American Journal of Ancient History: New Series 2.2, 2003 9781593337469, 1593337469

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AMERICAN JOURNAL OF ANCIENT HISTORY

AMERICAN JOURNAL OF ANCIENT HISTORY Editor, New Series: T. Corey Brennan, Rutgers University Associate Editor: Christopher Mackay, University of Alberta Assistant Editors: Dobrinka Chiekova, Bryn Mawr College; Debra Nousek, University of Western Ontario Editorial Advisory Board: W. Robert Connor, President, The Teagle Foundation, New York; Erich S. Gruen, University of California, Berkeley; Sabine MacCormack, University of Notre Dame; Stephen V. Tracy, The Ohio State University and Director, American School of Classical Studies, Athens. Editorial assistant: Andrew G. Scott, Rutgers University For Contributors: From New Series volume 1 (2002) the editorial office of the Journal is at The Department of Classics, Ruth Adams Building 007, Rutgers University, 131 George Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901-1414, (USA), tel. 732.932.9493, fax 732.932.9246, email: [email protected]. For further information, please visit the journal website www.ajah.org. All editorial correspondence should be addressed to the Editor. Typescripts intended for publication should be at least double-spaced (text and notes), with the notes numbered consecutively and following the text. Journals should be abbreviated as in L’Année philologique; modifications customary in English will be accepted. No indication of the author’s identity should appear on the typescript: the name and address should be on a separate page. References to the author’s own work should be in the same style as references to the work of others. Personal acknowledgments should not be included: they may be added after the article has been accepted for publication. Authors who want rejected articles returned should enclose postage. For Subscriptions: From New Series volume 2.2 (2003) [2007] AJAH is published by Gorgias Press. All correspondence on business, subscription, advertising and permission matters should be addressed to Gorgias Press (AJAH), 46 Orris Ave., Piscataway, NJ 08854 (USA), tel: 732.699.0343, fax: 732.699.0342, email: [email protected]. Subscriptions dues are $50/vol. for individuals and institutions, plus shipping, handling and sales tax when appropriate. All prices are in USD and payments can be made by credit cards or checks drawn on US banks. Prepayment is required for shipment. For further information, see www.gorgiaspress.com.

AMERICAN JOURNAL OF ANCIENT HISTORY

New Series Volume 2, Number 2 2003 [2007]

GORGIAS PRESS 2007

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C ON T E N T S Urartu and the Medikos logos of Herodotus laura d. steele

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“The athletes of war”: An evaluation of the agonistic elements in Greek warfare john dayton 17 Agesilaus’ Egyptian enterprise stephen ruzicka

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UR A RTU AND THE M EDIKOS LO GOS OF HEROD OTU S 1 Given the colorful and almost comprehensive variety of seventh century BCE Near Eastern states mentioned by Herodotus, his omission of the kingdom of Urartu is somewhat puzzling. The question of Herodotus’ apparent ignorance of the Urartians has not been explored in depth, however, perhaps because his account of early Median history often diverges from that of the Assyrian and Babylonian chronicles.2 P. Zimansky suggests simply that an early destruction of Urartu, around 640 BCE, would have precluded significant contact between the Urartians and the Medes, upon whose institutional memory much of Herodotus’ account was based.3 This paper will argue that Urartu is present, albeit incorrectly identified, in the Medikos logos of Herodotus’

1 This paper was conceived in a University of California, Berkeley graduate seminar taught in 1998 by C.W. Greenewalt and D. Stronach, whose continued guidance has been invaluable. It was presented at the Sixth Anatolian Iron Ages Symposium in Eski≈sehir (August 2004), and the following participants in particular offered helpful critiques and insights: C. Burney, A. Çilingiroπlu, O. Muscarella, U. Seidl, T. Tarhan, and G. Tsetskhladze. The author would also like to thank P. Zimansky, M.W. Newton, A. Littauer, and the anonymous reviewers who read earlier drafts of this paper. Although she is grateful for every comment and correction, the author accepts responsibility for any remaining errors in fact or in judgment. 2 For a compendium of discrepancies between the work of Herodotus and Near Eastern sources, see P.R. Helm, “Herodotus’ Medikos logos and Median history”, Iran 19 (1981) 85-90. 3 P. Zimansky, “An Urartian Ozymandias”, Biblical Archaeologist 58 (1995) 99.

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Histories: whereas Herodotus tells us, improbably, that Scythians gained control of the Median empire for 28 years before the fall of Nineveh in 612 BCE, it is much more likely that Scythians roamed the territory formerly governed by the Urartian state during precisely this period. The tale of Scythian domination over an unspecified Eastern kingdom thus might have outlived the reputation of Urartu itself, and Herodotus and his informers came to associate the otherwise decontextualized tale with the better-known Medes. In his Medikos logos (Histories 1.95-107), Herodotus chronicles briefly (1.103-106) the life and accomplishments of Cyaxares, the Median king who subjected to his rule “all of Asia east of the Halys river” (103.2) and helped to destroy Nineveh (106.2, conventionally in 612 BCE). Cyaxares also fought the Lydians in the so-called Battle of the Eclipse (1.74.1-3, 103.2), conventionally dated to 585 BCE, toward the end of the king’s reign. Herodotus claims, without much elaboration, that the Scythians had attacked Cyaxares during an initial (unsuccessful) siege of Nineveh (103.3). Defeating the Medes in battle, the Scythians as a result “made themselves masters of all Asia” (104.2)4 and ruled the Asian empire of the Medes for 28 years (106.1). Cyaxares then regained the throne by means of a coup, according to Herodotus (106.2), and then went on to conquer Nineveh at last (106.2). Herodotus asserts that at the time of his death Cyaxares had ruled for a total of 40 years, a period that includes the Scythian interregnum (106.3).5 As others have noted,6 this chronology cannot be correct as stated. If the 28-year Scythian interregnum took place before the fall of Nineveh,

4 For a critical examination of this account, see R. Rollinger, “The western expansion of the Median ‘Empire’: A re-examination”, in Continuity of empire (?): Assyria, Media, Persia, edd. G. Lanfranchi, M. Roaf, R. Rollinger (2003) 308-309. 5 But see J. Scurlock, “Herodotos' Median chronology again?!”, Iranica Antiqua 25 (1990) 149-163, for an argument that Herodotus actually means to exclude the Scythian interregnum from the reign length of Cyaxares. This interpretation would mean that Cyaxares’ reign ended 68 years after it began, and such longevity is quite improbable; cf. D. Henige, “Herodotus’ Median chronology from a slightly different perspective”, Iranica Antiqua 39 (2004) 242-245. 6 Helm (above, n. 2) 90 n. 28 and references therein; T. Worthen, “Herodotos’s report on Thales’ eclipse”, Electronic Antiquity 3 (1997); K.H. Waters, Herodotos the historian (1985) 95 n. 28; Scurlock (above, n. 5) passim.

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and if Cyaxares ruled for at least 27 additional years after taking Nineveh (i.e., from 612 to 585 BCE), then Cyaxares would have ascended the Median throne more than 55 years before the Battle of the Eclipse—an improbably long interval. It is possible that Herodotus is incorrect in placing Cyaxares at the Battle of the Eclipse,7 but the Babylonian Chronicle attests the rule of Cyaxares over a powerful Median state from at least 615 to 585 BCE.8 The problem therefore lies in the Scythian interregnum and in its association with Cyaxares. For possible solutions, let us turn to Urartu, a major contemporary state that was nevertheless unknown to Herodotus or his sources. If we are to postulate that the Scythians overthrew Urartu rather than (as Herodotus has it) Media 28 years before the fall of Nineveh, we must demonstrate that the Urartian state had collapsed by around 640 BCE. The destruction of Urartu by external forces has conventionally been dated to around 590 BCE, based on references in the Hebrew Bible and in Neo-Babylonian chronicles.9 S. Kroll, however, has observed that the relevant texts might refer to a geographical region rather than a political state, and he suggests instead that the Urartian state disintegrated around 640 BCE, shortly after the reign of the Urartian king Rusa II.10

Contra Waters, this chronological discrepancy is not simply due to the corruption of numerals in subsequent manuscripts of Herodotus; it is very unlikely that Cyaxares ruled for over 55 years regardless of the numerical reign length ascribed to him by Herodotus. Cf. Henige (above, n. 5) 244. 7 G.D. Summers, “Medes, Lydians, the ‘Battle of the Eclipse’ and the historicity of Herodotus”, online (March 2007) at: http://www.metu.edu.tr/home/wwwkerk/kerk1/12propub/wwwpaper/eclbygds/index.html

Helm (above, n. 2) 87. The region is called “Ararat” in Jeremiah, and “Uruatri” in the Babylonian chronicles. See references in S. Kroll, “Urartus Untergang in anderer Sicht”, MDAI(I) 34 (1984) 155-156. 10 Kroll, “Untergang” (above, n. 9) 163. R. Rollinger, “Empire” (above, n. 4) n. 128, on the other hand, argues that the Nabonidus Chronicle refers to an Urartian political state―not just a toponym―in ca. 547 BCE. But the relevant place name is badly broken in the text; and even if it can be identified as Urartu, the latter is not mentioned in any other extant Babylonian text during the halfcentury from 607 BCE to 547 BCE. Moreover, there is no archaeological evidence whatsoever for the maintenance of the great Urartian fortresses into the mid-sixth century. Rollinger himself proposes a reasonable explanation for such a late reference: “eine Einbindung eines Rest-Staates Urartu in eine lose 8 9

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If this were the case, the Scythians most likely would have been the aggressors:11 there is no evidence that the Medes occupied Urartu in the seventh century,12 and contemporary Assyrian kings would have gloated if they had conquered Urartu—but they are silent. Moreover, “Scythian-style” arrowheads were found in abundance in the destruction debris at Çavu≈stepe, Toprakkale and at Ayanis.13 Thus, P. Zimansky

Konföderation” known to Herodotus as Media, but to the Babylonians by its constituent parts. See Rollinger, “The Median ‘Empire’, the end of Urartu and Cyrus’ the Great Campaign (Nabonidus Chronicle II 16)”, in Proceedings of the 1st International Conference on Ancient Cultural Relations between Iran and West Asia (in press); cf. also “Das Phantom des Medischen ‘Großreichs’ und die Behistun-Inschrift”, in Ancient Iran and its Neighbours, ed. E. Dąbrowa (2005) 11-29. Thus, an Urartian “king” defeated by Cyrus in ca. 547 BCE might have been a Median vassal, and unrelated to the more familiar Urartian state of the eighth and seventh centuries BCE. See further n. 32 below. 11 Cf. Zimansky, “Ozymandias” (above, n. 3) 99. 12 Cf. Rollinger, “Empire” (above, n. 4) 314-315, and P. Zimansky, “Xenophon and the Urartian legacy”, Pallas 43 (1995) 255-267. The ongoing debate regarding the exact nature of the Median state from the mid-seventh to the mid-sixth century is beyond the scope of the present paper, and the most recent archaeological and historical research is encapsulated in G. Lafranchi et al. (above, n. 4); see in particular the contributions by M. Liverani, M. Roaf, K. Radner, J. Reade, M. Jursa, D. Stronach, S. Kroll, and R. Rollinger. 13 Cf. A. Erzen, Eastern Anatolia and the Urartians (1986) 89-90, and S. Kroll, “Medes and Persians in Transcaucasia”, in G. Lafranchi et al. (above, n. 4) 281-282. Kroll summarizes the evidence that the citadel at Ayanis was attacked by a distinct group of invaders, identifiable at other sites as well, who used only bronze-socketed arrowheads as opposed to the usual Urartian tanged iron ones; but he concludes that these invaders might have been “Cimmerians, Scythians, or Medes”. But see also A. Çilingiroπlu, “The reign of Rusa II: Towards the end of the Urartian kingdom”, in Mauerschau: Festscrift für Manfred Korfmann, edd. R. Aslan, S. Blum, G. Kastl, S. Schweizer, D. Thumm (2002) 486-488. Çilingiroπlu states that “bronze arrowheads and bone tools obtained at the fortress of Çavußtepe bear Scythian markings”, but the lack of evidence for any ongoing Scythian occupation prompts him to suggest that an earthquake might have paved the way for an internal uprising. He therefore must reason away the fact that he excavated “many valuable artifacts” in the courtyard and cella of the Haldi Temple. Thus, because the local people would have been “well aware of what the cella contained”, the artifacts must have been “covered by debris caused by…an earthquake”. It is equally possible, of course, that earthquake debris might have deterred looting by Scythians or by other for-

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argues, little memory of the Urartian state would have been inherited by the Medes who conquered the region several decades later and whose activities were the focus of Greek historians.14 The argument in favor of an early destruction of Urartu rests on the premises that Rusa II (son of Argi¸šti II) was the last Urartian king of any stature15 and that his reign ended in the 650s BCE or shortly thereafter. Certainly, Rusa II undertook a massive building program, constructing citadels at the modern sites of Karmir-Blur, Bastam, Kef Kalesi, Toprakkale, and Ayanis.16 Inscriptions and seal impressions from three of these sites (Bastam, Kef Kalesi, and Ayanis) mention only Rusa II and no other Urartian king.17 Only two kings following the reign of Rusa II are attested unequivocally, in the sense that their names are associated with the correct royal titles: another Rusa, son of Erimena (conventionally Rusa III),18 and Sarduri, son of Sarduri (conventionally Sarduri IV, the last attested Urartian king).19 The otherwise unattested patronymics suggest that there may have been additional kings named Erimena and Sarduri (III) respectively; it is

eign invaders, who most likely would not have known either the nature or the precise location of the temple's contents. 14 Zimansky, “Ozymandias” (above, n. 3) 99. 15 Cf. also Zimansky, “Ozymandias” (above, n. 3) 99. 16 This may be the relative order in which the foundations were constructed: see A. Çilingiroπlu and M. Salvini, “The historical background of Ayanis”, in their co-edited volume Ayanis I: Ten years’ excavations at Rusahinili Eiduru-kai, 1989-1998 (2001) 15-24. This paper will refer only to the modern names of archaeological sites. 17 I will omit any mention of other individuals whose dynastic names are prefaced with the term LÚA.NIN-li, which is now read as LÚa-su-li, and which therefore does not necessarily indicate royal status. Cf. Çilingiroπlu and Salvini, “Background” (above, n. 16) 18, 23-24. 18 There is epigraphic evidence that this Rusa founded grain-installations at Armavir and at Arin-Berd, and his name is inscribed on various bronze objects at Armavir and at Toprakkale; see references in M. Salvini, Geschichte und Kultur der Urartäer (1995). A new inscription of Rusa, son of Erimena, appears in M. Salvini, “Una stele di Rusa III Erimenahi dalla zona di Van”, SMEA 44.1 (2002) 115-143. See further n. 20 below. 19 This name appears only once on a bronze shield at Toprakkale and perhaps on two individual seal impressions at Karmir-Blur and at Bastam respectively; see Salvini, Geschichte (above, n. 18) 112-113.

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nevertheless clear that, of the Urartian kings who might have succeeded Rusa II, only Rusa III accomplished anything that is clearly visible in the archaeological record to date.20 It is therefore probable that Erimena, Sarduri III, and Sarduri IV occupied the Urartian throne only briefly, if indeed they ruled at all. Assyrian records mention an “Urs” (i.e., Rusa) in 673/672 BCE, another (or the same?) “Rus” in 653/652 BCE, and a “Sarduri” in 643/642 BCE.21 A reasonable chronology, proposed by A. Çilingiroπlu and M. Salvini, identifies the Assyrian “Sarduri” as either Sarduri III or Sarduri IV,22 neither of whom appears to have ruled for very long. Thus, there is every indication that the final collapse of the formal Urartian state took place shortly after the final Assyrian reference of 643/642 BCE. Recent scholarship points to a rapid collapse of the imperial state of Urartu following the sudden destruction of most of its citadels.23 The exact date of the destruction(s), however, is presently unclear, and must be adduced from various strands of evidence. First, bullae of Rusa II alone were found in storage rooms at Bastam containing the fragmentary remains of at least 1200 animals.24 S. Kroll therefore argues that the

20 Cf. Salvini, Geschichte (above, n. 18) 111-112. U. Seidl, however, believes on stylistic grounds that Rusa, son of Erimena, should antedate Rusa, son of Argi¸šti (i.e., Rusa II), unless the works bearing the former king’s inscriptions are archaizing. She also finds epigraphic similarities between the new inscription of Rusa, son of Erimena (see above, n. 18), and another inscription of Rusa (without patronymic) regarding the foundation of the fortress at Toprakkale. Thus, Seidl suggests that Rusa, son of Erimena, founded Toprakkale and ruled during the unstable period following the death of Rusa I. See note and references in U. Seidl, Bronzekunst Urartus (2004) 124. Seidl's interpretation is as yet untested, but it underscores the uncertainty surrounding the conventional chronology of seventh-century BCE Urartian kings. For the circumstantial nature of the evidence for ascribing the foundation of Toprakkale to Rusa (II), son of Argišti, see P. Zimansky, “Ozymandias” (above, n. 3) 95-96. 21 The first reference is from the reign of Esarhaddon, and the last two references are from the time of Ashurbanipal. Cf. Salvini, Geschichte (above, n. 18) 110-111 and references therein. 22 Çilingiroπlu and Salvini, “Background” (above, n. 16) 22-23. 23 Çilingiroπlu and Salvini, “Background” (above, n. 16) 22; Zimansky, “Xenophon” (above, n. 12) 260. 24 Kroll, “Untergang” (above, n. 9) 157. Similar bone-rooms were unearthed at Karmir-Blur and at Toprakkale, and similar seals of Rusa II have been found

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destruction of Bastam followed soon after the death of Rusa II. While Kroll’s interpretation of this evidence has been challenged,25 none of the alternative interpretations alters significantly the chronology proposed in this paper, i.e., that little more than a decade passed between the death of Rusa II in the mid- to late 650s BCE and the rule of the final two Sarduris, one of whom is mentioned by Ashurbanipal in 643/642 BCE. There remains no evidence for a unified state of Urartu after about 640 BCE, and the disputed storeroom bullae simply confirm that “Rusa II was in all probability the last ruler of any consequence from Bastam”.26 A second chronological point of debate concerns the length of occupation at the citadels constructed by Rusa II. Originally reported dendrochronological dates of 655-651 BCE for the felling of timbers found in clear construction contexts at Ayanis27 suggested that significant construction was still taking place in the late 650s BCE, perhaps even under a successor of Rusa II; and it was argued that the temple portico and storerooms of Ayanis must have been used for longer than a decade

at the latter site. Cf. Zimansky, “Xenophon” (above, n. 12) 259-260, and Zimansky, “Ozymandias” (above, n. 3) 99. 25 Two significant objections to Kroll's interpretation have been voiced. First, P. Zimansky maintains that the animal bones in question had already been cleaned of flesh at the time that they were placed in storage, so that they might not have been used actively after the time of Rusa II in any event. If great quantities of animal flesh were stored for consumption, it would be significant that no later king left any indication that he had opened or used the storage rooms. If, however, defleshed animal bones were stored for some other purpose, they would have had a longer “shelf-life”, and there might not have been any reason for a later king to disturb the deposit. See Zimansky, “Xenophon” (above, n. 9) 259261, and “Ozymandias” (above, n. 3) 99. Second, successors to Rusa II might have continued using variations of his insignia on their own bullae after his death; cf. Salvini, Geschichte (above, n. 18) 109, 112. Indeed, Rusa II seems to have been the first Urartian king to use seals and bullae, and it is possible that this practice did not take hold among his successors; cf. Çilingiroπlu and Salvini, “Background” (above, n. 16) 23. 26 Zimansky, “Ozymandias” (above, n. 3) 99. 27 I.e., from the portico encircling the temple courtyard and from storerooms: P.I. Kuniholm and M. Newton, “Dendrochronological investigations at Ayanis: Dating the fortress of Rusa II: Rusahinili Eiduru-kai”, in Çilingiroπlu and Salvini (above, n. 16) 377-380.

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(from 651 to ca. 640 BCE).28 This analysis is no longer valid, however, since the dendrochronological dates for the constructions at Ayanis now must be pushed back 22 years to approximately 677-673 +4/-7 BCE, based on new radiocarbon calibration data for the eastern Mediterranean.29 The new dating matches perfectly the Assyrian evidence for an active king Rusa II in 673/672 BCE. Even if the building program of Rusa II at the additional sites of Karmir-Blur, Bastam, and Toprakkale spanned a decade or more, there is no reason to suppose that any of these citadels was destroyed before the sudden collapse of ca. 640 BCE.30 Ayanis, Bastam, and the other citadels would thus have been occupied for approximately 20 to 30 years apiece, a reasonable interval by any standard, before their rapid destruction around 640 BCE.31 If the Scythians toppled the central Urartian state in the Armenian highlands around 640 BCE, they either held sway over the region or left a power vacuum until the Medes moved in a few decades later.32 In this respect, the archaeological evidence conforms with Herodotus' claim that Cyaxares secured Median control over all Assyrian (i.e., eastern) lands—except those held by Babylon—immediately after the fall of

28 A. Çilingiroπlu and M. Salvini, “When was the castle of Ayanis built and what is the meaning of the word ¯Suri”AS 49 (1999) 55-60; Çilingiroπlu and Salvini, “Background” (above, n. 16) 17-19, 22. 29 S.W. Manning, B. Kromer, P.I. Kuniholm, and M.W. Newton, “Anatolian tree rings and a new chronology for the east Mediterranean Bronze-Iron Ages”, Science 294 (2001) 2532-2535. 30 Çilingiroπlu and Salvini, “Background” (above, n. 16) 22, contra Kroll, “Untergang” (above, n. 9) 158, 170. Even Kroll, however, acknowledges (p. 157) that the destruction levels at each site contain similar pottery types and were therefore closely spaced in time; cf. Zimansky, “Xenophon” (above, n. 12) 260. 31 One hopes that additional dendrochronological dates from the other citadels founded by Rusa II will provide evidence that will either corroborate or refine this hypothesis. 32 S. Kroll identifies a few ceramic shapes, deriving from the “Median pottery tradition”, that postdate the destruction of the major Urartian citadels. These are found primarily in graves, and their only stratified appearance is “in an occupation level at Bastam, well above the final Urartian horizon”. Kroll stresses that “there are no examples [of two “Median tradition” bowl types] from the destruction levels of Ayanis, Karmir Blur, and Bastam”. Cf. Kroll, “Transcaucasia” (above, n. 13) 283. No archaeological evidence for Assyrian (or later, Babylonian) occupation has yet been discovered. See above, n. 10.

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Nineveh in 612 BCE (Hdt. 1.106.2).33 Apart from the Scythian-style arrowheads cited above,34 there is no material evidence that the Scythians occupied the region in the absence of the Urartian central authority. Neither is there any sign of Medes or Assyrians at the Urartian sites in the immediate aftermath of their destruction.35 On the contrary, variations on typical Urartian wares continued in use by the common people in settlements that lay outside the great citadels.36 Thus, if they were responsible for destroying and plundering the major Urartian sites, the Scythians likely roamed throughout the region without settling down. That no other Near Eastern state immediately moved its forces into the area suggests that the Scythians might have remained a threat, however. Once the Urartian state had vanished completely, the period of Scythian domination over an Eastern kingdom might have become enshrined in legend and divorced from its original context. The closely spaced destructions of Urartu and Assyria ensured that no surviving power would preserve the memory of Urartu. If the Urartian state collapsed around 640 BCE, contacts with Lydia and Greece to the west would have been limited. It now appears that Urartu comprised a diverse ethnic population upon which the Urartian elite imposed an imperial court and administration.37 When these artificial constructs dissolved, only physical evidence of the state remained; and even those physical remains were difficult to see not long after Herodotus’ time, as emerges from Books 3 and 4 of Xenophon’s

33 Zimansky, “Xenophon” (above, n. 12) 261. Cf. also the interesting discussion in J. Reade, “Why did the Medes invade Assyria?”, in G. Lafranchi et al. (above, n. 4) 149-156. 34 See above, n. 10. 35 See above, n. 32. 36 Cf. Kroll, “Transcaucasia” (above, n. 13) 282-283, and E. Stone and P. Zimansky, “The Urartian transformation in the outer town of Ayanis”, Archaeology in the borderlands: Investigations in Caucasia and beyond, edd. A. Smith and K. Rubinson (2003) 213-228, at 227. Moreover, Greek, Syriac, and Arabic texts demonstrate that Urartians remained “a distinct ethnic and linguistic entity, for more than 1,000 years after their political downfall” (A. Harrak, “The survival of the Urartian people”, Bulletin of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 25 [1993] 45). 37 P. Zimansky, “Urartian material culture as state assemblage: An anomaly in the archaeology of empire”, BASOR 299/300 (1995) 103-115 passim.

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Anabasis.38 Urartu was much more familiar to the Assyrians, who were themselves overrun by the Median-Babylonian coalition in 612 BCE, than it was to the Babylonians, whose longevity accorded them a much larger role in Greek accounts of the east and especially in the Medikos logos of Herodotus.39 Herodotus and his informants were therefore completely unaware of the former existence of Urartu, regardless of whether he based his account on oral traditions or on the Babylonian records themselves.40 Any inheritor of these sources, if confronted with a legend regarding Scythian control over the Armenian highlands during the turbulent period before the fall of Nineveh, would automatically have associated the tale with Media, the only other power active in the region at that time. Moreover, the Urartians are not the only inhabitants of Asia Minor who are given short shrift by Herodotus: he seems to have known more about the Cimmerians than he records in the Histories, and it is possible that he could have learned even more if he had expanded his sources.41 R. Rollinger succinctly concludes that Herodotus “creates a succession of ‘superpowers’” to suit his “schematic” view of political history, leaving “no room for politically more or less independent buffer zones”42 like Urartu. This hypothesis does not cast doubt on the historicity of the Medikos logos. On the contrary, it accommodates many elements of Herodotus' narrative that others would prefer to dismiss.43 Indeed, Scythians passing through the Armenian highlands from around 640 to 612 BCE

38 39

Zimansky, “Xenophon” (above, n. 12) 257-258, 261. P. Zimansky, Ecology and empire: The structure of the Urartian state (1985)

7. 40 For the latter position, see H. Sancisi-Weerdenberg, “The orality of Herodotus’ Medikos logos or: the Median empire revisited”, Achaemenid History 8 (1994) 39-55. 41 V. Parker, “What Herodotus withheld: Notes on the transmission of Cimmerian lore in Greek authors other than Herodotus”, VDI 4 (1998) 93-102. 42 Rollinger “Empire” (above, n. 4) 316. It is only fair, however, to implicate Herodotus’ sources in this reduction as well. 43 Cf. Helm (above, n. 2) n. 4 and Henige (above, n. 4) 248; but see the positive view of the Medikos logos in S. Brown, “The Medikos logos of Herodotus and the evolution of the Median state”, Achaemenid History 3 (1988) 71-86, and more recently, in Sancisi-Weerdenberg (above, n. 40) 42-43.

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would have been able to interact often with their Median neighbors in the ways described by Herodotus. This hypothesis also helps to explain Herodotus’ confusing justifications for both the Scythian presence in Median territory and the complicated route traveled by the Scythians to invade Media (Histories 1.103.3-104.2). Although the origin of the Scythians is still debated, it is now generally accepted that a number of them traveled from the northern Caucasus to the Near East in the midseventh century, and that they returned half a century later.44 Caucasian sites such as the Kelermes tumulus, dating to the end of the seventhearly sixth centuries BCE, contain both Scythian Animal Style objects bearing Near Eastern influence and imports45 that might have been either obtained through trade46 or plundered during the Scythians’ destructive tour of the Near East. Thus, Herodotus was entirely right to place the Scythians in the vicinity of Media in the mid-seventh century BCE; but he simply was not aware that they had destabilized the Urartian, rather than the Median, state.

Cf. the analysis and references in G. Tsetskhladze, “Anatolian roots of local cultures of the Pontus”, in Ancient Greeks east and west, ed. G. Tsetskhladze (1999) 476-477, and also in his “The culture of ancient Georgia in the first millennium BC and greater Anatolia: Diffusion or migration?” in Smith and Rubinson (above, n. 35) 229-238. 45 Tsetskhladze, “Anatolian roots” (above, n. 44) 477. A number of demonstrably Assyrian objects have been found in Scythian burials such as the ones at Kelermes, but whether certain horse furnishings and helmets from Kelermes are truly Urartian imports is still debated. U. Seidl, for example, argues that Urartian themes provided only the “inspiration for artists who produced the gold swords of Melgenov at Kelermes” (emphasis added). Cf. U. Seidl, “Urartu as a bronzeworking centre”, in Bronzeworking centres of Western Asia c.1000-539 B.C., ed. J. Curtis (1988) 172, and L. Galanina, Die Kurgane von Kelermes: “Kongisgräber” der frühskythischen Zeit (1997) tables 7-9. Elsewhere in Scythian contexts, two graves at Tli in South Ossetia contained three Urartian bronze belts (Seidl, loc. cit.), and a helmet bearing an inscription of Argišti I was plundered from the Verkhnaya Rutkhta burial ground in the North Caucasus. It is unclear whether other helmets found in North Caucasian graves are Assyrian, Urartian, or locally made (G. Tsetskhladze, personal communication, October 2004). 46 The Scythians appear to have been on reasonably good terms with the Assyrians in the early seventh century, during the reign of the Urartian king Rusa II. An oracular query to ¯Sama¸s states that the Scythian king Partatua 44

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A revised chronology might be the following. The Scythians, for reasons either suggested by Herodotus in his Histories,47 or out of motives unknown,48 conquered Urartu around 640 BCE and remained a threat in the Armenian highlands until the resurgence of Median power in 612 BCE. Meanwhile, sometime before 615 BCE, Cyaxares ascended the Median throne and spearheaded the successful Median-Babylonian attack on Nineveh in 612 BCE. After this point, the reign of Cyaxares might have been just as Herodotus describes it. It is entirely possible that Cyaxares reigned for the 40 years assigned to him by Herodotus, though we have no way of pinning down the exact years of his accession and death. One hopes that future research will both confirm an early date for the fall of the Urartian state and support the hypothesis that Herodotus made a simple and understandable substitution of Medes for Urartians in the case of the Scythian interregnum. University of California, Berkeley

Laura D. Steele

asked for the hand of one of Esarhaddon’s daughters in marriage; see discussion in R. Roller, The world of the Scythians (1989) 70-71. But it is possible that the Scythians joined forces with the Medes and Babylonians to overthrow Nineveh in 612 BCE; cf. S. Zawadski, The fall of Assyria and Median-Babylonian relations in light of the Nabopolassar Chronicle (1988) passim. 47 E.g., that the Scythians, having pursued the Cimmerians into the Near East (1.103.3), took advantage of the unsuspecting Medes—or Urartians?— whose attention was focused on Assyria. 48 It has been suggested that the Scythians attacked Cyaxares during his siege of Nineveh (Hdt. 1.103.3) in part to protect the Assyrians, with whom the Scythians might have been allied in the mid-seventh century BCE (see Roller, above, n. 46); but if so, it is equally likely that the Scythians would have attacked Urartu with the blessings of Assyria. In either case, the Scythians themselves stood to gain considerably.

“T HE ATHLETES O F WAR” An evaluation of the agonistic elements in Greek warfare1 Students of Greek warfare can scarcely avoid becoming saturated with the agonistic model of hoplite battle. In various manifestations it has dominated scholarship for over seventy years, and through all that time it has provoked very little criticism before some recent work of Peter Krentz, which has provided much of the groundwork for the present study.2 Our purpose here will be to undertake a more thorough survey of the long history of scholarship on the matter; this should reveal some of the intellectual background from which the idea arose, as well as the ancient evidence which has most often been adduced. An evaluation of the latter should in turn assist us to put the theory in better perspective. Agonism in hoplite battle is not a monolithic concept and no description could be written to which all of the major proponents would subscribe in all respects, but various elements commonly recur: Archaic and Classical Greeks practiced a limited, highly regulated form of battle, centered on a decisive infantry clash largely devoid of ruse. The victor contented himself with a demonstration of superior arete; the antago-

I wish to thank W. Robert Connor and to Peter Krentz, without whose works this study could not have been written and who provided much advice and encouragement. No less gratitude, on the same grounds, is due to Alan Boegehold and Charles Fornara, and also to Deborah Boedeker, Kurt Raaflaub, David Konstan, and Nathan Rosenstein (who gave some pointers on the Roman themes). A bibliography of works cited appears at the end of the article. 2 Krentz (1997) and (2002). 1

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nists did not seek to assimilate one another or impose political changes, nor did they confiscate large swathes of territory. They issue a formal declaration of war through heralds, and may even establish a time and place for the battle. Hostilities should be restricted to the summer months and in addition must cease at certain other times, such as the pan-Hellenic festivals. There was a general aversion to arms other than the traditional hoplite panoply, and projectile weapons were even expressly forbidden at times. Invaders would commence destroying grain, vineyards, and groves as a ritual provocation; once the enemy had come forth to present resistance, the battle opened with a ritual challenge and acceptance. The victorious army did not press their pursuit of the foe, but returned the dead under a truce and erected a perishable trophy. Armies respected sanctuaries, heralds, and suppliants; they generally did not kill or mistreat prisoners, but liberated them for ransom. Such protocols were restricted to battles of Greek vs. Greek and did not apply to barbarians.3 The majority of scholars believe that these agonistic strictures broke down during the Peloponnesian War, though other suggestions range from as early as Cleisthenes to as late as Chaeronea.4 Some disagreement also exists concerning the motives and the ultimate effects of agonism, but various scholars have insisted that it mitigated unnecessary bloodshed and destruction, and produced a low casualty rate overall. This will suffice for a starting-point; we will have occasion to examine many of the elements in more detail.

I. Background The significance of the agonal spirit as an animating force in Greek life was illuminated above all by Jacob Burckhardt in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, but the antecedents for its application to Greek warfare appear even earlier. The founding work on ancient Greek military history, Rüstow’s 1852 Geschichte des griechishen Kriegswesens, thus described the phalanx battle: “...victory is more a point of honor than a useful means to an end, more a trial of arms than a battle of annihila-

3 4

For two typical summaries see Berve (1966) 6-12; Ober (1994) 13. Schaefer (1932) 179 n.1; Lonis (1979) 20.

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tion, where Greeks fought against Greeks”.5 While such impressions would later become incorporated into a belief in the essential agonism of Greek warfare, Rüstow was not thinking in terms of the athletic analogy which that word implies. A Prussian officer, his sentiments came naturally to a professional corps still very much grounded in its eighteenth-century ethics, and feeling the tension placed on these by the revolutionary and Napoleonic era; the above quote reflects the language of Clausewitz.6 Burckhardt had begun his course of lectures at Basel in 1872, and in their posthumous published form (1898-1902) they became the great Griechische Kulturgeschichte. All study of the Greek agon is descended from this work. For our purposes it is important to note that Burckhardt did not identify the agonal spirit of the Greeks with their warfare. Quite the contrary; the wars between the poleis are vile affairs where lust for supremacy has free rein, unrestrained by the ennobling principles of the agon, and where enemies seek to inflict enduring shame on one another.7 This view of Greek warfare was adopted by Burckhardt’s younger colleague Nietzsche, who gave it vivid expression in Homers Wettkampf. Apparently not until after World War I did anyone make a direct equation between agon and Greek warfare. E.M. Walker wrote thus in 1926 concerning the aftermath of Sepea: We have been taught in the modern world to regard victory in the field as a means to an end, that end being the destruction of the enemy’s force. To the Greeks a battle was in the nature of a duel; it was an agôn, in which honor was satisfied, and the pursuit ceased, when the enemy acknowledged defeat by asking for a truce for the burial of his dead.8

5 Rüstow and Köchly (1852) 145: “...der Sieg ist mehr Ehrensache als nützliches Mittel zum Zweck, die Schlacht mehr ein Waffenduel, als ein Vernichtungskampf, wo Griechen gegen Griechen fechten.” 6 E.g., Clausewitz (1935) 7.3 p. 526: “The defeat of the enemy is the goal of war, and the annihilation of the enemy forces is the means” (“Das Niederwerfen des Feindes ist das Ziel des Krieges, Vernichtung der feindlichen Streitkräfte das Mittel”). 7 Burckhardt (1898) I 292-309. 8 CAH IV (1960) 166.

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Walker echoes the anti-Clausewitzian sentiment of Rüstow, which had no doubt been reinforced in the aftermath of the Great War. But agonism and battle first became a serious issue among Germanspeaking scholars, who took their inspiration from Burckhardt. Helmut Berve was among the first to explore the idea; in his Griechische Geschichte of 1931, he described Greek battle as a lofty affair, void of material motives, aimed at exalting the victory of training and arete.9 In the same year Johannes Hasebroek explained the athletic agon as a cultural offshoot of the martial aristocracies (Kriegerzünfte), a type of gymnastic which hardened them for their battle exploits.10 In the following year Berve’s student Hans Schaefer, in a work responding to Hasebroek, offered a far more extensive interpretation of the agon in Greek warfare and political structures than anything which had appeared previously.11 He too stressed the bellicosity of the early aristocratic societies (Ritterzeit, Rittertum) corresponding to Hasebroek’s Kriegerzünfte, a notion which may have owed something to the student duelling societies at the German universities12 and in general accorded well with the country’s recrudescent military ethos. Such men required no pressing material grounds to engage in battle, but delighted in taking the measure of worthy opponents (9); a conflict such as this better merits the name of agon than polemos. The terms “agonal” and “political” are used in opposition throughout the work, the former referring to the procedures developed for this sort of aristocratic contest by mutual consent, which followed a specific code, ended with the conclusion of hostilities, and was devoid of political consequences (71). Schaefer even insists that the victors in Archaic battles did not take the trouble to capture prisoners, and that the Athenians broke precedent here in 506 when they took Boeotian and Chalcidian captives (179 n.1; see Hdt. 5.77), heralding the collapse of the agonal way of life. The final breakdown, though, was not consummated until the Peloponnesian War, when the spirit of contest gave way to war à outrance (236).

Berve (1931) I 145-146. Hasebroek (1931) 233. 11 Schaefer (1932) pages cited in text; see in general 175-272. See also Hasebroek’s review in Gnomon 9 (1933) 572-578. 12 Brelich (1961) 16 n.10. 9

10

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21

Work continued on the theme through World War II and even in the decade afterward, which was otherwise relatively barren of military scholarship. Victor Ehrenberg added his voice, interpreting the athletic agon as a response to the phalanx age and its diminishing opportunities for personal heroics—though some of the agonistic mindset, he maintains, continued to influence phalanx battles.13 Other notable contributors included Johan Huizinga, Franz Kiechle, and Hans Speier, who as early as 1941 set forth a general definition of “agonistic fighting”, which he distinguished from “absolute war” and “instrumental war”, and which shows many of the characteristics and the individual laws which later writers would find in hoplite battles.14 In Rome, Angelo Brelich, who was familiar with the works of his German predecessors as well as with more recent Structuralist thought, produced the small volume Guerre, agoni, e culti nella Grecia arcaica in 1962. This work offered a curious theory on the origin of Archaic wars: at a primitive stage, neighboring peoples would pit their youths against each other in a bloody initiation festival held at a border sanctuary, with fixed numbers and weapons. The victors would take possession of the sanctuary and impose ritual lamentation on their defeated opponents, until the requisite interval of years brought the next battle. The cycle transformed itself into genuine longstanding rancor, which helps explain the recurrent hostilities between certain Archaic poleis. Probably few today would be willing to accept this thesis literally, but something about it definitely set fire to the scholarly imagination of the time. To judge from citations, Brelich’s work was the single most important inspiration for the authors who produced the next period’s major works on the agon and Greek battle. In 1964 the Centre de Recherches Comparées sur les Sociétés Anciennes undertook an investigation of warfare which attracted some of the most illustrious French classicists. It bore fruit in the 1968 volume of essays edited by Jean-Pierre Vernant, Problèmes de la guerre en Grèce ancienne, a landmark in the rejuvenation of ancient military studies. Vernant himself sets the tone in the introduction, introducing the con-

Ehrenberg (1935) 63-96. Huizinga (1950), esp. 71-75, 89-104, 208-211; Kiechle (1969) passim; Speier (1952) 223-229. 13 14

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cept of agôn and heavily accenting the analogy of le jeu. The following is a typical formulation: ...cities in conflict do not seek so much to annihilate the adversary, nor even to destroy his army, but to make him acknowledge, in the course of a contest regulated like a tournament, their superior strength. War is limited in time, the campaign taking place normally in summer in order to end before winter. Apart from minor harrying operations against enemy territory, surprise raids to destroy his crops, or sieges for which the infantry is poorly equipped, the decisive battle is carried out on chosen ground, a pedion where the two phalanxes of heavy-armored footsoldiers are able to deploy...In principle the enemy is not to be pursued; it is necessary, and it is enough, that his line did not hold, that oneself has remained master of the field, that he has asked to take back his dead, that a trophy has been raised. The treaty of peace will do no more than to sanctify this superior power of cratein which one of the parties will have demonstrated against the other on the field of battle.15

Ironically, the concept of agonism has now resulted in a version of classical Greek warfare completely the opposite of Burckhardt’s. A certain unity of perspective is discernible among the authors of this volume who address the theme. Detienne’s essay (“La Phalange: Problèmes et Contoverses”) further amplifies the battle-game: it is an agôn, on demarcated ground, a champ clos, and victory accrues not to the side which

15 Vernant (1968) 18: “...les cités en conflit ne cherchent pas à anéantir l’adversaire, ni même à détruire son armée, qu’à lui faire reconnaître, au cours d’une épreuve réglée comme un tournoi, leur superiorité de force. La guerre est limitée dans le temps, la campagne se déroulant normalement dans la belle saison pour se terminer avant l’hiver. En dehors des opérations mineures de harcèlement sur le territoire adverse, de coups de mains pour détruire ses récoltes, ou des sièges pour lesquels l’infanterie est mal équipée, la bataille décisive se livre sur un terrain choisi, un pedion où peuvent se déployer les deux phalanges de fantassins lourdement harnachés...En principe l’ennemi n’a pas à être poursuivi; il faut et il suffit que sa ligne n'ait pas tenu, qu’on soit resté maître du terrain, qu’il ait demandé à relever ses morts, qu’on ait édifié un trophée. Le traité de paix n’aura plus qu’à consacrer ce pouvoir supérieur de cratein dont une des parties aura, sur le champ de bataille, fourni contre l’autre la demonstration”.

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inflicts the greatest carnage but to the one which exerts the stoutest push and dislodges the foemen from their ground. The victors do not undertake pursuit since it would carry them outside the closed field, which has the character of a ritual space. He adduces two parallels: Nestor’s invalidation of his victory in single combat over Ereuthalion when he leaped over the boundary of the lists (Ariaithos, FGrH F 7), and the ritual combat of Spartan youths on the Platanistas, where the opponents attempted to dash one another into the Eurotas (Paus. 3.14.8-10).16 Jacqueline de Romilly’s essay (“Guerre et paix entre cités”) sets out to codify a body of laws observed by poleis in wartime, admittedly unwritten and not uniformly applied. These include a seasonal truce which confined hostilities to the summer, official formalities establishing states of war and peace, observance of truces for pan-Hellenic festivals, burial of the slain, and sparing of prisoners and non-combatants. Despite her qualifications, her essay lends to the agonistic code a somewhat formal and legal nature which has proved attractive to successors.17 All of the above ideas were congenial to the general opinion of classicists, especially in France, where Garlan and Lonis expanded on them in the years following.18 The number of prestigious names which were now advocating the kinship of battle and agon in ancient Greece is remarkable; apparently a number of intellectual determinants crystallized at just this time to endow the concept with tremendous appeal. The influence of Lévi-Strauss is evident in the tendency to treat agonistic battle as a cultural axiom rather than a result of historical causes. One also senses that the particular elegance of this vision shares a general affinity with French martial institutions as a whole; these came of age during the Enlightenment era and have forever afterward been stamped by a certain classicism.19 More immediate events may also have left their mark here. The warfare project of the Centre de Recherches Comparées began in 1964, hard on the heels of the Algerian War, which caused such a rift between the intelligentsia and political authorities; American society was soon to know this phenomenon as well. One of the contributors to

16 17 18 19

Detienne (1968) 123-124. De Romilly (1968) 211-212. Garlan (1972) 14-17, 95, 198; Lonis (1979) 25-40. See Lynn (2003) 115-142.

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Vernant’s collection, Pierre Vidal-Naquet, was also a standard-bearer in the intellectuals’ dissidence toward the Algerian War; a good one-third of his opus consists of protest literature. His essay “La tradition de l’hoplite Athénien” is suffused with the agonistic mentality; the battlefield is “fixed by common accord” in the pristine times, whereas during the Peloponnesian War, “battle becomes far more costly, the agonistic spirit yielding to the will to annihilate, while the war of ‘coups de mains’ (surprise attacks), of ‘commandos’, of ‘guerrillas’, of which the heroes are the peltasts, competes in the battle”; observe his employment of three terms well-known from the Algerian Maquis.20 It does not seem too much to suggest that some of the proponents of the hoplite agon reacted to the tribulations of their own times by adhering to an alternative, a more graceful manner of battle. In the present, they saw a war which they considered a great power’s abuse of colonial victims, and which tended to the dissolution of societal bonds – did this encourage them to see in antiquity a style of waging war strictly between peers, which promoted civic identity? As noted, the experience of a traumatic war and intellectual disaffection was soon to reproduce itself in America, where a version of the agonistic model has become as prevalent as it has in France among students of Greek warfare. Through the twentieth century there was a mounting sense that war had lost all human scale; a recent essay on agonistics writes of: ...the Materialschlacht of World War I and the Holocaust and Hiroshima of World War II, all of which demonstrated only too well that the agon in the original sense of combative honor has long been overtaken and dishonored by technologized procedures of impersonal, instantaneous mass extermination.21

By the age of Algeria and Vietnam this disillusion had engendered visions of an older and better world, often verging into idealism. In 1966 Norman Brown wrote: 20 Vidal-Naquet (1968) 166: “fixé d’un commun accord”; 173: “la bataille devient beacoup plus coûteuse, l’esprit agonistique cédant à la volonté d’anéantissement, cependant que la guerre de ‘coups de mains’, de ‘commandos’, de ‘guérillas’, dont les héros sont les peltastes, fait concurrence à la bataille”. 21 Lungstrum and Sauer (1997) 2.

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In the archaic age, the age of the pre-Socratic philosophers, the sixth century BC, the era of Spartan hegemony, the relations between cities were fraternal and agonal; a concordia discors, out of opposites the fairest harmony...The old agonal warfare was between brothers; conducted according to rules; limited in objective and limited in time, in a necessary alternation of peace and war; the brothers need each other to fight another day. The new warfare is total; it seeks an end to war, an end to brotherhood.22

In 1983 came the first edition of Victor Hanson’s Warfare and agriculture in classical Greece with its thesis that the practice of ravaging enemy land did no crushing material damage but constituted another element of the hoplite protocol, a form of psychological challenge; thus Hanson continued a proclivity to diminish the destructive capacity of ancient Greek battle. W. Robert Connor, who had elsewhere written vividly of the Vietnam War’s consequences on his perspective,23 published the essay “Early Greek land warfare as symbolic expression” in 1988. The works of Walter Burkert as well as the French scholars were influential here: “Land warfare for the early Greeks was an elaborate and stylized system; it constituted a code, functioned as a ritual, especially in its echoes of the Greek pattern of animal sacrifice, and as a representation of social reality”;24 in consequence, like a sacrificial festival, it strengthened the communal solidarity of the polis. A new era was at hand. The following year arrived Hanson’s The western way of war (1989), followed by the collection Hoplites: The classical Greek battle experience (1991), which took Vernant’s 1968 volume as a point of departure, and The other Greeks (1995). This body of work has set the tone for the currently reigning communis opinio: “From that agrarian phalanx evolved an entire protective mechanism of rules and practices that ensured the importance of geôrgoi in the nascent community for nearly three centuries”.25 Hanson’s great contribution has been to find a credible cause for the hoplite protocol. He locates it in an agrarian basis,

22 23 24 25

Brown (1966) 18-19. Connor (1984) 7. Connor (1988) 29. Hanson (1995) 239.

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presenting the conventions as a matter of mutual consent among farmers to settle conflicts quickly and decisively, with a minimum of damage to their own lives and to the fields on which these depended, either through outright destruction or through neglect born of long training and campaigns. A typical summation is the following: Hoplite battle...for over two centuries was real war in an artificial climate—the private domain of a rural, middle class where all of like circumstance could fight and yet never really endanger their mutual agricultural prosperity. For one of the few times in history, bloodletting served in the long run to spare, rather than to expend, lives. In short, Greek warfare for over two centuries was a wonderful, absurd conspiracy.26

Hanson prefers terms more accessible terms such as “protocol” and “ritual” to agon, but the above statement has very much in common with an “agonistic” vision of phalanx battle. Thus the theory of an agonal code in Greek warfare has proved durable both in time and space; its first symptoms appear in the nineteenth century, and it matured in the twentieth in the work of three major “schools”. The first, which emerged mainly in Germany around 1930, was inspired by Burckhardt’s conception of the “agonal man”. The second flourished in the 1960s and ’70s; while Brelich’s work gave the impetus, it pervades French scholarship especially, and has a Structuralist tone. The most recent school of interpretation centers around the work of Hanson and Ober, and stresses the interconnection of agonistic protocols and the agrarian cycle. For long it was one of the least criticized concepts in classical studies, generating no significant opposition before the recent work by Peter Krentz. He has pointed out an uncomfortably high incidence of contrary practice even before the Peloponnesian War, and demonstrated the infirmity of the evidence for most of the laws which have been tabulated. Noting that much of the ancient evidence attesting the code dates from periods later than when it allegedly held sway, he proposes that the Persian War victories resulted

26

Hanson (1993) 6.

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in a glorification of phalanx combat,27 readily perpetuated by the likes of Isocrates, Demosthenes, and Polybius. The above survey mentions most of the major authors associated with this theme; the next stage is to consider the ancient evidence which they most commonly adduce, and we should begin with a word on the terminology. The use of agon’s adjectives in the study of warfare is modern; neither the Greek égvnistikÒw nor the Latin agonalis appears in any military context. Writers now use their derivants “agonistic” and “agonal” interchangeably, although Ehrenberg at least insisted on a conceptual difference between the two.28 These terms obviously imply analogy with athletic competition, and their root word ég≈n has received thorough study.29 When modern scholars speak of the classical Greek battle as an agon,30 they are making the term imply a distinction which the ancients would not have recognized. By the early fifth century any type of struggle could be dubbed an agon. This word and its verbal derivatives, when applied to armed conflict by classical Greek authors, do not distinguish a “limited” conflict from war à outrance (they first seem to do so in Strabo). Schaefer implies that Greek enemies were viewed mainly as antagonistai or antipaloi and barbarians as polemioi,31 and this belief appears to have influenced subsequent thought.32 But it finds no linguistic support. Herodotus has éntagvnieum°nouw for Ionians fighting Phoenicians (5.109.2) and ofl ént¤paloi in the speech of a Persian referring to the Greek foe (7.236.2). We also find such phrases as éntagvniståw to›w barbãroiw for Athens’ ancestral hatred of barbarians (Isoc. 4.75). Polemioi is of course an ordinary expression for Greek enemies (Hdt. 1.30.5, 6.77.3, 7.149.3) If the notion of the phalanx agon has no basis in the ancient terminology, it must be sought in the narrative details. In examining the major authors, it becomes apparent that there are four major sources or inci-

Krentz (2002) 36-37. Ehrenberg (1935) 64. 29 Ellsworth (1971), esp. 56-94. 30 E.g, Vernant (1968) 21; Detienne (1968) 123. 31 Schaefer (1932) 176-177. 32 E.g., Berve (1966) 9; Ober (1994) 18; Lonis (1969) 1-2, 149 ff., where this viewpoint is contested; Feugère (1993) 9-10. 27 28

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dents commonly cited, two from the Archaic period and two from periods later than the alleged floruit of agonistic protocols. They are: • The Lelantine War (Archil. F 3; Plb. 13.3.4; Str. 10.1.12) • The Battle of the Champions (Hdt. 1.82) • Demosthenes’ Third Philippic, on Philip’s military practices (9.4752) • Polybius 13.3, contrasting the wars of former times with those of the present (part of which also figures as evidence for the Lelantine War) Many other passages can be, and have been, cited, but very few can stand on their own; they must be interpreted in light of the above four if they are to serve as evidence for agonism. For example, Mardonius’ famous depiction of hoplite battle (Hdt. 7.9B.1), has struck some readers as a staged event, as though we should imagine a search for a suitable field upon which the armies agree to muster by appointment.33 But such a conclusion goes well beyond the Herodotean text itself, and requires a reading predisposed by the above passages of Demosthenes or Polybius. The two dozen-odd individual battles before the Peloponnesian War for which testimony survives do not uniformly display the agonal characteristics mentioned at the beginning. Two of them do: a Lelantine War encounter of uncertain date, and the Battle of the Champions for the plain of Thyreatis, ca. 544 BC. The ancient testimonia are summarized below.

II. The Archaic Evidence Strabo, following Ephorus, speaks of a treaty between Chalcis and Eretria, recorded in the temple of Artemis Amarynthia in the latter city: TÚ m¢n oÔn pl°on …molÒgoun éllÆlaiw afl pÒleiw atai, per‹ d¢ Lhlãntou dienexye›sai oÈd' oÏtv tel°vw §paÊsanto, Àste t“ pol°mƒ

33 Ehrenberg (1935) 88-89; Detienne (1968) 124; Vidal-Naquet (1968) 166; Dawson (1996) 49.

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29

katå aÈyãdeian drçn ßkasta, éllå sun°yento §f' oÂw sustÆsontai tÚn ég«na. dhlo› d¢ ka‹ toËto §n t“ ÉAmaruny¤ƒ stÆlh tiw, frãzousa mØ xr∞syai thlebÒloiw. ka‹ går dØ ka‹ t«n polemik«n §y«n ka‹ t«n ıplism«n oÈy¢n oÎtɧst‹n oÎtÉ ∑n ¶yow (10.1.12)

(“For the most part these cities were in mutual accord, and in fighting over Lelanton they did not so completely cease from this as to act ruthlessly toward each other in the war, but they came to agreement on what terms they would join battle (ég«na). The stele in the Amarynthion testifies to this, stating that there would be no use of long-range missiles. And truly, there neither was nor is any custom concerning rules of war or weapons”).

The particles in the last sentence, which point up the remarkable circumstances of this war, are difficult to render in English. The choice of the word ég≈n for once has special significance. Strabo alone apparently restricts it to fights governed by fixed rules, a trait seen in no earlier author;34 thus he also uses it for the Battle of the Champions (8.6.17) and for a combat of gladiators (6.2.6), instead of his more usual maxÆ. Strabo continues, in 10.1.13, by attesting the renown of the ancient Euboeans in hand-to-hand combat. All of this information shows affinities with the well-known lines of Archilochus: oÎtoi pÒll' §p‹ tÒja tanÊssetai, oÈd¢ yameia‹ sfendÒnai, eÔt' ín dØ m«lon ÖArhw sunãghi §n ped¤vi: jif°vn d¢ polÊstonon ¶ssetai ¶rgon: taÊthw går ke›noi dãmon°w efisi mãxhw despÒtai EÈbo¤hw dourikluto¤.

(F 3 West) (“Many bows will not be stretched, nor will there be thick-falling slingstones, if Ares brings on the tumult in the plain. It will be the lamentable

34 Ellsworth (1971) 56-94; Parker (1997) 117-118; Wheeler (1987) 162. There is no good reason to suspect, with mid-nineteenth century editors of Strabo (Kramer, followed by Meineke), that this last sentence and what follows in 10.1.12 is an interpolation: see the new edition of Stefan Radt (2004) ad loc.

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JOHN DAYTON work of swords. For the spear-famed lords of Euboea are skilled in that sort of battle”).

Finally, Polybius may have the same compact in mind when he speaks of the penchant for honorable conduct in war among the earlier Greeks, with which he contrasts the habits of Philip V: diÚ ka‹ sunet¤yento prÚw sfçw mÆt' édÆloiw b°lesi mÆy' •khbÒloiw xrÆsasyai kat' éllÆlvn, mÒnhn d¢ tØn §k xeirÚw ka‹ sustãdhn ginom°nhn mãxhn élhyinØn Ípelãmbanon e‰nai kr¤sin pragmãtvn. (13.3.4)

(“Therefore they agreed not to use unseen nor long-range missiles against one another, and believed the closed hand-to-hand battle to be the only true judge of affairs”).

The relationship between the three texts raises enormous complications, as does the Lelantine War in general. W.G. Forrest has rejected the historicity of Strabo’s report altogether,35 and Everett Wheeler also vigorously opposes the existence of the Chalcis-Eretria treaty, tracing its invention to Ephorus and the pan-Hellenic climate of the fourth century, a highly plausible scenario given the nature of that period.36 In this case, of course, the verses of Archilochus would mean only that the redoubtable Euboean lords preferred close combat to keeping their distance (cf. the boast of Idomeneus, “I don’t fancy standing far from my enemies when I fight”, Il. 13.262-263: oÈ går Ù˝v / éndr«n dusmen°vn •kåw flstãmenow polem¤zein). Later writers then forced the lines to mean an arms-control agreement. This suggestion receives support from Archilochus’ use of a future conditional sentence (eÔt' ín) in lines 2-3, which would seem to make the war a possibility rather than an event already covenanted.37 But Victor Parker has defended the treaty’s authenticity, and those who do the same will certainly find themselves in

35 36 37

Forrest (1957) 162-164. Wheeler (1987) 174 ff. Forrest (1957) 163; Wheeler (1987) 162.

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good company.38 For our purpose it suffices that, despite reservations, one cannot prove the treaty spurious with no more text or details than we possess. The account of the affair of the Battle of Champions, given by Herodotus (1.82), is less problematical in terms of narrative or chronology. It is placed at the time of Cyrus’ Lydian campaign, hence ca. 544: (1) …To›si d¢ ka‹ aÈto›si, [sc. to›si SpartiÆt˙si], kat' aÈtÚn toËton tÚn xrÒnon sunepept≈kee ¶riw §oËsa prÚw ÉArge¤ouw per‹ x≈rou kaleom°nou Yur°hw....(3) Bohyhsãntvn d¢ ÉArge¤vn tª sfet°r˙ épotamnom°n˙, §nyaËta sun°bhsan §w lÒgouw sunelyÒntew Àste trihkos¤ouw •kat°rvn max°sasyai, ıkÒteroi d' ín perig°nvntai, toÊtvn e‰nai tÚn x«ron: tÚ d¢ pl∞yow toË stratoË épallãssesyai •kãteron §w tØn •vutoË mhd¢ param°nein égvnizom°nvn, t«nde e·neken ·na mÆ, pareÒntvn t«n stratop°dvn, ır«ntew ofl ßteroi •ssoum°nouw toÁw sfet°rouw §pamÊnoien. (4) Suny°menoi taËta pallãssonto, logãdew d¢ •kat°rvn Ípoleify°ntew sun°balon. Maxom°nvn d° sfevn ka‹ ginom°nvn fisopal°vn Ípele¤ponto §j éndr«n •jakos¤vn tre›w, ÉArge¤vn m¢n ÉAlkÆnvr te ka‹ Xrom¤ow, Lakedaimon¤vn d¢ ÉOyruãdhw: Ípele¤fyhsan d¢ otoi nuktÚw §pelyoÊshw. (5) ofl m¢n dØ dÊo t«n ÉArge¤vn …w nenikhkÒtew ¶yeon §w tÚ ÖArgow, ı d¢ t«n Lakedaimon¤vn ÉOyruãdhw skuleÊsaw toÁw ÉArge¤vn nekroÁw ka‹ prosforÆsaw tå ˜pla prÚw tÚ •vutoË stratÒpedon §n tª tãji e‰xe •vutÒn. ÑHm°r˙ d¢ deut°r˙ par∞san punyanÒmenoi émfÒteroi. (6) T°vw m¢n dØ aÈto‹ •kãteroi ¶fasan nikçn, l°gontew ofl m¢n …w •vut«n pl°onew perigegÒnasi, ofl d¢ toÁw m¢n épofa¤nontew pefeugÒtaw, tÚn d¢ sf°teron parame¤nanta ka‹ skuleÊsanta toÁw §ke¤nvn nekroÊw. (7) T°low d¢ §k t∞w ¶ridow sumpesÒntew §mãxonto: pesÒntvn d¢ ka‹ émfot°rvn poll«n §n¤kvn LakedaimÒnioi. ÉArge›oi m°n nun épÚ toÊtou toË xrÒnou katakeirãmenoi tåw kefalãw, prÒteron §pãnagkew kom«ntew, §poiÆsanto nÒmon te ka‹ katãrhn mØ prÒteron yr°cein kÒmhn ÉArge¤vn mhd°na mhd¢ tåw guna›kãw sfi xrusoforÆsein, pr‹n Yur°aw énas≈svntai. (1.82)

38

Parker (1997) 100-102.

32

JOHN DAYTON (“At this same time a strife arose between the Spartans and the Argives over the land called the Thyrea... When the Argives came to the rescue of their captured territory, they held a parley and agreed that three hundred men from each side would do battle, and that the land would belong to whoever prevailed. The mass of the army withdrew each to his own side so as to leave the combatants alone, lest, if the forces were present, they might attempt to help their own men when they saw them imperilled. They agreed to these terms and departed, and the chosen men who remained of each side joined battle. They fought and proved equal in the contest, and out of the six hundred men there remained three, Alkenor and Chromios of the Argives, and Orthryades of the Spartans. These still survived as night came on. The two Argives, supposing they had won, ran back to Argos, while the Spartan Orthryades stripped the Argive dead, and after carrying the arms back to his own camp remained in his position. On the next day both sides came to learn what had happened. For some time they both claimed to have won, the one side saying that more of their men had survived, and the other, that their man remained on the field and stripped the enemy dead. At last they fell from arguing to fighting. After many had fallen on both sides the Spartans prevailed”).

Here the word égvnizom°nvn (1.82.3) means nothing more specific than “fighting” or “doing battle”, as Herodotus uses the verb elsewhere in this sense (1.76.4; 1.77.5; 5.103.1; 6.45.2). This tale obviously was becoming mythologized by the point when Herodotus set it down, and invites some challenges to its historicity. Luigi Moretti suggests a memorable encounter between two units, one probably the Spartan Hippeis, in one sector of the larger battle, which oral tradition made into a discrete event;39 or a glorified border clash leading to a more serious conflict.40 The work of legend may indeed have woven a more archaic practice into the historical account, but nevertheless, the mass duel of picked warriors is a well-attested institution in Indo-European cultures, as well as others, and this aspect of the story cannot be dismissed out of hand.41 Moretti (1948) 209-212; also Detienne (1968) 135-137. Tomlinson (1972) 88. 41 Examples include: the Combat of Thirty in Brittany (1351); the battle of sixty clansmen of MacDonald and Cuwhele fought before Robert III of 39 40

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The first of the above two cases displays a pre-battle agreement touching on weapons; the second is more detailed, restricting the number of combatants, enjoining the rest of the army to withdraw, stipulating a certain prize for the victors, and perhaps also fixing the boundaries of the battlefield. The latter provision is made somewhat more obvious in the preliminary terms drawn up by Spartan and Argive delegates in 420, proposing another battle for the Thyreatis under the same conditions as the earlier affair: di≈kein d¢ mØ §je›nai perait°rv t«n prÚw ÖArgow ka‹ Lakeda¤mona ˜rvn (“pursuit would not be permitted beyond the borders of Argos and Lacedaemonia”, Thuc. 5.41.2). The extant accounts of other hoplite battles afford no clear parallels to these two cases. Efforts to see in historical conflicts some tacit agreement to banish weapons other than the traditional hoplite armament, or to determine a battlefield in advance, have already been cross-examined by Krentz.42 But a different tradition does afford many analogies: the single combat by consent. Most of the examples come from legendary matter, though a few are recorded for historical times. The notable monomachies were already known to Glotz, and have also been tabulated by A. Armstrong, Pritchett, and Fernandez Nieto, who has added valuable comments and bibliography.43 Duels which share some features with the treaty of Artemis Amarynthia or with the Battle of the Champions include the following: 1. Paris and Menelaus in the Iliad: The terms of this combat, sealed with oath and sacrifice (3.268-291), provide a specific aethlon for the victor: if Menelaus prevails, the Trojans restore Helen and pay an indemnity; if Paris wins, he keeps Helen and the Achaians depart. The duelling arena seems to have appointed boundaries: ÜEktvr d¢ Priãmoio pãÛw ka‹ d›ow ÉOdusseÁw / x«ron m¢n pr«ton diem°treon (“Hector son of

Scotland (1396, the theme of Scott’s Fair Maid of Perth); the Challenge of Barletta, between thirteen each of French and Italian knights (1503). The phenomenon is known also among Australian and Siberian aboriginals. See Kiernan (1988) 22-23. 42 Krentz (2002) 27-29. 43 Glotz (1904) 273-274; Armstrong (1950); Pritchett (1985) IV 17-20; Fernandez Nieto (1975) I 37-69 and II 11-46.

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Priam and the godlike Odysseus first measured off the ground”, 3.314315). There is also some regulation of the use of weapons: drawing of lots awards the right of the first spear-cast (3.315-317). The intervention of Pandarus with his bow negates the agreement (4.112-168)—the Spartans and Argives had taken care to avoid just such a mischance (Hdt. 1.82.3). The duel of Hector and Ajax at 7.37 ff. has much less formality, and that between Hector and Achilles none to speak of (22.90 ff.); conventions thus deteriorate as the war increases in scope. 2. Nestor and Ereuthalion: A scholion to the Iliad (Ariaithos FGrH 316 F 7) elucidates the combat with the Arcadian king narrated by Nestor in Il. 7.132-160, fought over a border region. The significance of the combat arena’s boundaries nowhere receives greater emphasis: one of two versions recounts that Nestor first defeated Ereuthalion, apparently without dealing him a lethal wound, and through joy leapt over the boundaries of the lists. The Arcadians then claim that Ereuthalion has rightfully won, since he has remained within bounds. A second round is fought with the boundaries clearly marked (ka‹ sumbalÒntew §k deut°rou perigrãfousi xvr¤on) and Ereuthalion is slain. 3. Melanthos (or Melainos) and Xanthios: This is another instance of a monomachia by consent for possession of a territory. Strabo explicitly compares the longstanding conflict of Athens and Boeotia over the frontier region of Oropus to that of Argos and Sparta for the Thyreatis (1.4.7). Hellanikos (FGrH 4 F 125) and Ephorus (FGrH 70 F 22) provide the chief accounts,44 and Vidal-Naquet has written a noted interpretation.45 The mythical Boeotian king, Xanthios, is slain by Melainos either through a ruse, or through the intervention of Dionysus, and Attica wins possession of the territory. Pausanias 9.5.16 adds that the Boeotians swear off of monarchy, and implicitly monomachiai, thereafter. 4. Hyllus and Echemus: Herodotus 9.26.3-5 recounts that Hyllus led the Heraclids to the Isthmus, where the Peloponnesians had gathered to oppose them. Hyllus challenges his enemies to send forth a champion for a duel on the following terms: if Hyllus prevails, the Heraclids will take possession of the Peloponnese; if he is defeated, they will withdraw and attempt no further invasion for a hundred years. Hyllus proposes this

44 45

See Brelich (1961) 53 for other references. Vidal-Naquet (1986) 113-122.

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explicitly to spare the mass of the armies, the most frequently attested justification for single combat: …w xreÚn e‡h tÚn m¢n stratÚn t“ strat“ mØ énakinduneÊein sumbãllonta (“we must avoid the peril of army clashing with army”, 9.26.3; see also Il. 3.99-102; Eur. Phoin. 12271228; Theoc. 22.171-180; Str. 8.3.33; Livy 1.23.9; Plu. Mor. 309D). The Tegean king Echemus answers the challenge and kills Hyllus. 5. Perinthians and Paeonians: Herodotus 5.1.2-3 tells of the Paeonians making war upon the Perinthians at the prompting of an oracle, dated only as long prior to Darius’ campaign in the Hellespont (5.2.1). A triple combat between pairs of men, horses, and dogs precedes a general engagement won by the Paeonians. This and the example below comprise the closest Greek analogies to the Battle of the Champions. 6. Tegeans and Pheneans: To end a taxing war, both the parties agree to a triple duel between pairs of brothers; after two Tegeans fall, the one survivor succeeds in dispatching all three Pheneans by shamming flight (Plu. Mor. 309D). This tale apparently inspired that of the Horatii and Curiatii (Livy 1.23-26). 7. Pittacus and Phrynon: This duel in the course of Athens’ and Mytilene’s dispute over Sigeion and Axileis (607 BC) testifies to some sense of propriety over choice of weapons. According to Polyaenus 1.25, the combatants had agreed to the same weapons beforehand, but Pittacus slew the Athenian general with the help of a net hidden under his shield. Apparently this gave the Athenians cause for disputing the decision, and Diogenes Laertius reports that Periander of Corinth arbitrated in their favor (1.74). Herodotus 5.95 reports Periander’s arbitration similarly but does not mention the duel (earning Plutarch’s censure, Mor. 858A). The nature of the above material renders it impossible to establish the historical details of any particular judicial combat. The institution was dwindling even before historical times superseded myth. The last monomachia recorded from the world of the polis took place in the Aeginetan war of the 480s, between the Argive Eurybates and Sophanes of Decelea (Hdt. 6.92, 9.75), and to all appearances was not a judicial combat. There are later occurrences among Macedonians and Epirots, a fact significant in itself, as these peoples still bore some traits characteristic of a

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pre-polis state of development (Diod. 17.19, 18.31; Plu. Pyrrh. 7, Demetr. 41). There is also one notice for Hieron of Syracuse in the third century (Just. 23.4.12), as well as some impromptu battlefield combats in Homeric style, such as those fought by Philopoemen (Plu. Philop. 7.6; Plb. 11.18). But we can isolate the agonistic features which the earlier combats share with the Lelantine and Thyreatic wars: • most represent true judicial combats fought under terms, which most commonly award possession of territory to the victor; • the usual cause is to restrict the dangers to those most immediately concerned and spare the majority (see 4 above); • occasionally (1 and 2) there is an effort to limit the space of the encounter, basically as a practical device to restrict flight and force the action, though the creation of “ritual space” is probable here also;46 multiple combats are attested (5 and 6); • at least one case testifies to some agreement concerning the weapons to be used (7). Study of the agonistic judicial duel in Greece has made no great advance since Glotz in 1904, who defined it thus: “that which gives a judicial character to the duel is the prior contract, by virtue of which it has for its sanction the settlement of a legal dispute. The challenge is a secondary matter. The manner of combat is of little importance”.47 This differs somewhat from the definition of agonistic hoplite battle deduced at the beginning of this chapter, wherein the alleged protocols on which the sides have tacitly agreed concern the conduct of the battle more than a specific point of contention. But the essential point remains the same: the combat has a contractual nature. The story of David and Goliath provides a fine illustration: “choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me. If he be able to fight with me and to kill me, then will we be your servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us” (1 Samuel 17:8-9). See Huizinga (1950) 120-121. Glotz (1904) 273: “Ce qui donne au duel un caractère juridique, c’est le contrat préalable en vertu duquel il a pour sanction le règlement d’une question litigieuse. Le défi est chose secondaire. La manière de se battre importe peu”. On the conventions of single combat see also Fernandez Nieto (1975) I 37-69. 46 47

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There are some further characteristics to be emphasized in the judicial duel. All of the Greek testimonia recount duels fought to settle disputes between peoples, and no clear-cut individual case exists, legendary or historical, of the gaige de bataille between members of one community, of the sort well known from medieval law. Athenaeus 154D does indicate that Demonax established this custom in the Mantinean and Cyrenean constitutions ca. 550,48 and Glotz believes that traces thereof may be seen in the duel of Ajax and Diomedes for Sarpedon’s armor (Il. 23.802-825), and in such myths as the chariot race of Oinomaus. But the institution dissipated more rapidly in Greece than in medieval Europe, from lack of monotheistic belief in an impartial God who would vindicate the just party,49 to be replaced by litigating procedures. Glotz does not clarify why, if mythology reflects any genuine practice, the judicial combat remained more common in conflicts between separate peoples, but the answer is probably the obvious one, the lack of legal alternatives outside the sphere of a homogeneous community. Strabo (8.3.33) felt it to be a characteristic institution of early Greece: efiw monomax¤an proelye›n katå ¶yow ti palaiÚn t«n ÑEllÆnvn (“to come forth to single combat according to an ancient custom of the Greeks”). But even in this form it did not outlive the Archaic period. The latest example from our list which can be dated is the duel of Pittacus and Phrynon in 607 BC. If less sanguinary legal mechanisms ousted it from individual communities, we must ask what causes gradually expunged it as a means to obviate full-scale war. V. Ilari has proposed a similar legal phenomenon here: from the sixth century on, arbitration grew increasingly more common in disputes over border regions, and settled many of the less serious quarrels which in earlier times would have required a champion’s spear;50 more deeply rooted conflicts, by contrast, still provoked mass battles. The state of knowledge for the Archaic period of course makes any such theory difficult to prove or refute definitively, and I wish to suggest a different perspective on the disappearance of monomachy. The known examples date from a period when war was very likely to be a private, “pre-state” affair,51 touching most immediately the 48 49 50 51

Glotz (1904) 282; Wheeler (1982) 226. Glotz (1904) 278-287. Ilari (1980) 60. Garlan (1972) 12.

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interests of kings, oligarchs, and, later, tyrants, additions to whose domains much resembled those to a private estate. The Iliad presents the most detailed portrait of the phenomenon, down to the grievances of allies and dependents not receiving the rewards of the principals and hence not sharing their enthusiasm (Achilles at 1.148-171; Thersites at 2.225-242). Under these conditions there could exist a procedure for confining the dangers of war to those most affected. The monomachy’s personal display of valor also, of course, reinforced the validity of an individual’s rule. Pittacus indeed is said to have received the rule of the Mytileneans for his victory over Phrynon (Diog. Laert. 1.75); Xanthios won the Attic throne by stepping in for Thymoites. Even so, if the legendary duels have any claim to verisimilitude, the custom can hardly be called a stable or satisfactory form of litigation, as Armstrong has noted.52 The tales fairly reek with ploys of ruse and deceit. In addition to those from the collection above, we have the story of the Aetolian Pyraechmes, the Epeian Degmenos, and their duel for possession of Elis (Strabo 8.3.33)—Degmenos appeared with a bow, expecting his opponent to arrive with hoplite arms, but Pyraechmes, “when he learned of the ruse” (§peidØ kat°maye tÚn dÒlon), brought a sling and outranged his foe. A frequent motif in the monomachy stories is the suggestion of an illicit helper. In the Iliad we see Aphrodite and Pandarus coming to the succor of Paris (3.380-382; 4.93 ff.), and later Athena joining Hector in the guise of Deiphobus (22.226 ff.). In the duel over the daughters of Leucippus as told in Theocritus’ twenty-second Idyll, Idas and Polydeuces agree to stand aside while Lynceus and Castor do battle; but when Lynceus falls, Idas moves to attack his brother’s slayer, and Zeus in turn intervenes, destroying Idas with a thunderbolt (206-211). The duel for Oropus climaxes when Melanthos deceitfully accuses Xanthios of bringing a second to the combat—Xanthios turns to look behind and is struck down (thus Hellanikos, FGrH 4 F 125; a scholion to Aristophanes Pax 890 explains this as an epiphany of Dionysus). Yet another story has the Aenianian and Inachian kings, Phemius and Hyperochus, duelling for the latter’s country. A dog follows Hyperochus to the combat, and Phemius reproaches him for bringing an illegal second; when Hyperochus turns to shoo the dog away, Phemius

52

Armstrong (1950) 74.

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kills him with a rock (Plu. Mor. 294B-C). It would seem that even picked champions often would not fight by the book when their lives were at stake, and in such a climate of bad faith, without a third party to act as referee, it is small wonder that we find a number of monomachiai without satisfactory endings. A duel would threaten to become a melee any time that sufficient numbers on either side were willing and able to commit to a mass battle. We should thus look for a change in the recipients on whom the benefits of a winning combat would devolve. The rise of the demos and their expanded share in the benefits of polis government must have made themselves felt in the realm of military practice.53 Probably the hoplite revolution took place not only through the actual mechanism of the phalanx—which appears to have some Near Eastern as well as Homeric precursors—but in the morale of the soldiers who comprised it. They did not invent the phalanx, but they made it effective to a degree thitherto impossible. The mass levies of revolutionary France may present a similar case—if their column tactics were not altogether new, still, “Revolutionary enthusiasm does seem to have been an important element in French capability. It was probably necessary for the greater morale needed for effective shock action...”.54 With the change of a few words, the same statement could be made about the phalanx. Once war had become a civic concern, once all of the potential fighters had their share in its potential profits and losses, the conditions favorable to the judicial monomachy dissipated. The mindset which Pausanias attributes to the Boeotians after the defeat of Xanthios well expresses the political aspect of the monomachy: tÚ d¢ §nteËyen diå pleiÒnvn politeÊesyai mhd¢ ép' éndrÚw •nÚw ±rt∞syai tå pãnta êmeinon §fa¤neto to›w Yhba¤oiw (“from then on it appeared better to the Thebans to be governed by a majority and not to let all depend on one man”, 9.5.16). S.P. Oakley’s study of Roman single combat reveals a pattern for the Republic similar on a number of counts: there, too, judicial combat with enemy peoples became extinct at a very early epoch, perhaps with the Servian reforms and the emergence of a capable rank and file, and it has

Detienne (1968) 141-142; Garlan (1972) 96; Hanson (1995) 221-244; Raaflaub (1999) 132-141. 54 Black (1999) 229. 53

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left even fewer traces in the Roman world than in Greece, with no historical cases and only one from myth, the duel of the Horatii and Curiatii. Polybius, however, asserts that it once existed among the Romans (6.54.4) and Oakley sees a vestige in the rite of the spolia opima.55 The other manifestation of single combat, the impromptu challenge within the frame of a larger conflict, persisted to a later period, as it did in Greece, if the duel of Sophanes and Eurybates is any indication. But it was much more common in the Roman army, perhaps out of the even greater prestige of martial feats in their society vis-a-vis the Greek poleis; Oakley finds thirty-one incidents in Republican history. To return to the Lelantine War and the Battle of the Champions: the numerous points of contact with the legendary duels, and the lack of similarity with the known hoplite battles, indicate that these conflicts should not be classed with the latter at all, any more than the combat of Phrynon and Pittacus. They belong to an earlier era of judicial duelling. We know nothing more about the battle prescribed on the Amarynthian stele than what Strabo has told, but if it took place at all, comparison suggests that it too provides for a massed duel of chosen captains, a single incident in a longer war, similar to the duel over Sigeion.56 Despite the criticisms their statements have received,57 the old analyses of Von Scala58 and Gardner seem to have hit closest to the mark: speaking of the ban on projectiles, the latter writes: Such an agreement was unique, so far as I know, in ancient history.....It was a kind of fighting match or ordeal by combat; and did not permanently embitter the relations between the two cities. It was a knightly combat which taught the cities to respect one another, but left little rancour. The Chalcidians were noted for their knightly character.59

Oakley (1985) 398. The belief of Parker (1997) that the ban remained effective for the sixty years of the war (104 n. 453) rests on the questionable assumption that the Amarynthian stele must mark the beginning of the war and is thus earlier than the Archilochus fragment. 57 Parker (1997) 95. 58 Cited and followed in Walbank (1967) II 416. 59 Gardner (1920) 91. 55 56

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Though certain details here might raise objection, circumstances conducive to this procedure did exist in archaic Euboea, where the Hippobotai ruled in Chalcis and horse-loving aristocrats dominated Eretria as well (Hdt. 5.77.2-3; Arist. Pol. 1289B).60 The lines of Archilochus also testify to the dominance of these noblemen on the battlefield: taÊthw går ke›noi dãmon°w efisi mãxhw / despÒtai EÈbo¤hw dourikluto¤ (F 3 West).61 Wheeler has advanced an argument against identifying this combat as a type of monomachy; the major contention is that “the rules of monomachia did not prohibit missile weapons”.62 But the question here concerns a particular provision rather than the general rules. The judicial monomachy in fact had no universal rules allowing or prohibiting anything; each case depended upon an individual prior agreement, as Glotz has stated, and the examples support him. Nothing prevented the Euboean champions from agreeing to interdict projectiles. Terms of single combat do seem to have dealt with territory more often than weapons, but at least one duel, that of Pittacus and Phrynon, does show some concern over equality of arms. If the weapons ban in the Chalcis-Eretria treaty was meant for a full-scale phalanx battle rather than a massed duel, it represented a transitional phase, an effort to adapt some of the ancient conventions to the hoplite age.63 This movement had no future, so far as the extant sources record. It should be added as a final note that the archaeological record does not support any widespread abstention from missiles in the hoplite era; on the contrary, finds of arrowheads increase considerably after the Dark Ages, and Snodgrass suggests that this resulted from the mass target afforded

60 An emendation suggested by Hermann (1849) 194 to a scholion on Hesiod Op. 654-656, which cites Plutarch, would make Amphidamas of Chalcis a casualty of a monomachy rather than a sea-battle during the Lelantine War (monomaxoËnta for naumaxoËnta). This emendation would support the above thesis, but it does not seem to me justifiable, being based on the argument that this date is too early for a naval battle. Whether the sea-battle is historically accurate, and whether Plutarch wrote that it happened, are two different questions. 61 Parker (1997) explains this as a literary convention (13 n. 12, 96 n. 408), equivalent to similar expressions in the Catalogue of Ships. But aristocrats also dominate the Iliad’s fighting and arrange duels. 62 Wheeler (1987) 171. 63 Fernandez Nieto (1975) I 73-76.

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by the serried phalanx.64 Strabo himself knew of no parallels to the Amarynthian treaty: ka‹ går dØ ka‹ t«n polemik«n §y«n ka‹ t«n ıplism«n oÈy¢n oÎtÉ §st‹n oÎtÉ ∑n ¶yow (10.1.12). The Battle of the Champions is a clearer case. The duel of the six hundred should never have been equated with a massed hoplite battle, such as in fact occurred on the second day. The Herodotean narrative makes it clear that the first combat is a contracted duel, a substitute phenomenon which vainly attempts to thwart a full-scale battle. This type of ordeal is especially well known from the Middle Ages, but one could not reconstruct medieval warfare from the “Combat of the Thirty” held in Brittany in 1351. Nor would anyone wish to describe the wars of the Israelites and Philistines as agonistic, based on the judicial duel of David and Goliath. The choice of three hundred champions is an unusually large number, but that fact in itself may be revealing. The mid-sixth century was long past the flourishing years of the judicial duel between communities, and it made an ill match with the new social conditions. The much greater homogeneity of the Spartan hoplites65 compared with a Homeric army made it difficult to single out specific individuals, who had more reason for risking combat than any of their comrades. Hence also the heightened danger of a melee and the special provision to avoid this (1.82.3). It is small wonder that the judicial combat failed. The account might serve as a parable of how artificial restraints and distinctions could no longer operate in the phalanx era. Some sixty-five years later, at Plataea, the Spartans do not even deign to answer a challenge by Mardonius proposing a mass duel very similar to that for the Thyreatis (Hdt. 9.48.4-49.1). A postlude remains to the Battle of the Champions. Thucydides 5.41 relates the proceedings over the Thyreatis in 420, when Sparta and Argos were attempting to reach an alliance. The proposed terms would have allowed either city to challenge the other anew for possession of the region, under agonistic rules as in the past (5.41.2: Àsper ka‹ prÒterÒn pote ˜te aÈto‹ •kãteroi ±j¤vsan nikçn, “such as they once did in the past, when they both believed they had won”). It might at first appear

64 65

Snodgrass (1964) 156. Much less is known of the Argives at this period: Tomlinson (1972) 87.

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that an agonal combat could still be taken seriously in 420,66 but Thucydides says essentially the opposite, reporting that the Spartans considered it foolishness (mvr¤a, 5.41.3), though they acquiesced. Probably the Argive ambassadors were under pressure from their compatriots to win some concessions over the Thyreatis—it was the first point they addressed (5.41.1)—and when the Spartans proved unyielding, they at least insisted on a concession “on paper” and could technically claim they had fulfilled expectations. In any case the treaty was never concluded, and no occurrence of such a contractual combat is known elsewhere at this late period. The arguments presented above lead to the conclusion that both later ancient historians such as Polybius and Strabo, and their modern successors, have conflated the properties of primitive judicial combat with the pitched battle. The agonistic features of the ordeal by combat have no counterpart in a hoplite battle and are in fact antithetical to it; their very purpose is to exclude mass involvement and restrict the circumference of violence. The Iliad again reveals the difference most explicitly: the duel of Paris and Menelaus, arranged by appointment, has a great deal of prescription; that of Hector and Ajax, which arises spontaneously from a mass battle, is far less carefully regulated; the mass combats themselves have no procedures at all. The significance of this fact for the agonistic model of hoplite battle becomes obvious when one realizes to what extent the latter relies on the Lelantine and Thyreatic wars as examples. Schaefer called both of them to witness, as well as the triple combat of the Perinthians and Paeonians, assuming that these gave a fair illustration of Archaic warfare as a whole.67 Generalizations appearing thereafter become even more explicit: ...rules of war were agreed upon by Chalcis and Eretria at the time of the Lelantine War. If we bear in mind, in addition, the prearranged single combats and truces of the Iliad and the efforts of the Amphictionic League to ameliorate warfare, it may be possible to believe that the Greeks at one time tried to regulate the use of weapons and to reduce warfare to pitched battles, more or less prearranged.68 66 67 68

Thus Lonis (1979) 28-29. Schaefer (1932) 178-179. Larsen (1949) 259.

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Brelich made the Lelantine and Thyreatic combats the basis of his work, comprising the first third thereof, and his successors followed the example. Even in the Archaic period, Sparta’s wars with Messenia and Tegea, or that of Croton and Sybaris, ill suit the model of the tightly controlled ordeal by combat. Homeric mass armies fight when they encounter one another, on the first suitable ground, and with the most effective weapons at their disposal. Fifth-century phalanx armies do the same. It would demand a very great change of habit during the intervening years to make pitched battles by appointment a widespread martial tradition.

III. The Fourth Century Moving to the fourth century we find ourselves in another environment. The Peloponnesian War brought a sea-change in martial attitudes; of that there is no question. But instead of a decline from restricted to ruthless war, something closer to the opposite may have taken place: the remorselessness of that conflict may have stimulated a revulsion and led to calls for restraint between Greeks fighting Greeks.69 Traces of this feeling appear even during the war, in several of Aristophanes’ dramas and in Gorgias’ Epitaphios (VS F 5b). At times it produced more than words: Callicratidas, serving as Spartan admiral in 406 BC, refused to enslave the Methymnean prisoners despite pressure from his allies, declaring that while he was in command no Greek would be sold as a slave (though in the end he did sell the captured Athenian garrison— Xen. Hell. 1.6.14-15). The calls gradually crescendo during the fourth century. One of the grievances of Sparta which fomented the Elean War of 399 was occasioned when Agis, at the behest of an oracle, attempted to make sacrifice at the sanctuary of Zeus for victory in war, no doubt against Athens. The Eleans refused on the pretext that an ancient law forbade consulting an oracle for victory against fellow Greeks (Xen. Hell. 3.2.22). This was a spurious claim, a snub to the Spartans and taken as such—the “ancient law” in fact reflected the sentiment of the times. To the figure of Agesilaus became attached quite a number of

69

De Romilly (1968) 217-218; Kiechle (1969) 553-556.

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traits which accord well with the agonistic model of war. Xenophon reports his clemency toward his enemies and his kindness to prisoners (Ages. 1.20-22). He lamented the slaughter of his Greek enemies at Coronea in 394, saying that such men would have better served to conquer the barbarian (Ages. 7.5; Plut. Mor. 211 F). At the same battle he allowed to depart unharmed some eighty foemen who had taken refuge in a temple (Ages. 2.13, Hell. 4.3.20). He felt a victory over Greeks to be a misfortune, he decried exterminating members of a kindred race, he spoke against enslaving Greek cities, and he would not capture one if that would mean its destruction (Ages. 7.4-6). Still, the Greeks’ incapacity to halt their carnage during the Corinthian and the Theban wars and their willingness to invite Persia into their affairs, climaxing in the Peace of Antalcidas, disillusioned the more reflective minds, and their desires for a more humane environment, manifested especially in panHellenism, were compounded by certain other traits of the intellectual climate. In Athens particularly, the humiliating surrender, the dismemberment of her empire, and her failure to revive it, all coalesced in a peculiar image of the past, where nobility and moderation in warfare become reified from a speculation to a historical practice; their fathers, they came to believe, had fought with a chivalry long vanished from the world. Lysias set the tone at the opening of the century in his funeral oration during the Corinthian War. The ancient Athenians took Adrastus’ part for the sake of reverence toward the gods and the common laws of Hellas: ka‹ oÈx ÍpÚ t∞w tÊxhw §pary°ntew me¤zonow parå Kadme¤vn timvr¤aw §peyÊmhsan, éll' §ke¤noiw m¢n ént‹ t∞w ésebe¤aw tØn •aut«n éretØn §pede¤janto, aÈto‹ d¢ labÒntew tå îyla œnper ßneka éf¤konto, toÁw ÉArge¤vn nekroÊw, ¶yacan §n tª aÍt«n ÉEleus›ni. (Epitaphios 2.10)

(“And they did not become swollen by good fortune and desire a greater punishment from the Cadmeans, but in place of the latters’ impiety showed them their own valor, and having taken the prize on whose account they had set out, the bodies of the Argives, they buried them in their own land of Eleusis”).

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The agonal imagery is stronger here compared with the terse battle summations of Thucydides or Xenophon: the war with Thebes becomes a contest of virtue over the prize of the fallen Argives, a contest wherein Athens stays within bounds and does not harm her opponent more than victory demands. This vision of antique piety emerges out of an implied contrast with more recent woes. The hearers are probably meant to recall the conduct of the Thebans themselves when tyche turned in their favor, refusing to return the Athenian bodies after Delium (424 BC, Thuc. 4.97-99), or demanding the extirpation of Athens after her surrender (404, Xen. Hell. 2.2.19-20). The rite of the epitaphios, with its consecration of past struggles, was often repeated through the bloody years from the Peloponnesian War to Chaeronea and contributed much to the emotional milieu which conceived the agonistic ideal of battle. Some of the intellectual raw materials essential to the concept of military agonism are present abundantly in Isocrates. Obvious among these are his intense pan-Hellenism, which is always in proportion to the danger from the barbarian.70 He attributes it as well to the national character of Athens as far back as the Ionian migrations, when Athens rescued the Hellenes of Asia (4.34-37). He also extends it to the behavior of the Hellenes in past wars. The forefathers of the Spartans and Athenians were wiser than the current rulers; the latter seek to ruin each other and the rest of the cities, while the former held their fellow Greek states as sacrosanct and directed their efforts against the common barbarian enemy (12.161-163, Panathenaicus). During the Persian threat Sparta and Athens carried out an agon of valor (oÈk §xyroÁw, éll' éntagvniståw sfçw aÈtoÁw e‰nai nom¤zontew, 4.85; prÚw éllÆlouw égvni«ntew, 4.91: “considering themselves to be not enemies but competitors”, “in rivalry with one another”) rather than abetting the barbarian to enslave fellow Greeks. The Athenians of old established the Olympic Truce (rather than Iphitus of Elis, more generally credited), composing the quarrels among Greeks and stengthening their sense of kinship (4.43). Justice rather than might has decided the wars of the past (6.36, To Archidamus) and victories over Greeks have always been matters of woeful necessity, eliciting tears rather than hymns (4.158). The trophies of Spartans over barbarians inspire admiration, but those over 70

De Romilly (1968) 217.

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their Greek foes merit disgust (5.148, To Philip, quoting Gorgias [VS F 5b]). Those who prevail in war are not those who destroy cities by force, but “those who take care for Hellas with greater reverence and mildness” (toÁw ısi≈teron ka‹ praÒteron tØn ÑEllãda dioikoËntaw, 14.39, Plataicus). The dilemma of to dikaion and to sympheron which lies at the foundation of Thucydidean politics would not appear to exist for Isocrates. Wars for the benefit of Hellas are a historical fact, an ethical imperative, and a justification for Athenian supremacy all at the same time. In the same period, Plato’s Republic (ca. 380) emerged from the longings of the spiritually tormented period when internecine Greek wars seemed to defy human powers, unwanted but inescapable. In Book V (468B-471C) is prescribed the standard of conduct appropriate to Greek enemies as opposed to barbarians: Greeks will not be reduced to slavery and none will so much as own a Greek slave. The victors will not despoil the enemy dead, nor dedicate their arms in temples. Invaders of enemy territory may not burn houses nor ravage the land, but will only take the year’s harvest. The latter point occasions an exposition on the character of inter-Greek wars as familial disputes, to be pursued only so far as necessary toward a reconciliation of the wayward members. War against barbarians, by contrast, is natural, permanent and unrestricted. A sharpening of hostile sentiment against Persia becomes discernible after the Peace of Antalcidas. Plato by this set of agonistic protocols damns contemporary practices both implicitly and explicitly: ÉEgΔ m°n, ¶fh, ımolog« oÏtv de›n prÚw toÁw §nant¤ouw toÁw ≤met°rouw pol¤taw prosf°resyai: prÚw d¢ toÁw barbãrouw, …w nËn ofl ÜEllhnew prÚw éllÆlouw (471B: “I agree, he said, that we must deal thus with enemies who are our own citizens, but against the barbarians, as the Greeks now deal with one another”). It has been claimed that he advocates a return to an earlier agonal style of war.71 But he nowhere makes appeal to a better example from former 71 E.g., de Romilly (1968) 217; Ilari (1980) 146: “Plato thought that, for the present, the idea of the abolition of war among the Greek cities was not realizable. One should aim, however, toward its humanization, re-instituting that old style which had distinguished the ancient agonal wars, fought (like the battles cited in the Greater Alcibiades) to decide controversies pertaining to ‘justice’”. (“Platone riteneva che, per l’immediato, l’idea dell’abolizione della guerra fra le

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days. If any of his protocols ever became flesh, they did so during Plato’s lifetime rather than earlier. Protest against enslavement of Greeks first went on record with Callicratidas, after the capture of pro-Athenian Methymna in 406 BC (Xen. Hell. 1.6.14). The practice had been common through the fifth century and in the sixth, to judge from the scant evidence for the latter, but swelled to such appalling frequency during the Peloponnesian War that cries of protest make themselves heard from higher-minded men such as Xenophon and Plato, though few evidently heeded and mass enslavement remained a fixture of warfare through the fourth century.72 Despoliation of the enemy slain and dedication of their arms in sanctuaries had long figured as one of war’s supreme honors,73 with only the Spartans abstaining, as Plutarch reports (Mor. 224B and F).74 The pan-Hellenic shrines abounded with dedications of Greek arms in Archaic times, and only by the fifth century, when we should expect to see the collapse of agonistic restraints, does a decline of such offerings appear to set in.75 Olympia harbored spoils taken from Thurians by Taras in the 430s (Meiggs and Lewis 57); Delphi received offerings from a battle between Tegea and Mantinea in 423 BC (Thuc. 4.134), and from Agesilaus’ booty taken at Coronea in 394 (Xen. Hell. 4.3.21).76 The words of Socrates in the Republic (469E-470A) imply that the practice still continued ca. 380. Socrates’ final postulate (470A-471B) would put an end to burning houses or ravaging land (g∞w tmÆsevw, g∞n t°mnein) when campaigning against Greeks. We have little indication that such humanity had been widely exercised in any earlier period, although the idea must have

città greche fosse irrealizabile. Si doveva puntare, piuttosto, su una sua umanizzazione, riprendendo quel vecchio stile che era stato proprio delle antiche guerre agonale, combattute (come le battaglie citate nell’ Alcibiade (Primo)), per decidere controversie relative alla ”). The battles in the relevant passage of the Greater Alcibiades (112 A-C), including the Trojan War, Tanagra, and first Coronea, are indeed said to have been fought over claims of justice, but do not have any of the usual agonal characteristics. 72 See Pritchett (1991) V 226-234. 73 See Jackson (1993) 228-232. 74 Possibly contradicted by Hdt. 1.82.5, Thuc. 5.74.2; see Pritchett (1979) III 292-293, Jackson (1993) 231-232, 241. 75 Jackson (1993) 246-247. 76 Mistakenly reported as Asian booty by Pritchett (1991) V 514.

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exerted some attraction. Polybius tells of the ancient immunity (patrios asylia) granted to the land of Elis by all the Greeks on account of the Olympic Games, and apparently with the assumption of Elean neutrality; it supposedly remained in force until 219 BC (Plb. 4.73.9-4.74.8). However, this asylia never existed; Polybius has repeated a tale which probably originated with Ephorus (Strabo 8.3.33 (C 358) = FrGH 70 Ephorus F 115; see also Diod. 8.1; Strabo 8.3.30 (C 355) tells a similar story of Pisa).77 So we have a historical fiction generated by the humanizing trend of the fourth century. The few other protoypes for permanent asylia prior to the Hellenistic period do not very well match Plato’s idea.78 There remain a few isolated occurrences. Three Atthidographers, and perhaps Sophocles, affirm that the Lacedaemonian invaders of Attica during the Peloponnesian War spared the sacred olive trees of Athena (mor¤ai), but this immunity did not extend to trees not boasting divine lineage (Androtion FGrH 324 F 39; Philochorus FGrH 328 F 125; Istros FGrH 334 F 30; Sophocles OC 694-706).79 Istros adds that the invaders spared the Marathonian Tetrapolis, where the Heraclids had come as suppliants. Plato himself here implies that during wars of stasis, the parties on some occasions would refrain from destroying property and would only seize the crops of their opponents (470D-E). One interesting anecdote supports this: Plutarch (Mor. 295B-C) tells of early civil strife kindled by Corinth among the five villages of the Megarid, when the enemies spared one another’s farmers and crops, and treated captives with elaborate chivalry. Plutarch’s accounts of archaic Greece often carry little historical weight, and serve rather to enhance a philosophical portrait of Greece presented for the benefit of Trajan and Hadrian. The tale of the Megarid civil strife comes by way of an etymology for an erroneous reading of the word doruxenos (“ally”, not “captured guest” as Plutarch would have it); on the other hand, the tale is not likely to have arisen from nothing simply for an etymology, and we cannot dismiss it out of hand.

Bauslaugh (1991) 42-43; Rigsby (1996) 43-44. Some earlier writers, however, attributed Polybius’ story to anti-Spartan sources ca 150; see Walbank (1957) I 526. 78 Rigsby (1996) 44-53. 79 Hanson (1998) 143-147, 236-237, 241-242. 77

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But such scruple could not have been common; Plato elsewhere deems civil wars the cruellest of all conflicts (Leg. 629-630). All testimony for the wars of poleis makes such torching and ravaging a routine business of campaigns prior to Plato’s time.80 His heightened sensitivity to the matter may well result from the extremes of the Peloponnesian War and the terrible devastation of Attica especially, which left deep wounds in the Athenian psyche.81 It does not appear that these ethical objections had great effect, although the idea of introducing some limits to agricultural devastation must have continued to surface at times. Polybius takes up the complaint of Plato’s Republic (a work known to him—6.47.7) in castigating the destruction of trees and farming equipment belonging to kindred peoples; damage which endures well past the term of hostilities tends to foster perpetual hatred. Polybius too wishes that only the year’s harvest be taken (toÁw §pete¤ouw karpoÁw paraire›syai, 23.15.1—cf. Plato’s phrase tÚn §p°teion karpÚn éfaire›syai, Rep. 470B).82 Once again, the idea of self-imposed limits on agricultural damage, if not the practice, is a product of the fourth century and later, rather than of the agonistic age. In outlining the proper conduct toward enemy territory Plato explains his own rationale at some length. Two sorts of human conflict exist, stasis and polemos, the former between kindred and the latter between aliens. All the Greek race is kindred, a common household, and conflicts between Greeks therefore represent stasis, a kind of domestic disease, to be cured with only so much harshness as necessary. Martial force is in fact merely an unfortunate expedient for restoring peace to the Hellenic household. But all barbarians are enemies by nature (polem¤ouw fÊsei e‰nai, 470C6-7), and against them polemos will be prosecuted without quarter. The importance of this discourse can hardly be overstated both for its pan-Hellenic expressions and its implicit declaration of eternal warfare upon barbarians. Only in the early fourth century do we find an explicit code of restraint for inter-Greek wars, which is expressly refused to barbarians. By modern consensus, these features of the code should have

80 81 82

Ibid. 49-76. Ober (1985) 51-66. See Walbank (1979) III 247.

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been in place for at least two centuries, but Socrates shows no knowledge of them. An exclusive code between Greeks demands a certain consciousness of Hellenism which in turn demands a wider frame of Greek -Barbarian polarity. This ideological structure did not mature until the fourth century, and it is in that period if ever when we can begin to detect an agonistic attitude in warfare. At the beginning of this section we have seen Agesilaus’ propensity toward moderation and humaneness in wars against Greeks; Xenophon connects this to a proportionate inimicality toward the barbarian, depicting his pan-Hellenism and his anti-barbarism in antithetically placed passages (Ages. 7.4-7). In addition to his lament that the fallen of second Coronea would have better served to fight the barbarian, he spoke against annihilating the enemies of kindred race, as that would deplete the numbers ready for the conquest of Asia (7.5-6). We should note too that the understanding of the Iliad as a Hellenic venture against the barbarian did not appear until the eve of the Peloponnesian War (Hdt. 1.4-5) and only reached full development with Isocrates, Plato’s Laws, and the campaigns of Alexander.83 Many other readers beginning with Thucydides (1.3.3) have noticed the lack of a mature Greek identity or any stringent barriers between Achaeans and barbarians in the Iliad itself. Likewise, the pan-Hellenic mindset of the fourth century read a parallel into the two great victories of 480, at Salamis over the Persians and at Himera over the Carthaginians, as though a great common war against barbarians had been waged at opposite ends of the Greek world.84 At all times we find that Greek unity and enmity against barbarians found their strongest advocates at Athens, a fact which probably reflects something more than the preponderant Athenian origin of the sources. Plato’s Menexenus is an important text for themes already broached in the passage of the Republic above; the dialogues are probably close in date. When Plato sets forth his own wartime protocols in the Republic (via Socrates), he does not credit their observance to any Athenians of the past. In Aspasia’s speech in the Menexenus, which parodies contemporary epitaphioi and other rhetorical productions, we find that Athenians have been doing just that:

83 84

Ilari (1980) 74. Garlan (1970) 630-635.

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JOHN DAYTON metå d¢ taËta polloË pol°mou genom°nou, ka‹ pãntvn t«n ÑEllÆnvn §pistrateusãntvn ka‹ temÒntvn tØn x≈ran ka‹ énaj¤an xãrin §ktinÒntvn tª pÒlei, nikÆsantew aÈtoÁw naumax¤& ofl ≤m°teroi ka‹ labÒntew aÈt«n toÁw ≤gemÒnaw Lakedaimon¤ouw §n tª Sfag¤&, §jÚn aÈto›w diafye›rai §fe¤santo ka‹ ép°dosan ka‹ efirÆnhn §poiÆsanto, ≤goÊmenoi prÚw m¢n tÚ ımÒfulon m°xri n¤khw de›n poleme›n, ka‹ mØ di' ÙrgØn fid¤an pÒlevw tÚ koinÚn t«n ÑEllÆnvn diollÊnai, prÚw d¢ toÁw barbãrouw m°xri diafyorçw. (242C-D)

(“After this a great war arose, and all the Hellenes took the field against us and ravaged our land, showing poor gratitude to our city. But our men defeated them in a sea battle and captured their Spartan leaders at Sphagia, and though it was possible to kill them we spared them, gave them back and made peace, for we felt that we ought make war against a kindred race only to the point of victory, and not through one city’s wrath to destroy the community of the Hellenes; but against the barbarians we would fight to the death”).

Thus, some fifty years after the Archidamian War, we learn that an agonistic code had indeed been in force all along, which forbade war to the knife against a kindred Greek race but reserved it for the barbarian; reverence for this had induced the Athenians to spare their Spartan prisoners from Sphacteria (also Sphagia, which is the island’s current name). Readers of Thucydides 4.41, who know of the Athenians’ decision to hold the prisoners as hostages against the ungrateful Spartan incursions, and to kill them if necessary, will know that Aspasia’s rendition of the affair falls little short of mendacity. But it does indicate that, along with the general aggrandized vision of Athens’ past which was taking shape after her defeat, some of her citizens had come to believe in, or at least to speak of, a traditional magnanimity and forbearance displayed in her hostilities against Greeks.85 When Socrates in the Republic speaks of a

85 Schaefer (1932), on the other hand, takes the passage literally as evidence for an earlier agonism (179): “The awareness of the agonal style of combat against a Greek enemy lingered into late times; Plato has said so in the Menexenus”. (“Noch bis in späte Zeiten ist das Bewußtsein von der agonaler Art

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code of common humanity in Greek warfare, he prescribes it for an imaginary city; when Aspasia speaks of it, she pretends that it actually exists. As often happens, the desire for a mitigated form of hostilities against Hellenes proceeds in tandem with an identity defined largely in antithesis to the barbarian world: prÚw m¢n tÚ ımÒfulon m°xri n¤khw de›n poleme›n...prÚw d¢ toÁw barbãrouw m°xri diafyorçw. This claim of moderation toward Greek foes is embedded in an interpretation of Athens which makes opposition to the barbarian the essence of her entire existence. At the beginning of the historical account, her citizens’ autochthony is lovingly set forth (237B-238B), as well as her mythic wars with barbarian Thracians and Amazons, and Thebans and Argives among Greeks (239B); these themes return in a ring as the present day is reached, and we find that autochthonic purity has decreed the Athenians’ lasting aversion to the Persians and other foreigners (245D). Here, too, it emerges that the Thebans and Argives are not real Greeks at all, but barbarians passing under the name of Hellenes, descendants of such exogenes as Pelops, Cadmus, Aegyptus, and Danaus (a position held seriously by Isocrates, 12.80). In between, the Persian Wars figure as the supreme event of history. The most salient event of the Peloponnesian War is the betrayal of the Hellenic koine (line 3 below) by the enemies of Athens: ˘ d' e‰pon deinÚn ka‹ én°lpiston toË pol°mou gen°syai, tÒde l°gv tÚ efiw tosoËton filonik¤aw §lye›n prÚw tØn pÒlin toÁw êllouw ÜEllhnaw, Àste tolm∞sai t“ §xy¤stƒ §pikhrukeÊsasyai basile›, ˘n koinª §j°balon mey' ≤m«n, fid¤& toËton pãlin §pãgesyai, bãrbaron §f' ÜEllhnaw, ka‹ sunayro›sai §p‹ tØn pÒlin pãntaw ÜEllhnãw te ka‹ barbãrouw. (243B-C)

(“This I say to be the frightful and despairing thing about the war, that the other Hellenes had come to such a pitch of violence against our city, they ventured to send heralds to the most hated king, whom they had repulsed in common with us, to bring him back on their own account, the barbardes Kampfes gegen einen griechischen Feind geblieben: Plato im Menexenos hat es gesagt [242D]”).

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JOHN DAYTON ian against Greeks; thus all the Greeks and barbarians leagued against our city”).

We may here profitably recall Vernant’s analogy86 between polis warfare and the pan-Hellenic games, wartime and peacetime manifestations of the same phenomenon. Introducing the barbarian into the war is akin to introducing him as a competitor at the Olympics; it disrupts the agonistic balance of the war, which Athens herself has so reverently observed, and she must now become vituperant toward foes she would have preferred to treat with indulgence. We should recognize all of this as an imaginary construction; Plato trusts the reader to perceive how far the epitaphios has gone adrift from reality by this point. Athens’ willingness to “pardon” the barbarians, doubtless to their great relief, signals not an abatement of hatred, but closer to the opposite, a recognition that their actions spring from natural inimicality: ≤sux¤an ∑gen ≤ pÒliw, to›w m¢n barbãroiw suggign≈skousa, ˜ti payÒntew Íp' aÈt∞w kak«w flkan«w oÈk §nde«w ±mÊnanto (244B: “the city was at peace, and pardoned the barbarians, since they had suffered pretty badly at our hands and retaliated in like measure”). The inability of the Athenians to deny an appeal for assistance, on the other hand, has justified their own dealings with Persia (244E -245A). The dramatic date of the Menexenus directly after the King’s Peace (244E-246A) highlights the impact of that event upon the Athenian mentality. It affords occasion for a brutally anti-barbarian view of all Athens’ past and for claims of solidarity with her Greek neighbors, including the conceit that Athens’ wars against them have been subject to a code which imposed limits on victory. Demosthenes shared with Isocrates many of the stock features of fourth-century Athenian thought. The general exaltation of progenitors continues, including their love of their fellow Greeks, whom they never wronged at any time, and amongst whom they halted any attempts at aggression (40.7, 11, Epitaph.; cf. 3.26, Olynth. III). During the rise of Philip II Demosthenes made him the chief barbarian bogey in place of the Great King (3.17,24, Olynth. III; 9.31, Phil. III). In 342 BC, with Philip threatening the Chersonese, he delivered the Third Philippic. The

86

Vernant (1968) 21.

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occasion afforded him opportunity for a comparison between the dangers posed by the Spartans over sixty years earlier and those of the present circumstances, in 9.47-52. (47)... §gΔ d' èpãntvn …w ¶pow efipe›n pollØn efilhfÒtvn §p¤dosin, ka‹ oÈd¢n ımo¤vn ˆntvn t«n nËn to›w prÒteron, oÈd¢n ≤goËmai pl°on μ tå toË pol°mou kekin∞syai képidedvk°nai. (48) pr«ton m¢n går ékoÊv Lakedaimon¤ouw tÒte ka‹ pãntaw toÁw êllouw, t°ttaraw m∞naw μ p°nte, tØn …ra¤an aÈtÆn, §mbalÒntaw ín ka‹ kak≈santaw tØn x≈ran ıpl¤taiw ka‹ politiko›w strateÊmasin énaxvre›n §p' o‡kou pãlin: oÏtv d' érxa¤vw e‰xon, mçllon d¢ politik«w, Àst' oÈd¢ xrhmãtvn »ne›syai par' oÈdenÚw oÈd°n, éll' e‰nai nÒmimÒn tina ka‹ profan∞ tÚn pÒlemon. (49) nun‹ d' ırçte m¢n dÆpou tå ple›sta toÁw prodÒtaw épolvlekÒtaw, oÈd¢n d' §k paratãjevw oÈd¢ mãxhw gignÒmenon: ékoÊete d¢ F¤lippon oÈx‹ t“ fãlagg' ıplit«n êgein bad¤zony' ˜poi boÊletai, éllå t“ ciloÊw, flpp°aw, tojÒtaw, j°nouw, toioËton §jhrt∞syai stratÒpedon. (50) §peidån d' §p‹ toÊtoiw prÚw nosoËntaw §n aÍto›w prosp°s˙ ka‹ mhde‹w Íp¢r t∞w x≈raw di' épist¤an §j¤˙, mhxanÆmat' §pistÆsaw poliorke›. ka‹ sivp« y°row ka‹ xeim«na, …w oÈd¢n diaf°rei, oÈd' §st‹n §ja¤retow Àra tiw ∂n diale¤pei. (51) taËta m°ntoi pãntaw efidÒtaw ka‹ logizom°nouw oÈ de› pros°syai tÚn pÒlemon efiw tØn x≈ran, oÈd' efiw tØn eÈÆyeian tØn toË tÒte prÚw Lakedaimon¤ouw pol°mou bl°pontaw §ktraxhlisy∞nai, éll' …w §k ple¤stou fulãttesyai to›w prãgmasi ka‹ ta›w paraskeua›w, ˜pvw o‡koyen mØ kinÆsetai skopoËntaw, oÈx‹ sumplak°ntaw diagvn¤zesyai. (52) prÚw m¢n går pÒlemon pollå fÊsei pleonektÆmay' ≤m›n Ípãrxei, ên per, Œ êndrew ÉAyhna›oi, poie›n §y°lvmen ì de›, ≤ fÊsiw t∞w §ke¤nou x≈raw, ∏w êgein ka‹ f°rein ¶sti pollØn ka‹ kak«w poie›n, êlla mur¤a: efiw d' ég«na êmeinon ≤m«n §ke›now ≥skhtai.

(“Though all things, as they say, have made great progress, and none of the things now in existence resembles those of former times, I believe that nothing has seen more activity and progress than warfare. First, I understand that the Lacedaemonians, and all the others, would invade and ravage a country for four or five months at harvest-time with their hoplite and citizen armies, and then return home. They were so old-school, or

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JOHN DAYTON rather so civil, that they would buy nothing from anyone by money, but war was in its way law-abiding and open. Now surely you see that traitors have destroyed most everything, and nothing is done by proper formations and battle. You learn that Philip goes wherever he will not by leading a phalanx of hoplites, but skirmishers, cavalry, archers, mercenaries—on such an army does he depend. When with these he attacks people unsound within their own ranks, and when through mistrust no one will come forth for their country’s sake, he brings up his engines and lays siege. And I say nothing of summer and winter, since they differ in nothing, and there is no season in which he leaves off. If you all understand and take account of these things, you must not allow the war into this land, and you must not be thrown to your ruin by expecting the easy style of war once practiced by the Spartans, but you must keep the closest watch on developments and preparations, taking care that he does not stir from home, and that there is no match at close quarters. For in a war we have many advantages by nature, if we are willing to do what is necessary, O Athenians: there is the nature of his country, in much of which we can pillage and wreak harm, and countless other things. For an engagement he is better trained than we”.)

This passage has always figured as one of the chief witnesses for the agonism of the traditional Greek war, and it is a great irony that Demosthenes is here speaking of the Peloponnesian conflict as an epitome of that code upon which it supposedly wrought havoc.87 We can readily believe, however, that Demosthenes chooses that conflict simply because it represents the greatest jeopardy ever endured by Athens. As for the modes of fighting, the historical particulars are less important to his purpose than the persuasive force of his argument. He places the Peloponnesian conflict in line with the long tradition of hoplite-centered wars, which had by no means died out in the poleis of the mid-fourth century; hence the danger that the Athenians will not rightly judge what manner of enemy now confronts them. In the broad sense of rhetorical criteria, Demosthenes speaks the truth: they cannot measure Philip by their own long experience of battle.

87 For various views of the passage, see Vidal-Naquet (1968) 174; Lonis (1979) 20-21; Krentz (2000) 177-178; Hanson (2000) 204.

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To make this point Demosthenes employs few overt falsehoods, but rather judicious arrangement of certain facts. The customs of the Greeks are balanced against Philip’s by antithesis, in a six-figure chiasma as follows: a. the Spartans and other Greeks campaigned in the summer, b. they did so with citizen hoplites, c. and openly, without bribery (9.48). c. Philip destroys his enemies mainly by treachery, b. he does so without a phalanx, but light troops, mercenaries, etc. (9.49), a. and takes no account of seasons (9.50). This passage above all has given rise to a belief in a trêve saisonnière, a sort of tacit ban on campaigns outside the summer months, which tended to prevent unrestricted war.88 Demosthenes states that the Spartans (as well as all the other Greeks) would return home after their summertime devastation (9.48). He of course does not take Decelea into account, but that is a quibble; as we have noted, he is less concerned with the particulars of the Peloponnesian War than with the seasonal cycle exhibited as a rule by the wars of the poleis, which he claims does not impede the movements of Philip. He does not explicitly say that this restriction in campaigning came about through any wish on the part of civilized Hellenes to ease the desolation of war. Polybius tells us that only winter gave some respite to the lawless and inexorable Celtiberian War (35.1.5), and indeed the same pattern persisted to various degrees into the twentieth century, a fact which points to its logistical basis, all the more significant in ancient Greece through the slender material surplus of the armies and the forbidding terrain.89 The Spartans had the additional problem of the Helots to consider. But in immediate juxtaposition to the Spartans’ summertime ravaging comes the assertion of their civil conduct (érxa¤vw e‰xon, mçllon d¢ politik«w), their eschewal of base bribery, the openness and obedience to custom seen in 88

Vernant (1968) 18; de Romilly (1968) 211-212; Vidal-Naquet (1968) 166,

174. 89 Krentz (2002) 27: “the timing of campaigns was another matter of military tactics rather than military conventions”.

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their wars (éll' e‰nai nÒmimÒn tina ka‹ profan∞ tÚn pÒlemon, 9.48). The listener irresistibly associates short campaigns with a kind of chivalry. Antithesis reinforces this impression when we learn of the habits of Philip, the unscrupulous barbarian: ka‹ sivp« y°row ka‹ xeim«na, …w oÈd¢n diaf°rei, oÈd' §st‹n §ja¤retow Àra tiw ∂n diale¤pei (9.50). But the conditions have been subtly changed since 9.48. The sentence which has immediately preceded this runs: peidån d' §p‹ toÊtoiw prÚw nosoËntaw §n aÍto›w prosp°s˙ ka‹ mhde‹w Íp¢r t∞w x≈raw di' épist¤an §j¤˙, mhxanÆmat' §pistÆsaw poliorke› (9.50). We are no longer considering incursions of hoplites, but siege operations. These could extend beyond the summer months, but in this respect Philip by no means broke precedent; the Athenians themselves had begun the Peloponnesian War with a prolonged siege of Potidea, whose wintertime rigors are well depicted by Plato (Symp. 220A-B). Of course Philip’s economic reserves greatly enhanced his capacity for extended sieges, but he tended to succeed in them more quickly than Athens ever had.90 As for infantry campaigns, we have little evidence that Philip could conduct them through the winter any better than the Greek cities. The advances in mobility and logistics attributed to Philip are known only from Frontinus (4.1.6), who specifies: “he gave orders to those setting out on the summer campaigns that thirty days’ worth of meal be carried on their backs” (in aestiva exeuntibus triginta dierum farinam collo portari imperavit; emphasis added). But if Demosthenes has obfuscated the facts concerning the military seasons, he probably managed to convince his audience of Philip’s relentless energy (cf. 4.42). The next antithesis contrasts the citizen hoplites of elder days with the army of Philip: he does not lead a phalanx but a force of psiloi, cavalry, archers, and foreigners (mercenaries are obviously meant, 9.49). Once again Demosthenes ignores various events of the Peloponnesian War, in this case the proliferation of light-armed troops at that time, including those of Sparta under Brasidas. Once again one must not attach too much importance to the omission—Demosthenes wishes to recall the elder days of hoplite supremacy as a whole, rather than a spe-

90

Cawkwell (1978) 162-163.

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cific period. The inaccuracies seem more serious in his enumeration of Philip’s forces. Most glaring, ostensibly, is his denial of a Macedonian citizen phalanx, considering the renown of that body. But perhaps a Greek of conservative temperament would not have recognized this as a phalanx at all. Certain units such as Iphicrates’ had already challenged the delineation between peltast and hoplite, and the Macedonian formation, light-armored and maneuverable, might well have appeared as a body of light troops to an Athenian acquainted with it only from hearsay.91 It is also true that in 342 Philip had won major victories only over Illyrians and Phocians, and not against any of the traditional hoplite states. When Demosthenes claims that Philip leads psiloi, along with cavalry, archers, and foreigners rather than hoplites, he may well be describing this new model of phalanx. Philip of course did integrate cavalry with his phalanx on an unprecedented scale and attracted many freebooters with his vast treasury (Diod. 16.8.7), though he is not known to have fielded archers to any unusual extent. Unable to convey the altogether unprecedented nature of Macedon’s military forces, and perhaps unable to apprehend it fully himself, Demosthenes falls back on an analogy which will resonate immediately with his hearers: the dichotomy of the sturdy citizen phalanx and the light-armed rabble who nevertheless had gotten the better of it on numerous occasions. This shock to the social order intimated by Demosthenes implies a fairly conservative mentality still predominant among the Athenian citizens despite their history of success in innovative warfare. In the end, they did of course choose to confront Philip the old-fashioned way, that which Demosthenes very presciently does not recommend here (9.52). The massed phalanx had humbled the Persians and it had become enshrined as the archetype of everything older and better, the one honorable means to do battle.92 Once again one must depart from the factual world to arrive at such conclusions. It would be an obvious absurdity to imply that the phalanx clash characterized the Peloponnesian War, it is even doubtful how invariably it decided earlier conflicts.93 But in the ideological sphere, those like the Spartans who fight in phalanx also behave

91 92 93

Ibid. p. 33. Krentz (2002) 35-37. Krentz (1997) 55-61.

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érxa¤vw and politik«w, and their war is open and legitimate (nÒmimon and profan∞). Note the important qualifier tina: nÒmimÒn tina ... tÚn pÒlemon. Here Demosthenes is aware of some approximation in his argument —it is hard to point to any specific nomoi concerning bribery of enemies. All the same, Philip has no hoplites and does not commit to pitched battles (oÈd¢n d' §k paratãjevw oÈd¢ mãxhw gignÒmenon, 9.49), and it follows inevitably that his victories bring ethical debasement. The third pair of antitheses sets this legitimate warfare against corruption and treachery. The Spartans would attempt nothing by bribery, and Philip attempts nothing without it. The subject was one of intense concern to Demosthenes, and in a long passage soon before this one (9.36-46) he has named venality as the cause of the Hellenes’ present abjection, its absence the source of their ancestors’ grandeur. Within the military domain traitors enable Philip to enslave cities without battle (tå ple›sta toÁw prodÒtaw épolvlekÒtaw, 9.49); fear of treachery incapacitates their will to resist him and they become easy targets for his siege artillery. If this argument is ungrateful to the important services of traitors in Greek sieges since long before Philip, still with his vast gold reserves and his own acumen he brought bribery to an unusual pitch of perfection. Demosthenes elsewehere effectively elates the role of corruption in the fall of Olynthus (19.265-267, On the Embassy), and one recalls Philip’s own brutal statement that for a small cost he could turn the Athenian orators’ Philippics into panegyrics (13.20). As a final note we should clarify the meaning of the last phrase in the citation above: efiw d' ég«na êmeinon ≤m«n §ke›now ≥skhtai (9.52). The word agon here has been over-translated as “pitched battle”.94 Agon can be used for any military encounter but never until Strabo specifies a particular kind; indeed the most problematical feature of the word is its generality. The pitched battle is correctly expressed by parãtajiw, a term which Demosthenes in fact employs in 9.49, to state precisely that Philip does not fight pitched battles. Hence taking 9.52 to mean that Philip is better prepared for one than the Athenians imputes to Demosthenes a gross contradiction. In this phrase he prolongs an athletic metaphor

94 A.N.W. Saunders for Penguin’s Greek Political Oratory (1970) 259; Hanson (2000) 204.

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which he has begun with sumplak°ntaw diagvn¤zesyai at the end of 51; the basic meaning of éske›n is to train for an athletic contest. The word agon refers here to any direct military engagement,95 including one which features treachery and stealth rather than open combat. One of Demosthenes’ likely implications is the danger of Athenian traitors among the pro-Macedonian party, who will prove woefully susceptible to Philip’s preferred techniques. He is here advising his countrymen to avoid contact with Philip’s forces altogether and to concentrate their efforts on raiding and plundering unguarded parts of his country. It should have become obvious that nothing in this illustration of Demosthenes can pass as military history; it is much closer to a rhetorical topos. The most tormented years of the Peloponnesian War have after two generations become attracted into the stately processional of past wars such as we find in the epitaphioi, which were fought honorably and kept the common welfare of Greece intact. The techniques here include many of those identified by Loraux in the funeral orations, which create a persuasive history while avoiding critical reflection.96 In the face of the Macedonian threat, Sparta now takes a place with Athens among the preservers of Hellas celebrated in the epitaphioi. Demosthenes in fact practices something very close to mythology. This is very appropriate to the matter at hand. He is not composing an essay for a select audience but is persuading his countrymen to take action against a national emergency. The mythologizing faculty of humans is something far older and more elemental than the historicizing one, and strikes the readiest response in a mass assembly. Like all myths, the description of Philip’s manner of war conveys truth, or facets of it, rather than facts. Philip has an armament unlike anything seen before, and its victory would bid fair to ruin the social and ethical structures of the poleis. That truth is brought home by sets of associations highly acceptable to an audience inclined to equate the old with the virtuous. The traditional phalanx must be honorable, and the hearers readily infer that its accompanying short campaign season must have ensued from humane principles. Philip’s year-round mobilizations, without hoplites, then must issue from a ruthlessly destructive impulse. By 342 BC, the

95 96

A well-attested meaning for the word; see Ellsworth (1971) 59-60. Loraux (1986) 132-171.

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phalanx of hoplites has gone a considerable way toward becoming a symbol. A phenomenon observable in the fourth century is an increasing fondness on the part of numerous authors for athletic imagery and metaphor, very often in connection with martial affairs. This trend continues into Hellenistic times where one encounters it to a marked degree in St. Paul and Philo of Alexandria. One might be tempted to connect all of this with the idea of martial agonism. But I do not believe that the phenomenon in fact bears any close relation to the themes considered here. It emerges rather from a growing sense of specialization and professionalism in many disciplines at this period, including those of athletic and military training.97 Prior to the fourth century, the latter science had advanced somewhat less rapidly than the former, except perhaps in Sparta or Crete, and enterprising minds, including Sophists, sought the most beneficial athletic regimes to apply to the profession of soldiering. Despite such weighty criticism as that of Solon, Epaminondas and Plato (whose observations are repeated by Philopoemen),98 it had long been obvious that the same qualities which make for an athletic champion also serve well in battle—strength, speed, endurance, willingness to face pain and physical hardship, a determined and combative temperament. This is a universal and still valid truth; military personnel won 37 percent of the medals in the 1998 Winter Olympics, and 25 percent at the 2000 Summer Olympics.99 Such a fact deserves some consideration when we evaluate arguments like those of Lonis, who advances the martial exploits of certain Panhellenic champions as evidence for an affinity between war and agon peculiar to ancient Greece.100 The instances include the following: Spartan champions receive the honor of fighting beside the king (Plut. Lyc. 22.4, Mor. 639E); Miltiades after his victory in the four-horse chariot race took possession of the land of the Dolonci

On this subject see Pritchett (1974) II 208-231; Poliakoff (1987) 94-103. Diod. Sic. 9.2.5; Nep. Epam. 15.2.4-5, 15.5.4; Plut. Mor. 192C-D; Plato Rep. 404A; Plut. Philop. 3.2. The ancient sources do not present Epameinondas’ views with perfect consistency, since we also hear that he selected the prime athletes of the palaistrai for the Sacred Band (Plu. Mor. 639F). 99 F. Ceri, “Champions in Uniform”, Ulisse (Alitalia magazine) no. 212 (Nov. 2001). 100 Lonis (1979) 27, 34. 97 98

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(Hdt. 6.36); Milo of Croton advanced against the Sybarites wearing his six Olympic crowns (Diod. 12.9.5-6); the Crotoniates also chose Phayllos, a three-time Pythian victor, to command the trireme they sent to Salamis (Hdt. 8.47; IG I2 655). Other warrior-athletes are Eurybates of Argos (Hdt. 6.92, 9.75) and Promachos of Pellene (Paus. 7.27.5-7; cf. 6.8.6). In the fourth century a more technical tone appears in the association of sport and war. Nicias in Plato’s Laches speaks thus of military training: o går ég«now éylhta¤ §smen ka‹ §n oÂw ≤m›n ı égΔn prÒkeitai, mÒnoi otoi gumnãzontai ofl §n toÊtoiw to›w per‹ tÚn pÒlemon Ùrgãnoiw gumnazÒmenoi (182A: “In the agon in which we are athletes and in the affairs in which we make contest, those alone train who train in the instruments of war”). The metaphor comes naturally since the context is a discussion of the new technique of hoplomachia and its possible applications. The question of proper gymnastic and military exercise intrigued Plato and appears in numerous passages as a starting-point for epistemological inquiry. In the Greater Alcibiades, the title figure envisions training like an athlete for rivalry with the statesmen of Athens (119B); Socrates then directs his attention to war and to the real opponents, the Spartans and Persians (119D-120A). Variations of the phrase éylhta‹ pol°mou recur as a motif through the Republic (416D, 422B, 521D, 543B). In 422B occurs a simile depicting the ability of the Guardians to fight superior numbers: it would be like one well-trained boxer with two or more fat rich men as opponents; a similar metaphor (éylhta‹ m¢n går ofl êndrew toË meg¤stou ég«now, “the men will be athletes in the greatest competition”) appears at 403E. Others occur in the Euthydemus (271C) and the Laws (795D ff., 813A ff.). Xenophon’s Socrates employs the same technique as Plato’s, comparing the contest of war to the Olympic Games (Mem. 3.12.1), or likening the technique of generalship to that of wrestling and other skills (Mem. 3.5.21-23). Demosthenes also attests to a widespread interest in the rapport between sports and warfare. We have already seen his metaphor in the Third Philippic (9.52). The Erotic Essay (whose authorship is disputed) praises the sport of “dismounting” (the agôn apobatikos; cf. Plut. Phoc. 20) which involved leaping beween several horses and running alongside them, and apparently the handling of weapons; this contest most realistically approximates the demands of war (41.23-25). In the First

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Philippic he likens Philip’s deportment in war to the manner of an untrained barbarian in the boxing ring, always clasping the spot where he has already been hit rather than watching out for the next blow (4.40). Numerous further examples could be adduced, such as the monument of the Theban generals at Leuctra, where they boast that they did not finish second to Epaminondas in the course (oÈd' ÉEpamein≈nda deÊteroi §drãmomen, IG VII 2462 = Tod II 130 line 9).101 The most elaborate comparisons between sporting or gaming and war come from Polybius. An extended simile likens the movements of Hamilcar and Pullus at Eryx to champion boxers fighting for the crown (1.57.1-2; 1.58.5). The Romans at the time of Pyrrhus’ invasion are like athletes in peak condition (2.20.9). Hannibal encourages his troops by speaking of the athlon of victory (3.63.4), while the Greeks allied against the Persians invite all willing contestants “to the agon of valor and the crown of arete” (12.26b.3: prokaloum°nvn tÚn boulÒmenon §p‹ tÚn t∞w éndre¤aw ég«na ka‹ tÚn per‹ t∞w éret∞w st°fanon); no such metaphors occur in the corresponding sections of Herodotus (7.145, 157-163). The surge of enthusiasm for Perseus throughout Greece results from the same instinct which causes a crowd to side with an outclassed boxer (27.9-10). In the works of Diodorus, the phrase §n to›w polemiko›w ég«sin occurs repeatedly (4.16.2, 4.17.2, 4.20.1). These expressions do not issue from an agonal mentality of warfare in the specialized sense considered here. They originate in a general, universal identification between athletic and martial exploits such as Huizinga noted,102 an identification which was heightened in fourth-century Greece by the deliberate efforts to apply gymnastic techniques to military training. In any case such expressions certainly appear with greater frequency and elaboration well after the proposed age of hoplite agonism. The rise of Macedon, the attendant loss of political initiative among the old warring poleis, and the emergence of Stoicism have traditionally received credit for a diminution of martial severity throughout the Hellenic world.103 Between Thebes in 335 and Mantinea in 223, no 101 Emphasized by Lonis (1979) as evidence for agonism in Greek warfare (27), but since the competitors here are fellow-soldiers rather than foes, the significance seems to me quite different. 102 Huizinga (1950) 40-41.

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Greek city suffered destruction at the hands of fellow Greeks. Some have interpreted the trend toward humaneness and the “peace movement” entirely as a function of the Hellenistic political order.104 The previous section has shown, however, that both these phenomena made their debut well before Chaeronea, and fourth-century, especially Platonic, influence persisted in military thought throughout the Hellenistic period.

IV. Hellenistic and Roman Analogies During the years between Xenophon and Polybius the emphasis on standards in war had become considerably heightened. The law of war cited by Xenophon (Cyrop. 7.5.73) can almost be re-defined as the absence of law: the inhabitants of a conquered city have no rights. In Polybius’ history, expressions proliferate relating to wartime laws and customs, and outrage at their transgression (1.70.6, 1.84.10, 2.8.12, 2.58.5-11, 4.67.4, 7.14.3, 8.8.4, 14.12.4, 38.8.1). He writes thus of the destruction of the shrines by Philip V’s army after capturing the Aetolian capital of Thermos (218 BC): oÈ går §p' épvle¤& de› ka‹ éfanism“ to›w égnoÆsasi poleme›n toÁw égayoÁw êndraw, éll' §p‹ diory≈sei ka‹ metay°sei t«n ≤marthm°nvn, oÈd¢ sunanaire›n tå mhd¢n édikoËnta to›w ±dikhkÒsin, éllå suss–zein mçllon ka‹ sunejaire›syai to›w énait¤oiw toÁw dokoËntaw édike›n. (5.11.5)

(“For good men must not wage war to destruction and annihilation on the ignorant, but for correction and conversion of the guilty, nor should they destroy him who has done no wrong together with those who have, but should rescue and deliver those suspected of wrongdoing together with the blameless”.)

103 104

Grimal (1968) 63-64; Toynbee (1976) 200; Ilari (1980) 281-321. See Ilari (1980) 282-283.

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This passage bears the stamp of Plato’s Republic, whose influence we have noted elsewhere in Polybius’ ethics of warfare (e.g., 23.15); his strong consciousness of ethics and lawfulness probably owes much to that source.105 It also motivates Polybius’ treatment of Philip V, perhaps the chief antagonist of his history. A great deal of Polybius’ thought concerning war is formulated in reaction to his negative example. We mention the larger themes of the work to provide context for Polybius’ reflections on the wars of earlier times, which have supplied great impetus for a belief in agonism. A mutilated passage in book XIII tells of Philip’s role in provoking the First Cretan War with Rhodes (205 BC); a notice of Philip’s growing deviousness introduces the account: (1) ÉEg°neto per‹ tØn toiaÊthn kakopragmosÊnhn, ∂n dØ basilikØn m¢n oÈdam«w oÈde‹w ín e‰nai fÆseien, énagka¤an d¢ boÊlontai l°gein ¶nioi prÚw tÚn pragmatikÚn trÒpon diå tØn nËn §pipolãzousan kakopragmosÊnhn (2) ofl m¢n går érxa›oi polÊ ti toË toioÊtou m°rouw §ktÚw ∑san: tosoËto går éphllotr¤vnto toË kakomhxane›n per‹ toÁw f¤louw xãrin toË t“ toioÊtƒ sunaÊjein tåw sfet°raw dunaste¤aw, Àst' oÈd¢ toÁw polem¤ouw ΩroËnto di' épãthw nikçn, (3) Ípolambãnontew (oÈd¢n) oÎte lamprÚn oÈd¢ mØn b°baion e‰nai t«n katoryvmãtvn, §ån mÆ tiw §k toË profanoËw maxÒmenow ≤ttÆs˙ ta›w cuxa›w toÁw éntitattom°nouw. (4) diÚ ka‹ sunet¤yento prÚw sfçw mÆt' édÆloiw b°lesi mÆy' •khbÒloiw xrÆsasyai kat' éllÆlvn, mÒnhn d¢ tØn §k xeirÚw ka‹ sustãdhn ginom°nhn mãxhn élhyinØn Ípelãmbanon e‰nai kr¤sin pragmãtvn. (5) √ ka‹ toÁw pol°mouw éllÆloiw proÊlegon ka‹ tåw mãxaw, ˜te prÒyointo diakinduneÊein, ka‹ toÁw tÒpouw, oÓw m°lloien §ji°nai paratajÒmenoi. (6) nËn d¢ ka‹ faÊlou fas‹n e‰nai strathgoË tÚ profan«w ti prãttein t«n polemik«n. (7) braxÁ d° ti le¤petai parå ÑRvma¤oiw ‡xnow ¶ti t∞w érxa¤aw aflr°sevw per‹ tå polemikã: ka‹ går prol°gousi toÁw pol°mouw ka‹ ta›w §n°draiw span¤vw xr«ntai ka‹ tØn mãxhn §k xeirÚw poioËntai ka‹ stãdhn. (8) taËta m¢n oÔn efirÆsyv prÚw tÚn §pipolãzonta nËn Íp¢r tÚ d°on §n tª kakopragmosÊn˙ z∞lon per‹ toÁw ≤goum°nouw ¶n te ta›w politika›w ka‹ polemika›w ofikonom¤aiw. (13.3.1-8)

105 Denied by Walbank (1957) I 549, as Plato’s proposed laws are much milder. But see the verbal reminiscences, p. 39.

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(“(Philip) became engaged in that sort of mischief which none would say is at all fitting for a king, but which some claim is necessary in practical matters due to its prevalence now. The men of old were very far from taking part in such a thing. To such an extent did they avoid devising ill against their friends, for the sake of increasing their own power by such means, that they did not even choose to conquer their enemies through deceit, but believed that no accomplishments were glorious or lasting, if one did not best the opponent in spirit by fighting openly. Therefore they agreed with them to employ neither unseen nor long-range missiles, and believed the closed hand-to-hand battle to be the only true judge of affairs. Thus they declared their wars and battles beforehand, when they resolved to commit themselves, and also the places to which they intended to go forth to deploy. Now men say that it is the mark of a bad general to practice anything in war openly. Some small trace remains among the Romans of the old way of warfare. For they make declarations of war, they rarely employ ambushes, and they fight battles hand-to-hand and at close quarters. Let these things be said regarding the now prevalent zeal for malpractice among leaders, both in political and military affairs”.

We have already encountered the ancient abjuration from missile weapons in connection with the Lelantine War. In 13.3 of course we find no mention of that conflict and Polybius seems to imagine some widely acknowledged ban on projectiles in Archaic times. Modern scholars have certainly taken the idea seriously and incorporated it into their reconstructions of Greek warfare, assuming that numerous covenants of this sort existed.106 But it appears more likely that Polybius knew of no other examples than the Amarynthian treaty reported by Strabo, along with the associated lines of Archilochus, and presented them as typical of Archaic battle. We have mentioned the abundance of arrowheads at Archaic sites, and the well-informed Strabo, writing perhaps less than a century later, obviously knew of no parallels to the Amarynthian treaty:

106 E.g., Larsen (1949) 259: “...it may be possible to believe that the Greeks at one time tried to regulate the use of weapons and to reduce warfare to pitched battles, more or less pre-arranged”; Detienne 124 n. 20: “C’est à semblables conventions que fait sans doute allusion Polybe, XIII, 3” (“It is to similar conventions that Polybius 13.3 doubtless makes allusion”). Cf. Schaefer (1932) 179.

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“In truth, there neither is nor was any custom concerning rules of engagement or weapons” (10.1.12).107 Polybius continues with his assertion of a customary declaration of war by the earlier Greeks, as well as a prior appointment of the battle site. A general feeling did appear to exist among Greeks that responsible states should undertake some diplomatic exchange before commencement of hostilities, although no uniform procedure existed, nor anything so formal as the Roman fetial law.108 The choice of a battlefield in advance, the “closed field”, has become part of the ritual complex with which the hoplite agon is endowed,109 and has been inferred not only from Polybius but from Herodotus 7.9B.1. There is, however, no evidence that this practice ever existed for mass battles. All accounts for all periods indicate that the opposing armies marshalled on the nearest suitable ground in the vicinity once they had encountered one another. The procedure termed the “ritual challenge” or the “challenge to battle” has been adequately covered by Krentz;110 it does not entail a prior agreement of battlefield, nor even a verbal challenge,111 but denotes an army’s assumption of battle array in the presence of the enemy, expressing their willingness to fight. The characteristic Polybian phrase §j ımolÒgou, not found earlier, describes this type of combat, the “pitched” battle (1.87.9, 2.66.1, 3.90.5, 4.8.11, 11.32.7, fr.144). The term perhaps surfaces in the third century due to the greater number of military options which had become available and the attendant need for more specific language. But some version of battle by consent features in all warfare involving

107 ka‹ går dØ ka‹ t«n polemik«n §y«n ka‹ t«n ıplism«n oÈy¢n oÎtɧst‹n oÎtÉ ∑n ¶yow. 108 Krentz (2002) 25-26. 109 Detienne (1968) 123-124; Vidal-Naquet (1968) 166; Lonis (1979) 28; Dawson (1996) 49. 110 Ober (1994) 13; Pritchett (1974) II 147-155; Krentz (2002) 27-28. 111 Xenophon reports Agesilaus issuing one of these at Sardis to any contesting his right to Asia, meaning the King or his satraps (Ages. 1.33). Diodorus reports that Agesilaus “challenged” the Thebans (proekale›to, 15.32.6; he reports the same for Epameinondas against the Spartans (15.65.4, 15.68.4), and is followed by Plutarch (Mor. 346B). Diodorus’ information is unreliable. I know of no other cases for full-scale battles; Mardonius at Plataea envisions a mass duel (Hdt. 9.48). 112 Collected in Fernandez-Nieto (1975) II 34-35.

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large forces, as a tactical necessity: it is difficult to cut off a large army from any alternatives at all other than battle. Thus, when Polybius envisioned Archaic armies proclaiming the site where they would await the foe, he probably had in mind the conventions of single combat and the champ clos such as that marked out for Menelaus and Paris. He may have thought specifically of the Battle of the Champions at the Thyreatis, when the combatants fought in an appointed site from which the main armies must withdraw (Hdt. 1.82.3). This mass duel had become an archetype of archaic valor, as evinced in the series of epigrams which it inspired.112 At least, no other known event makes a better match with Polybius’ description. As stated, we certainly never hear of this procedure in connection with any phalanx battle; it would be very strange if the announcement of a battle site had been routine and yet had left no trace in the sources, even allowing for the dearth of Archaic evidence. Single combat exerted a particular spell upon the Greek mind long after it had disappeared, as shown not only by the perpetual attractive powers of the Iliad but by works such as the Seven Against Thebes and a host of others; a profitable study could indeed be written on literary depictions of the duel. This phenomenon meshed neatly with the impulse toward glorifying ancestral wars, so pronounced in the epitaphioi, and it is easy to see how the imagination could have endowed all the clashes of the past with the fearlessness and philotimia of single combat. Polybius in fact describes something similar for a more recent battle; the Romans and Carthaginians fight at Lilybaeum (250 BC) as though “the zeal of single combat had arisen among the combatants” (1.45.9).113 Greeks would have imagined their forebears doing battle in the same spirit. The Romans receive credit, however, for keeping alive something of the old style of warfare, if only in small measure (13.3.7): they persist in making declaration of war, they seldom resort to ambush, and they fight hand-to-hand. This sentiment appealed to Livy, who incorporated the Polybian passage in his own history.114 In 171 BC Marcius Philippus succeeded in duping Perseus into a truce which played into Roman hands

oflon efi monomaxik∞w sunest≈shw per‹ toÁw égvnizom°nouw t∞w filotim¤aw. 113

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and granted them a breathing space for mobilization. The older senators demurred in their approval of this diplomatic coup (42.47.5-8), saying: (5) Non per insidias et nocturna proelia, nec simulatam fugam improvisosque ad incautam hostem reditus, nec ut astu magis quam vera virtute gloriarentur, bella maiores gessisse: indicere prius quam gerere solitos bella, denuntiare etiam interdum pugnam et locum finire, in quo dimicaturi essent. (6) Eadem fide indicatum Pyrrho regi medicum vitae eius insidiantem; eadem Faliscis vinctum traditum proditorem liberorum; (7) religionis haec Romanae esse, non versutiarum Punicarum neque calliditatis Graecae, apud quos fallere hostem quam vi superare gloriosus fuerit. (8) Interdum in praesens tempus plus profici dolo quam virtute; sed eius demum animum in perpetuum vinci, cui confesso expressa sit se neque arte neque casu, sed collatis comminus viribus iusto ac pio esse bello superatum.

(“Not by ambush or nocturnal combat, nor by feigning flight and suddenly rounding on an incautious foe, did our forbears wage war, nor gloried in cunning rather than true courage; they would declare their wars before waging them, and at times even announced a battle and designated the place where they would fight. With the same uprightness it was made known to King Pyrrhus that his doctor was plotting against his life, and he who betrayed the Faliscans’ children was delivered to them in chains; this is Roman piety, not Punic subterfuge or Greek wiles; among those peoples it has been more glorious to deceive an enemy than to conquer him by force. At times trickery profits more than courage for the present moment, but he has been conquered once and for all who makes confession that he has been overcome not by craft nor chance, but with forces closed hand-to-hand in a just and righteous war”; [cf. Diod. 30.7.1 on the same incident]).

114 Walbank (1967) II 416 suggests a derivation from a lost passage in Polybius Book 37, on chronological grounds.

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Obviously much of this cannot be taken for granted as military history; once again, there is no example of a Roman army fixing the time and place for a massed battle, although once again, it does happen in a judicial duel: Livy writes for the duel of the Horatii and the Curiatii that “the time and place were agreed” (tempus et locus convenit, 1.24.2). But still, Polybius considered the Romans to retain the old Greek values in war, and Livy felt entitled to adopt his words as an accurate portrayal of the Roman tradition. This fact is problematic if we believe that the agonal spirit was typically Greek, while the Romans dealt in something very close to total war and acknowledged no restrictions in quest of victory. In fact Polybius asserts that the Romans were always at their most moderate after a success—a policy which he does not wholly recommend (18.8.8-9). Another statement of Polybius is relevant in this connection. He thus describes one of the various reactions in Greece to the destruction of Carthage: ÜEteroi d¢ kayÒlou m¢n politikÚn e‰nai tÚ ÑRvmaÛkÚn ¶ynow ¶fasan ka‹ toËt' ‡dion e‰nai ka‹ §p‹ toÊtƒ semnÊnesyai toÁw ÑRvma¤ouw, §p‹ t“ ka‹ toÁw pol°mouw èpl«w ka‹ genna¤vw poleme›n, mØ nukterina›w §piy°sesi xrvm°nouw mhd' §n°draiw, pçn d¢ tÚ di' épãthw ka‹ dÒlou ginÒmenon épodokimãzontaw, mÒnouw d¢ toÁw §k prodÆlou ka‹ katå prÒsvpon kindÊnouw Ípolambãnontaw aÍto›w kayÆkein. (36.9.9)

(“Others said that the Roman nation was thoroughly civilized, and that it was a characteristic upon which the Romans prided themselves that they made war straightforwardly and nobly, not employing night attacks or ambushes, and utterly spurning anything won through deceit and trickery, and that it became them to meet dangers only openly and face-to face”).

If one were to remove the Romans from this passage, it could easily pass for a description of Greek combat as it has been generally construed. Yet despite the testimony of Polybius and Livy, scholars have not rushed to interpret Roman warfare in terms of agonistic rituals. One of the very few efforts in that direction came, not by coincidence, in the year following the appearance of Vernant’s Problèmes de la guerre en Grèce ancienne which did so much to revive the agonal model in the postwar

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period. In 1969 arrived the next volume of the Centre de Recherches Comparées’ war project: Problèmes de la guerre à Rome. The editor, JeanPaul Brisson, endorsed his predecessors’ model of Greek polis warfare and transferred it intact to Italy, citing de Romilly 1968 in particular.115 Brisson also emphasizes la compétition and the régles du jeu.116 Unlike Vernant and his colleagues, he did not inspire any great following; Roman warfare simply seems too relentless for the agonistic model. Indeed, nearly all writers who espouse that model for ancient Greece place it in implied or explicit contrast to Roman practices. To cite only one of the clearest expressions of this phenomenon: The image of war which issues from the Iliad is that of a codified conflict, in which the strife is resolved by a fatal and symbolic duel between two heroes. This conception accurately conveys the concern of a community to limit as much as possible the absurd and murderous character of mass conflicts: this war, translated, is that of two groups who acknowledge more common values than reasons for strife. It is a very different matter when Greeks struggle against barbarians; the rules established for wars opposing two city-states no longer apply, and these combats gradually take on an increasing scope. It is only with Alexander that war becomes the principal instrument of an imperialist policy, the normal expression of the ambitions of one state upon another. It is this conception which, to build its territory, the Roman republic of the third century will adopt.117

Many other authors have noted facets of a perceived essential difference between classical Greek and Roman belligerent practices.118 But we must account for the fact that Polybius 13.3, perhaps the most significant source for the rules of city-state wars, names the Republican Romans as Brisson (1969) Intro. 6. Brisson (1969) Intro. 7, 10. 117 Feugère (1993) 9-10: “L’image de la guerre qui découle de l’Iliade est celle d’un conflit codifié, dans lequel l’affrontement se résout au cours d’un duel mortel et symbolique entre deux héros. Cette conception traduit justement le souci d’un collectivité de limiter autant que possible le caractère absurde et meurtrier des conflits généralisés: cette guerre transposée est celle de deux groupes qui se reconnaissent plus de valeurs communes que de raisons d’affrontement. Il en va tout autrement quand les Grecs luttent contre les Barbares; les règles édictées pour les guerres opposant deux Cités ne s’appliquent plus, et ces combats pren115 116

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the heirs of this tradition to some degree, an opinion endorsed by Livy. The ancients, it would seem, tended to liken rather than contrast the traditional Greek and the Roman military ethos. When they state that the ancients sought to crush the spirit of their foes by open combat, Polybius and Livy attest to an aristocratic disposition which prizes both openness and physical valor.119 The eschewal of military ruse and diplomatic chicanery serve the same end: to bring about a decisive pitched battle. The imaginary restrictions of weaponry and battlefield among the ancients nevertheless speak the truth in a certain way: one side of both the Greek and Roman military cultures shows an instinctive tendency to go for the closest, most severe, and often most effective mode of combat. Hector thus proclaims the sentiment in his duel with Aias: éll' oÈ gãr s' §y°lv bal°ein toioËton §Ònta / lãyr˙ ÙpipeÊsaw, éll' émfadÒn, a‡ ke tÊxvmi (“But I do not wish to smite such a one as you by watching in secret, but openly, if I can”, Il. 7.242243). This ideal never ceases to recur throughout Greek history; it appears in Sophocles’ Philoctetes, in Demosthenes (20.74, Against Leptines), and in the famous words of Alexander: “It is disgraceful to steal victory. Alexander must win openly and without trickery” (Arrian, Anab. 3.10.1).120 But this is only one side of an extemely complex dichotomy, which Wheelock has described as the Achilles/Odysseus opposition; VidalNaquet depicts something similar in his contrast between the Black Hunter and the hoplite ideal.121 Another standard has always existed, which has little use for austere heroism and which values results more than methods. Hector’s words illumine one quality of the Homeric warrior, but the Doloneia betrays the simultaneous acceptance of another

nent avec le temps une ampleur croissante. Ce n’est qu’à partir d’Alexandre que la guerre devient l’instrument principal d’une politique impérialiste, l’expression normale des ambitions d’un État sur un autre. C’est cette conception qu’adoptera, pur constituer son territoire, la République romaine du –IIIe s”. 118 E.g., Hanson (1995) 307-308, 318; Dawson (1996) 112 (“Roman warfare always evokes the metaphor of a machine, and traditional Greek warfare, that of a duel”). 119 Eckstein (1995) 28-55, 84-117. 120 ... afisxrÚn e‰nai kl°cai tØn n¤khn, éllå faner«w ka‹ êneu sof¤smatow xr∞nai nik∞sai ÉAl°jandron.

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standard. The defense of the bow in Euripides’ Heracles (188-201) also aligns itself with this perspective. The heroic spirit suffers a painful parody in the Rhesus, a kind of anti-Philoctetes, where the mentality often thought characteristic of the Greek heroes is more suited to the oafish Thracian of the title. The theme is not restricted to literary expression; a very high frequency of deception has been tabulated for Classical battles,122 and by the fourth century Xenophon openly champions deceit as supreme in warfare (Hipparch. 5.9-11). Polybius, for all his temperamental attraction toward the open battle, echoes him: “in military practices what is accomplished openly by might and main is less than that done by trickery and timing; this can easily be learned from past events by anyone so inclined” (9.12.2).123 The same tension exists in the Roman martial tradition, and on this matter some important literature exists. Ogilvie rejected the historicity of all Roman stratagems in the early books of Livy as annalistic invention, and Giovanni Brizzi has described a strong element of fides and artlessness in Roman belligerent practices up to the Second Punic War, when they paid frightfully for their obsolete martial ethic, their refusal to cozen an enemy or to conceal their own intentions.124 Wheeler’s study of the Greek and Latin stratagemic vocabulary has some sharp criticism of Brizzi, maintaining that ruse had always existed in Latin practice;125 certainly by the first century AD, manuals of stratagemata such as Valerius Maximus’ book VII and Frontinus appear without much apology. Wheeler also takes the dismal and time-honored view of Polybius as a mouthpiece of Roman propaganda for his statements at 13.3.7.126 In truth, this partly reflects the way the Romans preferred to see themselves. However, when it comes to a contemporary matter of which Polybius had great personal experience, I am less ready to dismiss his judgment.

121 Wheeler (1988) xiii-xiv, 55 and passim; Vidal-Naquet (1986) 117-120; also Eckstein (1995) 281. 122 See Krentz (2000) 183-199 and passim. 123 ˜ti m¢n oÔn §sti t«n katå pÒlemon ¶rgvn §lãttv tå prodÆlvw ka‹ metå b¤aw §piteloÊmena t«n metå dÒlou ka‹ sÁn kair“ prattom°nvn, eÈxer¢w t“ boulom°nƒ katamaye›n §k t«n ≥dh gegonÒtvn. 124 Ogilvie (1965) 117-118, 585-589 and passim; Brizzi (1982). On fides see also Heurgon (1969). 125 Wheeler (1988) x, 51-52.

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We should believe Polybius when he assures us that the Romans harbored a greater distaste than their Greek counterparts for any means of victory other than open battle. It is a fact that we find the appeal of open battle expressed more often and more bluntly in a Roman than in a Greek context. The affair with Pyrrhus mentioned by Livy is related in more detail by Aulus Gellius (3.8), naming Claudius Quadrigarius and Valerias Antias as his sources: the Senate’s letter of warning to Pyrrhus contains such phrases as “it seems proper that we should wish you safe, so that we might have the possibility of defeating you by arms” and “it pleases us not to do battle by money or bribes or treachery” (3.8.8).127 Livy makes the Numidian Syphax say, when he rallies the survivors after Scipio’s incendiary night attack: ...scire incendio, non proelio cladem acceptam; eum bello inferiorem esse qui armis vincatur (30.7.12: “I know that the defeat was suffered through fire, not fighting, and in war the lesser man is the one defeated by arms”). Polybius reports the matter in far more general terms: katå d¢ toÁw kindÊnouw énupostãtouw Ípãrxein ka‹ ta›w cuxa›w ka‹ to›w kayoplismo›w (14.7.7: “...in facing perils they were irresistible due to their courage and their armament”). The difference in emphasis is no coincidence. Many other such loci exist in Latin and we need not repeat them all.128 If a sense of a “fair fight” is an agonistic trait it belongs most properly to the Roman mind. It is even to be suspected that Polybius’ description of the old Greek battles in 13.3 was suggested to him by his experience of the Roman army. A strong belief in a type of evolutionary degeneracy underpins his military thought. He also felt that the Macedonians up to the time of Pyrrhus had rigidly observed a code of warfare in the open (§n to›w Ípa¤yroiw, 18.3.7), if he himself shared the sentiments he put into the mouth of Alexander of Isos in his harangue against Philip V in 198 BC, at the conference with Flamininus. Alexander’s words in 18.3, like the statements in 13.3, archaize in order to denigrate the present conduct of Ibid. 24. On this view see the references in Eckstein (1995) 194-195, 234. visum ut te salvum velimus, ut esset quem armis vincere possemus.....nobis non placet pretio aut praemio aut dolis pugnare. 128 Other examples: Livy 1.53.4, 5.27.7, 22.22.6, 28.42.8; Caes. BG 1.40.8; [Caes.] BA 73; Val. Max. 7.4 ext. 2, 7.4.4; Tac. Ann. 1.68. See also Polybius 36.9.9. 126 127

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Philip. Observing the generally more pristine state of society at Rome, he reasoned that Greeks must have shared these qualities at an earlier time; his statement at 13.3.7 (braxÁ d° ti le¤petai parå ÑRvma¤oiw ‡xnow ¶ti t∞w érxa¤aw aflr°sevw per‹ tå polemikã) implies a belief that the two peoples will have gone through similar stages of evolution. Thus, the Romans prefer fair and open battles; the Romans are in a younger stage of historical development than Greece; therefore the Greeks too formerly practiced fair and open battles. By this logic, the Romans will also pass from simplicity to subtlety in warfare, and indeed have begun to do so, starting with the destruction of Carthage (36.9). Such a belief accords perfectly with his famous scheme of social and constitutional evolution (6.5-6.9). This tendency in Polybius readily combines with his knowledge of a few celebrated incidents in Archaic times, among them the Lelantine War, to produce the illusionary vision of early Greek warfare in 13.3. Like the passage in Demosthenes’ Third Philippic, which may have influenced it, this locus is heavily influenced by his own preoccupations, including a conviction of contemporary degeneracy, his view of Philip V as a negative archetype, and his theory of Roman historical development. The passage cannot be read prima facie as evidence of Archaic warfare.

V. Casualties There is no general agreement on the causative factors in the agonal system. Love of contest and philotimia are often cited as motives by earlier scholars, but a desire to limit destruction also figures prominently when origins are discussed, and has assumed an important place in the works of Hanson. It thus seems necessary to examine the relationship between the alleged agonistic protocols and battlefield fatalities. For the hoplite era, the outright fatality rate itself is as well known as it is ever likely to be from the ancient evidence: 14% for the vanquished and 5% for the victors,129 or 9.5% overall, assuming an initial parity of strength, as seems justified; most battles on record display roughly equal numbers of opponents, and an outnumbered people could choose to stay within their walls.130 The numbers take into account nearly all of the

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relevant data for the years 479-371 and leave little room for amendment, although we should note that most of the bloodiest hoplite battles on record—the defeat of the Sybarites in 511, the battle of Sepea in 494, those at Megara in 458 and Tanagra in 457, the slaughter of Ambraciots in 426—have left us without numbers. We must also take into account Rubincam’s important study on casualty figures in Thucydides, which finds strong evidence of extensive approximations and rounding.131 This finding warns us to allow for a margin of error in the results, but does not affect the procedure. We have no better figures than those Thucydides provides us; we must either accept them as a basis for calculation or dismiss the whole question as insoluble. If the mean fatality rate of 9.5% is well accepted, disagreement prevails over a more complex quality, the severity of this figure. Not all of Hanson’s predecessors in the agonistic field shared his mild assessment. Brelich took some pains to emphasize that his battles of ritual initiation were not stage pieces but fully lethal affairs with losses nearly to the last man in some cases.132 One may well wonder if communities could endure initiation rites which risked the extermination of their youth, and by Vernant’s 1968 volume a desire to de-emphasize bloodshed has become discernible. Detienne’s choreography for a hoplite battle contains strictures that would almost certainly result in a low body count, since victory ensues through ejecting the enemy from the field and killing becomes a secondary matter.133 Since in every hoplite battle the side which holds the field always inflicts more fatalities than it suffers, it is difficult to see what basis exists for Detienne’s statement, which logically denies any importance to the casualty figure (the affair at Solygia recounted in Thuc. 4.44 does not constitute an exception since the Athenians here intended to inflict damage, not hold the field). The alleged abstention from pursuit would also greatly enhance the survival rate of hoplites;134 military observers from Vegetius to Clausewitz and

129 130 131 132 133

Krentz (1985) 19. Krentz (1997) 61 and n. 7. See Rubincam (1991) 182-183. Brelich (1961) 78-79. Detienne (1968) 123-124.

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Ardant du Picq have recognized that the majority of losses in any battle take place during retreat. But Lonis felt that earlier writers had gone too far. Probably speaking apropos of Vernant’s contributors, he wrote: ...when we speak of ludic aspects we do not intend to signify that the conflicts in which the cities come to blows are fictive combats: the wars which bring the hoplite armies face-to-face are a cruel and bloody reality. A. Brelich has shown that in the wars of the archaic era... the confrontation results in the majority of cases in an almost complete massacre. Likewise, in the classical age, there are numerous battles which give rise to shocking carnage. It thus appears difficult, as has been done at times, to see in these rules a wish to diminish the danger of annihilation, to humanize the war in some way.135

Connor and Garlan have joined him in finding the outcome of a phalanx battle quite grave,136 but the other camp has its adherents. A former Harvard professor reportedly was fond of saying that the wars of Greek poleis were “only slightly more dangerous than American football”.137 No one considered here has made so bold a statement, but we find such influential voices as Lazenby’s speaking of “the comparatively low levels in hoplite battles”.138 Hanson, as stated, has made the idea an important component of his reconstruction, calling it “the decisive hoplite clash without extensive battle fatalities” and rooting it in the hoplites’ wish to maintain a stable agrotopia.139 His most thorough discussion of the matter appears in The Noted by Lazenby (1993) 101. Lonis (1979) 28: “... quand nous parlons d’aspects ludiques nous n’entendons pas signifier que les combats qui mettent aux prises les cités sont des combats fictifs: les guerres qui mettent face à face les armées hoplitiques sont une dure et sanglante realité. A. Brelich a montré que dans les guerres de l’époque archaïque...l’affrontement aboutit, dans la plupart des cas, à un massacre quasi général. De même, à l’époque classique, nombreuses sont les batailles qui donnent lieu à d’épouvantables carnages. Il paraît donc difficile, comme l’on a fait quelqefois, de voir dans ces règles une volonté de diminuer les risques d’anéantissement, d’humaniser la guerre en quelque sort”. 136 Connor (1988) 21-22; Garlan (1999) 29. 137 Grossman (1996) 12. 134 135

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other Greeks, where he notes the sound protection of the hoplites’ panoply and their ponderous advance.140 Neither of these proposals is closed to discussion, since we do not know that all hoplites enjoyed the security of a bronze corslet (quite a bit of evidence exists for leather and linen models; see Alcaeus F 140 line 11; Xen. Anab. 3.3.20),141 and a slow advance is attested only for the Spartans (Thuc. 5.70.1; here, on the other hand, the Argives advance impetuously). But it is otiose to debate these points before considering the death tolls themselves. Periods which knew similar weapons and tactics will serve as the best point of comparison for the hoplite age, to wit, Hellenistic, Roman, and medieval battles. Hanson underlines the shockingly high body counts, as well as percentages, of Issus, Cannae, second Chaeronea, and Munda, next to which phalanx battles appear quite benevolent; Lazenby, too, notes the contrast of hoplite carnage with Lake Trasimene and Cannae.142 Citing the mere presence of the higher totals, however, ignores demography, as Brulé has warned: “it applies, in effect, more to numbers than to rates, more to deaths than to mortality”.143 One cannot judge severity by comparing sheer numbers of deaths between battles of poleis and battles which opposed the manpower of whole empires (Hanson shows an awareness of this problem but does not pursue its implications).144 To provide a measure of perspective, at the battle of Cannae, the forty-eight to seventy thousand Roman dead (Livy 22.49.16; Plb. 3.117.3) came from a population capable of fielding seven hundred thousand infantry and seventy thousand cavalry near the war’s outset (Plb. 2.24.16).145 In terms of population rates, then, the loss probably tolled somewhat lower than that of the Athenians during the retreat from Syracuse (thirty-six thousand men lost (Thuc. 7.75.5 and 7.82.3) though we do not know how many were Athenian citizens);146 and it was certainly much lower than the rate of the Argive losses at Sepea (Hdt.

Lazenby (1993) 101. Hanson (1993) 6. 140 Hanson (1995) 306-312. 141 Anderson (1970) 21-23. 142 Lazenby (1993) 101. 143 Brulé (1999) 54: “il s’applique, en effet, plus aux effectifs qu’aux taux, aux morts qu’à la mortalité”. 144 Hanson (1995) 308. 138 139

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6.83.1). A battle such as Cannae in any case is more comparable in circumstances to the Athenian disasters in Egypt or at Ennea Hodoi than to hoplite battles. All the Hellenistic and Roman battles noted by Hanson appear in a record of fourteen engagements compiled by Gabriel and Metz from 334-45 BC. From these they have computed a rate of 37.7% for the defeated force and 5.5% for the victors.147 The list, however, includes the battles of the Granicus, Issus, and the Arbela, where the numbers of the Persian forces are too uncertain for any percentages, and an even more serious problem infects Hellenistic and Roman battle narratives. The historiographical school championed by Duris and Phylarchus extended its sensationalist influence to include casualty reports, where giddy expansions become a regular feature both among Greek historians and the Romans whom they inspired, compounding a proclivity in human nature already noted by Archilochus (F 101). Thus we have Pompeius Trogus’ figure of two hundred thousand slain Persians at Marathon (Just. 2.9.20) and thirty-two or even forty thousand Macedonian dead at Cynoscephalae (Claudius Quadrigarius and Valerius Antias respectively; Livy 33.10.8-9). Pausanias reports an entire Achaean army of fourteen thousand infantry and six hundred horse at the Isthmus in 146 (15.4.7), but elsewhere we learn they suffered twenty to twenty-seven thousand dead (Orosius 5.3.3). Polybius’ ten thousand Carthaginian dead at the Metaurus (11.3.3) become 56,000 in Livy (27.49.6). The trend is pervasive and comes in for specific criticism by Polybius (29.12.2-3). It renders some of the Gabriel and Metz figures barren of

145 It has been widely accepted since Beloch that this total has counted twice those men actually under arms in 225 BC and is somewhat too high, though not sufficiently so to affect our point here; see Walbank (1957) I 196-199. Recently Lo Cascio (1999) 166-168 and (2001) 129-133 has vigorously defended the Polybian numbers. 146 Strauss (1987) 71-73, 179-182 has ventured on some calculations for Athenian deaths in the Peloponnesian War, in individual battles and overall. Because he did not take account of engagements for which no specific figures are given, his totals are too low, perhaps very much so. He calculates a total loss of 5470 hoplites and 12,600 thetes in the war; Brulé (1999) 61 calculates 18,100 and 20,500 deaths for these classes. See also Hanson (1995) 309. 147 Gabriel and Metz (1991) 83-86.

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historical value, such as the ninety thousand German dead at Aix (actually 100,000-200,000 in the sources: Plut. Mar. 18.2; Vell. Pat. 2.12.4; Livy Per. 68) or the loss of more than 100,000 of the Mithridatic forces at second Chaeronea vs. twelve Roman dead (App. Mith. 41, 45; Plut. Sull. 11.1). Clearly, a reliable record of the death rates for the Hellenistic and Republican Roman periods is required, rather than argumentation, if we are to have any basis for evaluating the severity of phalanx battles. Just as clearly, this enterprise raises vastly greater problems than does the like task for the Classical Greek era, for which we have a reliable core of data from Thucydides and Xenophon. The position of these authors also enabled them to consult both sides in many cases, but for later battles we often have only the victors’ word. The probable tendency is inflation of the losses which they inflicted, and de-emphasis of those they suffered; Orosius writes: ...scriptorum veterum mos est ex ea parte quae vicerit occisorum non commendare numerum, ne victoriae gloriam maculent damna victoris, nisi forte cum adeo pauci cadunt, ut admirationem terroremque virtutis augeat paucitas perditorum. (4.1.12)

(“...it is the habit of the ancient writers not to set down the number of slain on the side which has prevailed, lest the victors’ losses smirch the glory of their victory, except perhaps when so few fall that the slightness of their losses increases admiration and terror at their valor.”)

Nevertheless, several points of comparison are possible. We have noted that most authors believe the agonistic system to have broken down during the Peloponnesian War. In that case, we should expect to see increasing casualty rates in battles of Greek vs. Greek as we move through the fourth century and into Hellenistic times. Krentz has included the data from all battles up to 371 BC. For battles after that date up to the end of Greek sovereignty, all of the data which I have found are tabulated in the charts that follow:

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Date

Battle

Victor/losses

Vanquished/losses

Dion Dionysius II 1.3% (74) unknown Sources: Plut. Dion 22.5, 27.3, 30.8; Diod. 16.9.6 357

Syracuse148

352

Crocus Field

Macedonians unknown

Phocians 29.3% (6000)

Source: Diod. 16.35.4-6 344

Hadranum

Timoleon unknown Sources:Diod. 16.68.9-11; Plut. Tim. 12.3

Hicetas 6% (300)

Date

Battle

Victor/losses

Vanquished/losses

331

Megalopolis

Macedonians 8.8% (3500)

Peloponnesians 24.1% (5300)

Macedonians .3% (130)

Greek allies 1.8% (500)

Eumenes 1.3% (540)

Antigonus 10.3% (3754)

Source: Diod. 17.62.7-63.3 322

Crannon

Source: Diod. 18.16.4-17.5 317

Paraetacene149

Source: Diod. 19.27.1-31.5

148 Diod. 16.9.6 records Dion’s forces as 20,000; I have preferred Plutarch’s 5,800 as less approximate, a principle which in general will be observed throughout.

“THE ATHLETES OF WAR” 312

Gaza150

Ptolemy unknown Sources: Diod. 19.80.4-85.3; Plut. Demetr. 5.2

Demetrius 3% (500)

219

Apelaurus

Macedonians unknown

Eleans 43.5% (1000)

Macedonians unknown

Aetolians 2.5% (100)

Macedonians unknown

Spartans 5% (100)

Achaeans unknown

Eleans 19.4% (400)

Ptolemaic forces 2.9% (2200)

Seleucids 15.1% (10,300)

83

Source: Plb. 4.68.1-69.7 218

Stratus

Source: Plb. 5.14.1-6 218

Menelaion

Source: Plb. 5.21.1, 23.5 217

Leontium151

Source: Plb. 5.94.3-5 217

Raphia

Source: Plb. 5.79, 86.5-6 197

Nemea R.

Achaeans unknown Source: Livy 33.34.1-33.35.16

Macedonians 25% (1500)

149 In Diodorus’ account, Antigonus technically won the battle through holding the field and the enemy dead, but he had clearly had the worst of the fighting. 150 Plutarch gives the slain of Demetrius’ army as 5000 (Demetr. 5.2); Diodorus as 500 (19.85.3). The latter definitely takes precedence, as his phalanx fled before engaging and Diodorus specifies here that most of the dead were cavalry. 151 A discrepancy exists in Polybius’ account, which reports 400 Eleans killed and 2000 captured from a total force of only 2060. I have used 400 out of 2060 to calculate the percentage of fatalities.

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On this evidence we have as average losses for the victor, 2.9%; for the vanquished, 15.4%. Krentz’ figures for the battles up to 371 BC, we recall, are 5% vs. 14%. Obviously, this range was not exclusive to the hoplite age, but remained valid essentially for as long as Greeks fought one another. It is thus very difficult to credit agonistic protocols for maintaining a low casualty rate among the Greeks, unless their influence extended well past their supposed demise in the late fifth century. Battles between Greeks and barbarians during this period have a much higher fatality rate, but the same is also true for the hoplite era: think of the Carthaginians’ defeat at Himera, the Persian defeat at the Eurymedon, or those of the Athenian expeditions to Ennea Hodoi or Egypt. The death rate in hoplite battles has also been contrasted with much higher totals from Roman conflicts. As we have seen, one has to consider the much higher population base which suffered these losses; in addition, nearly all of the examples which have been adduced involve battles with foreign enemies, which everywhere result in greater bloodshed. Roman vs. Roman battles provide a more just point of comparison with hoplite battles. The pool of evidence is smaller here, but some reliable evidence exists from the Civil Wars in the first century:

ROMAN VS. ROMAN Date

Battle

Victor/losses

Vanquished/losses

Caesar Pompey 5.5% (1200) 12.8% (6000) Sources: Caes. BC 3.88, 89, 99; App. BC 2.70, 82; Plut. Caes. 46.2 48

Pharsalus152

46

Thapsus153

Caesar Pompeians unknown 12.5% (10,000) Source: App. BC 2.97; [Caes.] BA 86; Plut. Caes. 53.2

Caesar himself reports Pompey’s losses at 15,000 and his own as 230 (3.99); Appian, however, cites Asinius Pollio (who was present in Caesar’s army) as stating that 6000 bodies of Pompeian soldiers were found (BC 2.82). This account, which also appears in Plutarch with the addition that many of the other 152

“THE ATHLETES OF WAR” 42

Philippi I154

Brutus/Cassius uncertain Sources: App. BC 4.108, 112; Plut. Brut. 45.1

85

Octavian/Antony 14.8% (16,000)

Here from the Roman evidence we have for losses on the part of the victor, one example of 5.5%; and for the vanquished, 13.4%. Although some patching from different accounts is necessary to arrive at these results, the information appears as sound as almost any which exists for ancient casualties, and the records for other encounters of the Second Civil War, while not allowing calculations, do not appear to deviate greatly; the battle of Munda apparently exceeded this percentage somewhat (see [Caesar] BH 30-31).155 The correspondence with the figures for Greek battles is remarkable, and probably more than coincidence; an average of around 10% fatalities seems to represent the maximum which large citizen armies, of similar composition, can inflict upon one another in most circumstances. Figures from more recent periods tend to bear this out, as we shall see. The pattern suggests that casualties in ancient battles are better explained not by the presence or absence of agonistic protocols, but by the far more general element of cultural and tactical symmetry. Students of military history have long noted that, when “primitive” warriors get the better of a civilized force, there is a far graver risk of massacre or dead were camp-followers (Caes. 46.2), seems the more detailed and preferable. The same locus of Appian repeats Caesar’s number for his own dead, but mentions that other authorities record 1200, a more probable estimate. The total strengths of both sides come from Caesar (BC 3.88-89; also App. BC 2.70) and are hardly beyond suspicion, but according to Appian all sources agree that Pompey’s forces well outnumbered Caesar’s. 153 The record of 10,000 Pompeian dead in the Bellum Africanum (86) obviously takes precedence over Plutarch’s 50,000. The total Pompeian strength comes from Appian. 154 These calculations cover the first round of the battle, Oct. 3, which was a stalemate despite the apparently heavier losses on Octavian’s side. Appian (BC 4.108) reports Octavian and Antony with 19 full-strength legions, which should equal 95,000 men, as well as 13,000 cavalry; 4.112 enumerates the dead. Plutarch (Brutus 45.1) repeats the figure for Octavian’s dead and attributes it to Messala, in Brutus’ camp. 155 But the report of 100,000-120,000 deaths for this battle given by Hanson (1995) 308 is inflated; [Caes.] BH 31 records 34,000 total.

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crushing defeat than when two civilized armies engage.156 The converse of course also holds true. Pure military factors partially account for this fact, but “inter-specific” war, between heterogeneous peoples, tends to be more brutal than that between groups sharing common cultural traits. In practice, the effects of cultural and tactical asymmetry in battle can barely be distinguished from one another; tactics, after all, are a facet of culture. Thus, similarity of culture, tactics, and military organization tended to impose limits on the lethality of ancient battle, as it does in all periods, which explains our results for Greek vs. Greek and Roman vs. Roman encounters. As these factors diminished, fatalities would mount proportionately. Some proponents of agonism have also taken the carnage of more recent periods as a point of comparison to illuminate the success of hoplite protocols.157 At first it does seem a truism that technical advances in destructive armament would have greatly increased the lethality of modern war. But examination of the available battle statistics makes this conclusion very far from obvious. Data become reasonably plentiful by the sixteenth century, when armies contained a high percentage of hardened mercenaries and professionals. These troops can generally withstand greater losses than citizen armies without breaking, and casualties in this era stood quite high, at approximately 10% for the victors and 40% for the defeated, with the slain greatly outnumbering the wounded.158 But the small scale of the armies more than counterbalanced this unhappy record and battle fatality was lower in the overall population than in any succeeding centuries.159 As armies grow larger, fatality rates diminish. By the Thirty Years’ War, total casualties had become very comparable to those of ancient Greece, at 15% vs. 30%, with the number of dead falling below that of the wounded. This proportion fell to 11% vs. 23% by the reign of Louis XIV, and the wounded/killed ratio reached the traditional 3:1, a proportion which works remarkably well for battles from the mid-seventeenth century until WW I (hence approximately 2.8% fatalities for the victors vs. 5.8%

156 157 158 159

Bell (1965) 410; Keeley (1996) 71-76. Hanson (1989) 224-225; de Romilly (2000) 8-9. Bodart (1916) 14. Wright (1942) I 656.

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for the age of Louis XIV).160 These numbers continued to decline until the Napoleonic wars, when they flared up appreciably, though not to the level of the Thirty Years’ War; the battles from Austerlitz through Waterloo averaged 18.7% killed and wounded for both sides, or ca. 4.6% fatalities, using the three-to-one rule.161 In European wars throughout the nineteenth century casualty rates fell to record lows, with the total of dead and wounded not exceeding 14% (or approximately 3.5% dead) in any conflict; both the American Civil War and the Russo-Japanese War follow this pattern, despite widespread impressions to the contrary.162 World War One certainly deserves its reputation for a frightful rise in mortality, though perhaps not to the extent sometimes imagined: a major battle such as the Somme resulted in 13.5% fatalities for the British forces, and for WW I as a whole they have been estimated at 1114% of all men mobilized.163 World War Two defies any attempt at a concise assessment, with hopelessly inadequate data and losses varying drastically among nations and theaters; the general severity of military losses on all sides probably approximated that of WW I.164 Such a comparison between different epochs swarms with difficulties, such as the general absence in ancient accounts of figures for the wounded, or the diminishing ratio of combat to rear-echelon troops in modern times and especially the twentieth century; this “tooth-to-tail” ratio is a phenomenon very difficult to translate into ancient practice.165 Obviously our numbers increasingly fail to reflect the actual danger to a soldier in combat as they move closer to the present. A really meaningful account of losses must also consider civilian deaths as well as those from disease and captivity. Reckoning the ultimate criterion—the percentage of battle deaths in a total population over a given period—is Bodart (1916) 18-19; Keegan (1993) 361. Bodart (1916) 119. 162 Ibid. 16. 163 Keeley (1996) 194; Wright (1942) I 664. 164 This impression has been derived from various works, including L.L. Snyder’s Historical Guide to World War II (1982) and G.F. Krivoshev, Soviet Casualties and Combat Losses in the Twentieth Century, trans. C. Barnard (1997). 165 In Gabriel and Metz (1991) is found (89) an attempt to account for this ratio and calculate the risk to a front-line soldier. It suffers from certain difficulties, such as assuming that all reported deaths affected only combat personnel (e.g., their figures for American “KIA” in WW II in fact include deaths from 160 161

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probably impossible for ancient Greece. But it does seem clear that the proportion of direct combat fatalities in phalanx battle has little claim to modesty in comparison with modern wars. Since the 1600s, probably only the two world wars have surpassed it—and of course the nearly sixty years of general peace in Europe after WW II has no counterpart in antiquity. Closely related to the question of casualties is that of pursuit after the trope. Military observers including Xenophon (Lac. Pol. 9.1), Clausewitz (Vom Kriege 4.4) and Ardant du Picq have long recognized that the great majority of losses befall a defeated army during the retreat.166 Thus, the notion of a low mortality rate in hoplite battles is probably reinforced by a cherished belief that victorious hoplites did not harry their enemies for long once they had turned their backs. Rüstow in 1852 proclaimed that Greek soldiers of the classical period satisfied their honor by claiming the field, building a trophy, and granting their beaten foemen’s request to bury their dead; they did not undertake pursuit.167 Droysen followed him in 1888,168 and no other plank of the agonistic code has been so often repeated with such conviction down to the present day.169 Some of the scholars may have had in mind a sustained strategic pursuit, which was indeed beyond the means of a hoplite army, but others clearly believe that hoplites broke contact very quickly after the trope. Krentz alone has questioned the dogma.170 Generally we will not go over ground here which he has already covered, but this matter merits special emphasis in view of the widespread support it has gained. Clausewitz in 4.4 and 4.12 of Vom Kriege declares the importance of tenacious pursuit in maximizing victory; he stresses that this is a new phenomenon inaugurated by the Napoleonic battles, and repugnant to accident, very numerous in mechanized forces. It also includes deaths of noncombat personnel from bombardment et cetera, so it is erroneous to use this figure to calculate the death rate among the “engaged strength”). 166 Ardant du Picq (1921) 63-64, 149; see also Grossman (1996) 127-129 (in the chapter “Back-Stabbing and the Chase Instinct”). 167 Rüstow and Köchly (1852) 145. 168 Droysen (1888) 93. 169 A list by no means exhaustive: Walker in CAH IV 166; Kromayer and Veith (1928) 85; Vernant (1968) 18; Detienne (1968) 124; Connor (1988) 14; Ober (1994) 13; Hanson (1995) 268. 170 Krentz (2002) 230-231.

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the martial ethics of the previous age, which saw bloodshed after a decision as unnecessarily brutal. His sustained, organized pursuit was a different creature from the immediate chase after the trope, but the ethical fallout was the same: it demanded killing men who were no longer a threat. We have already remarked on the tensions inflicted upon the traditional military mind by post-Napoleonic warfare, and here we see one of the most vivid cases: strategic principles now enjoined an action which violated an older ethical canon, the refusal to harm men once they could no longer inflict harm themselves. Something of this dilemma informed Rüstow and Droysen when they attributed honorable non-pursuit to the Greeks, and it also colors Walker’s statement already cited. Rüstow based his observations on the battles of Mantinea and Corinth, Spartan victories both, and his successors supplied the ancient sources. It comes as a surprise that this longstanding belief originates essentially from one passage in Thucydides’ narrative of the battle of Mantinea: ≤ m°ntoi fugØ ka‹ épox≈rhsiw oÈ b¤aiow oÈd¢ makrå ∑n: ofl går LakedaimÒnioi m°xri m¢n toË tr°cai xron¤ouw tåw mãxaw ka‹ beba¤ouw t“ m°nein poioËntai, tr°cantew d¢ braxe¤aw ka‹ oÈk §p‹ polÁ tåw di≈jeiw. (5.73.4)

(“the flight and the retreat were not harried nor drawn-out, for the Lacedaemonians hold their ground and do battle long and steadfastly up to the rout of the enemy, but after routing him they do not make a long pursuit”).

It seems that no one before Krentz had questioned why Thucydides felt such an explication necessary, or restricted it to the Spartans, when he was describing a practice which scholars for a hundred fifty years have assured us was common to all Greek hoplites. Thucydides does not clarify the Spartan rationale, and not before Plutarch do we find it made into a point of honor: in two nearly identical passages he makes Lycurgus introduce the custom, on the grounds that “it is ignoble and un-Greek to slay those who have yielded” (oÎte genna›on oÎte ÑEllhnikÚn foneÊein toÁw parakexvrhkÒtaw fãskvn; Mor. 228F; cf.

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Lyc. 22.9-10). Plutarch adds that Lycurgus thought it good tactics also, as enemies would sooner flee than fight when they could do so in safety (Vegetius turns this prescription on its head, recommending that enemies be allowed a route to escape so as to kill all the more when they flee [3.21]).171 Plutarch’s Lycurgus deliberately breaks with the analyses of Aristotle’s Politics and Plato’s Laws in asserting the mildness and humanity of the original Spartan laws, an aspect of Plutarch’s ennoblement of Greek institutions which has its sources in fourth-century panHellenism (Plutarch cites Demetrius of Phalerum on Lycurgan praotes, Lyc. 23.1).172 In fact there did not exist even in Imperial times any fast consensus concerning the Spartan motives in avoiding pursuit. Polyaenus not surprisingly sides with the second and more tactical of Plutarch’s reasons (1.16.3), while Pausanias offers another possibility: ∑n d¢ aÈto›w (sc. to›w Lakedaimon¤oiw) ka‹ êllvw pãtrion sxolaiot°raw tåw di≈jeiw poie›syai, mØ dialËsai tØn tãjin ple¤ona ¶xontaw prÒnoian ≥ tina épokte›nai feÊgonta (4.8.11: “and moreover it was their custom to be rather leisurely in pursuit, taking more care not to lose formation than to kill some foeman in flight”). This reason best suits the circumstances of Thucydides’ period, when Sparta’s oliganthropia made her more solicitous of guarding her citizens’ lives than adding to the enemy dead. Dispersed pursuers could fall victim to reversals at the hands of rallied enemies (Thuc. 3.108.2-3; Xen. Hell. 3.5.19). Thus, even in Sparta’s case, this caution could well have evolved relatively late, rather than in the heyday of agonism, when she was far more militant. Hoplites of the other poleis who lacked the Spartans’ discipline found it much more difficult to restrain themselves when the enemy turned in flight, a much-studied principle of human and animal behavior which has been described as “an almost uncontrollable urge to kill among those presented with a view of the enemy’s backs”.173 Hanson definitely flouts the weight of opinion when he writes of “an unspoken dislike of spearing fellow Greeks in the back”.174 Where details of pursuit exist in the ancient narratives, they usually confirm the instinctive tendency toward a prolonged and bloody chase. At the Battle of Olpae cited above

171 172

Ilari (1980) 85-87 and n. 116. See Ilari (1980) 84-88; Lamberton (2001) 84-91.

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(Thuc. 3.108.2-3) the victorious Ambraciots pursued their enemies all the way to their refuge at Amphilochian Argos before the tables were turned on them, and they themselves suffered a long harrying back to Olpae. A great number of Thebans died in their retreat to Mount Helicon after the battle of Coronea (Xen. Hell. 4.3.19, Ages. 2.12). Other examples noted by Krentz include Tyrtaeus F 23a.20-22; Diod. 12.10.1 (battle of the Traeis River, 510); Thuc. 1.106.1-2 (Megara, 460); Thuc. 4.96.7-8 (Delium, 424); Xen. Hell. 3.5.19 (the Long Walls, 392). Observations such as Lazenby’s on the inadequacy of armored hoplites for a pursuit role carry some weight,175 but Xenophon does not seem to have shared this view completely; he writes thus on the merits of soldiers conditioned by hunting: tetagm°noi d¢ §n t“ prÒsyen oÈ le¤cousi tåw tãjeiw diå tÚ kartere›n dÊnasyai. §n fugª d¢ t«n polem¤vn Ùry«w ka‹ ésfal«w di≈jontai toÁw §nant¤ouw §n pant‹ xvr¤ƒ diå sunÆyeian. (Cyn. 12.3-4: “arrayed in the front rank they will stay in formation, through their ability to remain steadfast. In the rout of the enemy they will readily and unfalteringly pursue their opponents, habituated to every sort of terrain”). Probably the men weakened by wounds and shocks, along with the less fit individuals, were the main quarry. But the most vivid description of victorious hoplites in all Greek literature comes from Xenophon’s Hiero (2.15-16): (15) afl m¢n går pÒleiw dÆpou ˜tan kratÆsvsi mãx˙ t«n §nant¤vn, oÈ =ñdion efipe›n ˜shn m¢n ≤donØn ¶xousin §n t“ tr°casyai toÁw polem¤ouw, ˜shn d' §n t“ di≈kein, ˜shn d' §n t“ épokte¤nein toÁw polem¤ouw, …w d¢ gauroËntai §p‹ t“ ¶rgƒ, …w d¢ dÒjan lamprån énalambãnousin, …w d' eÈfra¤nontai tØn pÒlin nom¤zontew hÈjhk°nai. (16) ßkastow d° tiw prospoie›tai ka‹ t∞w boul∞w metesxhk°nai ka‹ ple¤stouw épekton°nai, xalepÚn d¢ eÍre›n ˜pou oÈx‹ ka‹ §piceÊdontai, pl°onaw fãskontew épekton°nai μ ˜soi ín t“ ˆnti époyãnvsin: oÏtv kalÒn ti aÈto›w doke› e‰nai tÚ polÁ nikçn.

173 174 175

Keegan (1976) 149. Hanson (1995) 269. Lazenby (1993) 101.

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While this text comes from the fourth century, one would have to posit a deterioration of the Greek spirit greater than any imagined by Demosthenes or Polybius to believe that hoplites held back from pursuit in prior times. To conclude: an aversion to pursuit did not characterize hoplite armies other than Sparta’s and did not materialize until the eighteenth century, when a cosmopolitan officer corps, with draconian control over well-trained soldiers, was able to impose some restraint upon the “ancient carnage when one force strikes the other in the back”;176 from a military manual of 1778: “A commander shows his greatest skill when he knows when to set proper limits on his victory. There is only a certain point to which it is permissible to press your advantages”.177 Even for this period one cannot generalize, for vigorous pursuit had its advocates, including the Marshal de Saxe and Frederick the Great. Easy killing has been observed to arouse pleasure responses in most men,178 a theme of inquiry which edges into the darkest spaces of the human soul. The controversy thus strikes a deep ethical nerve wherever it arises. This has probably influenced an impulse to dissociate the Greek hoplites from the practice of sanguinary pursuit.

176 177 178

Ardant du Picq (1921) 149. K. Gaigne, quoted in Duffy (1998) 258. Keegan (1976) 238.

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VI. Conclusion Our study cannot treat in detail all of the arguments related to agonism which have been brought forward in seven decades. I feel it a sufficient beginning to have shown that, of the four sources or incidents which provide the major evidence for the idea, two of them, the Amarynthian Treaty and the Battle of the Champions, belong to a type of conflict which cannot be classified with the phalanx battle, and that duelling champions belong to a different social environment than that of the hoplites. The other two, the passages of Demosthenes and Polybius, are retrospective judgements highly conditioned by contemporary circumstances, which cannot be taken as straight evidence for Archaic or Classical warfare. A long tradition of scholarship often engenders a body of beliefs not strictly exigible from the evidence. In the case of the agonistic character of Greek warfare, we might well wonder if some external pressure has altered our perspective. Anxiety over the potential of warfare in the industrial age is the one property shared by high-minded Prussian officers such as Rüstow and Parisian antiwar intellectuals a century later. It would be entirely natural and commendable to look to the cultural forebears of modern Europe for a more reassuring example. Perhaps the durable belief in principled and ceremonial wars between Greeks shares some elements with the belief in the peaceable savage, who fights only for his own honor or in his own defense. This conception still exerts great cultural influence although thoroughly disprovable by any objective criterion. But it persists precisely because it is a myth, not in spite of that fact; its lament for primordial bliss speaks to a faculty older than reason. To judge from Demosthenes and Polybius, the ancients themselves at times found it congenial to envision battles of former ages as tournaments of a kind, entirely obedient to the guidance of human will. Case Western Reserve University

John Dayton

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Anderson, J.K. Military theory and practice in the age of Xenophon (1970). Ardant du Picq, C.J.J. Battle studies: Ancient and modern battle, trans. J.N. Greely & R.C. Cotton (1921). Armstrong, A.M. “Trial by combat among the Greeks”, G&R 19 (1950) 73-79. Bauslaugh, R.A. The concept of neutrality in classical Greece (1991). Bell, M.J.V. “Tactical reform in the Republican Roman army”, Historia 14 (1965) 404-470. Berve, H. Griechische Geschichte, 2 vols. (1931). ———. “Vom agonalen Geist der Griechen”, in H. Berve, Gestaltende Kräfte der Antike (1966) 1-20. Black, J. “Revolutionary and Napoleonic warfare”, in European Warfare 14531815, ed. J. Black (1999) 224-246. Bodart, G. Losses of life in modern wars (1916). Brelich, A. Guerre, agoni, e culti nella Grecia arcaica (1961). Brisson, J.-P., ed. Problèmes de la guerre à Rome (1969). ———. “Les mutations de la Seconde Guerre Punique”, in Brisson 1969 33-59 (cited as Brisson [1969b]). Brizzi, G. I sistemi informativi dei Romani: Principi e realtà nell’età delle conquiste oltremare (218-168 a.C.) (1982). Brown, N.O. Love’s body (1966). Brulé, P. “La mortalité de la guerre en Grèce classique: L’exemple d’Athènes de 490 à 322”, in Prost (1999) 51-68. Brulé, P. and J. Oulhen, edd. La guerre en Grèce à l’époque classique (1999). Burckhardt, J. Griechische Kulturgeschichte, ed. J. Oeri, 4 vols. (1898). Cawkwell, G. Philip of Macedon (1978). Clausewitz, K. von. Vom Kriege, ed. A.W. Bode (1935). Connor, W.R. Thucydides (1984). ———. “Early Greek land warfare as symbolic expression”, Past & Present 119 (1988) 3-29. Dawson, D. The origins of western warfare: Militarism and morality in the ancient world (1996). Detienne, M. “La phalange. Problèmes et controverses”, in Vernant (1968) 119142. Droysen, H. Heerwesen und Kriegführung der Griechen (1888). Duffy, C. The military experience in the Age of Reason (1998). Eckstein, A.M. Moral vision in the Histories of Polybius (1995).

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Ehrenberg, V. Ost und West: Studien zur geschichtlichen Problematik der Antike (1935). Ellsworth, J.D. Agon: Studies in the use of a word (diss. Berkeley 1971). Feugère, M. Les armes des Romains (1993). Fernandez Nieto, F.J. Los acuerdos belicos en la antigua Grecia. I. Texto II. Los instrumentos materiales de los convenios (1975). Forrest, W.G. “Colonisation and the rise of Delphi”, Historia 6 (1957) 160-175. Gabriel, R.A. and Metz, K.S. From Sumer to Rome: The military capabilities of ancient armies (1991). Gardner, P. “A numismatic note on the Lelantian War”, CR 34 (1920) 90-91. Garlan, Y. “A propos du parallèle Himère-Salamine”, BCH 94 (1970) 630-635. ———. La guerre dans l’antiquité (1972). ———. “L’homme et la guerre”, in Brulé and Oulhen (1999) 17-42. Glotz, G. La solidarité de la famille dans le droit criminel en Grèce (1904). Grimal, P. Hellenism and the rise of Rome, trans. A.M. Sheridan Smith (1968). Grossman, D. On killing (1996). Hanson, V.D. The western way of war: Infantry battle in classical Greece2 (1989). ———. ed. Hoplites: The classical Greek battle experience (1993). ———. The other Greeks: The family farm and the agrarian roots of western civilization (1995). ———. Warfare and agriculture in classical Greece2 (1998). ———. “Hoplite battle as ancient Greek warfare: When, where, and why?”, in van Wees 201-232. Hasebroek, J. Griechische Wirtschafts- und Gesellschaftsgeschichte bis zur Perserzeit (1931). Hermann, C.F. Die Kämpfe zwischen Chalkis und Eretria um das lelantische Gefilde (1849). Heurgon, J. “La guerre romaine aux 4e-3e siècles et la Fides Romana”, in Brisson (1969) 24-32. Huizinga, J. Homo ludens: A study of the play-element in human culture (1950). Ilari, V. Guerra e diritto nel mondo antico. Parte prima: Guerra e diritto nel mondo greco-ellenistico fino al III secolo (1980). Jackson, A.H. “Hoplites and the gods: The dedication of captured arms and armor”, in Hanson (1993) 228-249. Keegan, J. The face of battle (1976). ———. A history of warfare (1993). Keeley, L. War before civilization: The myth of the peaceful savage (1996).

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Kiechle, F. “Zur Humanität in der Kriegführung der griechischen Staaten”, in Zur griechischen Staatskunde, ed. F. Gschnitzer (1969) [= Historia 7 (1958) 129-156]. Kiernan, V.G. The duel in European history (1988). Krentz, P. “Casualties in hoplite battles”, GRBS 26 (1985) 13-20. ———. “The strategic culture of Periclean Athens”, in Polis and polemos: Essays on politics, war, and history in ancient Greece in honor of Donald Kagan, edd. C.D. Hamilton and P. Krentz (1997). ———. “Deception in archaic and classical Greek warfare”, in van Wees 167200. ———. “Fighting by the rules: The invention of the hoplite agon”, Hesperia 71 (2002) 23-39. Kromayer, J. and Veith, G. Heerwesen und Kriegführung der Griechen (1928). Lamberton, R. Plutarch (2001). Larsen, J.A.O. Review of A.W. Gomme, Historical Commentary on Thucydides, vol. I, CPh 44 (1949) 258-262. Lazenby, J. “The killing zone”, in Hanson (1993) 87-109. Lo Cascio, E. “The population of Roman Italy in town and country”, in Reconstructing past population trends in Mediterranean Europe, edd. J. Bintliff and K. Sbonias (1999) 161-171. ———. “Recruitment and the size of the Roman population from the third to the first century BCE”, in Debating Roman Demography, ed. W. Scheidel (2001) 111-138. Lonis, R. Les usages de la guerre entre Grecs et barbares (1969). ———. Guerre et religion en Grèce a l’époque classique (1979). Loraux, N. The invention of Athens: The funeral oration in the classical city, trans. A. Sheridan (1986). Lungstrom, J. and E. Sauer, E., edd. Agonistics: Arenas of creative contest (1997). Lynn, J.A. Battle: A history of combat and culture (2003). Moretti, L. “Sparta alla metà del VI secolo II: La guerra contro Argo per la Tireatide”, RFIC n.s. 26 (1948) 204-213. Oakley, S.P. “Single combat in the Roman Republic”, CQ 35 (1985) 392-410. Ober, J. Fortress Attica: Defense of the Athenian land frontier 404-322 BC (1985). ———. “Classical Greek times”, in The laws of war: Constraints on warfare in the western world, edd. M. Howard, J.G. Andreopoulos, J.G. & M.R. Shulman (1994) 12-26. Ogilvie, R.M. A commentary on Livy, Books 1-5 (1965). Parker, V. Untersuchungen zum lelantischen Krieg und verwandten Problemen der frühgriechischen Geschichte (1997). Poliakoff, M.B. Combat sports in the ancient world (1987).

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Pritchett, W.K. The Greek state at war, Parts II (1974), III (1979), IV (1985), V (1991) Prost, F., ed. Armées et sociétés de la Grèce antique: Aspects sociaux et politiques de la guerre aux Ve et IVe s. av. J.-C. (1999). Raaflaub, K. “Archaic and Classical Greece”, in War and society in the ancient and medieval worlds, edd. K. Raaflaub and N. Rosenstein (1999) 129-161. Rigsby, K.J. Asylia: Territorial inviolability in the Hellenistic world (1996) Romilly, J. de. “Guerre et paix entre cités”, in Vernant (1968) 207-220. ———. La Grèce antique contre la violence (2000). Rubincam, C. “Casualty figures in the battle descriptions of Thucydides”, TAPA 121 (1991) 181-198. Rüstow, W. and Köchly, H. Geschichte des griechishen Kriegswesens (1852). Schaefer, H. Staatsform und Politik: Untersuchungen zur griechischen Geschichte des 6. und 5. Jahrhunderts (1932). Snodgrass, A. Early Greek armor and weapons (1964). Speier, H. Social order and the risks of war (1952). Strauss, B.S. Athens after the Peloponnesian War: Class, faction, and policy 403386 BC (1987). Tomlinson, R.A. Argos and the Argolid (1972). Toynbee, A. Mankind and Mother Earth (1976). Vernant, J.-P., ed. Problèmes de la guerre en Grèce ancienne (1968). Vidal-Naquet, P. “La tradition de l’hoplite athénien”, in Vernant 161-182. ———. “The Black Hunter and the origin of the Athenian ephebia”, in The Black Hunter: Forms of thought and forms of society in the Greek world, trans. A. Szegedy-Maszak (1986) 106-128. Walbank, F.W. A historical commentary on Polybius, vols. I (1957), II (1967), III (1979). Wees, H., van, ed. War and violence in ancient Greece (2000). Wheeler, E.L. “Hoplomachia and Greek dances in arms”, GRBS 23 (1982) 223233. ———. “Ephorus and the prohibition of missiles”, TAPA 117 (1987) 157-182. ———. Stratagem and the vocabulary of military trickery (1988). Wright, Q. A study of war, vol. I (1942).

AGESILAUS’ EGYP TIAN ENTERP RISE The renowned Spartan king Agesilaus, who led Spartan armies against Persian forces in Anatolia in the mid-390s,1 went on to prosecute the Corinthian War in Greece, sustained Sparta’s hegemony in Greek affairs during the 380s and 370s, and then valiantly upheld Spartan independence amid Theban invasions after the battle of Leuctra in 371, finally spending the last year or so of his life in the service of Egyptian kings. There are two accounts of Agesilaus’ Egyptian enterprise, a sketch by Xenophon at the end of his encomium Agesilaus and an extended narrative in Plutarch’s Life of Agesilaus. (Diodorus 15.90.1-93.6 provides additional bits of information, but does not treat events from Agesilaus’ perspective.2) Xenophon’s account is brief enough to quote in full. when [Agesilaus] was about 80 years old, having learned that the Egyptian king was set on making war against the Persian [king] and had many foot soldiers, much cavalry, and a great deal of money, he was glad when he heard that [the Egyptian king] was sending for him promising him chief command [hegemonia] in this. For he thought that in one blow he could repay the Egyptian for the good services done to Lacedaemon, that he would free the Greeks of Asia again, and that he would punish the Persian king both for the things before and because now, while claiming that he

All ancient dates in text and notes below are BC. Cornelius Nepos notes Agesilaus’ last enterprise in his Life of Agesilaus (8.2-7) but mentions only Egyptian reaction to Agesilaus’ humble appearance and Agesilaus’ death in Africa. 1 2

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was an ally, he demanded that Messene be let go. However, when the one who had sent for him did not give him chief command, Agesilaus, having been utterly deceived, pondered what to do. After this, first those of the Egyptians campaigning apart revolted from the king and then all the rest deserted him. Being fearful, the king withdrew to Sidon for refuge, while the Egyptians, being at odds, chose two kings. In this situation, Agesilaus realized that if he helped neither of the two, neither of them would pay the Greeks their wages, neither of them would provide a market, and whichever of the two prevailed would be hostile, but that if he helped one or the other, the one receiving the benefit would in all likelihood be a friend. Deciding therefore which of the two seemed to be more fond of Greeks [philhellen mallon], he took the field with him and being victorious in battle conquered “the mishellene” and helped establish the other one as king. And having made him a friend to Sparta and having received a great deal of money he sailed home, although it was the middle of winter, hurrying so that the state might not be idle against her enemies in the coming summer (Ages. 2.28-31).

Plutarch’s much longer account adds many details lacking in Xenophon’s sketch, including the names of important Egyptians. But Plutarch presents the story of Agesilaus’ last enterprise as a tale of mercenary ambitions and treacherous behavior on Agesilaus’ part. According to Plutarch, when the Egyptian king (Tachos) failed to bestow the expected chief command on Agesilaus after he arrived in Egypt, Agesilaus accepted the role of commander of Tachos’ Greek mercenary force and as such accompanied Tachos to Phoenicia. However, Agesilaus nursed resentment against Tachos and struck back when during the campaign the revolt of the king’s “cousin” (anepsios) Nectanebo provided him with the opportunity to defect.3 Nectanebo The figure Plutarch calls Nectanebis is the same person Diodorus (15.92.34, 93.2) calls Nectanebos. Behind this lies the Egyptian Nektharnehbo: see J.D. Ray, “Egypt: Dependence and independence (425-343 BC)” in Achaemenid history I. Sources, structures and synthesis, ed. H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg (1987) 83 n. 12. Conventional (though not universal) practice is to designate this figure as Nectanebo. As king he is thus Nectanebo II, with Nectanebo I being the predecessor of Tachos. In the text, I regularly alter Plutarch’s and Diodorus’ forms of the name and use Nectanebo so there is no doubt about the identification of this figure with the king Nectanebo. 3

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solicited Agesilaus’ support and that of Chabrias, the noted Athenian serving as commander of Tachos’ fleet, promising both men large rewards. Tachos appealed for their continued allegiance, and Chabrias tried “to persuade and encourage Agesilaus to remain in friendship with Tachos” (Ages. 37.4). Agesilaus, however, claimed that he needed to refer the matter to his home authorities since he, unlike Chabrias, had been sent officially as an ally. Then Agesilaus sent envoys back to Sparta to denounce Tachos and recommend Nectanebo. Envoys from the rival Egyptians made their own cases for Spartan support. Spartan authorities told Agesilaus to make the decision he thought best, and Agesilaus then switched his allegiance to Nectanebo, a move Plutarch characterizes as pure and simple treachery—motivated by Agesilaus’ personal resentment but cloaked by claims of the interests of Sparta (Ages. 37.36). Lacking Greek mercenary support, Tachos fled, but Agesilaus’ new employer Nectanebo now faced a rival of his own as an unnamed figure from Mendes (in the eastern Delta) was proclaimed king and assembled a 100,000-man force to challenge Nectanebo. Because of Agesilaus’ apparent hesitancy to fight (once Nectanebo and Agesilaus returned to Egypt) and the Mendesian’s attempted seduction of Agesilaus away from Nectanebo, Agesilaus lost Nectanebo’s trust. Angered by this lack of trust, Agesilaus, Plutarch writes, would have abandoned Nectanebo but was ashamed to change sides again. He thus stayed with Nectanebo and redeemed himself by finally leading a well-conceived attack against the Mendesian’s besieging forces, which secured the throne for Nectanebo. Now grateful and friendly, Nectanebo begged Agesilaus to stay on, but Agesilaus, knowing of war preparations by Sparta including the hiring of mercenaries who would have to be paid, was eager to return home and departed with many honors and gifts and 230 talents of silver for the war at home. He died on the way (Plut. Ages. 36.1-40.3). Plutarch offers an unequivocally damning judgment of the whole affair in the synkrisis part of the parallel Lives where he compares Agesilaus and Pompey (the subject of the parallel life), whose last voyage also took him to Egypt:4

4 Translation from the Loeb edition by B. Perrin, Plutarch’s Lives vol. V (1917).

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One [Pompey] went there [Egypt] out of necessity and in flight; the other [Agesilaus] for no honorable reason, nor out of necessity, but for money, that what he got for serving the barbarians as commander might enable him to make war upon the Greeks. Then again, as to the charges which we bring against the Egyptians for the treatment of Pompey [they treacherously killed him], these the Egyptians lay at the door of Agesilaus for his treatment of them. For Pompey trusted them and was wronged by them; while Agesilaus was trusted by them and yet forsook them and went over to the enemies of those whom had had sailed to assist (Comparatio 5).

Modern scholars have been satisfied with Plutarch’s account and judgment of Agesilaus’ activities and have identified Plutarch’s notice of Agesilaus’ role as mercenary commander as the key to understanding the whole enterprise and Xenophon’s portrayal of it. Cartledge, for example, charges that Xenophon was functioning as a mouthpiece for Agesilaus, intentionally misrepresenting Agesilaus’ last enterprise “as another episode in the saga of Agesilaus’ ‘Panhellenist’ liberation-seeking on behalf of the Greeks of Asia” in order to divert attention from the “sordidly materialistic” motivation and mercenary character of the enterprise. Hamilton calls the whole situation “rather pathetic” and argues that Xenophon imputed Panhellenic motives to Agesilaus “to exonerate his hero from charges of demeaning himself by accepting mercenary service”. Similarly, Hirsch claims that Xenophon portrayed Agesilaus as motivated by continuous Panhellenic concerns to counter charges that “Agesilaus’ adventures in Egypt at the end of his life were undignified and marked by treachery to his Egyptian allies”.5 5 See P. Cartledge, Agesilaos and the crisis of Sparta (1987) 328; C.D. Hamilton, Agesilaus and the failure of Spartan hegemony (1991) 253; cf. 252, where Hamilton characterizes Sparta’s “hiring out” Agesilaus to Tachos as “rather pathetic”; S.W. Hirsch, The friendship of the barbarians (1985) 53. There have been scholars who, without challenging specific characterizations by Plutarch, provide reasons for caution in using Plutarch here. T. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives (1999) 278 cites the Agesilaus-Pompey lives as an “example of the way in which Plutarch was prepared to bend the facts as narrated in preceding Lives to support the argumentation of the synkrisis”. T.P. Hillman, “Authorial statement, narrative, and character in Plutarch’s Agesilaus-Pompeius”, GRBS 35 (1994) 255280, notes Plutarch’s propensity for employing authorial statements (= “editorial comments”) in one Life to set up a contrast or comparison with a correspond-

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Despite Plutarch’s treatment of Agesilaus’ Egyptian enterprise as a thoroughly demeaning affair, Plutarch himself offers some clues that there may be a fuller and different story. While Plutarch obviously had additional sources at his disposal and drew from these the details which amplified and clarified Xenophon’s brief sketch, Plutarch does not challenge Xenophon’s assertion that the Egyptian king initially offered Agesilaus the chief command of the Egyptian campaign. In fact, Plutarch’s whole portrayal of Agesilaus as motivated by vengeance depends on Tachos’ betrayal of Agesilaus. Plutarch’s remark that even if Agesilaus’ enterprise had been undertaken for such a noble cause as the liberation of the Greeks (i.e., in Asia), it would not have been blameless because Agesilaus’ advanced age made his undertaking base rather than honorable similarly suggests that, while Plutarch might express skepticism, his sources did not impute other initial motives to Agesilaus.6 There has never been an attempt to reconstruct Agesilaus’ last enterprise in detail in its historical context or to consider his actions during ing action in the other Life, sometimes making a point that the situation itself does not necessarily suggest. 6 Plutarch’s main source for Agesilaus’ Egyptian enterprise was most likely Theopompus’ Philippica; see G.S. Shrimpton, Theopompus the historian (1991) 50-51. We may suspect that ultimately much information about and criticisms of Agesilaus’ last enterprise came from Chabrias, the experienced Athenian who served Tachos as financial advisor ([Arist.] Oec. 2.22.5; Polyaen. 3.11.5) and fleet commander (Diod. 15.92.3). Chabrias himself tried to persuade Agesilaus to stick with Tachos when Nectanebo’s coup began (Plut. Ages. 37.3-4) and, unlike Agesilaus, he remained with Tachos, which means that Chabrias ultimately accomplished nothing and most likely went home unrewarded. Chabrias’ service with Tachos can hardly have enhanced his reputation. However, Chabrias’ election as one of the strategoi at Athens for 359/8 (Dem. 23.171) suggests that he rescued his reputation in fairly prompt fashion. It is a plausible conjecture that he did so by laying blame on Agesilaus for the collapse of the whole campaign. The central charge against Agesilaus in Plutarch’s Agesilaus is that of treachery, the violation of agreements with an ally. This—deserting Tachos—is what Chabrias had not done, and he may have vilified Agesilaus for failing to support Tachos, charging that it was Tachos’ loss of the Greek mercenary force commanded by Agesilaus which ruined Tachos’ and thus Chabrias’ hopes and any prospects the Athenians might have entertained of benefiting from Chabrias’ Egyptian enterprise. Such charges against Agesilaus may have reached Theopompus and found their way into Theopompus’ treatment of Agesilaus in the Philippica and from there into Plutarch’s work.

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this affair in terms of the specific shifting political and military circumstances he faced.7 That Plutarch himself could not entirely dismiss Xenophon’s version of events invites us to take a closer look at the background of Agesilaus’ service in Egypt, at the question of Agesilaus’ aims, and at the various episodes in Xenophon’s and Plutarch’s accounts of Agesilaus’ last enterprise—Tachos’ soliticitation of Agesilaus’ participation and Agesilaus’ ultimate acceptance of a position as mercenary commander, Tachos’ campaign and the ensuing revolts, Agesilaus’ choice to abandon Tachos in favor of Nectanebo, Agesilaus’ role in winning the kingship for Nectanebo, and finally Agesilaus’ departure.

I. Background What drove Sparta and Agesilaus in the late 360s was determination to recover control of Messenia, whose inhabitants, Spartan helots for centuries, had been liberated by Theban campaigns following the Battle of Leuctra in 371.8 Spartan hostility to Persia in the 360s—a reversal of Sparta’s stance of twenty years—was the result of Artaxerxes II’s decision to back Thebes. In 367 in the aftermath of the Spartan defeat at the Battle of Leuctra and subsequent Theban successes in the Peloponnesus, including the liberation of the Messenians, Artaxerxes hosted at Susa envoys from numerous Greek cities. There he dictated what might be called a new King’s Peace with a pro-Theban and anti-Spartan, antiAthenian slant (Xen. Hell. 7.1.33-38; Plut. Pelop. 30.1-5, 31.1). This “peace” included reassertion of Artaxerxes’ claim to “Asia” or the Greek cities of Asia. With regard to other cities the peace restated the familiar autonomy principle with specific references to the free status of Messene—a striking repudiation of Sparta’s claims to Messenia. (The 367 decree similarly declared free Amphipolis, the city in the northwest Aegean at the mouth of the Strymon River long claimed by Athens.) The Spartans rejected this peace and very quickly (by summer 366) sent Agesilaus to northwestern Anatolia to aid Ariobarzanes, the satrap Two recent commentaries are helpful: D.R. Shipley, A commentary on Plutarch's Life of Agesilaus (1997) and P.J. Stylianou, A historical commentary on Diodorus Siculus Book 15 (1998), at 522-551. 8 Plut. Ages. 35.3-4; Diod. 15.89.1-2; Isoc. 6.28. 7

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of Hellespontine Phrygia who had recently rebelled when Artaxerxes tried to replace him (Xen. Ages. 2.26; Nep. Timotheus 1.3). Because of Sparta’s desperate military situation, Agesilaus went alone—Xenophon calls him an “envoy” (Ages. 2.25)—but the aim was clearly to stir up trouble and show Artaxerxes that his new pro-Theban policy would be very dangerous to Persian interests. (In response to Artaxerxes’ adoption of Theban-inspired demands, the Athenians employed much the same strategy, making a show of intruding in Anatolian affairs again by dispatching Timotheus with 8000 men and 30 triremes to aid Ariobarzanes: Dem. 15.9; 23.142.) Accordingly, having helped relieve the besieged Ariobarzanes, Agesilaus lingered in western Anatolia while visiting other potentially rebellious Persian officials (see Nep. Ages. 7.2 with Xen. Ages. 8.5). It is in these circumstances that Tachos seems initially to have established contact with Sparta. Describing how Agesilaus’ reputation alone produced great successes for him while in Anatolia as “envoy”, Xenophon notes that both Tachos and Mausolus (the native satrap of Caria) sent Agesilaus home with a magnificent escort (Ages. 2.27), probably an indication that Egyptian and Carian ships accompanied Agesilaus on his journey back to Greece. An Athenian inscription (IG II2 119) reporting a visit to Athens by envoys from Tachos in 364/3 likely concerns the same Egyptian envoys who brought Agesilaus from Anatolia. This dates Agesilaus’ return to 364/3 and Tachos’ first contact (through his envoys) with Agesilaus to the same year.9 We may suspect further, substantial aid. Evidence of a visit to Anatolia and then to Athens points to a tour of sorts by Tachos’ envoys. In Xen. Ages. 2.27 (“Tachos and Mausolus…sent him home, giving him a great escort”), “Tachos” has been emended from tacheos by nearly universal agreement; see Cartledge (above, n. 5) 325; Stylianou (above, n. 7) 525-526. On dating the Egyptian embassy to Athens, see R.A. Moysey, “The date of the Strato of Sidon decree (IG II2 141)”, AJAH 1 (1976) 187 n. 16; Stylianou 526. Tachos had at this time just become co-regent with his father Nectanebo I; see F.K. Kienitz, Die politische Geschichte Ägyptens vom 7. bis zum 4. Jahrhundert vor der Zeitwende (1953) 95; J.H. Johnson, “The Demotic Chronicle as an historical source”, Enchoria 4 (1974) 13-17; W.J. Murnane, Ancient Egyptian coregencies (1977) 196. It is not necessary to assume, as Stylianou 525-526 does, that Xenophon’s report of Tachos’ provision of an escort for Agesilaus (Ages. 2.27) indicates Tachos’ personal presence in the northeast Aegean. 9

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Egypt had been rebelliously independent since 404, and Egyptian kings’ persistent concern after this was how best to impede Persian attempts to recover Egypt. Artaxerxes had already mounted two unsuccessful campaigns, in the early 380s and in the late 370s Persian commanders (including the Athenian Timotheus) had prepared a third in the late 370s, but increasing disarray in Anatolia—the revolt of Datames, satrap of Cappadocia, and that of Ariobarzanes, satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia—had stalled the planned third campaign.10 In 364/3 Tachos’ envoys were most likely investigating the deteriorating situation in Anatolia, where Ariobarzanes and Datames were already in revolt, in hopes of finding opportunities to stir up more problems for Artaxerxes and delay renewal of the Persian campaign against Egypt. Tachos’ envoys were probably also following up reports of revived anti-Persian sentiments on the Greek mainland, notably among the Athenians and Spartans. If they visited Athens, they surely also visited Sparta, perhaps traveling there directly from Anatolia along with Agesilaus. Tachos’ envoys must have been delighted with what they found at Sparta—virulent animosity toward the Persian king and determination, despite reduced resources, to do whatever necessary to reverse the present situation. This is exactly the sort of situation that Egypt’s antiPersian strategy typically sought.11 We may plausibly assume that Tachos’ envoys acted quickly to support Sparta’s existing anti-Persian effort. Most likely it was provision of Egyptian funds in these circumstances which constituted the “services” of Tachos prior to 361/0 for which Agesilaus and the Spartans were indebted to Tachos.12 We can

On the Persian offensives, see Isoc. 4.141; Diod. 15.41.1-44.4; Nep. Datames 3.5-8.6; Dem. 49.25; Kienitz (above, n. 9) 85-94. 11 Sparta itself had been an early beneficiary of this policy when in 396 the Egyptian king Nepherites dispatched ships and grain to Spartan forces in Anatolia (Diod. 14.79.4, 7). In the 380s Athens and Evagoras, the king of Cypriote Salamis, received funds or ships from Egypt for activities which would distract Persian attention from Egypt (Diod. 15.2.3). On Egyptian strategy in general in the fourth century, see A.B. Lloyd, “The Late Period, 664-332 BC”, in Ancient Egypt. A social history, edd. B.G. Trigger, B.J. Kemp, D. O’Connor, and A.B. Lloyd (1983) 340-341. 12 Cf. Tachos’ subsidies to other troublemakers for Artarxerxes II, namely the rebellious satraps in Anatolia (Diod. 15.92.1). 10

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only speculate that at this time there may have been talk of a campaign “to liberate the Greeks of Asia”. Agesilaus had been using nothing more than his reputation to stir up trouble for Artaxerxes in Anatolia. If Tachos, like Nepherites in the 390s, were to give him a small fleet and funds for soldiers, Agesilaus might really gain some leverage. What was most important to the Spartans was recovery of Messenia, but if they could make Artaxerxes believe that they were preparing to campaign again in Anatolia—even if Agesilaus and a mercenary force actually did little more than cross the Aegean, they might remind Artaxerxes of Agesilaus’ successes in the 390s and persuade Artaxerxes to end his support for Thebes and the liberation of Messenia in return for termination of Sparta’s Egyptian-financed threat to liberate the Greeks of Asia.13 When Tachos dispatched envoys to investigate conditions in Anatolia and Greece and make contacts with disaffected satraps and Greek cities hostile to Persia in 364/3, he may have been thinking in conventional strategic terms—backing opposition to the Persian king wherever he found it. But, as subsequent events show, at some point after this, Tachos switched to an offensive strategy involving a direct Egyptian attack on the Persian Empire—a bold move not attempted by any Egyptian king since the early sixth century.14 By 361/0 Tachos had assembled a huge force: 80,000 Egyptian infantry, 10,000 Greek mercenaries, and 200 triremes, “expensively adorned”, according to Diodorus (15.92.2). He also solicited the services of the Athenian commander Chabrias, a veteran of earlier Egyptian service (Diod. 15.29.2), and with Chabrias’ help Tachos employed numerous ingenious schemes for raising the funds to pay for this enormous force. These schemes included: ordering the closing of temples and discharge of priests and then relenting on payment of bribes; ordering temples thus exempted to make “loans” to the king of ninety percent of their revenues (on top of bribes already paid); levy-

13 Artaxerxes’ decree of 367—the “new King’s Peace”—had linked the autonomy of Asian Greeks and that of Messene: see J. Buckler, The Theban hegemony (1980) 156. By posturing in such a way as to seem poised to campaign on behalf of Asian Greeks, the Spartans would be saying to Artaxerxes, “you leave Messene to us and we will leave the Asian Greeks to you”. 14 When Apries had attacked Tyre, Sidon, and Cyprus as part of a effort to establish a line of defense against possible Chaldaean expansion; see Kienitz (above, n. 9) 27-32.

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ing house and poll taxes and a sales tax (paid by both buyer and seller) on wheat; transferring from the temple of Neith at Sais to Tachos himself revenues from tithes on manufacturing and on imports; commanding surrender of all privately held gold and silver; raising twice as many ship crews as needed and releasing half only if they agreed to furnish two months’ worth of supplies for the remaining crews ([Arist.] Oec. 2.22.5; Polyaen. 3.11.5).15 All this took a good deal of time, and we are probably not far wrong in dating the beginning of Tachos’ offensive plan to soon after 364/3. We may guess that through the reports of his envoys in 364/3 Tachos had come to appreciate that satrapal disaffection and unrest on the part of subject peoples as well as Artaxerxes’ advanced age and the likelihood of a paralyzing succession struggle created a unique opportunity for decisive Egyptian action. Threatening Artaxerxes with the prospect of Egyptian-supported Spartan operations in Anatolia was one thing, but confronting him with the loss of the entire western part of the empire was something grand and decisive. This had the promise of ending once and for all Persian attempts to reconquer Egypt. This was a moment— at least an impending moment—Tachos had to seize. The actual campaign Tachos undertook (before having to face rebellions)—moving up to Phoenicia and then sending the bulk of his army on to Syria—suggests that he intended to push at least up to the Euphrates (perhaps rendezvousing here with the rebel satrap Datames and his army).16 Tachos would then most likely establish a buffer zone of the sort Egyptian kings had created in the early New Kingdom and Saite kings such as Psammetichus and Apries had tried to fashion in more recent times, placing Judaean, Phoenician, and Syrian lands under Egyptian control. Facing the threat of a large-scale Egyptian invasion and lacking any ready forces or loyal commanders in the Anatolia or the eastern Mediterranean, Artaxerxes would have little choice but to agree to some kind of settlement (an eastern Mediterranean version of the Peace of Callias?) to avoid further losses. 15 On Chabrias’ financial schemes, see E. Will, “Chabrias et les finances de Tachos”, REA 62 (1960) 254-275. 16 The basis for this conjecture about collusion between Tachos and Datames is the report that Datames made a campaign against Artaxerxes, crossing the Euphrates in the process (Polyaen. 7.21.3).

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Tachos’ shift to an offensive strategy of his own meant that he would not be exploiting anti-Persian sentiments in the Greek world and subsidizing Athenian or Spartan preparations of any kind to divert Persian attention away from Egypt. But he would want Greek soldiers and Greek commanders, especially one like Agesilaus whose reputation alone could still intimidate Persian officials. Tachos had two important Greek contacts, Athens and Sparta, and Egyptian envoys likely now revisited these states, so notably anti-Persian in 364/3. By this time, however, Athens had evidently renounced aggressive operations against Artaxerxes and had signed the “Reply to the Satraps” in which Greek signatories to the post-Mantinea common peace rejected an appeal for assistance or participation by disaffected Anatolian satraps (SV II 59 = IG IV 556 = Harding (1985) no. 57 =Tod, GHI II 145). Consequently, the Athenians offered no official support to Tachos, although they did not hinder Chabrias from serving privately, perhaps recognizing that as Persian power seemed to be declining, Egyptian power and initiative were rising.17 It was a different story at Sparta. If anything, the battle of Mantinea and the ensuing common peace which the Messenians had been allowed to sign as if autonomous (the Spartans, of course, refused to participate) made the Spartans more angry and Agesilaus more determined than before. But resources for any kind of action were so few that Agesilaus had to raise funds by asking for donations and loans from “his friends

17 They may have seen in Chabrias’ involvement a way of securing influence with Tachos should he become the new arbiter of eastern Mediterranean affairs while at the same time not burning their bridges to Artaxerxes should Egyptian power prove transitory. Athens had employed a similarly cautious policy a few years earlier when dispatching Timotheus to aid Ariobarzanes and instructing him at the same time not to violate the terms of the King’s Peace (Dem. 15.9; 23.142). Theoretically, Chabrias could have gone to Egypt as early as mid-363 following the end of his strategia for 364/3: see Stylianou (above, n. 7) 544. But a date as late as mid-362 following the battle of Mantinea would seem more likely and give more than enough time for the implementation of the various financial measures he devised for Tachos prior to the start of Tachos’ campaign (probably spring 360).

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in the city” (Plut. Ages. 35.3). Whatever Egyptian subsidies had come Sparta’s way in and after 364/3 had long since been spent.18 We have no clear and direct evidence for the details of Egyptian and Spartan negotiations at this time, only conflicting statements about Agesilaus’ status. Xenophon in his encomium focuses exclusively on Agesilaus and writes that Tachos “sent for” Agesilaus and promised him the chief command (hegemonia) in the war against the Persian king (Ages. 2.29). There is no hint here of the involvement of the Spartan state. Plutarch too concentrates on Agesilaus and reports him collecting mercenaries in Greece with the funds that Tachos sent him (Ages. 36.3). Both authors thus seem to point to a personal arrangement between Tachos and Agesilaus as the basis for Agesilaus’ service in Egypt. But at the same time, Plutarch’s notice that thirty Spartiate advisers accompanied Agesilaus recalls a feature of Agesilaus’ 396 campaign in Anatolia (Xen. Hell. 3.4.2; Plut. Ages. 6.2) and appears to indicate that Spartan authorities treated the enterprise as an important state matter potentially involving important political issues.19 Diodorus may corroborate this. Agesilaus, he says (15.92.2), was sent by the Lacedaemonians “to fight on the basis of an alliance (epi symmachian)”. In other words, Agesilaus undertook a state-sponsored enterprise in going to Egypt. Agesilaus’ subsequent referral of the question whether or not to continue serving Tachos after Nectanebo’s revolt points to a state enterprise rather than a strictly personal and autonomous one (Plut. Ages. 37.5). Did Tachos, as Xenophon states, offer Agesilaus the chief command? Modern scholars, noting Plutarch’s statement that Agesilaus lost reputation by taking mercenary service with Tachos (Ages. 36.1), see Xenophon’s report as a poor attempt at covering up the sordid materialism of the whole enterprise and dismiss the report out of hand.20 This may be too hasty a judgment. Xenophon’s whole point in this part of his encomium is that Agesilaus was continuously engaged after Leuctra in a Cartledge (above n. 4) 325. W.K. Pritchett, The Greek state at war II (1974) 36-38; Cartledge (above, n. 4) 328. Cf. Shipley (above, n. 6) 381, who suggests without pushing the point that given resemblances between the Egyptian campaign and that in Asia Minor in the 390s, Plutarch may simply have assumed that advisers accompanied Agesilaus to Egypt. 20 Hirsch (above, n. 5) 53; Stylianou (above, n. 7) 545. 18 19

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quest for money and did whatever was necessary to serve Sparta’s interests (see Ages. 2.25). Xenophon may not have explicitly mentioned the mercenary role Agesilaus ultimately held, but there was no reason for Xenophon to disguise mercenary activities by Agesilaus by fabricating some exalted original command status later denied Agesilaus. If we accept at face value Xenophon’s report of Tachos’ offer of chief command to Agesilaus and Agesilaus’ expectation of such a command, there seem to be two possible explanations of Tachos’ refusal finally to bestow the chief command on Agesilaus: first, Tachos made the offer but changed his mind; or second, Tachos made the offer but never intended to bestow the chief command on Agesilaus. In support of the first possibility, we might note that the whole of previous 4th-century Egyptian practice had been to support the enterprises of other Persian opponents—to provide ships and materiel but to leave operational responsibility to others such as Evagoras or, earlier, Agesilaus. Conceivably, Tachos began soon after 364/3 to plan a huge offensive, but only as preparations neared completion did he decide to command the enterprise in person. (The Persians themselves had in recent campaigns or planned campaigns given virtual chief command over to Greek generals such as Iphicrates and Timotheus.) We might see Diodorus’ report that Agesilaus urged Tachos to remain in Egypt and leave command of the expeditionary force to “the generals” as an indication of an attempt by Agesilaus, after he arrived in Egypt, to persuade Tachos to stick with his original plan of command. Nepos’ report that Chabrias asserted (presumably to Tachos) that he was not inferior to Agesilaus and that he offered to command the fleet might point to Chabrias’ refusal to subordinate himself to Agesilaus (Nep. Chabr. 2.3). Tachos, viewing Chabrias as indispensable, may thus have had no choice but to refuse Agesilaus the chief command (which would have made him Chabrias’ superior) and give him instead a limited command parallel to that of Chabrias. In support of the second possibility, we may note that it was important for Tachos to engage Sparta and Agesilaus, the most famous Spartan and most famous Greek commander of the age, and Tachos may have believed he needed the inducement of a great command and commensurately great rewards to draw Agesilaus away from the Greek mainland at this moment of terrible Spartan weakness and vulnerability. Furthermore, for his purposes, Tachos could not have Sparta making a

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separate peace with Persia as Athens had done. There was always the possibility that Agesilaus and the Spartans might adopt a pro-Persian stance if Artaxerxes changed his position about Messene, unless Tachos’ patronage offered greater potential rewards. We should not be surprised that Tachos might have made whatever promises regarding status and authority seemed necessary to insure that Agesilaus would come to Egypt. Putting together evidence about Spartan state participation and an offer of chief command to Agesilaus, we may plausibly conjecture that some time after mid-362, Tachos entered into a symmachia with Sparta—one of a string of agreements he made with peoples and dynasts throughout the eastern Mediterranean.21 At the same time, as part of the agreement Tachos specifically requested that the Spartan king Agesilaus serve as chief commander. Only with Agesilaus’ presence would the Spartan connection really mean anything.

III. Agesilaus’ aims As we do not need to dismiss Xenophon’s assertion that Tachos offered Agesilaus the chief command of the expedition, so we also need not dismiss Xenophon’s description of Agesilaus’ great expectations of what he might accomplish. We can see these expectations as the authentic expression of unbounded new hope. The invitation from Tachos came at a time of Sparta’s diplomatic isolation, financial exhaustion, and military impotence. When Xenophon wrote (Ages. 2.28-29) that Agesilaus was glad when he heard the Egyptian king was sending for him and that “he thought that in one blow he could repay the Egyptian for the good ser-

21 We may link Tachos with Strato, king of Sidon (Hieron. adv. Iov. 1.45=PL 23.287) and probably other Phoenician kings. Diodorus’ notice (15.90.3) of the involvement of “Lycians, Pisidians, Pamphylians, and Cilicians” in the spreading revolt in Anatolia in the late 360s suggests the presence of some very active organizing hand—quite probably Tachos’. Tachos’ provision of 500 talents and 50 warships for the so-called “satraps’ revolt” in 362/1 certainly attests to dealings with disaffected satraps in western Anatolia prior to this and after the initial visit by Tachos’ envoys in 364/3, when only Ariobarzanes among later participants seems to have been in revolt (Diod. 15.92.1).

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vices done to Lacedaemon, that he would free the Greeks of Asia again, and that he would punish the Persian king both for the things before and because now, while claiming that he was an ally, he demanded that Messene be let go”, Xenophon may have captured well the broad, almost giddily optimistic scope of Agesilaus’ expectations at this moment. News that Tachos was really going ahead with plans for a major effort must have been understood at Sparta as marking a watershed moment heralding a fundamental shifting of power in the eastern Mediterranean world. Since the mid-360s when Agesilaus and the Spartans adopted an anti-Persian stance, Artaxerxes’ effective power had ebbed greatly. Anatolia was now altogether out of his control. So too were important coastal regions like Phoenicia (Diod. 15.90.3-4). Factionalism and violence beset the Persian court (see Plut. Artox. 28.1). As uncertain as matters were now, they would be much more so once Artaxerxes finally died and a full blown succession struggle erupted. At the same time, Tachos, a new and largely unknown figure in 364/3, had grown substantially in power and ambition. Now sole monarch in Egypt, he was evidently linked to all significant figures and states in the Anatolian and eastern Mediterranean world and prepared to embark on a reordering of eastern Mediterranean affairs. In light of Persian imperial disarray, the Spartans must have had every reason to believe that Tachos would succeed. But since Agesilaus and the Spartans had not had any role in the planning and preparation of Tachos’ spectacular undertaking, when they first heard of Tachos’ intentions, they had no reason to expect any direct benefits. Suddenly, however, with the arrival of Tachos’ invitation (which in Xenophon’s account seems to have occurred after the arrival of news of Tachos’ plans and preparations), it must have seemed that everything was possible. Not only (as Diodorus’ version indicates) were the Spartans going to be involved as allies, Agesilaus was going to have a leading role in the campaign! One moment—in the aftermath of Mantinea—nothing was possible. Then, in the next, everything was possible. Now, at the very end of his life, Agesilaus might be able to redress all the failures and frustrations of a lifetime: punish Artaxerxes for his dealings earlier (in the 390s in particular), finally accomplish the liberation of the Greek cities in Asia (as part of the reordering that Tachos would undertake), and in so doing punish Artaxerxes in appropriate fashion for his role in Sparta’s loss of its Messenian territories.

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Given the plausibility of such hopes, we can understand Agesilaus’ profound disappointment and confusion when, after arriving in Egypt, he learned that he would not be exercising chief command after all but would function as commander of Greek mercenaries while Chabrias would command Tachos’ fleet (Plut. Ages. 37.1). This diminished role threw into doubt Agesilaus’ and the Spartans’ great hopes that Agesilaus’ service (as hegemon) for Tachos would guarantee enduring gratitude and financial backing and thereby provide the way out of their present weakness and poverty. As Xenophon’s succinct description in Ages. 2.28-29 captures well Agesilaus’ and the Spartans’ expansive optimism, so his brief remark (in 2.30) that Agesilaus had been “utterly deceived” expresses well the depth of Agesilaus’ disillusion.

IV. Campaign and revolt Plutarch reports that the expedition began with the Egyptian force advancing to Phoenicia with Tachos as commander-in-chief, Chabrias as commander of the fleet, and Agesilaus as commander of the mercenary troops. Nectanebo, a “cousin” (anepsios) of Tachos commanding part of the force, revolted, was proclaimed king by the Egyptians, and appealed to Chabrias and Agesilaus for their support. Learning of this, Tachos counter-appealed for their continued allegiance. Agesilaus arranged for the Spartans to authorize him to decide as he wished and then broke treacherously with Tachos, forcing him to flee. Then the “Mendesian” arose against Nectanebo and was similarly proclaimed king. (Plut. Ages. 37.2-38.2). Diodorus gives some additional details which help illuminate developments (until Diodorus starts confusing Nectanebo and Tachos [see 15.93.2-6]). In addition to the size of Tachos’ expeditionary force—200 triremes under Chabrias, 10,000 Greek mercenaries under Agesilaus along with 1000 troops the Lacedaemonians sent, and 80,000 Egyptian foot-soldiers—we learn something of its deployment and something of the circumstances surrounding Nectanebo’s revolt.22 Once the force

Stylianou (above, n. 7) 544 discusses the evidence regarding the size of the expedition. There is no absolutely certain chronology. Diodorus places Tachos’ 22

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made camp “near Phoenicia”, Tachos evidently placed the Egyptian troops under Nectanebo and sent him northward to besiege cities in Syria. Diodorus reveals that it was actually Nectanebo’s father, left behind by Tachos as regent in Egypt, who broke first with Tachos and then persuaded his son Nectanebo to assume the kingship. Modern scholarship has clarified the genealogical relationships here, demonstrating that Tachos’ regent and the father of Nectanebo was Tachos’ own brother, a man named Tjahapimau [= Tamos], and that Nectanebo was thus Tachos’ nephew.23 Using bribes and promises, Nectanebo then won over the officers and common soldiers (Diod. 15.92.3-4). Nectanebo, whom Diodorus places in Syria, seems to have gone ahead as the vanguard with the bulk of the native Egyptian troops. (This is the force that Xenophon refers to as “those Egyptians campaigning apart” at Ages. 2.30.)24 According to Diodorus, Tachos was encamped “near Phoenicia” (peri Phoiniken). Given the apparent absence of opposition by Phoenician cities (the king of Sidon had allied with Tachos, and so perhaps had the other Phoenician city kings, recognizing, it might be guessed, the futility of resistance), Tachos had probably been able to advance at will. Thus, “near Phoenicia” likely means that Tachos was encamped in the more northern region of Phoenician territory, at least near Byblos if not further north. But however far north Tachos and Agesilaus and the Greek mercenary force were, they were to the south of Nectanebo and his army. The respective locations of Nectanebo and Tachos made Agesilaus the key at this moment to the whole political and military situation. Nectanebo evidently had the native Egyptian army prepared to support campaign in 362/1 (15.92.1), but this appears too early. P. Briant, Histoire de l’empire perse: De Cyrus à Alexandre (1996) 682 places it in 359. This is probably too late, since it leaves little time for Chabrias, who took part in the campaign, to return to Athens and be elected strategos for 359/8 (see Dem. 23.171). Kienitz (above, n. 9) 96, 175-178, argues persuasively for dating the beginning of the campaign to early 360. Cf. Stylianou 538. 23 H. de Meulenaere, “La famille royale de Nectanebo”, Zeitschrift fur ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 90 (1963) 90-93. 24 Stylianou (above, n. 7) 545: “It would appear that while [Tachos] himself remained somewhere in Phoenicia with the mercenaries, he dispatched his Egyptians under Nectanebos against targets in Syria, i.e., against cities situated anywhere between Cilicia in the north and the Egyptian border in the south”.

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him. But he could not move south with this force to confront Tachos or to return to Egypt without running into Agesilaus and his mercenary troops, and he simply did not dare to chance the outcome of such a confrontation. Hence his appeal to Agesilaus (and Chabrias). Chabrias opted without evident hesitation to support Tachos. But everything was at a standstill, awaiting Agesilaus’ decision. If he chose Nectanebo, then Tachos could not hold on and the way to Egypt would be open to Nectanebo. If Agesilaus chose Tachos, Nectanebo and his Egyptian force would be stranded in Syria.

V. Agesilaus’ choice If we understand Spartan expectations and hopes connected with Tachos’ campaign, we can recognize the dilemma posed by this turn of events and appreciate Agesilaus’ behavior. The Spartans had tied their future to Tachos, allying with him and sending along with him Agesilaus and thirty leading Spartiates to guarantee Tachos’ subsequent support and backing for Spartan activities in the Peloponnese. So anxious were the Spartans to renew operations at home that they began recruiting mercenaries even before Agesilaus’ (expected) return and without adequate funds (Plut. Ages. 40.1). With Tjahapimau’s and Nectanebo’s coup, however, confusion and uncertainty reigned, and it is no wonder that Agesilaus, as Plutarch reports, referred the matter to Spartan home authorities for full discussion. It might at first seem, as Plutarch wants us to believe, that the natural, honorable choice on Agesilaus’ part was to remain with Tachos, his and Sparta’s ally and proven benefactor. But suppose Tachos lost. He was evidently without much of an Egyptian army now and there was no guarantee that the mercenary troops Agesilaus commanded would prevail over Nectanebo’s big force. Even if Agesilaus with his mercenaries supported Tachos and fought successfully against numerically superior Egyptian forces, Tachos was still outside Egypt and if Nectanebo’s father, the rebellious regent Tjahapimau, were able to levy troops of his own in Egypt, success against Nectanebo’s force in Syria or Phoenicia would not necessarily deliver Egypt back to Tachos. Even with Agesilaus’ support, Tachos’ military and political prospects must have appeared uncertain.

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In fact, the situation may have been more complex than Diodorus and Plutarch indicate (or understand). Plutarch’s report of the Mendesian contender’s appearance and acclamation as king in Mendes comes after his account of Nectanebo’s usurpation and Tachos’ flight (Ages. 38.1), but most likely Plutarch delays mentioning the Mendesian until he is ready to begin his account of the conflict between Nectanebo and the Mendesian. It is entirely possible that the Mendesian claimant to the throne appeared before Nectanebo’s own revolt began. The Mendesian’s broad and popular following—a mixed rabble of workmen (banausoi) totalling one hundred thousand men (Plut. Ages. 38.1) suggests that this claimant headed a popular cause of some sort. We may suspect the cause centered around opposition to Tachos’ recent excessive exactions.25 These had fallen particularly heavily on temples and priesthoods, and we may see in the Mendesian’s “workers” many workers from temples and temple estates dispatched by aggrieved temple authorities. Characterization of this claimant as the “Mendesian” links him with the home region of Nepherites and Acoris, 29th Dynasty predecessors of Tachos. (The line beginning with Tachos’ father Nectanebo I, the first ruler of Manetho’s 30th Dynasty, came from Sebennytos.26) Perhaps he was a member of the collateral but displaced Mendesian branch (= Manetho’s 29th dynasty: Manetho frag. 73a-c) of the ruling family. It is a plausible conjecture that this Mendesian, a legitimate candidate because of his lineage, emerged as the leader of an anti-Tachos movement sparked by Tachos’ (Chabrias-inspired) recent and probably ongoing extortions. This might help us to see the otherwise unexplained revolt of Tachos’ brother and regent—the father of Nectanebo—as a preemptive move. With mounting opposition to Tachos centered in the Lloyd (above, n. 11) 342 identifies the connection between fiscal policies and opposition to Tachos, but like most other scholars he assumes that it was Nectanebo and his father who exploited widespread resentment against Tachos to claim the kingship; cf. A.T. Olmstead, History of the Persian empire (1948) 420; Will (above, n. 15) 273; Johnson (above, n. 9) 13. A.B. Lloyd, “Egypt, 404332 B.C.”, Cambridge ancient history2 VI (1994) 341-342, characterizes the Mendesian’s large army as “presumably Machimoi” [professional soldiers], despite the explicit indications of the peculiarly non-professional nature of the Mendesian’s troops. 26 Kienitz (above, n. 9) 97; Meulenaere (above, n. 23) 91-94; Lloyd, “Egypt, 404-332 B.C” (above, n. 25) 341. 25

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Delta, Tachos’ brother and regent, safe for the moment in Memphis, would be an immediate target. If he distanced himself from Tachos and his policies—if he, in fact repudiated Tachos entirely and engineered his downfall and the elevation of his own son Nectanebo and got control of the Egyptian expeditionary army—Tachos’ brother just might survive.27 If circumstances of this sort existed in Egypt following Tachos’ departure and prompted the regent’s coup, then as Agesilaus surveyed the situation at this time what he probably saw was: first, Tachos, his ally and benefactor, challenged by his brother and nephew and without substantial forces of his own or any base of popular support in Egypt; second, Nectanebo (a figure probably previously unknown to the Spartans) in Syria claiming kingship and having broad military support in the expeditionary army but questionable backing in Egypt itself; third, Egypt itself evidently poised for conflict which, whatever else happened in Syria and Phoenicia, would probably terminate the great offensive that Agesilaus and the Spartans were counting on as the basis for claiming enduring Egyptian sponsorship. Everything, in other words, was confused and unpredictable, and the Spartan future, recently so promising, was now hostage to almost impenetrable uncertainty. Seen in light of prevailing circumstances, Agesilaus’ moves were certainly right: he referred the matter to Sparta (where envoys from Nectanebo and Tachos also travelled to make their respective cases— presumably including promises from both of continued Egyptian support for Spartan mainland needs), while sending along his own estimation of the situation (favorable to Nectanebo who, after all, had the army). The Spartans announced that they would leave the decision to Agesilaus (advised undoubtedly by his thirty Spartiate on-site counselors) and reportedly instructed Agesilaus, who was close to the situation and better able, if anyone was, to gauge the likely outcome of the very uncertain situation, to make whatever decision was best for Spartan interests. Agesilaus subsequently moved to join Nectanebo (see Plut. Ages. 37.4-6). 27 We might imagine that with most of Egypt’s military manpower on campaign with Tachos, the Mendesian was able to seize control of the Delta, leaving Tachos’ brother and regent untouched in Memphis (Diod. 15.43.1 provides a good indication of the use of Memphis as capital under the 30th dynasty [Nectanebo I, Tachos, and Nectanebo II]).

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Was this treachery? Certainly, if we are concerned only with an alliance and friendship. But had Agesilaus not made this decision under existing circumstances, he would have betrayed Sparta and the Spartan future whose realization was the reason for this whole enterprise. Plutarch damns Agesilaus with the charge that he acted as Lacedaemonians always do, assigning the chief place in their ideas of honor to the interest of their country (Ages. 37.6)—not, by implication, to some greater good. The implied contrast is with Chabrias, Tachos’ Athenian fleet commander, who stayed with Tachos and tried unsuccessfully to persuade Agesilaus to do the same. Chabrias himself, in Egypt as a private citizen and not as an official agent of the Athenians, did not have to refer to interests of state in pondering whether or not to abandon Tachos. But this does not mean that Chabrias actually made his own decision in these circumstances out of respect for the bonds of friendship or the inviolability of agreements. In light of the role that economic grievances on the part of a broad range of the Egyptian population probably played in the political crises of the moment, Chabrias might well have expected that as one of the architects of Tachos’ recent extortions in Egypt, there was little future for him in Egypt. Were Chabrias to join Nectanebo, the greatest role he might play could be that of sacrificial scapegoat. In other words, Chabrias himself—unlike Agesilaus—never had any option of breaking with Tachos. For Chabrias, the only option was to stick with Tachos or flee. Plutarch’s report that Tachos as well as Nectanebo sent envoys to Sparta to solicit Spartan support allows us to see that matters remained unresolved for weeks before Agesilaus decided in favor of Nectanebo. Xenophon’s statement (Ages. 2.30) that Tachos withdrew to Sidon for refuge likely refers to an initial move by Tachos from the Egyptian camp to the protection of his ally Strato in Sidon while he struggled to hold on to power. Agesilaus’ decision finally to join Nectanebo gave Tachos, bereft of support from both Egyptian forces and Greek mercenaries, no choice but flight. At this point Tachos, as Diodorus reports (15.92.5), may have thrown himself on Artaxerxes’ mercy, hoping perhaps to be restored as a subservient client king. Recent rehabilitation of rebellious Persian officials such as Orontes may have given Tachos hope of similar treatment (Diod.15.92.1).

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VI. Agesilaus’ choice, Part 2 After Tachos fled, Nectanebo returned to Egypt with the Egyptian expeditionary army. There he faced the recently acclaimed “Mendesian” who had an enormous force of “workers” prepared to fight. At this point, Nectanebo with his force, including Agesilaus and the Greek mercenaries, ended up occupying a well-walled, defensible (but unnamed) city to which the Mendesian’s force soon laid siege, initiating construction of a circumvallation wall and ditch as part of the process (Plut. Ages. 39.1; Diod. 15.93.3).28 Plutarch (Ages. 38.3) attributes this turn of events to Nectanebo’s refusal to follow Agesilaus’ advice to attack right away and explains that Nectanebo was mistrustful because he knew the Mendesian had solicited Agesilaus’ support and thus Agesilaus might well be pushing him into a trap. Plutarch portrays Agesilaus here as filled with indignation and resentment just as when Tachos had not awarded him chief command and thus, true to character (as constructed by Plutarch), likely to wreak vengeance when opportunity presented itself. However, since Agesilaus did not switch sides despite seemingly adequate provocation, Plutarch has to explain this. He does so by pretending to know Agesilaus’ thoughts and feelings at the moment and asserts that in response to Nectanebo’s lack of trust, Agesilaus would have changed sides but for the shame of doing so (proving Nectanebo’s suspicions correct?) and the unpleasant prospect of going home without accomplishing anything (Ages. 38.4). Any Greek reader would find avoidance of shame and desire for reward or honor eminently credible motives. We can well accept the likelihood that the Mendesian did indeed solicit Agesilaus. Such a move—to buy away an opponent’s mercenary force—was so common a practice that we would conjecture its occurrence here even in the absence of any statement in the sources.

In Diodorus at this point, Tachos = Plutarch’s Nectanebis/Nectanebo and Nectanebos = Plutarch’s Mendesian; see Stylianou (above, n. 7) 547. Olmstead (above, n. 25) 420 states without argument that the unnamed city was Tanis. We may reasonably place it in the Delta on the assumption that the encounter between the Mendesian and Nectanebo occurred soon after Nectanebo returned to Egypt. 28

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We can, however, look to Xenophon for a more plausible explanation of Agesilaus’ decision not to switch. Remember again how the situation looked from a Spartan perspective. Here was now a civil war of sorts going on instead of the grand Egyptian offensive enterprise originally envisioned by Agesilaus and the Spartans. Whatever the actual size of forces under each claimant, the figures in the sources reflect a rough parity. with the Mendesian’s force making up in numbers for what it lacked in training or experience (see Plut. Ages. 38.1-2; Diod. 15.93.2). One rival or another would prevail, and Agesilaus and the Greek mercenaries might well be the deciding factor. However, since the Spartans had no long standing relationship with or any claim on either of the rivals, there was no easy choice for Agesilaus (and evidently no opportunity to refer the matter to Sparta as previously). According to Xenophon (Ages. 2.31), Agesilaus made his decision on exclusively pragmatic grounds. Agesilaus realized that “if he helped neither king, there would be no wages and no food [market], and no subsequent goodwill on the part of the victor”. But “knowing that if he cooperated with one of them, that one, being well treated [by Agesilaus], would likely be a friend”, Agesilaus thus judged which of the rivals seemed to be more “fond of the Greeks” (“philhellenic”) and campaigned with that one—Nectanebo, as we know from Plutarch. Xenophon’s reference to Agesilaus’ concerns about philhellenism might seem of a piece with his earlier reference to Agesilaus’ panhellenic concerns when explaining Agesilaus’ participation in Egyptian affairs in the first place—both representing attempts to deflect blame from Agesilaus for dishonorable actions by presenting them as motivated by higher considerations.29 However, when we take into account the particular conditions prevailing in Egypt along with Sparta’s overriding political concerns at this time, Xenophon’s description of Agesilaus’ concerns as he chose one rival (Nectanebo) over the other (the Mendesian) seems unassailable. The coup against Tachos and the collapse of the Egyptian 29 Shipley (above n. 6) 386 goes too far in insisting that “since Xenophon linked Agesilaos’ willingness to undertake the expedition with Spartan hostility towards the King (2.29), the Egyptian ‘friend’ should also be required to be no friend of the Persians”—that is, that Xenophon intends us to understand that Agesilaus would decide which of the two contestants was the more philhellenic by determining which was the more anti-Persian.

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campaign had left Spartan plans for the near and distant future in shambles. Sparta’s cooperation with Tachos had been meant to secure a new and much indebted benefactor and patron so that the Spartans could again act effectively on the mainland with adequate financial and political backing from a consistently pro-Spartan Egyptian king. When Tachos seemed doomed, Agesilaus had switched over to Nectanebo in the hope of laying claim to Nectanebo’s benefactions because he helped Nectanebo gain the throne. The appearance of the Mendesian, whose apparently enormous domestic following made him a real alternative to Nectanebo, and the Mendesian’s solicitation of Agesilaus meant that Agesilaus had to consider the situation all over again. Agesilaus could not just stand aside and with his mercenary force be only a bystander awaiting the final outcome. His men had to be paid and to eat, so they needed an employer and a provider of markets. Furthermore, if Agesilaus just stood aside from what was a strictly Egyptian conflict, whichever of the rivals was victorious would be hostile to Agesilaus for not having supported him. But by joining one of the rivals, he would be able to create a debt of gratitude and have thereby a “friend”—that is, the sort of patron/benefactor Agesilaus and the Spartans had anticipated that Tachos would be. Perhaps, as Nectanebo seems to have believed, Agesilaus’ delay in taking action against the Mendesian signalled ambivalence on his part about which rival to support. With the prospects for each rival seemingly equal and thus likely to be decided by Greek mercenary support, there still remained the possibility of gaining something from this Egyptian enterprise, including even some long-term benefits. According to Xenophon, Agesilaus decided by determining which one was the more “fond of Greeks” (philhellenic). We may see in this a reflection of very real Spartan considerations. Both Egyptian rivals wanted Agesilaus’ and the mercenaries’ services, and both would undoubtedly pay and provide markets. Agesilaus would be taking care of his immediate responsibilities as commander no matter which rival he chose. But by calculating which of the rivals was the more philhellenic and making his decision on that basis, Agesilaus was certain to place in his debt the one more likely to be a “friend”—a supporter and financier of the sort the Spartans had so desperately hoped Tachos would be. Agesilaus may not have had much to go on to make a decision, but of the two rivals, Nectanebo may have seemed to Agesilaus more “philhellenic” because the Mendesian had risen to prominence amid the

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great reaction to Tachos’ fiscal exactions, associated in large part with a Greek (Chabrias) and designed in large part to pay Greeks (the large mercenary force collected by Tachos). In other words, antihellenic elements may have characterized the position of the Mendesian—even if only for propaganda purposes in what was probably essentially a dynastic conflict. The Mendesian would thus appear as “the mishellene”. If a choice had to be made—and Agesilaus certainly had to get whatever he could out of the situation—the prospects for Nectanebo being philhellenic were stronger than the prospects for the Mendesian playing that role. Hence Agesilaus’ decision.

VII. Agesilaus’ victory As the Mendesian’s forces began excavating a deep trench around the city Nectanebo and Agesilaus had occupied, it was Nectanebo who was eager for battle and Agesilaus who delayed—thereby, according to Plutarch, gaining further animosity from Nectanebo’s Egyptians and further suspicion of betrayal. Agesilaus, however, waited for excavation of the trench to reach the point where there was only a narrow stretch of unexcavated land remaining. This left no room for the Mendesian’s superior numbers to come into play, and at this point Agesilaus had the anxious Nectanebo himself lead the Greek troops in a charge against the Mendesian’s force. By a series of feigned retreats and advances directed by Agesilaus, the Greek force drove the Mendesian’s army away from the city and into an area constricted on two sides by canals. The canals prevented the Mendesian’s larger force from spreading out and surrounding Nectanebo’s Greek force. Nectanebo then soon routed the Mendesian’s army. The Mendesian himself then disappears entirely from the sources, though his death in battle is not reported. Both Plutarch and Diodorus assert that after the battle the victor (Diodorus’ Tachos = Nectanebo) established himself easily and securely on the throne. Evidently, then, there was no further significant opposition.

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VIII. Departure In all accounts, this battle marks the end of Agesilaus’ role in Egyptian affairs. According to Plutarch, Nectanebo pleaded with Agesilaus to stay over the winter, but anxious now to leave, Agesilaus departed, although it was already the middle of winter. Assuming the report of Nectanebo’s entreaties is reliable, we might ask why Nectanebo wanted so much to have Agesilaus stay on. Nectanebo’s hold on the throne was evidently secure, as the Mendesian’s surviving force had “melted away”. Presumably, Nectanebo would keep most of the Greek mercenaries when Agesilaus left: pay prospects would be greater for them in Egypt than in Spartan service. It is possible that, unknown to Plutarch, Nectanebo was anticipating imminent Persian attack on Egypt. From the report of the ninth century Byzantine chronicler Syncellus, we know that Ochus, Artaxerxes II’s son and successor (Ochus subsequently took the throne-name “Artaxerxes” [III]), undertook an expedition to Egypt while his father was still alive.30 Since Ochus is not among the leaders or chief participants in the Persian attacks on Egypt in the 380s or 370s and since there are no other recorded Persian attacks on Egypt during Artaxerxes II’s reign, we are left to conjecture just when this expedition took place. The period of the Egyptian offensive initiated by Tachos provides the most plausible set of circumstances, and we may reasonably conjecture that the expedition Ochus undertook while his father was alive started out as a campaign to confront the Egyptian offensive being mounted by Tachos. (Given anticipation of Artaxerxes II’s death and ensuing succession struggles, Ochus, who had already positioned himself as successor [Plut. Artox. 28.1-29.7], would certainly want to have any large army in his own hands.) Once attempted coups ended Tachos’ campaign and brought Egyptian forces back to Egypt, Ochus may have been able to proceed into Syria and then southward. A late source (Jerome) reports Strato, the Sidonian king and ally of Tachos, anticipating with great fear the approach of Persian 30 Syncellus (ed. W. Dindorf) 486, lines 20-487; Cf. Trogus, Prol. 10 [Ochus] Aegypto ter bellum intulit. See E. Bresciani, “The Persian occupation of Egypt", Cambridge history of Iran II, ed. I. Gershevitch (1985) 525; Briant (above, n. 22) 693. Kienitz (above, n. 9) 99 and Stylianou (above, n. 7) 546-547 plausibly view 359 as the best date for this campaign.

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troops—a glimpse perhaps of the expected arrival of Ochus’ force in the wake of Egyptian withdrawal in late 360 (Hieron. Adv. Iovin. 1.45 = PL 23.287). Meeting no significant opposition, Ochus may then have continued on to Egypt (during early 359?)—this advance to Egypt constituting the campaign reported by Syncellus.31 There is no trace in the sources of any fighting between Persian and Egyptian forces at this time. It is entirely possible that there was none. Hoping to find Egypt in complete disarray but instead learning of Nectanebo’s success and strength, Ochus may have withdrawn quickly rather than risk a lengthy and possibly debilitating encounter (which might jeopardize his succession claims). Alternatively, since Artaxerxes II’s long anticipated demise occurred in 359/8, we might conjecture that news of this or of its imminent occurrence reached Ochus as he entered Egypt and prompted him to abandon operations in order to secure his succession.32 If it was anticipation of Ochus’ attack that gave Nectanebo his concern with keeping Agesilaus in Egypt, we can understand Agesilaus’ anxiety to depart as soon as possible. He had salvaged Spartan interests repeatedly and by staying Agesilaus might gain greater financial rewards Recognition that Ochus likely mounted a campaign in 360/59 which included recovery of Syria and Phoenicia and at least an approach to Egypt may help us understand the confused account that Diodorus (15.92.5-93.6) provides of Tachos fleeing Sidon to the Persian king, then being appointed general by Artaxerxes and returning to Egypt to fight with Agesilaus’ help and regain the kingship in Egypt from Nectanebo. If, as other sources confirm (Aelian, VH 5.1; Athen. 4.150b-c; cf. Stylianou [above, n. 7] 546), Tachos was at the Persian court and if Ochus led a campaign to Egypt, Tachos may have accompanied the expedition much as the Athenian tyrant Hippias came back to Greece with a Persian army 130 years earlier. In trying to complete the story of Tachos, Diodorus somehow dropped out Ochus and misunderstood the information that Agesilaus helped the king against a rival claimant—which in reality referred to Agesilaus’ support for Nectanebo against the Mendesian—as indicating that Agesilaus helped Tachos against Nectanebo. (Diodorus knows nothing of the Mendesian, so for him the only rival claimant was Nectanebo.) Diodorus later seems to have forgotten the fate he assigned Nectanebo in Book 15 when in Book 16 he identifies the Egyptian king facing renewed Persian attack in the late 350s as Nectanebo (16.41.3, 47.5, 51.1). 32 Artaxerxes died sometime between November 359 and April 358: R.A. Parker and W.H. Dubberstein, Babylonian Chronology, 626 BC-AD 75.3 (1956) 19. Also Briant (above, n. 22) 700. 31

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than he had gotten for his recent efforts, but the prospect of facing an attacking Persian force involved too many military and political uncertainties.33 Would Egyptian soldiers fare well against Persian forces? Would Greek mercenaries abandon Nectanebo’s employ for the promise of greater rewards in Persian service? Most of the mercenaries were not actually Agesilaus’ troops; he had taken command of an already hired mercenary force when he arrived in Egypt and added to this the much smaller force of 1000 men the Spartans had hired in Greece (see Diod. 15.92.2). Would there be any promise of further Egyptian support if Tachos did regain the Egyptian throne and ruled as a Persian puppet? Would Agesilaus himself live long enough to garner greater rewards? Agesilaus’ resilience and resourcefulness had been tested to their limits during the previous year. So too, most likely, had his physical capabilities and health. The best choice—the only choice—for Agesilaus at this point was undoubtedly to do just what he did: ignore Nectanebo’s entreaties and blandishments and take the money and leave.

IX. Conclusion Agesilaus’ last enterprise probably lasted a few months more than a year. It was thus a year or so shorter than his first overseas enterprise, the campaign in Anatolia in 396-394. Although it did gain important funds for Sparta, Agesilaus’ Egyptian campaign failed to fulfill Sparta’s initial hopes for a new order in the eastern Mediterranean and a new patron in the form of the Egyptian king Tachos. From this perspective, the story of Agesilaus’ last enterprise is the story of failure. But, as Xenophon According to Plutarch (Ages. 40.1), Agesilaus left with 230 silver talents. Nepos (Ages. 8.7) has 220 talents. This would have paid for 5000 mercenaries for one year, but was far less than the 1000 talents he brought back from his Anatolian campaign in the 390s (Plut. Ages. 19.4); see Cartledge (above, n. 4) 329 and Shipley (above, n. 6) 398. An Egyptian king had virtually limitless resources, but Nectanebo, who probably did not get possession of the war chest Tachos had created, had only just reentered Egypt, and Agesilaus may have been in too much of a hurry to wait for Nectanebo to gather a genuinely large sum. Nectanebo had also to consider making good on the payments previously promised Egyptian officers in return for their support (Diod. 15.92.4), especially if conflict with Ochus and Tachos appeared imminent at this point. 33

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saw, within this is also a story of extraordinary success: the story of how Agesilaus found his way through dizzily shifting political and military conditions. Because Agesilaus’ last enterprise produced no change in Sparta’s situation and no alteration in the political status quo on the Greek mainland, contemporary or later Greek observers understandably viewed it as having no real political or military significance and considered it of interest only insofar as it served to illustrate alleged features of Agesilaus’ character. However, in the broader context of eastern Mediterranean affairs, we may see Agesilaus’ activities as critically important. Agesilaus’ abandonment of Tachos doomed Tachos’ campaign and marked the end of Egyptian offensive military thinking once and for all. Agesilaus was certainly responsible for securing the Egyptian kingship for Nectanebo, who would rule until the successful Persian invasion of 343. This terminated quickly what might otherwise have been a protracted conflict between rival claimants. If Nectanebo’s effective control of the whole of Egypt in 359 contributed to the withdrawal of the invading army under Ochus in 359/8, then by securing the throne for Nectanebo Agesilaus also made possible the continued independence of Egypt. Agesilaus, it might be said, was thus responsible for the conditions that drove Persian policy through the 350s and 340s—long after Agesilaus’ death—until Ochus, now as Artaxerxes III, finally reconquered Egypt.34 Because of this, it might be argued that Agesilaus’ last enterprise had more significance in the larger scheme of eastern Mediterranean politics than did his much better known and more favorably viewed first enterprise. University of North Carolina, Greensboro

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On Artaxerxes III’s reconquest of Egypt, see Diod. 16.43-51.