams 1984. 78. Badel 2013: 106. 79. For example, the branch of the Valerii Lactucini disappears from sight after the military tribune with consular powers of 398 and 395, M. Valerius M. f. M. n. Lactucinus Maximus (Volkmann, RE, VIII.A.1, 1955, col. 43, s. v. Valerius no. 207). 80. The consuls were M. Valerius Messalla (cos. 161) and M. Valerius Messalla Niger (cos. 61).

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to the reference to an aedile called M. Laevinus in Aulus Gellius.81 He was then praetor peregrinus, certainly in 182.82 The career of the second son, Gaius, is better known: he was praetor in 179, obtaining the government of Sardinia, then suffect consul in 176, replacing Cn. Cornelius Scipio Hispallus.83 An unsuccessful candidate for censorship in 169, he died shortly after. He was the last of the Laevini that is safely known to have undertaken the cursus honorum.

10.4.3. The Political Problems of the Nobility The difficulties in attaining the consulship are not necessarily related to patrician status, and are part of the problems inherent in the whole nobilitas, such as inimicitia, legal proceedings, or electoral defeats. We will take here the example of an electoral defeat for the consulship. The eminent M. Aemilius Lepidus, twice consul (187 and 175) and censor (179), obtained his first consulship with great difficulty.84 He faced intense political competition. Having put forward his candidacy in 190 for the year 189, he was beaten. According to Livy, M. Aemilius Lepidus’ candidacy was generally unpopular, because he had left his province of Sicily to run for office without seeking authorization from the senate. Running against him were M. Fulvius Nobilior, Cn. Manlius Vulso, and M. Valerius Messalla. Only Fulvius was elected consul since the others failed to win a majority of the centuries, and on the next day, Lepidus being disqualified, Fulvius declared C. Manlius his colleague, since Messalla had no support.85 The other patrician candidates of the gentes maiores were Cn. Manlius Vulso (already a candidate in 191) and M. Valerius Messalla (cos. 188). Lepidus was

81. Gell. 13.13.4. It is shared by T. R. S. Broughton, although H. Volkmann points out that it could well have been his father M. Valerius Laevinus (cos. 210): MRR 1.372; Volkmann 1955: RE, VIII.A.1, col. 45, s.v. Valerius no. 209. 82. Livy 40.1.1. 83. Münzer 1891: no. 36 and Volkmann 1955: RE, VIII.A.1, col. 43–​45, s. v. Valerius no. 208. See esp. Livy 40.44.2, 7; and 41.17.5–​6. 84. Klebs, RE, I.1, 1893, col. 552–​553, s. v. Aemilius no. 68. 85. Livy 37.47.6–​7: M. Aemilius Lepidus petebat aduersa omnium fama, quod prouinciam Siciliam petendi causa non consulto senatu, ut sibi id facere liceret, reliquisset. Petebant cum eo M. Fuluius Nobilior, Cn. Manlius , M. Valerius Messalla. Fuluius consul unus creatur, cum ceteri centurias non explessent, isque postero die Cn. Manlium Lepido deiecto—​nam Messalla iacuit—​collegam dixit (transl. J. C. Yardley, LCL).

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accused of having left his provincial governorship in Sicily without having requested senatorial permission. The first day of the consular elections witnessed the victory of the plebeian M. Fulvius Nobilior; the other candidates did not have the support of the required number of centuries. On the next day, the patrician Cn. Manlius Vulso was elected. Livy points out that Messalla was beaten and Lepidus brushed aside (Lepido deiecto, nam Messalla iacuit). In fact, Lepidus perhaps faced the inimicitia of M. Fulvius Nobilior, the consul who presided over the consular election. Undeterred by this defeat, Lepidus stood again the following year. Livy specifies that he lost again due to Fulvius’ enmity: Marcus Fulvius left the council in which the debate between the Achaeans and Spartans had taken place in the consul’s presence and came to Rome for the elections, because the year was now at an end. There he oversaw the election of Marcus Valerius Messalla and Gaius Livius Salinator as consuls, after engineering the defeat of his enemy Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, who was also seeking election that year. 86 He was finally elected consul on the third attempt, and took office in 187.87 Later, during the censorship in 179, Lepidus was reconciled with his inimicus and colleague in the censorship, M. Fulvius Nobilior.88 Livy stressed the weight of personal enmity;89 according to Valerius Maximus, the reconciliation was initiated by the patrician, of whom he speaks very highly.90

10.5. Conclusion The patriciate retained an important role in Roman politics throughout the period under consideration in this volume. Patrician status allowed

86. Livy 38.35.1–​2: a concilio, ubi ad consulem inter Achaeos Lacedaemoniosque disceptatum est, M. Fuluius, quia iam in exitu annus erat, comitiorum causa profectus Romam creauit consules M. Valerium Messalam et C. Liuium Salinatorem, cum M. Aemilium Lepidum inimicum eo quoque anno petentem deiecisset (transl. J. C. Yardley, LCL). 87. Livy 38.42.2. 88. Livy 40.45–​46; Val. Max. 4.2.1; Gell. 12.8.5–​6. 89. Livy 40.45.7. 90. Val. Max. 4.2.1.

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exclusive access to the interregnum, to the priesthood of Jupiter, and to the position of princeps senatus. The glories of the ancestors were powerful elements in Roman political culture, in which hereditary qualifications played a very significant role. Among the members of Rome’s governing class, the gentes maiores had a distinctive identity and considerable symbolic capital to legitimize their political claims, and managed to secure the lion’s share of the consulships. However, a family-​oriented analysis on the scale of the stirpes reveals a rather more differentiated picture. Continuity in the intergenerational holding of the upper magistracies is not always a given; yet it was essential to keep a political rule over generations. Moreover, the year 172 bce marked a break with the election of a plebeian consular college, thus breaking with an established feature of mos maiorum. It is a clear sign of the problems encountered by the patricians in aristocratic competition. It is also necessary to bear in mind some specific cases, such as the long-​standing restrictions to the flamines of Jupiter. Being a closed and inward-​looking sector of the nobility, the patricians also had to cope with a significant demographic decline, notably after the Hannibalic War. However, these vulnerabilities must not overshadow their permanency in the political arena, which continued until the late Republican period. In fact, in the first century bce some patrician lineages experienced a rise in influence. Between Sulla and Caesar, while the patricians were only represented by a dozen families or so, they still obtained more than a quarter of the consulships, approaching a third of the total.91 This bears witness to their vitality in the political game and their ability to secure a degree of stability in the exercise of power.92

91. On the post-​Sullan Senate and the position of the nobiles in the new setup, see Steel 2014a and 2014b. 92. Badian 1990: 409–​12. Salmon 1969 even speaks of a “resurgence of the Roman patricians.”

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Appendix 10.1  Patrician Consuls from the gentes maiores (200–​134 bce) Aemilii Lepidi 187 175 158 137

M. Aemilius Lepidus aed. 193, pr. 191, cens. 179, princeps senatus 179–​152, cos. 175 M. Aemilius Lepidus (II) aed. 193, pr. 191, cos. 187, cens. 179, princeps senatus 179–​152 M. Aemilius Lepidus pr. 161? M. Aemilius Lepidus Porcina pr. 143? Aemilii Paulli

182 168

L. Aemilius Paullus quaest. 195, aed. 193, pr. 191, cens. 164 L. Aemilius Paullus (II) quaest. 195, aed. 193, pr. 191, cos. 182, cens. 164 Claudii Pulchri

185 184 177 143

Ap. Claudius Pulcher pr. 187? P. Claudius Pulcher aed. 189, pr. 187 C. Claudius Pulcher pr. suff. 180, cens. 169 Ap. Claudius Pulcher pr. 146?, cens. 136, princeps senatus 136–​131 Cornelii Cethegi

197 181 160

C. Cornelius Cethegus aed. cur 199, cens. 194. P. Cornelius Cethegus aed. 187, pr. 185 M. Cornelius Cethegus pr. 163 Cornelii Dolabellae

159

Cn. Cornelius Dolabella aed. 165, pr. 162? Cornelii Lentuli

199

L. Cornelius Lentulus aed. 205?

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Appendix 10.1  Continued 162 suff. 156 146

P. Cornelius Lentulus aed. 169, pr. 165, princeps senatus 125 L. Cornelius Lentulus Lupus aed. 163, pr. 159, cens. 147 Cn. Cornelius Lentulus pr. 149? Cornelii Merulae

193

L. Cornelius Merula pr. urb. 198 Cornelii Scipiones

194 191 190 176 162 155 147 138 134

P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus (II) aed. cur. 213, cos. 205, cens. 199, princeps senatus 199–​184 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica quaest. 200?, aed. 197, pr. 194 L. Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus quaest. before 196?, aed. 195, pr. 193 Cn. Cornelius Scipio Hispallus pr. 179 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Corculum aed. 169, pr. 165, cens. 159, princeps senatus 147/​142–​136 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Corculum (II) P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus (Africanus) cens. 142 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio pr. 141 P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus (II) Fabii Labeones

183

145 142

Q. Fabius Labeo quaest. 196, pr. 189 Fabii Maximi Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus pr. 149 Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus pr. 145? (continued)

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Appendix 10.1  Continued Manlii Acidini 179

L. Manlius Acidinus Fulvianus pr. 188 Manlii Torquati

165 164

Ti. Manlius Torquatus pr. 170? A. Manlius Torquatus pr. 167 Manlii Vulsones

189 178

Cn. Manlius Vulso aed. 197, pr. 195 A. Manlius Vulso pr. 185? Valerii Flacci

195 152

L. Valerius Flaccus aed. 201, pr. 199, cens. 184, princeps senatus 184–​180 L. Valerius Flaccus aed. 163, pr. 155? Valerii Laevini

176 suff.

C. Valerius Laevinus pr. 179 Valerii Messallae

188 161

M. Valerius Messalla pr. 193 M. Valerius Messalla pr. 164, cens. 154

B i b l i o gr a p h y Badel, C. 2005. La Noblesse de l’Empire romain. Les masques et la vertu. Paris. Badel, C. 2013. La République romaine. Paris. Badian, E. 1990. “The Consuls 179–​49 BCE.” Chiron 20: 371–​413. Barber, C. 2020. “Uncovering a ‘Lost Generation’ in the Senate. Demography and the Hannibalic War.” In J. Armstrong and M. P. Fronda (eds), Romans at War. Soldiers, Citizens, and Society in the Roman Republic, 154–​70. London and New York. Baudry, R. 2006. “Patriciens et nobles à Rome. D’une identité à l’autre?” Hypothèses 1: 169–​78.

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Baudry, R. 2008. Les Patriciens à la fin de la République romaine et au début de l’Empire. Diss., Université Paris I Panthéon-​Sorbonne. Paris. Beck, H. 2005. Karriere und Hierarchie. Die römische Aristokratie und die Anfänge des cursus honorum in der mittleren Republik. Berlin. Bonnefond-​Coudry, M. 1993. “Le princeps senatus. Vie et mort d’une institution républicaine.” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome, Antiquité 105: 103–​34. Broughton, T. R. S. 1951. The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, I. New York. Brunt, P. A. 1982. “Nobilitas and Novitas.” Journal of Roman Studies 72: 1–​17. Burton, G., and K. Hopkins. 1983. “Political Succession in the Late Republic (249–​ 50 BC).” In K. Hopkins (ed.), Death and Renewal. Sociological Studies in Roman History 2, 31–​119. Cambridge. Degrassi, A. 1954. Fasti Capitolini. Turin. Develin, R. 1979. Patterns in Office-​Holding 366–​49 BCE. Brussels. Dondin-​Payre, M. 1993. Exercice du pouvoir et continuité gentilice. Les Acilii Glabriones du IIIe s. av. J.-​C. au Ve s. ap. J.-​C. Rome. Etcheto, H. 2012. Les Scipions. Famille et pouvoir à Rome à l’époque républicaine. Bordeaux. Flaig, E. 2004. Ritualisierte Politik. Zeichen, Gesten und Herrschaft im alten Rom. Göttingen. Flower, H. I. 1996. Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture. Oxford. Flower, H. I. 2010. Roman Republics. Princeton. Gohary, L. 2010. Interregnum. Le partage du corps souverain et la naissance de la Libera Res Publica. Diss., Université Paris-​Sorbonne. Paris. Goldberg, C. 2015. “Priests and Politicians: rex sacrorum and flamen Dialis in the Middle Republic.” Phoenix 69: 334–​54. Grimal, P. 1953. Le Siècle des Scipions. Rome et l’hellénisme au temps des guerres puniques. Paris. Hayne, L. 1978. “The Valerii Flacci—​A Family in Decline.” Ancient Society 9: 223–​33. Hölkeskamp, K.-​J. 1987. Die Entstehung der Nobilität. Studien zur sozialen und politischen Geschichte der römischen Republik im 4 Jh. v. Chr. 2. Stuttgart. Hölkeskamp, K.-​J. 1996. “Exempla und mos maiorum. Überlegungen zum kollektiven Gedächtnis der Nobilität.” In H.-​J. Gehrke and A. Möller (eds.), Vergangenheit und Lebenswelt. Soziale Kommunikation, Traditionsbildung und historisches Bewußtsein, 301–​28. Tübingen. Hölkeskamp, K.-​J. 2010. Reconstructing the Roman Republic. An Ancient Political Culture and Modern Research. Oxford and Princeton. Hölkeskamp, K.-​J. 2011. Die Entstehung der Nobilität. Studien zur sozialen und politischen Geschichte der römischen Republik im 4 Jh. v. Chr. 2. Stuttgart2. Hölkeskamp, K.-​J. 2018a. “Memoria by Multiplication. The Cornelii Scipiones in Monumental Memory.” In K. Sandberg and C. Smith (eds.), Omnium annalium monumenta. Historical Writing and Historical Evidence in Republican Rome, 422–​ 76. Leiden and Boston. Hölkeskamp, K.-​J. 2018b. “Mythen, Monumente und die Multimedialität der memoria. Die ‘corporate identity’ der gens Fabia.” Klio 100: 709–​64.

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Humbert, M. 1998. “La Normativité des plébiscites selon la tradition annalistique.” In Mélanges de droit romain et d’histoire ancienne. Hommage à la mémoire de André Magdelain. Paris, 211–​38. McDonnell, M. 2006. Roman Manliness. Virtus and the Roman Republic. Cambridge. Mommsen, T. 1864. Römische Forschungen, 1. Berlin. Mommsen, T. 1887. Römisches Staatsrecht, 3.1. Leipzig. Münzer, F. 1891. De gente Valeria. Berlin. Münzer, F. 1920. Römische Adelsparteien und Adelsfamilien. Stuttgart. Münzer, F. 1999. Roman Aristocratic Parties and Families, transl. T. Ridley. Baltimore and London. Piganiol, A. 1967. La Conquête romaine. Paris. Pina Polo, F., and A. Díaz Fernández. 2019. The Quaestorship in the Roman Republic. Berlin and Boston. Reams, L. E. 1984. “Sulla’s Alleged Early Poverty and Roman Rent.” American Journal of Ancient History 9: 158–​74. Richardson, J. H. 2012. The Fabii and the Gauls. Studies in Historical Thought and Historiography in Republican Rome. Stuttgart. Roller, M. B. 2018. Models from the Past in Roman Culture. A World of Exempla. Cambridge. Rüpke, J. 2005. Fasti sacerdotum. Die Mitglieder der Priesterschaften und das sakrale Funktionspersonal römischer, griechischer, orientalischer und jüdisch-​ christlicher Kulte in der Stadt Rom von 300 v. Chr. bis 499 n. Chr., Teil 2: Biographien. Stuttgart. Ryan, F. X. 1998. Rank and Participation in the Republican Senate. Stuttgart. Salmon, E. T. 1969. “The Resurgence of the Roman Patricians ca. 100 BCE.” Revue des Études Latines 47: 321–​39. Scullard, H. 1973. Roman Politics, 220–​150 BCE, Oxford. Smith, C. J. 2006. The Roman Clan. The Gens from Ancient Ideology to Modern Anthropology. Cambridge. Steel, C. 2014a. “Rethinking Sulla. The Case of the Roman Senate.” Classical Quarterly 64: 657–​68. Steel, C. 2014b. “The Roman Senate and the Post-​Sullan ‘res publica.’” Historia 63: 323–​39. Sumner, G. V. 1964. “Manius or Mamercus?” Journal of Roman Studies 54: 41–​48. Suolahti, J. 1972. “Princeps senatus.” Arctos 7: 207–​18. Walter, U. 2003. “Ahn macht Sinn. Familientradition und Familienprofil im republikanischen Rom.” In K.-​ J. Hölkeskamp et al. (eds.), Sinn (in) der Antike. Orientierungssysteme Leitbilder und Wertkonzepte im Altertum, 255–​78. Mainz. Walter, U. 2004a. Memoria und res publica. Zur Geschichtskultur im republikanischen Rom. Frankfurt. Walter, U. 2004b. “Ein Ebenbild des Vaters. Wiederholungen in der historiographischen Traditionsbildung.” Hermes 132: 406–​25.

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The Arrival of Eloquence? The Changing Parameters of Public Speech in the Second Century * Catherine Steel

11.1. Introduction It first becomes possible to write about Roman oratory in anything other than the most general and speculative manner in the second century bce. From around the beginning of the century, evidence is preserved about public speech by named individuals, and the earliest written texts of speeches circulated by their author date from this period or soon after.1 A history of oratory can be constructed, albeit to a modest extent for the earlier part of the second century, that places individual speakers in relationship to each other and can begin to address technical and stylistic considerations.2 It also became possible for Roman orators and scholars to construct a history of the phenomenon from this point, as Cicero demonstrates in his rhetorical treatises, Brutus above all. The most significant factor that enabled a historiography of Roman oratory was the emergence of textual *  I am very grateful to the editors for the invitation to participate in the conference that led to this publication, and to them and to the conference participants for their suggestions and comments on earlier drafts. Some of the underpinning research for this chapter was undertaken as part of the European Research Council funded Starting Grant 283670, The Fragments of Republican Roman Orators. 1. The Elder Cato appears to have been the first to do this, but there is a considerable degree of uncertainty over both the dating of his earliest published speeches and their format, as they may have been included in his historical works rather than circulating independently. 2. General accounts of the origins of rhetoric at Rome include Kennedy 1972 and Cavarzere 2000. Catherine Steel, The Arrival of Eloquence? In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0011

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transmission alongside oral delivery; at least from the time of Cato onward, preserving a speech by creating a written version and overseeing its circulation became a possibility for any orator, even though, before Cicero, this option was used sparingly, and many orators rejected it altogether. The existence of texts makes the inquiry something that can be undertaken, for us no less than for later Roman readers; but it also introduces a gulf between oratory as a historical phenomenon that can be reconstructed through its written record, and public speech as a political phenomenon, potentially decisive in its context and worthy of record in historiography, but leaving little independent trace from which a meaningful account can be created of its contribution to the decisions and events that followed. Cicero was acutely aware of the problem, and it is vital to keep it constantly in mind. It is simply not possible to write a history of Roman oratory that is not also a history of its reception. But at the same time, the loss of all but a few fragments of the oratorical texts that Cicero was able to consult means that our attempts to write the history of Republican oratory are inevitably pushed away from text and toward performance. Cicero thought he could make stylistic judgments about some, at least, of his predecessors, and that was probably a reasonable position for him to adopt; but we cannot emulate him on the basis of the textual scraps that have survived. Assessing how oratory may have changed in the course of the second century bce is a task conducted at no fewer than two removes, as we analyze the responses of later readers to texts that we cannot access and that themselves provided only a selective record of public speech. There is a particularly acute danger of adopting broad narratives that simply do not reflect the richly detailed practice of oratory; the detail is unrecoverable, but we can at least be careful not to lose sight of its existence. In Brutus, Cicero marks the change to the possibility of a history of oratory as one of evidence: “Of those for whom transmitted evidence exists that they were eloquent, and were considered to be such, M. Cornelius Cethegus is the first.”3 Cethegus, consul in 204, enters this category because Ennius—​who, Cicero notes, heard Cethegus speak—​describes him as an orator, as sauuiloquens and as the “marrow of persuasion.”4 The case of Cethegus is, therefore, different from that of earlier speakers, because direct attestation of his performance as speaker survives. In the generation immediately prior to Cethegus, C. Flaminius,

3. Cic. Brut. 57: quem uero exstet et de quo sit memoriae proditum eloquentem fuisse et ita esse habitum, primus est M. Cornelius Cethegus. 4. Enn. Ann. 304–​308 (Skutsch): suadae medulla.

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Q. Maximus Verrucosus, and Q. Metellus (cos. 206) are reputed to have been good orators, but for Cicero that assessment can only be a matter of inference.5 In order to reach this view of oratory, Cicero prioritizes one kind of evidence—​the testimony, in poetry, of an eyewitness—​over others that he had access to, such as historiography or certain other kinds of written texts. He deals directly with that issue a little later in Brutus, in the context of the Elder Cato: his are the oldest texts of speeches that Cicero regards as reliable, and at this point he explicitly passes over App. Claudius’ speech about Pyrrhus and various funeral laudationes.6 The latter are dismissed because of their inherent mendacity about the histories of and achievements by those belonging to the families whose members they commemorate and because they are recycled at different funerals.7 A divide is therefore evident at the very start of a history of oratory at Rome, between a version that depends on direct eyewitness attestation and evaluation combined with reliable texts of speeches, and one that is driven by individuals and familial bias within a historiographical context. That divide is evident in the very earliest attested Roman orators: alongside Ennius’ view of Cethegus, as transmitted by Cicero, can be put the funeral speech allegedly delivered by Q. Metellus in 221 bce for his father Lucius. In Brutus, Quintus Metellus is simply considered an orator and his defining characteristic is being consul with L. Veturius Philo; but the Elder Pliny knew the funeral speech, and it seems reasonable to assume that Cicero did, too, and even that it was in his mind a little later in this work when he thought about laudationes.8 A historiographically driven history of Roman oratory starts for us in 220 rather than 200, given the survival of Livy’s history from the start of the third decade, and of Polybius. Within this framework the content of the speeches that Livy and Polybius include in their narratives cannot be regarded as anything other than authorial compositions, but the possibility remains that the fact of public speech on a particular occasion and the specific speakers that underpin the speeches they record can be taken as evidence for that activity. Roman oratory cannot, therefore, be separated from the modes of its record. That principle affects all attempts to analyze it, both ancient and modern. In

5. Cic. Brut. 56–​57. 6. Cic. Brut. 61–​62. 7. The implication would be that a text that purported to have been delivered at one funeral might have been used and modified subsequently. Some funeral speeches were well known in their textual form, but it is difficult to assess what proportion were preserved in this way. On funeral speeches see Flower 1996: 128–​58; Beck 2018; Pepe 2018. 8. Cic. Brut. 57; Pliny NH 7.139–​41.

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the context of the short second century, it is certainly possible to offer a story of oratory that fits with this volume’s focus on the idea of a community in transition: this is one of transformation in both the practice of oratory and in underpinning rhetorical theory. But it is also possible to construct an account that stresses continuity and stability. In this chapter I discuss these two analyses in turn before suggesting some alternative approaches to the challenge of placing oratory in a meaningful relationship with other aspects of the period.

11.2. Innovation and Transformation The story of Roman oratory in the second century that foregrounds transformation is one that combines the arrival from the Greek-​speaking world of new techniques of public speaking, which could be taught, with changes in political and legal practice at Rome that created new opportunities for oratory, which in turn offered individuals greater rewards for oratorical skill. The result, it can be argued, was a rapid development in the skills of members of the Roman elite through rhetorical instruction following Rome’s military successes in Greece and Asia Minor in the first third of the second century bce.9 In such an account, the embassy that Athens sent to Rome in 155 assumes an exemplary force. It encapsulates the encounter between Rome and the Greek world as a matter of enthusiastic adoption by Romans of Greek forms of learning and knowledge in a unidirectional manner, though not without local modification, and therefore plays an important role in at least some Roman understandings of its intellectual history.10 Accounts of the embassy emphasize the intellectual standing of the Athenian ambassadors on this occasion—​Carneades, Critolaus, and Diogenes of Babylon, the three leaders of the philosophical schools at Athens—​and their capacity to attract the attention of Rome’s elite outside the Senate and, particularly, the younger generation, with the delivery of a number of public lectures.11 This enthusiastic reception led to the Elder Cato’s demand that their business with the Senate be concluded as quickly as possible so that they could leave Rome.12

9. Gruen 1990: 157–​92; Stroup 2007. 10. Ferrary 1988; Gruen 1992: 52–​83; Powell 2013. 11. Powell 2013 is skeptical about the very existence of the lectures; his argument underscores the importance of this episode as a means for later interpreters—​including Cicero—​to understand Rome’s intellectual history. 12. Cic. Att. 12.23.2; Luc. 137; De Orat. 2.155–​61; Plut. Cat. Mai. 22; Paus. 7.11.4–​8; Gell. 6.14.8–​ 10; Pliny NH 7.112.

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One of the elements evident in this account is the importance of audience reaction. It was the fact that younger members of the elite were so enthusiastic to experience the novelty of these speakers’ skills that the situation seemed dangerous to Cato; the implication being that if the lectures had been poorly attended, he would not have been so worried. What could explain such enthusiasm? What was so compelling about the ambassadors’ speech? Gellius notes that it was the facundia of the philosophers that attracted attention, and he assigns to each of them a particular rhetorical style: Carneades the high, Critolaus the low, and Diogenes the middle. Indeed, he records this embassy in the context of chapter in which he sets out the theory of genera dicendi, for which it—​alongside Varro’s choice of Latin poets, and characters in the Iliad—​serves as an example. Plutarch’s account combines keenness on philosophy, which he identifies as the motive of those who attended the lectures, with anxiety about rhetoric, which motivates Cato. Cato is concerned that Rome’s young men will prioritize a reputation based on speaking over one acquired through military activity. The attractiveness of the philosophers’ instruction was, it seems, assumed to be based at least in part on the manner in which they spoke. If there was in fact an increasing interest in rhetorical skill, a number of factors could be invoked to explain it. One is directly related to this embassy’s presence in Rome: that is, the hugely increased amount of diplomatic activity in Rome as a result of its victories in Greece and Asia Minor.13 Rome found itself not simply defending its own interests in such debates, but increasingly acting as an arbiter in others’ disputes, as indeed was the case on this occasion in 155. The Senate was the location for complex and extended discussions, and senators had the opportunity to direct or at least shape policy through public speech: the debates about Rome’s policy toward Carthage in the years prior to the third war are perhaps the most conspicuous example. It is also revealing that the speech from this period of whose content we know most, that is, Cato’s in support of the Rhodians in 167, is a senatorial speech on an issue of international diplomacy. Alongside speech in Rome were requirements to speak outside Rome, as military commanders and their legates addressed Greek-​speaking communities in the course of negotiations alongside, or in some cases in place of, military activity.14

13. Canali De Rossi 1997; Coudry 2004; Pina Polo 2013. 14. Imperium-​holders also seem to have been expected to address their own forces. The military contio is difficult to separate from the historiographical tradition, and unlike most other forms of speech, does not seem to have been disseminated in writing. Increasingly lengthy overseas campaigns may possibly have made it more important in this period, but it is difficult to disentangle any examples, such as Scipio Aemilianus’ practice, from historiographical traditions. On the military contio see Pina Polo 1989.

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A second factor to explain a possible increase in the importance of oratory and of the attention paid to it by members of the elite was changes in the forensic context. Increasingly complex overseas military activity placed magistrates at significant distance from continuing instruction from Rome: their behavior and actions could be controlled instead through judicial mechanisms after their tenure of office. Trials before the people provided a venue for such public judgment. One particularly notorious instance involved Ser. Sulpicius Galba and became an oratorical as well as a political cause célèbre. Galba was praetor in 151 and in his province of Hispania Ulterior, where his imperium was prorogued into 150, he executed or sold into slavery people who had allegedly surrendered on terms. On his return one of the tribunes of 149 attempted to reverse the enslavement and ensure Galba’s punishment by proposing the establishment of a quaestio extraordinaria to hear the case. Galba evaded punishment, despite what seems to have been regarded by his contemporaries as his evident guilt, through a speech remarkable for its skill, particularly in the use of emotion.15 This episode established a clear link between effective oratory and political advantage: Galba’s case showed that it was possible to evade the consequences of activities undertaken as a magistrate that breached custom and legal norms by persuading a decision-​making audience by means of oratory that punishment should not be imposed.16 Furthermore, the contexts in which oratory could shine in this way was extended in this period, as such iudicia publica were supplemented by the first standing quaestio at Rome, set up under the lex Calpurnia in 149 to handle the newly defined charge of res repetundae.17 Its creation was a development of earlier ad hoc inquiries into the (mis)behavior of magistrates, particularly those deployed in Hispania, and the principle that executive activity could face scrutiny from both Senate and people was well established.18 But this change brought a new element into political practice, and one that had some implications for public speech. The quaestio had room for patroni. Thus it allowed

15. Cic. De Orat. 1.227–​28; Brut. 89–​90; Livy Per. 49; Quint. 2.15.8. The speech appears to have been delivered against the tribunician proposal to establish a quaestio rather than at a quaestio itself. On Galba’s speech, Hall 2014: 5–​39; Steel forthcoming. 16. Another slightly later case demonstrates that the opposite was also possible. In 136 C. Hostilius Mancinus contributed to the Senate debate to argue in favor of the law repudiating the treaty he had made with the Numantines and authorizing his return to them (Cic. Rep. 3.14; Off. 3.109). However, in this case it is not clear how decisive his intervention was, as it appears to be recorded because its striking disinterestedness, and others were in favor of this measure too. 17. Richardson 1987. 18. Cf. the inquiry into magistrates in Hispania in 171 (Livy 43.2.5–​6).

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members of the elite to outsource some of their rhetorical obligations by enabling others to speak on their behalf. It also created an opportunity for individuals to challenge the action of magistrates without holding the position of tribune of the plebs, by bringing a charge and acting as a prosecutor. It contributes, then, to the development of oratorical skill by multiplying the occasions on which it could be useful to an individual. Oratory was shifting from being one element in the generalist’s apparatus, likely to be personally significant on only a few occasions during the course of a single career, to a skill that could be valuable recurrently throughout one’s career. Litigiousness appears to have been a feature of Roman elite life (or at least that is the message from the case of the Elder Cato), and to that extent legal skill was valuable to the wealthy long before the mid-​second century bce. But legal processes had increasing capacity to affect the careers and public reputation of members of the Senate. The lex Calpurnia de repetundis and the quaestio it established made effective public speaking into a skill that could be traded between politicians. A third factor that might relate to the developing importance of oratory during the second century is developments of popular politics and the increasing role of the tribunate of the plebs as a source of legislation.19 Tribunician legislative activity involved communication with the people, a process in which effective rhetorical skills could pay dividends. The Gracchi became exemplars of a triad of speech, popular action, and violence, but oratory appears to be an element in tribunician action even before Tiberius’ tribunate. A significant moment in this development is marked by the story associated with C. Licinius Crassus, who held the tribunate in 145. He is said to have altered the speaker’s normal position facing the comitium and instead turned toward the forum.20 In Laelius, the only detailed testimonium to this change, it is presented in the context of Crassus’ popularis politics, implying that it facilitated wider communication with the people as a whole through contiones. Regardless of the precise details of this particular episode, it underscores the relationship between public speech and public policy. If contentious legislation became a more frequent occurrence towards the end of this period then, too, the opportunities for contional oratory became more significant.21 19. Cf. T. Lanfranchi and A. Gallo in this volume. 20. Cic. Lael. 96; Varr. RR 1.2.9; and see Tibiletti 1950: 238 (=​2007: 182). Another tradition, reflected in Plutarch (CG 5.4), makes Gaius Gracchus the originator of this change, but this alternative is probably to be explained by the pull of the better-​known tribune. 21. The only example of Crassus’ speech is one in favor of the law he presented as tribune introducing voting to determine the membership of the priestly college, and then only by inference from the passage from Cicero’s Laelius (96) quoted above (n. 17); the measure failed, due at

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It can be argued, therefore, that shifts in the wider political landscape of the second century at Rome increased both the opportunities for public speech and the significance of success in this format. The increasing range of Rome’s external political and military commitments created new venues for speech, as Romans interacted diplomatically with foreign powers. At the same time, the challenges of those commitments led to greater scrutiny on the actions undertaken by magistrates distant from Rome, and this scrutiny was conducted through public hearings of various kinds. And the Roman people were becoming an increasingly prominent audience for deliberative oratory. This factor increased the value of effective public speech at exactly the moment that new skills became available through cultural exchange with Greece. On this account, Greek-​inspired rhetoric stepped in to fill an emerging skills gap among the elite.22 This story is, in a sense, the story that the embassy of 155 tells, once unpacked into constituent elements. Rome encounters Greek culture; it is enthusiastic for the advantages of new technology; but its modes of acquisition are moderated by acknowledgment of its own cultural traditions and distinctiveness. The result, though only implicit in the anecdote itself, is the development of a distinctively Roman form of the technology.

11.3. Stability and the Status Quo This picture of a developing interest in rhetoric and its practical application is attractive and coherent, but nonetheless there are grounds for skepticism. Many of the aspects of public life identified as potential explanations for an increased enthusiasm for rhetoric were not in themselves new. The Senate had been the location of debate on policy and governance well before the second century, or at least—​given the absence of reliable evidence for its deliberations much earlier—​ there is no indication of any significant change in its internal operations or organization at the beginning of this period that would in turn suggest a change

least in part to a speech given by C. Laelius (the speaker in the Cicero passage). It is reasonable, but by no means provable, that Crassus’ change of orientation occurred when he spoke in favor of his rogatio. 22. On developments in Greek rhetorical theory in the Hellenistic period, including its systematization, see Pernot 2005: 57–​73; Kremmydas and Tempest 2013. The details of what might have been taught in Rome, in Greek or in Latin, are much more challenging to recover before Latin rhetoric emerges, fully developed, with Rhetorica ad Herennium and Cicero’s De Inuentione, in the early first century bce. Suetonius’ pedagogically informed account begins chronologically with the expulsion of rhetores in 161 (Suet. Gramm. 1.1; cf. Gell. 15.11.1), but the next event is the censorial edict of 92 (see further Kaster 1995: ad loc.).

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in the role of oratory within it.23 Moreover, to assume that the diplomatic activity that accompanied Rome’s military expansion into mainland Greece was the decisive factor transforming the quality of oratory to which senators were exposed is to accept the underpinning story of transformative Greek culture with which we began. The contional and legislative capacity of tribunes of the plebs was not new. Hearings before the people had involved advocacy and offered scope for effective public speaking prior to the establishment of the quaestio de repetundis in 149. The passage of that lex Calpurnia was, indeed, the only significant institutional development that affected the role of public speech in the period. The quaestional framework was undoubtedly to become very important for oratory; but the lex Calpurnia itself falls toward the end of our period, and its immediate effects were perhaps limited. Only three extortion trials are attested between 149 and 134. One, that of D. Iunius Silanus Manlianus, is recorded because the legal process was preempted when the defendant’s biological father conducted an investigation himself, at the end of which Manlianus died by suicide.24 The trial itself may have continued after Manlianus’ death, but nothing is known of it, nor are the advocates recorded.25 No record of the oratory survives in relation to the trial of Q. Pompeius in 138, who was charged following his proconsulship in Hispania; neither prosecutor nor defense advocate is named, nor whether Pompeius himself undertook his own defense.26 In the third case, the prosecution of L. Cotta, also from 138, something is known about the conduct of the trial itself.27 The prosecutor was Scipio Aemilianus and Cotta was defended by Metellus Macedonicus, so this case was one that pitched noted orators against 23. Its membership had been severely affected by the deaths of senators at Cannae, to the extent that one of the responses to Cannae was an emergency adlectio to make up the number of senators (Livy 23.23.1–​8). That rupture might have affected the practice of senatorial oratory (though if so it is difficult to see any traces); but the institutions remained unchanged. 24. Alexander TLRR no. 7; Cic. Fin. 1.24; Val. Max. 5.8.3. Manlianus was the son of T. Manlius Torquatus (cos. 165); the charges related to his praetorship in Macedonia in 142 or 141 and the hearing took place in 140 (Livy Per. 54). 25. At the hearing that did take place (presumably at Torquatus’ house), speeches were heard (according to Cicero) but the speakers are not identified; the easiest interpretation is that they were the Macedonian envoys who had come to Rome to complain, and Manlianus himself. 26. Alexander TLRR no. 8; Cic. Font. 23; Val. Max. 8.5.1. The factor that ensured the survival of some record of the trial was the intensity of the attack on Pompeius in the witness testimony from four consulars—​the pairs of brothers Q. (cos. 143) and L. (cos. 142) Caecilius Metellus, and Cn. (cos. 141) and Q. (cos. 140) Servilius Caepio—​and the fact that Pompeius was nonetheless acquitted, because, according to Cicero, their suspected ulterior motives outweighed their prestige. Valerius claims that the witnesses “spoke exceptionally harshly” (acerrime), but it seems unlikely that this is anything more than his own embellishment. 27. Alexander TLRR no. 9; Cic. Mur. 58; Div. Caec. 69; Brut. 81; Val. Max. 8.1.absol.11.

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each other. But the outcome, Cotta’s acquittal, is presented so as to suggest that oratory was secondary to other factors in determining the outcome; there were suspicions of bribery, and also that the defendant had the jurors’ sympathy because Aemilianus brought such overwhelming authority to the prosecution. What such stories may suggest is that Cotta’s acquittal was surprising and could not be satisfactorily explained by invoking Macedonicus’ speech alone. A challenge in assessing this evidence is to understand what proportion of activity is likely to have gone unrecorded. Nonetheless, the quaestio de repetundis does not seem immediately to have become a venue for notable oratory.

11.4. De oratore or Brutus: Which Version? Institutional change alone cannot, then, satisfactorily explain changes in oratorical practice in the second century bce. Cicero is nonetheless clear that this was a period of change, and even improvement, in the practice of oratory. But he offers two distinct narratives of why that was the case. In de Oratore, he articulates the “embassy story,” in which what changes is the level of technical skill possessed by orators. Catulus records hearing from Africanus, Laelius, and Furius their eagerness to hear the Athenian philosophers.28 But in Brutus there is a rather differently nuanced account of the development of oratory at Rome in this period. Earlier in this chapter I noted that Cicero identifies the start of a history of Roman oratory at the start of the second century bce, because that is the point at which textual evidence survives about oratorical performance. The Brutus’ concern with evidence and the process of historical inquiry leads to an account of the development of oratory at Rome in this period in which the transformative technology is not Greek rhetorical theory, but writing and the creation and dissemination of texts of speeches. The underpinning requirements for effective speaking remain constant; the challenge for the historian to explain is not how oratory changed and developed, but how different kinds of evidence about public speech can be reconciled.29 Cicero turns to Roman oratory at section 52 of Brutus. In what follows, down to the arrival of the younger Ti. Gracchus at section 103, questions of research method are prominent. One element in this is the emphasis on the intellectually demanding task of establishing a chronology and organization for the history of Roman literature, which comes to the fore in a digression on the dating of early

28. Cic. De Orat. 2.155, though this passage falls within the discussion of philosophy as an object of study for the orator. 29. On Brutus, Gowing 2000; Steel 2003; Dugan 2005: 172–​250.

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Roman poetry (72–​73).30 The character Cicero blames this digression on Atticus, only to be reassured by Brutus as to his keen interest in the topic and its relevance to their discussion.31 Oratory is also a legitimate object of careful and meticulous historical study and involves similar approaches to other forms of literary inquiry. A second methodological concern is the extent to which informed speculation is necessary in recreating the very earliest history of Roman oratory. Cicero draws regular attention to the assumptions his character makes about the oratorical skill of men such as M. Brutus, Valerius Potitus, Ap. Claudius Caecus, and Popillius Laenas, for which he does not have any direct evidence, on the basis of their achievements, for which he has. He does so because his contextual knowledge about public life at Rome indicates that they could not have done what they are recorded as having done without the capacity to speak well. These are men “about whom it is difficult to grasp more than can be hypothesized from records.”32 Such speculation only ceases to be necessary with Cornelius Cethegus. As discussed earlier in this chapter, the testimony of Ennius provides direct evidence for the quality of Cethegus’ speech, and thus marks a change in the kind of discussion about oratory that his character and interlocutors can have. The narrative that follows down to the younger Tiberius Gracchus does not in any way suggest that it is to be understood as a story of the development of oratorical capacity under the influence of new and imported techniques. While Greek literature is present, it is an element in the cultural landscape, but neither dominant over Roman activity nor decisive in shaping public speech. Greek oratory and historiography, and indeed sculpture and painting, are the source of

30. See Welsh 2011. 31. Cic. Brut. 74: “Blame Atticus, Brutus, if these issues seem somewhat unsuitable for this conversation; he fired me up with enthusiasm to research the age and chronology of great men.” Brutus replied, “I love this identification of periods—​and moreover I believe that that kind of care is relevant to the task you have undertaken, to divide categories of orator by period” (haec si minus apta uidentur huic sermoni, Brute, Attico adsigna, qui me inflammauit studio inlustrium hominum aetates et tempora persequendi. ego uero, inquit Brutus, et delector ista quasi notatione temporum et ad id quod instituisti, oratorum genera distinguere aetatibus, istam diligentiam esse accommodatam puto). 32. Cic. Brut. 52 (de quibus difficile est plus intellegere quam quantum ex monumentis suspicari licet). Cf. 53 (Brutus could not have ensured the abrogation of Tarquinius' imperium without oratorical skill); 54, L. Valerius Potitus must have had some ability as a speaker to damp down popular hostility; 55, Appius Claudius must be considered eloquent because of his persuading the Senate not to make peace with Pyrrhus; C. Fabricius must have been an orator to be sent to negotiate about prisoners-​of-​war; and M’. Curius, for prevailing over the eloquent Appius; 56, Popillius Laenas must have used both auctoritas and oratio in calming the people; 57, C. Flaminius must have been a good popular speaker. (Q. Fabius Verrucosus and Q. Metellus are also identified as orators in 57, though in their cases no specific activity is cited as evidence.)

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analogies to explain aspects of cultural developments at Rome.33 The fact that two of the Roman orators discussed also wrote works in Greek is mentioned.34 Other kinds of engagement with aspects of Greek culture are noted as a characteristic of some orators: thus C. Sulpicius Galus is identified as the nobilis most engaged with Greek literary studies in his generation (77), and the fact that C. Laelius and C. Fannius attended Panaetius’ teaching (101). But these details are not presented in a way to suggest that such activity improved an orator’s capacity or performance. Moreover, in this section Cicero appears to go out of his way to distance Greek rhetoric from even contemporary practice. In the course of offering an analysis of the reasons for Cato’s lack of readers in his own time, he explains the Greek rhetorical terms tropos and schema (69) with Latin phrases. It is of course implausible in the extreme that either the dialogue character Brutus or Atticus, or indeed Cicero’s readers, would need such assistance, but the gloss serves to distance his presentation of the phenomenon of oratory from a purely rhetorical approach.35 Cato is the dominant orator in the earlier part of the discussion of oratory in the period whose end points are marked by Cethegus and the younger Tiberius Gracchus. He is also perhaps the most important figure in the broader Greco-​ Roman narrative about the interaction of Greek and Roman culture during the emergence of Rome’s Mediterranean empire.36 Yet Cato is not in Brutus either a resister or a beneficiary of this relationship: that is not how Brutus arranges the story. Cato’s achievement as an orator leads the discussion to consider a range of Greek writers who offer useful parallels to understanding his speeches and their reception. One aspect of this comparison is Cato’s ample production of written texts of speeches, which is surpassed only by Lysias’ total.37 The set of orators who write down their speeches includes Greeks and Romans alike. Then Cicero acknowledges that there are also stylistic similarities between the two speakers, before turning to the difference in their posthumous reputation. Lysias has his enthusiastic admirers; but who reads Cato? His speeches possess all the oratorical virtues, as do the speeches in his Origines. In seeking to explain why he should have 33. Cic. Brut. 68–​71. 34. P. Scipio, the son of Africanus (77), a historical work; the elder Ti. Gracchus (79), a speech delivered in Greek at Rhodes. 35. This move may also acknowledge the Elder Cato’s tense relationship with Greek cultural imports. On the theoretical implications of the discussion of style in Brutus, see Guérin 2014. 36. Gruen 1992; Gotter 2003; Wallace-​Hadrill 2008; Sciarrino 2011. 37. Cic. Brut. 63.

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lost his audience, Cicero offers three distinct explanations. One is the archaicism of Cato’s language: but that reflects the language of his time.38 Another is the fact that, in oratory uniquely among the arts, antiquity does not bring distinction.39 Finally, all arts must go through a process of development: “nothing is simultaneously discovered and brought to perfection”; even Homer had his predecessors.40 Greek and Latin literary history are parallel processes, not directly influencing each other, but demonstrating similar sequences of change and transition. In this context, Cicero is reluctant to find fault with Cato’s skill. The qualities he identifies cover a range of desirable features: as an orator, Cato could praise and blame, he could argue, he could teach and he could proclaim, and his speeches are full of figures of thought and speech. This catalogue does not map exactly onto any specific rhetorical scheme (and this is the point in the discussion at which Cicero pretends that his readers will not recognize Greek terminology). Cato’s greatness as an orator does not depend on his adherence to rhetorical instruction, and Cicero takes care to remind us that he was not only an orator but also a ciuis, senator, and imperator, all roles that should attract a contemporary audience to his writings. When as a thought experiment Cicero explores what changes would be necessary to secure Cato a current audience, he identifies a modernization of vocabulary, the addition of prose rhythm, and changes to sentence structure.41 Although these are not negligible adjustments, they are ones driven by alterations in taste rather than an entirely different understanding of what constituted effective speech. Cato’s production of written speeches plays its part throughout the discussion of his oratory. He is the first to write down his speeches (generating an initial digression about possible earlier examples, which proves to be a dead end); it is the number of written speeches surviving that initiates the comparison with Lysias; and it is the failure of Cicero’s contemporaries to read Cato that causes him to explore the reasons for his current neglect.42 Texts, implicitly, are what permit the detailed criticisms in which Cicero engages as he analyzes Cato’s virtues and weaknesses as a speaker. The relationship between speech and text is also foregrounded in the case of the other pre-​Tiberian figure to be discussed in

38. Cic. Brut. 68. 39. Cic. Brut. 69. 40. Cic. Brut. 71: nihil est enim simul et inuentum et perfectum. 41. Cic. Brut. 68. 42. There were more than 150 of Cato’s speeches known to Cicero (Brut. 65).

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some detail, Ser. Sulpicius Galba.43 His clash with Libo, and an ancient Cato, after his command in Hispania that was discussed above is described, and Cicero also considers the speech he gave on behalf of the publicani in 138, a case he took over from Laelius and at Laelius’ insistence. Galba’s preeminence as an orator in his generation is, for Cicero, indisputable. He was the first among Latin speakers to display certain key rhetorical skills: ornatus; the activities of delectare and mouere; amplificatio; the use of pity; and loci communes.44 But Galba’s oratory also poses a problem, as the character Brutus notes: his surviving written speeches do not fully explain his quality as a speaker. This leads Cicero to offer some general observations on the gap between speech and writing and its possible causes, before turning to the specifics of Galba’s situation. There was a disjunction, he suggests, between Galba’s cleverness and his learning. When he sat down in an atmosphere of calm after a case, he could not recapture the uis that had fueled his speech. The publicani case is important because it exemplifies this analysis of this conundrum. Galba’s distinctive strength in his uis was in contrast to Laelius’ elegantia, which had, on this occasion, twice failed to bring the consuls to a decision. Galba could not, when he came to write his speeches, recapture the uis that underpinned his performance; hence his speeches flop, whereas Laelius’ continue to achieve their effect. Thus this case—​even more than Galba’s resistance on his own behalf in 149—​seems to offer Cicero an answer to the difficulty facing him in reconciling an inherited consensus on Galba’s skill with the evidence he found in his and others’ libraries. Galba’s distinctive character as a speaker was difficult to capture in writing. Methodologically we can note that, relatively unusually, Cicero brings in a new source at this point: he had it directly from Rutilius, who was apparently present at the hearings. In this particular case, that is, Cicero happens to have a way out of the constraints of attempting to understand oratory through its written remains because he can access eyewitness testimony to a performance. Elsewhere in this section, texts are invoked to substantiate reputational claims for orators.45 For Cicero in the Brutus, then, what appears to be distinctive about the period 200–​134 is that it marks the point at which it becomes possible to write a text-​ based history of oratory and to apply judgments about oratorical quality to written evidence. That in turn generates the difficulty of reconciling the texts with what seems to be a different, if parallel, history of Roman oratory, which records the reputation of individual speakers along a scale of competency. But there is no 43. Cic. Brut. 80; 82; 86–​94. 44. Cic. Brut. 82. 45. Cic. Brut. 82 (Laelius and the younger Scipio).

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real indication in this work that the arrival of texts itself changed oratory: what changed was the capacity of subsequent generations to access oratory and not to have to rely on inference in order to evaluate speakers.

11.5. Conclusions The point of this comparison between these two narratives of oratory in the second century bce is not to reach a conclusion as to which is the better. Both capture important aspects of the phenomenon and of the interests of subsequent generations of Romans in understanding it; neither can come close to representing an environment in which literally hundreds of politicians spoke to their peers and to the Roman people about any matter that could be considered relevant to the res publica.46 To shape oratory as a field in which indigenous Roman behavior was faced with a challenge from imported Greek technique fitted narratives that explored the pressures brought to bear on Roman culture and society by its imperial successes. The Brutus’ picture of the second century as a matter of continuity of indigenous technique largely unmodified by the adoption of new media fits the text’s nostalgia and its recognition that oratory, and Cicero’s contribution to that art at Rome, was by the time of composition primarily a textual phenomenon. Cicero’s picture in Brutus of second-​century oratory is not to be accepted instead of one of transformation under the stimulus of imported ideas. Rather, multiple narratives are possible and the tensions between them cannot be resolved because they are inherent in the complex and often indirect process by which oratory was preserved. Oratory in the second century bce as much as the first cannot be understood apart from the context of its performance, and yet, to an even greater extent than later, that contextual evidence is preserved only partially or not at all. Nonetheless, what does emerge is that oratory mattered; at least occasionally, it affected decision-​making. This is evident both in senatorial and forensic contexts, and the increasing interest of some members of the elite to preserving their speeches in written form underscores the significance of oratory. What survives does not permit much by way of technical judgments about rhetoric, let alone oratorical style. But it does act as a useful reminder that Rome’s distinctive framework of popular sovereignty and elite governance involved moments of public choice, and that in making those choices, what audiences heard, as well as what

46. There were, after all, 650 tribunes of the plebs between 200 and 134 bce, quite apart from imperium-​holding magistrates; and that figure does not account for all senators.

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they knew and believed, played a part. In tracking the radical changes of the second century bce we need to leave space for speech. B i b l i o gr a p h y Alexander, M. C. 1990. Trials in the Late Roman Republic, 149 B.C.–​50 B.C. Toronto. Beck, H. 2018. “Of Fragments and Feelings. Roman Funeral Oratory Revisited.” In C. Gray et al. (eds.), Reading Republican Oratory. Reconstructions, Contexts, Receptions, 263–​80. Oxford. Canali De Rossi, F. 1997. Le ambascerie dal mondo greco a Roma in età repubblicana. Rome. Cavarzere, A. 2000. Oratoria a Roma. Storia di un genere pragmatico. Rome. Coudry, M. 2004. “Contrôle et traitement des ambassadeurs étrangers sous la République romaine.” In C. Moatti (ed.), La Mobilité des personnes en Méditerranée de l’Antiquité à l’époque modern. Procédures de contrôle et documents d’identification, 529–​65. Rome. Dugan, J. 2005. Making a New Man. Ciceronian Self-​fashioning in the Rhetorical Works. Oxford. Ferrary, J.-​L. 1988. Philhellénisme et impérialisme. aspects idéologiques de la conquête romaine du monde hellénistique, de la seconde guerre de Macédoine à la guerre contre Mithridate. Rome. Flower, H. 1996. Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture. Oxford. Gotter, U. 2003. “Die Vergangenheit als Kampfplatz der Gegenwart. Catos (konter) revolutionäre Konstruktion des republikanischen Erinnerungsraums.” In U. Eigler, U. Gotter, N. Luraghi, and U. Walter (eds.), Römische Geschichtsschreibung von den Anfängen bis Livius. Autoren—​Gattungen—​Kontexte, 115–​34. Darmstadt. Gowing, A. 2000. “Memory and Silence in Cicero’s Brutus.” Eranos 98: 39–​64. Gruen, E. S. 1990. Studies in Greek Culture and Roman Policy. Leiden. Gruen, E. S. 1992. Culture and National Identity in Republican Rome. Leiden. Guérin, C. 2014. “Oratorum bonorum duo genera sunt. La définition de l’excellence stylistique et ses conséquences théorique dans le Brutus.” In S. Aubert-​Baillot and C. Guérin (eds.), Le Brutus de Cicéron. Rhétorique, politique et histoire culturelle, 161–​89. Leiden. Hall, J. 2014. Cicero’s Use of Judicial Theater. Ann Arbor. Kaster, R. A. 1995. C. Suetonius Tranquillus. De Grammaticis et Rhetoribus. Oxford. Kennedy, G. A. 1972. The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World. 300 B.C. to A.D. 300. Princeton. Kremmydas, C., and K. Tempest. 2013. Hellenistic Oratory. Continuity and Change. Oxford.

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Pepe, C. 2018. “Fragments of Epideictic Rhetoric. The Exemplary Case of the Laudatio Funebris for Women.” In C. Gray et al. (eds.), Reading Republican Oratory. Reconstructions, Contexts, Receptions, 281–​96. Oxford. Pernot, L. 2005. Rhetoric in Antiquity. Washington. Pina Polo, F. 1989. Las contiones civiles y militares en Roma. Zaragoza. Pina Polo, F. 2013. “Foreign Eloquence in the Roman Senate.” In C. Steel and H. van der Blom (eds.), Community and Communication. Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, 247–​66. Oxford. Powell, J. G. F. 2013. “The Embassy of the Three Philosophers to Rome in 155 B.C.” In C. Kremmydas and K. Tempest (eds.), Hellenistic Oratory. Continuity and Change, 219–​47. Oxford. Richardson, J. S. 1987. “The Purpose of the lex Calpurnia de repetundis.” Journal of Roman Studies 77: 1–​12. Sciarrino, E. 2011. Cato the Censor and the Beginnings of Latin Prose. From Poetic Translation to Elite Transcription. Columbus. Steel, C. 2003. “Cicero’s Brutus. The End of Oratory and the Beginning of History?” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 46: 195–​211. Steel, C. forthcoming. “Invective and Provincial Government. Cicero and His Predecessors.” In P. Geitner, D. Pausch, C. Schwameis, and R. C. Wierzcholowski (eds.), Ciceronian Invective. Emotions, Reactions, Performance (Emotions in Antiquity). Tübingen. Stroup, S. C. 2007. “Greek Rhetoric Meets Rome. Expansion, Resistance, and Acculturation.” In W. Dominik and J. Hall (eds.), A Companion to Roman Rhetoric, 23–​37. Malden, MA, and Oxford. Tibiletti, G. 1950. “Ricerche di storia agraria romana I. La politica agraria dalla guerra annibalica ai Gracchi.” Athenaeum 28: 183–​266. Tibiletti, G. 2007. Studi di storia agraria romana, ed. A. Baroni. Trento. Wallace-​Hadrill, A. 2008. Rome’s Cultural Revolution. Cambridge. Welsh, J. 2011. “Accius, Porcius Licinus, and the Beginning of Latin Literature.” Journal of Roman Studies 101: 31–​50.

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Beyond Conservatism Charting Roman Religion between Hannibal and Scipio Nasica Federico Santangelo

12.1. Introduction Attempting to write the history of religious developments in Rome between the end of the Hannibalic War and the death of Tiberius Gracchus entails some of the hurdles that the study of other aspects of the period presents us with. There is very little in the way of contemporary evidence; the later literary tradition does not provide a continuous narrative for the whole period, and the loss of Livy’s account after 167 bce risks considerably skewing the picture. To compound the risks presented by that unevenness, there is ever the scope for reading whatever is known about that half a century as a merely transitional phase from one crisis to another. The incentive to do so is further enhanced by a well-​known fact: both the Hannibalic War and the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus are moments of great significance in the historical development of Roman religion. The conflict with Carthage places considerable emphasis on the infrastructures of public religion, and is a moment in which the response to tensions, especially through the system of prodigy expiation, is compounded by an ability to initiate and bring about innovation, notably with the introduction of new cults and new rituals. The events of 133 bce follow a very different pattern, as the crisis precipitates within a matter of months, rather than years. The involvement of the pontifex maximus P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio as the driving force in the violent reaction against Gracchus and his followers is the most explicit pointer to a moment of discontinuity in the history of Roman religion: it is a religious act, carefully planned and skilfully executed, which has the immediate aim of Federico Santangelo, Beyond Conservatism In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0012

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setting a wrong to right, but opens up new avenues of action and performance that no priestly intervention had unleashed to a comparable extent in the past, and has major long-​term implications. Caught in between these two major poles of attraction, it would be understandable to regard much of what intervenes in between either as an aspect of the legacy of the Hannibalic conflict or a buildup of what will come to pass in and immediately after 133. This chapter seeks to counter this bias and discuss the intervening period as a discrete problem in its own right: its key brief is to offer a close, fresh reconsideration of the main historical themes of the religious history of the period between the end of the Hannibalic War and the Gracchan crisis. The starting point will be the evidence for some attempts to reflect on Roman piety and its rewards in the early second century bce; we will then turn to an unusually well-​documented year, 191 bce, and to what it may reveal about wider developments in the outlook and scope of religious activity in Rome. Having set that background, the focus will then move to several specific issues: the increasing weight of prophetic divination; the evidence for greater involvement of the people in the handling of religious affairs; the enduring significance of the Senate; the role of statute law; and some major interventions on calendrical and chronological matters. In taking this approach, this discussion aims to serve the wider agenda of the volume by pursuing the potential of a thematic reading and furthering the debate on problems of periodization and definition that have been central to much of the debate on the second century bce over the last decade. Endeavoring to study the religious developments of the first three quarters or so of the second century bce might well be a complex, demanding, even thankless operation, but not one that involves coming to terms with a lack of evidence, at least by the standards of ancient history. While this period might present its students with significant challenges on how best to frame their questions, it certainly provides us with plenty to describe—​with a rich body of material and practices. A “thick Geertzian description” of any aspect of second-​century bce Roman religion may not be a realistic proposition, as has recently been noted in an important book, but there is a sufficiently vast and detailed body of sources to convey a clear sense of several aspects of what appears to amount to the prevailing religious practice and of the main areas of tension, controversy, and change.1 A further qualification is in order on the remit of this discussion. The notion itself of “religion” and its applicability to the context of the Roman world has received some robust challenges in recent years. A recent scholarly trend has posited 1. Champion 2017: 66. On the history of this expression, which was not coined by Geertz, see Woodman 2012: 396 n. 58. Cf. the use of a Geertzian concept—​“theater state”—​in Padilla Peralta’s recent account of mid-​Republican religion (2020: 246).

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that religion was not conceptualized as a discrete remit of thought and action in ancient societies, and that it was too deeply integrated with political, social, and economic developments to be deployed as a viable analytical category.2 To be sure, there are good reasons for stressing the otherness of ancient polytheistic systems vis-​à-​vis the monotheistic ones, and for recognizing that the balance that they struck between belief and ritual—​to name but one major theme—​was considerably different. Yet at least two crucial objections are in order. The interrelation between religion and politics has been regarded as a crucial aspect of Roman culture for at least half a century: no informed observer would straightforwardly equate Roman religio with monotheistic religions. Far from being regarded as an intrinsic limitation, it is best understood as a distinctive feature of the Roman religious experience, which repays close historical scrutiny. Moreover, in ancient Rome religion is defined as an autonomous remit of human activity with a degree of clarity and rigor that is unparalleled in the ancient world. The notion of religio is first explicitly codified in the late Republican period and is framed in clear opposition with superstitio. A debate on its remit took shape in earnest in the mid-​ first century bce, in the generation of Cicero and Varro, but religio was already established as a meaningful analytical category well into the second century.3 The reflection on problems of religion and ritual is apparent from the existence of a significant body of antiquarian literature that emerges in this period, and by the apparent weight that knowledge on sacred matters has in many respects. The tensions on the regulations presiding over Sakralrecht are an important level of what we know about the history of the second century bce, and a clear point of continuity between the period for which we have the rich layer of information offered by Livy and the years for which we lack a continuous ancient narrative.4 This leads us to a further problem of definition. Most of the discussion developed in this chapter will retain a close focus on public religion, on the set of rituals, practices, and debates that involved the public priesthoods and the responsibilities of magistrates and Senate. Most of the discussion will be on the city of Rome, and on the ties between Rome and Italy. While there is a significant body of evidence for religious developments in private or non-​state settings, mostly through the archaeological record (votive deposits being the most striking instance), they shall receive relatively little attention in what follows, where the focus will be mostly on the place that public religion had in the long transition

2. Nongbri 2013: 25–​64; Barton and Boyarin 2016: 15–​52; cf. also, from a different angle, MacMullen 2017: 120–​21. 3. For an overview of the evidence see Santangelo 2013: 38–​47. 4. Lundgreen 2011: 137–​77. Cf. Padilla Peralta 2020: 15.

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from the victory against Hannibal to the Gracchan period.5 The distinctive position of religious practice and debate in the Roman politeuma is a problem that, as is well known, did not fail to attract Polybius’ interest, and remains worthy of close exploration.6 Public religion is by no means the full picture, but is far from a narrow or unidimensional field.7 Much of the surviving evidence is late and derivative, though not necessarily misguided or dull (Macrobius, for instance, turns out to be highly informative).8 For the early part of the century, however, some contemporaneous sources do survive, and it is from these that we shall begin.

12.2. Debates on Roman Piety Polybius’ note of praise of Roman piety is not the only locus classicus in what survives of the evidence for this period where a special commitment of the Roman commonwealth toward the gods is asserted. A well-​known inscription from Teos in Western Asia Minor, dating to 193 bce (Syll.3 601), records a declaration of immunity and inviolability, asulia, to the city by the Roman praetor M. Valerius Messalla. The decision was in keeping with the precedent set by the Seleucid king Antiochus III. It was in most respects unremarkable, but a passage of the letter in which Messalla supported his ruling put forward a very significant contention, which has attracted considerable scholarly interest: “And that we continue always to value most highly reverence toward the gods, one reckon from the favor with which we are, for these reasons, meeting from the supernatural. We are convinced, moreover, that the special honor we show to the divine has become clear to ail from many other things as well.”9 It asserted a close link between piety and divine favor, and framed the specific decision that was taken for Teos within a wider pattern of religious observance. Some recent readings have aptly stressed two points that have often been overlooked: piety is not singled out as a typically Roman feature, and the emphasis on the compliance of religious duties is in keeping with

5. Padilla Peralta 2018: XLI–​XLII. Padilla Peralta 2020: 189–​202, 247–​55 is now essential reading on votive deposits in Republican Rome, and gives ample bibliography. 6. Polyb. 6.56, esp. 6. 7. Bendlin 2000 is a seminal piece on (inter alia) the limitations of an exclusive focus on public religion. 8. Cf. Beard-​North-​Price 1998: 109 for the claim that “it is a striking feature of the mid-​second century that . . . a quite surprising amount of what we know concerns religious matters.” 9. Syll.3 601, l. 11–​17: καὶ ὅτι | μὲν διόλου πλεῖστον λόγον ποιούμενοι διατελοῦ-​| μεν τῆς πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς εὐσεβείας, μάλιστ’ ἄν τις στο-​| χάζοιτο ἐκ τῆς συναντωμένης ἡμεῖν εὐμενείας | διὰ ταῦτα παρὰ τοῦ δαιμονίου· οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐξ ἄλ-​| λων πλειόνων πεπείσμεθα συμφανῆ πᾶσι γεγονέναι | τὴν ἡμετέραν εἰς τὸ θεῖον προτιμίαν.

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established themes in Hellenistic diplomacy.10 Far from being the codification of a Roman exceptionalism, or a document that summarizes the spirit of a time of religious zeal and political concord, this text is the statement of a will to compete in piety with an immediate geopolitical rival, Antiochus III. Recognizing the ties between this letter and the context in which it was produced does not amount to dismissing the significance of the claim it makes: Rome’s spectacular success in the Greek East was the historical problem of the time, and exploring the role that divine favor had in it was a concern of Rome’s Greek counterparts. The letter of Messalla made a claim to piety that both went some way toward explaining Rome’s success and set an agenda for Rome’s dealings with her counterparts: it was, in John Ma’s terminology, a role assignment strategy that had wide currency in the Hellenistic political conversation.11 It did not have traction just on what could loosely be termed the foreign politics scene, though: the link between communal prosperity and industry toward the gods also featured high on the debate that unfolded at Rome in those very years. In the year following that in which Valerius’ letter was written, a number of frightening prodigies were reported in Rome and in Italy. Prompt ritual action was taken, and the haruspices suggested an exceptional remedy for an occurrence that had caused special concern: an ox had spoken the words Roma, caue tibi, “Rome, be on guard.”12 They recommended to make sure that it be fed and properly looked after. The Tiber flooded, and a large piece of rock fell from the Capitol to the Vicus Jugarius: no expiation is recorded, but Livy reports the incident right after the prodigy list, in a heavily suggestive position. He is explicit in stressing, on the one hand, the fear caused by those prodigies and, on the other, the preoccupation of the Senate with the imminent war with the Seleucid king and, to a much lesser extent, with the ongoing campaigns in Spain, in Liguria, and against the Boii. A few months later, more disturbing occurrences affect Rome: a series of earthquakes, which lead to a suspension of public business for thirty-​eight days; and a fire in the Forum Boarium.13 Livy’s report shares the same inconcinnity as that of a few chapters above: the earthquake receives suitable expiation, while no ritual response to the fire is mentioned. Quite apart from Livy’s literary strategy and overall judgment on the state of Roman piety at the time, his account conveys with a sufficient degree of clarity that the orderly relationship between the city

10. Clark 2007: 29–​30; Driediger Murphy 2014: 115. Cf. Woolf 2020: 122–​23. 11. Ma 1999: 214–​42. 12. Livy 35.21, esp. 3. 13. Livy 35.40.8–​11.

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and the gods was a matter of great significance at the eve of one of the great transmarine wars. Messalla’s statement was programmatic, rather than celebratory. The religious discourse in Rome also comes across as remarkably open and fluid. The possibility of different responses to different prodigies is firmly open: as we have just seen, the terrible prodigy of the speaking ox receives special attention from the haruspices. The following book opens with an apparent change of scene, and a significant climate shift. The Senate switches from a reactive approach to a proactive one: there is no longer question of prodigies to be attended to, but the Senate takes charge of preparations in the buildup to the campaign, and instructs the consuls to preside over a series of sacrifices before balloting their provinces, and before putting the bill for the declaration of war to the vote of the people. Prayers are carried out to the effect that the decision of the Senate to wage war may be successful: they do not steer the decision, but are intended to help create the conditions in which that decision may be proven right. The sacrifices are carried out and do not convey any sign of divine hostility. Again, the haruspices appear, with an even more prominent role than in the previous instance: they produce a statement based on the successful performance of those sacrifices and predict that the boundaries of the empire would be expanded as a result of the war.14 The importance of this prediction has already been pointed out:15 it is the early occurrence of a prophetic dimension in the lore of the haruspices and more broadly in Roman public divination; a move from expiation to prophecy that was to have major historical implications. In this specific instance we face a problem that has both substantive and methodological implications. This is the first case in which the haruspices are safely attested to have made the leap from expiation to prediction: there is no way of telling whether this was indeed the first instance in which such a major change of outlook intervened, nor can we state with any degree of confidence how frequent this mode of response was in the rest of the second century bce. Here, as in most other Republican instances, our understanding of the agency and priorities of the haruspices is significantly hindered by the anonymity that shrouds the Etruscan diviners, whose voice comes to us as nondescript crowd of nameless religious experts. The quality of our information base is such as to make any assessment of what is exceptional or mainstream inherently problematic. We do not just lack Livy’s narrative from 167 bce onward. What does survive of Livy’s third and fourth decades is a highly selective account of Roman history, informed by a complex literary and ideological agenda: D. Levene’s studies stand

14. Livy 36.1.3. 15. North 1967: 548–​95; North 2000; Santangelo 2013: 84–​89.

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out as stark warnings against using the Ab Urbe condita (AUC) as a repository of factual information, or even as an account that prioritizes comprehensiveness and accuracy over consistency with an overarching intellectual project.16 That does not amount to denying Livy substantial value as an historical source; the present generation of readers of Livy, however, faces unprecedented challenges in factoring the literary quality of that text into its attempt to use it for the purposes of historical reconstruction. It is largely because of the survival of this section of Livy’s text, though, that we are presented with a body of information on religious developments that has hardly any parallel in the rest of Republican history. It is not just about the literary sources, in fact: this period yields the two most important inscriptions for the study of Republican religion, Messalla’s letter of 193 bce and the senatus consultum on the Bacchanalia (186 bce), which, quite apart from their intrinsic significance, also lend themselves to valuable triangulations with the literary tradition. This short-​lived concentration of evidence is an invaluable opportunity, both intrinsically—​because of the facts that are known to us—​and in general terms—​because of the models that can be constructed for other, less-​documented periods. Yet it is also a risk that must be at least recognized, if it cannot be mitigated: such a concentrated body of information over a rather narrow timespan risks significantly skewing our understanding.

12.3. A Case-​Study: The Eventful Year 191 bce We have seen how relatively well documented the religious developments from 193 to 191 are, and how especially significant the role of the public prodigies system is in that context. Yet this is by no means the full picture. Some more evidence survives, again from Livy, for 191, and takes us onto a rather different terrain. The creation of the games in honor of the Magna Mater is a substantial addition to the calendar, and a decision that completes the inclusion of a new deity in the Roman sacred landscape, after her arrival at Rome just over a decade before, during the final phase of the Hannibalic War. The step is taken in another phase of emergency, at the early stage of a military campaign, but has long-​term structural significance. A new cult is given a new home on the Palatine, on a project overseen by the censors and completed by a dedication carried out by the praetor M. Iunius Brutus. The ceremony is followed by the celebration of a series of theater games—​the Megalesia—​which are apparently the first ones to be offered in

16. Levene 1993; Levene 2010.

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the Urbs.17 The image that this extraordinary event conveys is one of a polity that has the capability of drawing up detailed plans, bringing them to completion, and accommodating new festivals in the public calendar of the community: a picture of well-​calibrated innovation that rests on a solid framework of governance and on an effective balance between debate and executive decision. There is a deep-​seated scholarly view of the second century bce as an age of religious conservatism:18 the developments of the early years, which are by far the best documented, suggest a very different picture. In his account of the events of 191, Livy has a striking comment, which reflects his own judgment, but is revealing of the logic of one possible approach to the challenges presented by this context. The imminent war is focusing minds even more keenly on the importance of paying tribute to the gods and on the potential that new forms of worship can offer. The end of the Hannibalic War has also freed up resources that can be put to the good service of the cult of the gods, and at the same time impinge on the dynamics of political competition: 191 bce is the year of three other major religious actions beyond the dedication of the temple of Magna Mater. The city was still busy paying back the debts that it contracted with the gods during the war: as H. Flower has recently pointed out, eight new temples were dedicated between 194 and 191 bce.19 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica had vowed a series of games during his campaign in Spain. When the time to fulfill his vow came, after his return to Rome, he clashed with the Senate, which reproached him for not having sought its preliminary advice, and compelled him to face the expenditure either from the booty he had seized from the enemy or from his own assets. Scipio managed to fund ten days of celebrations.20 The dedication of the temple of Juventas prompts Livy’s comment on the greater religious zeal 17. Livy gives somewhat contradictory information on the early history of the games: cf. 29.14.14 (205 bce), 34.54.1 (194 bce), and 36.36.2 (191 bce), with J. Rich’s commentary on Valerius Antias, FRHist 25 F 41 and 44. On the importance of the ludi and the imposing appearance of the Magna Mater precinct see Padilla Peralta 2020: 143–​44. Marcattili 2020 reviews the evidence for the establishment of special seating arrangements for senators (loca senatoria) in the 190s. 18. Rawson 1973: 161 (=​1991: 81) has a typically terse statement of this view: “it is probable that around the middle of the century the Romans did become more aware than ever before of the part that religion played in politics and in those mores maiorum that they were so anxious to preserve.” Beard-​North-​Price 1998: 112–​13 is another important treatment in this vein—​but cf. the reference to “an atmosphere of controversy and reflection” at 109. 19. Flower 2017: 91–​97. See also the overview in Cavallero 2018: 242–​43. Cf. Padilla Peralta 2020: 79–​128 on the centrality of temple-​building in the mid-​Republican period. 20. On the use of Scipio’s private funds see Beck 2016: 132; cf. also Beck 2019: 31–​32 on the significance of this episode in focusing minds in the senatorial order on the impact of private expenditure in the organization of public games.

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that people displayed in the run-​up to the new war.21 It was, however, a direct consequence of the war against Carthage, and another symptom of political and institutional continuity: it had been vowed by M. Livius Salinator in 207, after his victory on Hasdrubal; its construction had been overseen in 204 by Livius himself during his censorship; and it could finally be dedicated in 191 by C. Licinius Lucullus in his capacity as duouir aedi dedicandae.22 The system soon showed further scope for expansion. Later in the year, before the battle of Thermopylae, M’. Acilius Glabrio vowed a temple to Pietas. He did not live to oversee its dedication: the task befell upon his son, who fulfilled it in 181. It would be misguided to dismiss this sort of practice as a mere instance of elite self-​promotion. New temples could soon become foci of engagement at non-​elite level. In the vicinity of the temple of Pietas there was the columna lactaria, a site that was traditionally associated with wet-​nursing. The chronology of the column is unclear, but Festus does stress its connection with the temple (105 L):23 there is an interplay between a newly created religious site and a practice that takes place outside the framework of public religion, but in close contact with one of its significant hubs. The networks, whether formal or informal, which presided over the engagement with that site escape us almost entirely: yet they are an important aspect of the religious developments that we are here seeking to explore. The third major religious development of the year is an elusive piece of legislation on a matter that fell right within the remit of the pontifical college, and of which Livy makes no mention. A bill put forward by the consul M’. Acilius Balbus reformed the management of the system of calendar intercalation, and introduced a new degree of discretion for the action of the pontifical college: its extent remains a contested issue, but it seems unquestionable that the intervention made by statute law was significant. The prerogatives of the pontifical college may well have expanded, but the decision stemmed from a direct intervention of the popular assemblies. The evidence for this episode of great significance in the history of the sacred time of Rome is as fascinating as it is sobering: a cursory comment in Macrobius’ overview of the history of the calendar, and an even briefer reference

21. Livy 36.36, esp. 8: huius quoque dedicandae causa ludi facti, et eo omnia cum maiore religione facta, quod nouum cum Antiocho instabat bellum. 22. Cf. Cavallero 2018: 239–​40 for the hypothesis that the lex Papiria was passed between 205 and 194 bce: under its provisions the decision to consecrate a site pertained to the comitia, and the right to perform a dedication was extended to praetors and censors. 23. See Torelli 1982: 116 n. 103; Champion 2017: 63.

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in Censorinus’ De die natali, where the scope of the reform is clearly stressed, but no explicit mention is made of Acilius.24 This remarkable capacity for action, innovation, and assertive inclusion is further compounded by another set of prodigy expiations, in which both the haruspices and the decemuiri s.f. are involved, and where the consultation of the Sibylline Books yields a very specific set of recommendations, mostly revolving around the cult of Ceres, which must be fulfilled before the consul is allowed to leave for his province. It is tempting to view this as an instance of competition between those bodies of divinatory experts: a pattern that has often been recognized for the last two centuries of the Republic, and which should come as no surprise in such a fluid and diverse context. The inclusion of the haruspices within the fabric of Roman public religion is an established development by the mid-​third century bce, but it is by no means uncontested for some time to come. That is hardly exceptional: the history of public religion in the Roman Republic is best understood as a domain in which there are strong and effective institutional structures, and plenty of scope for debate and contestation. It is precisely the coexistence of different outlooks and options that secures the viability and the effectiveness of this web of practice.25

12.4. The Rise of Prophecy At any given point in time, no doubt well into the first century bce, the involvement of haruspices was a matter of debate and occasional controversy, and not just because of the increasingly prophetic focus of their responses.26 When Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus (cos. 177, 163 bce, and a long-​standing member of the augural college) called the haruspices that questioned his judgment on an augural matter, Tusci et barbari, in 162 bce, he was not just indulging in a xenophobic outburst: he was bluntly flagging about an idea of Roman religious practice, and was tasking himself with defining it in more convincing terms than his counterparts. Again, in this instance too little is known about the context: the episode may have been transmitted to posterity because Tiberius’ attitude came across as unusually harsh by the standards of his contemporaries; or it may have been read, on the contrary, as an exemplary application of traditional Roman piety in

24. Macrob. Sat. 1.13.21; Cens. DN 20.6. See Stern 2012: 210 n. 145. 25. For a broadly comparable, para-​Machiavellian reading of Roman Republican political history cf. Morstein-​Marx 2013: 46–​47. 26. Cic. Nat. Deor. 2.10–​12. See North 1967: 567–​68.

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the face of foreign interference. It is likely that the episode will have elicited both reactions in the contemporary audiences. Whether Tiberius succeeded in his brief is quite a different matter. Shortly afterward he realized that his initial view was mistaken and had to seek redress by annulling the election he had presided over. The haruspices happened to be right in drawing attention to his error on a matter of ritual; Tiberius’ reaction, though, betrays an irritation toward their intervention on an augural matter that lay beyond their usual domain of action. It is telling, though, that the final decision on how to respond to Tiberius’ error fell upon the augural college: the matter was referred to, and mediated by a Roman priestly college of unimpeachable tradition. That body of religious learning also took the shape of formalized knowledge: it was an object of study and debate in its own right. Again, the collegial dimension of a body that is filled by co-​optation afforded plenty of space for controversy: it is also part of the policing the boundaries of the body of specialized knowledge of which a college is in control. Disagreement and robust discussion within a college were available options, which should not be confined to the late Republican period, when there is authoritative evidence for significant disagreement within the augural college on the remit itself of the augural lore and its ties with divination. An episode recorded by Livy for 200 bce is valuable evidence for the real possibility that the views of a college might prevail over the authority of an individual senior member. The pontifex maximus P. Licinius Crassus prescribed to separate the money to be spent for a vow in honor of Jupiter from the funds to be devoted to the imminent Macedonian War, stressing the need to keep military and sacred funds separate. He also stressed that a vow could be undertaken only for a specific sum. The Senate took issue with this view and instructed the consul to consult the whole pontifical college. The conclusion that the pontiffs reached openly contradicted that of the pontifex maximus: they ruled that a vow could be made even if it was unclear how much fulfilling it in five years’ time might cost. As Livy notes, the decision to allow an unspecified vow broke with established precedent.27 It was an economic choice as much as it was a religious one: it introduced the possibility of committing large financial sums to the worship of the gods without having a full view of the risks involved. The principle of the separation of religious and secular funds was overcome by greater flexibility in framing the interaction with the gods. In this instance, the Senate is the instigator of an important level of innovation, which nonetheless must still be enabled by the intervention of the pontifical college and its authoritative endorsement.

27. Livy 31.9.7–​10.

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Different degrees of expertise will of course have existed within any given college. Plutarch stresses the commitment of L. Aemilius Paullus to his augural duties and the lore than underpinned it, and explicitly contrasts it with the attitude of those among his contemporaries that coveted priesthoods because of how they might benefit their public profile.28 He also gives a valuable factual pointer: Paullus did not just devote himself to scrupulous ritual observance, but “carefully studied the ancestral customs of the city, and so thoroughly understood the religious ceremonial of the ancient Romans, that his priesthood, which men had thought to be a kind of honour, sought merely because of the reputation it gave, was made to appear one of the higher arts.”29 Plutarch is writing centuries later, of course, and it is unclear what evidence he is relying upon here. His understanding of Roman religion is far from superficial, though, and we should be open to the possibility that the standing of augury did improve within the space of a generation thanks to Aemilius Paullus’ distinguished service. He offers a further valuable pointer: Paullus does not confine himself to the personal study of augury, but makes sure to transmit it to his sons, and combines its teaching with major strands of Greek culture. Priesthoods are clearly an important focus of debate and a forum of change in their own right during this period. In 196 bce a new college was created on the basis of a tribunician bill, concisely summarized by Livy: a board of three epulones is instated; as their title makes clear, they are in charge of public banquets, epulae.30 Livy feels no need to specify what their functions may have been, because by his day they are an established presence in the Roman religious landscape; indeed, by the Principate they are among the quattuor amplissima collegia.31 Their key brief was overseeing the senatorial banquets that took place in honor of Jupiter between September and October: a rather specific, arguably even narrow prerogative, which had until then pertained to the pontiffs. The process is as noteworthy as the substance of the matter. The tribunician bill explicitly stipulated that the 28. On Aemilius Paullus’ augurate see Rüpke 2005: 741 no. 521; he was co-​opted into the college in ca. 192 bce, between his aedileship and his praetorship. 29. Plut. Aem. 3.2–​3: κατενόησε τὴν τῶν παλαιῶν περὶ τὸ θεῖον εὐλάβειαν, ὥστε τιμήν τινα δοκοῦσαν εἶναι καὶ ζηλουμένην ἄλλως ἕνεκα δόξης τὴν ἱερωσύνην τῶν ἀκροτάτων μίαν ἀποφῆναι τεχνῶν, καὶ μαρτυρῆσαι τοῖς φιλοσόφοις ὅσοι τὴν εὐσέβειαν ὡρίσαντο θεραπείας θεῶν ἐπιστήμην εἶναι. Cf. also 6.8. Rawson 1973: 165 (=​1991: 87) brings out the importance of these passages; it is noteworthy that, in Plutarch’s account, there is no tension whatsoever between Aemilius’ religious scruple and his keen interest in Hellenic culture. On Paullus as a disciplinarian and a traditionalist see North 2022: 531–​32. On his involvement in the augurium salutis that took place in 160 bce see Plut. Aem. 39.3–​5, with Beard-​North-​Price 1998: 110–​11. 30. Livy 33.42.1. 31. The expression is not attested before the Augustan period: RG 9.1.

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three board members would be allowed to wear the toga praetexta like priests. The aim was to assert popular control both over a religious matter and a pattern of senatorial consumption and distinction.32 Moreover, the creation of the new priesthood provided a further opportunity for recognition: one of the tribunes that put forward the bill, C. Licinius Lucullus, had himself appointed to one of the three positions on the board. The principle that the people could intervene on matters of direct priestly competence is asserted with great clarity: the creation of the new priesthood was not undone in the following years, and there is no evidence that it was contested either. The creation of the new priesthood, however, belongs in a context of significant, if contingent, controversy between the Senate and the priestly colleges over a financial matter. The augurs and the pontiffs had failed to pay any contributions during the Hannibalic War; the Senate was now tasked with paying back the subscriptions made by others during the conflict, and the quaestors requested the priests to make a payment. The colleges sought the protection of the tribunes, but to no avail: they were not accorded special status, nor were their members.33 The issue of the standing of priests, however, was steeped in a more long-​standing controversy, of which we see a later ramification in an episode of 159 bce, known through a cursory notice in Livy’s Periochae. The praetor Cn. Tremellius insulted the pontifex maximus M. Aemilius Lepidus, and was fined (it is unclear by whom, and in the context of which controversy).34 In the words of the epitomizer, sacrorumque quam magistratuum ius potentius fuit (“the rights of the sacred institutions were more powerful than those of the magistrates”): a reasoned decision was made to recognize the primacy of the standing of a priest vis-​à-​vis that of a serving magistrate. The same principle must have been invoked in 196, and indeed in the preceding years, when the controversy over the payment of the subscriptions developed. There is good reason to see the same process at work a quarter of a century later, when the pontifex maximus took the lead in the violent action against Tiberius Gracchus: on one view, the standing—​legal and otherwise—​of the priests could legitimately and helpfully override that of the magistrates, and could justify an independent action. That was only one of the possible positions that could be taken, and not necessarily a dominant one—​the episodes that Livy records are in themselves evidence for tension and controversy.

32. On contemporary concerns over senatorial consumption patterns in this period cf. Märtin 2012: 257–​73, 277–​87. 33. Livy 33.42.2–​4. The episode is listed, but not discussed, in Görne 2020: 268. 34. Livy Per. 47.1. For some informed speculation on this episode see Brennan 2000: 348 n. 82.

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To be sure, we would be able to reconstruct the history of this debate in greater detail if we had more of Livy, but it is important not to overestimate what else AUC might have to offer: even in what does survive the mentions of the standing of priests toward magistrates are very occasional indeed. Much of what we know about priestly matters for this period tends to concentrate on a specific priesthood, which had a very unusual set of responsibilities and perquisites: the flaminate of Jupiter. Among these was the prohibition to take oaths. In 199, when C. Valerius Flaccus was elected to the aedileship, he could not take up office because he could not pronounce the customary oath at the start of his mandate. The system that is devised to address the matter is quite remarkable in its sophistication: the Senate suggests a solution for the consuls and the tribunes to consider, and possibly to put to the vote of the people. Valerius entrusts his brother, the praetor designate L. Valerius Flaccus, to take the oath in his stead, and the process is ratified by a vote of the people.35 Again, what can be seen at work here is a process that reveals considerable scrupulousness in matters of ritual: a careful set of procedures are identified for the solution of a problem created by an existing tradition; a competing one must be constructed to address it effectively. In no way can this development be described as evidence for a conservative outlook.

12.5. Popular Agency The possibility of a direct intervention of the popular assemblies in the resolution of problems of sacred law is clearly built into the system, albeit sparingly used. It may be deployed to resolve situations in which a state of exception has ostensibly occurred. When in 180 a plague epidemic caused the death of a number of priests, the ensuing reshuffle prompted a degree of competition within the nobility and some tensions. A new rex sacrificulus, L. Cornelius Dolabella, was co-​opted into the pontifical college: he also happened to be praefectus classis, and refused to resign that post in order to be inaugurated. The pontifex maximus, C. Servilius Geminus, an authoritative figure who was also a member of the decemviral college, fined him; Dolabella put forward an appeal to the comitia tributa. A compromise solution appeared to be in sight: some tribes started voting on a proposal whereby Dolabella would resign his post, but would not have to pay the fine imposed on him by the pontifex maximus. Yet the vote was cut short by a thunderstorm, and was never resumed, no doubt because a view was reached that the storm was a sign of divine displeasure. The pontifical college decided to

35. Livy 31.50.7–​10.

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co-​opt the runner-​up, P. Claelius Siculus.36 There is much in this story that eludes us, especially on the likely augural implications of the decision to bring the comitia to a halt. Two points seem to stand out, though: the authority of the pontifex maximus still carries some traction, and the established principles that regulate the accession to a priesthood are upheld. In the same year, of course, the lex Villia annalis was passed.37 It is not surprising to see a certain degree of attention to procedural proprieties.38 It would be unhelpful, though, to invoke all-​ encompassing principles. Different approaches and different outcomes could occur in other circumstances. In 189, a decade following the Valerius Flaccus affair, a controversy arose between the pontifex maximus, P. Licinius, and the flamen of Quirinus, Q. Fabius Pictor, who held the praetorship and had been assigned Sardinia as his province.39 Licinius sought to enforce a time-​honored principle that prevented the flamen from leaving Rome: a lively debate ensued, and its stakes are made apparent by Livy’s mentions of fines and appeals to the tribunes and the people.40 The outcome is a rather sophisticated one, which again shows a degree of openness to innovation. The flamen is not allowed to leave Rome, in keeping with traditional practice, but the fine that the pontifex maximus had imposed is waived by the people, and the Senate assigns him the brief of the jurisdiction over foreigners (inter peregrinos), which had previously been entrusted to Sp. Postumius Albinus, along with the urban praetorship. A compromise solution, then, which upholds the traditional principle, but devises a workable arrangement for the individual who was at the center of the case. Both Senate and people are directly involved in the complex attempt to devise an arrangement: the interest and passion with which the matter was debated suggests that it carried wider significance, and was a symptom of wider levels of political and social tension. The principle on which an agreement was reached, though, was not merely contingent. Five years later, in 184, when the successor of Fabius to the flaminate, C. Valerius Flaccus, was elected to the praetorship, it was well understood that only two prouinciae were available to him, and he was duly drawn to hold the alien jurisdiction.41 The principle that the 36. Livy 40.42.8–​11. 37. Livy 40.44.1–​2. 38. On the increasing focus on legal norms that appears to characterise “the overall spirit of the late 180s” see Beck 2016: 139–​44, esp. 142. 39. Livy 37.51.1–​4. 40. It is unclear whether a tribunician intervention actually occurred (Görne 2020: 269); Bleicken 1957: 451–​52 (=​1998: 436–​37) rules it out with attractive arguments. 41. Livy 39.45.2–​3.

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flamen Dialis was entitled to holding the praetorship was no longer contested: in fact, in the previous year a major controversy arose when Valerius was narrowly defeated by Q. Fulvius Flaccus, who was determined to hold both the praetorship and the curule aedileship in the same year, and was eventually prevented from doing so by a concerted action of the Senate and the tribunes.42 Flaccus was at the center of another religious controversy at a later stage in his career, in 174, during his censorship. He publicly clashed with his colleague A. Postumius Albinus, who disapproved of his initiative to let contracts for the building of temples at Pisaurum and Fundi without the approval of the Senate and the people. Flaccus went ahead with the project and brought it to completion, but the affair is likely to have led to a rethink on the matter in the intervening years.43 In 154, when the censor C. Cassius Longinus sought to dedicate a statue to Concordia, he was told that he had to secure prior approval from the people.44 It may be inferred that a piece of legislation on the matter was passed in the two preceding decades, and that the technicalities of public consecrations and dedications had become another aspect of the popular involvement in religious matters.45

12.6. Senatorial Authority and Legislative Developments The Senate emerges from Livy’s narrative as the crucial hub of religious power and expertise in the first quarter of the century. Even when a consul proves unable to elicit favorable responses from the sacrifices he is carrying out upon entering office, it is able to offer firm (if admittedly fairly straightforward) guidance and to expect the consul to return a favorable verdict, a successful litatio after the

42. Livy 39.39. 43. Livy 41.27.11 is the key source; see also MRR 1.404. Orlin 2010: 178 aptly stresses the Italian focus of Flaccus’ initiatives and reads it against the backdrop of wider debates and controversies on the relationship between Rome and Italy. In Orlin’s account, preoccupations over the increasing weight and complex integration of foreign elements are a central theme in the religious history of the second century bce; the present chapter focuses on different areas of change, without denying the significance of that angle. 44. Cic. Dom. 130. See also MRR 1.449. 45. See Tatum 1993: 324–​25, who identifies this piece of legislation with the tribunician lex Papiria evoked in Cic. Dom. 127–​28, and establishes a link between the passing of the statute and the attempt to harness political competition. A different reading in Cavallero 2018: 234–​ 41, who dates the lex Papiria between 205 and 194 bce, and views it as a significant moment of popular empowerment.

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required number of attempts. Again, though, the system seems to retain a certain degree of openness to accommodation. The consul Q. Petillius fails to perform a successful sacrifice to Salus.46 That circumstance forebodes Petillius’ tragic destiny (he will soon lose his life in the campaign against the Ligurians) and chimes with a wider pattern of divinatory and ritual incompetence on his part, but does not prevent him from overseeing the draw for the provincial assignments and taking up Liguria. At this early stage of their mandate the consuls are still operating under close senatorial scrutiny. When a serving praetor, P. Licinius Crassus, is assigned Hispania Citerior, he is the one to invoke a religious impediment, only to be instructed by the Senate to take up his province, or else take an oath before the people on the duties that he is supposed to fulfill.47 That argument is sufficient to bring the crisis to an end. The episode is a sobering reminder of the limits of our information: we do not know what Crassus’ obligations may have been, how plausible his case was, and indeed how frequent this set of circumstances could be. This is the latest incident of religious import recorded in what survives of Livy. Assessing the degree of continuity and change for the following decades is virtually beyond reach, although some sparse evidence draws attention to the persistent relevance of some themes. An account in the Eleventh Philippic of an incident from 131 bce shows that a tension that was rife in the 180s and 170s did not peter out:48 the two serving consuls, P. Licinius Crassus and L. Valerius Flaccus, happened to be respectively pontifex maximus and flamen of Mars; Crassus made clear that he would not allow his colleague to take up the command of the campaign against Aristonicus in Asia Minor, because that would have been a violation of his priestly duties. The case was deferred to the people, as had been the case in similar instances about half a century earlier, and the decision went in a marginally harsher direction than in similar instances: the fine imposed to Flaccus was waived, but he was not allowed to take up the command and was instructed to submit to the instructions of the pontifex maximus. Religious scruples prevailed, or so we are told: that does not rule out, in that case or indeed in others, that narrow political concerns were also at play. Crassus, indeed, drew a personal advantage from that affair, as he did get to take up the command instead of his colleague: a far from uncontroversial move, as no other serving pontifex maximus had ever left Italy. The incident did not fail the attract the interest of Livy, and the Periochae make clear that the AUC established a link—​it is impossible to say 46. Livy 41.15.1–​3. 47. Livy 41.15.8–​9. 48. Cic. Phil. 11.18.

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in which terms—​between Crassus’ departure to the East and his death on campaign.49 The war was eventually brought to a close by his successor M. Perperna. The 130s ended with a controversy on a matter of sacred law that had real and immediate political implications. The previous fifteen years had witnessed at least two moments in which problems of ius diuinum came to the fore very emphatically. 133 bce is of course the most prominent one, with Crassus’ predecessor taking the lead in an initiative that leads to an unprecedented political violence. That was not a conflict over rules or process, though, but on what Nasica constructed as an existential threat to the res publica. While Nasica clearly took advantage of his familiarity with religious ritual and his personal auctoritas as pontifex maximus, it was uncontroversial that he was acting as a priuatus.50 In 145 a far less disruptive and far less memorable controversy arose: its implications to the running of public religion, however, were just as significant. The tribune C. Licinius Crassus put forward a bill that turned public priesthoods into elective offices and overrode the well-​established principle of co-​optation.51 Laelius spoke against that proposal, and his speech was read generations later. Cicero mentions it in the Brutus and appears to regard it as one of the finest speeches he delivered;52 yet he places it below Scipio Aemilianus’ efforts at the time, and criticizes it for its archaizing veneer, which was partly justified by the subject matter. Elsewhere Cicero, speaking through Laelius’ own persona, explicitly labels that law as popularis, and discusses it right after the bill of C. Papirius on the re-​election of the tribunes (131 bce), which is defined in the same terms.53 That is not a reference to an alleged partisan allegiance or an ideological trend, but a pointer to the fundamental ambition of that bill, which was intended to transfer a significant quota of power to the people. The key argument that Laelius claims to have resorted to is traditional religious observance, religio deorum immortalium: all he did was to make the case for it, and enable the good cause to prevail. He hastens to stress that his own personal prestige, his auctoritas, had no role in the success of his case: he had not held the consulship yet, and would not do for five more years. That is 49. Livy Per. 59.3. 50. See Cic. Brut. 107 and Tusc. 4.51, with the discussion in Linderski 2002: 352 (=​2007: 101), where a crucial distinction is made between the concepts of priuatus and “private citizen.” 51. On the significance of this proposal see Beard–​North–​Price 1998: 103. Licinius also appears to have raised agrarian matters during his tribunate: see Varro RR. 1.2.9; Rich 2008: 552 n. 95 sensibly doubts that he proposed a land distribution and cites further relevant bibliography on that fiendishly difficult passage. On Licinius as a public speaker see Cic. Lael. 96, with C. Steel’s contribution to this volume. 52. Cic. Brut. 83. 53. Cic. Lael. 96.

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a valuable contextual pointer. In the De amicitia, Laelius gets to stress that he was the first to publicly speak again Crassus’ proposal before a popular gathering. One wonders how actually high-​profile the controversy was, and how strong an interest it mobilized. Crassus was a tribune of the plebs, and legislative proposals are of course an important part of tribunician action, especially in this period. Its main opponent was a solid, but not especially prominent political figure: it is apparent that Laelius played his hand very well indeed, and used that specific controversy to establish his credentials as a figure of considerable public authority. The speech was not just a general defense of public religion; it also included important remarks on pontifical law and ancestral custom that Balbus, the advocate of Stoic theology in De natura deorum, pointedly places in the same league as the writings that were traditionally attributed to Numa.54 Illa aureola oratiuncola: Balbus’ definition suggests that the speech was well known, but hardly a pièce de résistance. It was an effective and elegant contribution to an important, but rather specific debate, which we know only about because of Cicero’s interest in Laelius’ wider profile. We do not know how Crassus’ proposal was defeated: whether it was defeated in a vote or was withdrawn early on, sharing the same fate as the agrarian bill that Laelius put forward and then withdrew.55 It is also impossible to tell how widespread Crassus’ proposal was and how far off the mainstream it may have been. At least two factors suggest that the principle of popular election for priesthoods was not especially far-​flung. Since the third century (the earliest attested case dates to 212 bce), the pontifex maximus had been elected through a popular vote that involved the participation of seventeen tribes chosen by lot: Crassus suggested to extend that principle to the election of other priesthoods. Moreover, as we have seen, the comitia could play a role in adjudicating controversies that arose within a priestly college, or between a priest and a magistrate: the notion that the voting assembly could fulfill the role of a center of religious expertise was already built into the system, and the proposal of 145 envisaged its expansion. It is quite possible, then, that Crassus also presented his proposal as a return to traditional practice. At any rate, the significance of the episode should be viewed in context: we hear about it because of the significance it has in the history of rhetoric, and the affair should not be used as evidence for the hegemony of a conservative trend in this phase of Roman religious history. 54. Cic. Nat. Deor. 3.5, 43. 55. Its dating remains uncertain, as it is not clear in what capacity Laelius put it forward: Taylor 1962: 24 summarizes the options and suggests an early dating (c. 151, during Laelius’ tribunate); she also posits that the aim of Licinius’ bill was to swing the balance of the augural college toward an interpretation of obnuntiationes favorable to the people.

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Making these caveats does not amount to trivializing the significance of the problem addressed by Crassus’ bill. Its stake was the control over the sacra, or indeed the dynamics that presided over the competition for it. Quite apart from the underlying point of principle, it was a measure that would have opened the possibility of widening the priestly elite in Rome, or would have at least compelled the families that traditionally expressed the members of the priestly colleges to find new and more effective strategies to support their position. Another law (or indeed a pair of laws) that was passed in the mid-​second century bce that controls over ritual and practice shows another level of tensions in the same remit, and indeed shifts our attention from the debate on possible changes to changes that were actually enforced. On various occasions in the 50s, Cicero makes reference to the laws Aelia et Fufia, which were passed nearly a century earlier, and which his enemy Clodius sought to repeal and overcome with a new statute.56 He comes back to this issue in other moments of his sustained polemic with the patrician tribune: he never gets into the detail of the laws, but it is abundantly clear that they dealt with aspects of augural practice. They set new rules on the right to announce ritual impediments to the holding of an election, the obnuntiatio, and, according to a scholiast of Cicero, they also prevented putting forward pieces of legislation before the holding of the elections. The relationship between those two laws is unclear, as well as their chronology, which some have suggested to move down to the age of the Gracchi. It is important to bear in mind that Cicero’s account of these pieces of legislation is not just scattered: it is fundamentally tendentious, as it is explicitly set against Clodius and his strategy. Since the leges Aelia et Fufia are among his targets, they are something to be cherished and praised as a cornerstone of good governance. For our purposes there is a further problem: it is not clear to what extent these laws introduced changes on previous practice. S. Weinstock suggested that they may have confirmed arrangements on the prerogatives of the tribunes and the curule magistracies that were in existence since the opening of the priesthoods to the plebeians in the early third century bce.57 Remarkably, the restrictions on the use of auspicial obstructions were tied into a regulatory framework on elections: an instance of how complex the task of defining religio as a free-​standing domain can be. Our knowledge of the contents of these pieces of legislation is too fragmentary to allow firm conclusions on its political outlook. Most important, there is not sufficient evidence to maintain that their chief aim was to contain the powers of the tribunes.58 There 56. Cic. Red. Sen. 11; Har. Resp. 58; Vat. 18; Pis. 9, 10. 57. Weinstock 1937; Tatum 1999: 125–​33; Berthelet 2015: 261–​63, 272–​74. 58. Cf. Michels 1967: 96.

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are two general points that can be drawn from whatever little we know about them. A number of important points of augural law were defined by statute, and were therefore taken out of the discretion of magistrates and priests; while it is possible that some of the ground covered in those laws was included in previous ones, the principle was at least being reinstated. Secondly, these laws are an important stage in the process explored by C. Lundgreen: a trajectory where statute legislation intervenes on a number of important matters of sacred law, and the tendency to regulate potential conflicts by statute becomes increasingly strong.59 What eludes us, however, is the set of circumstances that set these issues on the political agenda: nothing in what survives of Livy’s narrative up to 167 bce points to the existence of significant conflicts on augural law and the use of obnuntiatio.

12.7. The Shape of Time New themes may well have emerged in following sections of Livy’s fifth decade: his well-​known remarks on the decline of prodigy reporting and the impact of neglegentia could be revealing of more pervasive interests.60 The Periocha of Book 47 reveals a keen attention to matters of public religion, and opens, as we have seen, with the account of a conflict between a magistrate and a priest that, while not having any ostensible augural dimension, might conceivably be part of the background that led to the passing of the Aelian and Fufian laws (of which Livy’s summaries make no mention). Later in the same book, Livy discussed a very significant development in public law, which H. Flower has identified as one of the main strands of change in the second century bce:61 in 153 bce the consuls started to take office on January 1, rather than on March 1, as had been customary in recent times, or on a discretionary date, as was the case in earlier periods. The consular year was given a fixed starting date, and was probably brought into alignment with the calendar year, which already started in January.62 That was a very substantial change, which impacted on the operating of the government itself and established a fixes sequence of administrative and religious obligations: on this new system, they would typically spend about ten weeks in Rome before setting off on campaign. Livy’s epitomizer gives an unsatisfactory, and probably garbled

59. Lundgreen 2011. 60. Livy 43.13. See Santangelo 2019: 155–​56; North 2022: 526. 61. Livy Per. 47.10. See Flower 2010: 67–​69. 62. Michels 1967: 97–​99 stresses the distinction between calendar and consular year, and suggests that the beginning of the calendar year was moved from March to January at an earlier time, possibly in the early stages of the Republic.

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account, positing a causal connection between this systemic change and a contingent factor: mutandi comitia causa fuit quod Hispani rebellabant. It is tempting to seek more structural explanations, or at least a more ambitious rationale. The political calendar had long been an interest of sectors of the nobility, and a calendar was famously painted in the temple of Hercules of the Muses that M. Fulvius Nobilior (cos. 197) dedicated after the conquest of Ambracia (189), in the wave of temple dedications that marks the start of the century.63 His son was consul in 153, and it is conceivable that he shared the same interests. A change of that magnitude, however, presupposes a wider interest and a more solid consensus across the senatorial nobility. As Flower notes, the whole complexion of the start of the political year changed, as the inauguration of the new magistrates came to coincide with the festival of the Compitalia, the great religious celebration that involved and mobilized the neighborhoods of the city of Rome, not long after the celebration of the Saturnalia.64 The opportunities of political exchange and conversation that this combination enabled and suggested largely escape us, but it is abundantly clear that this new state of affairs created new opportunities for dialogue and competition. Such a significant decision is hardly compatible with a general picture of conservatism and resistance to change: it points, at a minimum, to a scenario in which conflicting initiatives and attitudes emerged and interplayed. The underlying debate entailed both forming views on Roman traditions and exploring Greek discourses. Again, the scope for negotiating and resolving that tension remains open. A classic example of how this synthesis may be achieved comes from the story of C. Sulpicius Galus’ participation in the battle of Pydna, which Livy records in some detail. Sulpicius, then a military tribune, had an expertise in the workings of eclipses that he put to the service of the war effort. When he established that an eclipse was imminent, he sought permission from the commander, L. Aemilius Paullus, to address the soldiers and explain to them what was to occur: his key message is that the extraordinary event was not a prodigy, but a predictable natural occurrence that required no specific ritual action.65 His fellow countrymen marveled at his “nearly divine wisdom” (sapientia prope diuina), but his whole intervention was carefully framed outside the realm of religious

63. On the chronology of the dedication see Cavallero 2019: 244–​46, who argues that Fulvius performed it between 184 and 180 bce as duouir aedi dedicandae, after failing to be elected to the censorship. On the importance of the project see Russell 2016: 139–​45. For a recent discussion of its calendrical implications see Marcattili 2021. 64. See Flower 2010: 67–​69 and 2017: 165–​66. 65. Livy 44.37.5–​9. See Levene 1993: 118–​20.

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practice and within the remit of magisterial power. Tellingly, Sulpicius seeks permission from the consul before sharing his specialized knowledge with the soldiery. The magistrate to whom he offers his advice, as we have seen, is a foremost expert in augural law, and is deeply alert to the boundaries and tensions between prediction and ritual propriety. According to Plutarch, Aemilius is also conversant with the workings of eclipses. His sound understanding of the problem does not contradict his decision to perform solemn sacrifices to the Moon as soon as he sees her emerge from the shadow: the rite is intended to mark the continuing assent of the gods.66 If there is a level of paradox in Sulpicius’ intervention, it is the fact that he is resorting to a Greek lore, while his Macedonian counterparts are unable to read the incident competently, and are overwhelmed by superstitious fear. Cicero expounds in some detail the depth of Sulpicius’ training in Greek astrological reflection, and through the persona of Scipio Aemilianus stresses his ability to free his audience from religious fear (religione et metu . . . inanem religionem timoremque) and his achievement of conveying such complex knowledge to people with hardly any education.67 Sulpicius’ knowledge appears to present no discernible tensions: in fact, it is both a liberating force and one that validates the established framework of public religion. Like the other leading light of Roman Republican astrology, P. Nigidius Figulus, about a century later, Galus is far from an outsider: two years after Pydna he reached the consulship. Yet his case remains an exceptional occurrence. No other instances of interventions of astrologers during military campaigns are recorded for the rest of the Republican period. It is indeed tempting to see in Sulpicius’ social and political position an important enabling factor of the integration of his expertise. His personal connection with Aemilius Paullus is the crucial factor that brings the prediction of the eclipse to the forefront. Oddly, assimilating strands of Roman religious tradition could prove significantly harder. The well-​known incident of the discovery of the Books of Numa is a sobering reminder (if one was needed) of the limits of integration.68 Whichever way one may take on their authenticity and on the possibility of collusion between sectors of the nobility to produce these books and orchestrate their discovery, the outcome leads to a minimalistic, yet clear enough conclusion: a concerted decision was reached to remove that material from public

66. Plut. Aem. 17.7–​10. Rawson 1973: 165 n. 48 (=​1991: 88 n. 48) states that Aemilius’ sacrifice was performed to allay the fear among his soldiers. 67. Cic. Rep. 1.23. 68. Beck 2018 provides a highly effective overview of the evidence and a thought-​provoking discussion. On Numa’s place in the Roman intellectual life of the early second century bce see Damon 2020: 131–​45.

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consumption and debate; the initial reception of the books had been a lively, loosely formalized process, through which a number of individuals had access to the material and exchanged information and views about it; the intervention of the urban praetor Q. Petilius steers the decision of the Senate to order their physical destruction. There was at least a third option beyond destruction and informal consultation: the entrusting of that material to a collegiate body of experts. That scenario is not contemplated in any of the surviving sources: the only vestige of quasi-​priestly intervention in this affair is the involvement of the uictimarii, the attendants of the priests in the performance of their sacrificial duties, who carry out and oversee the burning of the material. The books are regarded, first by an individual and then collectively by the Senate, as potentially subversive of the tenets of public religion. One paradox remains unresolved. According to a major strand of the surviving tradition, the corpus consisted of two parts: seven Greek books on philosophical matters, and seven Latin ones on problems of pontifical law.69 Ostensibly at least the latter body of text would have been easier to integrate within existing religious practice and discourse, probably through the direct involvement of the pontifical college. Yet the option is not even contemplated. In other contexts, though, the willingness to select and organize existing practice came more readily into focus. H. Beck has recently established a connection and a contrast between the events of 181 and the much more restrained line that was taken two years later, albeit on a significantly less divisive and exceptional matter.70 In 179 the censors and the Senate decided to carry out on a selection of the statues on display in the forum: not merely a cosmetic exercise or a revamping of the centerpiece of the urban monumental landscape, but a selection process that affected material that, on the one hand, had a connection with military victories and had been dedicated to the gods.71 It therefore was a selective exercise that impinged both on the political and military history of the city and on the terms of its connection with the gods. It was, more broadly understood, an intervention on the past of the city, which was driven by a concerted decision, but was chiefly centered on the close scrutiny of a specific set of evidence: the statues that were not dedicated by the Senate or by the Roman people were removed. It was a deceptively complex operation, which put the relationship between the city and its past under careful scrutiny. A closely comparable method can be seen at work in what is undoubtedly the locus classicus of the religious history of the second century, the Senate decree on 69. Livy 40.29.6; Val. Max. 1.1.12; Pliny NH 13.27; Plut. Num. 22.4. 70. Beck 2018: 108. 71. Cassius Hemina, FRHist 6 F 43; Livy 40.51.3.

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the cults of Bacchus of 186 bce. The epigraphical version of the decree identifies the Bacchic groups and their structure as a threat to the res publica, and the apparently wide circulation of the text across Italy is strongly suggestive of the extent of the concerns that it prompted within the Senate. The groups that are set as the targets of the decree have magistrates and priests, and have access to common funds: they are mooted as potential and disturbing alternatives to the ciuitas. Yet even in that instance an option to find validation and acceptance is identified: no cultic group may be set up unless some formal legal conditions are fulfilled by consulting the urban praetor and finding the endorsement of a qualified majority within the Senate.72 We do not know whether exceptions were ever made, but the general principle and some specific regulations were clearly set. Even a decree that provided for a general investigation into the cult and contemplated the possibility of its harsh repression, contemplated the possibility of its inclusion and the framework within which a debate about that might take place. The role of the urban praetor in the control of unofficial forms of religious engagement remained an important level of practice in the following decades too. In 139 the expulsion of Chaldaei, freelance astrologers that were active in the city and, unlike Galus, had no established or recognized expertise, was again carried out under a praetorian edict.73

12.8. Conclusions The wider question should be asked at this junction whether this approach should be regarded as evidence for a generally conservative outlook dominating in second-​century bce religion. The instances discussed so far raise a wider issue: it is questionable that anxieties over the mos maiorum and the upkeep of traditional religion became more intense toward the middle of the century, and that there was a significantly different attitude in comparison with the early decades of the century. It is also doubtful that a conservative or repressive outlook prevailed during our period: in fact, the richer the evidential basis is, the more varied and complex the responses and attitudes appear to be, and the more pluralistic the discourse 72. CIL 12.581, l. 13–​16: sacra in [o]quoltod ne quisquam fecise uelet neue in poplicod neue in /​ preiuatod neue exstrad urbem sacra quisquam fecise uelet nisei /​pr(aitorem) urbanum adieset isque de senatuos sententiad dum ne minus /​senatoribus C adesent quom ea res cosoleretur iousisent censuere (“Let no one consent to performing cult rituals in secret. Let no one consent to performing cult rituals either in public or in private or outside the city unless he approaches the urban praetor and the latter gives permission on the basis of the Senate’s recommendation, as long as no fewer than 100 senators are present when this issue is debated. They declared (their approval),” trans. Flower). See Flower 2017: 222–​23. 73. Val. Max. 1.3.3.

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on religio becomes. An instructive case in point is preserved by Frontinus, who drew his information from Fenestella: in 144 a substantial investment was made to fund the construction of a new aqueduct, which was due to extend the Appian and the Annian ones. The project was entrusted to the urban praetor Q. Marcius Rex, after whom it would later be named Aqua Marcia. The Sibylline Books were consulted on an unrelated matter, but yielded a clear prescription not to continue the project for an extension of the aqueduct up to the Capitol. In 143 the matter was debated in the Senate, as was customary when the decemuiri s.f. conveyed official advice: yet their recommendation was not accepted, and the project was continued. Three years later the matter was raised again, and the same decision was reached. Frontinus states that the gratia, the influence of Marcius was the prevailing factor on both occasions.74 Priestly authority does matter a great deal in Republican Rome, but it never has the last word, and in this instance the clearly stated view of the priests is unequivocally overridden.75 Again, this outcome sits uncomfortably in a picture of dominant religious conservatism.76 What we are being presented with is an instance of contested religious authority: the affair shows that religious arguments could legitimately be invoked to stop projects of great significance, and that competing arguments could be effectively deployed. There is not sufficient evidence to confidently argue that the Aqua Marcia affair would have been unthinkable five decades earlier. Against this background, the example from which we started our discussion—​ Nasica’s intervention in 133—​comes into sharper focus. By any standards Nasica’s actions are extraordinary; they may also be productively read, though, as the outcome of a period of religious vitality and contestation, in which the stakes in religio of various constituents of the ciuitas are the focus of diffused and intense competition. They marked a watershed in their own right, but are best understood as the outcome of a period in which religio is deeply pervasive, and the possibility of major and controversial shifts in its practice and management consistently real.77

74. Front. Aq. 7; cf. Fenestella, FRHist 70 F22. 75. See North 1986: 257. 76. Cf. Nice 2017: 96–​99, who views the response of the decemuiri as “evidently false,” and therefore unpalatable to “those senators of a more conservative disposition” (99). 77. I am very grateful to the participants in the Rome conference and to the members of a lecture audience in Liège for their reactions to early versions of the argument presented here, and I have greatly benefited from the comments of Mattia Balbo and Andreas Bendlin on previous drafts of this chapter.

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Barton, C., and D. Boyarin. 2016. Imagine No Religion. How Modern Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities. New York. Beard, M., J. North, and S. Price. 1998. Religions of Rome. Cambridge. Beck, H. 2016. “Money, Power, and Class Coherence: the ambitus Laws of the 180s B.C.” In H. Beck, M. Jehne and J. Serrati (eds.), Money and Power in the Roman Republic, 131–​52. Brussels. Beck, H. 2018. “The Discovery of Numa’s Writings. Roman Sacral Law and the Early Historians.” In K. Sandberg and C. Smith (eds.), Omnium Annalium Monumenta. Historical Writing and Historical Evidence in Republican Rome, 90–​114. Leiden and Boston. Beck, H. 2019. “Pecuniam inlargibo tibi. Wahlbestrechung und Wahlniederlage in der mittleren römischen Republik.” In K.-​J. Hölkeskamp and H. Beck (eds.), Verlierer und Aussteiger in der “Konkurrenz unter Anwesenden”. Agonalität in der politischen Kultur des antiken Rom, 31–​53. Stuttgart. Bendlin, A. 2000. “Looking beyond the Civic Compromise. Religious Pluralism in Late Republican Rome.” In E. Bispham and C. Smith (eds.), Religion in Archaic and Republican Rome and Italy. Evidence and Experience, 115–​35. Edinburgh. Berthelet, Y. 2015. Gouverner avec les dieux. Autorité, auspices et pouvoir sous la République romaine et sous Auguste. Paris. Bleicken, J. 1957. “Kollisionen zwischen Sacrum und Publicum. Eine Studie zum Verfall der altrömischen Religion.” Hermes 85: 446–​80 (=​Bleicken 1998: 431–​65). Bleicken, J. 1998. Gesammelte Schriften, 1. Stuttgart. Brennan, T. C. 2000. The Roman Praetorship. Oxford. Cavallero, F. G. 2018. “Ius publicum dedicandi (e consecrandi). Il diritto di dedica a Roma.” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome, Antiquité 130: 219–​49. Cavallero, F. G. 2019. “Fulvio Nobiliore e la politica romana all’indomani della seconda uerra punica.” Bullettino della Commissione Archeologica Comunale di Roma 120: 129–​50. Champion, C. B. 2017. The Peace of the Gods. Elite Religious Practices in the Middle Roman Republic. Princeton and Oxford. Clark, A. J. 2007. Divine Qualities. Cult and Community in Republican Rome. Oxford. Damon, C. 2020. “Looking for auctoritas in Ennius’ Annals.” In C. Damon and J. Farrell (eds.), Ennius’ Annals. Poetry and History, 125–​46. Cambridge. Driediger-​Murphy, L. 2014. “M. Valerius Messala to Teos (Syll.3 601) and the Theology of Rome’s War with Antiochus III.” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 189: 115–​20. Flower, H. I. 2010. Roman Republics. Princeton. Flower, H. I. 2017. The Dancing Lares and the Serpent in the Garden. Religion at the Roman Street Corner. Princeton and Oxford. Görne, F. 2020. Die Obstruktionen der römischen Republik. Stuttgart.

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Levene, D. S. 1993. Religion in Livy. Leiden and Boston. Levene, D. S. 2010. Livy on the Hannibalic War. Oxford. Linderski, J. 2002. “The Pontiff and the Tribune. The Death of Tiberius Gracchus.” Athenaeum 90: 339–​66. Linderski, J. 2007. Roman Questions II. Stuttgart. Lundgreen, C. 2011. Regelkonflikte in der römischen Republik. Geltung und Gewichtung von Normen in politischen Entscheidungsprozessen. Stuttgart. Ma. J. 1999. Antiochus III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor. Oxford. MacMullen, R. 2017. “Roman Religion. The Best Attested Practice.” Historia 66: 111–​27. Marcattili, F. 2020. “Teatro romano e cultura della luxuria. Dai loca senatoria al theatrum lapideum di Cassio Longino e Valerio Messala.” Geographia Antiqua 29: 87–​96. Marcattili, F. 2021. “L’Aedes Herculis Musarum, l’«armonia delle sfere», il calendario.” Revue archéologique 72: 327–​48. Märtin, S. 2012. Die politische Führungsschicht der römischen Republik im 2.Jh. v.Chr. zwischen Konformitätsstreben und struktureller Differenzierung. Trier. Michels, A. K. 1967. The Calendar of the Roman Republic. Princeton. Morstein-​ Marx, R. 2013. “‘Cultural Hegemony’ and the Communicative Power of the Roman Elite.” In C. Steel and H. van der Blom (eds.), Community and Communication. Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, 29–​47. Oxford. Nice, A. T. 2017. “Profiting from Prophecy. Q. Marcius Rex and the Construction of the Aqua Marcia.” In R. Evans (ed.), Prophets and Profit. Ancient Divination and Its Reception, 87–​105. London and New York. Nongbri, B. 2013. Before Religion. A History of a Modern Concept. New Haven. North, J. A. 1967. The Inter-​relation of State Religion and Politics in Roman Public Life from the End of the Second Punic War to the Time of Sulla. DPhil Diss. Oxford. North, J. A. 1986. “Religion and Politics, from Republic to Principate.” Journal of Roman Studies 76: 251–​58. North, J. A. 2000. “Prophet and Text in the Third Century BC.” In E. Bispham and C. Smith (eds.), Religion in Archaic and Republican Rome and Italy, 92–​107. Edinburgh. North, J. A. 2022. “Roman Political Culture in 169 BCE.” In V. Arena and J. R. W. Prag (eds.), A Companion to the Political Culture of the Roman Republic, 524–​36. Hoboken, NJ, and Chichester. Orlin, E. M. 2010. Foreign Cults in Rome. Creating a Roman Empire. Oxford. Padilla Peralta, D. 2018. “An Aristocratic Dilemma. Do It Right, or Do It Better?” Histos 12: xxiv–​xlvi. Padilla Peralta, D. 2020. Divine Institutions. Religions and Community in the Middle Roman Republic. Princeton. Rawson, E. D. 1973. “Scipio, Laelius, Furius and the Ancestral Religion.” Journal of Roman Studies 63: 161–​74. Rawson, E. D. 1991. Roman Culture and Society. Collected Papers. Oxford.

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Rich, J. 2008. “Lex Licinia, Lex Sempronia. B. G. Niebuhr and the Limitation of Landholding in the Roman Republic.” In L. de Ligt and S. J. Northwood (eds.), People, Land, and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 BC–​AD 14, 519–​72. Leiden and Boston. Rüpke, J. 2005. Fasti sacerdotum. Die Mitglieder der Priesterschaften und das sakrale Funktionspersonal römischer, griechischer, orientalischer und jüdisch-​ christlicher Kulte in der Stadt Rom von 300 v. Chr. bis 499 n. Chr., 3 vols. Stuttgart. Russell, A. 2016. The Politics of Public Space in Republican Rome. Cambridge. Santangelo, F. 2013. Divination, Prediction and the End of the Roman Republic. Cambridge. Santangelo, F. 2019. “Prodigies in the Early Principate?” In L. Driediger Murphy and E. Eidinow (eds.), Ancient Divination and Experience, 154–​77. Oxford. Stern, S. 2012. Calendars in Antiquity. Empires, States, and Societies. Oxford. Tatum, W. J. 1993. “The Lex Papiria de dedicationibus.” Classical Philology 88: 319–​28. Tatum, W. J. 1999. Clodius. The Patrician Tribune. Chapel Hill. Taylor, L. R. 1962. “Forerunners of the Gracchi.” Journal of Roman Studies 52: 19–​27. Torelli, M. 1982. Typology and Structure of Roman Historical Reliefs. Ann Arbor. Weinstock, S. 1937. “Clodius and the lex Aelia Fufia.” Journal of Roman Studies 27: 215–​22. Woodman, A. J. 2012. “Epilogue.” In From Poetry to History. Selected Papers, 378–​405. Oxford. Woolf, G. 2020. “Foreign Gods in the Age of Cicero.” In C. Beltrão da Rosa and F. Santangelo (eds.), Cicero and Roman Religion. Eight Studies, 117–​33. Stuttgart.

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Epilogue Periodization in Perspective: Further Thoughts about the Second Century bce Harriet I. Flower

In so many ways, the second century bce was the crucial century that formed the Roman community and its culture, whether political, social, literary, or expansionist.1 The changes it ushered in were enormous and their after-​effects cannot easily be overestimated. These changes were the result of decisions, some fully conscious and others less deliberately made, that would shape the Roman experience for the rest of antiquity. The eleven chapters in this volume bring to life dynamic debates and transformations that characterized the period between the end of the Hannibalic War (201 bce) and the era of the Gracchi (130s bce), between two watersheds that both contemporary and later Romans easily recognized and marked for themselves. Even as these chapters cover a wide array of different themes and topics, when taken together they add up to more than the sum of their individual contributions. They form a rich tapestry of interwoven threads from various different areas of Roman life that affords a brighter and sharper picture of how Roman society evolved within the particular conditions of a complex Hellenistic world no longer balanced by the economic might of Carthage and her trading empire in the West. At the same time, these contributions invite further research from the perspectives they use and from others they suggest that remain to be explored.

1. I would like to thank the following for their help and advice with this chapter: Michael Flower, Federico Santangelo, Mattia Balbo, and the anonymous readers for OUP.

Harriet I. Flower, Epilogue In: A Community in Transition. Edited by: Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197655245.003.0013

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My concluding thoughts in this present chapter follow on from the programmatic introduction by Mattia Balbo and Federico Santangelo, which offers an overview of the chapters in this volume. I will use these contributions as a starting point to offer a series of observations prompted by their arguments and insights, but also by what they do not discuss. I will address two interrelated themes—​ periodization as a tool for historians and the ways in which policy decisions made at certain historical moments shaped Roman practices in decisive ways for a long time to come. In other words, my focus will be on the complex interplay between thinking about the past in terms of historical periods (usually over many years or several generations) or of particular, key moments of choice in the second century bce (most often identified as taking place in a given year).2 The close relationship of these two, complementary approaches is easy to see. Periodization into longer eras is itself inevitably articulated by key moments that are recognized as watersheds of some kind, for example, the end of the Second Punic War that marks the beginning of the chosen chronological framework for this collection. The fact that the Romans defeated the Carthaginians, rather than the opposite outcome, was clearly decisive in shaping the next century and arguably the rest of Roman history. Punic language and culture were radically different from those of the Romans.3 If Carthage had not been blocked and eventually destroyed by Rome, the Carthaginians would have spread their language and practices more widely in the Mediterranean. The interactions of a much more extensive and powerful Carthaginian empire that had emerged victorious as a superpower in the Western Mediterranean would surely have been very different in relation to the wealthy and relatively well-​balanced sphere of the Hellenistic kingdoms in the East.4 Yet the simple fact of the very hard-​won Roman victory after so many years of harsh warfare in Italy did not, in itself, determine the numerous (often hardly predictable) developments of the postwar generation in the decisive years after Hannibal’s defeat. Rather, it was the subsequent choices made under these new circumstances and within this particular geopolitical landscape that were so significant and influential. While our surviving sources only rarely reveal the

2. Zerubavel 2003 discusses time maps and how they shape the way we see the past. Books on key years have become popular; two influential examples are Goodheart 2011 and Cline 2015. 3. For Punic culture and interactions with Rome, see esp. Palmer 1997, and the essays in Prag and Quinn 2013 and Quinn and Vella 2014. Miles 2011 offers the most accessible overview of Carthaginian history. For a thorough overview, see now López-​Ruiz 2022. 4. For the Carthaginian trading empire in the West, see Acquaro 1988; van Dommelen 1998; Niemeyer 2006; and Quinn 2017 and 2018. The exact nature of Carthaginian hegemony, based on trade and controlling access to important raw materials, is still a matter for debate amongst specialists.

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strategic debates at each of the key moments we can identify, we can, nevertheless, exercise an awareness of important policy decisions and of possible alternative options, which could have appeared equally logical and attractive to some Romans at each particular historical moment. What we call the second century bce was decisively shaped by the Roman policy of aggressive expansion into the Eastern Mediterranean immediately after the victory over Hannibal.5 In this case, surviving evidence indicates that retrenchment and rebuilding at home had indeed been suggested and seriously debated.6 It made sense to try to recover and to reach out to the communities in Italy that had suffered so much from Hannibal’s occupation over so many years. Indeed, hindsight reveals that Roman policies would produce increasing tensions with the Italian allies, including those whose support had been decisive in the victory over Carthage, well before the time of the Gracchi.7 Eventually, these tensions would produce the severe crisis of the Social War in the early first century bce, a true moment of reckoning that brought into question so much that had become standard practice since the defeat of Hannibal.8 The many themes in this volume all play out against the background of Rome’s aggressively evolving foreign policy and the vast wealth that resulted for those who found ways to profit from Rome’s continuous wars. In other words, a nuanced understanding of this period requires evaluating these policies in themselves and how to measure their impact, both immediate and in the longer term. One way to imagine this exercise is to contrast the Roman community’s response to Hannibal’s invasion of Italy in 218 bce and to the next big incursion over the Alps, that by the Cimbri in 102 bce, a little over a century later. In the face of the Carthaginians’ bold attack, the Romans drew together under the leadership of the Senate, grappled with policy disagreements without internal political fracture, and mobilized their whole citizen body into a remarkable show of

5. The classic treatments of Rome’s expansion remain Nicolet 1977–​1978 and Gruen 1984. 6. See, for example, Livy 31.6–​8 for the controversy about whether the Romans should go to war with Macedonia immediately after the defeat of Hannibal and the Carthaginians. 7. Rome’s relationship to her Italian allies is elucidated by the essays in Jehne and Pfeilschifter 2006 and de Ligt and Northwood 2008. Fronda 2010 explains the background in the south of Italy during the later third century bce. Isayev 2017 makes an important contribution to the way we see mobility in Italy. Terrenato 2019 opens up a new way of looking at relations between Rome and the Italian allies as being more cooperative before the period under discussion. Consequently, he views the Social War (266) as an occasion when many Italians were renegotiating the terms of their incorporation into an existing “grand alliance” with Rome, rather than trying to break the relationship apart. 8. For the Social War, see Gabba 1994 in CAH2: 104–​28; Dart 2014; Matyszak 2014; and Isayev 2017: 311–​59. Bispham 2007 is the most detailed treatment of the war’s aftermath.

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resistance even in the face of formidable challenges, including exceptionally high mortality rates and harsh economic austerity over many years. The dynamism of Rome in the early second century bce was a direct result of the resilience and societal cohesion forged by the long war against the traditional Punic enemy. By contrast, the threat posed by the Cimbri and Teutoni from about 113 bce onward produced deep political divides, mutual distrust between different social classes, striking incompetence on the part of military leaders, and a crisis of confidence in traditional gods, political elites, and fellow citizens.9 Rome’s second-​century expansion and flourishing in military, political, economic, and cultural terms had, by now, come with a high cost. The massive Roman defeat at Arausio in 105 bce did not prompt the Romans to pull together in the way that the biggest previous military disaster (Cannae in 216 bce) had so successfully achieved.10 To take this comparison a step further, if we juxtapose the triumph of Scipio Africanus over the Carthaginians in 201 bce to that of Marius (and subsequently of his consular colleague Q. Lutatius Catulus) over the Cimbri in 100 bce, the differences are as striking as the similarities.11 In each case, a Roman general (Scipio or Marius) gained a unique leading position in society by defeating a formidable enemy at the end of a long, often frightening, war that menaced Rome itself. Each man had been controversial to his contemporaries and had not enjoyed uniform support in the Senate. Both used novel military tactics and created a more professionalized army to meet the challenges of fierce external pressure. In many ways the careers of Scipio and Marius each broke established political norms of the day in order to address an emergency situation.12 But Marius’ seven consulships, with five held consecutively, created a decisive rift in Roman political culture.13 The popular notion that Marius, who was not from a traditional political background, was the only general who could save Rome was the logical pendant of the divine honors spontaneously offered after his victory over the Cimbri by ordinary Romans who poured libations to him at

9. See Jehne and Pfeilschifter 2006 and Hölkeskamp, Karataș, and Roth 2019 for Rome’s relationship with her Italian allies. 10. For the Battle of Arausio, see Greenidge and Clay 1960 ad loc. (105 bce) with Mackay 2004: 118. 11. Itgenshorst 2005 gives the relevant sources for the triumphs, associated monuments, and later commemoration in her catalog. Scipio’s triumph is no. 163. Marius’ triumph is no. 234. Catulus’ celebration in parallel to Marius is no. 235. 12. For Scipio’s career, see Beck 2005: 328–​67 with detailed references. 13. See Santangelo 2015 for a recent introduction to Marius, with a collection of the ancient sources and modern bibliography.

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their evening meals.14 His personal preeminence created as many political problems as his military prowess had solved.15 The fact that Marius dared to enter the Senate house dressed in triumphal garb after his triumph over Jugurtha, a shocking breach of accepted norms on the first day of another consulship, symbolized the increasing fragility of a Republican political culture defined as a community of peers, who had traditionally shared honors and rewards according to the rules of a well-​established game.16 This political theater took place against the backdrop of a city that by the end of the second century bce had grown and evolved beyond what most earlier Romans could probably have imagined as they watched Scipio’s magnificent triumph over Carthage a century before.17 These and similar considerations draw our attention in a more urgent way to the second century bce as a period of numerous, profound changes that set the stage for the violence, disintegration, and ultimate political reconfiguration that Rome experienced in the first century bce. This pattern of evolution is more complex and long-​lasting than the upheavals of the generation at the end of the second century bce, the generation that followed on from the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus in 133 bce. Meanwhile, our artificial divisions into centuries that count down to a single, historical moment, but one that is not expressed by a zero year, inevitably continue to shape our interpretations in thought-​provoking but essentially anachronistic ways.18 We cannot realistically escape our standardized dating system, even as we must inevitably be fully conscious of the fact that it does not express how Romans themselves experienced time or history. The present volume chose as a starting point the articulation of the second century bce that I proposed in 2010.19 That periodization scheme was built on developments in internal politics, rather than on the dates of external wars. Meanwhile, it was never designed to replace other periodization schemes but to

14. For the libations poured to Marius, see Val. Max. 8.15.7 and Plut. Mar. 27.9 with Marco Simón and Pina Polo 2000. 15. Cadiou 2018 has argued forcefully against the emergence of a proletarian army in the first century bce. See also the reviews of his book by Rafferty (BMCR 2021.06.02) and especially by Taylor 2019. 16. The event took place on 1 January 104 bce. See Livy Per. 67.5 with Itgenshorst 2005: no. 232. II XIII.3.no. 83 seems to be an epigraphic attestation of the way in which Marius’ action was commemorated. A denarius of this same time period (RRC 326, Fundanius) seems to portray Marius himself in a triumphal chariot in an unusual representation of a living man on a coin. 17. For the city of Rome at the end of the second century bce, see Davies 2017: 147–​82 (from the 130s to 90 bce). 18. See Rüpke 2006 and Feeney 2007: 7–​16 for the bce/​ce dating system. 19. Flower 2010: 61–​79, entitled “Political Innovations: A Community in Transition.”

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supplement and complement them. Its ultimate goal is to highlight the role of periodization as an essential tool of historical analysis and, therefore, to encourage a fuller consideration of various possible time-​maps in relation to each historical period and subject of investigation. Some questions remain: What advantages or disadvantages do I gain from the periodization that underpins my research? Is an established time-​framework constraining or even distorting my results because it brings with it a priori assumptions, which in turn shape my investigation? Would a different periodization be more revealing and ultimately more productive of fresh insights? Within the second century bce, the two articulation points I highlighted come in 180 bce with the implementation of the lex Villia annalis that established an important framework for the cursus honorum and in 139 bce with the introduction (in stages over the next several years) of the secret ballot for voting.20 The second of these falls outside the purview of this volume; it only slightly predates the more traditional watershed of 133 bce, with which it is implicated in a number of ways. In other words, a significant break in the 130s (however exactly imagined) is well established and not really up for debate.21 This break is evoked here by Marleen Termeer’s insightful discussion of denarius coinage in an essay that deftly surveys how coins of all kinds were used before the introduction of personal types in the 130s, a major policy change that was probably linked to the introduction of the secret ballot. Her analysis only serves to confirm the vast political shifts that mark the end of the period under discussion here. By contrast, a proposed break in 180 bce comes twenty years after the Hannibalic War, and is relevant to a number of these chapters. Clearly, 180 bce cannot be considered a watershed in a major way (like the 130s), despite the highly significant implications of setting a fixed, hierarchical template for political careers. The idea of such a pattern, which had been developing long before 180 bce, in itself defined the political game for the remainder of Republican Rome and beyond.22 Interestingly, Thibaud Lanfranchi’s chapter on Roman law, which surveys a wide range of developments in public and private law, tends to confirm the importance of 180 bce in the overall history of Rome’s legal evolution.

20. See Flower 2010: 33 for the paradigm, which includes Republic of the nobiles 1 (300–​180 bce), Republic of the nobiles 2 (180–​139 bce), Republic of the nobiles 3 (139–​88 bce), followed by a transition period from 88 to 81 bce. 21. Cic. Rep. 1.31 puts the identification of this watershed in the mouth of Laelius. Lintott 1999: 245–​46 discusses the role of Carlo Sigonio (c. 1524–​1584) in establishing a standard periodization for Roman Republican history. 22. Beck 2005 provides the fundamental discussion of the cursus honorum from the later third to the second centuries bce.

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Meanwhile, several other research topics treated here and elsewhere point to the impact of changes around 167 bce, in the aftermath of the victory over king Perseus of Macedon, as perhaps the most recognizable turning point in the second century before the age of the Gracchi. Michael J. Taylor’s discussion of the Roman citizen militia, its recruitment, and varying fortunes in war brings the relationship of army service to Roman politics into sharper focus. His careful analysis of the frequent wars and of the large scale demands these conflicts put on Roman manpower reveals the many consequences of Rome’s position of power after the Battle of Pydna, when the whole rhythm of fighting abroad changed (yet again). A similar, parallel pattern is traced by Mattia Balbo in his study of agrarian policies and the administration of ager publicus before the age of the Gracchi. These two essays can usefully be read alongside James Tan’s 2017 innovative monograph on public finance, which discusses the end of the tributum system of taxation on Roman citizens after the victory over Macedon as a key factor in reshaping Republican political culture.23 As Tan shows, the vast wealth acquired in war enabled Roman citizens to stop paying taxes, at the same time as it removed the traditional role they had played as stakeholders, who were underwriting the Roman imperial project with their contributions. It is possible, therefore, to argue that 167 bce might be a more useful articulation point than 180 bce in the years between 200 bce and the 130s bce. A clearer delineation of the periods before and after 167 bce helps to foreground Rome’s rapidly expanding platform as the most powerful and influential state in the Mediterranean world, in effect the only superpower. Whether we describe the results of a generation of vigorous military action and complex diplomatic exchanges in terms of hegemony or empire or another term, the ambitious commitments of Rome’s political leaders to Mediterranean domination had decisive results in every area of Roman life.24 Catherine Steel’s discussion of how Roman oratory developed during these years complements this picture by revealing how evolving geopolitical ambitions naturally favored the emergence of many new venues and prizes for Roman orators. Oratory was another field that developed in decisive ways, even if its history is hard for us to trace in any detail. At the same time, new demands for political and legal speeches created the impetus for rhetorical education to expand. Romans were fighting and looting, but also

23. Tan 2017 explores the political and economic ramifications of the end of tributum. Chassignet 2002: 43 n. 2 lists the ancient authors who saw a big break after Pydna (Polybius, Sallust, Livy, Plutarch, Pausanias). 24. For the debate about Rome’s ambitions abroad (hegemony or empire), see Harris 1979; Gruen 1984; Kallet-​Marx 1995; Eckstein 2006; and Derow 2015: 205–​6. Vasunia 2011 offers recent comparative insights on empires.

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arguing about and presenting their policies on a wider international stage. Each of these developments was mirrored in the evolution of the Senate, which had emerged as highly prestigious during the Second Punic War, and the expanded role of the law courts as areas for debate about the political and cultural issues of the day. It would have been quite another matter if the Romans had simply inserted themselves into the geographical areas and spheres of influence in the Western Mediterranean where they had defeated the Carthaginians by the beginning of the century.25 Even that expansion would have given them a far greater reach, including access to natural and human resources, than they had before. In complete contrast to their principal third-​century bce rivals, however, the Romans did not stop at creating an economic and trading empire in the West. Rather, they expanded aggressively both in Spain, where they would continue fighting for the next two centuries to gain control of the peninsula, and most notably in the Eastern Mediterranean, where within a short period their impact on the established balance of power between the Hellenistic kingdoms was decisive. An historical narrative within a larger scope could easily paint the generation after the Second Punic War as simply the beginning of Roman foreign policy pretensions writ large(r), particularly because annexation of a traditionally imperialist kind did not seem to be their consistent objective (yet). Nevertheless, there have been many kinds of empire in human history. It has long been a truism of later Republican history that the Roman empire became too big for the government of a city-​state to administer.26 This volume suggests that the related issues of (over)expansion and a lack of a unified foreign policy strategy were already looming in the second century bce, as they had been set in motion in the heady days after the great victory over Carthage. Every topic in this volume can be interpreted in the context of Rome’s new, chosen role on the international stage. Taken together, these chapters sketch an ecosystem that fostered and was itself shaped by Roman imperial ambitions, within a world that saw much greater mobility for people and for goods moving in and out of Italy than ever before.27 Republican politics, economic conditions in Rome and Italy, social changes, and geopolitical pressures in the Eastern Mediterranean interacted to create a new world. The contrast with the long, bleak, and constrained

25. See above n. 4. 26. Montesquieu already made this argument in 1734 (see Montesquieu 1995, with Flower 2010: 97–​8), but in relation to the first century bce. 27. Isayev 2017 has opened up a new approach to movement and migration.

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war years of the later third century bce will have been striking for citizens at every level of society. It is within this particular context of optimism and confident expansion that we can place evolving phenomena such as sumptuary legislation that repeatedly aimed to control displays of wealth and specific occasions on which the affluent could gain renewed influence by putting others in their debt.28 In other words, even without ways to measure the economy or the balance of trade, the Senate took note of the vast influx of wealth into Roman society and of the ways in which some prominent individuals and their families were able to acquire substantial, new resources for their personal use. As we have already seen, the structure of political careers was remapped and formalized, even as commands abroad needed to be adapted to more distant military objectives and more ambitious foreign policy goals, often pursued on several fronts at the same time (Michele Bellomo and Cyrielle Landrea). Military recruitment of citizen-​soldiers by conscription and their training in Rome’s armies was a key factor, whether in times of success or of setbacks (Michael J. Taylor). Meanwhile, domestic politics continued to be directed by the Senate, where vigorous, internal debate was practiced and decisions were still largely acceptable to the population at large. This Senate worked actively and consistently with magistrates, particularly with the ten annually elected tribunes of the plebs. As Annarosa Gallo and Thibaud Lanfranchi show, the role of the tribunes in law-​ making, in regular cooperation with the Senate, was a key feature in the political landscape before the middle of the second century bce. This was the case for legislation of many kinds, including agrarian laws (Mattia Balbo). Similarly, the Senate’s role in creating societal cohesion and addressing moments of crisis (actual, potential, or perceived) is further elucidated by the original contribution of Federico Santangelo on religion in this period of rapid change.29 He shows how Roman life was consistently shaped by traditional religious practice, as well as by the dynamic and essentially open nature of Roman religion. In other words, officially sanctioned religious innovation in the city itself was integral to and characteristic of Roman imperial expansion and societal evolution. Meanwhile, these years also saw the violent suppression of a novel initiation cult of Bacchus (186 bce) and the burning of recently discovered books of prophecy attributed

28. Zanda 2011 is the most useful, general discussion. She includes an appendix that lists all the Republican sumptuary legislation with ancient sources. 29. The most influential discussions of religion in the late second century bce are Rawson 1974 (=​1991: 149–​68) and Linderski 2002 (=​2007: 88–​114). Santangelo 2013 is vital for the first century bce.

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to king Numa (181 bce).30 Within the religious sphere, the role of the Senate was just as important both in setting the tone and organizing procedures as in foreign policy or legislative initiatives or any other area of Roman political culture. On a smaller but no less vital scale, family life, especially in the political environment of an elite whose status was defined by elected office (the nobiles), was equally impacted by each topic examined in this volume. The effects of warfare on the family are an obvious theme around 200 bce, at the end of one of Rome’s most brutal wars. Yet continued high levels of recruitment were evidently both possible and acceptable within the Roman community in the first generation of the second century bce.31 Meanwhile, as Lanfranchi elucidates, legal developments reflected renewed attention to age grades and to the protection of minors (now defined as males up to the age of twenty-​five), many of whom were under the care of guardians. Inheritance rules developed in crucial ways that were all designed to protect and foster family continuity within a rapidly changing social environment, an environment shaped by long wars in more distant locations and vast increases in many kinds of wealth.32 Similarly, repeated sumptuary legislation (previously used as a wartime austerity measure) ultimately aimed to control how much anyone could spend on conspicuous consumption and competitive displays of wealth. One can view this typically second-​century bce legislative habit as political or rhetorical or practical or all of these at once. But fundamentally, sumptuary laws helped to preserve the family resources of the wealthy and prominent, both in a single generation and beyond it, from the potential losses caused by rapidly increasing competition in political or social contexts.33 Meanwhile, families benefited as individual units, and societal cohesion was fostered by limits on the types of spending that would have revealed the increasing gap between the rich and the poor. The fact that many of these laws were not observed does not diminish the social and economic

30. For the Bacchanalian affair of 186 bce, see Livy 39.8–​19 with Briscoe 2007: ad loc. For the discovery and destruction of the books attributed to Numa, see Livy 40.29.3–​14 with Briscoe 2008: ad loc.; Willi 1998; and Suerbaum 2002: 528–​30. 31. Rosenstein 2004 raised important, new questions about demography and the Roman army. For a succinct discussion, see Morstein-​Marx and Rosenstein 2006: 630–​33. 32. Such assets could include movable wealth of all kinds (including artworks and precious metal items), real estate (farms, apartment houses, woodland), enslaved persons in large numbers (some highly educated and skilled), and other investments (for example, in ships or mines or workshops). 33. Clemente 1981 remains the classic discussion. See now also the special issue of Mélanges de l’École française de Rome–​Antiquité (128.1, 2016) entitled Le luxe et les lois somptuaires dans la Rome antique.

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significance of repeated efforts by politicians and the Senate to reformulate and refine them in each new generation. Parallel to these other legislative initiatives, the spread of a looser marriage format (sine manu), which allowed a woman to remain a member of her birth family rather than becoming legally dependent on her husband, deserves more attention as one of the most significant developments around this period.34 While this option apparently existed before and its deeper history remains obscure, its prominence by the first century bce strongly implies that it had become more popular in the time period under discussion here.35 Again, we see a deliberate choice to follow one path over others, in this case to employ one form of marriage alliance over other available options. This more flexible and informal type of marriage, which made divorce and remarriage easier, evidently increasingly suited the nobiles at the time of Rome’s expansion into the Eastern Mediterranean. Within this framework, a marriage also did not create a new or separate nuclear family unit. Rather the wife remained part of her original family and her property remained fully hers (and her family’s in an extended sense). She joined her husband in a legally sanctioned relationship that allowed them to produce children who were legally and socially recognized as heirs of each parent. At the same time, her later, eventual situation as a widow or divorced woman was simplified (even anticipated), since she had no claim on her husband’s property or on his relatives, nor they on hers. Such marriage alliances were relatively easy to make and to dissolve, especially when they involved political (re)alignments. Children were designated as members of their father’s family, even if they might be raised by a widowed or remarried mother in another household. According to second-​century Roman views, such flexible and less formalized marriages made families stronger in the face of life’s challenges, even as they allowed the political and social elites to reproduce their societal standing across the generations. Increased mobility for men in military service inevitably had huge effects on Roman women, who gained more control over family life, both through force of circumstances but notably also as a result of a series of legal choices about marriage, property rights, and inheritance patterns. Legislation to limit how much women in the wealthiest families could inherit (lex Voconia of 169 bce) can be seen as parallel development to second century

34. Treggiari 1991 offers a comprehensive overview. 35. Rich wives are already mentioned in Plautus. See Dixon 1985 and Treggiari 1991: 363 for sine manu marriage by the mid-​first century bce. For the lex Cincia of 204 bce, which limited gifts, see Elster 2003: 255–​61, no. 120.

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bce sumptuary laws and marriage customs.36 At the same time, this law shows how much property women had gained control over in the thirty years since the end of the Hannibalic war, as well as how visible their increasing economic independence had become. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the choice to limit inheritances for wealthy women was met by developments in the law of trusts on the part of rich Romans, who wanted to leave their daughters more of their fortunes than the law would now allow.37 Behind these legislative patterns we can glimpse political debates that were central to Roman culture and, in turn, to family situations that prompted innovation and disagreements. While the position of women and children emerges (both explicitly and implicitly) in some of these chapters, the mass enslavement of prisoners of war is a striking second-​century bce Roman habit that I would like to highlight at the end of this volume. Enslaving prisoners of war was another old custom with a long history, both in Italy and in the larger Mediterranean world.38 Yet the rapid expansion of Roman military activity into the Eastern Mediterranean, as well as the continuous warfare across the century, produced prisoners of war in numbers surely not seen in earlier periods of Roman history.39 Many of these will have been Greek speakers from the East, an influential subset of whom were highly educated. In other words, however one reads the longer history of enslaved labor in the context of the Roman economy, the second century bce appears as a pivotal moment, perhaps a decisive moment overall. Two factors make this argument plausible, namely the vast numbers of captives brought back to Italy over longer distances than before (including many to the city of Rome itself ) and the decision to continue the typically Roman practice of regular manumission, a habit the Romans did not share with other slave-​trading societies in the Mediterranean world.40 Once again, it is vital to note that neither of these policies was either inevitable or the only option available at the time.

36. For the lex Voconia of 169 bce, see Elster 2003: 374–​80 no. 181 and McClintock 2013. 37. For the development of trusts by the later Republic and under Augustus, see Osgood 2014: 22–​24 (Turia) and Treggiari 2019: 248–​50 (Servilia). 38. Enslaved prisoners of war are already taken for granted in Homer. For the earlier history of enslaving prisoners of war in Rome, see Welwei 2001. By contrast, Wickham 2014: 148–​76 argues against mass enslavements by Roman armies in the second century bce before 146 bce. 39. For the Roman slave supply, see Scheidel 1997, 2005, 2010, and 2011. Most scholarship has naturally focused on the big picture and on continuities in Roman warfare and enslavement of captives (e.g., Lenski and Cameron 2018). 40. For manumission, which is already alluded to in the XII Tables, see conveniently Mouritsen 2011: 10–​35.

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After many years of harsh fighting against Hannibal, Roman armies enjoyed relatively easy victories over the Hellenistic kingdoms of the East. The number of prisoners acquired within short time frames was enormous, both in relative and in absolute terms. A variety of strategies could have made sense in this military context. Wealthier captives could have been ransomed back to their families, as happened in many other situations in the Mediterranean world. Ransoming captives had already been discussed but rejected during the Second Punic War in the case of ordinary soldiers.41 The agricultural population could most easily have been left on the land and taxed or exploited in other ways in the territories now subject to Rome. This might make most sense where new provinces were created, but less-​formalized administrative formats could also have yielded regular income in goods or coin, without the need to displace large numbers of people. Alternatively, populations could have been moved together to new settlements elsewhere, another practice with a previous history in antiquity.42 A fourth choice would have been to sell prisoners to non-​Roman slave traders who could resell them locally or elsewhere at will.43 In other words, a market value for the prisoners of war could have been recouped for the Roman state immediately (in cash from traders who followed the armies) without undertaking the expense, logistical work, or risk involved with the feeding and transport of so many newly enslaved persons. This last option will surely have been an attractive and practical choice on a number of occasions. Nevertheless, very many prisoners were brought back (more or less directly) to central Italy and to the city of Rome itself, whether by the army or by middlemen hired for this specific task. These enslaved persons, most of them probably

41. Hannibal offered a large number of soldiers for ransom after his great victory at Cannae (216 bce), but the Roman senate refused his offer, despite a manpower shortage (Polyb. 6.58.3–​ 12, Livy 22.60–​61). Livy 34.50.3–7 speaks of the eventual return of some of these Romans from enslavement in the Greek world, after the defeat of Philip V. Hannibal, therefore, expected ransom to be a reasonable or perhaps expected option, but the Romans effectively decided to treat even their own citizens as slaves after they became prisoners of war. After the Varus disaster (9 ce), some families ransomed their members privately once Augustus decided against a public ransom (Cass. Dio 56.22, cf. Tac. Ann. 12.27). See Wickham 2014: 63 for a table of Roman ransom prices (from Polybius, Livy, Diodorus, and Plutarch). He argues for a more widespread practice of private ransoming that would have made sense for slave traders. 42. For Roman resettling of whole communities as municipal units, see Pina Polo 2006. One such resettlement was Falerii Novi (moved from the more defensible Falerii Veteres in 241 bce, Zonar. 8.18), which has now been mapped with ground-penetrating radar (Verdorick, Launaro, Vermeulen, and Millett 2020). The most famous example remains the Babylonian captivity. 43. After 167 bce, for example, Delos became a center for the Mediterranean slave trade, when Rome created a free port on the island. Strabo’s claim (14.5.2) that 10,000 slaves could be processed each day has been much disputed. See also now Zarmakoupi 2013.

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young and able-​bodied at least when they were imported, now became very visible, in urban, domestic, and rural settings. Their number and character were of increasing concern well before the middle of the century and most obviously at the time of the Gracchi and during the slave revolts of the late second century.44 They inevitably changed the balance of the overall population and the functioning of a range of labor markets, although these economic effects are hard to measure in detail without more specific evidence. Impacts in the households of the elite are most visible to us, as they now included highly educated slaves of many kinds, who brought Hellenistic learning, crafts, and skills with them.45 Bilingualism in Latin and Greek became possible in new ways through readily available Greek-​speaking teachers and nurses at home.46 Meanwhile, spending on enslaved persons who were considered to be luxury items attracted property taxes and moral censure even in the first generation after the Hannibalic War.47 Yet, despite political speeches and economic impacts, the Senate did not limit either the overall number of slaves imported or the ways in which they could be manumitted by private persons effectively at will under Roman law. Roman manumission conferred Roman citizenship, with relatively few restrictions, as well as the right to marry legally and become the parent of freeborn Roman citizens.48 Romans had practiced manumission for centuries and were accustomed to a population of freed-​people living in the city and exercising citizen rights, such as voting in elections or for new laws.49 Now many more individuals were added and apparently found paths to citizenship available to them, at least in the city.50 Noticeable waves of prisoners of war will have been echoed by corresponding generations of their children, whether born into servitude or after their parents’ manumission.

44. A classic example is Tiberius Gracchus’ account of his journey across Etruria on the way to Spain in the 130s bce, during which he was shocked to see how many slaves were working the fields (Plut. TG 8.9). 45. Christes 1979 is the most detailed discussion of the learned grammarians and rhetoricians active as teachers in Rome, many of whom had been enslaved and then manumitted. 46. For bilingualism, see Adams 2003: esp. 761–​62. 47. For expensive, educated slaves as luxuries, see Flower 2022. 48. See n. 40 above. 49. In the late fourth century bce, issues arose about the voting rights of libertini and about their sons being eligible for the lectio senatus. Humm 2005: 219–​26 and 243–​52 interprets these as citizens who had formerly been subject to nexum, not manumitted slaves. 50. Jongman 2003 and Bruun 2015: 483 discuss the number of slaves and freedmen in Rome. The epigraphic record, especially for freedmen, is extensive and rich by the later Republican and Imperial period.

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There is every reason, therefore, to believe that in the second century bce the institution of chattel slavery evolved in ways that would be decisive for Roman life as a result of wars and their aftermaths. The eventual outcome was uniquely Roman, built on traditional habits of exploiting the labor of the enslaved in an increasingly wide range of contexts while, at the same time, limiting the condition of enslavement for a subset of upwardly mobile individuals, who went on to become Roman citizens.51 The newly enslaved affected most areas of Roman life and their labor was a readily available commodity. Significant impacts were felt in agriculture, manufacturing, education, medicine, the assimilation of Greek culture and language, and the household staffs of the wealthy. In other words, enormous changes resulted in the demography, economy, and culture of the whole of Central Italy. To conclude, one may cite the example of the Elder Cato, the best attested individual alive in the first half of the second century bce.52 He evidently exploited the labor of the newly enslaved in many ways, as can be seen, for example, from his De Agricultura, a manual of advice about how an absentee landlord can manage and make a profit from a farm that is worked by slave labor. As his second wife, Cato married Salonia, the daughter of the freedman scriba Salonius (not a former slave of his own or apparently of a close relative). At the same time, he had been consistently critical of the cost of expensive, skilled slaves, the role of Greek tutors for Roman children, the influence of Hellenistic medicine in the city, and notably of the wealth and growing independence of Roman citizen women.53 The fragments of his speeches rehearse a range of cultural and social issues that Romans argued over in his lifetime and beyond. His insistently expressed concern with the need to maintain what he represented as traditional Roman values and practices reflects the rapid changes in Roman society that he lived through. These vast changes that took place after the Roman victory in the Second Punic War affected every level of society and set the stage for much that would happen in the age of the Gracchi, in the first century bce, and also beyond. The highly lucrative expansion of Roman influence abroad may have taken place in the context of favorable climate conditions ( James Tan). Presumably, we will know more about the beginning of what is commonly referred to as the Roman

51. Temin 2013: 114–​38, esp. 124–​25 table 6.1 and 6.2 provides comparanda and argues strongly for the uniqueness of the Roman system. 52. For Cato the Censor, see Astin 1978; Gruen 1992; Sciarrino 2011; and FRHist no. 5 (Briscoe). 53. For Cato’s speeches, see ORF4 no. 8; Sblendorio Cugusi 1982; Cugusi and Sblendorio Cugusi 2001; Calboli 2003. For his Origines, see Chassignet 1986/​2002 and FRHist 5 (Briscoe).

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Climate Optimum when new scientific evidence emerges.54 A vast increase in mobility (voluntary and coerced) around the Mediterranean resulted and even became a norm. Economic opportunities for Romans and Italians changed drastically during these generations, both at home and abroad.55 At the same time, the rewards of warfare, provincial administration, taxation, and trade were now on a completely different scale, because of the vast wealth of the Hellenistic kingdoms in the Eastern Mediterranean. It was within this characteristically second-​century ecosystem that the rules of the political game came to be refined, notably as the cursus honorum took on a definitive shape and structure. The abolition of direct taxation (tributum) for Roman citizens in the aftermath of the victory at Pydna brought further vast effects, both anticipated and unanticipated, in the economic and political spheres. A new Roman political culture took shape within a society being reshaped by a range of social and domestic developments. The rapid increase in available slave labor, which also resulted in many more freedmen from a wide variety of ethnic and social backgrounds, was easiest for the wealthy to exploit. Meanwhile, looser marriage alliances (which led to simpler divorces or arrangements after the death of either spouse) created different family structures that reflected the preferences of the political elites, just as much as the new legal frameworks for their political careers or the sumptuary laws that aimed at limiting their competitive expenditures. Social mobility within and across classes will have increased, even as some benefited while others lost ground. The emergence of legally more independent and richer women in the wealthiest census classes was a development that some Romans criticized but others actively promoted, even after the Senate tried to regulate women’s fortunes. The nobiles and their equestrian relatives encouraged and benefited from each of these new networks, whether through marriage and kinship alliances, extended groups of slaves and freedmen (some with specialized skills or education), or expanding connections with foreign elites in the new provinces and well beyond. B i b l i o gr a p h y Acquaro, E. 1988. Gli insediamenti fenici e punici in Italia. Rome. Adams, J. N. 2003. Bilingualism and the Latin Language. Cambridge. Astin, A. E. 1978. Cato the Censor. Oxford.

54. For the Roman Climate Optimum, see Harper 2017; Manning et al. 2017; and Harper and McCormick 2018. 55. Important recent discussions of the Roman economy include Kay 2014 and especially Roselaar 2019, who stresses the role of economic relations and Italian initiatives.

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Scheidel, W. 2005. “Human Mobility in Roman Italy, II: The Slave Population.” Journal of Roman Studies 95: 64–​79. Scheidel, W. 2010. “Slavery in the Roman Economy (August 23, 2010).” Available at SSRN: https://​ssrn.com/​abstr​act=​1663​556 or http://​dx.doi.org/​10.2139/​ssrn.1663​ 556 (last accessed 10 February 2021). Scheidel, W. 2011. “The Roman Slave Supply.” In K. Bradley and P. Cartledge (eds.), The Cambridge World History of Slavery, 1: The Ancient Mediterranean World, 287–​310. Cambridge. Sciarrino, E. 2011. Cato the Censor and the Beginnings of Latin Prose. Columbus. Suerbaum, W. (ed.). 2002. Handbuch der lateinischen Literatur der Antike, 1. Die archaische Literatur. Munich. Tan, J. 2017. Power and Public Finance at Rome, 264–​49 BCE. Oxford. Taylor, M. J. 2019. “Tactical Reform in the Late Roman Republic. The View from Italy.” Historia 68: 76–​94. Temin, P. 2013. The Roman Market Economy. Princeton. Terrenato, N. 2019. The Early Roman Expansion into Italy. Elite Negotiation and Family Agendas. Cambridge. Treggiari, S. 1991. Roman Marriage. Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian. Oxford. Treggiari, S. 2019. Servilia and Her Family. Oxford. Van Dommelen, P. 1998. In Colonial Grounds. A Comparative Study of Colonialism and Rural Settlement in First Millennium BC West Central Sardinia. Leiden. Vasunia, P. 2011. “The Comparative Study of Empires.” Journal of Roman Studies 101: 222–​37. Verdonck, L., A. Launaro, F. Vermeulen, and M. Millett. 2020. “Ground-​penetrating Radar Survey at Falerii Novi. A New Approach to the Study of Roman Cities.” Antiquity 94: 705–​23. Welwei, K. 2001. Sub corona vendere. Quellenkritische Studien zu Kriegsgefangenschaft und Sklaverei in Rom bis zum Ende des Hannibalkrieges. Stuttgart. Wickham, J. 2014. The Enslavement of War Captives by the Romans to 146 BC. PhD Diss., Liverpool. Willi, A. 1998. “Numa’s Dangerous Books. The Exegetic History of a Roman Forgery.” Museum Helveticum 55: 139–​72. Zanda, E. 2011. Fighting Hydra-​Like Luxury. Sumptuary Regulation in the Roman Republic. London. Zarmakoupi, M. 2013. “The City of Late Hellenistic Delos and the Integration of Economic Activities in the Domestic Sphere.” CHS Research Bulletin 1(2): https://​ resea​rch-​bulle​tin.chs.harv​ard.edu/​2013/​10/​25/​the-​city-​of-​late-​hell​enis​tic-​delos/​ (last accessed 10 February 2021). Zerubavel, E. 2003. Time Maps. Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past. Chicago.

359

Index Locorum

For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Literary Sources Alciphron 3.7.5, 134 Appian Bellum Ciuile 1.1.1, 3n.10 1.7–​8, 55n.1 1.7.26–​31, 11–​12, 57–​58 1.8.32, 63n.19 1.9.36, 63n.19 1.27.121, 69n.37 1.29.132, 161n.48 1.33–​34, 245n.80 Iberica 14, 176n.34 15, 176n.34 49, 257n.141 60, 245n.82 63–​64, 159n.34 65, 160n.40 84, 244n.72, 246n.85 Libyca 97–​99, 159n.32 108–​9, 186–​87n.65 114, 160n.41

102, 159n.32 112, 244n.71, 246n.85 Asconius In Cornelianam 69, 251n.113 In Pisonianam 246n.86 Augustus Res Gestae 8.2, 221n.66 9.1, 321n.31 Caesar Bellum Ciuile 3.91, 162n.52 Cassius Dio 37.46.4, 221n.66 38.5.1–​2, 74n.46 39.23, 128n.35 40.63, 221n.66 56.10.2, 246n.87, 247n.94 56.22, 351n.41 Censorinus De Die Natali 20.6, 319n.24 Cicero Ad Atticum 1.16.13, 246n.86

1.17, 221n.66 1.18.2, 221n.66 1.19.4, 74n.46 2.1.11, 221n.66 2.9.1, 246n.86 12.23.2, 296n.12 Ad Familiares 9.21.2, 267n.6 10.25.2, 246n.85 Brutus 22.85–​88, 246n.84 52, 303n.32 53, 303n.32 54, 303n.32 55, 303n.32 56–​57, 295n.5 56, 303n.32 57, 294n.3, 295n.8, 303n.32 61–​62, 295n.6 63, 304n.37 65, 305n.42 68–​71, 304n.33 68, 305nn.38,41 69, 305n.39 71, 305n.40 74, 303n.31 80, 306n.43

360

360 Cicero (cont.) 81, 301n.27 82, 45, 306nn.43,44 83, 248n.98, 327n.52 85, 63n.21 85–​88, 246n.84 86–​94, 306n.43 89, 245n.82 89–​90, 298n.15 97, 251n.113, 251n.116 106, 242n.59, 251n.113, 251n.114 107, 327n.50 De Domo 37–​38, 282n.67 127–​128, 325n.45 130, 325n.44 De Finibus 1.24, 301n.24 2.54, 246n.83 4.77, 246n.83 De Haruspicum responso 58, 246n.86 De Lege Agraria 1.21, 79n.60 2.4, 246n.89 2.80, 79n.60 2.82, 77n.58 De Legibus 3.19, 3n.10 3.35, 246n.89, 251nn.113,15 De Natura Deorum 2.10–​12, 319n.26 3.5, 248n.98, 325n.45 3.43, 248n.98, 325n.45 3.74, 214n.37, 246n.92 De Officiis 2.59, 246n.85 2.75, 242n.59 2.89, 64n.22 3.61, 246n.92

Index Locorum 3.109, 298n.16 De Oratore 1.62, 129–​31 1.227, 245n.82 1.227–​228, 298n.15 2.155–​161, 296n.12 2.155, 302n.28 2.261, 216 3.73, 244n.74 De Prouinciis Consularibus 46, 246n.86 De Republica 1.31, 344n.21 1.23, 332n.67 2.36, 267n.5 3.14, 298n.16 De Senectute 33, 217n.52 Diuinatio in Caecilium 69, 301n.27 In Pisonem 9, 329n.56 10, 329n.56 In Vatinium 5, 246n.86 18, 329n.56 In Verrem 2.1.107, 220n.64 2.1.109, 246–​47nn.93, 95 2.1.111, 220n.64 2.3.195, 242n.59 2.4.56, 242n.59 2.5.45, 66n.31 Laelius 41, 246n.89, 251nn.113,18 96, 299n.20, 327nn.51,53 Lucullus

137, 296n.12 Paradoxa Stoicorum 48, 284n.75 Philippicae 3.16, 247n.95 5.47, 246n.85 11.17, 182n.53 11.18, 188–​89n.72, 274–​ 75n.35, 326n.48 13.8, 282n.69 Post Reditum in Senatu 11, 246, 329n.56 Pro Balbo 21, 246n.87, 247n.94 Pro Caecina 12, 246n.87, 247n.94 15, 246n.87, 247n.94 Pro Cluentio 21, 246n.87, 247n.94 Pro Murena 58, 301n.27 59, 245n.82 Pro Sestio 98, 248n.98 103, 251nn.113,17 Tusculanae 4.51, 327n.50 Columella De Re Rustica 1.3.10–​11, 56n.2 6 praef. 4–​6, 64n.22 De Viris Illustribus 43, 250nn.107,8 47.6, 249n.103 56, 243n.69 72.1, 284n.76 73, 74n.46 Digest 1.2.2.39, 223 41.3.33pr., 247n.95 41.3.4.6, 247n.95

361

50.16.215, 247n.95 Diodorus 29.14, 242n.64 34–​35.2, 63n.19 34–​35.2.1–​3, 66n.28 36.1, 159n.38 Dionysius of Halicarnassus Antiquitates Romanae 2.47.1, 267n.5 Ennius, ed. Skutsch 304–​308, 294n.4 504, 128n.32 Festus, ed. Lindsay 25.5–​6, 246n.85 49, 95n.35 105, 318 282.6–​7, 246n.88 356.23–​27, 246n.87, 247n.94 360.26–​27, 245n.81 468, 95n.35 Florus 2.7.7, 63n.19 Fragments of the Roman Historians M. Porcius Cato (5) F5 L. Cassius Hemina (6) F 43, 333n.71 C. Sempronius Gracchus (11) F 2, 2n.2, 56n.5 Valerius Antias (25) F 41, 317n.17 F 44, 317n.17 Fenestella (70) F 12, 335n.74 Frontinus De Aquaeductu 7, 335n.74

Index Locorum 7.2, 124–​25 Strategemata 4.1.1, 160n.41 4.1.2, 160n.42 4.1.7, 160n.43 4.2.2, 161n.47 Gaius 2.45, 247n.95 2.49, 247n.95 2.225, 246n.93 2.226, 246nn.87 2.274, 246nn.87 4.22–​24, 246n.93 Gellius 2.24.2, 242n.60 4.18.7, 244n.75 6.14.8–​10, 296n.12 10.15.1–​25, 272– 73n.26 10.15.5, 275n.37 11.3.2, 251n.119 12.8.5–​6, 286n.88 13.12.3–​9, 228n.1 13.13.4, 285n.81 14.7.6, 252n.122 14.8.2, 233n.20, 235n.29 15.11.1, 300n.22 17.7.1, 247n.95 20.1.23, 246n.87, 247n.94 Granius Licinianus, ed. Criniti 28.29–​37, 77n.58 33.1–​11, 159n.38 Hyginus Gromaticus, ed. Campbell p. 136, 56n.3 p. 156, 56n.3 Liber Coloniarum, ed. Campbell

361 p. 164, 56n.3 p. 166, 56n.3 p. 168, 56n.3 Livy Ab Urbe condita 1.20.1–​2, 272–​73n.26 1.35.1, 217n.51 1.35.6, 267n.5 3.26.8, 128–​29 8.23.12, 168n.11 10.13.14, 76n.53 10.23.13, 76n.53 10.47.4, 76n.53 21.32.3–​4, 176n.34 21.40.3, 176n.34 21.42.3, 122n.12 21.60–​61, 176n.34 21.63.3, 68n.35 22.22.3, 176n.34 22.25.17–​26.4, 178n.44 22.49, 216–​17 22.60–​61, 351n.41 23.26.2, 176n.34 23.31.13–​14, 281n.65 24.11.7, 219n.57 24.18.1, 156n.27 25.3.6, 176n.34 25.37–​39, 176n.35 26.2, 176n.35 26.2.5, 178n.44 26.16.8–​10, 245n.79 26.17.1, 178n.44 26.18.3–​10, 176n.36 26.19.10, 178n.44 26.34.1–​13, 245n.79 27.5.15–​17, 233n.20 27.11.9–​11, 272n.25 28.38.7, 179n.47 29.14.14, 317n.17 30.27.1–​6, 171 30.38.10–​12, 122n.11

362

362

Index Locorum

Livy (cont.) 30.40.7–​16, 172n.21 30.41.4–​5, 177n.39, 179–​80n.48 30.45.3, 230n.9 31.4.1–​3, 230n.9 31.6–​8, 341n.6 31.9.7–​10, 320n.27 31.13.6, 72 31.20.1–​6, 253n.128 31.20.1–​7, 179n.47 31.47.4–​49.4, 174n.30 31.49.5, 230n.9 31.50.6–​10, 275n.36 31.50.6–​11, 238n.42 31.50.7–​10, 323n.35 31.50.8, 238n.43, 274–​75 31.50.10–​11, 177n.40 32.7.4, 179n.47, 252n.125 32.7.8, 229n.3 32.7.8–​11, 254n.132 32.7.14, 275n.36 32.9.4, 229n.3 32.26.1, 229n.3 32.27.5–​8, 175n.31 32.27.6, 177 32.28.3–​10, 174 32.28.4, 236n.32 32.28.8–​9, 236n.32 32.29.3–​4, 244n.73 33.22.2, 174n.29 32.25.4–​7, 174n.29 33.25.10–​11, 174n.29 33.36.1–​3, 63n.20 33.42.1, 244n.74, 321n.30 33.42.2, 280n.57 33.42.2–​4, 317n.20 33.43.10–​11, 76n.52 34.1.3, 249n.103

34.1.5–​6, 250n.106 34.1.7, 250n.107 34.2.1–​14, 250n.107 34.3.1–​9, 250n.107 34.4.1–​21, 250n.107 34.4.8, 73n.44, 80n.61 34.5.1, 249n.105 34.5.1–​13, 250n.107 34.5.5, 249n.104 34.6.1–​18, 250n.107 34.6.6–​10, 249n.104 34.7.1–​5, 250n.107 34.8.1–​4, 250n.108 34.46.4–​47.8, 175n.32 34.48.1, 229n.3 34.50.3–​7, 351n.41 34.53.1–​2, 240n.45 34.54.1, 317n.17 34.56.9–​11, 254n.133 35.7.2–​5, 240n.49 35.8.1–​9, 241n.54 35.8.9, 253n.126 35.9.2, 122n.11 35.9.7–​8, 240n.45 35.10.5–​9, 278 35.10.11–​12, 76n.52 35.10.12, 125f 35.20.8–​10, 241n.51 35.20.9–​10, 241n.52 35.20.9, 181n.51 35.20.13, 181n.51 35.21, 314n.12 35.21.5–​6, 122n.11 35.10.11–​12, 76n.52 35.40.5–​6, 240n.45 35.40.8–​11, 314n.13 35.41.10, 125f 36.1.3, 315n.14 36.1.6–​2.2, 181n.52 36.2.6–​15, 183n.56 36.3.4–​6, 237n.34

36.3.5, 237n.35 36.36, 318n.21 36.36.2, 317n.17 36.39.6, 253n.129 36.40.1–​9, 253n.130 36.40.10, 254n.131 37.1.7–​10, 181–​82nn.52,53 37.2.6–​9, 183n.56 37.42.5–​6, 152n.21 37.47.6–​7, 285 37.50.1–​7, 181n.52 37.50.8–​13, 183n.56 37.51.1–​4, 324n.39 38.5.1–​3, 182 38.35.1–​2, 286 38.36.7–​9, 248n.100 38.42.1, 229n.3 38.42.2, 286n.87 38.42.8–​13, 182 38.54–​56, 244n.75 38.54.1–​12, 244n.76 38.55.2, 135n.69 38.56.4, 135 38.60.3–​5, 252n.121 39.3.1–​3, 242n.64 39.4.1–​13, 251–​52n.120 39.5.1–​6, 251–​52n.120 39.5.2, 251–​52n.120 39.5.5, 251–​52n.120 39.17.7, 246n.84 39.19.3–​4, 238n.40 39.19.4, 238n.41 39.29.8–​9, 63n.20 39.38.8–​9, 251–​52n.120 39.39, 275n.40, 325n.42 39.40.2–​3, 279n.52 39.41.5–​6, 246n.84 39.45.2, 275n.39, 275n.40

36



Index Locorum 39.45.2–​3, 324n.41 39.45.4, 275n.39, 276n.42 39.54.5, 275n.39 39.56.3, 229n.3 40.1.1, 285n.82 40.16.4–​6, 184 40.16.10, 229n.3 40.19.11, 241n.57 40.26.4–​6, 183n.57 40.29.3–​14, 237n.37, 348n.30 40.29.6, 333n.69 40.37.4–​7, 246n.84 40.37.8, 229n.3 40.42.8–​11, 324n.36 40.44.1, 246n.85 40.44.1–​2, 324n.37 40.44.2, 285n.82 40.44.7, 285n.82 40.45–​46, 286n.88 40.45.7, 286n.89 40.51.3, 333n.71 40.51.4–​6, 125f 40.51.7, 125n.18 40.51.9, 76n.54 41.6.1–​3, 185n.62 41.8.9, 198n.11 41.10.5–​7, 185 41.12.1, 184–​85n.60 41.15.1–​3, 326n.46 41.15.8–​9, 326n.47 41.17.5–​6, 285n.83 41.21.1–​2, 185n.61 41.27.8, 125f 41.27.11, 325n.43 41.27.7–​9, 136n.72 42.1.3–​4, 185n.61 42.1.6, 245n.78 42.7.4–​10, 281n.64 42.9.7, 245n.78 42.9.8, 281n.62

42.10.10–​12, 281n.64 42.19.1–​2, 77n.56, 244n.77 42.21.4–​8, 242n.62 42.22.5–​6, 243n.66 42.22.7, 281n.64 42.22.7–​8, 243n.65 42.22.8, 243n.68 42.27.5–​6, 231n.11 42.28.6, 186n.64 42.31.5, 242n.63 42.32.6–​8, 236n.31 42.33.1–​6, 236n.31 42.34.1–​15, 236n.31 42.34.2–​15, 147n.1 42.34.5–​10, 231n.11 42.35.1–​2, 236n.31 43.2.5–​6, 298n.18 43.9.1, 229n.3 43.13, 330n.60 43.14, 156n.27 43.16.1–​16, 248n.98 44.1.5, 229n.3 44.18.8, 250n.112 44.37.5–​9, 331n.65 45.15.1–​7, 232n.17 45.15.9, 253n.127 45.21.1–​8, 251–​52nn.120,21 45.21.5, 241n.55 45.35.4, 243n.69 45.35.5–​9, 243n.70 45.35.8–​9, 231n.11 45.36.1–​10, 243n.70 45.37.1–​14, 243n.70 45.38.1–​14, 243n.70 45.39.1–​19, 243n.70 45.40.4–​5, 243n.70 45.42.12, 128 45.44.1, 229n.3 Periochae 14, 156n.27

363 34, 249–​50nn.103,8 40.5–​7, 237n.37 41.9, 246n.87, 247n.94 47, 245n.81 47.1, 322 47.10, 330n.61 48, 156n.23 48.11, 270–​71n.17 48.16, 257n.141 49, 298n.15 49.17–​20, 245n.82 50, 186–​87n.65, 280n.55 50.11–​12, 244n.71 50.14, 159n.33 54, 301n.24 56.8, 244n.72, 246n.88, 280n.54 56.11, 159n.36 59.3, 327n.49 59.4, 159n.37 67.2, 159n.38 67.5, 343n.16 Periochae Oxyrhynchi 50, 159n.33 Lucilius, ed. Marx F 573–​574, 242n.59 Macrobius Saturnalia 1.13.21, 319n.24 3.13.13–​14, 242n.60 3.17.3–​8, 242n.60 3.17.6–​7, 242n.61 Nonius, ed. Lindsay 28, 156n.27 Oratorum Romanorum Fragmenta4 M. Porcius Cato (8) F 167, 72–​73

364

364 Oratorum Romanorum Fragmenta4 (cont.) F 223, 183–​84 Q. Caecilius Metellus Macedonicus (18) F 4, 59n.8 T. Sempronius Gracchus (34) F 13–​15, 59n.8 Orosius 4.20.14, 249–​50nn.103,8 5.4.7, 252n.124 Ovid Fasti 5.279–​294, 66n.28 Paul Fragm. Vat. 301, 246n.93 Sententiae 4.8.20, 246n.87, 247n.94 Pausanias 7.11.4–​8, 296n.12 Plautus Amphitruo 1012, 125f, 134n.61 Captiui 90, 125f, 134 Curculio 509–​511, 240n.48 Pseudolus 303–​304, 213n.35 Rudens 1380–​1386, 213n.35 Pliny the Elder Naturalis Historia 1.23–​24, 250n.110 7.112, 296n.12 7.139–​141, 295n.8 7.140, 266–​67 7.143, 251–​52n.120

Index Locorum 8.64, 250n.110 10.139, 242nn.60,61 13.27, 333n.69 18.20, 129n.37 26.40, 128n.33 37.85, 250n.111 Plutarch Aemilius Paullus 3.2–​3, 321 4.1, 177n.42 6.8, 321n.29 17.7–​10, 332n.66 22.3–​7, 157n.29 29–​31, 231n.11 32.1, 231n.11 39.3–​5, 321n.29 Cato Maior 3.6–​7, 228n.1 15.1, 244n.75 21.6–​7, 67n.32 22, 296n.12 Cato Minor 39, 128 Flamininus 71.1–​3, 236n.33 Gaius Gracchus 5.4, 299n.20 Marcellus 12.1–​2, 281n.65 Marius 13.1, 160n.43 27.9, 343n.14 Numa 22.4, 333n.69 Sulla 1.2, 284n.77 Tiberius Gracchus 5–​7, 159n.35 8, 55n.1 8.4, 56n.5 8.5, 70n.40, 158n.30

8.9, 5n.16, 56n.5, 352n.44 Polybius 1.3.6, 173n.25 2.10–​11, 40n.72 2.15.1–​6, 36n.61 2.23.5–​6, 168n.10 3.2.6, 173n.25 3.4.2–​3, 166n.4 3.49.4, 176n.34 3.97.2, 176n.34 3.117, 216–​17 6.13.1–​9, 235n.30 6.16.4, 251n.119 6.19.2, 147, 150n.13, 151n.16 6.51, 39n.71 6.53–​54, 270–​71n.17 6.56, 313n.6 6.58.3–​12, 351n.41 10.20.2–​7, 160n.39 18.28–​32, 37n.66 18.42.1–​4, 174n.29 31.27.2, 220 33.1.2, 277n.48 35.4, 156n.24 36.5.9, 128n.33 Procopius of Caesarea De Bello Gothico 7.22.7–​16, 127n.31 Quintilian 2.15.8, 298n.15 Sallust Bellum Iugurthinum 63.6, 268n.9 85.12, 161n.45 95.3, 284n.77 Scholia Bobiensia, ed. Stangl 96, 242n.59

365

Servius Ad Aeneiden 11.326, 128n.32 Siculus Flaccus, ed. Campbell p. 102–​103, 56n.3 p. 132, 56n.3 Strabo 5.1.12, 36n.62 14.5.2, 351n.43 Suetonius De Grammaticis 1.1, 300n.22 Tacitus Annales 4.16.2, 272–​73n.26 11.22, 246n.85 12.27, 351n.41 15.20.3, 242n.59 Terence Adelphoe 584–​586, 131n.53 Valerius Maximus 1.1.12, 333n.69 1.3.3, 334n.73 2.2.7, 233n.18 2.3.2, 160n.44 2.8.1, 252n.124 4.1.8, 252n.121 4.2.1, 286nn.88,90 4.3.4, 156n.27 5.2. ext. 4, 186–​87n.65 5.8.3, 272n.22, 301n.24 6.4.2, 188n.70 6.9.10, 242n.59, 245n.81 8.1. absol. 11, 301n.27 8.1. damn.1, 244n.75 8.1.2, 245n.82

Index Locorum 8.5.1, 301n.26 8.15.7, 343n.14 9.1.3, 250n.106 9.3.1, 249n.103 Varro De Re Rustica 1.2.9, 56n.2, 299n.20, 327n.51 1.17.2, 63n.18 2.4.11, 36n.61 Velleius Paterculus 1.15.3, 244n.73 2.2.2, 3n.10 2.2.3, 56n.2 2.6.1–​3, 56n.2 2.45, 128n.33 Zonaras 7.15, 233n.18 8.18, 351n.42 8.19, 168n.10 8.23, 176n.34 9.17.1, 107, 249–​50nn.103,6 9.27, 186–​87n.65 9.28, 159n.33 Inscriptions L’Année Epigraphique 1986, 333, 214n.39 Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum 12.11, 272n.23 12.15, 270–​71 12.194, 272n.24 12.581, 334n.72 12.638, 64–​65 10.6950, 64–​65 14.3584, 247n.96 Inscriptiones Italiae 13.1.78, 177n.42

365 Sylloge Inscriptionum Graecarum3 601, 313–​14 Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum 34.558, 36n.64 47.96, 140 Tabula Heracleensis l.108–​112, 214n.38 Coins Roman Republican Coinage 30/​1, 90f 53/​2, 90f 56/​2, 90f 133/​3, 99n.53 136/​1, 99n.53 140/​1, 99n.53 141/​1, 90f, 99n.53 156/​1, 99n.53 158/​1, 99n.53 159/​2, 99n.53 161/​1, 99n.53 163/​1, 99n.53 187/​1, 99n.53 197/​1, 99n.53 199/​1, 99n.53 200/​1, 99n.53 202/​1, 99n.53 203/​1, 99n.53 204/​1, 99n.53 205/​1, 99n.53 206/​1, 99n.53 207/​1, 99n.53 208/​1, 99n.53 221/​1, 99n.53 222/​1, 99n.53 223/​1, 99n.53 225/​1, 99n.53

36

366 Roman Republican Coinage (cont.) 226/​1, 99n.53 227/​1, 99n.53 228/​1, 99n.53 229/​1, 99n.53 230/​1, 99n.53 231/​1, 99n.53 232/​2, 99n.53 235/​1, 107n.99, 110f 235/​1b, 100f 236/​1, 99n.53 238/​1, 99n.53 240/​1, 99n.53 241/​1, 99n.53 242/​1, 101f 244/​1, 99n.53 245/​1, 99n.53 246/​1, 99n.53 247/​1, 99n.53 248/​1, 99n.53 249/​1, 99n.53

Index Locorum 250/​1, 99n.53 252/​1, 99n.53 253/​1, 99n.53 254/​1, 99n.53 255/​1, 99n.53 256/​1, 99n.53 257/​1, 99n.53 258/​1, 99n.53 260/​1, 99n.53 261/​1, 99n.53 266/​1, 99n.53 269/​1, 99n.53 270/​1, 99n.53 271/​1, 99n.53 273/​1, 99n.53 274/​1, 99n.53 275/​1, 99n.53 276/​1, 99n.53 278, 100n.62 279/​1, 99n.53 280/​1, 99n.53 283/​1, 99n.53

284/​1, 99n.53 285/​1, 99n.53 285/​2, 99n.53 289/​1, 99n.53 299/​1, 99n.53 300/​1, 99n.53 302/​1, 99n.53 303/​1, 99n.53 309/​1, 99n.53 310/​1, 99n.53 311/​1, 99n.53 313/​1, 99n.53 317/​2, 99n.53 317/​3, 99n.53 318/​1, 99n.53 320/​1, 99n.53 322/​1, 99n.53 323/​1, 99n.53 324/​1, 99n.53 325/​1, 99n.53 326, 343n.16 328/​1, 99n.53

367

General Index

For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Aburius, M., 251–​52n.120, 256 Achaean War, 157–​58 Achaeans, 21–​22, 40, 286 Acilius Balbus, M’., 318–​19 Acilius Gallus, L., 243 Acilius Glabrio, M’., 277, 318 actio popularis, 213–​14 Adamo, M., 64–​65 adsidui, 58–​59, 75–​76, 147, 149–​50, 161–​62 Aebutius, P., 237–​38, 239 aediles, 76, 123–​24, 125f, 131–​32, 134, 136–​ 37, 138–​39, 216, 238, 243–​44, 274–​75, 323, 324–​25 Aegates Islands, 40 Aelius, Sex., 223–​24 Aelius Ligus, P., 281 Aemilia, 220 Aemilii Lepidi, 276–​77, 288t Aemilii Scauri, 283–​84 Aemilius Lepidus, M., 76n.54, 119, 123–​ 24, 138–​39, 182, 270–​71n.17, 273, 281–​ 82, 285, 286, 288t, 322 Aemilius Paullus, L., 119, 138–​39, 157, 183n.57, 243, 254–​55, 269n.12, 272n.24, 280n.57, 283–​84, 288t, 321, 331–​33

Aetolian League, 180–​81 Africa, 186–​87, 250 ager Campanus, 65–​66, 68–​69, 72–​73, 76–​78, 81, 239, 244–​45 ager Gallicus, 70–71, 106–7 ager in trientabulis, 72, 73, 76–​77 ager publicus, 11–​12, 55n.1, 57, 61–​62, 64–​67, 68–​69, 70–​71, 72, 73–​74, 76, 77–​78, 79–​80, 81, 230, 240, 244–​45, 330–​31, 345 agriculture, 3–​4, 24–​25, 27, 29, 33–​34, 36, 43, 55–​56, 57, 64–​67, 68–​70, 71, 72–​74, 76–​77, 229, 232, 241, 244, 256, 282n.70, 313–​14, 351, 353 agriculture, intensive, 29, 42–​43 Aiakaion, 137, 138 ambitus, 215–​16 Ambracia, 330–​31 Ancien Régime, 1n.1 Ancus Marcius, 217n.51 Andriscus, 157–​59 Anicius Gallus, L., 186n.64 Annian Way, 337 Antigonids, 21–​22, 43–​44 Antiochus III, 146–​47, 149, 177n.42

368

368

General Index

Antonius, M., 129–​31 Apennine Mountains, 25–​26 Apollo, 98–​99, 110f, 110–11 Appian Way, 337 Appuleius Saturninus, L., 74n.46, 159–​60 Apulia, 63–​64 Aqua Marcia, 91–​92, 309 Aquileia, 33, 133n.57 Aquilius, M’., 188–​89 Arausio, 158–​59, 161–​62, 341–​42 Arpinum, 211, 248–​49 as, 92–​93, 98–​99 Asia, province of, 187–​88, 221n.66 Asia Minor, 158–​59, 181–​82, 269–​70, 297, 313–​14, 326–​27 Asinius Pollio, C., 55n.1 Assyrians, 46 Astin, A. E., 216 Athens, 95–​96, 104–​5, 129–​31, 137, 296 Atilius Serranus, A., 180–​81 Atinius Labeo, C., 174n.29, 239, 247n.95 Attalus II, 277n.48 auctoritas patrum, 234, 235, 248n.98, 249–​50 augurs, 281n.65, 319–​20, 321, 322, 328n.55 Aurelius Cotta, L., 188n.70, 301–​2 Aurelius Orestes, L., 187–​88 Aventine, 3–​4, 121–​22, 126, 131–​32, 133–​ 34, 136 Aventine Plain, 119, 120–​21, 124–​25, 136, 138–​39 Bacchanalian affair, 3–​4, 237–​38, 239, 246, 316 Badian, E., 210–​11, 257–​58 Baebius Tamphilus, Cn., 174–​75, 183n.57 Baebius Tamphilus, M., 180–​81 ballot laws, 1, 5–​6, 100–​1, 251, 344 Beck, H., 333 Beloch, K. J., 59–​60 Bianchi Bandinelli, R., 126–​27 Black Sea, 33–​34

Bleicken, J., 196–​97, 209–​10, 211, 216, 218, 222–​23, 224–​25 Boii, 21–​22, 253–​54, 314–​15 Bononia, 32 Botsford, G. W., 209–​10 Brennan, T. C., 216 bronze, 12, 87, 88–​91, 92–​95, 98–​99, 103–​ 7, 109–​11 Broughton, T. R. S., 233–​34, 280 Brunt, P. A., 57, 59–​60, 149, 151, 156 Bruttium, 74, 183n.56 Burton, G., 283 Cadiou, F., 75–​76, 161–​62 Caecilius Metellus, L., 266–​67 Caecilius Metellus, Q., 301n.26 Caecilius Metellus, Q. (cos. 206 bce), 266–​67, 294–​95, 303n.32 Caecilius Metellus Macedonicus, Q., 186n.64, 301–​2 Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, L., 221n.66 Campania, 55–​56, 65–​66, 74, 76–​77, 81, 149, 230 Campanus, ager. See ager Campanus Campus Martius, 118–​19, 127–​31, 138 Cannae, battle of, 41–​42, 151, 216–​17, 249–​50, 295–​96, 301n.23, 351n.41 Capogrossi Colognesi, L., 66–​67 Capua, 65–​66, 76–​78, 92, 244–​45 Carneades, 296, 297 carrying capacity, 32n.45, 43, 65–​66 Carthage, 12–​13, 13n.27, 21–​22, 37–​39, 40–​41, 43–​45, 46, 74, 129–​31, 157–​32, 158–​61, 168n.9, 169–​71, 176–​77, 224–​25, 243–​44, 297, 310–​11, 317–​18, 339, 340–​43 Cassius Longinus, C., 246–​47, 325 Celtiberian Wars, 13–​14 censors, 67–​68, 76–​77, 121, 123–​24, 125f, 136–​37, 221n.66, 223–​24, 237–​ 38, 244–​45, 249, 253, 272n.25, 275–​ 76, 278, 279, 281–​82, 286, 316–​18, 325, 333

369



General Index

census class, 58–​59, 74–​75, 237–​38, 354 centuriae, 74–​75, 176–​77, 237–​38 centurions, 146–​47, 148, 151–​56, 162, 235–​36 Ceres, 319 Chaldaei, 333–​34 Cimbri, 146, 158–​59, 161–​62, 341–​43 Circus Flaminius, 129–​31, 136–​37, 138 Circus Maximus, 122n.11, 136n.72 Cisalpine Gaul, 32, 36–​37, 46, 62n.17, 74, 93–​94, 157, 174–​75, 180–​81, 184, 230 ciues sine suffragio, 232, 248–​49 Claelius Siculus, P., 323–​24 Clark, J., 157 Claudii Centhones, 272 Claudii Pulchri, 271–​72 Claudius, C., 278 Claudius, Ti., 171 Claudius Caecus, Ap., 223–​24, 302–​3 Claudius Centho, C., 277 Claudius Marcellus, M. (cos. V 208 bce), 169–​70, 255, 281n.65 Claudius Marcellus, M. (cos. 196), 174, 239 Claudius Marcellus, M. (cos. 183), 184 Claudius Nero, Ap., 277n.47 Claudius Nero, C., 176–​77 Claudius Nero, Ti., 184–​85n.60 Claudius Pulcher, Ap. (cens. 136 bce), 5, 273 Claudius Pulcher, Ap. (cens. 50 bce), 221n.66 Claudius Pulcher, C., 185 classes, 74–​75, 354 clientelae, 269 cliuus Capitolinus, 282n.70 cliuus Publicius, 131n.51 Cloaca Maxima, 124n.15 Cluvius, 220–​22 Coarelli, F., 129–​31 coemptio, 220–​22

369

colonization, 5–​6, 29–​30, 33, 74, 75–​76, 78–​79, 106–​7, 149–​50, 158, 208–​9, 230 Column of Trajan, 108–​9 columna lactaria, 318 columna Minucia, 101f Comitium, 188–​89, 299 Compitalia, 330–​31 concilium plebis, 237–​38 contio, 236n.31, 244, 249–​50, 255, 297n.14, 299, 300–​1 contubernium, 147–​48 Corcyra, 40 Cornelii Lentuli, 276–​77 Cornelius Blasio, Cn., 177 Cornelius Cethegus, C., 176–​77, 238, 274–​75 Cornelius Cethegus, M., 294–​95, 302–​3 Cornelius Dolabella, L., 323–​24 Cornelius Lentulus, L., (cos. 154 bce), 245 Cornelius Lentulus (cos. 199 bce), 176–​ 77, 178–​79–​178–​79n.46, 253 Cornelius Lentulus, P., 77–​78, 272n.24 Cornelius Lentulus Sura, L., 245 Cornelius Mammula, A., 183n.56 Cornelius Merula, L., 241n.54, 253, 277–​79 Cornelius Scipio, L., 272 Cornelius Scipio, L. (quaest. 167), 280 Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus, P., 5–​6, 156, 157, 160–​61, 186–​89, 220, 243–​44, 251, 276–​77, 279–​80, 283–​84, 297n.14, 301–​2, 327–​28, 331–​32 Cornelius Scipio Africanus, P., 157, 159–​ 60, 170n.18, 172n.23, 174–​75, 176–​77, 179n.47, 182–​83, 188–​89n.72, 220n.59, 222, 229, 230–​31, 273, 276–​77, 278–​79, 282n.70, 302, 342 Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus, L., 276–​77, 279, 280, 282n.70 Cornelius Scipio Calvus, Cn., 176–​77

370

370

General Index

Cornelius Scipio Hispallus, Cn. (cos. 176 bce), 276n.44, 282n.70, 284–​85 Cornelius Scipio Hispanus, Cn. (praet. 139 bce), 270–​71, 280 Cornelius Scipio Nasica, P., 253–​54, 277–​ 79, 280, 284n.77, 287 Cornelius Scipio Nasica Corculum, P., 273, 276–​77, 282n.70 Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio, P., 16, 310–​11, 327–​28, 335 Cornelius Sulla, L., 1, 55–​56, 74n.46, 194–​95, 224–​25, 283–​84 Cornelius Sulla, Ser., 185n.61 Corsica, 151–​52, 168n.10, 184–​85, 187–​88 Cosa, 55–​56 Cozza, L., 120, 126, 127, 135 Crastinus, C., 162 Cremona, 33 Critolaus, 296, 297 Cupid, 99n.53 Curia, 172n.23, 188–​89, 342–​43 Curius, M’. (cens. 272 bce), 303n.32 Curius, M’. (trib. 198 bce), 253–​54 cursus honorum, 178–​79n.46, 184n.59, 215–​18, 222, 228–​29, 279–​80, 284–​85, 344, 354 Cyprus, 128, 129–​31 Dalmatia, 156 Daunia, 65–​66 decor, 109 De Magistris, E., 137–​38 demobilization, 74–​75, 147, 148, 149, 151–​52, 157, 158 denarius, 12, 86–​117, 150, 343n.16, 344 Diana, 99n.53 Diogenes of Babylon, 296, 297 Dionisotti, C., 1–​2 Dioscuri, 89, 90f, 93–​94, 96, 100n.62 dolphin (Tarentum), 95–​96 duouiri aedi dedicandae, 317–​18, 331n.63

Ebusus, 104–​6, 105f Eckstein, A. M., 37–​38 Egypt, 38n.69, 43–​44, 61n.16 Elster, M., 196 Emporium, 125f, 126, 131–​34, 139 Engels, F., 61n.16 Ennius, Q., 26n.19, 294–​95, 302–​3 Epirus, 186n.64 Eporedia, 62n.17 equestrian order, 218, 221n.66, 237–​ 38, 354 Erdkamp, P., 24–​25, 36 Etcheto, H., 270–​71 Etruria, 5, 55–​56, 68–​69, 230, 352n.44 Etruscans, 34 Fabius Buteo, M., 216–​17, 218 Fabius Labeo, Q., 183n.56, 183n.57, 280 Fabius Maximus, Q. (cos. 121), 280 Fabius Maximus Aemilianus, Q., 160, 187–​88, 283–​84 Fabius Maximus Servilianus, Q., 283 Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, Q., 294–​95, 303n.32 Fabius Pictor, Q., 324–​25 Falerii Novi, 351n.42 Falerii Veteres, 351n.42 Fannius, C., 303–​4 Fasti Capitolini, 281, 281n.65 Feeney, D., 96–​97 Ferrary, J.-​L., 195–​96, 198, 209–​11, 212, 216 Flach, D., 196 flaminate of Jupiter, 238, 270, 272, 273–​ 76, 286–​87, 318, 323 flaminate of Mars, 326–​27 flaminate of Quirinus, 324–​25 Flaminius, C., 70–​71, 196n.7, 230n.7, 258, 294–​95, 303n.32 fleets, 38–​39, 40–​41, 120, 128, 149, 150–​51, 168n.9, 171, 183n.57, 186n.64, 236–​ 37, 241

371



General Index

Flower, H., 1–​2, 3–​4, 5–​6, 8, 16, 17, 24–​25, 86–​87, 88, 165, 166n.4, 194–​95, 224–​ 25, 317–​18, 330–​31 food supply, 36–​37, 42–​43 Formia, 211, 248–​49 Forum Boarium, 118–​19, 121–​22, 123–​24, 128–​29, 136–​37, 314–​15 Forum Romanum, 118–​19, 124n.14, 299, 333 Frank, T., 59–​60 Fulvian group, 175n.32 Fulvius, M., 253–​54 Fulvius, Q., 174, 236 Fulvius Flaccus, Q., 275n.40, 324–​25 Fulvius Nobilior, M., 76n.54, 123–​24, 125n.18, 131–​32, 136–​37, 182, 279n.52, 281–​82, 285–​86, 330–​31 Fundanius, M., 249–​50, 258 Fundi, 211, 248–​49, 325 Furius Crassipes, M., 242n.64 Furius Purpurio, L., 174–​75 Gabba, E., 64–​65, 68–​69, 149–​50 Gabinius, A., 251 Geertz, C., 311–​12 gentes maiores, 9, 15–​16, 266–​92 Gentius, 186n.64 Gerkan, A. von, 135 Germans, 161–​62 Gracchi, 2–​3, 4–​6, 11–​12, 14–​15, 16, 28, 55–​57, 58–​59, 68–​69, 72–​73, 78–​79, 209–​11, 212, 249, 251, 257–​58, 299, 308, 339, 341, 345, 351–​52, 353–​54 Greeks, 34, 168n.11, 304–​5 Gros, P., 136 Hannibal, 2–​3, 16, 72, 152, 156, 165, 169–​ 71, 172–​75, 233, 278, 312–​13, 341–​42, 351, 351n.41 Harper, K., 24 Harris, W. V., 35, 37–​38

371

Hercules, 99n.53 Hercules of the Muses, 330–​31 Hermodoros, 131 High Empire, 38–​39, 45 Hirpinia, 65–​66 Hispala Faecenia, 237–​38, 239 Hispania Citerior, 156, 177, 325–​26 Hispania Ulterior, 177, 298 Histri, 185 hoards, 97n.48, 99n.55, 105–​7 Hölkeskamp, K.-​J., 215–​16 Hopkins, K., 12–​13, 57, 86n.2, 283 horrea Galbana, 135n.64, 137–​38 Hostilius Mancinus, C., 158–​59, 298n.16 Hostilius Tubulus, L., 246 Hurst, H., 129–​31 Iberian Peninsula, 97, 176–​77, 178n.45, 178–​79n.46, 187–​88 Illyrian Wars, 152–​56 imperium, 14, 166–​70, 171–​73, 176–​77, 178, 180, 183–​85, 186–​87, 189–​90, 228–​ 29, 236, 246, 258–​59, 275–​76, 297n.14, 298, 303n.32 imperium, consular, 169n.12, 176–​78 imperium, praetorian, 176–​77 imperium extraordinarium, 188–​89n.72 infamia, 194n.2 intercessio, 15n.29, 248n.97, 251–​52n.120, 252n.122, 253n.126 interregnum, 270, 272, 283n.71 Italians, 32, 35, 64n.23, 78–​80, 162, 341n.7, 353–​54 Iuniores, 149, 213 Iunius Brutus, D., 187–​88 Iunius Brutus, L., 267n.5 Iunius Brutus, M. (trib. 195 bce), 249–​ 50, 316–​17 Iunius Brutus, M. (praet. before 139 bce), 223–​24

372

372

General Index

Iunius Brutus, M. (praet. 44 bce), 185, 302–​4, 305–​6 Iunius Brutus, P., 249–​50 Iunius Silanus, M., 176–​77 Iunius Silanus Manlianus, D., 271–​ 72, 301–​2 Iuventius Thalna, P., 158–​59 Janus, 89, 93f, 96 Jugurtha, 146, 158–​59, 342–​43 Jugurthine War, 13–​14, 158, 161–​62 Julius Caesar, C., 33, 34–​35, 45, 147, 162, 221n.66, 287 Julius Caesar Augustus, C., 24, 31–​32, 34–​35, 148, 221n.66, 350n.37, 351n.41 Juno, 99n.53 Jupiter, 89, 90f, 93–​94, 96, 99n.53, 269n.14, 270, 272, 273, 282n.70, 286–​ 87, 320, 321–​22, 323 Juventas, 317–​18 Kos, 110–11 Laelius, C., 5, 55n.1, 70, 158, 299–​300n.21, 302, 303–​4, 305–​6, 327–​28, 344n.21 Laffi, U., 208–​9, 240 Lapis Pollae, 64–​65, 70 latifundium, 60 Latins, 240, 250 Latium, 61–​62, 68–​69, 72, 76–​77, 136n.72 laudationes, 220–​22, 295 Launaro, A., 62–​63 leges Porciae, 198n.11 Leo, F., 134 Levene, D., 315–​16 Lex Aebutia, 198n.11, 246 Lex Aelia, 246, 329–​31 lex annalis, 1, 183, 210n.23, 211, 228–​29, 243–​44, 269n.10, 279–​80, 331–​32, 344 lex Apuleia, 198n.11 lex Atilia, 214–​16

lex Baebia Cornelia, 241–​42 lex de modo agrorum, 56n.2, 72–​73, 230 lex Calpurnia, 298–​99, 300–​2 lex Cicereia, 198n.11 lex Cornelia annalis, 217 lex Falcidia, 219 lex Fannia, 242 lex Fufia, 246, 329–​31 lex Furia, 198n.11, 219, 246–​47 lex Gabinia, 100–​1 lex Hortensia, 233 lex Laetoria, 213–​15, 217, 246–​47 lex Licinia, 28–​29, 56n.2, 72–​73 lex Ogulnia, 1 lex Oppia, 80n.61, 249–​50, 250n.111 lex Papiria, 318n.22, 325n.45 lex Publilia, 198n.11 lex Sempronia, agraria, 28–​29, 55–​ 56, 70–​71 lex Sempronia de provinciis consularibus, 172n.22 lex Villia Annalis, 183, 211, 215–​ 16, 217, 228–​29, 243–​44, 246, 269n.10, 279–​80 lex Voconia, 218–​22, 246–​47, 349–​50 Libertas, 198n.11 Licinius Crassus, C., 299, 327–​28 Licinius Crassus, M. (cos. 171 bce) Licinius Crassus Dives, P., 188–​89, 273, 274–​75nn.31,35, 275–​76, 320, 324–​27 Licinius Lucullus, C., 317–​18, 321–​22 Licinius Varus, P., 274 Liguria, 151–​52, 168n.10, 182, 184, 314–​ 15, 325–​26 Ligurians, 45, 74, 253–​54, 325–​26 litatio, 325–​26 Livius, C., 182, 237 Livius Salinator, C., 286 Livius Salinator, M., 317–​18 Lo Cascio, E., 29–​30, 35, 41–​42, 58–​60, 62–​63, 150

37



General Index

Lucania, 55–​56, 64–​66, 74 Lucilius Balbus, Q., 327–​28 Lucretius, M., 77–​78 Ludi Romani, 96–​97, 275n.36 Luna, 98–​99, 98f, 99n.53 Lunae, 75–​76 Lundgreen, C., 329–​30 Lutatius Catulus, Q., 342 Lysias, 304–​6 Ma, J., 313–​14 Macedonia, province of, 157–​58, 174, 175, 186–​87, 236, 239, 301n.24 Macedonian Wars, 8–​9, 13–​14, 40, 72, 146–​47, 148–​49, 150–​51, 157, 158–​59, 173, 186–​87, 188–​89, 320 Magnesia, 152 Malanima, P., 29–​30 Manilius, M’., 157 Manlius Acidinus, L., 176–​77, 179n.47, 179–​80n.48, 252–​53 Manlius Vulso, A., 185 Manlius Vulso, Cn., 182, 277–​78, 285–​86 Manning, S., 21–​22 manpower, 11–​12, 41–​45, 46–​47, 57–​60, 62–​64, 68–​69, 70, 146–​47, 150–​51, 156, 345, 351n.41 Mantovani, D., 212 Marcius Ralla, Q., 174n.29, 244–​45 Marcius Rex, Q., 334–​35 Marcius Scylla, Q., 242 Marcius Septimius, L., 176n.35 Marcius Sermo, M., 242 marginal land, 29–​32, 34, 43 marriage alliances, 349 Mars, 99n.53, 129–​31, 274–​75, 326–​27 Marx, K., 61 Massilia, 33 McClintock, A., 220 McCormick, M., 24 Meadows, A., 102

373

Megalesia, 197n.8, 316–​17 military pay, 98–​99, 103–​4, 106, 107–​8 military recruitment, 3–​4, 75–​76, 257–​ 58, 347 military tribunes, 147–​48, 152–​56, 160–​ 61, 235–​36, 243–​44, 271n.19, 284n.79 Minturnae, 105–​6 Minucius Augurinus, C., 101f Minucius Rufus, M., 178n.44 Mommsen, T., 177n.42, 208–​9, 216, 240, 267–​68 moneyers, 94–​95, 98–​99, 100, 100f, 101f, 102, 109–​11 Montesquieu, C. de, 2–​3 Monti Lepini, 29–​30 Morley, N., 35 mos maiorum, 67–​68, 194, 270, 275–​76, 281–​82, 286–​87, 334–​35 Mucius Scaevola, P., 223–​24 Mummius, L., 244 Mummius, Q., 244 Mutina, 32 Myonesus, 40 Nabis, 180–​81, 241, 278n.50 Narbo Martius, 158 naualia, 12–​13, 120, 120f, 125–​31, 134, 138, 139 Neeve, P. de, 60 New Carthage, 159–​60 New Comedy, 134 Niccolini, G., 233–​34 Niebuhr, B. G., 68–​69 Nigidius Figulus, P., 331–​32 nobility, Roman, 5, 9, 12, 14–​16, 97, 102, 108, 112, 168–​69, 170, 175, 178–​79, 180, 186–​87, 190, 215–​16, 218, 229, 230, 248–​ 49, 266–​69, 270–​71, 281–​82, 283–​84, 285, 286–​87, 323–​24, 330–​31, 332–​33 Numa Pompilius, 237, 272–​73n.26, 327–​ 28, 332n.68

374

374

General Index

Numa, Books of, 237, 332–​33, 347–​48 Numantia, 160–​61, 188–​89n.72, 243–​44, 279–​80, 298n.16 Numidia, 146, 160, 161–​62, 276, 323, 325–​26 oath-​taking, 208, 238, 274–​75 obnuntiatio, 246, 328n.55, 329–​31 Octavius, Cn., 186n.64, 243 Octavius, M., 15n.29, 211 olive trees, 33–​34 Oppius, L., 174, 236 opus incertum, 120–​21 Ostia, 121–​22, 136 owl (Athenian), 95–​96 Palatine, 316–​17 Panaetius, 303–​4 Papirius, C., 327–​28 Parma, 32, 33 Parthenon Frieze, 108–​9 Pausanias, 345n.23 peculium, 66–​68 Pelgrom, J., 31–​32 permutatio prouinciarum, 180–​81, 181n.52 Perseus, 13–​14, 151–​52, 186, 272n.24, 345 Persians, 38–​39, 46 Petilius, L., 237 Petilius Spurinus, Q., 237, 244, 332–​33 Philip V., 147–​48, 229, 230–​31, 236, 239, 246–​47, 257, 351n.41 Picenum, 239 Pietas, temple of, 318 Piganiol, A., 118, 119, 281 Pina Polo, F., 210–​11 Piraeus, 134, 138 Placentia, 33 plebiscites, 179–​80n.48, 196–​97, 198–​211, 212, 213–​14, 215–​16, 219, 230n.7, 232, 237–​38, 239–​40, 241–​45, 241n.53, 246–​47, 248, 249, 251, 254–​55, 256, 257, 259t, 261t, 274–​75, 281n.60

plebiscitum Atinium, 244 plebiscitum Aufidium, 250 plebiscitum Calpurnium, 241–​42 plebiscitum Cassium, 246, 251 plebiscitum Claudianum, 66–​68 plebiscitum Didium, 241–​42 plebiscitum Gabinium, 246 plebiscitum Licinium, 244 plebiscitum Lucretium, 230, 244–​45 plebiscitum Marcium, 245 plebiscitum Marcium Atinium, 247n.95 plebiscitum Orchium, 241–​42 plebiscitum Sempronium, 240, 243n.69 plebiscitum Terentium, 232, 249, 257–​58 plebiscitum Valerium, 211, 232, 248, 249, 251–​52n.120 plebiscitum Valerium Fundanium, 255, 257–​58 Po, Basin, 32, 45 pomerium, 228–​29 Pompeii, 105–​6, 107–​8 Pompeius, Cn., 74n.46, 162 Pompeius, Q., 301–​2 Pompeius, Sex., 100f, 109–​11 Pomponius, 223 Pons Sublicius, 136n.72 Pontine Marshes, 30–​31 Popilius Laenas, C., 281 Popillius Laenas, M., 242, 256, 302–​3 Porcius Cato, M., 5–​6, 55–​56, 64–​65, 66–​ 67, 72–​73, 77–​78, 80n.61, 128–​29, 157, 183–​84, 219–​20, 232n.16, 244, 247n.94, 249–​50, 256, 274n.31, 275–​76, 279, 293n.1, 295, 296–​97, 298–​99, 303–​6, 353 Porcius Cato the Younger, M., 128 Porcius Licinus, L., 183n.57 Porta Lauernalis, 136 Porta Trigemina, 121–​22, 123–​24, 125f, 131–​32, 134, 135, 136 porticus Aemilia, 119–​21, 125–​27, 131–​32, 133f, 134, 135, 136, 137–​39

375



General Index

porticus Minucia frumentaria, 137 Portunus, temple of, 128–​29 Portus, 137n.80 portus Tiberinus, 123–​24, 125f Posidonius, 55n.1 Postumia, Via, 33n.51 Postumius Albinus, A., 325 Postumius Albinus, L., 76–​78, 237–​38 Postumius Albinus, Sp., 324–​25 praetor peregrinus, 233n.21, 251–​52n.120, 254–​55, 271n.20, 275n.39, 276, 284–​ 85, 324–​25 praetorship, 77–​78, 148, 167–​68, 177–​78, 182–​83, 184–​85, 187n.67, 213–​15, 216–​ 17, 228–​29, 231–​32, 241, 247, 275, 276, 324–​25, 333–​34 priesthoods, 16, 128, 223–​24, 237, 244, 248n.98, 272–​73n.26, 274–​75, 276, 286–​87, 299–​300n.21, 310–​11, 312–​13, 320, 321–​24, 326–​31, 332–​35 primitivism, 11n.24, 67–​68 priuati cum imperio, 168n.10, 169–​70, 170n.18, 176–​77, 179–​80n.48 private law, 14, 195–​96, 207f, 208–​9, 208f, 211, 212–​23, 246–​47, 344 professio, 60 proletarii, 75, 149–​51, 161–​62, 230–​31 propraetor, 176–​77, 178, 179, 183n.56, 186–​87n.65 prorogatio imperii, 168–​69, 170, 180, 184, 186–​88, 243 province, 168n.10, 170, 173, 178n.45, 180–​ 81, 181n.52, 184, 187, 189 Prusias of Bithynia, 8–​9, 277n.48 Prussia, 41–​42 Ptolemies, 43–​44 Ptolemy of Cyprus, 128 publicani, 106, 109n.108, 248n.98, 305–​6 Punic Wars, 3–​5, 3n.7, 8–​9, 13–​14, 16, 41–​ 42, 43–​44, 61–​62, 70–​71, 72, 74–​75, 76–​77, 86–​87, 91, 92–​94, 95, 96–​97,

375

98–​99, 103–​4, 111, 148–​51, 152, 157–​60, 162, 165–​66, 167–​69, 170–​71, 172–​73, 175, 176–​77, 178, 180, 186–​87, 189–​90, 194–​95, 196, 198, 209–​10, 215, 216, 219–​20, 222, 228–​29, 230–​31, 243–​44, 254n.133, 258, 268–​69, 276–​77, 278, 279–​80, 282n.70, 283n.74, 286–​87, 310–​11, 316–​17, 322, 339, 340, 344, 345, 349–​50, 351–​52, 353–​54 Puteoli, 133–​34, 178n.44 Pydna, 157, 331–​32, 345n.23, 354 Pyrrhus, 156, 295, 303n.32 quinarius, 93–​94 Quinctilius Varus, P., 351n.41 Quinctius Cincinnatus, L., 128–​29 Quinctius Flamininus, L., 277–​79 Quinctius Flamininus, T., 172n.23, 173–​ 74, 182–​83, 236, 253–​54, 277–​78 Quintio, 67n.32 religio, 311–​12, 318n.21, 327–​28, 329–​30, 331–​32, 334–​35 repetundae, 231–​32, 271–​72, 298–​99, 300–​2 rex sacrificulus, 323–​24 Rich, J., 58–​59, 62–​63, 68–​69 Richardson, L., 135, 136 Rilinger, R., 215–​16 rogatio Iuventia, 251–​52n.120 rogatio Licinia Papiria, 251–​52n.120 rogatio Pinaria annalis, 216 rogatio Rutilia, 248n.98 rogatio Scribonia, 245 rogatio Valeria Fundania, 249–​50 rogationes, 70–​71, 76–​77, 196n.5, 235, 248, 261t, 299–​300n.21 Roma (personification), 90f, 93–​94, 96, 98f, 100f, 101f Roman Climate Optimum, 10–​11, 353–​54 Roman Warm Period, 10–​11, 22, 23–​26, 29–​30, 31–​32, 33–​35, 36–​37, 38–​41, 45, 47

376

376

General Index

Rome (city of ), 7, 8–​9, 12–​13, 15–​16, 36–​37, 59–​60, 61n.14, 88–​89, 91, 93–​94, 103–​4 , 105–​6, 118–​45, 168n.9, 183n.56, 185, 210–​11, 231–​32, 233, 238, 247, 252–​53, 267–​68, 274–​ 75n.35, 276, 281–​82, 286, 297, 298, 300, 307, 311, 312–​13, 314–​15, 316–​18, 324–​25, 330–​31, 342–​4 3, 351–​52, 352n.50 Roncaglia, C. E., 32 Rosenstein, N., 42–​43 Rotondi, G., 196, 212, 223–​24 Rubicon, 162 Rutilius Rufus, P., 160, 161–​62 Salamis, 129–​31 Salinae, 136 Salonia, 353 Salonius, 353 Salus, 325–​26 Samnite Wars, 169, 215–​16 Samnites, 34, 38 Sardinia, 93–​94, 134, 138, 151–​52, 167–​68, 169, 180–​81, 184–​85, 187–​88, 284–​ 85, 324–​25 Sardinians, 21–​22 Saturn, 99n.53 Saturnalia, 330–​31 Scheidel, W., 35, 41–​42 Schiavone, A., 223–​25 scribae, 353 Scribonius Libo, L., 256 secret ballot, 100–​1, 251, 344 Seleucids, 21–​22, 40, 43–​44, 150–​51, 152, 157–​58, 313–​15 Sempronius Gracchus, C., 56n.5, 158, 299n.20, 352n.44 Sempronius Gracchus, T. (trib. pl. 133), 2–​4, 5, 6, 14–​15, 28–​29, 55–​56, 59–​60, 151, 158–​59, 188–​89n.72, 303–​4, 310–​11, 322, 343, 352n.44

Sempronius Gracchus, T. (cos. 177, 162), 151, 304n.34, 319–​20 Sempronius Longus, Ti., 175n.32, 179n.47, 253, 279n.52 Sempronius Tuditanus, M., 240, 279n.52 semuncia, 103–​4 senatus consultum, 70–​71, 178n.44, 179–​ 80n.48, 209–​10, 233–​34, 235, 236–​38, 239–​47, 248–​51, 251–​52n.120, 254–​55, 259t, 261t, 316 Senate, Roman, 2–​3, 8–​9, 10, 11–​12, 14–​ 16, 55–​85, 94–​95, 98n.51, 128–​29, 150–​ 51, 152, 167–​68, 169–​73, 174–​78, 179, 180–​81, 182, 183–​89, 194–​95, 209–​11, 216–​17, 221n.66, 228–​65, 266n.2, 268–​ 69, 274–​75, 280n.55, 281, 283n.74, 285, 296, 297, 298–​99, 300–​1, 311, 314–​15, 317–​18, 320, 322, 323, 324–​26, 332–​35, 341–​42, 345–​46, 347–​49, 352, 354 seniores, 213 Servilius, M., 171, 243 Servilius Caepio, Cn., 283 Servilius Caepio, Q., 283n.72 Servilius Geminus, C., 323–​24 Servilius Isauricus, P., (cos. 48 bce), 188–​89n.72 Servilius Vatia Isauricus, P. (cos. 79 bce), 221n.66 Servius Tullius, 213 sestertius, 99 Seven Years’ War, 41–​42 Severan Marble Plan, 119, 119f, 120, 120f, 121, 129–​32, 137–​38 Sicilian slave wars, 158 Sicily, 36, 63–​65, 93–​94, 104n.83, 105–​7, 105n.86, 134, 138, 167–​68, 169–​70, 180–​81, 187–​88, 285–​86 Signia, 29–​30 silver, 12, 87, 88–​91, 92–​95, 96–​97, 98–​ 100, 102, 103–​5, 106–​8, 111–​12

37



General Index

sine manu marriage, 219–​22, 349 slave revolts, 63–​64, 158, 187–​88, 351–​52 slaves, 17, 41–​43, 57–​59, 60, 62–​64, 65–​ 67, 78–​79, 228–​29, 297–​98, 348n.32, 350–​52, 353, 354 social mobility, 354 Social War, 13–​14, 146, 162, 341 Sol, 99n.53 sortitio, 174, 181n.52, 186n.64, 276 Southern Italy, 5, 29–​30, 64–​66, 74, 105n.86, 106–​7, 167–​68, 180–​ 81, 230 Spain, 3–​4, 40–​42, 97n.48, 109n.108, 146–​47, 151–​52, 157, 158–​60, 169–​70, 170n.18, 172–​73, 173–​74n.27, 175–​79, 180–​81, 186–​88, 238, 241, 244, 252–​53, 314–​15, 317–​18, 346 Sparta, 28–​29, 46, 180–​81, 277–​78, 286 Spurius Ligustinus, 146–​56, 231 Stertinius, L., 177 stirps, 269–​71, 276–​79, 283–​84, 286–​87 Struggle of the Orders, 1, 2–​3, 15–​16, 196, 270 Sulpicius Galba, Ser., 188n.70, 245, 256, 298–​99, 305–​6 Sulpicius Galus, C., 303–​4, 331–​ 32, 333–​34 sumptuary laws, 14, 219–​20, 242, 249–​ 50, 347, 348–​50, 354 superstitio, 311–​12 synedrion (Carthage), 170–​71 Syracuse, 28–​29, 92 Syrian Wars, 3–​4, 151–​52, 186n.64, 236–​ 37, 241 Syrian-​Aetolian War, 180–​81 Tarentum, 95–​96 Tarquinius Priscus, 217n.51, 267n.5 Tarquinius Superbus, 303n.32 Taylor, L. R., 2–​3 Taylor, M. J., 7, 10, 13–​14, 43–​45, 345, 347

377

Terentius Culleo, Q. (?), 249 Testaccio, 119f, 120, 125–​26, 126n.25, 129–​ 31, 134–​35, 136, 137–​38 Teutoni, 146, 159–​60, 341–​42 Thermopylae, 318 Thessaly, 36 Thomas, Y., 213–​14, 218–​20 Thurii, 240 Tiber, 121–​22, 123–​25, 128, 129, 136n.72, 314–​15 Tiber Island, 129 Titinii, 241n.54 Titinius, C., 253 Titinius, M., 253 Tomb of the Scipiones, 135, 269n.14 Torelli, M., 120–​21 Toynbee, A. J., 4–​5, 57, 60, 61–​62 Tremellius, Cn., 253, 322 tribunes of the plebs, 2–​3, 8, 10, 14–​15, 76–​77, 78–​79, 156, 168n.11, 171, 172, 174, 179, 209–​11, 216, 228–​65, 274–​75, 298–​99, 300–​1, 308, 321–​22, 323, 324–​ 25, 327–​28, 329–​30, 347–​48 tributum, 79–​80, 231–​32, 345, 354 triumph, 106–​7, 128–​29, 148, 152–​56, 157, 167n.6, 170, 177n.42, 178–​79, 241, 243, 251–​52, 253–​54, 256, 269, 277–​78, 281–​82, 342–​43 triumviri epulones, 244, 321–​22 Tucci, P. L., 120, 126, 127, 129, 131–​32, 133–​34, 135 Turia, 220–​22, 350n.37 Twelve Tables, 212, 214–​15, 219–​20, 224–​ 25, 350n.40 uacatio militiae, 233n.21 uectigal, 76–​77, 79–​80 uelites, 147–​48 uia Ostiensis, 134, 136 uncia, 103–​4 US Civil War, 41–​42

378

378

General Index

Valerius Flaccus, C., 238, 273–​76, 323, 324–​25 Valerius Flaccus, L., 273, 274–​75, 279, 323, 326–​27 Valerius Lactucinus Maximus, M., 284n.79 Valerius Laevinus, M. (cos. 210 bce), 170, 284–​85 Valerius Laevinus, M. (praet. 182 bce), 284–​85 Valerius Laevinus, P. (cos. 280 bce), 269–​70n.15 Valerius Messalla, M., (cos. 188 bce), 285, 286, 313–​15, 316 Valerius Messalla, M. (cos. 161 bce), 284n.80 Valerius Messalla Niger, M., 221n.66, 284n.80 Valerius Potitus, L., 302–​3 Valerius Tappo, C., 248–​49 values, 46, 87, 88, 108–​9, 111–​249, 270n.16, 353

Vatican, 128–​29 Velleius Paterculus, 2–​3, 55–​56 Venus, 99n.53 Venusia, 216–​17 Vesuvius, 29 veterans, 74–​76, 79–​80, 106–​7, 148, 152, 158, 159–​60, 161–​62, 230–​31 Veturius Philo, L., 295 Vibo Valentia, 240 Victory, 89, 90f, 93–​94, 99n.53 Vicus Jugarius, 314–​15 Viriathus, 3–​4, 158–​59, 160 vows, 16, 185, 274n.31, 317–​18, 320 Weinstock, S., 329–​30 Weishaupt, A., 219–​20 Williams, J., 102 Williamson, C., 196–​97 Woytek, B., 100 Zama, 6, 152 Zevi, F., 137

379

380