Foreign clientelae in the Roman Empire: A Reconsideration 3515110615, 9783515110617

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Foreign clientelae in the Roman Empire Edited by Martin Jehne and Francisco Pina Polo

historia

Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte | Revue d’histoire ancienne |

Journal of Ancient History | Rivista di storia antica

einzelschriften

Herausgegeben von Kai Brodersen, Erfurt |

Mortimer Chambers, Los Angeles | Mischa Meier, Tübingen | Bernhard Linke, Bochum | Walter Scheidel, Stanford Band 238

Foreign clientelae in the Roman Empire A Reconsideration Edited by Martin Jehne and Francisco Pina Polo

Franz Steiner Verlag

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2015 Satz: DTP +TEXT, Eva Burri Druck: AZ Druck und Datentechnik, Kempten Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-11061-7 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-11062-4 (E-Book)

TABLE OF CONTENTS List of Contributors ...........................................................................................

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Martin Jehne / Francisco Pina Polo Introduction .......................................................................................................

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1. Clientela at Rome and in the Provinces: Some Methodological and Historiographical Remarks Francisco Pina Polo Foreign Clientelae Revisited: A Methodological Critique................................

19

Angela Ganter Decline and Glorification: Patron-Client Relationships in the Roman Republic..........................................................................................

43

2. Rome and Italy: Interstate Relations and Individual Connections Hans Beck Beyond ‘Foreign Clienteles’ and ‘Foreign Clans’. Some Remarks on the Intermarriage between Roman and Italian Elites ........................................

57

Fernando Wulff Alonso Italians in Badian’s Foreign Clientelae ............................................................

73

Wolfgang Blösel The Etruscan and Italic Clientelae of Scipio Africanus Maior (Livy 28.45) – A Fiction? ..................................................................................

93

3. Foreign Clientelae in the Western Empire: Hispania, Gaul and Africa Estela García Fernández Client Relationships and the Diffusion of Roman Names in Hispania. A Critical Review.............................................................................................. 107 Enrique García Riaza Foreign Cities. Institutional Aspects of the Roman Expansion in the Iberian Peninsula (218–133 B. C.) .............................................................. 119

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Francisco Beltrán Lloris The Hospitium Publicum of Gades and Cornelius Balbus................................ 141 Michel Christol Foreign clientelae, la Gaule méridionale: un modèle d’intégration ? ............... 153 Frédéric Hurlet Le gouverneur et les clientèles provinciales : la province romaine d’Afrique de sa création à Auguste (146 av. J.-C. – 14 ap. J.-C.) ..................... 165 Arnaud Suspène L’apport de la documentation numismatique à l’étude des Foreign Clientelae : le cas de Juba II de Maurétanie ......................................................................... 185 4. Amicitia and Foreign Clientelae in the Eastern Mediterranean Michael Snowdon Beyond Clientela: The Instrumentality of Amicitia in the Greek East ............. 209 Paul Burton Nabis, Flamininus, and the Amicitia between Rome and Sparta ...................... 225 Claudia Tiersch Von personaler Anbindung zu territorialer Organisation? Dynamiken römischer Reichsbildung und die Provinzialisierung Zyperns (58 v. Chr.) ...... 239 5. The Impact of Foreign Clientelae in Rome: Political and Military Aspects Cristina Rosillo-López Reconsidering Foreign Clientelae as a Source of Status in the City of Rome During the Late Roman Republic ..................................................................... 263 Jonathan R. W. Prag Auxilia and Clientelae: Military Service and Foreign Clientelae Reconsidered ..................................................................................................... 281 6. Foreign Clientelae Beyond the Republic Martin Jehne From Patronus to Pater. The Changing Role of Patronage in the Period of Transition from Pompey to Augustus ........................................................... 297 Claude Eilers Change and Decline in Civic Patronage of the High Empire ........................... 321

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Bibliography ..................................................................................................... 337 Index of Persons................................................................................................ 365 Subject Index .................................................................................................... 371

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Hans Beck, McGill University, Montreal, Canada Francisco Beltrán lloris, Universidad de Zaragoza, Spain WolFgang Blösel, Universität Duisburg-Essen, Germany Paul Burton, Australian National University, Canberra, Australia MicHel cHristol, Université de Paris 1 Panthéon Sorbonne, France claude eilers, McMaster University, Hamilton, Canada angela ganter, Goethe Universität, Frankfurt am Main, Germany estela garcía Fernández, Universidad Complutense, Madrid, Spain enrique garcía riaza, Universitat de les Illes Balears, Palma de Mallorca, Spain Frédéric Hurlet, Université de Paris Ouest Nanterre La Défense, France Martin JeHne, Technische Universität Dresden, Germany Francisco Pina Polo, Universidad de Zaragoza, Spain JonatHan r. W. Prag, University of Oxford, United Kingdom cristina rosillo-lóPez, Universidad Pablo de Olavide, Sevilla, Spain MicHael snoWdon, York University, Toronto, Canada arnaud susPène, Université d’Orléans, France claudia tierscH, Humboldt-Universität Berlin, Germany Fernando WulFF alonso, Universidad de Málaga, Spain

INTRODUCTION Martin Jehne / Francisco Pina Polo For more than fifty years, Badian’s Foreign Clientelae has been the standard reference book for the relationships between Rome and foreign states or individuals in the provinces of the Empire during the Republic. In his Ph. D. dissertation Badian followed in the footsteps of scholars such as Fustel de Coulanges, Premerstein, Gelzer, Syme and Harmand (although his book was published too late to be taken into account by Badian). All had previously published on clientelae in Rome and in the provinces, and had thus been responsible for shaping a particular view of the subject. Badian took most of his fundamental ideas from his predecessors, but as an innovation he developed a methodology to identify provincial clientelae globally across the whole of the Mediterranean, mainly through the onomastics contained in the epigraphy of the Early Empire. According to Badian, the abundant client-patron ties that were formed between provincials and prominent Roman citizens during their time in the provinces were the basis of Roman control after military conquest. This client-patron network had a double impact, on international politics and on Rome’s internal politics. Although some of Badian’s statements have been challenged, his main conclusions have influenced scholarship deeply for decades, and indeed to the present day. A conference on the topic of ‘Provincial clientelae in the Roman Empire: A reconsideration’ was held at the University of Zaragoza (Spain) on 14–15 March 2013.1 This book collects the contributions presented at the conference. It intends to proceed beyond the paradigm that has dominated scholarship since the publication of Badian’s Foreign Clientelae, and even earlier. Understandably, Badian is very much present in most of the articles, generally from a critical point of view. This volume aims to review the political role played by foreign clientelae in Italy and the provinces as well as in Rome during the Republican period, with the exception of the last paper, which focuses on the High Empire. To this end, the relationship between Roman imperatores or governors and provincials is explored in the Western Empire (Hispania, Gaul, North Africa) as well as in the Eastern Mediterranean. How foreign clientelae were perceived in Rome and to what extent they 1

The conference was the last step of the project ‘Provincial clientelae in the Western Roman Empire’ (HAR2010–16449), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad. The project was based at the University of Zaragoza and was coordinated by Francisco Pina Polo. The colloquium was also sponsored by the Fritz Thyssen Stiftung and the Institución Fernando el Católico. The editors would like to thank Charlotte Tupman for checking the English version of several articles included in the volume, as well as María García Magán (Zaragoza) and Fabian Knopf (Dresden) for their collaboration in the edition and for the indices.

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could influence internal politics, are likewise scrutinised. One paper focuses on the significance of clientelae for military service. Finally, the last contributions explore the role of provincial clientelae beyond the Republic. The volume begins with a section that serves as a methodological introduction: Clientela at Rome and in the provinces: Some methodological and historiographical remarks. Consequently, the first two articles are in a sense complementary. Francisco Pina Polo first makes a historiographical introduction to the topic of foreign clientelae. He then rejects the methodology used by Badian to identify provincial clientelae globally through onomastics, since it has led to a distorted view of the expansion and significance of provincial clientelae. Pina Polo consequently argues for a re-evaluation of the phenomenon as a necessary means to understand with greater clarity the relations between Roman aristocrats and provincials. On the basis of Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ definition of clientela, Angela Ganter then deconstructs the historiographical approaches to urban clientelae at Rome as a comparison with the similar process for foreign clientelae. Her contribution challenges the prevailing perception of the history of Republican clientelae as a process of decline, and instead proposes to read the ancient authors as witnesses of contemporary mentalities rather than echoing their conceptions of Roman history in a literal manner. The subsequent papers focus on Italy: Rome and Italy: Interstate relations and individual connections. Hans Beck analyses how the family connections between Roman elite and Italian aristocracies forged by intermarriage had a significant impact on the relationship among communities during the early and middle Republican period. Accordingly, Beck emphasises the importance of the human factor as a means of explaining the relations between Rome and its allies, as well as the specific role played by women. Fernando Wulff Alonso makes a profound and very detailed dissection of Badian’s view of Rome’s changing relations with Italy throughout the Republic, notably of how after the Hannibalic war clientela was, in Badian’s opinion, a key factor for the consolidation of Roman control over Italy and increasingly over the provinces. Wolfgang Blösel, for his part, focuses in particular on a passage of Livy (28.45) that he claims to be fictitious. As a result, Livy’s story cannot be used according to Blösel as evidence for the existence of extensive foreign clientelae in Italy acquired by the Scipio family as early as the end of the third century B. C. The third section is devoted to three territories in the Western Roman Empire: Hispania, Gaul and North Africa. The first three papers in this section refer to Hispania. Estela García Fernández discusses the relationship between clientela and Latin onomastic dissemination in Hispania, providing an alternative historical explanation for this phenomenon. Upon reviewing the evidence, she argues that there may have been a larger number of communities in Hispania with Latin status during the Republic than had previously been assumed. Therefore, supposed examples of name imitation would actually be instances of populations with Latin status making legal use of Latin names. Enrique García Riaza analyses the diplomatic relationships between Rome and Hispanic communities from the Hannibalic war until 133 B. C. In contradiction to Badian, he states that Roman expansion in Hispania was

Introduction

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not supported by individual connections that could be characterised as client-patron ties. From the beginning of the conquest there was rather a significant Roman institutional factor perceived as a reality by the indigenous population, to some extent because of the legacy of the organised Punic presence in the Iberian Peninsula. Finally, Francisco Beltrán Lloris focuses on the institution of hospitium publicum granted by provincial cities to prominent Romans. He claims that this legal institution was something more than a mere appendix of patronatus. To this purpose, Beltrán Lloris uses as a case study the appointment of Balbus the Elder as hospes publicus in Gades in southern Hispania, which is the earliest known example of hospitium publicum bestowed upon a Roman citizen by a provincial city. The case of Balbus and Gades reveals the differences between hospitium and patronage in the first century B. C., and shows that hospitium was not simply an instrument for the control of provincials. Michel Christol aims to go beyond Badian’s catalogue contained in Appendix B of his Foreign Clientelae. Christol analyses the dispersion and exact location of names of Republican imperatores such as Marius, Domitius, Valerius and Pompeius in Transalpine Gaul, as well as their significance for the integration of provincial elites in the Roman Empire. The next two articles are focused on North Africa. Frédéric Hurlet examines, from the creation of the province of Africa in 146 until the Augustan age, the relationship between Roman governors and provincials as a possible source of clientelae, as well as their territorial extension and durability. Hurlet takes the critical use of North African onomastics in relation to the known governors and the granting of Roman citizenship to provincials as a starting point. Although the identification of North African clients comes with great methodological difficulties, to Hurlet it is plausible that the presence of Roman governors resulted in the creation of individual and collective clientelae in the province. However, it is highly uncertain whether such clientelae can be characterised by their long fidelity to specific patrons. Arnaud Suspène uses numismatics as his principal source of evidence, in particular the coinage of King Juba II of Mauretania. Suspène explores the personal way in which Juba II was able to exhibit and emphasise his friendship with Rome through the carefully designed monetary politics that he developed. Juba’s strategy strengthens the idea of amicitia and societas being the best terms to describe the different relationships established between kings and Rome in the Roman Empire, instead of the generalised and ambiguous use of the term clientela. The fourth section of the book considers the Eastern Mediterranean: Amicitia and foreign clientelae in the Eastern Mediterranean. One of the main points refers to the debate about the definition of interstate and personal relations within the semantic field of amicitia, or rather clientela as used by Badian in a broad sense. Michael Snowdon focuses on the documentary material preserved in the epigraphic record as the best source to study the interactions between Rome and other states, for epigraphic texts are, in his words, real “artefacts of the functioning Empire.” This approach allows us to understand the real significance of the word friendship when used in a Roman senatorial decree or in a Greek civic decree. Friendship was not, as Badian argued, a polite word preferred in order to avoid the supposedly more

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appropriate but embarrassing term clientela. Amicitia fits perfectly the relationship between Rome and the Greek cities looking for a balance between traditional Greek freedom and increasing Roman hegemony. Paul Burton analyses the war launched in 195 by Flamininus against the Spartan King Nabis. He does not see it as a mere war of aggression in the broader context of Roman imperialism, but rather as a moral response that ought to be understood within the prerogatives and obligations of international friendship, in this case the Roman-Spartan amicitia. Finally, the process by which the province of Cyprus was created in the year 56 B. C. is the topic addressed by Claudia Tiersch in her article. Direct provincialisation was often rejected by the Roman senate, because it necessitated the installation of a magistrate with largely uncontrolled military resources. During the Late Republic this strategy of refusal could no longer work, because the security of several regions became problematic as a consequence of deficient administration. For all of this, the process of the provincialisation of Cyprus, inspired only by the aim of using the province’s income to bolster the Roman state treasure, with no concern for administrative responsibilities, can nonetheless illustrate that Roman internal interests alone shaped provincial policy. No substantial differences between optimates and populares could be established in this aspect of policy. One of Badian’s conclusions was the indisputable political impact, in his opinion, that provincial clientelae had in Rome. According to Badian, some politicians, most notably Pompey, took advantage of their more or less extensive connections in the provinces in order to gain a privileged position in Roman society and politics. The next section of the book is devoted to some aspects of this subject, as well as to the possible influence of foreign clientelae on military service: The impact of foreign clientelae in Rome: political and military aspects. Cristina Rosillo-López reconsiders the widely acknowledged view that foreign clientelae were a source of status for Roman politicians, especially during the first century B. C. According to her, the existence of foreign clients was difficult to communicate to other members of the elite and to the people within the city of Rome. Furthermore, the sources suggest that the existence of such clients was unpopular among non-elite citizens, due to the association of the former with extortion trials and the undue enrichment of the elite. In contradiction to the communis opinio, Rosillo-López concludes that foreign clientelae did not constitute a source of prestige for senators in the city of Rome. To what extent did the relations between Roman and non-Roman elites facilitate military service of provincial soldiers (auxilia externa)? This is the question addressed by Jonathan Prag. The role of such military service was undervalued by Badian, except in relation to the dynasts of the civil war period. Direct evidence for recruitment through client networks is lacking, but military service of this sort, according to Prag, was generally facilitated by elite interpersonal relationships. Such relationships may be categorised in terms of amicitia, but other ways of constructing a relationship with the Roman state were no less important, such as grants of citizenship. However, even if such military service should not be examined in terms of client-patron relationships, it nevertheless remains the case that the interpersonal

Introduction

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elite relations that military service generated could provide the basis for the development of personal patronage on the part of elite Romans. The last section of the book (Foreign clientelae beyond the Republic) deals with the changes experienced during the last decades of the Republic and the beginning of the Principate. It is widely accepted that the great Roman war heroes of the late Republic won great clientelae in the Empire and that the princeps Augustus surpassed them all, obtaining a dominant position as patron of all his subjects. Yet this view was called into question by Claude Eilers, who examined the evidence for city patronage and found that Augustus seems to have become more and more reluctant to accept this honour and that his successors no longer became city patrons. Building upon the research of Eilers, Martin Jehne looks at the reasons for a change in attitudes towards patronage from Pompey to Augustus. Since patronage is inherently particularistic, the idea of the emperor as a universal patron is difficult, as his obligations to a client would permanently be in conflict with his obligations to the client’s competitor, who was also the emperor’s client. In fact, there are relatively clear indications that shortly after Actium Octavian/Augustus had already begun to switch from the partisan argumentation of the patronage system to universalistic argumentation based on rational criteria. Yet patronage continued to act as an important system of distribution and was an unquestioned way of thinking in the Roman Empire, so it could not be eliminated. The Emperor had to establish himself as a fair distributor of justice, one who was above partisanship. Consequently, he had to be considered by all people across the Empire as pater, not as patronus. The volume ends with Claude Eilers’ article, which focuses on the much-debated question of the possible decay of civic patronage during the early Empire. During the Republic, city patrons were exclusively senators. Under the Empire, by contrast, patrons were increasingly drawn from the sub-senatorial orders. In his paper Eilers argues that this phenomenon was part of a set of changes best characterised as decline, and opposes Nicols’ assertion that patronage remained vital. To conclude, this book challenges the way in which foreign clientelae have been detected through provincial onomastics. Doubts are raised about the political role played by foreign clientelae at Rome as a source of prestige, and in the provinces as a means of subjugation. The usual interpretation of amicitia as a word concealing a real client-patron relationship is questioned. The thesis of Augustus as a universal patron for all inhabitants of the Empire is rejected. A complex picture of social relations between Rome and provincials is depicted through examples taken from both the Western and the Eastern parts of the Empire. In short, this volume gives a new perspective that facilitates a reconsideration of the traditional approach to the topic of foreign clientelae in the Roman Empire.

1. CLIENTELA AT ROME AND IN THE PROVINCES: SOME METHODOLOGICAL AND HISTORIOGRAPHICAL REMARKS

FOREIGN CLIENTELAE REVISITED: A METHODOLOGICAL CRITIQUE Francisco Pina Polo This paper begins with a brief analysis of the most important studies of provincial clientelae in the Roman Empire until Badian’s renowned book of 1958, which became the major reference work for decades to come. Badian adopted some of the theses proposed by scholars before him, in particular the idea that victory over an enemy was the main source of provincial clientelae. However he endeavoured to provide an overall view of how Rome had established relations with other territories in the Mediterranean, and how Roman elites had entered into personal relationships with provincials. Badian also contributed a methodology for identifying foreign clientelae through provincial onomastics. Despite criticisms later expressed regarding some of Badian’s conclusions, his insights continue to influence current research on this topic. It is my purpose to challenge both his methodology of identifying provincial clientelae and some of his conclusions. To this end, I shall refer to some specific instances in the western Empire, in particular to Hispania. FROM MOMMSEN TO BADIAN: A BRIEF HISTORIOGRAPHICAL REVIEW In the first footnote of his Foreign Clientelae, Badian mentioned Mommsen, Premerstein, Gelzer and his mentor Syme as authorities on the concept of clientela.1 The work of these scholars, along with that of Fustel de Coulanges, constituted at the time the basis of doctrine on clientelae and patronage in ancient Rome. In actual fact, they had all focused on the diachronic study of those relationships within the city of Rome, and had taken into consideration the creation of clientelae in the provinces without delving deeply into the matter. In a paper originally published in 1859 Mommsen pointed out some of the traits of clientela in Rome based on a comparative analysis between this institution and the hospitium, which he saw as broadly similar, though with some differences.2 Clientela was a relationship established between individuals from different social backgrounds, the patronus always being superior to the cliens. This also applied to *

1 2

This paper has been produced within the framework of the research project “Las clientelas provinciales en el Occidente del Imperio romano” (HAR2010–16449), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad. All dates are B. C. unless otherwise indicated. Badian 1958a: 1 n.1. Mommsen 1864: 319–390, esp.355–390.

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the ties between freedmen and their former owners, as well as those between Romans and defeated peoples. The relationships created were hereditary. There was no contract between patrons and clients setting forth the rights and duties of each party; these were, nonetheless, defined by custom. Fustel de Coulanges pointed out that client-patron links were voluntary and uneven by nature as they involved persons of different social status.3 The authority of a Roman aristocrat depended on the number of clients he had. In turn, clients needed a patron in order to be protected. A client could freely change patron as he saw fit, yet client-patron ties were hereditary. According to Fustel de Coulanges clientela was sometimes concealed by amicitia, since some prominent Romans referred to their high-class clients as amici. It was a form of courtesy that did not, however, alter the inequality between patronus and cliens. The clientela was in practice an extra-legal institution, because the rights and duties of the parties were not fixed by law. On the matter of clientelae Gelzer mostly followed the theses of Fustel de Coulanges, whose guidelines he initially reproduced: an informal structure with no legal contract; reciprocal nature; hereditary yet voluntary ties; and the possibility of dissolving it at any time and replacing it with another client-patron relationship.4 But he also paid some attention to provincial clientelae. Gelzer drew upon a text in Cicero’s De officiis that states that it was an ancestral custom for Roman generals who had defeated other peoples and cities to become their patrons, as representatives of the new socii in their relations with Rome’s central power.5 A good example of this was C. Fabricius Luscinus, who became a patronus of all the Samnites after his triumph in the third century.6 Gelzer’s conclusion was that, to a greater or lesser degree, virtually every governor established client-patron relationships with provincials while in charge of a territory.7 In other words, a province or a city could end up with several patrons, consecutively and simultaneously. Thus, for instance, the Marcelli, the Lentuli Marcellini and the Scipiones were all patrons of the Sicilians, as Gelzer claims,8 pointing out the particular honour granted to Cicero by the inhabitants of Capua in appointing him their sole patron, which was clearly an unusual circumstance.9 The posthumous work of Premerstein, Von Werden und Wesen des Prinzipats, was published in 1937.10 He maintained that clientelae were essential to understanding the creation of Augustus’ Principate. Premerstein considered the clientelae gradually formed during the late Republic around the great political and military 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Fustel de Coulanges 1900: 205–225. Gelzer 1983 (1912): 49–50. Cic. off. 1.35. Gelzer 1983 (1912): 50–53. Val.Max. 4.3.6: “…qui a Samnitibus, quos universos in clientela habebat…” Cf. Gell. 1.14. Gelzer 1983 (1912): 71: “Die Überlieferung erlaubt den Schluß, daß sozusagen jeder Statthalter in der von ihm verwalteten Provinz Patronate übertragen bekam.” Gelzer 1983 (1912): 71. But Cicero was also the patron of the Sicilians after his quaestorship (Cic. Att. 14.12.1), and so was Verres (Cic. Verr. 2.2.114; 2.2.154). Cic. Sest. 9. Anton von Premerstein had also published in the RE the term ‘clients’, which Badian still considered as “the standard article” on this topic (Badian 1958a: 1 n.1).

Foreign Clientelae Revisited: A Methodological Critique

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leaders as decisive, and referred to them as ‘Klientelparteien’.11 Despite the fact that other individuals and families could equally create powerful clientelae, Premerstein referred in particular to the example of the Pompeii and the way in which they had built up their clientelae over three generations, from Pompeius Strabo to Sextus Pompeius. In his opinion, the great strength of the Pompeian ‘party’ rested precisely on its enormous clientela.12 One of the keys to understanding the late Republican period might be the client-patron link of entire provinces to one particular person who had become their patronus. In this respect, Pompey the Great could be, once again, the best example. He was able to secure vast clientelae in Hispania and in the huge regions he conquered in the Eastern Mediterranean, and to add them to those he had inherited from his father in Picenum. But Caesar also managed to create countless clientelae, both in Hispania Ulterior, where he served as a magistrate on two occasions, and during the conquest of Gaul.13 Despite his schematic and slightly simplistic approach, Premerstein placed provincial clientelae at the heart of the Roman political scene, in particular during the Late Republic. He saw the struggle between the great imperatores to a large extent as a conflict of clientelae, to the point that the various stages on which the civil war between Pompey’s and Caesar’s supporters was fought could have been determined by the presence of clients from one side or the other. In fact, according to Premerstein, the war between Antonius and Octavianus, which was to result in the sole power of Augustus, divided the entire Empire into two large zones of clientelae in favour of one or other of the contenders. Consequently, the work of Premerstein became decisive in the creation of a line of thought which, implicitly or explicitly, was to be present for decades in scholarship: having provincial clientelae was considered to have been conclusive in the historical unfolding of the late period of the Republic, and had caused the great imperatores to endeavour to secure as many clients as possible throughout the provinces of the Empire. Harmand published his work on patronage in 1957.14 The book could not be used by Badian because, as he admits in the preface to Foreign Clientelae, his monograph was completed by the summer of 1956, though it was published two years later. In fact, Badian does not even mention Harmand in his bibliography. The French scholar analysed the relationships of patronage with communities, not with individuals. For the Republican period, Harmand’s starting point was that any victorious general was a potential patron for the defeated peoples: what he called “le patronat par droit de conquête.”15 He nonetheless admitted that only a few texts in ancient sources could expressly support this fact.16 Livy’s account of the taking of Syracuse by Marcellus between 212 and 210 was, according to Harmand, archetypical of how patronages developed from a military operation that resulted in the

11 12 13 14 15 16

Premerstein 1937: 16. Premerstein 1937: 16–17. Premerstein 1937: 20–21. Harmand 1957. Harmand 1957: 13: “tout conquérant est un patron en puissance.” Harmand 1957: 14–15.

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conquest of a city or territory.17 The conquest created profound inequality between the winners and the losers, and inequality was the basis of any client-patron relationship. The conqueror certainly acted in the name of Rome, though his leading role was obvious, as he had been fought against, negotiated with and surrendered to. The conquering general was in control of the fate of the defeated people and this naturally led to his becoming a patronus, thus moving from the role of victor to that of protector.18 In Harmand’s opinion, any conquest involved two complementary aspects: while the conquered region added to the territory controlled by the Roman Empire, the subdued peoples added to the clientelae of the triumphant general.19 In other words, while Harmand initially admitted that few sources expressly referred to the creation of clientelae as a right of conquest, he eventually linked both events closely, and implicitly assumed that military victory automatically involved increasing the number of personal clientelae in the provinces. Serving as a magistrate in a province could also involve securing clientelae during the stay in the territory, in this case by nonviolent means. These clientelae could be newly created or linked already to the magistrate’s family.20 According to Harmand, these were not the only paths to acquiring provincial clientelae. The founders of new colonies, in his view, would have become the patrons of the newly created community.21 Likewise, a magistrate could become the patronus of a city or community as a result of an official mission conducted on the orders of the Roman senate.22 Such missions could have had a civil or military purpose, and could consist of a legation to deal with certain communities or military campaigns to eradicate a danger to Roman interests. That would have been the origin of the clientelae of Cato Uticensis in Cappadocia and Cyprus,23 or of Pompey the Great in Cilicia after defeating the pirates and founding or re-founding towns along the coast of the region. Finally, the defence of provincials in court could also result in those who had been defended becoming the clients of the orator who had acted in their defence.24 Ernst Badian adopted a different methodological perspective from that of Harmand and conducted the first monographic study of what he called ‘foreign clientelae’. He criticized Premerstein’s very legalistic approach, erroneously interpreting deditio as a ‘treaty’ between the victorious Roman general and the defeated community when in fact surrender was unconditional. Badian also rejected ‘Mommsen’s extreme view’ that anyone surrendering to Rome would automatically become a 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24

Liv. 25.29; 26.32. Harmand 1957: 16–19. Harmand 1957: 19: “tout général victorieux est un oikiste à sa manière.” Harmand 1957: 20–21: “l’incorporation dans la communauté romaine se double d’un fait d’ordre privé: la receptio in clientelam, c’est-à-dire la formation, sans que l’on constate apparemment aucune intervention de l’État, de liens personnels entre le général victorieux et ses adversaires de la veille.” Harmand 1957: 39–48. Harmand 1957: 23–26. Harmand 1957: 27–33. Cic. fam. 15.4. Harmand 1957: 34–39.

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client, when circumstances actually varied and ought to be considered in the light of attested evidence. Yet his starting point, following that of previous scholars, was that victory after a war, and the subsequent deditio of the defeated peoples, was the most common means of acquiring foreign clientelae.25 As in any client-patron relationship, it was unequal, though it originated in a voluntary agreement. Badian admited that he applied the term clientela to the Roman world in a broad sense, and that various forms of client-patron relationships may be included within the concept, as one single form of ‘foreign clientelae’ could hardly be expected to have existed.26 In the first part of his book, Badian conducted a general review of Rome’s external policy in Italy and in the Mediterranean until the year 133. He analysed the development and evolution of client-patron relationships between Rome and the Mediterranean states, based on the fact that these relations typically involved a superior party, Rome, and an inferior party, the rest of the Mediterranean peoples.27 In the second part of his book, which is more relevant here, Badian studied clientelae created by Roman generals on an individual basis in provinces during the Late Republican period, in particular until the year 70. One entire chapter dealt specifically with Pompey the Great, the paradigmatic politician with a vocation to become a universal patronus who, in Badian’s view, would to a large extent have reached his powerful position in Rome thanks to his very numerous foreign clientelae. Despite some criticisms,28 Badian’s book was to become the reference work on this topic for decades to come, and had a huge impact on scholarship’s view ever since of the relationships between Rome and provincials through the patronage of a large number of members of the Roman aristocracy.29 One of the reasons for the success of this book is the fact that it represents the very first time that this question was studied thoroughly, proposing a methodology for identifying provincial clientelae. It is also important to bear in mind that Badian’s theses perfectly befitted the context of scholarship at the time. After the prosopographical works of the influential Münzer, Gelzer and Syme, amongst others, the idea prevailed that society and politics in Republican Rome were totally dominated by the elite on the basis of a close personal network of kinships, marriages and, above all, clientelae. Badian’s approach simply transferred onto the provinces a form of action in the Urbs which was considered fully endorsed. Thus his theses seemed to have particular credibility as they made sense of a provincial world on whose society Rome exerted her control, following the same hierarchy as that of society within Rome. Badian maintained that the numerous client-patron relationships created between provincials and Roman citizens were the basis of Roman control over the provinces after military conquest. Those provincial clientelae were, in his view, sought out deliberately by the Roman imperatores as a means of expanding their 25 26 27 28 29

Badian 1958a: 4–7. Badian 1958a: 11–13. See the criticism expressed by Burton 2003 and 2011. See for example the review by J. Bleicken in Gnomon 36, 1964, 176–187. Cf. Wolff 1980: esp.248–249. On Badian’s work see recently Thomas 2013.

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prestige and increasing or consolidating their power in Rome. Pompey was the foremost example of such behaviour.30 Clientelae were created during the stay of the imperatores in the respective provinces as consuls, proconsuls, praetors or propraetors. The stability of the Empire rested on the foundations of the personal loyalty of many provincials, in particular members of local aristocracies, towards the most prominent Roman families. This loyalty was hereditary and lasted for generations even after those Roman families had ceased to have any presence in the province or any importance within the society and politics of the Urbs.31 That vast network of permanent provincial clientelae served both to buttress Roman dominion in the provinces and to raise to power certain individuals who were particularly apt at creating loyal clientelae. In Badian’s view, that client-patron network therefore had a dual effect on international politics and also within Rome’s internal politics. ONOMASTICS AND PROVINCIAL CLIENTELAE Probably Badian’s most decisive methodological contribution was the use of onomastics as a tool to identify provincial clientelae across the Empire. Given that Republican inscriptions are extraordinarily scarce in the Western Roman Empire, Badian based his conclusions on the epigraphy of the early Empire. From his point of view, the provincials mentioned in inscriptions dated to between the first and third centuries A.D. whose names match those of conspicuous Romans in the Republican period were the descendants of those who had taken those names at the time as a tribute to their benefactors. In other words, for instance any Hispanians called Fabius, Sempronius, Porcius, Pompeius, etc., were in his view the descendants of those who, during the period of the conquest of Hispania in the second and first centuries, had become the clients of individuals who were members of those families, and had for this reason changed their indigenous names and taken a Latin name. Many would have been granted Roman citizenship by an imperator of that name during his presence in the province. At any rate, Badian considered that onomastics proved the influence of the gens in question: all these provincials and their descendants were for generations their loyal clients.32 In theory, onomastics in epigraphy from the early Empire would therefore allow us to identify the most influential gentes in the provinces of the Empire. It was even possible to map that influence. In the case of Hispania, two decades after Badian had published his Foreign Clientelae both Knapp and Dyson followed in his footsteps and maintained that the names of leading Roman families amongst Hispanians would reveal the existence of provincial clientelae throughout the Iberian 30 31

32

Badian 1958a: 252–284. Badian 1958a: 262: “The basis of Roman control over the provinces was, in an important sense, not political but personal – as that of Roman control over Italy had been… The Empire was based on the personal loyalty of leading men throughout the provinces to leading families at Rome, and this attachment proved to be independent of political vicissitudes and on the whole unaffected even by the fortunes of those families.” Badian 1958a: 256–257.

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Peninsula.33 Neither of them specifically linked the creation of those client-patron ties to the provincials involved becoming Roman citizens. Yet, in any event, taking a particular name was not in their opinion a matter of chance, but was chosen specifically because it was the name of their Roman patron. This was Knapp’s main conclusion: “I hope to demonstrate that the prosopography of Iberia and southern Gaul… is a direct outgrowth of patronage extended by prominent Romans to nonRomans; the native clients took the name of the Roman patron, and so the local prosopography reflects the Roman patronage.”34 Dyson, in turn, made a chart of clientelae in Hispania and accompanied his analysis with a series of maps showing the distribution of some Roman nomina mentioned in Hispanian inscriptions that matched the names of governors in Hispania in the Republican period: Porcius, Sempronius, Aemilius, Fabius, Iunius, Licinius, Caecilius, Pompeius and Sulpicius.35 Taking into consideration this distribution of the nomina, Dyson pointed out an apparent coincidence with the territories in which these imperatores acted within the Iberian Peninsula. In other words, Dyson worked on the assumption that, for instance, an individual called Pompeius mentioned in an inscription of the second century A.D. in Tarraco was the descendant of someone who had changed his indigenous name to that of Pompeius at some point during the Republican period and had become the client of that family. Dyson seems to imply that those Hispanian families remained in the same place for centuries. That certainly cannot be proved, and it is also unlikely to have happened in many cases. Some families might have died out and others may have moved, which seriously questions the reliability of the nomina distribution maps, which are based on an alleged permanence of the population in one particular place. On the other hand, families were obviously of different sizes, so several inscriptions mentioning individuals of the same name in one town or region could correspond to one single family and all its branches. Besides, other factors may account for the presence of certain names without necessarily involving the presence of provincial clientelae created during the Republic. Many could correspond to emigrants of Roman-Italian origin who could have settled in Hispania either in the Late Republic or in the early Empire, as Dyson takes into consideration inscriptions spanning a long chronological period. It is hardly a coincidence that all the nomina analysed have a widespread presence in the principal cities along the coast, where trade concentrated in such places as Barcino, Saguntum or Olisipo, in the provincial capitals of Corduba, Emerita Augusta and Tarraco, or in a highly dynamic economic area such as the Guadalquivir Valley. In my opinion, it is not at all necessary to explain the relatively abundant presence of Porcii, Sempronii, Pompeii, etc., in those cities – some still non-existent in the Republican period – as a consequence of the creation of Republican provincial clientelae.

33 34 35

Knapp 1978; Dyson 1980–81. Knapp 1978: 187. After the publication of Dyson’s work, new inscriptions have appeared which have obviously modified, though not substantially, the list and distribution of nomina he analysed.

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It is not appropriate here to delve into the various distribution maps, but some observations must be made. If we take a look at the map of the Sempronii,36 we note that these names are scattered throughout almost the entire Iberian Peninsula, though the highest concentration can be found in Tarraco, in the western half of Hispania and in the Guadalquivir Valley. Three Sempronii were governors in Hispania Citerior and Ulterior in the first quarter of the second century (see below). They are obviously eligible to have created clientelae that would have taken on their name. Yet it is evident that at the time when all three of them were fighting in Hispania, they can hardly have created a client-patron network along the Duero or the high Ebro rivers, as these regions were beyond the reach of Roman troops until later on. The Sempronii attested in Tarraco, Corduba and Emerita Augusta must be connected with the fact that all three cities later became administrative capitals. Emerita Augusta was only founded by Augustus at the end of the first century, and its location within Lusitania was far from being under Roman control when Sempronius Longus was the governor of Hispania Ulterior in 184–182. The remarkable number of Sempronii in Dianium and its environs in the Mediterranean and in Lara in the Duero may be due to a family of that name settling in each of those towns. In contrast, the lack of Sempronii in the central part of the Ebro Valley or in Celtiberia is quite surprising precisely because these regions were the main areas of action of Sempronius Gracchus in his struggle against Celtiberians in 180–178. It is striking that in Gracchurris (Alfaro, La Rioja), a city founded by Gracchus as a “monimentum operum suorum” bearing his name,37 no Sempronius has been found either there or in the surrounding area. There is, however, evidence of a Sempronius in Iliturgis, a city presumably also founded by Gracchus,38 and more have appeared in nearby localities. Epigraphic finds are obviously not precisely representative, but should not more Sempronii be expected to appear in cities founded by a Sempronius if we accept that this must have generated a close relationship between the inhabitants and the founder?39 As for the Pompeii, they are scattered throughout practically the whole of Hispania. Two Pompeii were governors in Hispania, Q. Pompeius in 141, who fought against Celtiberians, and Pompey the Great during the first century. As Dyson highlights, the relatively small number of inscriptions with Pompeii in comparison with other nomina is remarkable if we bear in mind Pompey’s reputation for having a large number of clients in Hispania.40 On the other hand, the high concentration of Pompeii in some cities is as striking as their absence in large regions where they could be expected. As in the case of all the other nomina, there is a high number of Pompeii in Tarraco, Saguntum, Carthago Nova and Olisipo, that is, coastal cities 36 37 38 39

40

Dyson 1980–81: 263–267. Liv. per. 41. Wiegels 1982. According to Harmand 1957: 24, “les personnages chargés de la deductio coloniae devenaient ipso facto ses patrons.” Neither Iliturgis nor Gracchurris had the status of colonies: they were instead civitates peregrinae inhabited by indigenous people. Harmand’s principle, however, should also apply to these towns, and all the more so because they resulted from Gracchus’ triumph over Hispanian peoples. Dyson 1980–81: 288–291.

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with a dynamic trading business, as well as in Emerita Augusta. As already stated, their presence might not necessarily be related to Pompeian clientelae but to the very circumstances and characteristics of these cities. The same could be said about the Pompeii of the western half of the Peninsula (in Galicia, Asturica Augusta, lower Duero river), as neither Q. Pompeius, a governor of Hispania Citerior, nor Pompey the Great set foot on these territories. The Pompeii of the Guadalquivir Valley, not very abundant though curiously concentrated around Baena probably because they were members of the same family, could hypothetically be linked to Pompey’s sons and their last stand against Caesar in 46–45. Yet, should this explanation be correct, many more Pompeii would be expected in this zone as during the bellum Hispaniense a large number of towns backed the Pompeian side. Conversely, three inscriptions with Pompeii were found in Gades, a city which always remained loyal to Caesar and received from him the status of Roman municipium. The most surprising fact, as Dyson points out,41 is that no Pompeii are found in the region where Pompey was most active: not one in the entire Ebro Valley, the scene of his confrontation against Sertorians, nor in the territory of the Lacetani, where his son Sextus Pompeius, according to Cassius Dio, sought shelter after the battle of Munda because he had the support of the indigenous population who were loyal to the memory of his father.42 The scarcity of Pompeii in Pompelo (Pamplona) is equally noticeable as this town was presumably founded by Pompey at the end of the Sertorian war.43 Instead, a good number of Pompeii are attested to in the upper Duero, a region in which a significant part of the Sertorian conflict unfolded, in particular in Clunia and Uxama, which resisted to the end against Pompeian troops. Similar observations could be made regarding the maps of other nomina. In conclusion, based on the distribution maps of Roman onomastics in Hispania known to us through the epigraphy of the early Empire, it cannot be surmised that these necessarily represent provincial clientelae created during the conquest in the Republican period. It is incorrect to assume that, for instance, whenever a Sempronius or Pompeius is found there existed in the Republican period a client of the Sempronii or the Pompeii. Some of the bearers of Roman nomina in Hispania could have taken the names of imperatores who were involved in the conquest (a different matter is whether this necessarily implies a long-lasting client-patron relationship), but many unquestionably were emigrants from Italy who had nothing to do with the creation of provincial clientelae. Other names may correspond to freedmen who took the name of their patrons, which could be concealing another type of clientelae in the provinces, which is not the same as provincial clientelae. All in all, the key question is whether onomastics is a reliable method in identifying provincial clientelae. Should it be so, fixed rules would have been in place for a provincial to take on a Latin name. Badian considered that whenever a provincial was given Roman citizenship, he immediately adopted the name of his new 41 42 43

Dyson 1980–81: 289. Cass.Dio 45.10.1–2. Str. 3.4.10.

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patronus. However, available data do not confirm this at all. Even Badian included in the list of persons given Roman citizenship (his Annex B) some individuals whose Latin names where completely different from those who had promoted them in becoming citizens.44 Knapp and Dyson assumed that patronage was directly linked with the client changing his name to that of the patronus, apparently even in cases in which the provincial was not given Roman citizenship. Yet could a peregrinus have had permission to use Roman names? We must not rule out the possibility of cases of illegal use of Latin onomastics, though this undoubtedly cannot have been widespread, as it counted upon Rome’s consent through provincial governors. Consequently, if a number of provincials with Latin names existed in the Republican period, should we presume they were Roman citizens? This poses another problem because in the pre-Caesarean period Rome was extremely cautious about granting citizenship. Few instances are known, the Bronze of Ascoli being the exception due to an emergency for Rome at the time of the bellum Sociale. It is unlikely that a provincial governor in Hispania in the last two Republican centuries granted Roman citizenship to a large number of Hispanians. And it is even more unlikely that he did so as part of a personal scheme to create as vast a network of clientelae as possible in order to obtain power. Besides, the matter of citizenship did not rest exclusively on the will of an imperator. Ultimately it was the Roman state which granted citizenship. In the context of the war against Sertorius, Pompey and Metellus apparently granted citizenship to some Hispanians as a reward for their loyalty.45 Nonetheless, their actions could only take effect after a law promoted by the consuls of 72, the lex Gellia-Cornelia, had been passed. The very fact that a consular law was required, obviously with the support of the senate, reveals that it was an exceptional circumstance, the result of a war that had lasted almost a whole decade and which, at some point, senators had feared could have spread to Italy. If this happened in the year 72 it is implausible to think that there might have been massive granting of citizenship in Hispania prior to this, as we do know that the senate – and the Roman people – had traditionally been reluctant about such actions. The senate can hardly have endorsed personal initiatives undertaken by members of the aristocracy that clearly contradicted the general policy of Rome. And even in that year of 72, the Hispanians who were given citizenship were certainly but a select group, a few hundred at the most. In short, the granting of citizenship by imperatores who acted in the provinces during the Republican period cannot have been so abundant as to result in vast clientelae. On the contrary, it must have been minor and exceptional. Consequently, this can hardly have been the origin of Latin onomastics which continued to exist throughout the Principate and apparently revealed the existence of an extensive client-patron network.46 44 45 46

Badian 1958a: 302–308. Cic. Arch. 26 claims that Metellus gave citizenship to many (“civitate multos donavit”). Recently García Fernández 2011, based on a certain continuity of onomastics between the Republic and the Principate documented in her opinion in Hispania, has pointed out that it could originate in the fact that the Latin status applied to a certain number of communities in Hispania during the Republic. See also her paper in this volume.

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At any rate, the question remains as to whether those who were given citizenship always took the name of their benefactor, that is, of the magistrate or promagistrate who granted it. The answer is that they did not. In the year 1966, Géza Alföldy published a paper analysing the changes in the names of those who received Roman citizenship, mainly based on the available epigraphic data.47 Alföldy’s work focused chronologically on the Principate, in particular on the first century, and from a geographical point of view dealt with the western provinces of the Empire, though the most detailed instances referred to Central European provinces, in particular Dalmatia, Noricum and Pannonia. The results, however, are largely applicable to the Republican period. In his general conclusions, Alföldy considered that it was frequent for peregrini who received Roman citizenship to take the nomen and the praenomen of the emperor who had granted it. But he stated categorically that this was not a compulsory rule. On the contrary, there is clear evidence that a large number of new Roman citizens freely chose the name they wished to have from that moment on, and often took Italic names that were widely used throughout the Empire.48 In other words, new citizens had some capacity to choose their names. Sources confirm this: the clearest instance is that of the Balbi from Gades, who were given Roman citizenship by Pompey the Great as a reward for their collaboration during the Sertorian war.49 This must have happened in 72 and it was validated by the aforementioned lex Gellia-Cornelia.50 In theory, Balbus should have become Pompeius Balbus, but his name was Cornelius Balbus.51 That is, Balbus was not named Pompeius despite having been granted Roman citizenship by way of a Pompeius. What is more striking and unsettling for the theses maintained by Badian and his followers is that when the Balbi went to Rome they became loyal amici and allies of Caesar, rather than clients of Pompey. How could this chain of events be explained using Badian’s perspective? The case of the Balbi is not unique. Cicero, in his speech in defence of Balbus, mentions a Q. Fabius from Saguntum who was given Roman citizenship by Metel47 48

49 50

51

Alföldy 1966. Alföldy 1966: 39: “En outre, un autre probleme apparaît dans le fait que, d’apres certains indices, les citoyens romains pouvaient aussi choisir librement leurs nomina: à certaines époques et dans certains territoires de l’Empire, on avait la possibilité de prendre un nomen quelconque selon son choix propre;” 46: “Tout cela montre que les nouveaux citoyens romains de l’Empire n’ont pas tous pris un gentilice impérial: un nombre grand de citoyens a choisi librement ses nomina. Ces nomina étaient ou bien des gentilices italiques partout répandus, ou bien des dérivations patronymiques.” Pina Polo 2011a. Cic. Balb. 19: “Nascitur, iudices, causa Corneli ex ea lege quam L. Gellius Cn. Cornelius ex senatus sententia tulerunt; qua lege videmus esse sanctum ut cives Romani sint ii quos Cn. Pompeius de consili sententia singillatim civitate donaverit. Donatum esse L. Cornelium praesens Pompeius dicit, indicant publicae tabulae.” We do not know why they took the name Cornelius. See Rodríguez Neila 1992: 26–27 and 44–45. Knapp 1978: 189 and 192, thinks that the Balbi would have taken their nomen from some Cornelii prior to being given citizenship and maintained that name afterwards. Those Cornelii would therefore be the patrons of the Balbi. In this sense also Dyson 1980–81: 289.

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lus Pius, and other Fabii from the same city as well as some inhabitants from Utica who were given citizenship by Pompey the Great.52 Cicero refers in those passages to other provincials who did not take the nomen of their benefactor: P. Caesius from Ravenna, who was given citizenship by Pompeius Strabo; Hasdrubal from Gades and some Ovii who received it from Pompey the Great; Alexas from Heraclea, who received it from Publius Licinius Crassus, a consul in 97; Aristo from Massalia, who was granted citizenship by Sulla. In the same speech, Cicero mentions M. Annius Appius, who lived in Iguvium, and T. Matrinius, from Spoletum. They both were given citizenship by C. Marius.53 In Pro Scauro, Cicero refers to Cn. Domitius Sincaius, from Sardinia, who became a Roman citizen thanks to Pompey.54 A Q. Lutatius Diodorus was made a citizen by Sulla though at the request of Catulus, one of the consuls in 78, whose name he seems to have taken.55 We have the example of the Bronze of Ascoli, in which the Ilerda cavalry are the only ones of the entire turma Salluitana, made up of individuals from various towns along the Ebro valley, who bear Latin names.56 The three names are different: Otacilius, Cornelius and Fabius. None of them was called Pompeius, yet it was Pompeius Strabo who gave them citizenship. If they already had their names before the granting of citizenship, for what reason did they pick their new names?57 Taking their names into account, should they be considered respectively the clients of the Otacilii, Cornelii and Fabii? Or else, considering that Pompeius Strabo gave them the Roman citizenship, should we include them amongst the clientela of the Pompeii? Or perhaps various patronages existed? There are obviously cases of new Roman citizens who took the name of their benefactor. We could even accept that this was the most frequent occurrence. Yet the ancient sources show that this was not always the case, and they suggest that new citizens did have some capacity to choose their new name. This clearly questions the principle that provincials with Latin nomina must automatically be identified as the clients of individuals (and of their families) with those same names. In the absence of additional information, following this principle the Balbi from Gades would be included in a list of clients of the Cornelii, the Fabii from Saguntum amongst the clients of the Fabii, and the Ilerda cavalry mentioned in the Bronze of Ascoli would be considered the clients of each of the families whose names they bear. Nevertheless, the evidence seems to reveal that the situation was far more complex, and that applying these criteria as a matter of course may lead to unrealistic conclusions. 52 53 54 55 56 57

Cic. Balb. 50–51. Cf. Badian 1958a: 257, considered that the Fabii already had that name before they were given citizenship. Cic. Balb. 46 and 48. Cic. Scaur. 43. Cic. Verr. 4.37. To this list we could add L. Cornelius Galus, an inhabitant of Forum Iulii who, according to Syme 1977: 379, would have been given citizenship by Pompey yet took the name of a Cornelius Lentulus. CIL I2 709 = CIL VI 37045 = ILLRP 515 = ILS 8888. García Fernández 2011: 52, claims that the onomastics of the three cavalrymen from Ilerda suggests that the city had formerly received the status of a Latin colony.

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On the other hand, had a rule existed whereby any new citizen was to take the name of the person who gave him Roman citizenship, onomastics would be much more uniform. Let us take the case of a provincial city being granted a privileged legal status. When a provincial city became a Roman municipium all its free inhabitants automatically became Roman citizens and could therefore legally bear the tria nomina. Could we expect that each and every one of those new Roman citizens took the same nomen, specifically that of the benefactor of the new municipium? The city of Gades became a Roman municipium in the year 49 on Caesar’s initiative.58 This clearly did not mean that all the new citizens took the name Iulius. Let us think also of the overwhelming number of Flavii that we should find in the Iberian Peninsula, as the Flavii gave the ius Latii to all of Hispania, and after Hispanian towns became Latin municipia many elites had access to Roman citizenship through local magistracies. Yet, significantly enough, the name Flavius is no more conspicuous than any of the other Roman nomina. GENTILICIAN CLIENTELAE? The use of onomastics leads to another major issue. The study of prosopography in the provinces allows us to reach conclusions regarding the recurrence of the names of certain Roman-Italic gentes. If we link onomastics to clientela, we must take into consideration the supposed clientelae of the gens Cornelia, gens Sempronia, gens Porcia, etc. The problem is that provincial clientelae, like those within Rome, were not gentilician but personal.59 In any event, if we accept their hereditary nature, which must not be presumed, they could be seen as family clientelae, never as gentilician clientelae. This was never regarded as a problem by Badian or by other scholars such as Gelzer, Premerstein and Harmand, precisely because they did not see it as inappropriate to talk about the clientelae of a particular gens, quite the contrary: provincial clientelae were in their opinion gentilician and hereditary.60 But, what does the presence of a certain gens in a province mean? There is no practical sense in referring, for instance, to the gens Pompeia or gens Sempronia in Hispania. Firstly, this is because the existence of provincials with the same name does not at all imply kinship between them. Nowadays, tens of thousands of persons of the name García or Sánchez are scattered throughout Spain (or Smith in Great Britain), though obviously only a few are related. In ancient Hispania some Pompeii and some Sempronii were related. At times epigraphy even reveals this kinship. It is clear, though, that in the process of acquiring Latin onomastics, many provincials opted for the same names without being related: they simply had the same nomen. Naturally, having the same name does not mean that those individuals 58 59 60

Cass.Dio 41.24. Brunt 1988a: 401 and 407. See for instance Harmand 1957: 22: “l’auteur de la conquête semble partager avec toute sa gens la responsabilité de ce patronat: c’est toute une famille au sens le plus large qui se trouve béneficier de cet accroissement de clientèle. Le magistrat vainqueur n’est qu’un des membres de la gens.”

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had to act in coordination either socio-economically or politically. It would be preposterous to talk about the economic interests of the gens Cornelia throughout all of Hispania, as if the participation of the Cornelii in diverse economic tasks illustrated by epigraphy could indicate a coordinated expansion in various sectors. When we apply this to client-patron relations, we realize that talking about the clientelae of the gens Cornelia in a province is not only absurd but yields a distorted image of reality. Supposing, for instance, that one provincial had a client-patron relationship with a Cornelius Scipio, we can argue about the nature of that link in practical terms, whether or not it was long-term, and even whether it could apply to other Scipiones. But it is unquestionable that this clientela did not apply automatically to other Cornelii who belonged to other families and who, very often, were mutually opposed politically: Cornelius Balbus, Cornelius Cethegus, Cornelius Dolabella, Cornelius Lentulus, Cornelius Sulla, etc. There is no sense in thinking that a provincial felt that he had to remain loyal to each and every Roman with the name Cornelius. For this very reason, the use of onomastics as a means to globally identify provincial clientelae inevitably yields a distorted image, as the information provided can only reveal some supposed gentilician clientelae that never actually existed. Let us look at an example within Hispania. We know of three Sempronii who were governors in Hispania in the first quarter of the second century: C. Sempronius Tuditanus in 197–196, P. Sempronius Longus in 184–182 and Ti. Sempronius Gracchus in 180–178. If we apply the reasoning that the presence of a Roman imperator in a province was almost unfailingly the origin of a network of clientelae, we could suppose that the gens Sempronia would have managed to consolidate those relations, as three of their members were active in Hispania at various times over the course of twenty years. In the first place, this would ignore the fact that each of the three Sempronii acted in different territories, as Longus was a governor in Hispania Ulterior, while Tuditanus and Gracchus were governors in Hispania Citerior. But above all it would overlook the fact that all three of them belonged to different families and the clientelae, should they have existed, would not be connected. INTERGENERATIONAL LOYALTY BETWEEN PATRONS AND CLIENTS Those who defend the existence of vast client-patron networks in the provinces do not seem to have felt the need to justify how those clientelae were created in the first place and then maintained. The simple presence of a Roman general in a province seems to have been sufficient for a large part of that province or even the entire province to accept en masse his patronage as a natural course of events after the victory. But this simplistic conclusion becomes questionable when we look into specific details. As we have seen, Gelzer, Premerstein, Harmand and Badian saw the conquest of a territory as the starting point for the creation of clientelae. But what did this actually entail? Let us return to the example of Hispania. Rome took two centuries to conquer the entire Iberian Peninsula. During that time some areas were conquered and reconquered on several occasions by various imperatores. Roman generals often

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fought in restricted geographical zones and achieved victories over certain peoples, which did not involve definite dominion over a vast region. In the second century and the early first century the following triumphs and ovations are attested: three triumphs over Hispania Citerior, which in practice referred to a very small part of the territory which eventually came to make up this province;61 one ovatio over Hispania Ulterior;62 three triumphs over the Celtiberians;63 one triumph specifically over the Numantines, who were part of the Celtiberians;64 three ovationes over the Celtiberians;65 and five triumphs over the Lusitanians (in one of the cases, jointly over Lusitanians and Gallaeci).66 As can be noted, the same peoples were repeatedly conquered over decades by various imperatores, in particular those peoples that the Romans called Celtiberians and Lusitanians, who inhabited extensive regions in the centre and west of Hispania respectively and who included several minor groups amongst them. I have merely mentioned the generals who achieved triumphs or ovations, but there were many others who, though not as successful in their struggles against those very peoples, did achieve partial victory. In these circumstances, is it feasible to think of territories whose inhabitants acted unanimously as the clients of their conqueror? If that was the case, then of which conqueror were they the clients? Did clientelae overlap, following various victors? Did provincials have several patrons or were the patrons replaced by new ones as successive defeats and victories occurred? None of the aforementioned authors pose these questions. On the contrary, the model of gentilician clientelae obtained en masse from any given territory does not seem to require an explanation. Neither does it seem to be necessary to contend how those clientelae would have lasted for generations. The model, once formulated, would be selfexplanatory. Let us go back to one particular case. The name Porcius appears on a number of Hispanian inscriptions dating from the Principate. Following Badian’s thesis, those Hispanians must have been the descendants of those who, in the Republic, had either been given citizenship by a Porcius or else had at least been the clients of a Porcius, taking the name of their patron in either case. We know of only one Porcius who played an important role in Hispania during the conquest: Marcus Porcius Cato, who was sent as a consul in 195 to put an end to the last great rebellion of the Iberian peoples. Consequently, according to available data, the alleged adoption of the name Porcius by a number of Hispanians who presumably became the clients of Cato must be placed in the early second century. We should wonder how Cato could cre61 62 63 64 65 66

The triumphs of Q. Minucius Thermus in 195, M. Porcius Cato in 194 and M. Titinius Curvus in 175. M. Fulvius Nobilior in 191. The triumphs of Ti. Sempronius Gracchus in 178, T. Didius in 93 and C. Valerius Flaccus in 82 (his great victory over Celtiberians took place in the year 93: App. Iber. 100). P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus in 132. Cn. Cornelius Blasio in 196, M. Helvius in 195 and Ap. Claudius Cento in 174. L. Postumius Albinus in 178, D. Iunius Brutus in 133–132 (over the Lusitanians and Gallaeci), Q. Servilius Caepio in 107, L. Cornelius Dolabella in 98, and P. Licinius Crassus in 93.

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ate those client-patron ties during his time in Hispania and make them sufficiently extensive to leave considerable traces in the onomastics of Hispania for centuries to come. Cato was in the Iberian Peninsula for just a few short months and travelled along the entire Mediterranean oriental coast, from Emporiae towards the southeast, then briefly in the Guadalquivir valley, and finally conquered Suessetani and Iacetani in the north of the Ebro basin. During his stay he achieved overwhelming success on the military field and returned to Rome with lavish spoils. Cato does not seem to have been particularly interested in creating friendly relations with the indigenous people and actually severely punished those who stood against him.67 As a matter of fact, some archaeological indications from the Mediterranean coast seem to show that a large number of indigenous towns must have been destroyed during Cato’s repression.68 Did Cato really seek to create clientelae in Hispania? And to what extent would Hispanians be interested in having as their patron somebody who had been so brutal towards them? If we were to accept that those clientelae were created when some Hispanians became Roman citizens, we must remember that granting citizenship to peregrini from a province of the Empire in such an early period could only have been an exception, as it is well known that the official policy in this regard was quite ungenerous until many decades later. The granting of citizenship to hundreds or even tens of Hispanians is totally unthinkable. Of course, any request made by Cato to grant citizenship would have needed senatorial consent as well as the approval of the Roman people,69 for which no evidence exists, though this fact is inconclusive. On the other hand, even if we discard the possibility of receiving citizenship and concentrate on the creation of clientelae amongst Hispanians by Cato, we would have to wonder how those indigenous persons could legally take the name Porcius if they were not citizens, and how links created with one individual or even one family could have remained when that person or persons did not return to Hispania for the rest of the conquest. Is it plausible that for decades some Hispanians remained loyal to people who to them were like a phantom family? In any event, how would that clientela materialize in actual practice? What effects would it have had both in Hispania and in Rome? In this respect, we could refer to Cato’s intervention in 171 as the representative of the Hispanian legates who had travelled to Rome. According to Livy’s account,70 a group of persons coming from Hispania Citerior and Hispania Ulterior requested to be received by the senate. They wished to complain about the abusive treatment they had received from some of the recent provincial governors. The question remained in the hands of Canuleius, at the time the praetor in charge of the govern67 68 69

70

Liv. 34.9; 34.16 On the destruction attributed to Cato’s actions on the Catalan coast, with supplementary bibliography, see Pina Polo 2007. Raggi 2006: 87: “In generale, si debe osservare che i comandanti militari non avevano il diritto di procedere a naturalizzazioni di cittadini… senza preventiva autorizzazione legislativa del popolo; in altri termini, la competenza exclusiva in materia di ius civitatis apparteneva ai comizi.” Liv. 43.2.

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ance of Hispania for that year. Canuleius soon chose to ignore the matter, recruited his troops and set off for his province, thus interrupting the judicial proceedings in place against some ex-governors. The relevant question here is that the senate decided that the Hispanian legates should appoint patroni to represent them. Cato, P. Cornelius Scipio, L. Aemilius Paullus and C. Sulpicius Gallus were chosen.71 They had all held office in Hispania during the decade of the nineties, at least twenty years earlier.72 Due to their knowledge of Hispania they were presumably the right persons to undertake the task. Livy’s text does not make it clear how they were appointed, though it is implied that the Hispanians had to agree to it. The question is that the term patronus used by Livy to refer to Cato, Scipio, Aemilius Paullus and Sulpicius Gallus is a strictly legal term referring to their agency as legal representatives of the Hispanians before Roman justice,73 and does not at all refer to a presumed client-patron relationship previously existing between them and the Hispanians.74 In fact, the patroni do not seem to have made much effort to defend the interests of the Hispanians, and even Livy suggests that the Hispanians were not allowed to make claims against the powerful members of Roman nobilitas, clearly in order to hush the matters up (“Fama erat prohiberi a patronis nobiles ac potentes conpellare”). The events of 171 may therefore not be used in general as evidence of widespread clientelae in Hispania from such an early period or in particular as testimony of Cato’s clientelae. In the case of Cato, as we have already seen, we do not know of any other Porcius holding office in Hispania. Yet at times, members of the same gens, even members of the same family, turned up in a province at different times. For those who maintain that vast provincial clientelae existed during the Republican period, those supposedly gentilician clientelae would accumulate. Thus, one member of one gens added new clients to those already linked to them by their ancestors. It did not matter that, at times, long period, even decades, went by without them being present in the province. The loyalty and fidelity of those foreign clientelae would have remained ceaselessly durable and unaltered towards their patrons, and would naturally have revived when the new generations met a descendant of the original patronus on their territories. Once more, this global model of behaviour is perfectly reasonable on paper, but it does not take into consideration specific historic circumstances or the practicalities of the client-patron relationship. Provincial governors were in office for a limited period of time, generally one year, though their office could at times be extended. In the case of Hispania Citerior and Ulterior, during the conquest there was not one city that acted as the capital where the governor spent long periods of time. 71 72 73 74

Broughton 1951–86: vol. I 419. At least Cato, Scipio and Aemilius Paullus. Sulpicius Gallus could have accompanied Aemilius Paullus during his time in Hispania Ulterior, though it is not clear whether he held any office. On the process, see Muñiz Coello 1981. Cf. García Riaza 2012a: 167–168. Harmand 1957: 35–36, claims that Hispanians would have been incorporated into Cato’s clientela after the events of the year 171, not earlier, so the legal patronage would have resulted in the creation of the clientela.

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On the contrary, given that the military theatres of operations kept changing, each general and his army focused their efforts on a specific area where they fought against those who opposed Roman dominion. In the habitual circumstances of constant war and the short time spent in the province, we must wonder to what extent it was possible to create close and enduring loyal relationships with indigenous people who, in most cases, the generals would never see again.75 Is it realistic to think of clientelae lasting for generations? Is it logical to suppose that provincials who, for instance towards the middle of the second century, began a client-patron relationship with a Roman imperator whom they would never see again would maintain it until they died and that their descendants would take it on as a hereditary duty, not just towards that imperator, but towards his descendants? A client-patron relationship is by nature based on the exchange of favours and clients mainly seek protection. This protection must be visible and real. A client-patron relationship is not merely theoretical, but must be validated periodically, or at least the actual possibility of putting it into practice must exist. Could a provincial feel that client-patron tie decades after his ancestor had established a link with a Roman general? Moreover, to what extent could a provincial grasp, as the conquest progressed, what a Roman client-patron relationship entailed? FOREIGN CLIENTELAE: THEORY AND PRACTICE One final and complex issue involves trying to understand how these client-patron relationships could work between prominent members of the Roman aristocracy living in Rome and provincials living in very diverse places in the western Empire far removed from the Urbs. Firstly, we must bear in mind that this relationship was not a contract between a patron and a client setting out the duties of each party. As in Rome, it was a moral relationship that involved undefined expectations, rather than duties, regarding collaboration and mutual help in the case of need within a vague and flexible framework.76 The relationship was therefore voluntary and could be broken by any of the parties at any time.77 On the other hand, just as a patronus could have many clients, so a client could have more than one patron.78 The more clients a patron had the more prestigious was his social standing. The more patrons a provincial had, the more chances he had of getting help when in need. For this reason, just as in the Late Republic a Roman would aim to have relationships with different prominent members of the city, and

75 76 77 78

That question was already pointed out by Bleicken in his review of Badian’s book (Gnomon 36, 1964, 186). Freyburger 1986; 153: “Au-delà d’une protection proprement dite, la fides du patron est, ensuite, une certaine disposition d’esprit, une volonté d’aider le client de toutes les manières.” The lack of a contract and the voluntary nature of clientelae had already been emphasised by Mommsen, Fustel de Coulanges and Gelzer. Brunt 1988a: 399.

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not limit themselves to frequenting one sole patron,79 the same must have occurred in the provinces. We can presume that just as a vast clientela increased the stature of a Roman politician, the prestige of a provincial would be boosted as his relationships with eminent Romans grew. The same happened in the case of provincial towns: why have just one patron to protect their interests if they could have more? But the multiplicity of client-patron ties could bring about contradictions whenever the interests of two patrons of the same client clashed: what position to take, what side to support? The clearest example is that of Massilia during the civil war, though there were debates in other cities as to what position was best for their interests.80 The probable multiplicity of patrons is another factor that cannot be studied through prosopography, as this phenomenon cannot be detected using this method. Provincials, either as individuals or as communities, expected above all the protection that a person of influence within Roman society and politics could afford them, a patron who could mediate whenever there was a conflict with Rome, with its representatives in the province or with the societates publicanorum. On more specific matters, provincials could rely on the euergetism of their patron or even on the possibility that they might receive through him some legal or economic privilege. To provincials, the patronage of members of the Roman elite represented a form of indirect access to the stages where decisions were taken that affected the entire Empire. It is harder to establish what tangible benefits could be drawn from provincial clientelae by Roman patrons. They were unquestionably a source of prestige. In such a competitive society as Rome was in the Republic, appearing to have a vast international clientela enhanced the standing of the individual who enjoyed them.81 That prominent position could be visualized in the visits made by illustrious provincials to their patronus in Rome, though it was also the subject of propaganda, amongst other reasons because, given the very nature of client-patron relationships, there was obviously not a census of provincial clients.82 That is, creating an image of being a great patron was even more important than actually being one.83 Pompey’s case is the paradigm of someone who managed to create an image of an almost universal patronus that went down in history.84 79 80 81

82 83 84

For instance, it seems to be inferred from Plutarch that Marius was a client of Caecilius Metellus and of Herennius (Plut. Mar. 4.1; 5.4), and Caecina was at the same time a client of Cicero’s and of Servilius’ (Cic. fam. 6.7.4; 13.66). Cf. Cic. comment.pet. 9. Caes. B.Civ. 1.35.4. Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 83: “Much of the value of clientela lay not in a solid or dependable block of votes, but in its contribution to appearances, by which the majority of the voters themselves had to judge.” Cf. Tac. ann. 3.55: “nam etiam tum plebem socios regna colere et coli licitum; ut quisque opibus domo paratu speciosus per nomen et clientelas inlustior habebatur.” See in this volume the paper by C. Rosillo López, “Reconsidering Foreign Clientelae as a source of status in the city of Rome during the late Roman Republic.” Schoenlin Nicols 1992: 190: “Success in advertising the extent and importance of one’s clientele became very important. Truth in advertising, however, was at that point hard to verify.” On Pompey’s clientelae, see along the same line as Badian, the work of Amela Valverde 2002. More sceptical Schoenlin Nicols 1992 and Dingmann 2007: esp.254–282. Cf. also Pina Polo forthcoming.

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Yet beyond that social prestige, what practical results derived from having provincial clientelae? In politics, it is clear that provincial clients could not take part in senatorial debates. They did not have any influence on the elections in Rome, either because they did not have the right to vote unless they were citizens, or because they would not go there to vote from their distant abodes even if they were citizens.85 As they did not live in the Urbs, they could not attend the numerous contiones held there, so they could not influence the creation of a certain public image for an individual. Consequently, a direct influence on the Roman political scene must have been very limited. Having plentiful provincial clientelae was not what brought power to the great imperatores of the first century, neither to Pompey nor to Caesar, and clientelae were even less influential in this matter in the second century. On the military field, it was not common for clients to become involved in conflicts in favour of their patron, either in Rome or Italy in the first Republican centuries, or in the provinces.86 For instance, in Hispania from the very beginning of the Roman presence in the territory, some indigenous people fought in the ranks of the Roman army as auxiliaries. Their number increased progressively in the second and first centuries.87 However, there is no evidence to support their being recruited because of personal client-patron agreements, but rather as a result of agreements reached between their communities and Rome.88 Those who were recruited did not fight at the command of individuals or families because they were their clients; they fought for Rome following the orders of whoever was in command at the time. The best known Hispanian auxiliary troops are the cavalry of the turma Salluitana mentioned in the Bronze of Ascoli. Were they, as has been suggested, clients of the gens Pompeia who, fulfilling their duties, had voluntarily set off for Italy to fight under the command of their patronus? In 141, the consul Quintus Pompeius was sent to Hispania Citerior to take command of the army fighting the Celtiberians. Some scholars have seen this as the foundation of the Pompeian clientela in Hispania.89 According to this thesis, the descendants of those original clients would have come to fight under the command of Pompeius Strabo in the bellum Sociale. This is but groundless speculation. In the first place, it is hardly feasible to believe that those clientelae could have been maintained for over fifty years without the presence of any other Pompeius in Hispania. In the second place, this thesis ignores the fact that the consul of 141 fought in Celtiberia, while the horsemen of the turma Salluitana did not come from towns in that territory. But the most significant fact is 85 86

87 88 89

Brunt 1988a: 431, considers that the mobilization of clients in general must always have had a marginal effect on the elections in Rome. Brunt 1988a: 435–438: it is not true that massive recruitment of clients took place during the civil wars in the late Republic. Only very seldom are there mentions of the enlisting of clients in certain armies, though it is never suggested in the sources that this was common or that such a client’s loyalty towards his patron was expected. See Cadiou 2007: 611–684. For instance the agreements between Sempronius Gracchus and the Celtiberians in 179–178. This has been defended by Amela Valverde 2000a; 2000b; 2002 84 and 87. The idea was already suggested by Criniti 1970: 184–185.

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that nothing indicates that Quintus Pompeius and Pompeius Strabo were related,90 so the latter can hardly have been seen by Hispanians as a patron they had to defend, particularly in a war which was taking place in Italy. It does not make sense to suppose that provincials would assume that all Romans of the same name were related and, therefore, that the relationship they might have acquired with a Pompeius automatically applied to all Pompeii. In other words, these cavalrymen did not fight at the command of Pompeius Strabo because they were clients of the gens Pompeia. As other Hispanians – and as many other provincials – they were recruited by the provincial governor to suppress the revolt of the Italics and ended up fighting on the northern front, but could just as easily have found themselves fighting on the southern front. It was not they who chose their destination as auxiliary troops but the needs of Rome. We might think that the civil war between Pompeians and Caesareans would have been a good occasion for provincial clientelae to become actively involved in a conflict which was, to a large extent, a contentio dignitatis between two imperatores who purported to have influence in the provinces. Let us return to the case of Hispania. Both Pompey and Caesar had been magistrates in Hispania and Pompey was actually a proconsul in both provinces of Hispania when the war broke out, though he acted in absence through his legates. Pompey supposedly had had a large number of clients since the end of the Sertorian war, in particular in the northeast of the Iberian Peninsula.91 On the other hand, Caesar’s clientelae were presumably in Hispania Ulterior, a province where he had been a quaestor and a proconsul. Hispania was the theatre of the civil war when it started in 49 and when it ended in 46–45. In the year 49, Caesar quickly defeated Pompeian troops in the battle of Ilerda, a city located precisely where most of Pompey’s clientelae supposedly were concentrated, and he then conquered Hispania Ulterior, meeting no opposition. There is no evidence that Pompeian clients played a part in the war and there was certainly no opposition to Caesar based on alleged Hispanian loyalty to Pompey. On the contrary, according to Caesar’s account, the support of some indigenous peoples was decisive in the final outcome of the battle: Tarraconenses, Iacetani (better perhaps Lacetani), Ausetani, Illurgavonenses, Oscenses and Calagurritani.92 They were all located in the north-eastern Hispania, a region where Pompey had been most active during the Sertorian war and where a higher presence of Pompeian clients could be expected.

90 91

92

Seager 1994 (1979): 1. The thesis of the very abundant Pompeian clientelae in Hispania has been defended by several scholars. Premerstein 1937: 17, emphasised the continuity and fidelity of Pompey’s clientelae in Hispania for three generations. Gelzer 1949: 53, branded Pompey “the greatest patron” in Hispania, and pointed out the loyalty of the clients which was passed on to their children to confront Caesar. Seager 1994 (1979): 17: “He (*Pompey) built up clientelae all over Spain, which remained loyal even in the civil war against Caesar, despite Caesar’s efforts to establish his own influence during his governorship in 61.” Caesar himself echoed Pompey’s clientelae in Hispania: B.Civ. 1.61.3; 2.18.7. See Pina Polo 2014. Caes. B.Civ. 1.60.

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In 46–45 the so-called bellum Hispaniense took place. Pompey’s sons holed up in the Guadalquivir Valley, where some major cities such as Corduba supported them. This did not happen because they were Pompeian clients, nor were they betraying their patronus Caesar, for this was not a war between the clients of two leaders. The governor Caesar had put in charge of Hispania Ulterior in the year 49 had proved to be corrupt and to have economically abused Hispanian communities and his own army. The consequence was a mutiny of the troops and revolts in some cities. Pompey’s sons took advantage of the discontent to play one last trick on Caesar.93 In this respect it is important to make one final reflection: the provinces of the Empire were not mere extensions of Rome nor did their inhabitants follow the dictates of whatever happened in the Urbs. Provincials had their own personal and community interests that swayed their attitude towards a war taking place within their territories. This is the reason why sources report debates within cities in order to decide whether to take one side or the other or to remain neutral. Badian’s theses presented a rigid picture of provincial societies, solidly positioned in favour of one or the other based on their client-patron obligations. Once more, reality must have been much more complex and flexible than this. Let us once again more refer to a specific case. The aforementioned members of the turma Salluitana had been given Roman citizenship in the year 89 on the initiative of Pompeius Strabo and they probably returned to their towns in Hispania. They have been seen as the embryo of Pompeian clientela in Hispania which Pompey the Great would have used and expanded a decade later upon arriving to fight Sertorius. This naturally cannot be demonstrated because we have no further evidence, but is it plausible? All ten towns mentioned in the Bronze of Ascoli are but a very small part of the towns existing in the Ebro Valley at the time, many of which are only known to us because of archaeological sites, though we do not know their ancient names. It is highly unlikely that the towns where those horsemen lived served as a driving force in the creation of a vast Pompeian clientela in so massive a region. In other words, any effect their presence may have had must have been local, not regional or even less provincial. The fact that they were cavalrymen leads us to presume that they were probably members of local elites. Their newlyacquired legal status as Roman citizens in an area mostly inhabited by peregrini placed them above their compatriots and reinforced their prominent position within society. But it does not follow that when they returned to Hispania all the inhabitants of their towns automatically embraced Pompeian clientela because of their influence, and even less that they felt compelled to take the side of a member of the Pompeia family in a war. We do not even know for certain that the members of the turma Salluitana who were still alive felt under any obligation to join Pompey’s troops to fight Sertorius. In any event, Pompey’s final victory was due to the superiority of his legions alongside Metellus’ legions in Hispania Ulterior, not to the alleged support of historical clients of the Pompeii which, had they existed, would 93

See Pina Polo 2008. Incidentally, we know that a Q. Pompeius Niger, an inhabitant of Italica whose provenance is unknown, fought on Caesar’s side against Pompey’s sons (B.Hisp. 25). His onomastics clearly did not match the side he fought for.

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have been a tiny part of the population of Hispania. Sources for this period make extremely clear the massive Hispanian support for Sertorius, but they do not refer to any Pompeian clientela having an impact on the war. CONCLUSIONS In conclusion, onomastics known through epigraphy of the Principate must not continue to be used as a tool to identify supposed massive provincial clientelae in the Republican period. There certainly is no alternative global method to identify provincial clientelae, for which the only certain verification is given for specific cases by ancient sources, both literary and epigraphic. The methodology proposed by Badian leads to a distorted view of the expansion and significance those foreign clientelae may have had. In the first place this is because it assumes that there were fixed rules in place whereby a client took the name of his patron, whether or not he had been given Roman citizenship upon his request, while sources indicate that this was not always the case and that provincials had some capacity to choose their new Latin names. In the second place, this is because onomastics supposedly attest to gentilician clientelae which did not exist, just as they did not exist within Rome itself. In the third place, this is because the client-patron link between a provincial and his patron based on his name implies that the client had just one patron to whom he gave everlasting fidelity, which was inherited by his descendants. This rigid structure is rather a modern construction that does not take into account an undoubtedly more flexible situation. A client could change patron if he so wished and could have more than one patron, which was the most common case in Rome. Provincial prosopography and onomastics cannot explain the true complexities of the situation. On the contrary, they present us with a very simplistic and unrepresentative landscape. This has led to the creation of a paradigm whereby a large part of Hispanians were linked as clients for life to a specific imperator and remained loyal to him and his descendants for generations. This model may not be verified in historical reality, which instead suggests that these provincial clientelae had little impact either in the provinces or within Rome: foreign clientelae may have been a source of prestige for those who managed to create an image of themselves as international patrons, but their effect on political decisions in Rome must have been limited. Provincial clientelae did exist, but the methodology used for their identification has caused them to be overrated, both from a quantitative and from a qualitative point of view. The number of provincial clients must have been proportionally small when compared to the total number of inhabitants. It is erroneous to view client-patron relationships as quasi-universal relations between provincials and leading Roman families, and that those personal relationships may have been the basis for Roman dominion. The concept must therefore be redefined and the extent of the phenomenon revised. We must consider from a methodological point of view how provincial clientelae in the Republican period may be identified, as well as what it actually entailed to be someone’s client in a province, and what repercussions provincial clientelae may have had on the political scene in the Urbs.

DECLINE AND GLORIFICATION: PATRON-CLIENT RELATIONSHIPS IN THE ROMAN REPUBLIC* Angela Ganter In his foundation scenario of Roman history, Dionysios of Halicarnassos declares Roman patronage to have been initiated by Romulus himself. In doing so, he provides an answer to the Polybian question about the fundaments of the Roman success. Dionysios’ answer is mainly sociological: according to him, patron-client relationships tied together patricians and plebeians, Romans and foreigners, i. e. different strata of the population and different peoples of the empire, so that patronage guaranteed social stability and peace. It is the model of a face-to-face society spreading from the Urbs over the whole empire, because foreign and urban clientelae were considered to be essentially the same: Οὐ μόνον δ᾿ ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ πόλει τὸ δημοτικὸν ὑπὸ τὴν προστασίαν τῶν πατρικίων ἦν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ἀποίκων αὐτῆς πόλεων καὶ τῶν ἐπὶ συμμαχίᾳ καὶ φιλίᾳ προσελτουσῶν καὶ τῶν ἐκ πολέμου κεκρατημένων ἑκάστη φύλακας εἶχε καὶ προστάτας οὓς ἐβούλετο Ῥωμαίων “It was not only in the city itself that the plebeians were under the protection of the patricians, but every colony of Rome and every city that had joined in alliance and friendship with her and also every city conquered in war had such protectors and patrons among the Romans as it wished.”1

The notion of Roman clientelae which Dionysios develops in the whole passage are similar to how Ernst Badian understood them: voluntary, close relationships based on mutual fidelity and support, which bound the Romans as the dominant part to the provincials as the weaker one, and lasted over generations.2 Probably, Badian’s definition of foreign clientelae arose at least partly from an almost literal reading of the sources. Therefore a re-evaluation of his interpretation of Roman clientelae should not be confined to proving him wrong about facts and prosopographical data, but should also be directed to broader questions of method. As Badian shaped his foreign clientelae by analogy to the conceptions of urban clientelae which were common when he wrote his book, it might be useful here to survey the criticism on these conceptions of urban clientelae, in order to use them as a basis for criticising Badian’s model of foreign clientelae. Not surprisingly, the current uneasiness with Badian’s position resembles in many ways the one which Peter Brunt articulated in his famous essay on Roman * 1 2

Many thanks to Paul Ganter and Martin Worthington for helpful comments. Dion.Hal. 2.11.1, translation following E. Cary. Dion.Hal. 2.9.1–11.3; Badian 1958a: 8–11. Cf. the detailed analysis by F. Pina Polo in this volume: “Foreign clientelae revisited: A methodological critique.”

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republican clientelae in 1988.3 Consequently, I shall first recall Brunt’s deconstruction of the formerly prevailing views on urban clientelae (“Foreign and Urban Clientelae: Observations on a Similar Way of Deconstructing Old Paradigmata”). Then, I shall criticise Brunt’s deconstruction by showing that, in spite of his criticisms of facts and details, he nevertheless stuck to a literal reading of the sources. Most signally, Brunt followed the sources in the general periodisation of Roman history. Again, we are confronted with a history of deconstruction, this time of a genuinely Roman origin. It is a history of glorification and decline echoed by many historians: the supposition that there was once a time when Roman patronclient relationships corresponded to the criteria and ideals explained in Dionysios before these structures eroded (“The Glorification of Former [and Future] Times: Observations on the Periodisation of Roman History”). Is it permissible to transfer the image of Roman patronage as presented by Dionysios, which apparently has hardly any parallels in late republican realities, to the very beginning of Roman history? By confronting the Romulean order with patronclient constellations in Plautus I shall ask whether, or in which way, the norms of patron-client relationships evident in Dionysios are somehow paralleled in Roman republican Lebenswelten (“Looking Back: Plautus on Patrons and Clients”). How to cope with all these deconstructions? By taking a closer look at Roman attitudes towards urban patronage in the Republic, this paper aims to open fresh approaches to an old question: the importance of patron-client relationships for the architecture of the Roman society and the empire as a whole (“Integration and Attitudes: Fresh Approaches to Roman Patronage”). Finally, a comparison between the definition of patronage by Dionysios and the current anthropological one will try to sketch the specifically Roman view of patronage enciphered in this passage (“Dion. Hal. 2.9–11 and the Anthropological Definition of Patronage”). FOREIGN AND URBAN CLIENTELAE: OBSERVATIONS ON A SIMILAR WAY OF DECONSTRUCTING OLD PARADIGMATA “Patronage was only one of many factors that affected voting behaviour, and the evidence does not warrant the conclusion that it counted more than any other; rather it suggests that it was of subordinate importance.”4 Thus ended Peter Brunt’s investigations into clientelism and its importance within the political system of the Late Roman Republic. In drawing this conclusion, Brunt challenged the dominating view which went back to Matthias Gelzer’s influential essay of 1912, Die Nobilität der römischen Republik. In accordance with the observations on Roman patronage by Fustel de Coulanges, Gelzer had initiated a paradigmatic shift from juridical to socio-political conceptualisations of the Roman republican system.5 At the very 3 4 5

Brunt 1988a: 382–442. Brunt 1988a: 431. Fustel de Coulanges 1900; Gelzer 1912 (1962).

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core of his approach to Roman history we encounter Nah- und Treuverhältnisse as the needle sewing aristocrats and the populace together.6 He saw them not only as a clue to the working of Roman politics, but equally as the reason for the high degree of obedience the populace showed towards the leading aristocrats. For Gelzer, they were a clue to the very working of the society, because they provided an explanation for the un-explicable: the stability of a highly stratified society with vast differences in power and wealth.7 Brunt, however, denied the overall importance of patronage for the republican political system by demonstrating that the multiplicity and flexibility of patron-client relationships in the Late Republic contradicted the idea of their being exclusive and enduring over generations.8 Therefore, elections could no longer be understood as processes which were decided by clientelae voting for their patron.9 Many scholars followed him in his this respect; some even wondered whether the Roman Republic was an aristocratic system at all. Now, a majority concedes that sentiments of fides and gratia could influence voting behaviour, but were far from being the sole factor deciding the elections. Instead, the success of the victorious candidate was based on different aspects, including his family’s reputation as well as his own achievements in politics and in military campaigns. It relied on established obligations towards him, as well as on his situational performance as an orator or, more generally, as a publicly present person during the electioneering campaign.10 Though Brunt still considered foreign clientelae to be one of the few constellations in which patron-client relationships could be observed,11 it was only a question of time before his way of deconstructing urban clientelae would also be applied to the deconstruction of foreign clientelae, which Badian had shaped in an analogical way to the urban ones. In the meantime, the quantity and quality of foreign clientelae have equally been questioned.12 As different contributions of the volume illustrate, the critique by Brunt is paralleled in many ways by the critiques directed at Badian’s conceptions. Yet the work of historians does not stop at deconstructing former conceptions. On the contrary, every deconstruction calls for new approaches to the phenomena in question. Further discussants of how to describe foreign clientelae and the im6 7 8 9 10

11 12

Gelzer 1912 (1962): 49 passim. Cf. Meier 1966: 32. 59; Flaig 2003a: 19. Brunt 1988a: 395–397 (on the flexible versus the supposed enduring or inherited character of patron-client relationships); 398–400 (on the plurality versus a supposed exclusiveness of the relationships). Brunt 1988a: 389–399; 400; 424–431. See e. g. Meier 1966: 7–9; Millar 1984; Develin 1985: 127–131; Paterson 1985: 27–34; Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 69; Lintott 1990: 14; North 1990; Laurence 1994; Flower 1996: 68; Morstein-Marx 1998; Yakobson 1999: 65–71. 81–82. 84–123. 124–147; Mouritsen 2001: 72–75. 100; cf. Hölkeskamp 2004: 42. The importance of patronal obligations is stressed by Jehne 1993; 1995: 75; Laser 1997: 188. 233. For concluding remarks with reference to the so-called ‘Millar-debate’, see Hölkeskamp 2004: 73–84; Jehne 2006a: 18–19; Yakobson 2010; Hurlet 2012d. Brunt 1988a: 392. See the contribution by Pina Polo within this volume.

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portance they had in the construction and the stability of the empire, may find it useful to see how Brunt’s own deconstruction is problematic, to develop an awareness of similar traps historians could fall into when discussing the emergence and development of foreign clientelae. THE GLORIFICATION OF FORMER (AND FUTURE) TIMES: OBSERVATIONS ON THE PERIODISATION OF ROMAN HISTORY Brunt’s position is problematic in two respects. First, we have to cope with the wellknown but still disputed problem of terminology. Problems begin when trying to identify patron-client relationships in ancient sources, as the Latin vocabulary is far from obvious. Quite the contrary, amicitia is a label often used to disguise differences in status.13 Brunt himself knew that the rarity of allusions to patron-client relationships in the sources should not be understood to signal their importance in social life, as the Romans tended to call them amicitiae. He nevertheless based his arguments on those cases which explicitly use the words clientela, cliens and patronus.14 Instead of going deeper into the ongoing discussion of terminology here,15 I shall rather draw attention to the consequences of his way of reading of the sources. By following the ancient authors in their classification of the phenomena, Brunt reproduced the ancients’ view of Roman republican history as a history of decline. 13

14 15

The tendency in the first century A. D. towards differentiating amici according to their status by calling them humili amici (Sen. Ep. 47.1) or amici minores (Plin. Ep. 2.6.2) needs no further comments; cf. Badian 1958a: 12–13; White 1978: 81 with a collection of the relevant sources. – Two criteria are generally evoked to distinguish amicitiae and clientelae. On the one hand, amicitiae are considered to be based primarily on equality, while clientelae are thought to stress the asymmetrical character of the relationship (cf. Badian 1958a: 12–13; Strasburger 1976 [1990]: 104; Rouland 1979b: 445. 458; Brunt 1988a: 385–386; Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 77; Konstan 1995: 330; Kleijwegt 1998: 264; Verboven 2002: 61; Winterling 2008: 299). On the other hand, amicitiae are supposed to be based on affection and mutual fondness, while clientelae primarily stress the interchange of goods and services (Konstan 1995: 336. 340–341; 1997: 5–6. 14; but see Konstan 2005: 346–347). However, amicitiae are not restricted to people of equal status (see only Saller 1982. 1989; Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 4; Rebenich 2008: 11–12). What is more, they do not only designate the philosophically ideal relationship described in Cicero’s Laelius, but equally denote relationships based on mutual officia (Gelzer 1920 [1962]: 164; Brunt 1965 [1988]; Saller 1982: 13; Kirner 2002: 22 n. 53; Verboven 2002: 41–45; Rebenich 2008: 11. 30; Winterling 2008: 300; Goldbeck 2010: 246 with n. 3). The dichotomy further collapses because patron-client relationships can also have an emotional basis (Kleijwegt 1998: 259. 263). Consequently, the terms should not be regarded as pointing to an essentially defined phenomenon (Gotter 1996: 342–344; Williams 2013: 17). It is not their essence, but the ways in which they are used, which helps to get an idea of how social relations were shaped in everyday life. To sum up: “Any reading of amicitia must also read clientela (…)” (Williams 2013: 46). Though Brunt 1988a: 391–395 knows the terminological problems, he sticks to an essential differentiation between amicitia, clientela and hospitium (386); cf. the comments by Goldbeck 2010: 255–256. See especially Eilers 2002: 5–8, who prefers to restrict patronage and clientelae to the cases which are labelled like that.

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To cite him once again: “I shall argue that the authority of patrons had never in any period of which we are informed extended in Gelzer’s words to ‘the entire Roman people’, and that it was being progressively eroded before the Gracchi set to work.”16 Is it Brunt or Dionysios speaking? In a similar way to Brunt, Dionysios regarded the era of the Gracchi as the watershed between a long period of inner peace and a period of strife.17 What is more, the definition of patron-client relationships by Dionysios of Halicarnassos was the starting point of Brunt’s analysis. By confronting the criteria of the definition by Dionysios with the realities apparent in late republican testimonies, Brunt came to the conclusion described above. If he wanted to secure Dionysios as his “star witness for the importance of clientship in the Republic,”18 only one conclusion was possible: that Dionysios’ description referred to earlier periods of Roman history. By stating that archaic clientelae eroded in the Late Republic before they regained importance during the Principate, finally flourished in the Late Antiquity, and thus prepared the way for feudalistic structures in the European Middle Ages, Peter Brunt, the brilliant critic in matters of detail, reproduced the vision of history Dionysios had.19 It is a history of golden origins followed by a process of denaturation, which is finally superseded by the re-vitalisation of former structures, itself culminating in the resurrection of the forgotten golden age. Brunt proved that clientelae as described by Dionysios did not exist in the Late Republic. But did he equally prove that patron-client relationships were of no importance at all in that period? He rather took Dionysios’ model for granted and analysed derivatives of it. Like Brunt, many scholars implicitly adopted the view of Dionysios and his ancient colleagues by assuming that once upon a time Roman patron-client relationships accorded to the description provided by Dionysios.20 So the question arises: is there a period to which this description might be applicable? The following section looks at republican sources which may shed light on this issue. LOOKING BACK: PLAUTUS ON PATRONS AND CLIENTS Apart from a doubtful paragraph in the Twelve Tables,21 the Comedies of Plautus are the oldest source depicting patron-client relationships. Having come to Rome as an actor, Plautus (ca. 250 – ca. 184/180 B. C.) was said to know Roman society from different social viewpoints. Rather unusually within the elite-bound orientation of Roman literature, his comedies illustrate patronage from the perspectives of 16 17 18 19 20

21

Brunt 1988a: 386. Dion.Hal. 2.11.2–3. Brunt 1988a: 440. Brunt 1988a: 386. 414–415. 418–420. 440–441 passim. Cf. e. g. Benner 1987, whose monograph is entitled “Untersuchungen zur Denaturierung des Clientelwesens in der ausgehenden römischen Republik.” The assumption that the moral conveniences of the “original clientela” survived and guaranteed social stability is widespread, see e. g. Meier 1966: 32–33; David 1992: 61. 119. Lex XII tab. 8,21 FIRA2 I, cap. II = tab. 8,10 Crawford 1996 = Serv. ad Verg. Aen. 6.609.

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both patrons and clients alike.22 Of course comedies exaggerate, respond to Greek archetypes, and do not reproduce Roman Lebenswelten in a faithful or precise manner. Nevertheless, they give a glimpse into the social life of the time, because the public was unlikely to laugh if the content had no reference to real life at all.23 A monologue from the Menaechmi is especially illuminating. In the following passage we get to know a man called Menaechmus thinking about his role as a patron: Ut hoc utimur maxime more moro molestoque multum, atque uti quique sunt optumi, maxume morem habent hunc: clientes sibi omnes volunt esse multos: bonine an mali sint, id haud quaeritant; res magis quaeritur quam clientum fides cuius modi clueat. si est pauper atque haud malus, nequam habetur, sin dives malust, is cliens frugi habetur. qui neque leges neque aequom bonum usquam colunt, sollicitos patronos habent. datum denegant quod datum est, litium pleni, rapaces viri, fraudulenti, qui aut faenore aut periuriis habent rem paratam, mens est in qu eius ubi dicitur dies, simul patronis dicitur. quippe qui pro illis loquantur, quae male fecerint, aut ad populum aut in iure aut apud aedilem res est. sicut me hodie nimis sollicitum cliens quidam habuit, neque quod volui agere aut quicum licitumst, ita med attinuit, ita detinuit. apud aediles pro eius factis plurumisque pessumisque dixi causam, condiciones tetuli tortas, confragosas: aut plus aut minus quam opus fuerat dicto dixeram † controversiam, ut sponsio fieret. quid ille? qui praedem dedit. nec magis manufestum ego hominum umquam ullum teneri vidi: omnibus male factis testes tres aderant acerrumi. di illum omnes perdant, ita mihi hunc hodie corrupit diem, meque adeo, qui hodie forum umquam oculis inspexi meis. diem corrupi optimum: iussi adparari prandium, amica exspectat me, scio. ubi primum est licitum, ilico properavi abire de foro. iratast, credo, nunc mihi; placabit palla quam dedi, quam hodie uxori abstuli atque huic detuli Erotico. 22 23

(572–573) (575–576)

(580)

(584a) (585)

(590)

(595)

(600) (601a)

Damon 1997: e. g. 65; Stewart 2008: 72. On the source value of the Plautean comedies see Gruen 1990; Lefèvre etc. (edd.) 1991; Damon 1997: 2–9. 11–34; Pansiéri 1997: 421–422; Burton 2004: 210; Stärk 2005: 19–21; Stewart 2008: 70–71; Rühl 2011: 438–441.

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“What incredibly stupid, tedious, and bothersome custom we have! And the more respected people are, the more they have this custom! Everybody wants to have many clients: whether they’re good or bad they don’t ask; (575) they ask about the money rather than the reputation of the clients’ reliability. If someone’s poor and not bad, he’s considered useless, but if a rich one’s bad, he’s considered a useful client. (580) People who don’t honor the laws or what’s fair and good anywhere keep their patrons busy. They deny what’s been given has been given, are full of lawsuits, and are greedy and dishonest men, who have gained their money either on interest or through perjuries. Their mind is in which ***. (585) When these men are called to court, their patrons are called to court at the same time since we speak for those who’ve committed offenses. [The case comes before the people or the court or the aedile.] This is how a certain client kept me very busy today and how I couldn’t do what I wanted or who I wanted to do it with, to such an extent did he delay and detain me. (590) Before the aediles I spoke in defense of his countless misdeeds and proposed complicated and obscure provisos. I spoke no more and no less than was required, so that a settlement came about on both sides. What did the man do †who gave a surety?† I’ve never seen anyone caught more red-handed. (595) For all his misdeeds three most stern witnesses stood present. May all the gods destroy him: he ruined this day for me today, and me to,24 whoever set my eyes on the forum today. I’ve wasted a perfect day. I had a lunch prepared for me. My girlfriend’s expecting me, I know that. As soon as I could, I rushed off from the forum. (600) She’s angry with me now, I believe; the mantle I gave her will mollify her, the one I took away from my wife today and took to Erotium here.”25

At the beginning, Menaechmus characterises the elite (optumi) as being keen to acquire the largest possible number of clients (verses 571–574). So far, this comment is in accordance with the picture given by Dionysios. Strategies of attaining prestige through large numbers of clients seem to have been highly valued over the centuries. Menaechmus, however, dissociates himself from the attitudes of the optumi. He mocks their constant reliance on the mos maiorum by playing on words with the expression more moro molesto. In contrast to someone like the famous Scipio Barbatus, who was an optimus thanks to his achievements for the res publica, Menaechmus ridicules republican values. Even worse, his re-evaluation of values springs from a selfish reason: the mos is annoying, molestus. He simply prefers to swap the duties of the forum with the pleasures of prandium and erotic adventures (verses 596–597). By denying the attitudes, the values and the image cultivation of the optumi, he overtly argues for selfishness in contrast to the proclaimed altruism of an elite, who claim to give their lives to the res publica. Is Menaechmus a caricature of the dutiful patron? The picture in Plautus is more complex. Formally, Menaechmus complies with his duty by going to the forum and defending his client. But he says what other patrons never would: that they are forced by social constraints, that they obey rhetorical strategies matching republican expectations, while they are far from being convinced of what they are doing. He denounces the gap between actions and convictions. Consequently, the optumi lusting for large clientelae (cf. verse 574) are not interested in the welfare of their clients. Neither protection nor fides motivate their agitation, but pecuniary rewards (verses 575–579). This is the very opposite of the 24 25

Probably “too”. Plaut. Men. 571–601a, translation by W. de Melo.

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definition of patron-client relationships as a bond based on mutual virtue. Patrons are motivated not by altruism, but by instrumentalism; not by virtue, but by profit. And the patrons are not alone. The clients are also depicted as profit-hungry individuals, most prominently the parasites. For a good meal they give everything away, daughters, honour, and liberty.26 Free they might be legally, not mentally or existentially. Thus the social frontiers between poor citizens, freedmen and slaves converge. To sum up: Plautean patron-client relationships are indeed embedded in close personal contacts. But the quality of the relationship is far from the ideal depicted by Dionysios, far from mutual fondness, virtue-based amicitia. Voluntary it is only in a very formal sense, because the actors lose their inner freedom due to their profit-oriented interests. The relation lasts only as long as the other side seems capable of filling the pocket or the stomach. Though the patrons defend their clients at court and the clients support the patron financially, or by enhancing his prestige through their presence, this kind of reciprocity is morally worthless as it does not accord with convictions. The reciprocity of Plautine patron-client relationships is motivated by profit-seeking. Certainly, this scenario contradicts in almost every aspect the picture painted by Dionysios. But the criticism in Plautus only worked in contrast to well-known ideals. Did it attack the image cultivation of the optumi? Partly yes, but at the same time it evoked the impression that in the past patron-client relationships lived up to these ideals. Similar chants of decline are omnipresent in Roman republican literature. For Dionysios, the Gracchi destroyed 630 years of peace within Rome.27 For Cicero, the golden age is correlated with the great Scipiones.28 Both of them also rely on Romulus to assure that the best had been installed in the very beginnings of Roman history.29 Many modern scholars followed them by assuming that early clientelae had been corrupted by processes of enlargement, destroying former personal bonds and the values of trust and mutual fondness.30 Not only the Plautean comedies illustrate that the Classical Republic was far from being as classically perfect as its denomination might suggest. Can we save Dionysios as the “star witness for the importance of clientship in the Republic”? To which other period might he have referred? Should we go further back, to the fifth century or even to the year 753 B. C.? To take the literal meaning of the sources at face value is not advisable. Having said that, it would be too easy to reject the ancient texts completely. Cicero’s oeuvre illustrates how important it was for him to prove that he acted in accordance with 26 27 28 29 30

Significant examples include Plaut. Bacch. 601. 606–607; Asin. 851–941; Capt. 473–474. 477; Trin. 471; Pers. 344–387. The most important study of the roles of parasites in Roman literature was provided by Damon 1997, esp. 37–79 for the comedies of Plautus. Dion.Hal. 2.11.2–3. Some of Cicero’s later dialogues are situated in the so-called ‘Scipionic Circle’; cf. the comments by Strasburger 1966. Cic. rep. 2.9 (16). Cf. Friedländer 101921–1923 vol. 1: 226; Rouland 1979b: 13; Vanderbroeck 1987: 81; Drummond 1989: 95; Spielvogel 1993: 10–11; Laser (ed.) 2001: 158; Jehne 2003: 292.

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expectations very close to the ideal described in the foundation scenario by Dionysios.31 Though Dionysios tries to explain to a Greek auditory how Roman society was meant to be, he obviously touched Roman sentiments and is far from telling a fairy tale. Consequently, the values mentioned in his text very much affected patronal behaviour in the Late Republic. Where does the ideal stem from? Perhaps this question cannot be answered. But the sources discussing or elaborating the ideal certainly are very valuable for the history of Roman patronage, if we read them in a different way. INTEGRATION AND ATTITUDES: FRESH APPROACHES TO ROMAN PATRONAGE After having deconstructed parts of Brunt’s deconstruction, how should we proceed? Let us once again have a look at the already cited passage from Dionysios, which explains the structural parallelism between urban and foreign clientelae: “It was not only in the city itself that the plebeians were under the protection of the patricians, but every colony of Rome and every city that had joined in alliance and friendship with her and also every city conquered in war had such protectors and patrons among the Romans as it wished.”32

This sentence is revealing in many respects, because it depicts an idealised picture of patron-client relationships as being a nucleus of social integration. Firstly, and most importantly, urban and foreign clientelae do not have to be distinguished because ancient societies are understood to be based on interpersonal relations, which begin with the family and expand outwards in circles from there. At the time when Dionysios was writing, i. e. in the age of Augustus, Rome was apparently still considered to be a city state, or a polis, and her social architecture was equated with a face-to-face society. Secondly, the sentence gives key words of how patron-client relationships were meant to be. We are confronted with two clearly separated groups: the patricians and the plebeians, i. e. the Romans and the foreigners. Furthermore, their relationship is expressed by the euphemism philia or amicitia in order to stress the mutual respect or even the equality of the partners. Finally, the relationship is qualified as being voluntary, though many conquered or less well-off people may have had no choice about choosing a patron. How do societies with enormous differences in status and wealth cohere? For Dionysios, patron-client relationships guaranteed social stability and social peace. Still today, many historians are convinced that patronage was indeed a key to social integration. However, opinions differ with respect to the integrative force patronage really had. Positions range from totalizing views inspired by Marcel Mauss, who regarded reciprocity to be a fait social total, a phenomenon explaining interconnectivity and hence the working of society as a whole;33 via views inspired by Mat31 32 33

Ganter (in preparation). See note 1. Mauss 1923–1924: 17 passim.

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thias Gelzer, who describes Nah- und Treuverhältnisse as the needle sewing aristocrats and the populace together; to the view of Peter Brunt, who denied the overall importance of patronage for the republican political system. Generally speaking, positions not only differ in diverging interpretations of the sources, but in diverging concepts of patronage and clientelism. How can we grasp such a wide-ranging phenomenon? Patronage or clientelism has become a research object which melts away when trying to have a closer look at it, not only due to the terminological problems. This results from a more elaborate manner of investigating patron-client relationships, taking into account the urban and the imperial perspectives, the political, the economic, the religious dimension, and so on. Every single one of these facets needs a special treatment and special studies. However, distinguishing them is a scientific way of approaching the phenomenon. For the ancient actors, especially the Roman elite, all these aspects intermingled in daily life. Therefore, it would be interesting to have a look at the attitudes of patrons and clients, at their habitus. We would grasp conducts and convictions, and we could monitor changing modes of patronal behaviour, e. g. shedding light on mental changes and/or permanence between the Republic and the Principate. The ideal picture of Roman patronage Dionysios of Halicarnassos delineates is thus revealing about Roman republican attitudes towards patron-client relationships. DION. HAL. 2.9–11 AND THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL DEFINITION OF PATRONAGE Since the 1980s, historians have mainly used the anthropological definition of patronage as a voluntary, personal relationship of some duration, which is asymmetrical and involves the reciprocal interchange of material or immaterial goods.34 This definition still offers a useful starting point for discussing patronage. Its heuristic value emerges when we do not stop at stating that patron-client relationships existed in a certain society, but actually describe their working, and take into account the importance which the aspects of voluntarism etc. had for the historical protagonists under given circumstances at a certain period of time. By comparing the definition with the Romulean foundation scenario provided by Dionysios, many parallels become obvious. First, concerning voluntarism and free choice, Dionysios says that Romulus entrusted the plebeians to the patricians, among whom the plebeians were free to choose the protector (προστάτης) they wanted. The relationship is characterised as being worthy of free citizens.35 Second, the patron-client relationships Romulus inaugurated are personal relationships. Their personal character is described in detail, and this aspect might be regarded as the most elaborate and thus most significant part of the definition by Dionysios. For Dionysios describes the relations as being philanthropic 34 35

Saller 1982: 1. Dion.Hal. 2.9.2.

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(φιλάνθρωπος), appropriate to citizens,36 and similar to kinship because especially the patrons were advised to treat their clients as if they were their own children.37 As the relations were not legally defined, mutual accusations at court were forbidden.38 As they were also not supposed to be economically defined, the financial support by the client was declared to be a gift (χάρις) in contrast to a loan,39 and the patron was advised to refuse gifts of money in order to avoid any suspicion of venality.40 What is more, the relation even had a sacred quality. Whoever acted against the Romulean regulations was supposed to be sacrificed to Zeus Katachthonios.41 To sum up, the relation was said to be a virtuous one. Dionysios speaks of a competition of mutual favours (ἀγῶν τῆς εὐνοίας) between patrons and clients. Patrons are said to have defined their merit (ἀρετή) in accordance with the number of clients around them. Virtue (ἀρετή) is declared to be the very fundament of patron-client relationships.42 Obviously, the face-to-face character of the city-state with its communicative structures was considered to be of high importance, an ideal which not only corresponded to a Greek’s perception of community, but was apparently also important for explaining how social stability as a base of success and power could be achieved at all. Third, patron-client relationships were of a sizeable duration. According to Dionysios, Romulus guaranteed concordia by installing clientelae, which connected the elite to the people over generations.43 Fourth, the asymmetry within the relation is obvious and could be labelled a dichotomy between two clearly separated groups, with the patricians, i. e. the patrons, on the one side and the plebeians, i. e. the clients, on the other.44 Fifth, reciprocity directed everything. While the patrons were meant to give legal advice to their clients and to defend them at court,45 the clients had to support their protectors financially when needed, e. g. in situations of emergency or during periods of office-holding.46 Again, which realities are reflected in this text? The glorification of origins reminds us of re-installing what had been lost in between. When Dionysios published at least a first part of his Antiquitates Romanae in 8/7 B. C., the Civil Wars were still remembered vividly. Dionysios moans that 630 years of homonoia or concordia were destroyed by Caius Gracchus, though he has to concede that even then Rome had to go through quite a bit of turmoil, albeit in a way appropriate to citizens.47 Obviously, this passage might be read as an imperative or even as a reminder of what the new princeps was about to secure. But it is much more because Dionysios 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Dion.Hal. 2.9.3. Dion.Hal. 2.10.3. Dion.Hal. 2.10.3. Dion.Hal. 2.10.2. Dion.Hal. 2.10.4. Dion.Hal. 2.10.3. Dion.Hal. 2.10.4. Dion.Hal. 2.10.4. Dion.Hal. 2.9.1. Dion.Hal. 2.10.1. Dion.Hal. 2.10.2. Dion.Hal. 2.11.2–3.

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relies on republican traditions concerning clientelae. It is not only the Augustan era which lurks behind this text – much earlier periods do too, and they should be defined more clearly by a detailed analysis of the sources at hand. CHANTS OF DECLINE: CONCLUSION AND PROSPECTS The sources contradict the long prevailing view that urban and foreign clientelae were voluntary, close relationships based on mutual fidelity and support, which bound the aristocrats to the whole populace, the Romans to the provincials, and lasted over generations. This view partly arose from a literal reading of the ancient sources. Even Peter Brunt, the brilliant critic in matters of detail, stuck to a close reading of the ancient sources by following their general view on the periodisation of Roman history. Therefore we should be attentive when discussing urban and foreign clientelae. It seems clear that there was no golden age at the very beginning, at least not one whose existence can be proved with the sources available. Conceptions of idealised social relations in the period of their instalment, deteriorating later and regaining life in a new golden age like the Augustan one, are genuinely ancient conceptions of history. We should refrain from adopting them without scrutiny, e. g. by using concepts like the “pluralisation” and the “de-individualisation” of patronclient relationships in a too general way. Also there is as yet no unequivocal consensus on the terminological identification of patron-client relationships. However, deconstructions only mark the beginning of questioning ancient topics in a new way. Although taking the account of Dionysios literally is not advisable, it is still to be considered a key text for Roman conceptions of patronage – in two ways. On the one hand, it was written during an important period of transition between the Republic and the Principate, when Republican traditions were collected and resumed, when people in a process of canonisation not only reflected on what the Republic, what Roman heritage was, but also re-considered social fundaments in order to define how the rising order should be shaped. Consequently, the text can be read as a summary of Republican values tinged with concerns of the Augustan era. On the other hand, Dionysios defines patronage in a manner close to modern anthropological or sociological models. By starting from his scenario of the Romulean order, we get an idea of the specifically Roman traits of patronage. If we broadened this approach to all the texts providing information on patron-client relationships in a certain period of time, we could not only write a history of the ideology of Roman patronage, but we could relate ideals to behaviour, and discuss the habitus of the patrons and clients involved. In this way we can use the ancient texts as mirrors without mirroring them, in order to write another history of Roman clientelae.

2. ROME AND ITALY: INTERSTATE RELATIONS AND INDIVIDUAL CONNECTIONS

BEYOND ‘FOREIGN CLIENTELES’ AND ‘FOREIGN CLANS’ SOME REMARKS ON THE INTERMARRIAGE BETWEEN ROMAN AND ITALIAN ELITES Hans Beck This contribution explores how intermarriage between the ruling elites at Rome and other communities in Italy exerted a significant impact on their mutual relations. It argues that inter-aristocratic family connections, in the specific cultural setting of early- and mid-Republican Rome, were semantically associated with a foedus. The resulting loyalties governed the affairs between Rome and the Italians just as much as treaties and alliances, especially during times of nonviolent exchange. The complementary nature of both concepts – political alliance and family allegiance – was reinforced by the ties established by women in particular, who, far from being passive tokens, were active agents in a mutual exchange between Rome and the Italians. With a very limited body of sources at hand, the following reflections draw strongly on the advancement of scholarly concepts that are at the heart of the debate.1 BADIAN, MÜNZER, AND THEIR CRITICS As indicated in the title, two prominent scholarly views stand out in particular. The first of the two, that of so-called “foreign clienteles”, relates to the works of Ernst Badian (1925–2011), especially to his monograph of the same title, published by Clarendon Press in 1958 (Foreign Clientelae, 264–70 B. C.). The conceptual roadmap behind the idea of foreign clienteles is charted in various contributions to this volume. In brief, Badian argued that the Roman institution of clientela, with its inbuilt sentiments of reciprocity (officium-beneficium) and a corresponding sense of interstate hierarchy, was at the core of Rome’s relations with other states in Italy and beyond. As Roman power grew, the ties of clientela merged with ideas of hospitium and amicitia which, too, had both a private and public dimension; unlike the 1

The conference was made possible through financial support from the Spanish Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad and the German Fritz Thyssen Foundation. I am grateful to the organizers Francisco Pina Polo and Martin Jehne for their generous invitation to participate in the event. A related version of this paper was delivered at a colloquium in commemoration of the 70th anniversary of Friedrich Münzer’s death in the Nazi camp of Theresienstadt in 1942. The Friedrich Münzer colloquium was held at Münster University in October 2012, on the initiative and under the aegis of Matthias Haake and Ann-Cathrin Harders, to whom I would like to extend my warmest thanks. At McGill, Mike Fronda, Bill Gladhill, and Alex McAuley have once again been invaluable resources of knowledge and insight.

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officium-beneficium pairing, however, hospitium and amicitia implied a relation between partners that were equal rather than asymmetrically or hierarchically unequal. The gradual amalgamation of the two sets fostered a sense of reciprocity that allowed both sides to engage in political relations that were conceived as being governed by the mutual obligations between equals, even though they were de facto relations between unequal partners. With an ever increasing volume of clienteles in Italy and the provinces, the senate’s exercise of power abroad was supported by perceptions of moral obligation; effectively, the system of foreign clienteles became a powerful engine that drove the vehicle of Roman imperialism. Badian’s views have become extremely influential. The enduring contribution of his book manifested itself in the successful replacement of more traditional, legalistic readings of Rome’s external relations. In this sense, Foreign Clientelae marked the ultimate departure from the concept of Staatsrecht and its application in the foreign arena. In lieu of formal, legalistic ties between Rome and its client states, Badian highlighted the extra-legal underpinnings of these relations – their interpersonal, moral, and genuinely political character – that superseded the realm of law. The second tier of scholarly advancement came with the congenial re-alignment of external relations and the political life in the city of Rome. By demonstrating that the foreign clienteles of individual members of the senatorial elite played an increasingly important role in domestic affairs, particularly in the second and first centuries BCE, Badian’s model succeeded in solving not only one scholarly conundrum but two: he helped to explain the dazzling degree of triumphant expansion, and he added to the understanding of the convoluted state of themes and affairs that are commonly associated with the fall of the Roman republic.2 Despite occasional voices of discomfort and dissent,3 Badian’s findings are by and large intact; that is, until today. In his contribution to this book, Francisco Pina Polo engages in a forceful discussion with some of the most basic methodologies behind the clientelae axiom. Embarking from an in-depth account of provincial prosopographies and onomastics, Pina Polo targets the link that turns patron-client relations into a lasting power configuration. His analysis leaves no doubt that, if and when such relations were in place, there is no reason to conjecture that they were gentilician and hereditary in nature. In other words, Pina Polo, while generally conceding that some Roman aristocrats maintained personal ties with families from local or provincial elites, views those relations as volatile, coincidental, and often ephemeral. Most eminently, however, he demonstrates that they did not transform into an intergenerational network of loyalties that governed the exchange between Roman and provincial aristocrats and, by implication, the exercise of Roman power. The idea of large-scale units of clienteles that associated themselves with specific patron families over the course of generations builds on a highly suggestive, yet over-simplified interpretation of their adopted Roman names. As coherent, inter2 3

Cf. Meier 1980: 34–5. In many ways, Badian followed the footsteps of Matthias Gelzer here, who was the first to disclose the impact of personal connections and fides-relationships with non-Roman elites on the power struggle within the nobility, cf. Gelzer 1912 (1962): 62–101. E. g., Meier 1961; Gruen 1984: 158–200; Rich 1989; Brunt 1988a: 382–442; Eilers 2002; Coşkun and Heinen 2004: 52–57, for a good summary of critical voices.

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generational participants in an ongoing negotiation of power between the Roman center and provincial peripheries, the foreign clientelae are a phantom.4 Another systematic challenge came by means of Paul Burton’s book on Friendship and Empire, published in 2011.5 Although less concerned with an actual devitalizing of Badian’s paradigms, Burton’s attempt to shift the discussion to new discursive ground effectively alters the terrain. Challenging the somewhat under-theorized views of Realist interpretations of Roman imperialism, he charts the impact of gesture and language on the efforts of empire building. Burton argues that the discursive vocabulary that was employed in the mutual relations between Rome and its foreign partners governed their exchange as much as military muscle. In their diplomatic ties with others, Romans drew on a distinct semantics of amicitia, or friendship, which was both hardwired in Roman ideology and which corresponded with the broader language of international relations in the Mediterranean world. Effectively, Burton proposes to replace a “constraining clientela paradigm … with the more flexible amicitia model” (2011: 6). Turning to the second paradigm referenced in the title of this chapter, that of “foreign clans” and their impact on Roman politics, the history of criticism is much longer than that of foreign clienteles; indeed, it runs through much of the second half of the twentieth century, when it was dismantled by many and with much – sometimes too much – academic passion. The notion of foreign clans was stamped by Friedrich Münzer (1868–1942) and derives from his seminal book Römische Adelsparteien, published in 1920; an English translation of the book appeared in 1999.6 In Münzer’s interpretation, the politics of the senatorial elite, and with it that of the republic in general, was governed by what he famously called the arcana imperii (a label borrowed from Tacitus): the arcane, secretive assumptions of power that, according to Münzer, allowed the families of the Roman nobility to exercise power and perpetuate their social and, ultimately, political distinction. In this view, politics at Rome was steered by the great and at times sinister factions of the senate that manipulated the consular elections by pre-selection of candidates or by shifting around large blocks of voters that would guarantee a faction’s success or failure in the elections. This view has been challenged so often that recalling of Münzer’s views again in detail, or the engaging in the scholarly debate that is directed against them, would seem like flogging a dead horse. It should not go without notice, however, that the views that were so often attributed to Münzer by subsequent scholars were not quite what he had written; on a more balanced note, Römische Adelspar4 5

6

Pina Polo in this volume; cf. also Pina Polo 2008 and 2011a. Although published only in 2011, the book draws strongly on a PhD thesis that was written in the course of the 1990s. Cf. Burton’s comments (2011: IX–X) on the relation between the two manuscripts and the impact of language and ideas as significant autonomous quantities on the construction of global realities, as experienced by Burton in the aftermath of the events from September 2001. Münzer 1920 and 1999. See also Hölkeskamp 2012 on Münzer’s life and oeuvre, including a full appreciation (XIV–XVI) of Münzer’s very high volume of contributions to Pauly-Wissowa’s Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft in the field of Roman republican prosopography.

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teien is a much more ingenious, subtle, and nuanced account than many have come to think.7 We will return to this issue shortly. For Münzer, the forging of factions was at the heart of the nobility’s political and social power, and the apparatus that brought everything together were the socalled marriage alliances between the great families at Rome. Münzer detected this thrust towards familial alliance building in all eras of the history of the republic. In the early Republic, marriage alliances allowed the Roman clans to integrate aristocratic noble families from outside of Rome into their social stratum and, effectively, enhance their status distinction vis-à-vis the common people in Rome – hence the label of foreign clans.8 In the mid-Republic, marriage alliances (and adoptions) preserved some of the most esteemed senatorial families from extinction: the Cornelii and Fabii are only the most prominent examples of this (1920: 188–281). And in the late-Republic, it was again by means of marriage alliances that the main protagonists to a great extent and for the longest time governed their charged relations. In this sense, as in so many others, Augustus appears as the last of the republicans who drew fully on a societal practice that had been time-honored for roughly four centuries before him.9 Interestingly enough, this one piece in the puzzle of Münzer’s factional politics remains largely intact. Despite the overwhelming criticism the factions have earned, in particular over the course of the last few decades, Münzer’s starting observation that the members of the senatorial elite were interrelated by wedding alliances has never been questioned or challenged, let alone rejected. Not even the most vocal and most esteemed critics of Münzer’s work – Peter Brunt, Peter Wiseman, and Karl-J. Hölkeskamp, to name but three10 – dismiss the observation of marriage strategies that served a certain goal and held a certain meaning at different times in republican histories. In fact, in his groundbreaking work on the rise of the nobility, Karl-J. Hölkeskamp sketches the development of the Roman elite in part through the vectors of marriage arrangements that were made between some segments of the Patricio-plebeian elite and the many local aristocracies throughout Italy.11

7 8 9

10 11

See the forthcoming publication of the papers delivered at the colloquium in commemoration of the anniversary of Münzer’s death, edited by Ann-Cathrin Harders and Matthias Haake (above note 1). Cf. Chapter Two of the English translation: “The Naturalization of Foreign Princely Clans”. Münzer touches on Augustus of course only in the final chapter and Appendix (1920: 328–375, 376–408). The topic was developed further in time in Ronald Syme’s masterly analysis. In the Preface to the first edition from 1939, Syme writes: “It will at once be evident how much the conception of Roman politics here expounded owes to the supreme example and guidance of Münzer: but for his work on Republican family-history, this book could hardly have existed.” Cf. Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 41–61 and Hölkeskamp 2001, for the most comprehensive discussion to-date; Wiseman 1971: 13–19 and Wiseman 1985: 3–19; Brunt 1988c: 443–502. Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 175–181, and passim.

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THE ROLE OF WOMEN AND THE SEMANTIC ASSOCIATION BETWEEN FOEDERA AND MARRIAGE ALLIANCES Intermarriage between Roman and Italian elites is widely attested for the earlier periods of Republican history. Indeed, the evidence for this pattern is coherent. In the literary tradition, it can be traced back to the ‘big-bang’ moment of Roman history when Aeneas and Latinus first met after the arrival of the Trojans in Latium. Livy (1.1.5–11) records two traditions of the encounter: a battle in which, after the defeat of Latinus, both men concluded a peace and marriage alliance (affinitatem iunxisse tradunt: 1.1.6); and a less violent exchange in which the battle is skipped in lieu of a peaceful dialogue and diplomatic gestures that pave the way to a treaty (foedus). The agreement is sealed by a marriage alliance between Aeneas and Lavinia, the daughter of Latinus, which complements their foedus (1.1.9): “inde foedus ictum inter duces, inter exercitus salutationem factam; Aeneam apud Latinum fuisse in hospitio; ibi Latinum apud penates deos domesticum publico adiunxisse foedus filia Aeneae in matrimonium data.” “The commanders then made a treaty, and the armies saluted each other. Aeneas became a guest in the house of Latinus; there the latter, in the presence of his household gods, added a domestic treaty to the public one, by giving his daughter in marriage to Aeneas.”

Both strands of this tradition (fama: 1.1.5) culminate in the marriage agreement between Aeneas and Latinus. Their action, protected by the gods, clearly established an exemplum that created a new social norm.12 Validating the alliance between equal partners and instilling their relations with reciprocal bonds of trust and loyalty, the agreement between Latinus and Aeneas amounted to a formative force. In this tradition, the strengthening of interfamilial ties through the deliberate act of intermarriage soon became an accepted societal protocol that governed the relations of the Roman aristocracy. In modern studies on the political culture of the Republic, the connection between aristocratic families through intermarriage plays at best a subordinate role, if any. In part, this might have to do with the inherent risk that the subject raises suspicions of parties and factions; in a nutshell, it might be too closely aligned with a “Münzer script”. Be that as it may. Wedding arrangements within or between ruling elites are in any case entrenched in a variety of connotations that differ from society to society. Their political and cultural connotations vary through time and space. For instance, although the Roman nobility, Hellenistic dynasties, the Venetian aristocracy, and the nineteenth century British House of Lords all employed wedding strategies in their attempts to secure power and preserve their social status, it does not mean that this was always done with the same mindset, or filled with similar societal meaning. Economic factors further complicate the question, as issues such as legal prescriptions for, e. g., dowries or the ownership of property change over time. Also, at the family level, there are vastly different ways to define what constitutes a family, and hence as to how to conceive what the value of a marriage might 12

Cf. Hölkeskamp 2000: 228–9, with regards to the notion of fides.

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be (Lévi-Strauss 1949 and 1956). Finally, family-bonds, affection, and love, all are expressed in socially encoded modes and measured against norms and traditions that differ from society to society. In a recent study on the role of royal women in the Hellenistic world, Elizabeth Carney concluded (2011: 208) that we “should not underestimate the agency of women in marriage alliances: the presumption that they were always or usually genetic tokens needs to be questioned. We need to recognize them as dynastic gobetweens with enduring ties to the oikos of their birth. Similarly, we have underestimated the role of royal women in diplomacy via euergetism. Here we have not only underestimated female agency but we also need more focus on why rulers felt it necessary to encourage euergetism by their wives and daughters.” Although Carney’s observations cluster around a specific society with distinct institutions, protocols, and practices (the Hellenistic court, the Greek oikos, euergetism), the call for a more nuanced conceptualization of marriage alliances applies to other societies as well. In particular, it targets the inherent belief that women merely served as passive ‘objects’ in the active affairs of men. Once an alliance is concluded, the male agents are satisfied with the outcome of the negotiation and, in their future engagements they follow the trajectory from a fixed spot, as defined at the moment of the alliance. Such readings are not automatically impossible, but Carney’s assessment makes it clear that they are not universal either. As landmark in the creation and perpetuation of marriage alliances, both the role of women and the type of family that emanates from the alliance require cultural contextualization. Ann-Cathrin Harders combines both threads, the role of women and the concept of family, in a groundbreaking study from 2008.13 Based on anthropological family models, Harders argues that Roman aristocratic families were not only vertically layered units that were governed by the authority of age, but were rather more complicated. In her analysis, she fleshes out the horizontal intersection between families, their adfinitas, and demonstrates how the idea of horizontal interconnectivity was a defining feature that constituted a noble family.14 It has often been argued that the families of the Roman nobility entertained all sorts of marriage alliances to maintain their social status and enhance their prestige. But in Harders’ account, the utilitarian aspect a marriage strategy secures in any given constellation is complemented by a more permanent force of familial relations. The resulting horizontal bond between families is established not by men, but rather by women, who 13 14

Harders 2008: 15–29; cf. also Harders 2014; Rawson 2006: 332 (referencing family connections in passing). Harders 2008: 31–44, with a discussion of the locus classicus on adfinitas in Cic. off. 1.53–54: “Artior vero colligatio est societatis propinquorum; ab illa enim immensa societate humani generis inexiguum angustumque concluditur. Nam cum sit hoc natura commune animantium, ut habeant libidinem procreandi, prima societas inipso coniugio est, proxima in liberis, deinde una domus, communia omnia; id autem est principium urbiset quasi seminarium rei publicae. Sequuntur fratrum coniunctiones, post consobrinorum sobrinorumque, qui cum una domo iam capi non possint, in alias domos tamquam in coloniasexeunt. Sequuntur conubia et affinitates, ex quibus etiam plures propinqui; quae propagatio et subolesorigo est rerum publicarum. Sanguinis autem coniunctio et benivolentia devincit homines et caritate.”

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were true agents in the shaping of families.15 Consequently, they were far from passive objects exchanged between men; they were much more than genetic tokens or trophy women. The nature of the evidence and the scope of her investigation forces Harders to confine her study to the family relations between brothers and sisters in the nobility, within and between the members of the senatorial class of the city. The net of the nobility’s family-bonds via intermarriage was of course cast wider than this. As noted above, in the fourth and early third centuries BCE, the traces of this practice shines through in frequent marriage arrangements between Roman aristocrats and local Italian elites. In turn, this attests to a more lively family exchange between both groups than is commonly believed. But how are those marriage alliances to be understood, and how did they impact the relations between Rome and other communities in Italy? In the earliest attested case of this kind, to return to the marriage alliance between Latinus and Aeneas, Livy labels the arrangement a foedus (see above). Incidentally, the alliance between Caesar and Pompey from 60 BCE is equally called a foedus, on the grounds that it was cemented by the marriage of Pompey to Caesar’s daughter Iulia: “Crassi morte apud Parthos, morte Iuliae Caesaris filiae, quae nupta Pompeio generi socerique concordiam matrimonii foedere continebat, statim aemulatio erupit” (Florus 2.13.2: “When Crassus had fallen fighting against the Parthians, and Julia, who, as Caesar’s daughter and the wife of Pompeius, by this bond of marriage maintained friendly relations between father-in-law and son-in-law, had died, rivalry immediately broke out.”). In Varro (r. r. 2.4), the marriage bond between members of the nobility is also freely associated with a foedus. sus graece dicitur ὗς, olim θὺς dictus ab illo verbo quod dicunt θυεῖν, quod est immolare. ab suillo enim pecore immolandi initium primum suptum videtur, cuius vestigia, quod initiis Cereris porci immolantur, et quod initiis pacis, foedus cum feritur, porcus occiditur, et quod nuptiarum initio antiqui reges ac sublimes viri in Etruria in coniunctione nuptiali nova nupta et novus maritus primum porcum immolant. “The Greek name for the pig is ὗς, once called θὺς from the verb θυεῖν, that is, ‘to sacrifice’; for it seems that at the beginning of making sacrifices they first took the victim from the swine family. There are traces of this in these facts: that pigs are sacrificed at the initial rites of Ceres; that at the rites that initiate peace, when a treaty is made, a pig is killed; and that at the beginning of the marriage rites of ancient kings and eminent personages in Etruria, the bride and groom, in the ceremonies which united them, first sacrificed a pig.”

The passage begins with an etymology that derives the word “pig” from “sacrifice” because the first rite of sacrificing originated from the slaughter of the pig. The enim then announces that what follows are proofs for this claim. The last two items in the list of evidence are that the striking of a foedus is performed by the immolation of a piglet; and, that the kings and noble men in Etruria sacrificed a pig at the beginning of a marriage ceremony. The logic of Varro’s narrative is somewhat associative, as he discusses the connection between ὗς and θὺς, he chooses various sacrificial rituals that are all connected through the piglet. Yet, as is now pointed out by 15

Harders 2008: 31–44. 51–59, and passim.

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Bill Gladhill, the connection is also temporal, since Varro seems to be suggesting that the piglet sacrifice in Greece, Rome, and Etruria stands as the primordial instance of animal sacrifice in each community.16 At Rome, the practice was sanctioned by the foedus between Latinus and Aeneas. In Livy’s archetypical depiction of the conclusion of a foedus (1.24.3–9), the smiting of the pig is included in the prayer that sanctions the governance of the foedus before the gods. So to be in conjunction with Livy’s explicit statement that “the same protocol is always employed” (1.24.3: “eodem modo omnia [foedera] fiunt”) more or less necessitates that the concluding ceremony between Aeneas and Latinus was conceived of as including the sacrifice of a piglet. So based on the terminology, semantics, and broader associative frame of reference, early Roman marriage alliances with the ruling elites of Italy were conceived of as something that was comparable to a foedus. The ways in which they were forged followed the same ritual dynamic as the creation of a foedus between communities; it might be even conjectured that the perceived obligations that came with both were similar.17 In the case of Aeneas and Latinus, the two were complementary; in Livy’s words the two went hand in hand (1.1.9): Latinus completed the political alliance (foedus publicum) by a domestic one, and gave his daughter in marriage to Aeneas, which constituted a foedus domesticum. The strict distinction between public state action and private affairs is of course a narrative trope, but the message is clear: Romans and Latins were tied together not only by political treaties and military alliances, but also by the bonds of a marriage alliance that laid the foundations of their common history. It is difficult to determine whether foedera with other communities in Italy followed a similar ritual semantic. The senatus consultum de Bacchanalibus from the early second century BCE might point in this direction; the foederati there are addressed as communities whose social and religious equilibrium is closely intertwined with that of Rome. The mutual obligations, agreements, or pledges made amongst the Bacchantians were in any case contrary to the spirit and sanctioned nature of the agreements that existed between Rome and the foederati. In this sense, their mutual relations were most likely initiated by a series of rites and sanctioned in ceremonies as they are evoked by Varro.18 On the other hand, it might be somewhat hazardous to stake so much on Varro’s piece of evidence, as so little seems to be known about the specific context that surrounded the conclusion of foedera.

16 17 18

Cf. Gladhill (forthcoming). It might be added to these connections that the myth of Ceres and Persephone, Roman foedera, and Etruscan marriage all overlapped in the semantics of matrimony. Cf. G. Kantor, EAH s. v. Treaties, Roman, who offers an insightful survey over the relevant readings and interpretations of foedera; cf. also Gladhill (forthcoming). The senatus consultum de Bacchanalibus: ILS 18 and Liv. 39.8–18. The foederati are openly addressed in line 2–3. On the implication of their status for the Roman dealings with the affair, and the Bacchantians in particular, cf. Gladhill (forthcoming).

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THE EVIDENCE FROM CAMPANIA Some glimpses shine through from the literary tradition, however. The Campanian nobility, for instance, was notorious for its manifold connections with the Roman elite.19 In 340 BCE, Livy attests that Romans and Campanians were already connected “by private ties of hospitality and kinship” for some time (8.3.3: “quosdam privatis hospitiis necessitudinibusque coniunctos”). The greater part of Campania was first conquered in 335 under the consul M. Atilius Regulus Calenus, who led a campaign against Cales, one of the main urban centers of the region.20 Yet the affairs between Rome and Cales were more entangled than the superficial narrative of campaign and conquest suggests. The Roman Atilii themselves stemmed from the ruling elites of Campania. Their roots can be traced to Cales, Calatia, and Capua itself; the names Numerius and Kaeso Atilius are epigraphically attested on local pottery, and bits and pieces in the literary tradition and onomastic evidence betray that they held an elevated position in the region in the fourth century BCE.21 There are, of course, many inconsistencies and indeed red flags in Livy’s account that make it difficult to take the details of his narrative of Rome’s conquest of the region at face value. But two structural observations can be made: the Roman Atilii were from the region, and they played a crucial role in the process that led to an association with Rome. It is tempting to conjecture that the Atilii were among those Campanian noble families who, according to Livy, were related to the Roman elite “by private ties of hospitality and kinship” (8.3.3). Valerius Maximus explains (8.1.9, for the year 306) that a certain A. Atilius Caiatinus was married to Fabia, the daughter of Q. Fabius Maximus Rullianus (cos. I 322, V 295). The term that Valerius Maximus uses here to label the family relation between both parties is adfinitas.22 Interestingly enough, the Atilius who was married to Rullianus’ daughter appears to have been a ‘local guy’, i. e., he had not held any offices at Rome: either Rullianus married off one of his daughters to a local aristocrat, or, more likely Atilius was among the ruling Campanian equestrians who had received citizenship around 340 BCE, in return for the concession of lands north of the Volturnus river to Rome.23 The marriage between him and Fabia was but one arrangement that related to a much broader context; effectively, it might have been instrumental to streamlining the relations be19 20 21 22

23

In general, cf. Toynbee 1965: 335–6; Cornell 1995: 345–358; Burton 2011: 122–128, and passim. M. Atilius Regulus Calenus: MRR I 139–40 and RE s. v. Atilius 49 (Klebs); Beck 2005: 232 (stemma). Cf. Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 180, n. 84. Frederiksen 1984: 231 is skeptical about the Capuan origins but later on (308) views it as part of the family’s political motivations. Val.Max. 8.1.9: “A. Atilium Calatinum Soranorum oppidi proditione reum admodum infamem imminentis damnationis periculo pauca uerba Q. Maximi soceri subtraxerunt, quibus adfirmauit, si in eo crimine sontem illumipse conperisset, dirempturum se fuisse adfinitatem: continuo enim populus paene iam exploratam sententiam suam unius iudicio concessit, indignum ratus eius testimonio non credere, cui difficillimis reipublicae temporibus bene se exercitus credidisse meminerat.” On Fabia, RE s. v. Fabius 170 (Münzer). Cf. Liv. 8.11.16.

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tween Rome and Campania and pave the way towards a foedus.24 At a critical juncture in their mutual relations, the ruling elites of both sides apparently resorted to the practice of a private marriage arrangement that complemented, and cemented, the relations between their communities. Keeping in mind that the more rigid distinction between public and private actions of ruling elites is largely anachronistic in the late fourth century BCE, the cross-stimulation between both avenues of interaction, the conclusion of a foedus and the establishment of inter-aristocratic family ties, is even more obvious. There is at any rate enough evidence here to challenge the traditional narrative of interstate relations and sketch out a picture that is more complex. What is usually viewed as a dichotomous affair between “the Romans” and “the Campanians” was an affair with mutually entangled protagonists on both sides of the fence: the link that cut across the division lines was established by various means, most eminently the practice of a marriage alliance that established an adfinitas between the ruling elites in Rome and Campania. The first scholar to comment on the marriage alliance between the gens Fabia and the Campanian Atilii was no other than Münzer. In his high volume of entries on the Fabii in the corresponding volume of the RE, published in 1909, the connection is already disclosed.25 Over a decade later, in Römische Adelsparteien, the marriage between Rullianus’ daughter and A. Atilius is presented as a founding moment in the great family alliance between the Fabii and the plebeian Atilii, who were considered clients of their great patrician patrons. In the Adelsparteien, this of course sets the stage for Münzer’s masterly and highly suggestive reconstruction of the Fabian party: complementing the pool of potential candidates for the consulate from their own family, which was in any case limited, the family alliance with the Atilii allowed the Fabii to wield substantial influence over the elections for higher magistrates from the Samnite War to the First Punic War.26 Before the marriage alliance between Roman and Campanian elites is further contextualized, it is worthwhile to pause and see how Badian conceived of this. Badian was intimately familiar with Münzer’s work, both through personal study of the Adelsparteien and from conversations with, and works by, his teacher, Ronald Syme, who was deeply inspired by Münzer’s work.27 The Adelsparteien are cited on several occasions in Foreign Clientelae; indeed, Münzer is mentioned in the Preface, along with Matthias Gelzer, as a “pre-eminent scholar” (1958: vii). But, on the whole, Badian is tellingly cold about the arcana imperii as they were disclosed 24

25 26

27

According to Livy (7.30–31), the Campanian request for a foedus was denied by the senate in 345–343 BCE, because the senate felt that this would be in conflict with its existing foedus with the Samnites. The Campanians then surrendered themselves to the Romans in fidem (7.31.4). See Burton 2011: 122–127, and the discussion of Frederiksen 1984: 180–198. RE s. v. Fabius (114) column 1805. Münzer 1920: 56–60; see also 63–78 passim on the ties between the Fabii and the plebeian Otacilii who were of Samnite origins (Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 180). The Otacilii reached the consulate in 263 and 261 (Beck 2005: 125, 222). According to Münzer, they owed their nobility to the family connection with the Fabii (as indicated by the author on first names, de praenom. 6 and Festus 174 L). Fabia (RE s. v. Fabius 171), sister of Fabius Maximus ‘Cunctator’, had a daughter that was married to T. Otacilius Crassus (pr. 215). See above, note 10.

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by Münzer. Foreign Clientelae is faithful to the method of prosopography, yet Badian’s clienteles work differently than Münzer’s clans. The case of A. Atilius Caiatinus and his marriage with Fabius Rullianus’ daughter Fabia is arguably too early for Badian; hardly anywhere in the book does he elaborate on fourth century BCE affairs. The relations between Rome and non-Latin communities are however analyzed in the opening chapter, and the conflict between Rome and Campania is directly addressed. Badian views the relations with the Campanian cities as being similar to those with Caere. The Caerites, he argues, were led into a subordinate status of a civitas sine suffragio, i. e., their city remained in existence and their inhabitants were made Roman citizens, with the exception of two main privileges that were associated with that status: voting and holding office. Their status was “assimilated to that of resident aliens waiting for enfranchisement” (1958: 18). In return for their inferiority, the Caerites were “probably granted a certain degree of local autonomy” (ibid.). So in his examination of Roman relations with non-Latin communities, Badian decidedly positions himself as a ‘state-historian’: the way in which he conceptualizes the relations between Rome and Italy is to project a legalistic scenario in which the Italians are either cives Romani, members of a civitas sine suffragio (such as the Caerites or Campanians), or socii. When explaining how those categories came into being, and what facilitated their implementation, Badian points to a mixture of power politics and constitutional politics: the state-institution of hospitium (1958: 11–12), foedera aequa and iniqua (16–20 and passim), and of course early forms of clientele relations. To be sure, all of these institutions played a vital role in Rome’s overall design of its relations with communities in Italy and beyond. In light of a notorious lack of a grand architecture to govern those relations, the various mechanisms discussed by Badian were the true instruments of Roman foreign policy. As mentioned above, Burton has now reignited the discussion of each one of these, pointing to the language of amicitia as an all-embracing empire-building device. All the while, Münzer has miraculously disappeared from Burton’s bibliography. The Romans had forged all sorts of power relations with their Italian neighbors which were clothed in the language of amicitia and which governed the political or state-interaction between them, if such a concept of interstate affairs in Italy from the fourth to the late third century is indeed applicable.28 However, there was a more vibrant human factor to those official relations than is commonly believed, they were more entangled. This was mostly due to inter-aristocratic family ties that united many of the Italian and Roman elites. From the Roman point of view, these family relations were situated in the very mental space that was occupied by foedera; i. e., marriage alliances were in close proximity to the political sphere, and they steered both the expectations and actions of their participants just as much as state treaties did. In the period prior to the Hannibalic War, when the power gradient in Italy was less steep

28

See J. Briscoe’s review of Burton’s book in Classical Philolgogy 108, 2013: 257–260 who is skeptical on the grounds of more minute interpretations but does not engage in a discussion with Burton’s constructivist views.

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than in later periods, elite relations through marriage ties were in all likelihood more impactful than the sources indicate. The advanced understanding of the role of women in inter-aristocratic affairs complements this picture. As noted earlier, with Harders’ analysis it becomes obvious that the horizontal relation of adfinitas came into being, and was perpetuated, through aristocratic women who integrated elite groups that were previously unrelated into a new family branch. This does not imply that the nobility married off its daughters to Italian elites en masse, or on a regular basis. The marriage strategies of an aristocratic elite differ, in general, from that of a monarchy in the sense that republican elites were pressed even harder to maintain their social status in a climate of open competition. As far as the perception of states from the outside is concerned, there is a marked difference in the marriage alliance between, for instance, a Bactrian client-kingdom and the Seleucid royal family on the one hand and the marriage alliance between an aristocratic family from Praeneste29 and a noble Roman family. By default, the intermarriage between aristocracies from different local backgrounds manifests itself in a multitude of connections that spread through all segments of the ruling elite; in turn, these multiple ties garner a broad and ramified network of family loyalties that draw through all circles of the elite. In the Hannibalic War, the fraudulent affairs of the tax farmer M. Postumius Pyrgensis caused some commotion in the city of Rome, as his agitations triggered a minor insurrection. What made the case even more complicated was that Postumius was related with the aristocratic family of the Servilii. According to Livy, he was the “propinquus cognatusque” (“the blood-relative” 25.3.15) of the tribune C. Servilius Casca, who tried to hold his hand over his family for as long as he could. Postumius was evidently the son of a marriage between a Roman aristocrat and a woman from a prestigious family in Pyrgi (or vice versa), who exploited his local ties at Pyrgi to maximize the profits from his tax commission.30 The name of another, equally querulous tax farmer, T. Pompeius Veientanus, speaks most likely to a similar family background.31 More conclusive evidence for the prevalence of private ties once again derives from Campania. A major section in Livy’s account on affairs in Southern Italy after the battle of Cannae is dedicated to Capua and the events that led up to its revolt from Rome. Livy introduces a certain Pacuviuis Calavius who was the highest executive magistrate of Capua at the time, the meddix tuticus, most likely in 217.32 When Hannibal appeared before the city gates after Cannae, Pacuvius suspected that the “common people” (the plebs) were inclined to kill the senators of Capua and hand their city over to the Carthaginians (Liv. 23.2.3–4). Livy then reports a cleverly designed ruse devised by Pacuvius in order to reconcile the people and the senate of Capua so that they would remain in the Roman camp for the time being. 29 30 31 32

E. g., the Magulnii from Praeneste, cf. Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 177; RE s. v. Magulnius (Münzer). Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 178. Badian discusses his case, along with that of T. Pompeius Veietanus (see the following note) in his study on the publicani, 1997: 11–12. Liv. 24.1.3–4. Pacuvius Calavius: RE, s. v. Calavius (4) (Münzer); von Ungern-Sternberg 1975: 26–28.

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All the while, he established himself as leader of the common people and soon spearheaded the party that invited Hannibal into the city. The details of Pacuvius’ machinations are difficult to discern. Apparently he became the leader of the proCarthaginian party in subsequent years. When Capua fell in 211, more than 70 senators were arrested or killed themselves, among them in all likelihood also Pacuvius.33 One of the main factors that prevented many Campanian communities, and Capua in particular, after Cannae, Livy says, was “that the long-established right of intermarriage had united many distinguished and powerful families [in Capua] with the Romans” (23.4.7: “conubium vetustum multas familias claras ac potentis Romanis miscuerat”). Indeed, Pacuvius himself “had children by a daughter of Appius Claudius and had given a daughter in marriage to Marcus Livius” (23.2.5–6). It has been argued that the men in question were no other than Ap. Claudius Pulcher (cos. 212 or maybe his father, P. Claudius Pulcher, cos. 249) and M. Livius Salinator (cos. 219), which would imply a twofold marriage relation between Pacuvius’ family and two of the most esteemed families of the Roman nobility (through both his own and one of his daughters’ marriage) as well as blood ties to one of them (by means of his children with a Claudia).34 Such high esteem was no doubt in accordance with Pacuvius’ status in his native community; the attainment of Capua’s top public office suggests as much. Pacuvius’ case otherwise appears to be representative of a general trend, rather than an exception. According to Livy, the conubium between both communities was “long-established”; in his own narrative, the topic related back to the 340s BCE when both sides were already united by private ties of hospitality and kinship for some time (8.3.3, see above). In 26.33.3, turning to the punishment of Capua after the recapture by Rome in 211 BCE, he reiterates that many Capuans were linked to Rome “through relations by marriage and now by close blood relations in consequence of their long-established right of intermarriage” (“cives Romanos adfinitatibus plerosque et propinquis etiam cognationibus ex conubio vetusto iunctos”). Finally, when many Capuan aristocrats were sold into slavery, Livy says that the daughters who had married into other communities were exempt from this punishment; presumably, this referred to young women who had either married into other loyalist Capuan families or into elite families elsewhere, including Rome.35 It might be argued that Livy overemphasizes the extent to which those relations where in place in order to raise the narrative tension of his account.36 On the other hand, there is no reason to reject the general observation that the ruling elites between 33 34 35 36

The most comprehensive treatment is now provided by Fronda 2010: 103–126 (see below), who discusses all sources and relevant scholarly views; on the executions of 211, cf. Liv. 26.15.5–6, with Fronda 2010: 251–3; cf. also Ungern-Sternberg 1975. For the identification, cf. Frederiksen 1984: 232. Liv. 26.34.2–3; Toynbee 1965: 336; Frederiksen 1984: 247. In 23.4.8, Livy says that the strongest bond staving off Capua’s revolt were 300 young equites, whom the Romans selected to garrison some frontier cities on Sicily. The two motivations, hostages and intermarriage, were of course not mutually exclusive. Rather, they appear to have worked complementary.

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Capua and Rome were once again closely connected by marriage ties. Incidentally, the presence of Pacuvius Calavius’ family at Rome is well attested in 210 BCE in an incident that was not immediately related to the Capuan revolt (Liv. 26.27.7–10). The Calavii offer a good example not only of the assets that came with marriage ties with the Roman nobility, and hence the value that came with conubium for those aristocratic families that were entitled to it, but also the pressures this generated in times of crisis. No matter what Pacuvius’ actual role was in the coup that led to the defection from Rome, the complicated family ties no doubt weighed heavily on everyone. Pacuvius’ son decidedly turned his back on his father’s decision to side with Carthage. On the night of a banquet with Hannibal, he was determined to kill Hannibal in an attempt to safeguard the foedus with Rome. Livy casts the encounter between both Calavii in a moralizing if not cheesy father-and-son talk (23.8.2–13), the outcome of which is as unconvincing as the previous exchange of words.37 Be that as it may, the stereotypical presentation of conflicting loyalties is not impossible; on the contrary, family affiliation with Rome was difficult to ignore. In times of crisis, during the distress of the Second Punic War in particular, marriage ties between Italian elites and the Roman nobility were exposed to severe, strenuous tension. Michael Fronda recently offered an in-depth analysis of the convoluted affairs in southern Italy as they emerged from Hannibal’s sudden appearance in the region. Torn between Roman loyalties, Carthaginian promises, and their local histories of rivalry and violent exchange, each of the communities in Apulia, Campania, Bruttium, and Lucania were asked to position themselves in a war of unprecedented magnitude; the outcome of the war was totally unpredictable. For Campania, Fronda diagnoses a “complex struggle of interests among the Capuan elite, which was fractured by deep political divisions, competing interests and shifting loyalties” (2010: 106). The issue of communal loyalty was further complicated by the fact that the members of the local elite were related to Roman families. For these aristocrats, allegiance to Rome was reinforced mostly on private grounds; they were “motivated more by personal concerns and family connections than by ideological attachment to either the Roman or Carthaginian cause” (Fronda 2010: 108). Fronda further makes it clear that the Capuan elite was by no means exceptional in this dilemma. In fact, the same constellation can be traced in other communities too.38 Fronda’s work covers the multiplicity of motivations behind the decision-making process in the southern Italian communities at a particular moment of crisis. The circumstances of the Second Punic War should not, however, obfuscate the prevailing picture in times of nonviolent exchange. Prior to the Hannibalic War, the relations between Rome and its southern allies were governed by an ever expanding web of family ties that united the ruling elites from both regions. In other words, the foedera between Rome and many Italian cities were complemented by intensive ties of adfinitas that had led to a gradual amalgamation of both elites. 37 38

Calavius’ son first has his mind set ardently to honor the foedus with Rome by killing Hannibal (“iam ego sanguine Hannibalis sanciam Romanum foedus”: 23.8.11) but then drops the idea after a lengthy speech by his father. For instance at Nola, cf. Fronda 2010: 108–9.

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CONCLUSION Among the ideologically potent self-beliefs at Rome was the notion that the Romans themselves originated from peoples of different local backgrounds, and that they were able to integrate those peoples and the distinct cultural advances and achievements they brought to their new home into their community with great success. The tradition of Romulus’ asylum and the legend of the Sabines are but two of the most prominent expressions of this belief; in the works of the earliest Roman historians, from the late third and early second century BCE, the idea is equally present.39 In the cultivation of their family histories, some of the most esteemed members of the nobility fostered the idea of their non-Roman roots. The Claudii were a notorious case in the patrician segment of the aristocracy, as were the Mamilii, Fulvii, Otacilii, and several other families from the plebeian nobility.40 The axiomatic view in scholarship is that, once the nobility was ‘closed’ and the circle of its members more or less defined, however permeably, by the early third century BCE, the marriage strategies of the nobility applied to the confined pool of potential marriage partners from within the nobility itself. By the second century BCE, this confinement, along with a low number of male offspring to maintain patrilineal lines of descent, soon resulted in another strategy of creating familial continuity: adoption.41 Intermarriage with families from non-Roman elites is solidly attested in the sources, but the topic has received little attention after Münzer’s initial work. Wherever the sources do in fact relate inter-aristocratic ties between Roman and Italian elites, the orthodox view is to subsume those relations to the power configuration in Italy: the rise of Rome soon privileged family alliances with the nobility over relations with other Italian aristocracies; Rome used the grant of conubium as a vehicle to territorial expansion, while the local elites sought to earn distinction and increase their social prestige within their own communities; after the Hannibalic War, those personal ties quickly merged into clientele relations; after the Social War, when all Italians received the right of intermarriage, conubium finally lost its distinction and, effectively, its attraction to non-Roman elites.42 Beyond legal prescriptions and trajectories of power, this paper argued for a more nuanced, subtle picture of exchange between Roman and Italian elites. Complementing the conclusion of foedera, marriage ties between both status groups were most likely common rather than occasional; in Campania, for instance, they 39 40

41 42

See the Ineditum Vaticanum BNJ 839 F 3 with commentary H. Beck. The degree to which the plebeian elite drew on Italian aristocracies continues to be contested. Münzer (1920: 46–50, 59, 412–413) naturally argued for broad Italian origins, a view that was subsequently rejected by many. See, however, Toynbee 1965: 336–9; Galsterer 1978: 144; Meier 1980: 28 with note 22; and Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 180 who all call for a more balanced picture than the one evoked by Münzer’s critics. The point here is that, no matter what the actual extent was (the notion itself is beyond doubt), the nobility’s Italian background remained more impactful for Rome’s foreign policy than commonly assumed. Cf. Prevost 1949; Corbier 1991. Cf. Badian 1958a: 12–13; Galsterer: 1976: 13–14; Wiseman 1971: 34–6; Hölkeskamp 1987 (2011): 178.

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governed the political exchange with Rome for the longest time in the fourth and third century BCE. The nature of the literary evidence allows for this type of interaction to shine through mostly in moments of crisis and hostile exchange; the longue durée of peaceful exchange and female agency within it are silenced by the sources. Friedrich Münzer’s focus on the nobility disclosed how the “foreign clans” were absorbed into the various “parties” of Roman society. In that perspective, the foreign dimension of many families of the nobility was subordinated to the view of an emerging, homogenous elite at Rome; while Ernst Badian, preoccupied with the systematic disclosure of the power relations, reduced family ties mostly to their functionalistic force of demarcating foreign clienteles. Along the way, the mutual relations between Rome and its allies were impacted much more by the human factor than both scholarly paradigms imply. They were shaped by family ties between husbands, wives, and children, by bonds of personal loyalties, and all the power – and disempowerment – that comes with them.

ITALIANS IN BADIAN’S FOREIGN CLIENTELAE* Fernando Wulff Alonso One of the most important problems in the study of Badian’s Foreign Clientelae (F. C.) is the complexity of its object and aims. We could begin by saying that it is a text devoted mainly to the great period of Roman expansion between third and first centuries B. C., describing the Roman state’s relations with other states and communities during this time, the relations of the Roman elites with foreign states and elites, and the impact of these relationships on domestic politics in Rome, particularly from the time of the Gracchi to the second consulship of Pompey (70 B. C.), with its culmination in the provincial clientelae being used in the struggle for power by the warlords of the late Republic. However, even such a broad definition would not permit us to understand its true complexity. For Badian, clientela is an essential part of the Roman conception of life and society, an institution in the sociological sense of the word, i. e. both a disposition of mind and a fundamental and structured pattern of behaviour and relationships, which he proposes as the core for his reappraisal of Roman expansion and history during the final centuries of the Republic. He defines it as “habit of mind and a philosophy of society”,1 as “a specifically Roman category of thought”,2 as “one of the most characteristic features of Roman life lasting, in some form, from the origins to the downfall of the city and beyond”.3 He describes it as an essentially extra-legal connection and relationship in which “The client may be described as an inferior entrusted, by custom or by himself, to the protection of a stranger more powerful than he, and rendering certain services and observances in return for this protection. This state the Romans called “in fide alicuius esse”,4 implying “trust, and therefore trustworthiness: it is a term of moral obligation and of moral judgement, with the religious implications such terms often have”.5 It is not that clientela is a static concept: “In fact, clientele is not (in origin or in development) a simple relationship, but at all historical times a name for a bundle of relationships united by the element of a permanent (or at least long-term) fides, to which corresponds the officium (&c.) of the client who receives his beneficia”.6 * 1 2 3 4 5 6

This paper has been produced within the framework of the research project “Las clientelas provinciales en el Occidente del Imperio romano” (HAR2010–16449), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad. Badian 1958a: 42, n. 2. Badian 1958a: 14. Badian 1958a: 1. Badian 1958a: 1. Badian 1958a: 2. Badian 1958a: 10.

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Therefore, “we must not expect foreign clientelae to conform to one pattern, as ultra-formalistic interpretations of the concept might have persuaded us to do. The relationship presided over by fides is a moral and political rather than a legal kind: where there are any legal foundations, it is the superstructure that is the realm of fides – and that matters. And this, we shall find, is true in the public as in the private sphere”.7 Nevertheless, and despite all its possible variations and adaptations, Badian maintains that this concept would have been so essential in the Weltanschauung and practices of the Roman elite that he feels he can articulate his ambitious research and book around it. In this sense, F. C. is a book about a nuclear aspect of the mentality and values of Roman elites, its practical consequences in Roman foreign policy and organisation, and some of its domestic consequences. It is important to take into consideration the need to avoid superficial perspectives on F. C., a book that is the very antithesis of the pretensions of traditional “empirical” or “factual” research on Roman politics and institutions. It is a work about an aspect of the mentality of the Roman elites, which Badian proposes as a clue (if not the clue) to understand the ways and means of Rome’s expansion and foreign relations in such a momentous period. From this viewpoint, the aforementioned remark on the complexity and sophistication of the purpose of the book is much more evident. Its whole structure responds to this concept and articulates it: “This inquiry will naturally fall into two parts. The first section (Chapters I–VI) will trace the development of client relationships in foreign policy… This part of the inquiry may conveniently stop (as detailed survey) about the middle of the second century B. C.: Roman hegemony is now complete and unchallenged, and client relationships have hardened into a recognized part of the administrative system. The second part (Chapters VII–XI) deals with the clientelae of individual Roman families and Roman leaders. Here, as will be seen, the scale of treatment demanded is chronologically inverted: while always of “background” importance, these clientelae only come into the centre of the political stage with the Gracchan reforms and henceforth continue to gain in significance. The natural terminus ad quem here would be the establishment of the Principate, which absorbs the clientelae of the principes into that of the Princeps…,8 though, notwithstanding, the second triumph of Pompey in 70 B. C. offers a more practical end. After the Social War, “extra-Italian clientelae begin to follow the example of Italian clientelae in becoming a factor in Roman politics”,9 part of their competition and struggle for hegemony. Any assessment of his book should take into consideration that this is his central hypothesis. It entails at least ten propositions: 1) That there was throughout the history of Rome an institution called clientela working inside the community of Roman citizens. It defined relations between individuals (and families) in terms of superiority/inferiority, was based on protection 7 8 9

Badian 1958a: 11. Badian 1958a: 13–14. Badian 1958a: 192.

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by the superior and a given degree of subordination and services by the inferior, whose autonomy was limited in certain fields, and implied moral and religious components. 2) That Roman elites were so imbued with this domestic institution during these centuries that they projected it onto foreign relations, in a twofold way: it was applied both to the relations of the Roman state with other states, and to the relations of Roman elites with foreign subordinated communities and its elites. 3) That Roman elites projected it initially onto certain aspects of their expansion in Italy before the Roman extra-Italic expansion in the third century B. C. In spite of the probable imprecision of the relation of power and subordination of the Latins after their defeat and new position in 338 B. C., most Italici would have been connected to Rome by written foedera, not by the imprecision of clientela-like relations. 4) That notwithstanding, clientela became a nuclear instrument of Roman extra-Italian expansion, beginning with the civitates liberae of Sicily, bound by a kind of relation interpreted as clientela by the Roman elites and state. 5) That there is a process that takes place over time by which Rome, starting from her position of superiority, progressively applies the concept of clientela to her foreign relationships in terms of pure submission, without a real quid pro quo. This culminates around 146 B. C. when the whole Mediterranean can be considered under the clientela of the Romans in spite of the different external legal forms. 6) That one of the problems the Romans faced in this field is that clientela was a difficult concept to understand for members of other cultures or societies, who made mistakes in not realising what was involved in this (soft) subordination. 7) That this operating model is also essential for understanding the relationships between Rome and Italy during the second century until the period of the Gracchi, when the Italians were affected by the realities of the new power of Rome. Public and private relationships of clientela explain the continuity of the Roman system in Italy during the second century B. C. before the Gracchi, instead of the previous and now obsolete foedera. 8) That, as Badian maintains in the second part of the text, which focused on the emergence of the Italians in Roman politics from the Gracchi to the Social War, the private components of the foreign clientela’s model became, and remained, so substantially solid that they are essential for understanding the political processes operating during these years. Roman politicians used these relations for their internal conflicts. 9) That consequently, clientelae are also crucial for understanding the causes and outbreak of the Social War. 10) That after the Social War, the use of extra-Italian clientela outside Italy by Roman politicians followed the path of Italian clientela. The book contends that the concept of clientela is operative for all of these propositions (and some more). To say it in terms of Karl Popper,10 while the central 10

Popper was an old acquaintance of Badian. In fact his family was able to migrate because Popper nominated his father, then in Dachau, for a migration visa, and they left Austria to settle in

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hypothesis of the book is serious enough to allow us to consider its falsifiability or refutability, if the aforementioned hypothesis does not work for all of the propositions, his central hypothesis would be considered as false. This would be the case, for example, if it could be shown that not all (or none of) the propositions about Italy (3, 7–9) are persuasive, or that the model of evolution he proposes, and in which Italy has a central role, is flawed. Nonetheless, the first question is whether his central concept is defined in a proper, rigorous and accurate way. Taking the formulation of the first proposition, a preliminary problem is whether this bundle of relationships that he tries to define under the concept of “clientela” and the way he uses it in the book for foreign relations do in fact refer to one specific institution. The question is whether its definition in terms of superiority/inferiority, protection/subordination, a certain degree of control/limitation of autonomy and services, and even its moral and religious implications, is not too general, too plastic and flexible, and could therefore refer to very different processes in Roman society and history. Such a concept could in fact be so wide and general as to be void of serious and rigorous implications. In this case, we would have serious reason to call into question the whole construction and also its implications, and to point to the different semantic contents of the various concepts of “clientelae” that Badian is using, its inconsistencies, and even the rhetorical devices employed to relate unconnected processes which, in fact, would be combined only by an improper use of the concept. When Badian explores its role until the arrival of a general situation of clientela in the whole Mediterranean world associated with Rome’s power, the question of the validity of his assumptions becomes paramount. In the international public sphere, we could ask whether what he calls clientela is what anybody could term undisguised hegemony, and whether he shows a process and a kind of link between Rome and Mediterranean foreign communities that cannot be considered as particularly Roman. We could also ask whether, during the process that led to this undisputed hegemony, we may speak of clientela at all, because the lack of knowledge and/or acceptance of one of the two partners means that this specific relationship did not exist.11 Additionally, we could ask whether his remarks about Rome not feeling the need to offer officium after her total hegemony (as had happened beforehand, in very different times), do not show that Rome had broken with the presumed moral tie “presided over by fides” and full of “religious implications”, the connection between beneficium and officium,12 which is an essential part of his definition of clientela. In fact, it seems that Badian tries to avoid this problem when, writing about the Aetolians, he identifies the “intangible links of moral obligations” exclusively with the subordinated communities: “that reverence of the weaker for the stronger, which was the essence of clientela”,13 a false solution that makes evident the vagueness

11 12 13

New Zealand in 1939: see Edwin Judge in Negri 2011. See also their correspondence on Aristotle s Politics in Popper, Shearmur, Norris Turner 2008. Davis: 1983: 137; Bleicken 1964: 179. Badian 1958a: 13. Badian 1958a: 86.

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of the concept. I do not think it is necessary to stress this same aspect in statements such as: “The various classes of clientela are united by the fact that they comprise relationships admittedly between superior and inferior”.14 Such definitions and such a process to an undisputed hegemony are so general as to be able to be used across very different societies and historical moments, and are even relevant “to perennial problems of power”.15 In that case, to grasp the process of the growing superiority of an imperial republic and its inter-state and inter-oligarchic implications, it would not be necessary to imagine the projection of a specific institution such as clientela, nor to imagine at the same time the difficulties of other states and cultures in understanding it (proposition 5), which could otherwise be understood just as differences in the way that they accepted, or did not accept, Roman implicit or explicit pretensions of superiority at different junctures. Some of these aspects were raised by J. Bleicken, in his comprehensive review of F. C.16 Bleicken pointed to Badian’s abusive use of the term clientela, which he considered did violence to history, and remarked that Badian uses it in some moments so ad absurdum that it comes to nothing. He noted that Roman political dependence does not at all fall within the concept of clientela, and felt it would have been better for Badian to have developed his research without the use of such a dubious term. Other aspects, as for example, Badian’s idea that he can detect the presence of clientela when our sources use words like officium/beneficium, which in fact are part of most general discourses and themes (including amicitia),17 cannot be dealt with here. But even authors, like me, who would accept all these (and other) criticisms of F. C., should not end their analysis and valuation of the book here. It would be necessary to analyse, for example, at least whether or not his hypothesis works for some of its sections; whether, contrary to Badian’s allegations, he really applies it to the whole book; and even whether the book hits the mark in certain aspects thanks to, despite, or even independently of, his main arguments and hypothesis. As P. J. Cuff remarked in his review of F. C.:18 “Too much of what happened at Rome and abroad in the third, second and early first centuries B. C. comes under review and at times the purpose of the book is lost in discussions of issues which could have been treated summarily or altogether ignored”. A book that goes beyond its stated objective can only wholly be judged with justice beyond its stated objective. Additionally, an author must be understood in a given historiographical landscape. A more or less failed book could have been useful for avoiding previous problems and paradigms and opening up new paths. The previous quotation of Badian referring to “ultra-formalistic interpretations of the concept” (of clientela) points to one of his most important scientific targets: the ultra-formalistic, ultra-le14 15 16 17 18

Badian 1958a: 11. Badian 1958a: 14. Bleicken 1964: 179; 181; 185–186. See Hellegouarc’h 1972: 152 ff. and passim. Cuff 1959: 478.

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galistic concept of scholars of “legal cast of mind” not just in private clientela, but in international dependence too.19 He confronts them and the way in which they imagined that Rome thought of and organised her international relations and, in particular, her relations with societies that were in one way or another under her power. Badian’s target was, of course, Mommsen and his tradition, so relevant (and so wrong and misleading) in this area as in his Staatsrecht. Just like other scholars, he cast doubt on these positions and called for a more open perspective in general and within this field in particular. For Badian, just as clientela as a Roman private institution would not have been so much the product of written laws and regulations, but of custom and social relations, that would also have been the case in respect of the foreign clientelae he defends as an enduring habit-institution. Badian’s flexible use of the term, his adaptation to the different moments of the history of the Roman Republic, his interest in historical processes and in changes in the balance of power, at the expense of the hyper-legalistic school, opened the path to a more comprehensive consideration of historical processes and factual power relationships as keys to understanding Roman paths to hegemony. However, it is useful to remember that accepting that the concept of clientela is the basis of all these questions is a different matter altogether. At the same time, it is important also to note that, despite everything, at the core of his hypotheses about clientela there was, as we shall see, a concept of foedera in Italy heavily influenced by the outlook of the Mommsenian school. A second target was also another essential trait of Mommsen’s teachings: his concept of parties in the Roman Republic. It is well known that in this regard he followed in the footsteps of Friedrich Münzer and Matthias Gelzer – whose influence is prominently acknowledged in the Preface20 – and, of course, in those of the director of the doctoral thesis which became his F. C., Ronald Syme. It could be argued that the “prosopographic school” did not offer a solid alternative perspective for understanding the political processes of the Roman Republic. Nevertheless it is also true that Badian and other authors helped to open up new and better ways to understand the behaviour of the Roman elites. In spite of some overstatements, he avoids extreme positions such as the denial of ideology and values for understanding the behaviour of Roman politicians, or forgetting the shared perspectives of the Roman nobiles in foreign policy by overstating divergences or supposedly stable divergent positions.21 Against this backdrop it could seem paradoxical that on the question of the Italici Badian remains quite Mommsenian in his formulation,22 a meaningful question for a paper dealing with Badian’s perspectives on Italy. This influence is not so strange if we consider first that, in my view, this is the most long-lasting and persistent Mommsenian perspective in the field of Roman history and, second, that as a demonstration of its vigour, it was followed by Syme, and by A. N. Sherwin-White, who was one of the examiners of his thesis and whose Roman Citizenship is the 19 20 21 22

Badian 1958a: 41–2; see 5 and 11 too. Badian 1958a: VII. See, for example, his criticisms of Tenney Frank in Badian 1958a: 286–7. See Wulff 1991: 11 ff. for Mommsen’s perspectives,

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work most cited in the F. C., and one that Badian considers a masterpiece of scholarship.23 His continuation of Mommsenian perspectives on Rome and Italy is more meaningful if we take into consideration the mere quantitative importance of his Italian chapters. In the first part, Foreign Policy until 133, the first and the last chapters, two of six, are fully dedicated to Italy and in the second part, Internal Politics (Chapters VII–XI), three of five. Nonetheless, much more important is its qualitative importance. This concerns three main propositions. First, Badian maintains that the initial projection of the concept of clientela in foreign relations, though in a very initial form, took place in Italy (see Chapter 1 and my proposition 3) before the Punic Wars and was afterwards projected and developed outside. As noted above, he considers the probable imprecise definition of the situation of the Latins after 338 B. C. as nothing less than the precedent of the real applied clientela, i. e. of the subordination to Rome without any need for a treaty with specific provisions, which he considers is applied first in the civitates liberae of Sicily, to make its way through the freedom of Greece24 until the subordination of the whole Mediterranean in spite of the various types of treaties and legal positions. Italy’s function now is more a contrasting than an imitative or a precedent-like one. His whole construction makes sense because Italy is the place where public foreign clientela did not occur in a far-reaching and important way, but in a very small degree, because most of the Italici were part of the privileged Roman Confederacy and their relations with Rome were regulated by respected and detailed foedera and not by Rome’s perspectives presided over by the concept of clientela. The application of the idea of clientela to interstate relations takes place outside Italy: “We find traces of it even during the conquest of Italy; it emerges clearly as soon as Roman power spreads beyond the seas; and in the Greek East it finally becomes obtrusive and flamboyant”.25 Second, his study of the impact in Italy of the Roman hegemonic position after the Hannibalic War in Chapter 6 claims to be a kind of demonstration of the clientela relationship at work (see proposition 7) and the blurring of past foedera, just as would happen across the Mediterranean thereafter. Finally, the whole second part of the book is even more centred on Italy, insofar as it deals with the use of private Italian clientela by Roman politicians before the Social War, an example followed immediately by the use of extra-Italian private clientela (propositions 8–10) in Roman civil conflicts and wars. Note that Italy is, again, the reference point, though in a different sense to the first part of the book. Now the process is not pictured as a contrast, but as the precedent, the beginning of the political uses of foreign clientelae. It will be one of my main contentions to show that all three of these propositions, which form a substantial part of the core of the book, are wrong. One of the

23 24 25

Badian 1958a: VII–VIII. See, for example, Badian 1958a: 24. Badian 1958a: 285.

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more interesting aspects is that Badian also knew that some of the main bases of these three points were extremely fragile. ROME AND ITALY BEFORE THE PUNIC WARS A good, and in a sense, inevitable step, is to begin by noting that his strong Mommsenian imprint is particularly evident in the first chapter, which deals with the situation in Italy before 264 B. C. Roman domination is defined as “Roman leadership”,26 a “Confederacy”,27 a “Wehrgenossenschaft”28 (a typical Mommsenian word), not just an “alliance”, but a “grand alliance”,29 a “Roman system of alliances”,30 a “protectorate”.31 Interestingly (and oddly) enough, he accepts in Chapter 6 that “the structure that we call (for convenience’ sake) the “Italian Confederacy” was in law merely an agglomeration of bilateral treaties of various form between Rome and individual Italian tribes and cities united under Roman leadership”.32 Nevertheless, he uses these concepts, which are obviously neither neutral nor innocent, but nuclear and functional, accepting most of their implications in the description of processes conceived by Mommsen as a positive construction of a pre-national unity under Roman leadership. At the beginning of the chapter Rome is defined in the time of the First Punic War as the “leading power in Italy”, having united most of Italy “under Roman leadership”.33 The very name “Italia” “came to designate the country that mustered the grand alliance united under Roman leadership”.34 As Mommsen, he feels selfconfident enough to know the feelings of the members of this league: “The members of that alliance were welded together in sentiment by a series of wars felt to be defensive”,35 and to justify this opinion, writing in a footnote that “there can be no “aggressive” clauses in Rome’s treaties: under fetial law all wars had to be defensive”, an assertion immediately annulled by the interesting remark “at least in appearance”, which, on the other hand, does not prevent him from saying “That this claim should have been given up in Roman treaties at such an early date is unthinkable”. After remarking the relevance of a clause that could have been important just in appearance, it is no less surprising to read that “Up to the end of the third century, the interests of the Italian allies usually were at stake in Rome’s wars”.36 The virtues of the Confederacy and Rome are depicted as old and engrained from Latin origins onwards: “The Roman system of alliances beyond Latium be26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

Badian 1958a: 15. Badian 1958a: 29. Badian 1958a: 29. Badian 1958a: 30. Badian 1958a: 30. Badian 1958a: 23; 44. Badian 1958a: 142. Badian 1958a: 15. Badian 1958a: 30. Badian 1958a: 30. Badian 1958a: 30, n. 3.

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gins in the fourth century when the courageous Latium state seemed the champion of the small peoples against the aggressive Samnite Confederacy… The same instance also shows the pattern of Roman policy… Rome claims, and successfully exercises, the right to extend her alliance to any free state and to protect it against its enemies, even if the attack actually preceded the alliance … And thus, also, Rome was to an increasing extent to acquire the reputation of the strong protector to whom weak nations most naturally appealed in their danger… The field of Roman protection thus gradually came to include the whole of the Peninsula”.37 The “courageous Latium state” (also a very interesting and misleading concept) would have been directed by Rome with similar views, protecting and leading the Latins against external enemies38 until the moment when this first protectorate ended in 338 B. C. with the Latin War. This serious crisis was overcome by Rome (which was interested in showing her allies “the need for continued unity”)39 with the Latins’ defeat and a massive use of annexation which is positively valued by Badian: “Fortunately, as we have seen, by 338 Rome had worked out the principle of incorporation that enabled her to deal with her late allies”.40 The prominent role given by Badian to the Latins – another Mommsenian influence filtered and redrafted in similar nationalistic terms by Sherwin-White – is particularly interesting for our inquiry. Badian, quoting Sherwin-White, considered them after 338 B. C. as an example of how “a group of people were attached to (but not incorporated in) the Roman state by mere decision of the latter”, though with “a vague contractual basis” most probably remaining. “Rome thus came to acquire a new idea of her position as a “protecting” state” which she would have deployed in the second century: “the settlement of 338 led to the “freedom of Greece” and to the civitas libera, the “client state” proper”.41 Nevertheless, his whole idea of the evolution of clientela rests upon the difference between the detailed foedera of the Italici and the supposed lack of legal definition of the relation between Rome and the Latins after 338 B. C. (and the “unilateral declaration of the Roman government by which a Latin colony was established”).42 It is this difference that makes of the Latins the precedent of the application of the ideas of clientela (= subordination without treaty) from the civitates liberae (and Hieron) in Sicily onward. This is the core of his perspectives on the evolution of the relation between Rome and Italy in the second century B. C. too, when those treaties in Italy were not more important in their dealings: “At the same time, the peculiar precedent of a (now) unimportant treaty serving as the foundation for a complex moral and sentimental superstructure was to shape Rome’s position in Italy in the second century”.43

37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Badian 1958a: 31. Badian 1958a: 22. Badian 1958a: 23. Badian 1958a: 23. Badian 1958a: 24; see Sherwin-White 1973: 96 ff. Badian 1958a: 24. Badian 1958a: 24.

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It is obvious that to consider that the Italian foedera were vague and open to interpretations (by Rome, of course) from the beginning would fatally break his chain of reasoning. The problem is not just that most scholars think so, but that Badian knows it and even writes it. In Chapter 6, Badian repeats his idea of Italy before the Hannibalic War as presided over by the existence of precise foedera, i. e. of “carefully defined (and no doubt) carefully preserved treaties on which the mutual obligations of Rome and her Italian allies” rested.44 Notwithstanding, in the previous page he clearly contradicts himself: “It is very doubtful whether (beyond the levy) Roman powers as against each ally were clearly and uniformly defined from the start”.45 Even this clear statement would not have been necessary to reinforce the idea that Badian knew (and avoided) this Achilles’ heel, because he knows three things well. First, that “where a small state is made to sign an alliance with a large neighbour it is bound to suffer a de facto curtailing of its independence, whatever the wording of the alliance”.46 More specifically, second, he defends that in the bilateral treaties between Rome and the subordinated communities in Italy there was “no procedure laid down for arbitration”, leaving it to both parties to determine its interpretation, and that “the relative strength of Rome (supported by the other allies) and each individual ally”, made clear who interpreted what.47 And, finally, he is very conscious too of “the fact that an extra-legal element, essentially similar to that which later determined the relation between Rome and her “free” friends, was inherent in the Italian Confederacy from the beginning”.48 As in Mommsen’s case, the role of his construction of Rome’s relations to Italy before the Punic Wars for his valuation of Roman foreign relationships later is full of implications. One of them deserves to be made explicit here. It is not just that detailed foedera are necessary for his whole construction, but the very Confederacy and its relative equality because he thinks that49 “the idea of clientela, ingrained in Roman private life, was bound to be analogously applied to interstate relations as soon as Rome had grown beyond equality with her friends and partners”. If an automatic application of the clientela models by the Roman elites could not be consistent with an image of blatant Roman superiority in the period before the Punic Wars, he needs the Italian Confederacy. Having read that “The field of Roman protection thus gradually came to include the whole of the Peninsula”,50 it is not a surprise to read that the wars with Ligurian 44

45 46 47 48 49 50

Badian 1958a: 143. The idea of precise foedera is necessary for Mommsen’s concept of sovereignty, a projection of nineteenth century nationalism. In the 1940s and 1950s this was criticised by authors such as de Visscher 1949: 2; 7. For many authors after Mommsen the problem of Roman “respect” for the foedera was the touchstone to evaluate the relation, a question criticised by, for example, Fraccaro 1956: 111. Badian 1958a: 142. Badian 1958a: 26. Badian 1958a: 142–3. Badian 1958a: 143–4. Badian 1958a: 285. Badian 1958a: 31.

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and Gallic tribes51 “slowly pushed the frontiers of the Confederacy further north”. Neither it is surprising to see that, after presenting Rome as the52 “strong protector to whom weak nations most naturally appealed in their danger” too, Badian affirms that “We shall see how this field of protection spread beyond Italy” (referring to Sicily and Illyria) and put Italy (and not Rome) at the centre of the stage: “Italy could no longer be safe without bridgeheads beyond the seas”. Roman extra-Italian expansion in the third century B. C. follows the Italian path and is properly Italian, a product of his protectorate. The beginning of the First Punic War, the help to the Mamertines of Messana,53 received in fidem, “it was no more than the continuation of a familiar policy following Rome’s readiness to protect small states against powerful neighbours”, …just fides Romana at work. In the same move that makes this manoeuvre an Italian question, enemies of Rome arriving in Italy to fight only against her and because of her previous actions as Pyrrhus and Hannibal became common enemies, foreign invaders,54 and Rome, as we have seen, became the Italian champion against them. Badian deduces the satisfaction of the allies with their condition from the practically non-existent rebellions during the First Punic War, and celebrates again not just the feelings of “Italy”55 against the Gauls in 226, but its continuity, following the old Mommsenian model of the revelation of national feelings and identity through the Wehrgenossenschaft and confrontation with the common enemy: “Italy was united in the feeling of common danger – and this same union, unbroken for many years, was to meet the more dangerous invader who appeared a few years later. The Hannibalic War, with its disasters and temptations, almost broke the Confederacy. But success made it emerge stronger than ever…”56 His balance of the situation before the Hannibalic War is paramount and reveals further implications for our topic, showing new relations between his concept of the Italian Confederacy under Rome’s guidance and his idea of the development of foreign clientelae: “Thus we still find Rome, as we did at the end of the last chapter, only the leader of an alliance. Yet there are significant changes. The most noticeable of them is the increase of the power of Rome at the expense of her allies… Rome’s private power first become such that revolt against her is unthinkable, and in a growing disproportion; Besides, Rome’s importance as the organizing centre had correspondingly increased. First in the case of Latium, then in the case of Italy, Rome had been the centre of a confederacy and had given union to an otherwise unorganized body of body of states”.57 He presents, again, Roman power disguised as mere leadership of a (non-existent) league, and Rome as the organising centre of a confederacy, a giver of union. 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

Badian 1958a: 43. Badian 1958a: 31. Badian 1958a: 35. Badian 1958a: 31–2. Badian 1958a: 32. It seems to me surprising that an Austrian-born historian could forget how the multi-national Austro-Hungarian Empire disappeared after the common fight in World War I. Badian 1958a: 52–3.

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Her superiority ab ovo is disguised as a kind of by-product of her external private power out of Italy, just as if Italy were not part of her private power but a real confederacy. And now that he contrasts this federal position of the Italici with their new relative condition, he contrasts them with the proper (extra-Italian) clientela too: “But now the alliance, at least as a permanent Wehrgnossenschaft, had reached his limits; and Rome had discovered the principle of the free client state. It is the great political discovery of the period, and its consequences are manifold. For the first time (apart from the ambiguous state of the Latins) there are now states without legal obligations to Rome, but bound to her by moral obligations – and power. They stand apart from the allies proper, and their orientation is directly towards Rome. They stand outside the bonds of the unity which constant companionship in arms was forging in Italy. They look down on the subject allies from their free status; and they form, in a sense, Rome’s private clientela…”58 Rome as “protector of the weak used this role to strengthen her power” and continued doing it, but with the invention of the “free state” Rome’s position further improves because she “now has more freedom to decide how much protection to accord. We see in the case of Saguntum that the “free state” has not the same security and claim for assistance as the ally with a treaty”. Rome can interfere with formal pretexts and the charge of ingratitude, “For the interpretation of the client’s obligations rests largely – as in private clientele – with the patron”.59 Once again, Italy means the other side of the coin of his client-free-state, of the civitates liberae, the “paradeigma of the client state”,60 which stand outside the bonds of the unity in Italy. Again, Badian’s words are paramount: “In the two generations since Roman armies first crossed the sea, the system of the Confederacy, already made less rigid by the ambiguous status of the Latins after 338, had – as we have seen – been practically abandoned as far as further expansion was concerned. Instead, there had grown up a system of informal connexion with free states, beginning in Sicily and further tested in Illyria, the elastic obligations of which fitted into the Roman habits of social thought which we know as ‘clientela’, and, while thus acquiring moral sanction, also fitted in well with the practical requirements of power politics… until the Romans could no longer imagine the co-existence of genuinely equal states: her amici could only be her clients”.61 It must not be forgotten that the “system of the Confederacy” and its opposition to the later “system of clientela” is constructed and defended by a scholar who knows very well that the so-called Confederacy was from the very beginning “merely an agglomeration of bilateral treaties”, who thinks, in a very Thucydidian way, that a small state that is made to sign “an alliance with a large neighbour, it is bound to suffer a de facto curtailing of its independence”, and who knows the improbability of detailed foedera. However, he maintains that he deals with clientela as an institution, a “habit of mind and a philosophy of society” projected for the first 58 59 60 61

Badian 1958a: 53. Badian 1958a: 54. Badian 1958a: 42. Badian 1958a: 68.

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time in the civitates liberae, “paradeigma of the client state”, the “great political discovery of the period”, in that way announcing the “manifold consequences” of its application until the last step, the total Roman hegemony in the Mediterranean world by 146, when the rights and obligations of the allies “are in practice independent of law and treaties and are entirely defined and interpreted by Rome”.62 The question is not just Badian’s flawed perspective of Italian foedera backed by his flawed perspective of the Confederacy, but also whether such a construction on the progressive application of the concept of clientela in the new “client state” in Sicily is necessary finally to arrive at a situation in which international relationships are “entirely defined and interpreted by Rome”. In Sicily there was only a handful of favoured free cities and the modest kingdom of Hiero outside the close and direct dependence of the Romans,63 so that Sicily meant for Rome mainly a place where she defined and interpreted everything, and in which Roman success “seems to have set the Romans, for a while, on the course of conscious imperialism”… in Sardinia and Corsica, two places in which “No experiment in freedom was tried there, and relations of dependence were brutally undisguised”.64 Rome during her Italian conquest by taking lands from Italian states for her ager publicus, destroying communities, or annexing most of Latium, and now creating provinces in the Central Mediterranean islands, had enough experience of hegemonic practices not to need any kind of sophisticated process to learn how to be hegemonic and even brutal. This experience before the Hannibalic War, related not to a grand alliance, but to a grand dominion, is not just meaningful, but at least as influential in the mentality of Roman elites as the supposed implications of the free state’s position in Sicily. Conscious and undisguised imperialism now has a clear relation, in Badian’s words, to “brutal cynicism” against Antiochus,65 or to the last Punic War, which he so clearly defines: “Through the whole of the sorry recital of perfidy and cruelty there run the threads of fear and hatred”,66 and to other displays of Roman practices and diplomacy. Perhaps the salutatory remark of Syme on domestic politics: “The Roman, with his native theory of unrestricted imperium, was familiar with the notion of absolute power”67 could have helped to avoid some of the involved discussions in the less subtle field of foreign relations. In any case, it is time to come back to our main task, and to point out that, obviously, Badian’s contrast between the “systems” of Confederacy and clientela, and the evolution he defends for the later, have manifold consequences for his definition of the relations between Rome and Italy in the second century B. C., led by the general movement in the direction of clientela: “As we have seen (and as is clear, especially, in the case of Italy), the treaty was soon regarded as providing only the

62 63 64 65 66 67

Badian 1958a: 114. Badian 1958a: 42. Badian 1958a: 43. Badian 1958a: 77; 83. Badian 1958a: 135. Syme 1939: 516.

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basis for the moral superstructure of the clientela. Thus diversity of privilege was merged in uniformity of subjection”.68 ROME AND ITALY IN THE SECOND CENTURY B. C. As we know, Badian defends the view that previously there was no proper clientela, but only traces, and that the idea and institution of clientela was bound to be applied to interstate relations “as soon as Rome had grown beyond equality with her friends and partners”. We already know why he needs the Confederacy besides the foedera to support his construction: to deny its appearance before, and in the third century B. C. in particular, when, in his own words, “Rome’s private power first become such that revolt against is unthinkable”, and in a growing disproportion. He maintains that this potential extra-legal element (in other words, Rome’s unilateral decisions) “was fully brought out by the prolonged state of emergency during the Hannibalic War and Roman insecurity due to it. It is during that war and, after it, during the second century B. C. that we see Rome making use of her powers of definition, in order, with the inevitable allied acquiescence, to extend her control from precedent to precedent until what allied autonomy remains (and it is still considerable), is guaranteed not so much by treaty as by the Senate’s ingrained unwillingness to assume avoidable administrative responsibilities”.69 Before analysing this and other texts I would like to make some preliminary remarks. First, as seen above, the contrast between the two periods before the Hannibalic War is a Mommsenian concept driven by the idea of change, decadence, and the failure of the previous nationalistic schemes and processes. Second, even without the Mommsenian nationalistic perspectives the mere acceptance of his idealised views on the Confederacy and the like before Hannibal implies a stark contrast with the following period. However, if we accept that it is during and after the Hannibalic War that “we see Rome making use of her powers of definition”, the question is this: is it true that Rome now makes use of her powers of definition or that it is now when we actually can see them because we have a greater number of sources for this period than for the previous centuries? For example, his doubts about the concept of Confederacy appear now because he criticises (following in part some of “Gelzer’s salutary remarks”),70 in particular, the position of McDonald,71 a debate that would have been impossible without the references of Polybius to Roman intervention in Italy,72 and the information in Livy’s Annales. Another important question, again, is the problem of whether, even accepting Badian’s position on the first appearance now of this “Roman power of definition” versus foedera, we could consider that the main question at issue is the growing 68 69 70 71 72

Badian 1958a: 286. Badian 1958a: 144. Badian 1958a: 142, n. 4. See McDonald: 1938–40; 1944. Pol. 6.13.4–5.

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presence in the minds of the Roman elites of the concept of clientela that he defends. He describes the situation in Italy during and after Hannibal as a question born of the “grim reign of terror of a thoroughly frightened government”,73 “Rome’s insecurity”,74 “the increase in the power and authority of the Senate” which leads “to leave the central authority (i. e. Rome) in a much stronger position”,75 and “custom (and power to enforce it)”.76 I am not at all sure that it is theoretically useful to presume any projection of the concept of clientela onto such a process. Anyway, it is also important to see whether his description of the processes at play, his ideas on the progressive extension of Roman control and on “allied acquiescence”,77 are based on solid evidence. This presumed acquiescence is more enthusiastically defined in other moments by Badian as voluntary submission, for example by describing their position after the war: “Their submission by now was voluntary, based not only (or not even chiefly) on fear, but on the habit of obedience and the desire for protection”,78 as “Allied willingness to accept Roman control”79 and as “the submissiveness of the allies who came to accept and even request” what he calls the extension of Roman control and interference.80 It is neither possible nor desirable to analyse all the examples advanced by Badian,81 but it could be fair to refer to the cases that he thinks better illustrate his argument on official allied submissiveness. “It was obvious that, where Rome was (in any sense) a party to the dispute, the case should go to Rome… But cases of arbitration and settling of boundaries between two Italian states are attested, and these must have been voluntarily referred to the Senate, which in each case appoints the arbitrators”.82 Badian83 refers to four examples, but only one of them is properly related to Italici (members of the formula togatorum). One of them is partially excluded by Badian himself, the Sententia Minuciorum,84 by considering it “perhaps not strictly Italian”, though actually it is not at all Italian in the sense he is using in his book; at the same time, it deals not just “with a dispute between a city and its dependents”, but perhaps with the Roman ager publicus, so that Rome could have been “a party to the dispute”. Neither of the cases of Ateste and his neighbours85 refer to Italici, but rather to Venetian communities. The only example referring to communities of

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

Badian 1958a: 141. Badian 1958a: 142. Badian 1958a: 142. Badian 1958a: 145. Following Sherwin-White 1973: 128–9. Badian 1958a: 145. Badian 1958a: 146. Badian 1958a: 148. Badian 1958a: 145 ff. Badian 1958a: 146–7. Badian 1958a: 147, n. 2. CIL I 2, 584. CIL I 2, 633–634.

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the formula togatorum is the case of Nola and Naples.86 Cicero informs us87 that the Roman arbitrator “interviewed both parties separately, asking them to make some concession… And so he set the boundary of each city as each had severally agreed; and the tract in between he awarded to the Roman People”. It is an example that does not need any additional commentary. The lack of evidence (perhaps aided by the presumed impact of this example), could suggest that the Italici had better ways to deal with their problems (sacred leagues, for example). Communities such as Abella and Nola, for example, could find ways to use a temple of Hercules together without Roman intervention.88 Badian, who considers Roman “help and protection” most important, can only mention the case of Aquileia, not just a Latin colony, but again in the far north-east, about which he informs us89 that the text of Livy shows that “in fact, the Senate is trying to avoid taking any special measures in response to the appeal”. This example is therefore not only irrelevant, but also once again, somewhat discouraging. Besides, he maintains that “More revealing is assistance in settling internal disputes – by armed forces, if necessary, as happened at Patavium in 174…”.90 The case, again, refers to a community in north Italy, not to a member of the formula togatorum, and when he writes that “It is convenient to use Cispadane illustrations along with Italian ones: the Cispadana had no separate administration”,91 the argument is so weak that it does not require any counter-argument and shows that he feels the need to shore up at any cost the fragility of his construction. It is not that we cannot accept Badian’s idea, and the long historiographical tradition from Mommsen onwards that he follows, that there is evidence of “increasing demands (both legal and illegal) of Roman magistrates upon allied cities”,92 or that the position of Rome made it advisable for cities and elites to have contacts there for defending their interests, though, certainly, the examples of patron/client relations he proposes have little, if anything, to do with this interpretation.93 But the fact is that this and other processes cannot be presented as examples of voluntary submission, habit of obedience, or request of control.94 The other side of the coin is a Rome which now, as ever, could take decisions on matters in which she was interested, decisions that began to have more scope as Italy became not just her sphere of influence but also that of (quite paranoid) security. Notwithstanding, Badian cannot find proofs that the limit of the allied autonomy was “the Senate’s ingrained unwillingness to assume avoidable administrative 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93

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Cic. off. 1.33; Val.Max. 7.3.4. Translation by Miller 1913. Laffi 1983: 66. Badian 1958a: 147 and n. 5; Liv. 43.1.5. Liv. 47.27.3–4. Badian 1958a: 147, n. 6. Badian 1958a: 148. See Badian 1958a: 148, n. 9: the sententia Minuciorum in Genua again in the first place; and after “cf.” Dion.Hal. 2.11.1 f. on Romulus’ regulations on patronage in general and referred to colonies and cities in alliance and friendship with Rome; App. b.c. 2.4 on the Allobroges and the Catiline affair; Liv. 39.17.4: just litterae hospitum in relation to the Bacchanalia. See Badian 1958a: 155.

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responsibilities”. If it is true that, as ever, “what independence was left to them… was in fact retained by the grace of Rome”,95 it is also true that Rome was not a national state of the modern age in need of increasing control. In short, there is no evidence that clientela is a useful concept for understanding this period. Again, raw power and hegemony does not suppose the need of the concept of clientela in the mind of the Roman elites. Finally, even if it were accepted that there were previously precise foedera and that the Confederacy was a real confederacy, Badian does not prove that the specific characteristics that he defines in Italy for the transit to a situation of “clientela” actually take place: Rome increasingly took parts of the Italici public sphere and the Italians accepted and even invited her to do so. THE TRIUMPH OF PRIVATE CLIENTELAE: ITALIANS IN ROMAN POLITICS BETWEEN THE GRACCHI AND THE SOCIAL WAR As seen above, Badian’s treatment of these years is premised on the idea that from the Gracchi onwards private “clientelae came into the centre of the political stage”, and continued henceforth, gaining in importance when Roman politicians used these relations for their internal conflicts until the Social War, thus setting an example to extra-Italian clientelae,96 until its culmination and end in the Principate. It is not a problem of foedera and public clientela, but of private clientela and politics. Notwithstanding, Italy remains at the core of the question (see propositions 8–10). The main problem with Badian’s discourse is that it does not meet its expectations. Obviously, to prove his thesis he must demonstrate that in fact Italian clientelae were a decisive factor, that personal connections outside the Roman citizens in terms of foreign clientelae began to be decisive in Roman politics, a serious “instrument of domestic discord”,97 “one of the main methods, and therefore aims, of political ambition”.98 This is the question, and not to prove that Italian (or extraItalian) issues became crucial in Roman politics. He mainly deals with Tiberius Gracchus’ agrarian law; Scipius Aemilianus’ intervention; Fulvius Flaccus’ and Caius Grachus’ proposals and the older Livius Drusus’ counter-measures; Marius and Saturninus; and Livius Drusus the Younger’s program before the Social War. The problem is that he does not prove that clientela has such a relevant role as he claims during these years.99 When Scipio Aemilianus defends the Italian landowners there is no evidence whatsoever of clientela connections, and the relation of his intervention with the previous voluntary Italian help for his campaign against Numantia is neither proved, nor implies previous clientela connections. Nor does Badian prove – in fact he does not even try to 95 96 97 98 99

Badian 1958a: 151. Badian 1958a: 192. Badian 1958a: 289. Badian 1958a: 168. See Bleicken 1964: 184–185 too.

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– that the Italian proposals first of Fulvius Flaccus and Caius Gracchus, and then of Livius the younger, had anything to do with clientela. Badian accepts the goodwill of these three prominent members of the Roman oligarchy100 (and even of Saturninus), as well as their interest in addressing the Italian problem, and, of course, he accepts that the Italians that followed them did so because of their own interests, not because of clientela’s relations. The same can be said of the use of Italians by their enemies, unrelated to clientela. Members of the oligarchy and the people of Rome themselves opposing that subjects become their equals did so not because of reasons related to clientela, but because of reasons related to the fact that they were members of the core of the imperial system, and they did not want to share their growing benefits. If part of the oligarchy was worried about the popularity to be won by any of its member who could get citizenship for the Italians, it was not because the grateful Italians would become clients of that politician (or because their own clients would desert them), but because the Italians would become thankful voters for that successful politician. It is no coincidence that one of the most unsubstantial and criticised aspects of his book – by authors as E. S. Gruen or E. Gabba, for example – was Badian’s intent to assign to manoeuvres of Marius and his faction, and the attacks or counterattacks of his enemies, all the political movements of the decade before the Social War, including the ones related to the Italians such as the Licinia-Mucia expulsion, in a last and somewhat desperate attempt to underpin his hypothesis about the period before the Social War. If a political follower could be considered a client,101 the concept of clientela, even in the extremely broad senses of the term used by Badian, becomes devoid of meaning. Marius’ army could in a sense be clientela, but it is an entirely different kind of personal connection created by a very different social and economic process.102 His few attempts to prove his ideas here are not at all successful.103 After reading Badian’s F. C. it is impossible to conclude that Roman politicians used in an effective way their clientela for their internal conflicts until the Social War or that this was an essential fact of Roman politics. When Badian writes that “the Social War, as we have seen, marks the end of thirty-five years of agitation, in which the Italians had been the plaything of political factions in Rome”,104 or that after 133 “the Italians, readily roused to present lawful complaints, become the plaything of internal politics and in the end are driven to revolt on behalf of a claim 100 Badian 1958a: 194; 216. 101 See, for example, Badian 1958a: 216. For this typical misunderstanding see Brunt 1988: 382 ff. and his criticisms of the overemphasising of personal dependence at the expense of political and social issues. 102 See Cuff 1959: 479; and Momigliano 1940: 78 arguing against Syme that the Roman monarchy was not a product of elites “but of obscure people, whether Italians or provincials, whose name is legion”. 103 See Cuff 1959: 479: “As a result, the last five chapters, besides containing a great deal which, as already suggested, could have been omitted, take on a stolidity scarcely appropriate to the intricacies of Roman politics and Roman literature in this period”. 104 Badian 1958a: 220.

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that at first was not their own”,105 we can either accept it or not. Notwithstanding this, what is obvious is that the question was one of Roman political confrontations, and finally of the concession of Roman citizenship for Roman Italian subjects, and not of what is written immediately before this last sentence: “The foreign clientelae of Roman individuals and families… become instruments of domestic discord, as tension increased after 133”.106 SOME FINAL NOTES F. C. professes to be a book on the projection during the late Republic of the institution of clientela by Roman elites onto Rome’s dealings with other states and onto their own private relations with foreign elites. I agree with Bleicken and other authors that Badian’s definition and use of the concept is vague, inaccurate and misleading, in general and in its practical applications. Rome’s relations with Italy occupy a very important core of the book, and entail three hypotheses and some sub-hypotheses. First, that Rome’s relation with the Italici before the Hannibalic War were defined by precise foedera, and that only the Latins after 338 B. C. could be considered as having a kind of mild clientela relation with Rome. These concepts are reinforced by the idea of Rome’s power as a Confederacy under her guidance. Rome’s politicians projected the concept of clientela (rights and obligations independent of law and treaties and defined and interpreted by Rome) on foreign states across the whole of the Mediterranean from the civitates liberae of Sicily onwards. Second, that Rome’s relations with Italy after Hannibal show the blurring of those foedera, and the projection of clientela, as seen in the double process of Rome’s progressive extension of control as the central authority and the “allied acquiescence” and voluntary submission of the allies who “came to accept and even request it”. Third, that there was a meaningful use of private Italian clientela by Roman elites in Roman politics from the Gracchi until the Social War, a path followed by their use of extra-Italian private clientela afterwards. One of the most interesting traits of Badian’s F. C. is not just that these hypotheses and sub-hypotheses are wrong and that they present a picture of a process of use and evolution of clientela in foreign relations that never took place. It is more meaningful that Badian knew that some of its theoretical and empirical bases were extremely fragile. What is remarkable is that he goes beyond these and other stated objectives and overreaches them with his dense approach, by discussing many different topics, a substantial number of them, as noted by contemporary reviewers, unrelated to his main thesis. He does so particularly when discussing foreign relations, by leaving aside ultra-formalistic and hyper-legalistic approaches and opening up new paths. 105 Badian 1958a: 289. 106 Badian 1958a: 289.

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His concern with the study of individuals and power did not preclude him, as Linderski puts it,107 from trying to understand the Roman elite as a ruling class. More important, perhaps, is the fact that he breaks with most of his predecessors, beginning with Mommsen, in their love and passion for the “world’s (or even humankind’s) heroes of history”, something obvious enough in his treatment of Sulla and his heirs, the incompetent and illegitimate Sullan oligarchy, in F C., and in his treatment of Caesar (“the greatest brigand of all of them”)108 and even of Alexander (“an almost embarrassingly perfect illustration of the man who conquered the world, only to lose his soul”)109 in other works. A last quotation from Badian will finish this paper as a final homage to him and to his style of writing: “They [the robber barons who ended the Republic] had raised an astonishing structure, founded on ambition, greed and lust for power, bringing out the worst that had perhaps been implicit in the Roman way of life from the start”.110

107 108 109 110

Linderski 2013: 70, citing Badian’s end of his Roman Imperialism 1967b: 81. Badian 1967b: 68; see Linderski 2013: 72–8. Badian 1964: 204; see Borza 2013. See Badian 1967b: 80.

THE ETRUSCAN AND ITALIC CLIENTELAE OF SCIPIO AFRICANUS MAIOR (LIVY 28.45) – A FICTION?* Wolfgang Blösel Having driven the Carthaginians out of the Iberian peninsula, Scipio, the later conqueror of Hannibal, might have expected a much more cooperative senate when he returned to Rome in 206 B. C. The senators conceded him, it is true, a triumph; and he was not hindered in being elected consul for 205.1 But as a detailed story in Livy informs us, the senators were allegedly not at all willing to permit Scipio to invade Africa with his troops. When Scipio threatened to circumvent the senate’s auctoritas by asking the people’s assembly for permission, two tribunes of the plebs announced their veto against this approach. Since Scipio gave in, the senate for its part declared as one consul’s province Sicily together with 30 ships and furthermore the permission to invade Africa, if this were thought to be in the state’s interest. After this minor difference of opinion the whole problem seems to have been solved.2 Yet this is wide of the mark! Livy obviously cloaks the senate’s obstruction of the consul Scipio by tersely reporting that Scipio was not able to get permission for a levy. At any rate, according to Livy, he was allowed to take volunteers with him and to accept Roman allies’ deliveries for the new ships because he had declared that the Roman state would have to pay nothing for the new fleet.3 Appian and Zonaras, the excerptor of Cassius Dio, are much franker in naming the leading senators as those who refused him nearly all necessities.4 According to Appian Scipio was also supposed to collect sums only from friends and to use only volunteers besides the troops in Sicily even if he was permitted to build ten ships and to

*

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Professor Victor Parker (University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand) took on the laborious task of correcting my English, for which I thank him heartily. I am grateful also for the comments of the participants of the Zaragoza conference, especially to Claude Eilers, Martin Jehne, and Jonathan Prag (particularly for having drawn my attention to the several cases of auxiliary troops recruited in the provinces by a senate’s decree). Liv. 28.38.1–10. Liv. 28.40–45.9. Liv. 28.45.13–14: “Scipio cum ut dilectum haberet neque impetrasset neque magnopere tetendisset, ut voluntarios ducere sibi milites liceret tenuit et, quia impensae negaverat rei publicae futuram classem, ut quae ab sociis darentur ad novas fabricandas naves acciperet.” Zon. 9.11: ὁ δὲ Σκιπίων ἐς Σικελίαν ἀπελθεῖν καὶ ἐς Λιβύην προσετέτακτο, ἵνα εἰ μὴ τὴν Καρχηδόνα αἱρήσει, τόν γε Ἀννίβαν ἀπὸ τῆς Ἰταλίας τέως ἀνθελκύσῃ. οὔτε δὲ στράτευμα ἀξιόλογον οὔτε πρὸς τριήρεις ἀνάλωμα ἔλαβε, διὰ τὰς ἀριστείας φθονούμενος· μόλις δὲ καὶ τὰ πάνυ ἀναγκαῖα παρέσχον αὐτῷ. καὶ ὁ μὲν σὺν τῷ ναυτικῷ τῶν συμμάχων καί τισιν ἐθελονταῖς ἐκ τοῦ δήμου ἀπῇρεν.

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take crews for them.5 Plutarch is even more exact in identifying the man principally to blame for the obstruction: Q. Fabius Maximus Cunctator, Hannibal’s old opponent, not only encouraged the senators to deny Scipio resources, but also dissuaded all Roman volunteers from going with him and persuaded the Roman people to give him only the Sicilian forces and to allow him to take no more than 300 veterans of the War in Spain.6 Only Livy reports in detail what Scipio then did after having been cut off from most resources necessary for a successful invasion of Africa. Although no request of Scipio’s to the allies is mentioned, as if on their own initiative several Etruscan cities promised to help him as much as possible. The people of Caere wanted to deliver grain and provisions of every kind. Populonia offered iron, Tarquinii canvas for the sails, and Volaterrae ships’ interiors and corn. The Arretini obviously planned to outdo all the others in promising all kinds of weapons, 120000 bushels of corn, and the marching rations for the decurions and the rowers. The people of Perusia, Clusium, and Rusellae secured him firs for the ships. Plutarch confirms that they made these deliveries explicitly for the sake of their old friendship with Scipio. But according to Livy, Scipio was successful in acquiring substantial help not only in Etruria, but also in Umbria. Furthermore, Nursia, Reate, and Amiternum as well as all Sabinum promised troops. The Marsi, Paeligni, and Marrucini volunteered for Scipio’s fleet. Finally, the inhabitants of Camerinum sent him a whole cohort of 600 soldiers although, as Livy points out, they had a foedus aequum with the Romans.7 5

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App. Lib. 7.29: τῶν δὲ πολιτευομένων οἳ μὲν ἀντέλεγον οὐ χρῆναι, κεκενωμένης ἄρτι τῆς Ἰταλίας τοσοῖσδε πολέμοις καὶ πορθουμένης ἔτι πρὸς Ἀννίβου καὶ Μάγωνος ἐν πλευραῖς ἐπ’ αὐτὴν Λίγυάς τε καὶ Κελτοὺς ξενολογοῦντος, ἐς Λιβύην στρατεύειν οὐδὲ τὴν ἀλλοτρίαν χειροῦσθαι, πρὶν τὴν οἰκείαν ἀπαλλάξαι τῶν παρόντων· οἳ δὲ ᾤοντο Καρχηδονίους νῦν μὲν ἀδεεῖς ὄντας ἐφεδρεύειν τῇ Ἰταλίᾳ, οὐδὲν ἐνοχλουμένους οἴκοι, πολέμου δὲ οἰκείου σφίσι γενομένου καὶ Ἀννίβαν μεταπέμψεσθαι. οὕτω μὲν ἐκράτησε πέμπειν ἐς Λιβύην Σκιπίωνα, οὐ μὴν συνεχώρησαν αὐτῷ καταλέγειν στρατὸν ἐξ Ἰταλίας πονουμένης ἔτι πρὸς Ἀννίβου· ἐθελοντὰς δέ, εἴ τινες εἶεν, ἐπέτρεψαν ἐπάγεσθαι καὶ τοῖς ἀμφὶ τὴν Σικελίαν ἔτι οὖσι χρῆσθαι· τριήρεις τε ἔδοσαν αὐτῷ κατασκευάσασθαι δέκα καὶ πληρώματα αὐταῖς λαβεῖν, ἐπισκευάσαι δὲ καὶ τὰς ἐν Σικελίᾳ. καὶ χρήματα οὐκ ἔδωκαν, πλὴν εἴ τις ἐθέλοι τῷ Σκιπίωνι κατὰ φιλίαν συμφέρειν. οὕτως ἀμελῶς ἥπτοντο τοῦδε τοῦ πολέμου τὰ πρῶτα, μεγίστου σφίσι καὶ ἀξιοτιμοτάτου μετ’ ὀλίγον γενομένου. Plut., Fab.Max. 25.5–26.2: χρήματα μὲν οὖν Σκιπίων ἑαυτῷ πορίζειν ἀναγκαζόμενος, ἤγειρε παρὰ τῶν ἐν Τυρρηνίᾳ πόλεων, ἰδίᾳ πρὸς αὐτὸν οἰκείως διακειμένων καὶ χαριζομένων· … Αὖθις οὖν καθ’ ἑτέραν ὁδὸν ἀπαντῶν ὁ Φάβιος τῷ Σκιπίωνι, κατεκώλυε τοὺς ὁρμωμένους αὐτῷ συστρατεύεσθαι τῶν νέων καὶ κατεῖχεν, ἔν τε ταῖς βουλαῖς καὶ ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις βοῶν, ὡς οὐκ αὐτὸς Ἀννίβαν ἀποδιδράσκοι μόνον ὁ Σκιπίων, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν ὑπόλοιπον ἐκπλέοι λαβὼν δύναμιν ἐκ τῆς Ἰταλίας, δημαγωγῶν ἐλπίσι τοὺς νέους καὶ ἀναπείθων ἀπολιπεῖν γονέας καὶ γυναῖκας καὶ πόλιν, ἧς ἐν θύραις ἐπικρατῶν καὶ ἀήττητος ὁ πολέμιος κάθηται. καὶ μέντοι ταῦτα λέγων ἐφόβησε τοὺς Ῥωμαίους, καὶ μόνοις αὐτὸν ἐψηφίσαντο χρῆσθαι τοῖς ἐν Σικελίᾳ στρατεύμασι καὶ τῶν ἐν Ἰβηρίᾳ γεγονότων μετ’ αὐτοῦ τριακοσίους ἄγειν, οἷς ἐχρῆτο πιστοῖς. Liv. 28.45.15–20: “Etruriae primum populi pro suis quisque facultatibus consulem adiuturos polliciti: Caerites frumentum sociis navalibus commeatumque omnis generis, Populonenses ferrum, Tarquinienses lintea in vela, Volaterrani interamenta navium et frumentum, Arretini tria milia scutorum, galeas totidem, pila gaesa hastas longas, milium quinquaginta summam pari cuiusque generis numero expleturos, secures rutra falces alveolos molas quantum in quadraginta longas naves opus esset, tritici centum viginti milia modium et in viaticum decurionibus remi-

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Several scholars in recent times like Wulff Alonso, Bradley, Pfeilschifter, Brizzi, and Etcheto have seen in Livy’s report impressive evidence for the wideranging net of Scipio’s and his family’s clientelae in the Etruscan and Italic cities.8 Thus Hartmut Galsterer when giving an example of individual Roman nobiles’ power of patronage over cities in Italy: “Wenn ein Mitglied dieser Schicht den italischen Staaten und Städten gegenüber einen Wunsch aussprach, konnte es ziemlich sicher sein, daß dieser erfüllt wurde. Ein gutes Beispiel hierfür ist die Art, wie der ältere Scipio 205 Hilfsmittel für seinen afrikanischen Feldzug zusammenbrachte.”9 The range and quantities of supplies which the Etruscan, Umbrian and Central Italic cities and tribes voluntarily offered Scipio were little short of astonishing: Far more soldiers than his eventual seven thousand could have been equipped with the total of forty thousand pila, hastae and gaesa delivered by the Arretini. The same is true of their one hundred and twenty thousand bushels of corn. Furthermore, the allies do not seem to have omitted anything: timber, canvas, iron, and whole ship’s interiors, all kinds of offensive and defensive weapons, tools for fieldwork, corn with hand-mills as well as marching rations, finally both rowers and infantrymen themselves, even in a form of a fully armed cohort fit for battle. For these reasons, if we take Livy’s report as historical, Scipio’s collection both of a fleet and an army from the allies must have been much more than merely “a good example”, as Galsterer calls it, but by far the earliest and moreover the most extensive case of Roman nobiles’ use of “Foreign Clientelae” before the first century B. C. But I do not believe that any scholar dares emphasize Scipio’s act that much. For, the ancient authors do not use terms of the semantic field of Latin clientela or the Greek equivalents: Appian has chosen the expression φιλία for the motivation of the volunteers; Plutarch uses οἰκεῖος and χαρίζεσθαι for characterizing the atti-

8

9

gibusque conlaturos; Perusini Clusini Rusellani abietem in fabricandas naves et frumenti magnum numerum; abiete ex publicis silvis est usus. Umbriae populi et praeter hos Nursini et Reatini et Amiternini Sabinusque omnis ager milites polliciti. Marsi Paeligni Marrucinique multi voluntarii nomina in classem dederunt. Camertes cum aequo foedere cum Romanis essent cohortem armatam sescentorum hominum miserunt.” Wulff Alonso 1991, 156: “Por otro lado, todo el sistema de sometimiento romano implica la necesidad de contar con patronos en Roma y, si hay lazos anteriores – como parece ser el caso de Etruria mismo y Escipión – la cosa es más clara. Y, por último, no hay que olvidar que en este caso cabe esperar que sea rentable la cuestión.” – Bradley 2000: 119–20. – Pfeilschifter 2006: 133: “seine persönlichen Verbindungen” with n. 65. – Brizzi 2007: 149: “Scipione, nondimeno, possedeva risorse insospettate; e lo aiutarono non solo le sue clientele, ma anche e soprattutto il suo fresco prestigio. Con una manifestazione di consenso forte ed eterogeneo, al suo appello aderirono comunità di cives già optimo iure, i Sabini, uno dei pochissimi centri alleati aequo foedere, Camerino e – infine – una vasta serie di socii ordinarî in cui era rappresentata la quasi totalità dell’Italia centro-settentrionale, finora abbastanza risparmiata dalla guerra. Venne, innanzitutto, l’aiuto in mezzi e denaro da quegli Stati etruschi alcuni dei quali erano, da tempo, nella clientela degli Scipioni; e, se questo era in certo qual modo prevedibile, l’entità delle risorse fornite fu senz’altro superiore ad ogni attesa.” – Etcheto 2012: 108–109 with 344–345 n. 66 places the story under the heading Magnus (sic!) agmen amicorum clientiumque. Galsterer 1976: 139.

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tude of Etruscan cities towards Scipio. Livy stresses the voluntariness of the supplies several times. But besides the unspecific terminology, some details of the allies’ gifts are too suspicious, especially since they run counter to the will of the Roman Senate which had strictly refused to allow Scipio to take anything from the aerarium or to recruit Roman or allied soldiers. It is most remarkable that Ernst Badian did not say a word about Scipio and his allies in 205.10 Scholars such as Theodor Mommsen, Ambros Josef Pfiffig, and Nicolas Sherwin-White suspected that behind the allies’ help lay coerced contributions as a penalty for their former Carthaginian sympathies.11 William Harris saw the deliveries as a consequence of several treaties (“ex foedere”) which Rome had made with the Etruscan and Umbrian allies after rebellions in the late fourth and early third centuries B. C.12 Peter Brunt denied that Livy’s story had any historicity in a short note and understood it as “probably a fable suggested by the composition of the supplementum taken by Scipio Aemilianus to Numantia in 134”.13 My aim in this article is, first, to scrutinize the various interpretations of Scipio’s requisitioning, especially in respect of his alleged foreign clientela. Second, I shall try on the basis of the parallel sources (Appian, Plutarch, and Zonaras) to explain the origin of Livy’s story. First of all, we shall ask whether Scipio, the later Africanus maior, was likely to have acquired such an extensive clientela in Etruria and Umbria as well among the Sabini, Marsi, Paeligni, and Marrucini. This means searching for opportunities when such ties between Scipio or his forebears and the non-Roman communities could have been established. Of his ancestors only Scipio Barbatus, the consul of 298, can conceivably have had gotten ties with Etruscan or Umbrian cities even if in 295 near Clusium he, as pro praetore, was severely defeated by the Senones which, however, he made good in the battle of Sentinum shortly thereafter.14 According to Henri Etcheto15 the large naval commands of Cn. Cornelius Scipio Asina, consul of 260 and 254, and L. Cornelius Scipio, consul of 259, during the First Punic War must have shaped relationships with the Roman socii navales; but there is no credible evidence that the inland peoples served as rowers in the Roman fleet as well, which is what Livy reports in particular for the Marsi and Paeligni in the case of Scipio Africanus.16 The sole parallel for inland people as socii navales is a story told by Orosius and Zonaras about 4000 Samnites who were called up for naval service, but who allegedly conspired with 3000 Carthaginian prisoners of war at Rome in 259 B. C.17 It sounds like a later fabrication that already in the third year of the Roman fleet 4000 Samnites had to be recruited as rowers at all. 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Badian 1958a. Mommsen 1902: 1.654; Pfiffig 1966: 206; Sherwin-White 1973: 117. Harris 1971: 89–91. Brunt 1971: 656 n. 1. Liv. 10.25.11; 10.26.7–10; 10.29.5. Etcheto 2012: 108 with 344 nn. 52–54. This element, nevertheless, is held to be historical by Schlange-Schöningen 2006: 162. Oros. 4.7.12 and Zon. 8.11.8. Ilari 1974:109 with n. 13 and Etcheto 2012: 344 n. 54 deem the story historical. Sceptical are Toynbee 1965: 2,520 with n. 3 and Brunt 1971: 50 n. 3; 88 n. 4.

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Scipio’s mother Pomponia came from the Pomponii Mathones who were of Etruscan origin.18 But Scipio himself had hardly any opportunity for establishing patronage over the Etruscan, Umbrian and Sabellic cities either before or during his command in Spain down to 206. Scipio’s wide-raging clientele not only in one region, but even in several seems to have grown out of nothing. What raises the most doubt about the whole story, however, is the allegedly unreserved willingness of the Etruscans to give materiel for the war. For, as Pfiffig has clearly demonstrated in a survey of the time of the Hannibalic War, the attitude of the Etruscans towards the Romans was anything but loyal:19 From 212 to 209 B. C. the Romans annually stationed two full legions in Etruria under the command of a praetor or propraetor, obviously as a precaution against possible revolts.20 Nevertheless, in 209 a rebellion broke out in Arretium, perhaps as a consequence of the insubordination of the twelve Latin colonies which refused to send the Romans troops or money anymore.21 When the Romans suspected an imminent revolt in Arretium in 208, they sent C. Terentius Varro, the unlucky consul of 216 and loser at Cannae, with either a delegated or an independent praetorian imperium in order to transfer the children of the Arretine principes senatus as hostages to Rome. Furthermore Varro had the two legions which till then had been positioned outside Arretium occupy the town and locked all the gates.22 Also in 208 the scouts recruited mostly from the Etruscans instantly abandoned the Roman consuls operating together in Apulia when caught in Hannibal’s ambush.23 After the Romans in 207 in the battle of Metaurus had annihilated Hasdrubal, Hannibal’s brother, they dispatched none other than an incumbent consul, M. Livius Salinator, to Etruria to investigate all attempts by various cities to support Hasdrubal.24 The number of Etruscan nobles who had been willing to betray the Romans seems to have been alarmingly high, for the consul Livius Salinator was twice prorogated in his imperium till 205 in order to identify and punish all disloyal Etruscans.25 In 204 the consul M. Cornelius Cethegus secured Etruria against the imminent invasion of Mago, not least by iudiciorum terror, as Livy says who refers to the severe tribunals which imposed capital punishment against the noble ringleaders of the betrayal.26 Juridical basis for the quaestiones was a senatus consultum de coniurationibus principum. In the following year 203 his successor as consul C. Servilius Geminus was continuing the investigations and trials in Etruria.27 Even in 202 and 201 the consul and proconsul respectively M. Servilius Geminus commanded two legions 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

For Pomponia Sil.It. 13.615; cf. Cassola 1962, 385; Etcheto 2012, 108. Pfiffig 1966: 198–210. Similarly Badian 1958a: 141; Ruoff-Väänänen 1975: 46–7; 50–1; 53; Jal 2003: 138–139 n. 15. Liv. 25.3.2; 5; 26.1.5; 26.28.5; 27.7.9–10. Liv. 27.21.7; cf. 27.9.7. Liv. 27.24. Liv. 27.27.5–6. Liv. 28.10.4–5. Liv. 28.10.11; 28.45.10. Liv. 29.36.10–12. Liv. 30.26.12

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in Etruria.28 In sum, the Romans considered two full legions to be necessary there continuously from the year 212 to 201 and since 208 the presence of a consul proper as well. Although William Harris recognizes all this widespread Livian evidence for the rebellious mood of the Etruscans over the years, he denies the danger of an open revolt in the region.29 Even more astonishingly, Harris’ opinion has moulded most Etruscologists’ historical reconstructions.30 What matters for us, all the same, is that so many Etruscans’ insurgent attitude is a highly improbable basis for the voluntary offerings of materiel in such quantities as reported by Livy. It is even less likely that the putative centre of an Etruscan rebellion, Arretium, stood at the head of the delivering cities. There is a hint that the original author of the whole story in Livy knew about the shaky loyalty of the Etruscan cities to Rome: They did not give any troops or seamen for Scipio’s army in contrast to all the Umbrian and Sabellic peoples. But it is also most astonishing to find in the list of supplying cities Nursia, Reate, and Amiternum as well the whole Sabine region. For all the Sabines, including the named cities, seem to have possessed full Roman citizenship at least since 241 B. C. when the last two of thirty-five Roman tribus were installed.31 Another area with Roman citizenship, though it was only a municipium sine suffragio, Caere, has already been dealt with under the Etruscan cities.32 Galsterer himself has noted the grave problem which the municipia civium Romanorum must have caused by supplying materiel and soldiers for Scipio, because by the senate’s decree Scipio was officially prohibited from using the supplies of the ager Romanus.33 Galsterer supposes that the aforementioned municipia might have reacted to Scipio’s call for help as well after they had seen how eager the socii were to supply the necessities. But in spite of this attempt at explanation, the municipia highlight the principal difficulty of the story which most scholars have overseen: By providing the necessary materiel and soldiers the Roman citizens of these municipia, as well as the socii, were neglecting the obvious will and auctoritas of the Roman senate which was not prepared to further Scipio’s ambitions for a war in Africa. While it is conceivable that this or that city thought that it could afford to ignore the senate’s policy because Scipio was so mighty a patron that his influence was much greater than other senators’, this can hardly be valid for all the cities and peoples. 28 29 30 31

32 33

Liv. 30.27.6; 30.41.3. Harris 1971: 135–142; 145–6, esp.140: “The fact that there was some disloyalty to Rome in Etruria during the war does not disprove the existence of the understanding between Rome and the local principes; indeed the relatively modest scale of the opposition …” Cf. e. g. Pallotini 1988: 236; 370; Irollo 2004: 193. The great influence of Harris’ judgement is amazing also for Brennan 2000: 328–9 n. 64. Cf. Brunt 1969. The tribus Quirina and Velina were according to Festus p.304 Lindsay named after the city of Cures and the lake of Velinus. – Anyway, one may not use Livy’s suspicious report, as does Humbert 1978: 236 n. 114, as evidence for the aforementioned Sabine towns’ status as mere municipia sine suffragio in 205 B. C. For the municipia sine suffragio cf. Mouritsen 2007 with literature. Galsterer 1976: 139 n. 76. Cf. also Toynbee 1965: 1,265.

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The inhabitants of Camerinum were the only people who provided a whole cohort of soldiers armed and ready for battle. The use of the term cohors34 reminds us that the Roman socii were usually obliged to produce such units of soldiers on the basis of the so-called formula togatorum.35 But it is only for the Camertines that Livy stresses that they were not compelled to do so because they had a foedus aequum with Rome. This final example of helpfulness seems to be chosen to prevent the reader from getting the impression that the supplying socii were coerced into doing so. I recapitulate the arguments against the authenticity of Scipio’s collection of materiel and soldiers from his generous clientele cities. 1. It is very unlikely that Scipio was able to develop patronage ties with so many Italian cities. 2. The notoriously rebellious Etruscan cities would not have supplied anything voluntarily. 3. The several municipia civium Romanorum in Umbria and Sabinum are improbable as willing providers of soldiers if the senate had refused to allow Scipio a levy. We get a clear result from these arguments: Scipio received no voluntary supplies from the Etruscan, Umbrian and Sabellic peoples. For this reason some scholars have thought that the Romans extorted these supplies either on the basis of treaties with allies or – especially in regard to the Etruscan cities – as indemnity payments for previous disloyalty.36 But the supplies were not at all necessary because in 205 there were enough ships as well as troops at the Romans’ disposal, as shall be demonstrated in the following. Scipio is reported to have immediately built twenty quinqueremes and ten quadriremes within forty-five days with timber, canvas, iron and ship’s interiors which the Etruscans had allegedly supplied. Furthermore according to the senate’s decree he had thirty warships in Sicily at his disposal.37 Yet in 204 Scipio brought only forty warships according to Livy and fifty-two according to Appian from Sicily to the African coast.38 We do not know exactly how many warships the Romans had in commission before Scipio’s supposed ship building programme in 205; but the estimates range from a 100 to a 150 ships.39 But after the destruction of the Carthaginians’ naval hegemony the Romans had most of these hundred to a hundred and fifty ships at their free disposal. Consequently, for the Senate in 205 there was not the slightest reason for refusing Scipio sufficient warships. Building thirty new ships was not at all necessary.40 Another argument against the picture of a stubborn senate refusing Scipio any soldier is given by Peter Brunt’s survey of the number of legions in these years.41 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

Ilari 1974: 135–136 n. 56 gives a list of “cohortes” of Italian socii reported by Livy especially for the Hannibalic War. For recent literature on the formula togatorum cf. Prag 2011a: 19 n. 22. See above nn. 11–12. For Erdkamp 1995: 173 n. 11 “the voluntary contributions of the Etruscan states … are too unreliable to allow any conclusions”. Liv. 28.45.21; 28.45.8. Liv. 29.25.10; 29.26.3; App. Lib. 13. Thiel 1946: 146; 126–132. Steinby 2007: 130; 141 reckons with 150 ships; Marchetti 1978: 117 with 115 ships, Brunt 1971: 667–668 with 100 ships. Steinby 2007: 130 n. 75. Brunt 1971: 655–656; 672–674. Similarly Jal 2003: 138 n. 12.

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Livy reports that in 204 Scipio transferred 16000 infantrymen and 1600 cavalrymen to Africa. Since two legions are always attested for Sicily in the following years, Scipio seems to have brought most of his army from Italy itself. But the 7000 volunteers who according to Livy followed Scipio did not suffice to make up an invading army of at least two legions.42 Therefore, it is probable that the senate provided Scipio with a normal consular army of two legions which every consul up until then had received.43 In sum, the whole story of Scipio’s collection seems to be an outright fabrication. One central aim of this fabrication is to show the Roman senate’s obstructionist attitude towards Scipio and his plan for a war in Africa. Therefore, the narrative of the voluntary supplies from the socii is only part of the greater story of how the senate vainly tried to prevent Scipio from bringing the war to Hannibal’s homeland. But the unwillingness of most senators to wage war in Africa as long as Hannibal was still in South Italy which Livy reports as the basis for long discussions in the Curia seems to be just a later invention as well. For, at the beginning of the section for the year 205, Livy reports that the senate declared Sicily as the province for the consul Scipio and Bruttii as the province for the consul Crassus. Livy stresses that the distribution was extra sortem because Crassus, being pontifex maximus, was not allowed to leave Italy.44 It is quite unlikely that after this nominatio provinciarum a quarrel about permission for Scipio to invade Africa with his troops arose as described by Livy. For the province of Sicily usually included the possibility of going to Africa. Former governors of Sicily like the propraetor T. Otacilius Crassus, the praetor P. Furius Philo and the proconsul M. Valerius Laevinus had made use of this licence.45 In 216 B.C. Otacilius Crassus even had the senate’s express permission to cross over to Africa if he thought it in the interest of the state.46 Nevertheless, in 205 invading the African coast was not just a possibility, rather it could only have been the primary goal of a supreme commander in Sicily. For, after the island had been brought back under Roman control in 210, no consul had received Sicily as provincia because the situation there was quiet.47 Sicily in 205 was thinkable only as a deployment area for an invasion of Africa. Furthermore, Scipio’s spending the whole rest of the year 205 by training his troops in Sicily demonstrates that he was sure that the senate would prorogate his imperium for the next year. Scipio could be certain only if the senate had been from the beginning in agreement with his plan to invade Africa. So the whole story in Livy about Scipio’s threatening a people’s vote, the announced veto of the two tribunes of the plebs, and especially the refusal 42 43

44 45 46 47

Liv. 29.25.1–4; 28.46.1. Thus, just a few months later the senate gave P. Sempronius Tuditanus, who was invested with an independent consular imperium, 10000 soldiers, 1000 cavalrymen and 35 warships for a campaign in Greece (Liv. 29.12.2), even if all these troops did not see action as a consequence of the Peace of Phoinike with the Macedonian king Philip V. Livy 28.38.12. Philo: Liv. 23.21.1–3. Otacilius: Liv. 23.41.8; 25.31.12–15; Laevinus: Liv. 27.22.9; 27.29.7–8; 28.4.5–7. Liv. 22.37.13. Liv. 26.40.14–18.

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of the Senate to provide any supplies for Scipio’s enterprise is a later fabrication. The best proof for this thesis is the possibility of cutting the whole dispute about Scipio’s African plan out of Livy’s report without any damage to its coherence. In any case, in the end a senatorial decree allowed Scipio to invade Africa. It is remarkable that a number of famous scholars in the early twentieth century clearly recognized the fictitious character of Livy’s report,48 whereas many recent accounts of Hannibal’s War consider the quarrel about Scipio’s African plan as well as his collection of supplies from the allies to be historical.49 Nevertheless, if we classify Livy’s whole story as a fiction we have to explain its origin. Brunt some time ago found the most plausible model at least for the collection of materiel and soldiers in the volunteers which in 134, according to Appian, cities and kings sent Scipio Aemilianus out of friendship for the campaign against Numantia.50 For, as in 205 the senate seems to have refused the consul of 134 a levy from the citizens liable for service. The number of the soldiers given by cities and kings is striking. Appian reports that Scipio Aemilianus took a total of 4000 armed men with himself to Spain; 500 of these 4000 were Aemilianus’ clients and friends constituting a special troop of a cohors amicorum.51 Consequently, the soldiers without personal ties to Aemilianus, since cities and kings sent them, come to 3500. This is exactly half of the 7000 volunteers Scipio Africanus was allegedly able to collect for his invasion of Africa. By imputing to the elder Scipio double the number of volunteers the original author of Livy’s story made the elder Scipio’s wide range of patronage and friendship ties all the more impressive. Praise also lies behind the way in which the elder Scipio, by taking care for everything, brought together every individual piece of his fleet. The whole story aims at heightening the elder Scipio’s performance in relation to that of Scipio Aemilianus. But apart from the year 134 B. C. there is another report of Appian on Scipio Aemilianus which contains conspicuous parallels to the elder Scipio’s collection of volunteers in the Second Punic War. In this report the Roman people chose not only the young Scipio Aemilianus consul for the year 147 while neglecting the leges an48

49 50

51

Münzer 1909: 1827–1828; Kahrstedt 1913: 539 n. 1: “Die törichten annalistischen Nachrichten über die Verweigerung von Truppen an Scipio durch die römische Regierung, seine Anwerbung von Freiwilligen in Italien und Sizilien … lasse ich natürlich einfach fallen.” Cf. the detailed argumentation in Gelzer 1935: 291–293 = 1964: 3.245–247 and Hoffmann 1942: 88–93. – Rich 1983: 302 n. 71; 324 n. 179 is undecided in regard to the historicity of this story. Seibert 1993: 414–5; 419–420; Tagliamonte 1994: 186–187; Roth 1999: 161; Goldsworthy 2000: 286–7; Heftner 2005: 295–6; Beck 2005: 345–7; Brizzi 2007: 142–150; 369–370; Rosenstein 2012a: 158. Brunt 1971: 656 n. 1. App. Iber. 84: οὕτω μὲν ὁ Σκιπίων αὖθις ὑπατεύων ἐς Νομαντίαν ἠπείγετο, στρατιὰν δ’ ἐκ καταλόγου μὲν οὐκ ἔλαβεν, πολλῶν τε πολέμων ὄντων καὶ πολλῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐν Ἰβηρίᾳ, ἐθελοντὰς δέ τινας, ἔκ τε πόλεων καὶ βασιλέων ἐς χάριν ἰδίαν πεμφθέντας αὐτῷ, συγχωρούσης τῆς βουλῆς, ἐπηγάγετο καὶ πελάτας ἐκ Ῥώμης καὶ φίλους πεντακοσίους, οὓς ἐς ἴλην καταλέξας ἐκάλει φίλων ἴλην. πάντας δὲ ἐς τετρακισχιλίους γενομένους παραδοὺς ἄγειν ἀδελφιδῷ Βουτεῶνι σὺν ὀλίγοις αὐτὸς προεξώρμησεν ἐς Ἰβηρίαν ἐπὶ τὸ στρατόπεδον, πυνθανόμενος αὐτὸ γέμειν ἀργίας καὶ στάσεων καὶ τρυφῆς, εὖ εἰδώς, ὅτι μὴ κρατήσει πολεμίων, πρὶν κατασχεῖν τῶν ἰδίων ἐγκρατῶς. Cf. in detail Pina Polo 2001; furthermore Rich 1983: 302–303; 318; Wulff Alonso 1995: 157.

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nales, but also handed over the command for the Third Punic War to him extra sortem, i. e. by circumventing the obligatory sortition of the consular provinces. Additionally, by plebiscite the people allowed him to take as many soldiers by conscription as had been lost in the war, and as many volunteers as he could persuade to enlist among the allies, and for this purpose to send to the allied kings and cities letters written in the name of the Roman people.52 In sharp contrast to the alleged narrow-mindedness of the jealous senate in 205, the Roman people not only gave Scipio Aemilianus a full army, but also allowed him to present his recruitment of volunteers in his letters to the allied cities and kings as the desire of the Roman people itself. Scipio Africanus, in comparison to his adoptive grandson, allegedly faced much greater obstacles from the senators and, therefore, his performance in collecting a whole army of 7000 soldiers should be even more highly appreciated. One might, however, object that the senate did nothing other than let the elder Scipio recruit volunteers. In fact, Jonathan Prag has collected several instances of senatus consulta instructing consuls or praetors to enlist auxiliary troops outside Italy.53 Furthermore, the senate is reported to have given explicit permission to the holders of an imperium to take auxilia under their command.54 But in all these cases there is no mention of volunteers having been recruited. For the war against Antiochus III in 190, nevertheless, besides citizens socii as well have allegedly volunteered for service under the command of the consul L. Scipio. But these 5000 volunteers were part of a supplementum granted by the senate of 3000 citizen infantry men and 100 equites as well as 5000 allied and Latin soldiers and 200 cavalrymen.55 In sum, I cannot find any historical instance from the time before Scipio 52

53

54

55

App. Lib. 112: καὶ ὁ δῆμος εἵλετο τὸν Σκιπίωνα. ἐδόθη δ’ αὐτῷ στρατὸς ἐκ μὲν καταλόγου, ὅσος ἦν ἀντὶ τῶν ἀπολωλότων, ἐθελοντὰς δ’ ἄγειν, ὅσους πείσειε παρὰ τῶν συμμάχων, καὶ ἐς βασιλέας καὶ πόλεις, ὅσας δοκιμάσειε, πέμπειν, τὸν Ῥωμαίων δῆμον ταῖς ἐπιστολαῖς ἐπιγράφοντα. καὶ ἔστιν οὓς ἔλαβεν οὕτω παρά τε πόλεων καὶ βασιλέων. Cf. Wulff Alonso 1991: 157: “En el de Escipión Emiliano en Cartago la cosa es clara: rentabilidad y clientela.” Prag 2011a: 18 with n. 15. Liv. 35.2.7 (for a praetor of 193): “Mens ea senatus fuit, ut in Hispania tumultuarii milites legerentur.” (Gelzer 1935: 293 n. 78 = 1964: 3,247 n. 78 holds this to be a late-annalistic fiction.) Liv. 41.5.5: “M. Iunius consul (of 178) transire in Galliam et ab civitatibus provinciae eius, quantum quaeque posset, militum exigere iussus.” Liv. 42.35.6–7: “P. Licinio consuli (of 171) ad exercitum civilem socialemque petenti addita auxilia, Ligurum duo milia, Cretenses sagitarii – incertus numerus, quantum rogati Cretenses misissent – Numidae item equites elephantique.” Liv. 27.38.9–12: “senatus liberam potestatem consulibus (of 207) fecit et supplendi, unde vellent, et eligendi de omnibus exercitibus, quos vellent permutandique ex provinciis, quo e re publica censerent esse, traducendi.” Liv. 36.1.8 (for the consul of 191): “extra Italiam permissum, ut si res postulasset, auxilia ab sociis ne supra quinque milium numerum acciperet.” Characteristically, Prag 2011a: 18 n. 15 has not included the case of the elder Scipio’s volunteers in his list. Liv. 37.4.3: “Ad quinque milia voluntariorum, Romani sociique, qui emerita stipendia sub imperatore P. Africano habebant, praesto fuere exeunti consuli (sc. L. Scipioni) et nomina dederunt.” Cf. Liv. 37.2.2. – For the voluntary army service in the third and second centuries B. C. cf. Brunt 1971: 393–396; 398; Rich 1983: 320–321 with nn. 156–157; Jehne 2006b: 257– 258. – The voluntariness is dubious in 200 when the senate ruled, it is true, that only volunteers could be taken from Scipio’s veterans for the war against Philip V (Liv. 31.8.6; 31.14.2), but in 199 the recruited soldiers vehemently denied it (Liv. 32.3.2–7). It is also dubious in 198 when

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Aemilianus which would be comparable to that of the elder Scipio in so far as the senate hindered a Roman magistrate from taking a levy and instead allowed him to recruit volunteers exclusively from the socii. Consequently, the elder Scipio’s recruitment of volunteers from the socii in 205 would be unique. Plutarch, Appian, and Zonaras hand down the picture of a petty and narrowminded senate in permanent opposition to the elder Scipio while Livy merely reports the fact that he did not get permission for a levy. Livy deflects any potential blame from the senators for this obstruction by stressing Scipio’s negligence in trying hard to get permission. There are some other passages where Livy has taken the edge off the anti-senatorial traditions which he has been using as his source.56 If we ask at what time the story about the elder Scipio might have been composed, then certain aspects of it hint at the time of C. Iulius Caesar and his Gallic command. Scipio’s threat to get the people’s vote for his African plan reminds us of the lex Vatinia by which Caesar received Cisalpine Gaul and Illyria as combined provinces.57 In total Caesar was able to recruit no fewer than six legions in the years 58, 57 and 54/53 in his province Gallia Cisalpina58 because this region was strongly tied with the Iulii Caesares. In the version of Zonaras, who reports that Scipio took to Africa “some volunteers from the populace”,59 we can still recognize a tendency to make Scipio popular with the Roman plebs. Although the parallels to Caesar are not so striking that we can be sure of the time of the story’s composition, we have enough grounds for supposing that an annalistic history of the 50s B. C. might have construed the story of the elder Scipio as a justifying precursor of Caesar and his recruiting. Be that as it may, the fictitious story of the elder Scipio cannot in any case be taken as evidence for the importance of a noble family’s foreign clientela at the end of the third century B. C. At that time and especially in Italy itself cities’ clientele ties to Roman nobles are likely to have been so complex that one family would hardly have been able to monopolize these ties in such an effective way, particularly if these cities’ delivery of materiel and manpower would have run counter to the Roman senate’s declared will.

56 57 58 59

the consul Flamininus was allowed to take some of Scipio’s veterans (Liv. 32.9.2; Plut. Flam. 3,3). Cf. e. g. Liv. 26.18–19 with Blösel 2008: 334–335. Plut. Caes. 14.10. Caes. B.Gall. 1.7–8; 2.2; 6.1; Brunt 1971: 466–467. Zon. 9.11: … τισιν ἐθελονταῖς ἐκ τοῦ δήμου …

3. FOREIGN CLIENTELAE IN THE WESTERN EMPIRE: HISPANIA, GAUL AND AFRICA

CLIENT RELATIONSHIPS AND THE DIFFUSION OF ROMAN NAMES IN HISPANIA A CRITICAL REVIEW* Estela García Fernández In 1958 Ernst Badian published Foreign Clientelae: (264–70 B. C.), a study that would have a profound impact on the field of Roman provincial studies. He asserted that the basis for stability and control of the assorted territories dominated by Rome was a dense network of personal client relationships between the Roman aristocracy and the local populations. This conclusion was reached after a study of provincial onomastic practices, which showed a direct connection between client relationship and the spreading of Roman names.1 Italo-Roman names in the provinces associated with the different generals involved in their conquest were the result of the establishment of client relationships, names that would then be passed on through the generations. In the provinces of Hispania, on which this study will focus, this clientele disseminated the Fabii, Sempronii, Pompeii, Aemilii and Iunii, the nomina of the generals who contributed to the conquest.2 Regarding onomastic creation and the diffusion of naming practices, Badian’s thesis concerned two different legal situations: on the one hand, Roman names legally acquired through individual enfranchisement, whereby one usually adopted the nomen of the general-turned-patron;3 and on the other, Roman names adopted through imitation. This latter situation, also discussed by Badian and widely accepted, was the result of the patrons’ habit during the Republic of allowing and encouraging their provincial clients to adopt Roman names – within a Roman naming structure – as an expression of loyalty and submission in exchange for legal support, while not entailing any concession of Roman citizenship.4 According to this view the nomina attested in Republican times in Hispania: Aemilius, Cornelius, Fabius, Pompeius, Acilius, Aelius and Baebius, among others, when inserted into * 1 2 3 4

This article is the result of the Nuevas bases documentales para el estudio histórico de la Hispania romana de época republicana (Ref. no. HUM 2011–26561) research project, funded by the Ministerio de Economía and Competitividad (Spanish Government). Badian 1958a 256–258 and 309–321. Badian’s thesis has been reviewed by Pina Polo 2012: 55–79 and his paper in this volume. Knapp 1978: 187–222; Dyson 1980–1981: 259–294 with distribution maps. Pina Polo 2011a, and his chapter in this book. Badian 1958a: 256–258; accepted by Brunt 1971: 206–207; also Knapp 1978; Dyson 1980–81. For the Hispanic provinces, Marin 1986–87; González Roman 1986–87 and 2010a; Amela Valverde 2001; Padilla 2006 and 2010 among others. Also Knapp 1978: 190 considers that the phenomenon of the taking of Roman names by natives can be used as a measurement of the progress of Romanisation.

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Roman name structures – duo nomina or tria nomina – do not indicate a privileged legal status, but rather peregrine locals who voluntarily took Roman names. Badian’s thesis has garnered much respect and support,5 but little attention has been paid to the legal procedures involved in the transmission of Roman citizenship and the adoption of its naming structure. Some methodological objections to the author’s position must be put forth. It is far from empirically evident that clientship could have acted as a channel for both the diffusion of Roman citizenship – and therefore of Roman names legally acquired –, and nomina that were voluntarily and spontaneously imitated. In fact, no researcher has, to date, explained how clientship operates as a vehicle for onomastic transmission, much less so of Roman citizenship. Its existence is a given effect of provincial societies, but no document exists that proves the dissemination of names through client relationships, beyond drawing a connection between Republican and Early Empire names. During the Republic, a client could obtain Roman citizenship – and its associated nomina – when a patron with imperium bestowed upon him the civitas Romana in virtue of the dispositions of a de civitate law. During the Empire this happened, however, when a wilful patron such as Pliny the Younger interceded before the emperor on behalf of his clients.6 In both cases, once citizenship was granted, clients would usually receive the same nomen as their patron, but not always, for example in the case of Cornelius Balbus.7 Little attention has been paid, however, to the fact that, once citizenship was conferred, clientship could no longer be involved in its transmission, since it was an independent process that followed its own legal rules. Roman citizenship, when acquired virtutis causa or through manumission, as can be seen in Carthago Nova where individuals inherited the nomina of the Roman negotiatores,8 could only be transmitted through filiation when it was the fruit of a marriage that was iustum, in accordance with Roman law. A common understanding is that legal marriages – the only ones that enabled the transmission of Roman citizenship, and the associated onomastics – were those that took place between Roman citizens or between a Roman citizen and a free Latin (non-Junian) citizen. However, a union between a Roman and a peregrine woman could only transmit Roman citizenship and Roman names when ius conubii had been granted, as seen in diplomata militaria for example.9 Given these conditions, which were inherent to Roman citizenship, one would expect that in the peregrine context of Republican Hispania there would be a high degree of failure in transmitting it from 5 6 7 8

9

For Hispania Knapp 1978; Dyson 1980–1981; Amela Valverde 2002; González Román 2010a and 2010b among others. Plin. ep. 10.5.2; 11.1–2; 11.2 Pina Polo 2011a: 340–344 and his paper in this volume. The transmission of family names (Aquinus, Atellius, Laetilius, Popilius, etc.) through the freedmen of the Italo-Roman negotiatores and the duunviri quinquennales of the city could only have happened under very particular legal conditions, with which a peregrine city did not comply. Domergue 1990: 321–326. Also Abascal 2002: 21–44. Valvo 2010: 292–296. Regarding conubium, Humbert 1981: 212–215. The conubium links a child with his father, so that in a mixed marriage it is the Roman citizenship which is inherited (Gai inst. I.67).

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generation to generation, unless a family took special care to carry out a strategy conducive to perpetuating citizenship – including its inherent prestige – through legal marriages. There is no reason to expect that the members of the Turma Salluitana would be particularly successful in spreading locally the nomen Pompeius or whichever name they received, because the names they bore indicated the peregrine status of their community of origin. The only exception is the possible Latin status that Ilerda may have possessed by then, as indicated by the duo nomina exhibited by three of its citizens in the bronze inscription.10 If that were the case, the status of Ilerda would have allowed the transmission of both the civitas Romana and the corresponding nomina.11 Roman citizenship displayed similar behaviour in the documents at Claros where individuals with Greek names are listed, and whose patronyms contain duo or tria nomina. This occurred when these individuals were the offspring of non-legal unions between Roman citizens and Greek women, making them peregrines, and thus lacking the right to bear the tria nomina.12 Regarding the second – and most important – form of onomastic transmission established by modern historiography, nomen imitation, we must understand it as an instrumental construct for explaining Roman onomastic diffusion. It served as a plausible explanation for a reality attested in some of the provincial documentation, as in the case of Hispania. Two apparently contradictory characteristics occur here: on the one hand, the proliferation of Roman names during the Republican and Early Empire (a significant number, which cannot be explained through the bestowing of viritim citizenship); and, on the other hand, the explosion of Roman names in a mainly peregrine provincial territory in the Republican period. One can object that the total number of direct testimonies of Roman names mentioned in texts, coins or inscriptions is not large. It is generally acknowledged that during the Early Empire these nomina of Republican origin were borne by direct descendants from that period.13 If testimonies from the Early Empire are included, the number is far greater. If we accept this idea, then a large proportion of the population of Republican Hispania was using Roman nomina and name structures to which it was not legally entitled. Knapp admits that the few known Republican nomina would hardly have led to the far greater number of Imperial nomina, so he proposes that during the Republic there were a large number of people using Roman names, enough to ensure their survival.14 This points to the more problematic aspect of this interpreta10 11 12 13

14

Turma Salluitana: CIL I2 709 = CIL VI 37045 = ILLRP 515 = ILS 8888; for the names of the Ilerdan knights, see below n. 24. Galsterer 1971: 11; Roldán 1989: 165; García Fernández 2011: 51–52. Ferrary 2008: 259 and 263. Knapp 1978: 190–191 and 198, where he refers to Brunt’s objections (not convinced that Imperial names were descendants from Republican magistrates), that the absence of names in the Fasti referring to Cornelii, Iunii or Sempronii, so common in Early Empire Hispania, confirms the Republican origin of these names, and explains the low percentage of Imperial names in the more Romanised areas of Hispania. Knapp 1978: 189 n. 11: “The possibility that one Fabius at Saguntum set the trend for the Fabii in the Empire exists, but it seems to me likely that a fair number or Fabii existed during the Republic (enough to keep the name alive later…) especially when Roman names were being taken by non-Romans during this same time elsewhere.”

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tion. It is hard to explain how a peregrine territory in which citizenship concessions were few until Caesar began granting citizenship to communities, could have generated such a large number of Roman names. In a world where one could only be either Roman or peregrine,15 the only coherent historical explanation for the abundance of Roman names is through hypothetical widespread onomastic imitation. This necessitates the acceptance of peregrines using Roman names in the more Romanised areas, and passing them down from generation to generation. When their descendants became Roman citizens – or Latin citizens, we might add – through the promotion of their community, they already had Roman names.16 This hypothesis creates immediate difficulties. We ignore the mechanisms used in the indigenous world for transmitting names, although the existence of a patronym presupposes that it is filiation, not clientship, that determines onomastic transmission, despite the specific conditions being unknown. If a peregrine adopted his patron’s Roman name because of clientship,17 one could expect that this would be reflected in whichever official document certified this relation. This name change would also be applied in local official documentation, to be used for marriage reasons or for administrative/military demands. What would be the name of a Hispanic auxiliarius in the Roman army, a legal indigenous name or a usurped Roman one? In practice, accepting this would mean that there was an almost official concession of Roman names to the peregrine population, which would reveal a curious phenomenon of generalised and authorised usurpation of Roman names, a fraudulent act persecuted and punished in other contexts.18 Also, this use would devalue the worth and prestige that Roman citizenship conferred upon an individual within his indigenous community, its value as a praemium, and would unnecessarily yield an instrument which was useful for Rome in dissuading and controlling provincial elites.19 Finally, we must consider whether, and if so, how, these freely-acquired nomina changed along with client relations. Clientship is not an institution with a fixed legal character, nor is it exclusive, allowing for the existence of several patrons at once, and permitting a client to fail in his obligations in favour of more 15 16 17 18

19

This same limitation is frequently applied, contra all evidence, to all provincial populations throughout the Empire García Fernández 2012: 423–429 Knapp 1978: 190–191 and 198. Knapp 1978: 188 suggests that, in exchange for legal protection guaranteed by the patron, the client (who would remain peregrine) adopted his Roman name. He acknowledges that there is no direct testimony of this. There is no need to recall the zeal of Emperor Claudius in matters of usurpation of citizenship and nomina (Edict de civitate Anaunorum CIL V 5050 ll.33–34; Suet. Claud. 25). In 65 B. C. the lex Papia de peregrinis had already instituted an extraordinary quaestio aimed at expelling from Rome those who had passed themselves off as Romans (Cic. off. 3.11.47: pro cive se gerere; Cic. leg.agr. 1.13), being one of the deceits involved the use of Roman nomina, see the edict on the citizenship of the Anauni: nominaque ea / quae habuerunt antea tanquam cives Romani, ita habere is permitam (ll.33–34). One may add the observations of Dondin-Payre and Raepsaet-Charlier 2001: II, in which the idea of a generalised usurpation of Roman onomastics ignores the social control that the population groups enjoying different legal status within the same community exercised over each other.

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immediate interests or circumstances. Clear examples of this variability are provided by the well-known precautions adopted by both Pompey and Caesar to ensure the frail loyalty of communities of which they were patrons, and the fact that their clients were often lost because of pressing circumstances and varying political interests.20 If loyalty was sufficient reason to accept the assumption of a Roman name by an indigenous individual, then one may suppose that breaking that allegiance was enough to change it, given that these were voluntary and not legal procedures. The notion of name imitation can be acceptable in different onomastic contexts such as peregrine-type structures (single name and filiation) incorporating an idionym stemming from a Roman name, whether it be a praenomen, nomen or cognomen. This use also occurs in a Greek context, where the use of any of these naming elements as an idionym, followed by a patronym, is common. This practice reveals the Greek taste during the Hellenistic period for foreign names, in this case Roman, though no Roman citizenship is involved.21 In the provinces loyalty, political relations with this or that governor, or merely the advance of the acculturation process could have had an impact on the use of Italo-Roman nomina as idionyms in several inscriptions.22 But in none of these cases is there any possible confusion regarding the legal status of the people involved: the onomastic structures clearly indicate a peregrine individual. When these names appear in duo or tria nomina, it is difficult to allow that Roman authorities consented – much less encouraged – the lax use of Roman nomina in Roman name structures that may have created confusion about the legal status of the bearer.23 This use was easy to control, because it was reflected in public and official documents under the oversight of Roman authorities. Assumption of the existence of widespread imitatio to explain the Roman names used by magistrates performing official roles on Hispanic coins, or the Latin denomination of the equites at the Ascoli Bronze, causes several problems. This hypothesis disregards the official and public nature of these documents, and also creates new methodological problems by dissociating name structures and legal status, which would introduce insecurity into the onomastic analysis. It is hard to accept that in a public document created by the Roman state in Italy, and with the presence of a consilium whose members appeared solemnly cited with full nomenclature including tribe, some Hispanic equites would be allowed the whim of listing

20 21

22 23

For a seminal work on Roman clientship see Brunt 1988a: 382–442; for the subject at hand 398–399; a similar critical review in Pina Polo 2009: 229–234 and his paper in this volume. Hatzfeld 1919: 11. Also the use of nuda nomina on behalf of peregrini, generally of lower classes but aware of the prestige of Roman-ness, Rizakis 1996: 21–22; Ferrary 2008: 253–257 provides an extensive dossier of Roman naming elements used by Greeks as given names, including nomina. Some cases of the use of Pompeius/a as given names within peregrine onomastic structures, see Amela Valverde 2002: 308–314. Ferrary 2008: 253–257 and 262 has defended the need to not confuse, in the Greek context, the use of duo or tria nomina with the use of a Latin name as idionym within a peregrine onomastic structure, Greek in this case. This can be the result of mere fashion or imitation, or even the result of Roman ancestry, but never suggesting any usurpation of citizenship.

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themselves with full Roman names when they were not Roman citizens.24 This act would have debased Roman citizenship granted ob virtutem, the importance of the act of concession and its nature as a reward (one of the most valuable praemia granted by the Roman state),25 because imitation would enable the feigning of citizenship. The Roman names of the three Ilerdans in an official document describing the concession of civitas virtutis causa can only mean, if we are to offer a legal explanation given the document’s characteristics, that their city of origin was a Latin colony. It must be kept in mind that Latin status could not be granted to individuals, only to communities. This legal status was the only alternative to Roman citizenship that allowed the use of tria nomina, a situation that Ilerda would also share with at least three other cities that provide evidence of such a condition: Carteia, Saguntum and Carthago Nova.26 Personal names and legal status have also tended to be dissociated when analysing the personal status of Hispanic mint magistrates. No difference can be detected a priori, either in name structures or in the origin of the nomina, between the Roman names of magistrates from communities whose Latin status is proven and the use of those Roman names by magistrates from communities of unknown legal status. The interpretation of their personal status varies greatly depending on the information available for the city in which they held office. As an example, the magistrates from Saguntum M. Fabi(us) and M. Aemili(us) aed(iles) or Carteia, Cn. Am(m)i(us) and L. Arg(entarius) aed(iles), are considered to be individuals who made legal use of Roman names, given that both cities are known to have been Latin colonies. Other individuals, who also present Roman name structures and Italo-Roman names, are classified as peregrine onomastic imitators, simply because the administrative status of their city is unknown: for example L. Aimil(ius) and M. Iuni(us) aid(iles) from Obulco.27 Hispanic documents during the Republic pose

24

25 26

27

This document (ILS 8888) mentions three members from the Turma Salluitana, whose origo is Ilerda and who, contrary to the rest of the knights, bear Roman names usually attributed to onomastic imitation: [Q ?] Otacilius Suisertarten f.; Cn. Cornelius Nesille f.; P. [F]abius Enasagin f. Criniti 1970: 189–190 provided a possible explanation through the previous concession of ius Latii. Also Knapp 1978: 192 echoes, and rejects, the latinisation proposal of Galsterer (1971: 11); likewise Richardson 2001, 247–249. Regarding the Turma, Amela Valverde 2002: 87–92 who follows Badian’s interpretation. The most honourable way to attain Roman citizenship was through virtutis causa. Cicero clearly differentiates this path from that which entails an accusation: off. 2.49–50 and Balb. 54. On the importance of praemia and their gradation, David, 1979: 139–140. Carteia, Liv. 43.3.1–4; for Saguntum Ripollés – Velaza 2002 proposes Latin Colony status for the city after studying the coinage; Carthago Nova, Abascal 2002: 21–44, considering the duunviri quinquennales attested, the promotion date is 54 B. C. or earlier. The use of the tria nomina by Latin citizens, García Fernández 2012: 423–429. Regarding the names of mint magistrates and their chronology see Pérez Zurita 2011: 535 nº 243–244 (Saguntum 44–4/3 B. C.); 532, nº 221–222 (Carteia circa 90 B. C.); and 533, nº 223 and 224 (Obulco 120–100). On the peregrine status of the Saguntine magistrates before the city was known as Latin, Ripollés-Velaza 2002: 287–288; regarding the weakness of the federal status for Saguntum in 56 B. C., García Fernández 2013. Neither Plin. n.h. 3.10 nor Ptol. 2.4.11 clearly attribute stipendiary status to Obulco, regardless of how common it was in Hispania.

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many challenges, and their analysis must not discount many other factors.28 Nevertheless it must be stressed that dissociating names and legal status entails the undermining of all internal criteria (different nomina, onomastic structure changes, etc.) for assessing the legal status of cities or individuals. Determining their status would come to depend on external and circumstantial criteria, such as the availability of documentary evidence – extremely rare for the Republican period – that would show explicitly the legal status of the community. This methodological criterion, which is weak and problematic, reduces onomastics to historically irrelevant information. Brunt’s reasoning, which prompted Knapp to assert that “nomenclature is no certain guide to status”, is far from conclusive.29 Informal manumission appears to have been common because Roman negotiatores abroad probably had little time or desire to undergo formal procedures, which compelled them to present themselves before a Roman magistrate in order to free a slave. This problem was not exclusive to the provinces: it also happened in Rome itself. The consequence was that these improperly manumitted freedmen were still slaves, and they had no ownership rights, so all their possessions – constituting their peculium – would ultimately belong to their patron.30 Likewise, they were not allowed to use the Roman tria nomina, much less to pass it on to their children. Fraudulent use of names, as suggested by Brunt, is difficult to identify, due to the lack of testimonies known to date.31 Nonetheless, a spurious practice, even if it were generalised – which seems improbable –, cannot be held as proof of onomastic arrogation in Hispania, since most of the cases belong to magistrates holding office, whose names are displayed in official public documents. There is also uncertainty around the so-called hybridae individuals, both those mentioned in the texts and those ascribed to this category in the historiography, as examples of peregrines using Roman names. Pliny is the only author who defines this condition, and he does so using zoological terminology: a domestic breed crossed with wild animal; Cicero’s colleague C. Antonius was called hybrida for his fierceness and cruelty. It is not a legal category, but the use of the term in Roman literature leads to the belief that it was used for Roman citizens born of legal marriages among people of different legal status.32 The citizenship of Q. Varius Severus 28 29

30 31 32

I am aware of the complexity of the documentation, and the difficulties involved in analysing it. See Melchor Gil 2011: 151–167. Brunt 1971: 206–207; Knapp 1978: 192, the main reasoning being the following: the illegal use of Roman names is to be expected on behalf of slaves and freedmen improperly manumitted, though no testimony is provided, when one could be expected; and the names of the so-called hybridae, individuals of mixed origin but who were peregrine, and who usurped Roman names. These freedmen manumitted improperly obtained praetorian protection at some point at the end of the Republic, López Barja de Quiroga 2007: 72–73. On the contrary, the Roman state is very interested in regulating and controlling the situation of the improperly manumitted freedmen, see López Barja de Quiroga 2007: 37–40 and 71–75. Also Wilson 1966: 142. Brunt 1971: 207–8; Knapp 1978: 192, it is a modern interpretation which considers hybridae the children born of marriages between Italic citizens and indigenous women. No source supports this, and from a Roman standpoint they were just peregrines. Apart from alluding to fierce

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Hybrida – tribune in 90 B. C. – is as clear as that of C. Antonius Hybrida, regardless of the obscurity of their origins from a Roman standpoint.33 Similarly, the fact that the Hispanic C. Marcius34 was not Roman does not mean that he was simply peregrine. There exists the possibility – though no formal proof – that Marcius was a Latin citizen because of his origo Italicensis, which would give him the legal right to use the Roman tria nomina, without a tribus.35 However, the cases of Apuleius and Curius, who are dealt with as natives by Appian, may be good examples of onomastic imitation.36 They were peregrine individuals who adopted Roman names but as idionyms, which is perhaps the very practice legislated against by Claudius.37 Another case of supposed onomastic usurpation is that of Q. Fabius and the other Fabii from Saguntum, who already bore these names when citizenship was bestowed upon them;38 this may have a legal explanation, thanks to a new interpretation of the city’s coinage (see below). Finally, the qualification as homo barbarus that the author of the Bellum Hispaniense39 bestows upon one Caecilius Niger, from the Lusitanian oppidum of Lennium, does not necessarily imply an illegal use of a Roman name. The supposed proof of his peregrine nature lies in assumptions about the adjective barbarus. This, like peregrinus, is a term that at the

33

34 35

36 37

38 39

and savage-like behaviour, this term also is used for a new type of Roman citizen generated by Roman expansion. They are mentioned in Plin. n.h. 7.213; Hor. sat. 1.7.1–5, 28 and 32 (on the Roman status of Persius, Wilson, 1966: 142); Suet. Aug. 19; Caes. B.Afr. 19.2: ex hibridis libertinis servisque conscripserat, a text which suggests a gradation; Mart. epigr. 8.22, for a contemptuous use. I am unaware of any passage that indicates that the term hybridae could be used for the offspring of free person and a slave. This individual who came from Hispania may have descended from a marriage between a Roman and either a Latin or a peregrine woman with whom there was a ius conubii, reason enough to provide him with an obscure origin (Val.Max. 3.7.8; 8.6.4; App. b.c. 1.37; vir.ill. 72.11; Cic. Brut. 221 and 305; nat.deor. 3.81; de orat. 1.117). There is no further reason to reject his Hispanic origin. Regarding C. Antonius Hybrida, Plin. n.h. 7.213, see Caballos 1989: 244–245. App. Iber. 66. The Hispanus, though not Hispaniensis, nature of Marcius is indicated by the expression used by Appian (andra ibera) and his Italica origo (ek poleos Italikes). His legal status is harder to determine, but it seems more reasonable to suppose he was a Latin citizen before he was Roman, given the impossibility of accepting both Roman citizenship and an Italica origin in 143 B. C. See Garcia Fernández 2009a: 380 on the legal grounding for such an impossibility. Regarding Marcius and his troops Cadiou 2008: 639, n.121 believes they may have auxiliary units at the command of a Romanised Iberian. These could also have been the regular units provided by a Latin colony turmae or cohorts, such as the cohortes colonicae mentioned at Corduba (Caes. B.Civ. 2.19.3). Finally, also about C. Marcius, Caballos 1989, 263. Regarding the probable Latin status of Italica, though the issue is much disputed due to the lack of formal proof to date, see Canto 1999: 145–182. Likewise Caballos 2010: 2–3 guardedly considers the possibility that Pompey may have established a Latin settlement at Italica. App. Iber. 68 Knapp 1978: 192 n. 23 considers the hypothesis that they may have been Roman citizens who were deprived of their citizenship or defectors from the army, though he acknowledges that Appian treats them as natives. Regarding Claudian prohibition (Suet. Claud. 25), Ferrary 2008: 262–263, does not believe the ban could affect the use of a nomen as idionym, for it was the use of Roman name structure that was important. Cic. Balb. 50 and 51; Knapp 1978: 192–193. B.Hisp. 35.3.4.

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time – after the Social War, in the midst of the struggle between optimates and populares – had acquired precise ideological connotations, in part due to the new type of Roman citizen who now had access to the forum.40 Even if naming irregularities were frequent, fraudulent or otherwise inadequate onomastic practices cannot constitute a methodological criterion for judging the naming behaviour of the population at large.41 This is especially the case when considering that most testimonies – through inscriptions or literature – were created by local elites who were closely controlled by Roman authorities. Dondin-Payre and Raepsaet-Charlier have demonstrated that the examples of citizenship fraud on behalf of peregrines were irrelevant during the Empire – presumably even more so in a Republican context –, and should not be used to support a supposed dissociation of naming practices and legal status in general.42 If clientship is not the vehicle for onomastic dissemination – in the cases of both legal acquisition and imitation – there are still two documented facts that need to be explained: the existence of Roman names in Hispania during the Republic and their continuity from the Republic to the Early Empire. The data from Carteia would add a third factor: the possibility of Latin status, which is not contemplated by Badian or Brunt, which would enable the historical and legal coherence of the existing documentation. This third legal status, neither peregrine nor Roman, would end the need to resort to the explanation of naming usurpation, or the impossible use of client relations as a form of Roman citizenship and onomastic transmission. This is the case of the mint magistrates from Carteia: C. Curmanus (quaestor in 105 B. C.), L. Marcius (magistrate in 104 B. C.) or Q. Curv(ius) q(uaestor) from 120 B. C.43 All these magistrates from the Republican period, cited in the documents available from the Latin colony of Carteia44 which used their legal names would have been Latin citizens, not Roman. They could not have been Roman citizens by virtue of having held magistratures,45 because this right only appeared at a fairly late date – 124 B. C. for Tibiletti –, and in any case 40

41

42 43 44 45

González Román 2005: 282 includes him among the Roman citizens, though with some doubts because of the barbarian denomination. Richardson 2001: 248–249 believes he is a peregrine who usurps a Roman name. It may also have been an individual who was Latin, given that there were in numero peregrinorum: Gai inst. 1.79 and Liv. 43.13.61 for Fregellae. The adjective barbarus bears a distinct ideological-cultural baggage which is not incompatible with having the civitas; rather, it had more to do with an the absence of certain education and rootedness in Roman citizenship that was characteristic of optimates (Cic. de orat. 1.118, 3.43; or. 159; Arch. 25). Regarding Roman citizens of municipal origin who were treated as peregrines Cic. Sull. 7.23; for this see David 1979: 150–172. Judging by the sources available, the real problem was not in naming practices, but rather in legal status, Gai inst. 1.65–94. The cases collected by Gaius regarding the legal condition of individuals highlight the frecuent confusion. The documentation analysed by Gardner 1989: 1–14 is revealing. Dondin-Payre and Raepsaet-Charlier 2001: II; Rizakis 1996: 26–27 notwithstanding the possible cases of illegal use of Roman names by peregrines, defends that in a Greek context there is a close relation between the use of names and citizenship diffusion. Hernández 1994: 88. Liv. 43.3.1–4. Ascon. Pis. 3C.

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not until 89 B. C. was it granted to a provincial territory, Gallia Cisalpina, closely related to Italy.46 There is no proof that this was granted to the ancient Latin communities in Hispania, which would become in time an old and residual group, until their municipal or colonial promotion in Caesar’s time, as suggested by the use of the Sergia tribe in Carteia or Corduba, for example.47 The other Roman foundations in Hispania, Italica, Palma, Pollentia or Valentia, all of Latin status, lacked the possibility of their magistrates being made Roman citizens, due to the antiquity of those foundations.48 To date, there is no reason to believe that the ius Latii was introduced at an intermediate stage to any of the cities founded by Rome throughout the second century B. C. in Hispania. The documented existence of Latin communities in Hispania, which granted their citizens with the legal right to use Roman names, brings a new factor into the analysis that has rarely been addressed. The diffusion of the Italo-Roman names in Hispania was not the result of clientship relations, but rather of the selective concession of the Latin status to some cities in the east and south of the peninsula. The existence of communities with Latin status during the Republic would explain onomastic diffusion without infringing Roman law. The following sets out the argumentation in favour of this hypothesis: – –

46 47

48 49 50

The existence of cities that under Augustus enjoyed the condition of optimo iure, and which during the Republic were Latin colonies: Carteia, Corduba, Saguntum, Valentia or Carthago Nova, among others. Pliny lists forty-eight ancient Latium oppida, referring to cities that had this legal status during the Republican period.49 The Augustan origin and the official character of the information provided by Pliny in books III and IV would enable us to infer that the adjectives referring to the antiquity associated with this status (Latium vetus o antiquitus) were not added by the author, but were copied directly from his sources. It is thus the Augustan, and not the Flavian, period from which the antiquity of this status is measured.50

Tibiletti 1953a: 46–63; cf. Brunt 1988b: 97–98 and 511–512; Crawford 1996: 111. Regarding ius Latii, García Fernández 2001: 150–154. Hispania does not appear to have been affected at all by any of the de civitate laws that came about right after the Social War. The references by Cicero to the lex Iulia ascribe it to the member states of the Nomen Latinum and the socii. That is, the member states of the formula togatorum, which did not include the colonies in the provinces (Cic. Balb. 21; fam. 13.30; more generally, Gell. 4.4.3). The Plautia Papiria law required Italian residence for acquiring a Roman citizenship (Cic. Arch. 8). Brunt 1971: 169, also limits the benefits of this legislation to the members of the formula togatorum. A different issue, the later conflict regarding the inclusion of these novi cives Romani in a small number of new tribes (App. b.c. 1.49) affected only people from Italy and those communities of Cisalpine Gaul affected by the lex Iulia. A recent review of these in Beltrán 2010b: 131–144. Plin. n.h. 3.7; 3.24; 3.25; 4.117. García Fernández 2009b: 219–225, with extensive argumentation. The number of Latin status communities mentioned by Pliny is apparently high because it includes the foundations created under the Transpadane procedure, García Fernandez 2009a on the different types of Latin status. This thesis is developed further by Espinosa Espinosa 2014.

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Added proof of the existence of Latin colonies during the Republic is the recruitment mentioned in the Caesarean corpus ex colonis from Hispania Ulterior, where there were no Roman colonies. In the Bellum Hispaniense a description of the troops available to Pompey the Younger in 46 B. C. describes the best of them: the legio Vernacula and legio II, as well as a third ‘constituted of colonists living in the region’ (“facta ex colonis qui fuerunt in his regionibus”).51 There is also a mention of the “cohortes quae colonicae appellabantur” present at Corduba,52 and the recruitment of Roman equites “enlisted in all the conventus and colonies” (“ex omnibus conventibus coloniisque conscriptos”)53 which Cassius Longinus intended to carry out. This last passage is particularly important due to the use of the noun colonia, which clears up any existing doubts about the references to colonists (ex colonis) in the Bellum Hispaniense.54 These coloni were not possessores occupying the land, but rather members of a colonia in a technical and administrative sense. The coloniae were not Roman but Latin, for no Roman colony existed at that time in those territories, as the conventus civium Romanorum in some cities clearly demonstrates.55

This recruitment process was not exclusive to Hispania. Caesar carried out a similar procedure in the Latin colonies of Transpadane Gaul.56 From 58 B. C. onwards, Caesar enrolled Transpadanes and Cispadanes not in the auxiliary units, but in the legions themselves. As Laffi clearly indicates, there are similarities between Transpadane and Hispanic recruitment procedures; in both cases soldiers would become Roman citizens upon recruitment.57 All these factors indicate that there was a programme of the concession of Latin status carried out in Hispania in different circumstances and during various periods.58 This programme would allow for an alternative explanation of the onomastic diffusion phenomenon, one that is more coherent with Roman law and current evidence than the clientship hypothesis. The existence of Latin cities would provide the legal infrastructure necessary to explain the use of Roman names without contravening Roman law. There are two circumstances: on the one hand, the transmission of Roman citizenship and name structure, which would be possible because (non-Junian) Latini had conubium with the Romans; on the other, cities with Latin status would serve to explain the proliferation of Roman names without resorting to widespread imitation by the provincial population. This legal use of Roman names by Latin citizens is attested in the extensive use of tria nomina in Baetican epigraphy, where only the presence of tribus or magistratures enables us to differentiate

51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

B.Hisp. 7.4. Caes. B.Civ. 2.19.3. B.Alex. 56.4. B.Hisp. 7.4. B.Alex. 56.4; Caes. B.Civ. 2.19.3 (Cordubae conuentus); García Fernández 2009b: 225–226. Caes. B.Civ. 3.87.4: “et plerique sunt ex coloniis Transpadanis.” Laffi 2000: 144. García Fernández 2009b 228–230 and 2009a: 377–390.

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Latins from Romans, and in the onomastics of public freedmen of Latin communities.59 This use of Roman names might explain the case from Saguntum of the Fabii, who were granted Roman citizenship by Metellus Pius and Pompeius Magnus during the Sertorian wars.60 In both cases the concessions were given to individuals who already bore Roman names. This fact, already noticed by Badian, was explained, once again, as onomastic imitation.61 If this were the case, it would be expected that they would have adopted the nomina of the benefactors, Metellus or Pompeius. The only plausible explanation is that the name Fabius was for these Saguntines legal and official, and was thus included in the local census due to the status as a Latin colony enjoyed by Saguntum since an indeterminate date before 56 B. C. Once the civitas Romana was obtained, all they needed was a tribus to include in their tria nomina. In the same way, Marcus Aelius M(arci) fil(ius) Niger, after completing his term as aedile at Igabrum and becoming Roman, simply added the tribus Quirina to the tria nomina that he bore as a civis Latinus.62 Interpreting Hispanic documentation becomes more historically intelligible, and has more legal coherence, if we overcome the rigid Roman-peregrine polarity as the only possible legal status available to the Hispani during the Republic. The possession of Latin citizenship by a group of cities would explain, without illegality, the extended use of Roman names and the transmission of Roman citizenship, obtained virtutis causa or through manumission. This hypothesis would explain the onomastic continuity from the Republic to the Early Empire documented in Hispania, without resorting to an explanation of widespread imitation. Clientship per se cannot, in any case, be the vehicle for the transmission of Roman citizenship and its associated naming structure.

59 60 61 62

Stylow 1986: 299 n. 27 and 30. On the names of public freedmen, Dardaine 1999: 213–214; the onomastics of the Latin population and the consequences thereof, including the debate concerning Latin status name structures, García Fernández 2012: 419–426. Cic. Balb. 50 and 51. Badian 1958a: 257. Cf. Pina Polo, his paper in this volume. CIL II 1610 = CIL II2/5, 308; Stylow 1986: 299 no. 27. On the Latin status of Saguntum Ripollés-Velaza 2002: 285–294. The use of Cicero (Balb. 23) to establish the date after 56 B. C. is questionable: García Fernández 2013.

FOREIGN CITIES INSTITUTIONAL ASPECTS OF THE ROMAN EXPANSION IN THE IBERIAN PENINSULA (218–133 B.C.)* Enrique García Riaza “Quid? si ego morerer, mecum exspiratura res publica, mecum casurum imperium populi Romani erat?” “Tell me, if I had been dying would the state have breathed its last with me, would the empire of the Roman people have fallen with me?”1

Despite its unquestionable rhetorical spirit, the quote that opens this paper, which Livy attributes to Scipio following the uprising at Sucro in 206 B. C., sums up the tension of the debate on the importance of the individual in relation to the institutional structure. After recovering from his illness and having denied the rumours of his death, the future Africanus reminds his men of the sweeping state-wide nature of Roman expansion, far beyond the propinquity of its generals, whether charismatic or not. Traditional historiography has generally tended to explain Roman-local interaction through the prism of personalist values,2 in some cases under the influence of the “prosopographical approach”.3 As an alternative to these conceptions, the primary aim of this paper is to offer a study of the relations between the Hispanic and Roman agents from a functional perspective. This approach will enable us to demystify the role of ties relating to personal obligations, and particularly of clientela, in the integration process of the Iberian Peninsula into the Roman sphere.4 *

1 2

3 4

Research project: “Entre la paz y la guerra: alianzas, confederaciones y diplomacia en el Occidente Mediterráneo (siglos III–I aC)”, HAR2011-27782, National Plan for Scientific Research, Development and Innovation, State Secretary of Research, Development and Innovation, Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness, Government of Spain. Liv. 28.28.11. Ramos Loscertales 1942; Rodríguez Adrados, 1946 (cf. Blázquez Martinez 1960); Harmand 1957; Badian 1958a: 262: “The basis of Roman control over the provinces was, in an important sense, not political, but personal. (…). The Empire was based on the personal loyalty of leading men throughout the provinces to the leading families at Rome”. Scullard 1951: 8: “The gens, with its subdivision into ‘familiae’, was essentially a social group outside the constitutional machinery of the State, but nevertheless it formed the basis on which political life was organized”. For a general notion of the interaction between Rome and the local people in the West, see the collective work, García Riaza (ed.) 2011, with previous bibliography. Clearly, we acknowledge the existence of a “decision-making elite” (Eckstein 2006: 9), which does not allow us to infer an absolute subjectivity or autonomy of the leaders when taking decisions. For a constructivist approach, see Burton 2011.

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The late nineteenth century and much of the twentieth century bore witness to a virtually univocal unambiguous reading of the Roman expansion in Hispania, based on two assertions: (1) the Western societies’ ignorance of the institutional nature of Roman presence; and (2) the key role of the systems of personal duty in Roman foreign policy and in the subsequent management of the conquered territories. Naturally, the notion of the supposed cultural and institutional underdevelopment of the Western peoples (viewed as typically pre-state “chiefdom societies”), along with a personalist conception of politics, led some scholars to conclude that the initial phases of Roman-Hispanic contact were characterised by a flagrant asymmetry, and that such imbalance must have stemmed from the advent of a clientelistic relationship in which the Hispanic people presumably occupied an ongoing position of subordination. The term clientela therefore emerged as a multipurpose concept that aimed to make sense of the initially unsystematic (moreover logical) nature of Roman expansion in the West. The label clientela pervades Roman foreign policy studies on two different levels. On one hand, it is used to describe (and even to define) the Roman state’s relationships with other conquered communities, which have been characterised as “client states”.5 On the other hand (and the central point for us), clientela has also been the preferred term to describe the relationships between Roman generals and their individual provincial “subordinates”. Particularly in the period of the Crisis of the Republic, not only the existence of strong provincial clienteles controlled by the main agents of Roman public life,6 but also the effective influence of such clienteles on the evolution of political events in Italy, have been assumed. The term “client states” is highly metaphorical, with no clear foundation in ancient documentation.7 We believe that this meaning of clientela has been sufficiently critiqued by Burton,8 who proposes a more flexible model based on the concept of amicitia, for which there is greater evidence in our literary sources. In relation to the use (and sometimes, the abuse) of the concept of clientela as a unifying force of Roman foreign policy and provincial administration, it is perhaps now the time to reflect on the actual bearing of personal dealings on Rome’s expansion in the West. We intend to reflect on this through a study of some of the “leitmotivs” in historiography’s perception of the problem.

5 6 7 8

Badian 1958a. Badian 1958a; Amela Valverde 2003. For an opposing view, see Pina Polo 2012. Edlund 1977, under the framework of φιλία. Burton 2011; cf. Rosenstein 2012b. Among many other studies on this issue, see Deniaux 2006b; Muñiz Coello 2010. For a recent review of the problematic relation between deditio and clientela, see García Riaza 2012a.

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THE TOPOS OF HISPANIC INSTITUTIONAL UNDERDEVELOPMENT AND THE PERSONALIST MODEL The limited institutional complexity of Hispania, its embryonic social development and the precarious awareness of its people vis-à-vis the outside world appear in Badian’s work as axioms9 that serve as the foundation for the construction of an interaction model based on the subordination of the local people to the Roman general with the immediate creation of clientelist networks. The age-old clichés about the West – and, in general, the periphery – are by no means helpful to the contemporary historian.10 For proof, we need simply evoke Livy’s passage on the negotiations prior to the surrender of the Celtiberian city of Certima before Ti. Sempronius Gracchus c.179 B. C., where the concept of local coarseness (“sermo antiquae simplicitatis; magno risu circumstantium in tam rudibus et moris omnis ignaris ingeniis”) is categorically contrasted with the civilised nature of Roman society.11 This text, along with others of a similar kind, has traditionally been interpreted as an indicator of the continuation in Hispania of a policy launched by the Scipios based almost exclusively on personal contact with naïve and easily manipulated local leaders.12 Yet Livy’s passage refers to the sending of the two legally founded Celtiberian legationes (“missi sumus’ inquit ‘a gente nostra”) to the Roman camp, while at the same time mentioning the existence of a spokesperson of high status (maximus natu), and describing the city of Certima as urbs praevalida. Certainly there is no question as to the existence of personal connections in the Iberia of the third and second centuries B. C. The expansion of Carthage was characterised by the frequent use of “kinship diplomacy”.13 Similarly, the argument of lineage, whether actual or metaphorical, was present during the era of Roman expansion, as were references to the role of hospitium.14 Nevertheless, whilst such evidence cannot be denied, ancient documentation also offers solid proof of the existence of a more complex Hispanic world than that traditionally explored.15 Along these lines, Mangas’ 1970 article pioneered the in-depth study of HispanoRoman diplomatic relations, acknowledging the role of local agents (and their insti9 10

11 12

13 14 15

Badian 1958a: 117 (on the Hispanians): “The barbarian West” (…); “Most Spaniards at this time [Second Punic War] lived in a tribal organization” (…); “Simple tribesmen” (whom the future Africanus would attempt to impress with his magnitudo animi). Balsdon 1979; Dauge 1981; Dubuisson 1985; Marco Simón 1993; 2007; Gómez Espelosín et al. 1995: 109 ss.; cf. the review by Cruz Andreotti 1996. See now the excellent discussion of Sánchez Moreno/Aguilera Durán 2013. On local institutional development, Sánchez Moreno 2011; on terminology, Melchor Gil 2011. Liv. 40.47.3, see Briscoe 2008: 535. “The incidents related by Livy of his discussions with enemy ambassadors, and his personal contacts with the leaders of Spanish tribes are reminiscent of the relationships established by Scipio Africanus, and of nothing since” (…); “the ad hoc methods employed by the three Scipios” (…); “the highly personal system of allegiance they had developed”, Richardson 1986: 102. See below, “Contexts and background”. Battistoni 2009; for Sicily, Prag 2011c. In the Hispanic sphere, see Liv. 26.50.9, for example. On this matter, see Salinas de Frías 1983; 2001. Fatás Cabeza 1981; Beltrán 1989; Burillo Mozota 1998: 210–352.

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tutions) in the entire process.16 Retaking the path of this paper, the question arises not only as to the actual nature of such contacts, but also as to whether the Hispanian “perception” of the agreements operated on an official or rather on an individual level.17 And even if we accept the occasional existence of solely personal ties, we must ask whether it is admissible to infer that Hispanian communities were unaware of Roman institutions, of the role of the senate, and of the existence of a state mechanism that served as the driving force for Roman expansion. In his Foreign Clientelae, Badian devotes a total of nine pages to the situation in Hispania, nearly half of which describes the milieu of the Second Punic War, with only one paragraph on the Celtiberian Wars. In that short passage, Badian just mentions one general, M. Claudius Marcellus (152–151 B. C.), who was noted for his “honesty and political foresight”.18 A considerable majority of Badian’s discussion of Hispania is therefore devoted to the early architecture of Roman presence on the Iberian Peninsula (218–206 B. C.), which was built by the three Scipios. According to Badian, the key to Roman settlement during the Second Punic War and the post-war period consisted of the development of a “Scipionic system”, a regional control mechanism that in his opinion was based on a strictly personal structure built by the three Scipios. In his view, it constituted a model for action that was later exported to other areas, such as the Gracchan Celtiberia of 179/178 B. C. The “Scipionic system” would have exploited the charisma of the future Africanus to encourage the Hispanian people to sign treaties that bound them to Rome, while at the same time imposing military duties on them. In the opinion of this scholar, there were most probably also cases of cities that were drawn to the figure of Scipio (the future Africanus) on a strictly personal level.19 Badian exemplifies these types of connections by mentioning the case of the city of Castax, where in his own words, Scipio “installed a tyrant”. Nevertheless, Appian’s text (Iber. 32) limits itself to describing a prototypical case of deditio, with the imposition of the usual clauses of unconditional surrender and the subsequent implementation of a local Romano-friendly government, without displaying any noteworthy elements that might suggest the existence of a personal relationship.20 16

17 18 19 20

[in reference to Rome’s foreign activity in Hispania as a reflection of the state policy]: “Creemos que este comportamiento existe, aún a pesar de las varias interpretaciones personales que fueron ofreciendo los distintos generales o magistrados: el estilo literario, el gusto por lo anecdótico y el afán de personalizar (retrato) de los historiadores antiguos puede hacernos creer – con una lectura superficial de los textos – que cabe hablar de una política de individuos, no de nación”, Mangas Manjarrés 1970: 486. Cf. Salinas de Frías 1983; 2001. Hence, according to Richardson 1986: 64: “Such ties were evidently seen as personal by the local chieftains, and the encouragement of such client-patron relationships promised much for Scipio and his family in the future”. Badian 1958a:124 Badian 1958a: 118, “Perhaps following a preference for dealing with individuals, attached cities to himself and Rome by personal links”. “They set upon those who were guarding the town and were opposed to this intention and overcame them, and then handed over the town to Scipio. Scipio put a garrison over them and entrusted the town to one of the Castacians who had a good reputation” (transl. by Richardson 2000: 41 and 44). For his part, the reference by Pol. 21.11.5–7, which is additionally argued by

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Following the departure of Scipio, the system appeared to have collapsed, in Badian’s opinion, affecting not only the communities allegedly connected with Scipio on the personal level, but also the cities tied to Rome by means of official treaties. Paradoxically, albeit acknowledging that the expulsion of the Carthaginians meant the end of the need for an alliance between Hispania and Rome, Badian writes: “to the Spanish chieftains loyalty was a personal thing, and with Scipio removed, they felt free to ignore their treaties”.21 This assessment is nevertheless unsatisfactory, as it offers a blanket explanation for different models of relations. In fact, there is very little clear evidence of the existence of strictly personal ties of any political magnitude. Conversely, as we shall try to demonstrate, there are indicators that point to an “institutional” policy in Hispania as of the early years, not only from the perspective of Roman expansion, but also from the point of view of the local peninsular Iberian and Celtiberian cities with which the Urbs had contact until 133 B. C., the precise cut-off date of our study.22 CONTEXTS AND BACKGROUND Any analysis of the so-called Scipionic Era in Spain must be based on its immediate precedent, the Carthaginian domination, which began in 237 B. C. The study of this period in Iberia suffers from the same problems of interpretation as those mentioned above, with the attribution of a strictly personal rapport – as interpreted by Fabius Pictor – between the overseas enterprise and the Barca family. There is proof of the use of hospitium23 and of the marriage policy, as was the case for both Hasdrubal himself and Hannibal.24 The existence of personal relations and kinship diplomacy in this period does not veil the fact that Carthaginian expansion in Iberia was the product of a state policy.25 The Punic administration managed to create a highly efficient system of alliances in very little time. In fact, we know that after the Roman conquest of Carthago Nova in 209 B. C., some powerful Iberian communities were still reluctant to abandon the Punic side. This was even the case for the peoples from the north of the

21 22 23 24 25

Badian, is not decisive, as it is alludes to Indibilis and Culchas and solely mentions their political promotion to royalty status, with no mention of any personal ties with Scipio. Cf. Pol. 21.4.10, a generic allusion to Lybia and Hispania within the context of the Scipio’s conversations with the Etolians. The use of personalist terms (αὐτῷ πιστεύσασιν) in the construction of the passage does not conceal the presence in the text of a request for an unconditional surrender or deditio. Badian 1958a: 119. García Riaza 2012a. Liv. 21.2.5 (Hasdrubal), cf. Liv. 21.12.6: Hispanic hospitia in the service of the interests of Carthage. Diod. 25.12 (Hasdrubal); Liv. 24.41.7; Sil.It. 3.97; 3.106 (Hannibal). The “full military authority over all Punic territory” enjoyed by the Barcids in Iberia (Hoyos 1994: 254) was not incompatible with a complex yet undeniable relationship between the members of this family and the Carthaginian institutions, which would easily have been perceived by the average Hispanian native. See, on this period, Hoyos 2003.

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Ebro River, who secretly continued to send ambassadors to the Carthaginians.26 This information underscores the patent existence of solid diplomatic networks. This scenario clashes with that described by Roman propaganda, which was built around an alleged Punic ἀπιστία and despotism that does not hold up to rigorous analysis.27 If the Punic dominion had been based solely on personal ties – as is repeatedly asserted by historians –, it is difficult to explain why the Ibero-Carthaginian system did not collapse upon the departure of Hannibal. It is highly likely that in practice, the foundation of Punic power in the Iberian Peninsula resided not only in armed dissuasion (garrisons), but also essentially in the existence of a network of military alliances united by the spes praedae, in such manner that the very nature of the leadership generated an expansive dynamic to sustain itself. At the same time, despite its brevity, the Carthaginian domination of Iberia was most probably characterised by the implementation of incipient bureaucratic structures throughout vast areas of the south and east of the peninsula, designed at the very least for military coordination, to obtain supplies and to manage war compensation collections. In a word, for the local Iberian communities, the Punic Era was the first ongoing contact with a state-led civilisation, and hence embodied an opportunity to learn diplomacy and politics, without which it would be impossible to understand Hispania’s subsequent attitudes towards Rome. If we consider that the Iberian world interacted with Rome based on the inertia of its previous “international” experience, it is possible to assume that the Roman agents also adapted their political language in Hispania to local diplomatic uses, which may have been largely developed as a result of the Punic influence28. The notion of the Roman’s emulation of the Carthaginian alliance model in Hispania does not, therefore, appear so implausible. We will discuss this aspect further, in relation to the proclamations of Scipio as a general-in-chief. A ROLE-BASED MODEL OF ANALYSIS The study of the Roman presence in Hispania, and particularly during the period between 218 and 133 B. C., must bear in mind the limited, fragmentary and peculiar nature of our sources, which are often characterised by both rhetorical excess when describing human relations (as is evident in the case of Livy: hostages from Carthago Nova; Scipio’s speech before the troops at Sucro, etc.), and their proScipionic tendentiousness.29 At the same time, we must recall that the ancient terminology relating to the local representatives abounds with imprecision, meaning that the vocabulary used is more tied in with the cultural context of our sources than 26 27 28 29

Pol. 10.34.6. García Riaza 1997–1998. Sánchez Moreno – García Riaza 2012. This tendentiousness also extended to a sector of the Sempronii (tied to the Scipios until the crisis of the foedus Mancinum in 137 B. C.). Along these lines, the activity of the praetor Gracchus in Celtiberia (180–179/178), which was above all known by Plutarch, also displayed this tendency for hagiography, with the heavy influence of the portrait of the main hero figure, which concealed the existence of an institutional system.

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with the institutional reality of Hispania in the third and second centuries B. C. For this reason, we believe that the most effective method to acquire an understanding of Roman-local interaction is to study the specific role of each of the institutions, and the practices conveyed by the documentation. From this perspective, we will first analyse body language in the politics of Iberia, then take up the problem of the use of titles and proclamations, and finally, study the question of physical proximity and personal implication in the realm of political-diplomatic relations (hostages and Gracchan agreements). ON BODY LANGUAGE AND ITS CONNOTATIONS The practice of προσκύνησις has traditionally been considered a clear indicator of the personalisation of politics, with a virtually religious connotation.30 In fact, this specific form of ritual greeting is scarcely referred to in our sources on Hispania. The direct allusions are focused on a single context of the Second Punic War (with a clearly literary tone): those who joined the Roman cause following the conquest of Carthago Nova in 209 B. C. Here, the verb προσκυνέω is conjugated on only three occasions: προσκυνήσαντες τὸν στρατηγὸν;31 προσκυνησάντων αὐτὸν;32 προσεκύνησε.33 This term must be read in the context of the Hellenist cultural backdrop of our sources, where it is interpreted, based on the custom of greeting the Persian king, as the gesture of blowing a kiss with the hand, possibly accompanied by a nod of the head.34 Therefore, it is not necessarily a gesture of prostration or genuflection, regardless of the fact that it may reach such an extreme.35 In other cases, the sources also mention the pronounced gesture of the bow of the body or prostration through the verb προσπίτνω, which presents a less ambiguous meaning.36 In Greek this term is applied to the wife of the Ilergetian chief Mandonius: προσπεσούσης αὐτῷ.37 We must also acknowledge a Latin analogy in a passage that refers to the legati of the regulus Bilistages: “ad genua consulis prouoluuntur”,38 following the Punic Wars, during the campaign of Cato in Hispania in 195 B. C. From a functional point of view, and in keeping with the case of Hispania and the chronology of our study,39 προσκυνέω appears to be applied in contexts in which 30

31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Ramos Loscertales 1924: 9–12; 1942; Rodríguez Adrados 1946: 173–174; Étienne 1958: 89– 93: “C’est un acte cultuel” (…); “la proskynèse des Espagnols définit un rite d’adoration courant chez les tribus où le roi incarnait le pouvoir politique et religieux”; cf. Blázquez Martinez 1960: 320–321. Pol. 10.17.8. Pol. 10.38.3. Pol. 10.40.3. Matarese forthcoming. See Pol. 15.1.6: Carthaginian ambassadors at the Roman camp (203 B. C.); cf. Liv. 30.16.3. Bailly, Dictionnaire, 1950: 1675, “tomber devant qqn pour le supplier”. Pol. 10.18.7. Liv. 34.11.5. For the Greek World, see Herman 1987: 41–57; for the imperial era, and particularly during the Tetrarchy, see Bravo Castañeda 1997.

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Roman supremacy is acknowledged by Indibilis and his colleagues, as well as by Edeco,40 in direct relation to the royal treatment given to Scipio.41 This verb is also used to denote an expression of gratefulness and relief: the case of the citizens of Carthago Nova, who were freed of blame by Scipio following the city’s attack.42 Conversely, προσπίτνω is used with a meaning of ‘plead’, as in the case of the wife of Mandonius who begs for the respect of her decency.43 A similar attitude, this time one of supplication, can also be seen in Livy regarding Bilistages’ legati, who, in tears (flentes), urgently beg the consul Cato for Roman protection: “orant ne se in rebus tam trepidis deserat.”44 Thus, the allusion to προσκύνησις, strictly speaking, appears to denote in Hispania a manifestation of acknowledgement of political and/ or military supremacy (Hispanian leaders who express their intention to collaborate with Scipio), and also as a promise of future obedience (people of Carthago Nova), as prostration in the strict sense of the word (προσπίτνω) appears solely in contexts of plea and supplication. Therefore, the term would fall into the semantic realm of other gestural expressions, such as the practice of extending the arms, which was documented in Caesar’s Gaul (as a gesture of surrender and supplication for mercy),45 an action that was occasionally accompanied by the exhibition of the naked female breast, in a passage of De Bello Gallico which unquestionably manifests the supplication of mercy.46 In the specific case of the Iberian Peninsula, it can be inferred that prostration (regardless of any terminological nuances that may be established) was already a well-known practice dating back at the very least to the early stages of Roman presence. Moreover, there is evidence of the appeal to prostration in the Carthaginian world,47 which could lead to the hypothesis of a Punic influence for the dissemination of this type of gestural communication in Iberia, a practice that would later come into play in Hispanian relations with Rome. Finally, we must assert that in view of the references to prostration (in any of its degrees or variations), we cannot infer the existence of solely personal political relations. This becomes particularly evident when we consider the attitude of the legati of the Ilergetian chieftain Bilistages before Cato (195 B. C.), as this expression cannot be interpreted as ignorance of the presence of the Roman state or as the result of a strictly personal bond, particularly if we consider that the consul himself was a newcomer to the Iberian

40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Pol. 10.38.3; 40.3, respectively. On the concept of royalty, see below. Pol. 10.17.8. Pol. 10.18.7. Liv. 34.11.5. Caes. B.Gall. 2.13.2: “omnes maiores natu ex oppido egressi manus ad Caesarem tendere et uoce significare coeperunt sese in eius fidem ac potestatem uenire neque contra populum romanum armis contendere.” Caes. B.Gall. 7.47.5: “matres familiae de muro uestem argentumque iactabant et pectore nudo prominentes passis manibus obtestabantur romanos, ut sibi parcerent ne, sicut Avarici fecissent, ne a mulieribus quidem atque infantibus abstinerent.” See n. 35. On the alleged Eastern origin of this practice, see Liv. 30.16.4: “accepto, credo, ritu ex ea regione ex qua oriundi erant.”

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Peninsula. In this case, we simply have a gesture among ambassadors that must be interpreted as a staging of diplomacy.48 TITLES AND PROCLAMATIONS The issue of the acclaim and treatment received by Scipio is similarly worthy of reconsideration. According to Polybius, the term βασιλεύς is mentioned by Indibilis and his peers, as well as by Edeco following the occupation of Carthago Nova in 209 B. C. The future Africanus is also proclaimed as rex by a group of Iberian towns after the Roman victory at Baecula, the following year.49 As Aymard suggests, assuming that the concept of royalty did not mean exactly the same thing for the Hispanians as it did for Scipio or Polybius,50 here we are particularly interested in the attitude of the Iberians. Walbank proposes two possibilities: that the Hispanians viewed Scipio as a king (possibly in the monarchic sense) or rather that they recognised him as a leader. This scholar appears implicitly to opt for the latter explanation, citing that here Polybius uses the term βασιλεύς retrospectively (given that he was writing his text after Scipio’s triumph over Hannibal). For Walbank,51 the term βασιλεύς in Polybius’ version must not be understood as either “king of Rome” or “king of the Spaniards”; rather it is a Hellenist descriptor that denotes “a man with military, moral and intellectual qualities of a kingly character”. We believe that this meaning is clear in Livy, considering that the proclamation of Scipio as rex was the consequence of the general’s magnanimity towards the defeated Hispanians, who were freed. Hence, rex is a moral category (regalem animum52). In this sense, Mangas’ appraisal is also appropriate, as he interprets these references to royalty as military leadership and – we would add – hegemony over a heterogeneous armed group. This meaning can be seen in Polybius and Livy, where they use the term βασιλεύς / rex to describe both Indibilis – himself the leader of a coalition53 – and significantly Culchas, the Hispanian chief who governed twenty eight – then seventeen – cities.54 Rather than a description of the type of internal government of a city, 48 49 50 51 52

53 54

On the mechanisms of diplomatic communication, see Jönsson – Hall 2003; Pina Polo 2013; Torregaray 2013. Pol. 10.40.2–5; Liv. 10.38.3; 27.19.3–5. Aymard 1954; Develin 1977; Torregaray 1998: 182–183; Rivero Gracia 2006: 35 and her n. 79; 79–84. Cf. Étienne 1958: 88–89. Walbank 1967: 252–253. Following the freeing of the prisoners at Baecula: “circumfusa inde multitudo Hispanorum et ante deditorum et pridie captorum regem eum ingenti consensu appellauit. tum Scipio silentio per praeconem facto sibi máximum nomen imperatoris esse dixit, quo se milites sui appellassent; regium nomen alibi magnum, Romae intolerabile esse. regalem animum in se esse, si id in hominis ingenio amplissimum ducerent, tacite iudicarent; uocis usurpatione abstinerent. sensere etiam barbari magnitudinem animi, cuius miraculo nominis alii mortales stuperent, id ex tam alto fastigio aspernantis” (Liv. 27.19.3–5). See n. 65. Pol. 21.11.7–8: use for hegemonies of Indibilis and Culchas over different cities: ὧν κατὰ μὲν τὴν Ἰβηρίαν Ἀνδοβάλην καὶ Κολίχαντα προεφέροντο, κατὰ δὲ τὴν Λιβύην Μασαννάσαν, ἐν δὲ

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the concept of βασιλείᾳ therefore appears to suggest a capacity for supra-local power, going beyond the limits of the original πόλις. The presence of a collective βασιλεύς would not necessarily hinder the existence of specific local governments, as the two institutions acted on different levels. The references to royalty must once again be placed in relation to the roles denoted by the context: the exercising of Roman superiority within anti-Carthaginian coalitions. Thus, Étienne, although describing the Spanish attempt as “l’offre de souveraineté personelle”, concedes: “Il est vrai que la royauté offerte à Scipion est une royauté fédérale”.55 This role is clearly cited in ancient sources, through the use of the expression societas armorum or the reference to the establishment of formal treaties (συνθήκη, foedera).56 Both cases imply the Roman obtaining of local troops and the strategic (if not tactical) coordination of such military units. We must underscore that the title of βασιλεύς (in the meaning used by the Iberians) is here functionally analogous to that of imperator, as revealed following the battle of Baecula, when Scipio, solely for the sake of political opportunity, proposes adapting the title to Latin, making it coincide with the celebration of his important victory of 208 B. C. that had opened the gates of the Valley of Betis. As Walbank indicated, this Polybian reference “is perhaps the earliest known example of the acclaiming of a general as imperator by his troops”,57 and would set the precedent for the possibly more generic use of the title of imperator, as can be seen later in the epigraphic bronzes of Lascuta and Alcántara. The recognition of Roman military leadership in the figure of Scipio, who is viewed as the head of a great coalition, presents a clear precedent: the proclamation of Hasdrubal (the son-in-law of Hamilcar Barca) as στρατηγός αὐτοκράτωρ in Iberia two decades earlier.58 This expression, which in the classical sense suggested a category of generalship with broad decision-making powers in the political and diplomatic arena, was widely used in the Hellenistic period, with diverse connotations.59 According to Poddighe, in that period the term was exchangeable with ἡγεμών, which meant “command of the expedition or campaign”.60 Effectively, in

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τοῖς κατὰ τὴν Ἰλλυρίδα τόποις Πλευρᾶτον: οὓς ἅπαντας ἔφασαν ἐξ ἐλαφρῶν καὶ τῶν τυχόντων δυναστῶν πεποιηκέναι βασιλεῖς ὁμολογουμένως. Indibilis (Andobales) is also cited as a king in Pol. 10.18.7. On Culchas, cf. Liv. 28.13.3: “ad Culcham, duodetriginta oppidis regnantem;” Liv. 33.21.7: “decem et septem oppida.” The meaning of ‘king’ in literary sources on ancient Hispania is, nevertheless ambiguous: see Muñiz Coello 1994; Moret 2002–2003, cf. Coll Palomas – Garcés Estallo 1998; Bendala Galán 2006. Étienne 1958: 88–89. Societas armorum (Liv. 21.60.3: “partim renouandis societatibus partim nouis instituendis”): attraction of peoples from the north of the Ebro River to the Roman dicio by Cnaeus Scipio. Consequence: recruit of strong auxiliary cohorts; συνθήκη (Pol. 10.38.4–5) with Indibilis following the conquest of New Carthage. Terms: provision of local troops under Roman command (nevertheless, for 206 B. C., cf. Liv. 28.32.5: Ilergetians not bound by societas, but rather by loyalty and friendship, now broken, with Rome. It is, in fact, a rhetorical passage: the discourse of Scipio intended to inspire no mercy in the Roman troops ready for retaliation). Walbank 1999: 253. Diod. 25,12 (Hasdrubal). Scheele 1932: 3; Pritchett 1974: 42–43. Poddighe 2009: 103 n. 17.

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the case of Iberia, the application of the expression στρατηγός αὐτοκράτωρ (which is nevertheless an interpretation of our sources in the Greek language61) suggests multiple leadership, evoking the era in which the Carthaginian world managed to make its way into Iberia incorporating considerable forces of native warriors. The acclamation of Hasdrubal as στρατηγός αὐτοκράτωρ was viewed by Rodríguez Adrados as proof of the existence of personal connections based on multilateral clientelist relations.62 All the same, we believe that such a proclamation rather (if not solely) denotes a military leadership within the heart of an asymmetrical coalition. This is clear in the direct consequence of such a proclamation, which is none other than the organisation of a numerous and united army.63 As we have cited above, the construction of an Ibero-Roman coalition was not alien to these Punic precedents, which would undoubtedly have determined the appearance, the mechanisms and the very terminology of the alliances and of their leaderships.64 Scipio‘s imperial (self)proclamation embodies not only an adaptation of the Ibero-Carthaginian alliance format, but also an excellent manoeuvre to bring the Romans and Hispanians together under a single political ideology in the face of their common Carthaginian enemy. The obvious imbalance of these connections in Rome’s favour can also be seen in the documented allusions to the bonds of φιλία (at times combined with a reference to συμμαχία) or amicitia.65 The asymmetric nature of φιλία is manifest in the fact that for one side, it involved the payment of merces. Though we will not discuss this feature, recently studied by Burton, in greater depth, we must point out that it can be corroborated by Hispanian documentation. Hence, in the case of the Celtiberian prince Allucius, the friendly terms that he developed with Rome entailed military collaboration.66 The declaration of friendship, which was a Roman prerogative, above all constitutes the concession to the Hispanian of a diplomaticpolitical status defined in relation to the dominant power, typically under the veil of subordination. This interpretation would enable us to explain, perhaps for the first time, the fact that the treaty between Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus (cos. 142 B. C.) and Viriathus (which entailed the official recognition of Lusitania as a Ῥωμαίων φίλος) was ratified by the populus, despite its stemming from a Roman military defeat.67 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

Hoyos 2003: 75, “Obviously Hasdrubal would not use the Greek term officially but will have styled himself ‘supreme general’ (or leader) or the like in Punic, Iberian and the other languages of his territories”. Rodríguez Adrados 1946: 177. See Hoyos 2003: 75, who considers the expression strategós autokrátor as a sort of “election or acclamation as leader by an alliance”. Sánchez Moreno – García Riaza 2012. On contexts of Ibero-Punic interaction: Indibilis (Pol. 10.37.7); Iberian principes (Liv. 21.2.5); on Ibero-Roman relations: Edeco (Pol. 10.34.6); Allucius (Liv. 26.50.7). Liv. 26.50.14 (“dilectu clientium habito”): 1400 horsemen. App. Iber. 69, cf. Diod. 33.1.4; Liv. per. 54; Simon 1962: 121–124; Astin 1967: 142–143; García Riaza 2002: 149–159. This treaty was soon denounced at the request of Caepio, the new governor, who considered it inadmissible, perhaps due to the wide territorial reconnaissance that it entailed. Nevertheless, Appian in fact cites Viriathus’ generosity in accepting the treaty,

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In short, an integrated reconstruction of the elements considered thus far enables us to identify a clear connection between: (1) the acknowledgement of Roman supremacy by the Hispanian leaders; (2) the incorporation of a differentiated treatment (a sign of leadership) applied to the Roman general; and (3) the effective military subordination, which meant the Hispanian provision of troops to the Romans, as pursuant to the treaty. THE ALLEGED PHYSICALITY OF THE ALLIANCES It is particularly worthy of note that both the ancient sources and a number of contemporary historians coincide in attributing the Roman disturbances in Hispania, namely the uprisings and mutinies, to the illness or physical distance of the generals, whereas the very same authors and scholars generally neglect the physical distance of Hannibal and later of Hasdrubal Barca when explaining the Roman victories. To shed some light on this problem, we will first examine the illustrative events of 206 B. C., which were marked by the (most probably planned) propagation in Hispania of the rumours of Scipio’s illness and death. The spread of this news coincided with the mutiny of the Roman troops based in Sucro and the uprising of the peoples from the north of the Ebro River, under the leadership of the Ilergetians.68 In a linear reading of the sources, historiography has tended to suggest a causal relation between the alleged disappearance of Scipio and the aforementioned unrest. In other words, the corresponding belief would be that the mutiny of the encampment at Sucro must have taken place due to the sense of a lack of leadership, and the uprising of the Ilergetians must have been caused by the “personal” nature of the agreements, which were broken when the signatory – Scipio – disappeared.69 Nevertheless, ancient sources clearly state that the mutiny at the Roman encampment was primarily due to economic issues stemming from the Roman state’s lack of funds to pay the military stipendium.70 Such delays in payment led certain groups

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despite his military victory: νομίσας ἐν καλῷ θήσεσθαι τὸν πόλεμον ἐπὶ χάριτι λαμπρᾷ, συνετίθετο Ῥωμαίοις. Pol. 11.25–30; Liv. 28.24–29; App. Iber. 34–37; Zon. 9.10. In this sense, according to Rodríguez Adrados 1946: 177–178 and 183: “La línea de conducta de los régulos ilergetes está, pues, perfectamente clara: ellos han contraído con Aníbal (…), y luego con Scipio, un vínculo personal en el que los españoles son la parte inferior, es decir, un vínculo de clientela. [El pacto] se disuelve asimismo por muerte o ausencia del patrón” (…); “La fuerza de la clientela ibérica es demostrada por el vigor con que florece la clientela romana cuando se implanta en España. El caso más significativo es el de las clientelas de Pompeyo, adquiridas durante su estancia en España combatiendo a Sertorio, y que tan decisivas son en la guerra civil contra César”. The economic motives seem clear in Polybius 11.25.8–11, who only tangentially alludes to the news of the General’s illness. For Cadiou 2008: 484, the delay in the payment of the soldiers was associated with the general restructuring of Hispania after the war. For further specific information about the incident, see Chrissanthos 1997. In his opinion, the problems – which were economic in nature – had been developing prior to the news of Scipio’s illness. The emphasis

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of soldiers to pillage the Iberian settlements. The lack of military discipline inevitably gave rise to the relaxation of surveillance over the local people. The garrison at Sucro was in charge of patrolling the area north of the Ebro, as clearly described by Livy,71 and it was precisely the peoples of this area that rose up.72 Under the leadership of the Ilergetians, a heterogeneous coalition with the participation of Lacetanians and Celtiberians made incursions in the territories of Rome’s allied villages: “agrum Suessetanum Sedetanumque sociorum populi Romani hostiliter depopulati sunt.” It was the news of the preparations for a major military expedition against the Ilergetian coalition organised from the Roman base of Carthago Nova that spurred the retreat of the uprising villages back to their original territories. In fact, this was false information, as Scipio’s true objective was primarily to use his combat forces to reinstate order within the heart of the Roman army. Once the harsh nature of the general’s repression of his own men was known among the peoples of the region, the Ilergetians and their allies reorganised for an active defence, once again occupying the territory of the Roman socii, for strategic reasons. In itself, the physical distancing (or disappearance) of the Roman general does not explain these uprisings. In fact, there were other similar situations that did not lead to rebellions or mutinies, such as Scipio’s visit to Syphax, the King of the Masaesyli, in Africa, following the battle of Ilipa.73 The Hispanian revolt of 206 B. C. should be read not in relation to Scipio’s imminent departure to Italy, his illness or the rumours of his death, but rather in relation to the end of the need to maintain the anti-Carthaginian military alliances after the surrender of Gadir, something that Livy himself insinuates.74 The disillusionment of the Iberian peoples after the war appears to have had a substantial bearing on the start of the uprising of the Ilergetians. Such is the perspective of Badian (although he also considers a personalist explanation).75 The retreat of the Ilergetians to their bases (not their surrender) once the rumour of Scipio’s death was refuted76 does not prove the existence of a

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that these sources place on this personal circumstance must be understood in keeping with the hagiographical treatment of the figure of the future Africanus, see Étienne 1958: 85–88; Torregaray 1998: passim. For a general overview of the financial difficulties suffered by Rome during the Hannibalic War, Ñaco del Hoyo 1996–1997; 2005; García Riaza 1999. Liv. 28.24.5: “praesidium gentibus quae cis Hiberum incolunt impositum.” The causal relationship between the Roman mutiny and the Iberian uprising appears implicitly in the version by App. Iber. 37: Ἰνδίβιλις δέ, τῶν συνθεμένων τις αὐτῷ δυναστῶν, στασιαζούσης ἔτι τῆς Ῥωμαϊκῆς στρατιᾶς κατέδραμέ τι τῆς ὑπὸ τῷ Σκιπίωνι γῆς. The same occurs in Zon. 9.10. Pol. 11.24a 4; Liv. 28.17.11–18.12; App. Iber. 30. In reality, although Livy indicates that the news of Scipio’s illness “provinciam omnem ac maxime longinqua eius turbauit” (Liv. 28.24.1), for the Ilergetians he cites specific reasons of a political nature: “Mandonius et Indibilis, quibus, quia regnum sibi Hispaniae pulsis inde Carthaginiensibus destinarant animis, nihil pro spe contigerat” (Liv, 28.24.3). See Richardson 1986: 60–61. Badian 1958a: 119 (my italics): “To the Spanish chieftains loyalty was a personal thing, and with Scipio removed, they felt free to ignore their treaties. Besides they had no doubt joined the Romans in the hope of securing independence from Carthage with their aid, and after the expulsion of the Carthaginians, they saw no reason for letting the Romans stay on”. Liv. 28.25.11: “redierant enim in fines omisso incepto Mandonius et Indibilis, postquam uiuere Scipionem allatum est.”

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strictly personal bond among Idibilis, Mandonius and the Roman general, but rather the fear of reprisals. THE HOSTAGES OF CARTHAGO NOVA One of the episodes most widely cited in support of the alleged personalist nature of Scipio’s activity in Hispania is the news of the return of the Hispanian hostages to their respective communities. Such hostages had been in Carthaginian custody in the aforementioned port city, which was conquered by Rome in 209 B. C. This matter is described by both Polybius and Livy,77 and both versions present a number of common traits, such as Scipio’s moderation and self-restraint in relation to the female hostages, and the general’s magnanimity and political vision in deciding to return the obsides.78 The freeing of the hostages, who would gradually return to their respective homelands and families, is presented as the reason for the realignment of loyalties in the Iberian Peninsula, with the new allegiance of many Hispanian political communities to Rome. The figure of the hostage in the ancient world differs considerably from the modern definition of the term. In the chronological facet of our study, obses was first and foremost a theoretically inviolable diplomatic institution that aimed to symbolise the validity of a pact between two peoples.79 Generally speaking, in Carthaginian Iberia (and later, in the Roman era), these agreements tended to have an asymmetrical nature, meaning that only one of the parties, that of the Hispanian communities, was required to provide hostages, who belonged to the elite classes of their respective cities. Following the Roman conquest of Carthago Nova, the individuals held hostage there by the Carthaginians automatically lost their inviolable status as the Punic administration disappeared in the city, leaving their destiny in the hands of the new Roman military authority (“uenisse enim eos in populi Rom77 78

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Pol. 10.18; 34.2; Liv. 26.49–50; 27.17.1–2; 16–17; Val.Max. 4.3.1; App. Iber. 23; Gell. NA 7.8; vir.ill. 49.8. Liv. 26.50.1–6: “Captiua deinde a militibus adducitur ad eum adulta uirgo, adeo eximia forma ut quacumque incedebat conuerteret omnium oculos. Scipio percontatus patriam parentesque, inter cetera accepit desponsam eam principi Celtiberorum: adulescenti Allucio nomen erat. Extemplo igitur parentibus sponsoque ab domo accitis, cum interim audiret deperire eum sponsae amore, ubi primum uenit, accuratiore eum sermone quam parentes adloquitur. “Iuuenis”, inquit, “iuuenem appello, quo minor sit inter nos huius sermonis uerecundia. Ego cum sponsa tua capta a militibus nostris ad me ducta esset audiremque tibi eam cordi esse, et forma faceret fidem, quia ipse, si frui liceret ludo aetatis, praesertim in recto et legitimo amore, et non res publica animum nostrum occupasset, ueniam mihi dari sponsam impensius amanti uellem, tuo cuius possum amori faueo. Fuit sponsa tua apud me eadem qua apud soceros tuos parentesque suos uerecundia; seruata tibi est, ut inuiolatum et dignum me teque dari tibi donum posset.” Cf. Pol. 10.18.15: ποιήσεσθαι γὰρ πρόνοιαν ὡς ἰδίων ἀδελφῶν καὶ τέκνων, συστήσεσθαι δὲ καὶ πρὸς τὴν τούτων ἐπιμέλειαν ἀκολούθως τοῖς προειρημένοις πιστοὺς ἄνδρας (promise of protection to the wife of Mandonius and to the other women); 10.19.3: ἧκον αὐτὴν ἄγοντες καὶ παραστήσαντες ἔφασκον αὐτῷ δωρεῖσθαι τὴν κόρην (idea of booty presented to Scipio by his men). Moscovich 1983; Elbern 1990; Walker 2005; García Riaza 2006; Álvarez Pérez-Sostoa 2009. Cf. for the Roman Empire, Allen 2006.

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ani potestatem”80). There was therefore a real risk of being mistaken for prisoners of war (in fact, for stylistic reasons, both Polybius and Livy, alternate references to ὅμηρος / obses and αἰχμαλωτίς / captiuus in their discussion on the subject). This situation explains the fear of abuse among the female captives. It was in this context that the wife of the Ilergentian chief Mandonius begged Scipio for protection and the Roman decision was made to respect the integrity of the future wife of the Celtiberian prince Allucius.81 The entire story of the freeing of hostages must be framed in the category of the exempla, and formed part of a moral portrait that was applied as a cliché to different members of the Cornelii. Such would later be the case for Scipio Aemilianus, who would be extolled for his qualities of discipline, rigour, order and austerity in his Numantia campaign.82 The decision to free the hostages of 209 B. C. falls within the context of the initiatives taken by Scipio regarding the citizens of Carthago Nova, which would largely reinstate their independence and freedom to move about.83 Polybius reveals the existence of an express condition for the conqueror to return the hostages: that their cities of origin undertake to support the Roman cause in the future.84 Livy mentions this condition while speaking of Allucius, and there is also evidence of the holding of similar negotiations regarding Edeco, who set off with a large entourage for Tarraco, the city to which Scipio had returned, to communicate his desire to collaborate and to request the return of his wife and children.85 Nevertheless, in other passages of Ab Urbe Condita, the initiative to return hostages appears as a general action that did not require any immediate compensation,86 indicat-

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Liv. 26.49.8. Torregaray 1998; Rivero Gracia 2006: 63 n. 160, with a discussion of the previous bibliography, particularly by Hatscher 2000: 75. The Allucius episode must be accepted with certain caution, as it presents the aspect of a literary elaboration by Livy based on the story of the beautiful young woman mentioned by Pol. 10.19.3–7. According to Walbank, “in Livy (XXVI. 50. 1–12) the same anecdote is elaborated and romanticized”. The reference to a ransom in gold (Liv. 26.50.10–12; Val.Max. 4.3.1; Frontin. 2.11.5; Gell. 7.8; Polyaen. 8.16.6; Cass.Dio fr. 57.42), which was allegedly brought to the city by the maiden’s family members, is not present in Polybius. This payment does not at all fit in with the ancient concept of the hostage, but rather resembles a propagandistic device developed by Livy himself or his sources, perhaps influenced by the topos of Carthaginian harshness and by situations dated from around the time of Livy, in which ransoms were offered for the prisoners of pirates. In fact, Scipio (Livy) mentions her only as a captive: “capta a militibus nostris ad me ducta.” App. Iber. 85 (austerity and discipline); 86 (military training). For a study on the historiographical tradition of the Cornelii Scipiones, see Torregaray 1998. Liv. 26.47.1. Pol. 10.18.5: διότι θέλουσι Ῥωμαῖοι πάντας αὐτοὺς εἰς τὴν οἰκείαν ἀποκαταστῆσαι μετ᾽ ἀσφαλείας, ἑλομένων τῶν ἀναγκαίων σφίσι τὴν πρὸς Ῥωμαίους συμμαχίαν. Pol. 10.34. On Edeco’s provenance, see Moret 2002–2003: 34 n. 14. Liv. 26.49.9: “Deinde acceptis nominibus ciuitatium recensuit captiuos quot cuiusque populi essent, et nuntios domum misit ut ad suos quisque recipiendos ueniret. Si quarum forte ciuitatium legati aderant, eis praesentibus suos restituit: ceterorum curam benigne tuendorum C. Flaminio quaestori attribuit.”

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ing that from the first moment, the obsides were considered as though they were the children of allies (“ac si sociorum liberi essent”).87 The connection contemplated by Polybius and Livy between the submission to Rome and the return of family members held prisoner contradicts (only apparently) what we know of the Roman practice of ius in bello, which systematically viewed the submission of hostages as a sign of deditio.88 The return of the hostages in custody in Carthago Nova can be explained by the fact that they did not have any diplomatic meaning for Rome (as they were the result of only Hispano-Punic contacts), nor could they be considered simple prisoners of war (although technically this is precisely what they were) after the Roman conquest of the city, comparable to the inhabitants or the Punic garrison. In fact, Livy alludes to them by differentiating them from the rest: “extra hanc multitudinem.” The liberation of this group was probably the only possible legal option. From our point of view, the widespread recruitment of members of the Iberian villages to the Roman side in 209 B. C. cannot fully be explained by the simplistic tale of the cities’ gratitude for the return of their families, or from the perspective of extortion by Scipio by irregularly retaining members of the Hispanian elite classes. We must consider, as the main reason for this successs, the vastly important geostrategic change that the Roman defeat of Carthago Nova – the main port of Punic Iberia – entailed for the future of the war. Not long afterwards, the new Roman victory in Baecula, which meant the opening of the access to the Valley of Betis, would similarly generate the new support of different cities.89 THE GRACCHAN AGREEMENTS The personalist viewpoint on Ibero-Roman relations does not end with the conclusion of the Second Punic War. Hence, for Badian, as we have mentioned above, Roman policy in Celtiberia, which was embodied by the treaties of propraetor Ti. Sempronius Gracchus (179/178 B. C.), most probably resided in the exportation of the personal Scipionic system to the inland areas of the Iberian Peninsula later on.90 87 88 89

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Liv. 26.47.4: “extra hanc multitudinem Hispanorum obsides erant, quorum perinde ac si sociorum liberi essent cura habita.” García Riaza 2006. Liv. 27.19.3–5: “circumfusa inde multitudo Hispanorum et ante deditorum et pridie captorum regem eum ingenti consensu appellauit. tum Scipio silentio per praeconem facto sibi maximum nomen imperatoris esse dixit, quo se milites sui appellassent; regium nomen alibi magnum, Romae intolerabile esse. regalem animum in se esse, si id in hominis ingenio amplissimum ducerent, tacite iudicarent; uocis usurpatione abstinerent. sensere etiam barbari magnitudinem animi, cuius miraculo nominis alii mortales stuperent, id ex tam alto fastigio aspernantis.” Despite the use of the expression “official constitution of Celtiberia” in reference to the Gracchan treaties, Badian 1958a: 123, writes: “this is merely an extension to Celtiberia of the method that had been used in Spain ever since Scipio”; (…) “we do not hear of any ratification by the Roman People: it is Gracchus who takes the oaths, and later they are ‘the treaties of Gracchus’”. See also Phillipson 1911: 224, who mentions the Gracchi as patrons “of Spanish peoples”.

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Nevertheless, and in the face of this interpretation, we believe that the ancient sources – which include the exceptional testimony of Polybius – enable us to reconstruct a scenario for Gracchan pacification in which the signing of official treaties (συνθήκας ἀκριβεῖς, possibly deditio formulae) was absolutely essential. These agreements of surrender were indisputably submitted to scrutiny by the senate, the body that decided to revise some of the clauses not long after Gracchus’ departure, freezing the payment of the war indemnities which were originally stipulated, and maintaining in abeyance the initially contemplated power of demanding the provision of auxiliary fighters from the Celtiberian cities.91 Twenty-five years later, the precise terms of the Celtiberian status quo resulting from such official decisions were known in depth by the Hispanian people. This is clearly revealed in the narration of the episode in which the Celtiberian legati held an interview with the consul Nobilior in 153 B. C. In these circumstances, the two negotiating parties disagreed on the implications of some of the clauses of the treaties by means of which the territory was governed under Roman hegemony.92 In this sense, Polybius’ testimony is very clear: when referring to the Celtiberians, he alludes to “the terms of their convention with the senate in the time of Tiberius Gracchus” (τὰς κατὰ Τεβέριον ὁμολογίας αὐτοῖς γενομένας πρὸς τὴν σύγκλητον).93 Hence it seems appropriate to rule out the possibility that Gracchus’ management could be characterised by the establishment of merely personal, quasi-private agreements with the Hispanian people. Those who side with a personalist interpretation of the Roman policy in Hispania would undoubtedly find it difficult to explain how such agreements were upheld for decades after the departure or disappearance of their signatories. Nevertheless, the problem of the possible continuity of the influence of the Sempronii Gracchi in Hispania Citerior is still more complex and susceptible to further interpretation. Indeed, during the third Celtiberian War, Tiberius Gracchus, the son of the praetor and the future tribunus plebis, served as a quaestor under the orders of C. Hostilius Mancinus in 137 B. C. In the context of the Celtiberian defeat of Mancinus, a famous passage by Plutarch presents the young Gracchus as the only Roman interlocutor accepted by the Hispanians, thanks to his father’s reputation. The biographer firstly alludes to the πίστις (trust in the young negotiator) and justifies that trust on the basis of the memory of the young man’s father, which was still vivid in the region.94 In the signing of the peace treaty with the Celtiberians – an 91 92 93 94

Salinas de Frías 1986: 30–32; García Riaza 2005. Simon 1962: 15–20; Richardson 1986: 126–132; Salinas de Frías 1986: 32–34. Pol. 35.2.15. Plut. TiGr. 5.3: οἱ δὲ πιστεύειν ἔφασαν οὐδενὶ πλὴν μόνῳ Τιβερίῳ, καὶ τοῦτον ἐκέλευον ἀποστέλλειν πρὸς αὐτούς, ἐπεπόνθεσαν δὲ τοῦτο καὶ δι᾽ αὐτὸν τὸν νεανίσκον ἦν γὰρ αὐτοῦ πλεῖστος λόγος ἐπὶ στρατιᾶς, καὶ μεμνημένοι τοῦ πατρὸς Τιβερίου, ὃς πολεμήσας Ἴβηρσι καὶ πολλοὺς καταστρεψάμενος εἰρήνην ἔθετο πρὸς τοὺς Νομαντίνους καὶ ταύτην ἐμπεδοῦντα τὸν δῆμον ὀρθῶς καὶ δικαίως ἀεὶ παρέσχεν (“but the enemy declared that they had confidence in no Roman save only Tiberius, and ordered that he should be sent to them. They had this feeling towards the young man not only on his own account (for he was held in very high esteem by the Numantine soldiery), but also because they remembered his father Tiberius, who waged war against the Spaniards, and subdued many of them, but made a peace with the Numantines, to the observance of which with integrity and justice he always held the Roman people”).

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agreement that would be denounced in Rome due to its indignity – not only Gracchus, but the other members of the general’s consilium lent their collective support and were about to be punished in the same process to which Mancinus was subjected.95 Yet even accepting the individual role of the young Gracchus as a negotiator, is it appropriate to infer from this information the existence in Celtiberia of a “patronate by right of conquest” (in keeping with the terminology of Harmand)96 of the Sempronii Gracchi, acquired by the father (the praetor of 180 B. C.) and inherited and exercised by his son? We do not believe this to be the most probable explanation. Instead of a reading of the facts based on the mechanism of a hypothetical patronatus-clientela relationship – which has not been unequivocally proven by our historical sources –, we have suggested in another study an interpretation of the attitude of the young Gracchus as a “community of interests”:97 the Celtiberians opposing Mancinus wished for nothing more than the restoration of the status quo stemming from the Gracchan agreements,98 and the son of Gracchus, who had become the quaestor of Mancinus, was the most receptive interlocutor, as he was interested in renovating the political structure that his father had designed. In 137/136 B. C., we find a Hispanian embassy before the senate defending the peace agreement undertaken by Mancinus,99 and thus giving support to the restoration of prewar conditions. This community of interests among Roman officials and Hispanian rivals should come to no surprise: in 152 B. C., a legatio consisting of Celtiberians who had just risen up travelled to Rome to support the peace plan by M. Claudius Marcellus, which offered a conciliatory solution to end the war.100 CONCLUSION The ancient literary sources offer a personalist account of Roman-Iberian interaction, a highly effective approach from the point of view of the literary production of discourse. Nevertheless, a reconsideration of this information, and particularly a functional reading of the few surviving relevant data enable us to conclude that there are at least as many arguments to propose the presence of a state and institutional policy as there were reasons to defend the idea of a Roman expansionism based almost exclusively on personal agreements. As to a reconstruction of the

95 Simon 1962: 149–159; Astin 1967: 131–133; Wikander 1976; Rosenstein 1986; García Riaza 2002: 159–171; 282–291; Berendonner 2009. 96 Harmand 1957: 13–23: “Patronat par droit de conquête”. 97 García Riaza 2012a: 169. 98 App. Iber. 48: ὧν τὰ μὲν ἔθνη πυθόμενα προθύμως ἐπρεσβεύετο, καὶ τὸν Μάρκελλον ἠξίουν, ποινὴν αὐτοῖς ἐπιθέντα μετρίαν, ἐς τὰς Γράκχου συνθήκας ἀναγαγεῖν (…) (“they [Arevaci, Belli and Titthi] sent urgent embassies and asked Marcellus to give them a light penalty and to go back to the treaties of Gracchus”, trad. Richardson 2000: 57). 99 App. Iber. 80, among numerous other sources, see Simon 1962: 149–159; Richardson 2000: 168–169; Salinas de Frías 1986: 35. 100 Pol. 35.2; App. Iber. 49, see Simon 1962: 35–41; Richardson 1986: 141 and 194–198; cf. Salinas de Frías 1986: 34.

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earliest Hispano-Roman structures based on clientela, hospitium, or even devotio,101 we believe that there are sufficient reasons to propose that by the time of the Second Punic War, the Iberian and Celtiberian people already had a fairly good understanding of the connection among the Roman generals and the institutions of Italy; they knew the role of the senate in Rome’s foreign policy and they were aware of the medium- and long-term consequences of its alliance-related commitments. The literary terminology used as a point of support by the defenders of a personalist Scipionic system can also be used to defend the opposite points of view: Edeco turned himself in in fidem Romanis (εἰς τὴν Ῥωμαίων πίστιν),102 and offered himself to Rome as a military ally (τῆς Ῥωμαίων συμμαχίας);103 and the Ilergetians were incorporated into the Roman alliance (Ῥωμαίους συμμαχίαν)104 and agreed to an official treaty, the main clause of which consisted of following the Roman commanders (in the plural) and obeying their orders.105 Scipio asks Allucius for his friendship with the Roman people (“Hanc mercedem unam pro eo munere paciscor: amicus populo Romano sis (…) scias multos nostri similes in ciuitate Romana esse”), whilst the only mention of clientela is made in reference to the local social structure itself: “dilectu clientium habito”.106 As to the central years of the second century B. C., which were marked by the Celtiberian Wars and the Lusitan conflict (which falsely concluded in the decade of the ‘30s),107 we must recall that Badian himself (with whom we coincide on this particular point) is ultimately inclined towards a vision of unconditional surrenderings – deditiones addressed to the Roman people,108 as opposed to the personalism of Harmand.109 The need to send ratifying legationes after the deditio, an aspect underscored by Nörr, points in the same direction.110 In fact, the Hispanian diplomatic missions in Rome were relatively customary in the second century B. C.111 Among them, we need only mention the Celtiberian legatio of 137/136 B. C., which physically displayed in Rome the text of the foedus that had been signed with Mancinus.112 It is precisely this crisis over the denouncement of Roman-Celtiberian peace that gives us the best proof of the Celtiberians’ knowledge of the Roman

101 On the view of an alleged Hispanian singularity based on Iberian deuotio (as seen, among others, by Étienne 1958: 75–79) a reading of the following critical works by Dopico Caínzos (1989 and 1994) and Greenland (2006) is essential. 102 Pol. 10.34.6. 103 Pol. 10.34.7. 104 Pol. 10.18.5. 105 Pol. 10.38.5: ἐποιεῖτο τὰς συνθήκας πρὸς αὐτούς. ἦν δὲ τὸ συνέχον τῶν ὁμολογηθέντων ἀκολουθεῖν τοῖς Ῥωμαίων ἄρχουσι καὶ πείθεσθαι τοῖς ὑπὸ τούτων παραγγελλομένοις. 106 Liv. 26.50.7. 107 Sánchez Moreno (forthcoming). 108 Badian 1958a: 156: “The surrender was never in fidem of the commander as an individual but in fidem of the Roman People and its representative”. 109 Harmand 1957: 13–23. 110 Nörr 1989: 23; 61–62. 111 García Riaza 2005: 640–645. See now, on Hispanian legationes, Sanz 2012. 112 See n. 97.

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state-wide system, as acknowledged this time by Rodríguez Adrados:113 once it was decided in Rome to denounce the foedus and hand Mancinus to the Numantines, the Celtiberian authorities wisely kept the gates to the city closed,114 knowing that the acceptance of the former general automatically meant the termination of the conditions of the truce created by Mancinus’ oath. Along with the internal analysis of diplomacy and politics, the onomastic approach and its issues vis-à-vis the provincial governors must be also reconsidered.115 In Appendix B (ii) of his famous monograph,116 Badian includes a list of the “leading republican gentes” associated with provincial regions and suggests the penchants or affinities of different Roman families for certain provinces. In his opinion, the recurrent presence of successive members of a given family in a single region is an indicator of the existence of clientele relations among the families of the Roman oligarchy and the provinces where the members of those families undertook military command. From our point of view, this interpretation must be reassessed, bearing in mind that at least in the case of magistrates cum imperio, the assignment of provinces was carried out by means of a draw, which was a common practice among consuls and a highly routine method among praetors.117 To illustrate this, we need only recall Livy’s passage which alludes to the appointment of the praetor Ti. Sempronius Gracchus as the governor of Hispania Citerior for 180 B. C.: “praetores inde sortiti sunt: A. Hostilio urbana, Ti. Minucio peregrina obuenit, P. Cornelio Sicilia, C. Maenio Sardinia. Hispanias sortiti L. Postumius ulteriorem, Ti. Sempronius citeriorem.”118 Badian’s lists are therefore above all a reflection of the pre-eminence of certain families during certain eras of the history of the Roman republic: the families that boasted enough of an influence to place several of their own members in the highest offices of the state. The presence of personal elements in diplomatic and political interaction is a constant throughout history. As a result, there is no reason to conclude that Roman expansion in Hispania was primarily based on individual connections, and still less that such connections were characterised by clientelist relations. As we have tried to show, the bearing of the institutional component in the Roman expansion was perceivable by local population in Iberia from the very first stages of contact.

113 Rodríguez Adrados 1946: 153: “La no admisión por los celtíberos demuestra que éstos conocen ya perfectamente que luchan con Roma, no con un general”. Rodríguez Adrados refers to these types of attitudes as “relaciones de fides no personal”. 114 Liv. per. 56: “Ad exsoluendum foederis Numantini religione populum Mancinus, cum huius rei auctor fuisset, deditus Numantinis non est receptus.” 115 The onomastic approach in Hispania has been magnificently explored in some recent papers that emphasise the risks of this method. See García Fernández 2011; Pina Polo 2012. 116 Badian 1958a: 309–321. 117 On the sortitio process, see Schulz 1997: 55–57. This scholar takes the case of Metellus Celer (63 B. C.) to play down the importance of the draw in relation to other aspects of influence in the appointment of praetors. Cf. Brennan 2000: 171–172; 758–763: “the sortition of the extra-city provinciae seems totally random after 180, with episodes of manipulation of the lot concentrated in the period after 166 B. C. and mainly in the years 63–59 B. C.” 118 Liv. 40.35.8–9.

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As a method of analysis, the study of attitudes, roles and functions must prevail over that of pure literary formulism, no matter how much the latter may occasionally offer some significant insight, if contextualised in historical or legal areas. From this perspective, we have explored the hypothesis that the mechanisms, practices and attitudes of the contact between the Iberian communities and Rome were marked (and even determined) by the precedent of the political workings that had been developed previously in Punic Iberia. In our study of Ibero-Roman interaction, we have defended the need to play down the frequency of use and the meaning of the προσκύνησις, as well as the importance of contextualising the proclamation of Scipio as βασιλεύς in the realm of the leadership of a military coalition. In the same manner, we have proposed an in-depth review of the approach that connects the maintenance of alliances with the physical proximity of the leaders. We have also re-evaluated the well-known episodes of Scipio’s return of the captives of Carthago Nova in 209 B. C. and the establishment of the Gracchus Treaties with the Celtiberians in 179/178 B. C., observing them through the prism of the ius belli situation and the senatorial dynamics themselves.

THE HOSPITIUM PUBLICUM OF GADES AND CORNELIUS BALBUS* Francisco Beltrán Lloris1 The role played by provincial patronage relationships in the late Republic has been overstressed by historiography. This has significantly distorted our perception of both the political practices carried out in the provinces by senators involved in the power struggle in Rome, and the control mechanisms exercised from the capital to monitor provincial communities. The aim of the present study is to reconsider the roles of personal relationships between Roman elites and provincials during this period. From this critical perspective I would like to direct attention to one type of relationship which has become a clear collateral victim of the historiographical overemphasis on patronage: the hospitium publicum granted by provincial cities to particular Romans. Traditional historiography has emptied this institution of any autonomous meaning by reducing it to a mere appendix of the patronatus. This can be appreciated in one of the earliest examples of this practice, that of Gades and L. Cornelius Balbus, the Elder; this complex character, granted Roman citizenship by Pompey but politically aligned with Caesar, with whom he collaborated closely, holds a prominent position in the discussion about the political role played by provincial patronage.2 This hospitium, somewhat exceptional because of the relevance of the characters involved in the event through which the agreement is known to us, has multiple facets worthy of study. The event in question is the famous process initiated against Balbus in 56 B. C. for allegedly enjoying Roman citizenship illegally, as related in Cicero’s Pro Balbo; as is well known, Cicero was Balbus’ advocate, along with Pompey and Crassus. This event is of interest for several reasons. First, it is the earliest secure granting of hospitium publicum by a provincial city to a prominent Roman citizen (although in this case, exceptionally, the beneficiary was of local origin), a practice that is particularly well known through hospitality and patronage tabulae from the early Principate. Second, it sheds some light on the likely motivations of both parties in signing the agreement, reasons which are normally absent from the epigraphic sources upon which most of our knowledge of the issue is based. It also offers an interesting insight into the provincial perspective on a prac* 1 2

I would like to thank David Govantes for his assistance in the translation into English of the Spanish original text. Project FFI2012–36069-C03–03 (Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad). A recent discussion of the question on the Balbi and a critique of Badian 1958a, largely responsible for the overestimation of the importance of provincial patronage, can be found in Pina Polo 2011a: 335 ff. For one of the earliest criticisms of this historiographical trend see Brunt 1988.

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tice that has too often been assessed exclusively from the mono-directional and romanocentric point of view that until recent years dominated the historiographical analysis of the relationships between Rome and the provinces,3 including the process of Romanisation. Finally, by connecting the process to the concession of Roman citizenship it draws a relationship between this kind of agreement and the granting of local ciuitas honoraria, which in my opinion was originally the fundamental aim of these provincial hospitia publica. HOSPITIA PUBLICA The term hospitium refers to an agreement, often concerning actual accommodation, between two parties from different civic communities. There were different types, each with specific content: on the one hand were hospitia priuata between a Roman citizen and a peregrinus, which were limited essentially to a commitment to mutual hospitality; on the other were hospitia publica which, apart from the treatment of beneficiaries as public guests, could enable the individual to be incorporated into the host community as a citizen. Among the latter we can distinguish between those drawn up between Rome and a foreign community or individual; and those between a city, whatever its status, and a Roman citizen, a peregrinus or another community. For the case in hand, those between provincial cities and prominent Romans are of particular interest.4 The hospitium priuatum has left abundant evidence from very different periods, including Italian and Hispanian late Republican hospitality tesserae.5 The hospitium publicum, however, is only known concerning Rome itself through literary sources from the Republican period;6 and concerning other cities through a hospi3 4

5

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Beltrán 2002. There is no general overview of the hospitium in the Roman West, other than the ongoing study by Beltrán and Díaz Ariño (eds.), forthcoming (Mennella 2006). In the meantime, some other works are worth consulting, such as, among others: Mommsen 1864; Marquardt 1892=1886: 196 ff.; Lécrivain 1900; Marchetti 1906; Leonhard 1913; Bolchazy 1977; Lemosse 1984; nicols 2011 and recently 2014. For a typology of hospitality inscriptions see Beltrán 2003: 33–40 and, regarding tesserae, 35–36: there is evidence for three Italian (CIL I2 23; 828; 1764) and seven Hispanian tesserae in Latin (CIL I3 3465; HEp 1, 653; CIL II2 2825; I3 3466; II 5763; AE 1967, 239; 1999, 922), along with around fifty Celtiberian examples: on the latter, some of which are fake or at least suspicious, see Beltrán, Jordán and Simón 2009: 625–668; in general, for Hispania see Balbín 2006: 149–192. With individuals: Liv. 5.28 (Timasitheus of Lipara, 393 B. C.); instead, although sometimes considered hospites, Onesimus the Macedonian, 169 B. C., was a socius (Liv. 44.16), and Asclepiades of Clazomenae, Polystratus of Carystus and Meniscus of Miletus, 78 B. C., amici (CIL I2 203). With communities: other than the known early hospitia agreed with the Latins, the Sabines and Caere – on which see the essential Humbert 1978: 85–143, which demonstrates that the legal status of the beneficiary, who was no longer considered a total foreigner to the other community, effectively changed, because it was not only that a privileged residence permit was granted but also that incorporation into the host civic community was possible if residence was taken permanently and permission to enrol in the citizen list was requested – some

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tality tessera referring to an Italian city, also in the Republican period,7 along with a good number of inscriptions, mostly bronze tablets from the early Principate, from northern Africa8 and Hispania,9 where hospitium was often connected to patronage. This last fact was enough to prompt scholars such as Badian and Harmand to suggest, in an interpretation already outlined by Mommsen10 and in accordance with the generalised overestimation of the importance of the institution of the patronatus that we have been alluding to, that as early as the second century B. C. the hospitium had already ceased to play an autonomous role and had been completely absorbed by the patronatus.11 It is true that some of the evidence, especially with regard to the African record, seems to point in that direction, with the systematic connection between hospitium and patronage in the earliest tabulae and the disappearance of hospitium from many later documents. Something similar occurs with Italian tabulae regarding patronatus. However, other evidence, especially the Hispanian inscriptions, although in coincidence with the African record concerning the frequent connection between hospitium and patronatus, is sufficient to sustain the idea that the two institutions were similar but nonetheless had significant differences. Both were aimed at providing cities with powerful Roman protectors at the epicentre of government while conferring upon the said patrons the prestige of being recognised as hospites or patroni, along with some local privileges. The idea that they were in essence different institutions seems to be supported by the separate treatment of hospitium and patronage in the colonial charter of Vrso (§§ 130– 131), written originally under Julius Caesar, although the preserved inscription is probably a modified version from the Augustan period.12 This is further supported by several bronze inscriptions from the first and second centuries A. D. that granted hospitium without patronage. Moreover, in the case of Hispania Citerior, hospitium was granted preferentially to local knights and prominent provincials, without patronatus being alluded to, whereas the latter – either alone or alongside hospitium – was generally given to senators, showing a clear social hierarchy in the granting of these civic honours.13 One of these inscriptions, dating to 14 A. D., exceptionally specifies what this appointment involved: the ciuitas honoraria, that is, local citizenship, which was considered operative as long as the beneficiary was within

7 8 9 10 11 12 13

later examples, for instance with the Aedui (Caes. B.Gall. 1.31.7), can also be added, but their interpretation is more controversial. CIL I2 611 (Fundi, 222–152 B. C.): in the (fragmented) text, the concession of patronage is made explicit, and the granting of hospitium can be deduced. In this regard see Díaz Ariño 2012. Beltrán 2003, Balbín 2006: 193–246 and Beltrán 2010c: 129–137. Mommsen 1864: 357–358, 335 n. 15. Badian 1958a: 12, 154–155; Harmand 1957: 51–55; despite his critical position regarding clientelae, also in support of this particular point see Brunt 1980: 274. CIL II2/5, 1022; Stylow 1997: 42; Caballos 2006: 402–411. Something already outlined in Beltrán 2010c, 131 and further developed in Beltrán 2013, and Beltrán – Pina Polo 2013, where chapters 130 and 131 of the Lex Vrsonensis are also tackled.

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the city limits,14 in agreement with M. Humbert’s characterisation of the earliest Roman hospitium publicum.15 THE HOSPITIUM BETWEEN GADES AND BALBUS. We must now focus on the hospitium granted by Gades to Balbus.16 During the court hearing of 56 B. C.,17 Cicero stated that “hospitium multis annis ante hoc tempus cum L. Cornelio Gaditanos fecisse publice dico.”18 It is not easy to be sure as to the period that Cicero was referring to with the expression multis annis ante hoc tempus, although it seems evident that the agreement must postdate the citizenship of Balbus and his family, granted by Pompey as a reward for his merits during the Sertorian War and ratified, as Cicero stresses, by the lex Gellia Cornelia, promoted by the consuls in 72 B. C.19 It is generally accepted that Balbus remained in Gades until his march to Rome with Caesar in 60 B. C.20 In consequence, the granting of the hospitium must fall between these two dates, probably closer to the latter than to the former. This grant involved the production of a tessera, brought to the court hearing by a legation from Gades and mentioned by Cicero as proof of the pact.21 The document alluded to by Cicero was probably different from the small, often extraordinarily succinct figurative tesserae typical of Italy and Hispania in the Republican period. It must have been a bronze tabula with a more developed text – and more forensic value – similar to the one found in Curubis (Korba, Tunisia).22 Between 59 and 46 B. C. (roughly the same period as Balbus’ court case), this community issued the earliest example of this kind of document known to date, appointing an unknown Gaius Pomponius as patron and guest.23 Significantly, and simi14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23

AE 1967, 239 (Herrera de Pisuerga); Beltrán 2012: ciuitate honoraria donat ut libertos / posterosque ita ut ea omnia ei fuerint / finibus Maggau(i)ensium quae / ciui Maggauiensiu(m). Humbert 1978: 85–143; also Lemosse 1984: 1270. On the Balbi family, apart from the cited study by Pina Polo 2011a and the detailed essay by Rubio 1949 and 1950, see especially Rodríguez Neila 1992 and 2006; also des Boscs-Plateaux 1994. On the date see Cousin 1962: 232–233, in which the beginning of the process is placed in March or April, and the hearing in July or August. Cic. Balb. 41. Cic. Balb. 19. Rodríguez Neila 1992: 69. Cic. Balb. 41: “Tesseram proferam; legatos excito; laudatores ad hoc iudicium summos homines ac nobilissimos deprecatores huius periculi missos uidetis.” CIL VIII 10525: C(aius) Pomponiu[s ---] / hospitium tesseram[que hospitalem quom] / sinatu (!) populoque Cur[ubitano fecit eidemque]/ eius studio benificieis [deuincti ? publice]/ preiuatimque C(aium) Pompon[ium --- posterosque] / eius patronum sibei po[sterisq(ue) sueis ---] / quom hospitale tessera [cooptauerunt. Egerunt ---] / Himilconis f(ilius), Zentuc[---] / sufetes, Muthunilim Hi[--- f(ilius), ---]/ Milcatonis f(ilius), Baric H[--- f(ilius), ---]/ Ammicaris f(ilius), Zecenor [--- f(ilius), ---] / Ammicaris f(ilius), Lilua Mi[---f(ilius)];/ act(um) a(nte) d(iem) VI K(alendas) Mai(as) C(aio) Caesar[e --- co(n)s(ulibus)]. See finally Díaz Ariño 2012: 16–18. Díaz Ariño 2012: 18 reminds us that, later, one of the earliest duumuiri of the colony of Korba was a Pomponius (CIL VIII 12451): C(aio) Caesare Imp(eratore) co(n)s(ule) II[II], / L(ucius)

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larly to Gades, this community was also of Phoenician origin and of peregrinus status.24 The document is a small,25 easily transportable tablet, called in the text a tessera (hospitalis), the term used by Cicero.26 This sort of inscription, carved on a bronze plate and not on a small figurative object, was a novelty of the period, as shown by the fact that some years earlier, in 70 B. C., Cicero himself showed his surprise at the granting of a hospitium publicum by the city of Syracuse – probably a proxenia decree – saying that “id non modo tum scripserunt, rerum etiam in aere incisum nobis tradiderunt,”27 and thus stressing that the handing of a bronze copy of the decree to the beneficiary was something new to him. All the evidence seems to suggest that the custom of engraving two copies of proxenia decrees, one for the granting city and another for the beneficiary (some examples have been preserved) typical of the Magna Graecia, served as inspiration for several African and Hispanic cities which adopted this Greek custom to express such typically Roman institutions as the hospitium and the patronatus, thus setting the typical provincial standard for this sort of document.28 But what was the precise content of this tessera? Was Balbus simply named hospes publicus or was he also appointed as patronus, as has sometimes been assumed?29

24 25 26 27 28 29

Pomponius L(uci) l(ibertus) Malc[hus] / duouir V / [m]urum oppidi totum ex saxo / quadrato aedific(andum) coer(auit). The evidence seems, however, to disregard the fact that the C. Pomponius of the tabula was a native of Korba. First, in this period the local elite still had Phoenician names, as shown clearly by the local onomastics of all the sufetes mentioned in the tabula and also of the duouir in office during the Caesarian period, called Malchus (Solin 1996: 603), who was, furthermore, a freedman. In fact, the name Pomponius does not appear again in the inscriptions known from Korba. Secondly, the fact that the handing of the tabula demanded the presence of legati shows that C. Pomponius did not reside in the city. Finally, the appointment of a local as hospes in principle makes no sense. The possibility that C. Pomponius was a senator cannot be discarded: he was most likely a homo nouus, because none of the senatorial Pomponii known in the Republican period responded to the praenomen Gaius. In fact, a rock inscription from Triponzo attests to the existence of two quaestores called C. Pomponius C. f. and L. Octauius Cn. f., – the latter has been identified with the consul of 75 B. C.: in Mommsen’s opinion these were urban and not municipal magistrates (CIL I2 832 = IX 4541 = ILLRP 1275a; Broughton 1951: 476). The Phoenician character is clearly shown by the names and by the office of sufetes held by the legati in charge of presenting the tabula. Barely 12 cm high and 30 cm wide (preserved measurements: 11.9 × (17.4) × 0.4 cm). And also the Lex Vrsonensis, § 131: tessera hospitalis. Cic. Verr. 2.4.145. Beltrán 2010a. Rubio 1949: 118 n. 36 said that this appointment was ‘prácticamente un patrocinio’; Rodríguez Neila 1992: 235 considered that Balbus could have been designated Gades’ patronus after his access to Roman citizenship in 72 B. C. This, however, is only inferred from the passage in pro Balbus where Cicero refers to the tessera and the granting of the hospitium; in Rodríguez Neila 2006: 138, he is more cautious, and refers only to his appointment as hospes publicus; similarly Pina Polo 2011a: 348 n. 50, who does not exclude the possibility of the additional appointment as patronus.

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HOSPES OR PATRONUS? As previously stated, the earliest hospitality and patronage tabulae given by provincial cities often declared the beneficiary as both hospes and patronus. This is for example the case with Fundi, in the late second or first half of the first centuries B. C.,30 or in Africa, with the aforementioned Curubis around 59/46 B. C.31 and the ciuitates stipendiariae in the pagus Gurzensis in 12 B. C.32 In Hispania the situation was somewhat different because the tesserae from the transitional period into the Principate, all of them from peregrini contexts in Celtic areas, only mention the hospitium: examples include the two from Paredes de Nava33 and one from Herrera de Pisuerga dated to 14 A. D.34 The earliest tabulae from the Citerior, on the other hand, only grant patronage, for example in the case of ciuitas Bocchoritana, 10 B. C.35 and 6 A. D.;36 or patronage and hospitality, for example in the tabula of the ciuitas Lougeiroum in 1 A. D.37 This is also the trend in Baetica, for instance in the tabula of Grazalema in 5 A. D.38 In most instances, whenever this extreme can be confirmed, the beneficiaries of these documents – with the exception of those granted in indigenous contexts in the Citerior – were senators: this is probably also the case with the Tiberius C[laudius?] recorded in the tessera from Fundi,39 possibly also with the individuals mentioned in Curubis and, with certainty, with those in the tabulae corresponding to the ciuitates in the pagus Gurzensis, in one from the ciuitas Bocchoritana and in that regarding the ciuitas Lougeiorum. In fact, most patrons attested in both the east and the west were of senatorial status, and in many cases were provincial governors as well, especially in the Republican period but also in later times. The creation of the ordo equester by Augustus in the early Principate, however, facilitated the incorporation of knights and members of the municipal elites into these institutions.40 It is obvious that at the time of the granting of the hospitium by Gades (sometime between 72 and 60 B. C., as stated above) Balbus was a member of a wellpositioned and wealthy family in the city’s elite. He also had Roman citizenship – similarly to other Gades-born individuals promoted by Sulla –41 and was probably 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

CIL I2 611, in favour of a Ti. C[laudius ?]. CIL VIII 10525, in favour of a C. Pomponius; see n. 22. CIL VIII 68, in favour of L(ucius) Domitius Cn(aei) f(ilius) L(uci) n(epos) Ahenobarbus, proco(n)s(ul). CIL II 5763 (2 B. C.), in favour of Acces Licirni, Intercatiensis; AE 1999, 922 (indeterminate date), in favour of M. Titius Fronto, Turiassonensis. AE 1967, 239, in favour of Amparamus Nemaiecanus, Cusaburensis; in this case, the city grants hospitium and takes the beneficiary under its protection. In consequence the beneficiary cannot under any circumstances be regarded as patron of the city. AE 1957, 317, in favour of M. Crassus Frugi, cos. 14 B. C. CIL II 3695, in favour of M. Atilius M. f. Gal. Vernus. AE 1984, 553, in favour of C. Asinius Gallus, cos. 8 B. C. CIL II 1343, in favour of Q. Marius Balbus. The three Italian tesserae from the Republican period also concern senators. For the East, Eilers 2002: 28 ff. and for the West, Engesser 1957: 222 ff. Cic. Balb. 50, although the passage has been transmitted rather deficiently.

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a member of the equites Romani due to his enormous fortune.42 Finally, he had important contacts, such as Pompey, to whom he was indebted for the granting of the ciuitas Romana, and Caesar, whom he had probably met during his quaestorship in the Ulterior (68 B. C.) and who had appointed him praefectus fabrum during his governorship of the province in 61 B. C.43 However, Balbus had not yet reached the senatorial position that he would later obtain, characteristic of most of the patrons identified in the earliest hospitality and patronage tabulae, and was therefore still far from being capable of exercising as much influence in the life of the Republic as he would after his move to Rome in 60 B. C.,44 this being the ultimate reason for the appointment of patrons. In fact, Balbus’ only secure patronage, that of Capua, did not materialise until twenty years later, once he had reached the consulate (40 B. C.).45 This circumstance, along with the significant fact that nowhere in the speech does Cicero refer to Balbus’ position as patron, suggests that the only title that Gades bestowed on her illustrious son was that of hospes. But what was the purpose of appointing Balbus as hospes of his hometown, and what was the relevance of this in the court case? THE PROCESS AGAINST BALBUS IN THE ROMAN AND THE LOCAL CONTEXTS It seems clear that the designation of a hospes publicus was directly connected with a case of true hospitality, in that an individual was the guest of a citizen or of the city itself, as can be demonstrated or deduced from those cases known in sufficient detail. Regarding the case in hand, however, this could hardly be the most relevant factor of the agreement, since Balbus was from Gades and had family, properties and influence in the city. What, then, were the reasons behind the appointment? Let us go back to the court case in 56 B. C. As Cicero’s speech shows, Balbus was accused of unduly enjoying Roman citizenship, granted by Pompey and ratified in 72 B. C. by the lex Gellia Cornelia.46 The accuser, another man from Gades of whom nothing is known beyond Cicero’s speech, based his attack on the norm stating that no citizen from a ciuitas foederata such as Gades could assume Roman citizenship without the city’s permission.47 Cicero seemed to focus his defence 42 43 44 45 46 47

Rodríguez Neila 1992: 319 ff. Cic. Balb. 63. Cic. Att. 2.1.3. In 56 B. C., such capacity was explicitly recognised by Cicero: “(…) huius L. Corneli beniuolentiam erga suos remanere Gadibus, gratiam et facultatem commendandi in hac ciuitate uersari ?” (Balb. 43). CIL X 3854: L(ucio) Cornelio L(uci) [f(ilio)] / Balbo co(n)s(uli) patr[ono] / d(e) c(onscriptorum) d(ecreto). Cic. Balb. 19. Cic. Balb. 19; of the same opinion Rubio 1949: 115; Cousin 1962: 218; Humbert 1978: 118; Rodríguez Neila1992: 110; and Brunt 1982, with bibliography, esp.138 and 147, where he discards Angelini’s arguments (1980: 360–370), according to which the problem would be that the Lex Gellia Cornelia only opened citizenship to those having served in an allied contingent,

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around this idea, which incidentally he was incapable of overruling with an explicit statement from Gades. Beyond the legal foundations of the process, it seems clear that the case had a political dimension, in the context of the attempts to weaken the position of the triumvirate immediately before the consolidation resulting from the Lucca agreements in April 56 B. C.,48 in this case by attacking a close collaborator of both Pompey and Caesar. This is even hinted at by Cicero himself.49 It is however evident that the process also had an important local dimension. This is demonstrated by the fact that Balbus and his accuser were both from Gades, and that the latter’s arguments, based on the limitations to Roman citizenship agreed in the foedus signed between Gades and Rome, had a clear local perspective.50 This man, whose name is never mentioned by Cicero and who apparently had also been granted Roman citizenship (later lost in court),51 must have been well connected in Rome – judging by his decision to accuse such an influential person in Rome as Balbus – while playing a significant role in the public scene in Gades. It seems equally clear that he harboured an old grudge against Balbus, dating at least from the period when the latter was appointed public hospes, which, as we have seen, must have been shortly before 60 B. C. Some evidence suggests that these years were particularly tumultuous for local politics in Gades.52 According to Cicero, a few years before the court hearing the local senate decreed against Balbus’ future accuser grauissima senatus consulta53 and inflicted upon him multa et poena when the news transpired that he was planning on going against Balbus.54 It is possible that Cicero is referring to these events when he points out that Caesar, during his governorship (61 B. C.), contributed to quelling some tensions in the city, introducing, with the senate’s approval, several laws probably in the Roman style, suppressing certain local customs that Cicero labels as barbaric and granting some new privileges to the city through Balbus’ mediation.55 Everything seems to indicate that during Caesar’s governorship and with the support of the local senate, Balbus exercised some control of local politics,

48 49 50 51

52 53 54 55

a circumstance that is not alluded to in Cicero’s speech nor, indeed, in any other source, as pointed out by Brunt. On the rhetorical aspects of Cicero’s speech see Barber 2004. Rodríguez Neila 1992: 95 ff. Cic. Balb. 58. On the foedus, Dalheim 1968: 58. If this is what can be deduced from Cic. Balb. 32: “Ignosco tibi, si neque Poenorum iura calles (reliqueras enim ciuitatem tuam) neque nostras potuisti leges inspicere; ipsae enim te a cognitione sua iudicio publico reppulerunt”; in this sense, for example, Gruen 1974: 533, who assumed that his sentence had been passed on the basis of the lex Papia, and therefore between 65 and 56 B. C. Rodríguez Neila 2006: 139, 258 ff. Cic. Balb. 41: “re denique multo ante Gadibus inaudita, fore ut huic ab illo periculum crearetur grauissima tum in istum ciuem suum Gaditani senatus consulta fecerunt.” Cic. Balb. 42. Cic. Balb. 43: “controuersias sedarit, iura ipsorum permissu statuerit, inueteratam quondam barbariam ex Gaditanorum moribus disciplinaque delerit, summa in eam ciuitatem huius (scil. Balbo) rogatu studia et beneficia contulerit.”

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of which he took advantage to introduce reforms that went against local customs and which were not, in fact, well received by everyone in the city. After the departure of Caesar and Balbus in 60 B. C. the balance of power seems to have changed, so much so that by 56 B. C. – that is, the same year that the court case against Balbus took place and under the governorship of Sextus Quinctilius Varus – a group of citizens killed and expelled some members of the local senate from Gades and as a result were sent into exile. They were readmitted years later by Balbus the Younger,56 during his term as quattuoruir (44–43 A. D.), as pointed out by Gaius Asinius Pollio, governor of Hispania Ulterior – under whose orders Balbus the Younger served as quaestor – in a letter to Cicero in 43 B. C.,57 in which he refers to Balbus the Elder’s nephew in notably critical terms.58 It may be assumed that Balbus the Younger authorised the return of these exiles because they were his supporters, similarly to those who testified in favour of his uncle in 56 B. C. We do not know what circumstances triggered the attack upon the city senate and the resulting exile of Balbus’ supporters, but we cannot ignore the possibility that these were connected with the senate’s refusal to grant their explicit consent to Balbus’s change of citizenship, upon which the prosecution based their arguments. These tensions still existed in 43 B. C., because according to Pollio’s letter, Balbus the Younger also readmitted some more recent exiles. The available evidence is not sufficient to make a precise appraisal of the reasons behind this local struggle, which may have been in some way connected to the transformation of Gades into a municipium, undertaken by Caesar in 49 B. C.;59 surely with the support, if not the instigation, of the Balbi and their faction, with whom, however, not all citizens necessarily agreed. The process against Balbus the Elder therefore reflected not only the tensions crisscrossing Rome during the Triumvirate but also internal, local problems. In summary, the appointment of Balbus as hospes publicus in Gades occurred against this complex background. It seems plausible that towards 61 B. C., and in response to this climate of internal dissension, the faction of the local elite favourable to Balbus, perhaps on Caesar’s recommendation, agreed to grant Balbus a hospitium publicum in order to provide him with extra evidence of the city’s acceptance of Balbus’ new citizenship at a time when Caesar may have been introducing Roman-style laws in the city. The granting of the hospitium would therefore be an ad hoc measure aimed at protecting him against the arguments of his unnamed accuser; aimed, in short, to show not only that the city accepted Balbus’ change of

56 57 58 59

PIR2 C 1331. Cic. fam. 10.32.2: “exsules reduxit, non horum temporum, sed illorum, quibus a seditiosis senatus trucidatus aut expulsus est Sex. Varo procos.” Balbus supported Octavius while Pollio supported Anthony; on this topic Rodríguez Neila 1992: 253 ff. Cass.Dio 41.24.1–2; Liv. per. 110–111; Rodríguez Neila 2006: 133; it is not necessary to stress that Gades was the first city to be promoted to the rank of municipium ciuium Romanorum outside Italy.

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citizenship – necessary for his appointment as hospes – but that in fact it supported it heartily,60 thus invalidating the argument set forth by the accusers.61 On the other hand, if the granting of the hospitium publicum also carried the concession of ciuitas honoraria,62 Balbus’ condition as a citizen of Gades, while he resided in the city, would be restored. In fact, it is likely that his nephew Balbus the Younger also enjoyed this honour, which was normally applicable to the family of the beneficiary,63 as shown by his appointment as local quattuoruir in 44–43 B. C.,64 while holding the quaestorship of Hispania Ulterior,65 which did not involve any legal contradiction, even though Gades already was by this date a Roman municipium.66

60

61

62 63

64 65 66

Cic. Balb. 42: “Potuit magis fundus populus Gaditanus fieri, quoniam hoc magnopere delectare uerbo, si tum fit fundus cum scita ac iussa nostra sua sententia comprobat, quam cum hospitium fecit, ut et ciuitate illum mutatum esse fateretur et huius ciuitatis honore dignissimum iudicaret ?” The appointment as hospes publicus could only be granted to a citizen from another community, and according to Cicero in his defence speech “duarum ciuitatum ciues noster esse iure ciuili nemo potest; non esse huius ciuitatis, qui se alii ciuitati dicarit, potest.” On this debated question see, for example Seston 1973 = 1980: 10; Sherwin-White 1973: 301–302 had already pointed out that Balbus’ appointment as Roman citizen would be effective from the point of concession, without the need for him to change his place of residence to Rome. Cicero himself stresses that the citizens of Gades: “defendunt [Balbus] amore ut suum ciuem, testimonio ut nostrum, officio ut ex nobilissimo ciui sanctissimum hospitem, studio ut diligentissimum defensorem commodorum suorum” (Balb. 43). Similarly to the case presented by Balbus the Elder, it has been assumed, without grounds, that his nephew was appointed patron of Gades. As is well known, this character was responsible for embellishing the city (Rodríguez Neila 1992: 289 ff.): the only known monumental building in the Gades of Balbus the Younger was the theatre (according to Str. 3.5.3). Several graffiti recently found on the base of one of the slabs dividing the orchestra from the proedria have been connected with Balbus – who would be defined in one of them as latro, in reference to the events of 43 B. C. when, while holding a position as quaestor in Hispania Ulterior, he escaped to Africa with the tax collection, Cic. fam. 10.32 according to Ventura and Borrego 2011 – although the construction of the theatre probably dates to the 20s B. C. The affection that the citizens of Gades felt for the Balbi, however, is quite clear: the city used its coins to celebrate Balbus the Younger’s appointment as pontifex (Burnett, Amandry and Ripollés 1992: nº 85– 87); it seems very unlikely that Balbus the Younger’s condition as patron would not be reflected in these coins if he had indeed been one – the surface available would allow it – because they actually did so in an issue dedicated to Agrippa soon after with the expression MVNICIPI PATRONVS PARENS (Burnett, Amandry and Ripollés 1992: nº 77–84) despite the fact that this sort of reference on coins was exceptional: similar cases have only been attested in the Bithynian cities of Nicomedia and Nicaea during the reigns of Claudius and Nero (Burnett, Amandry and Ripollés 1992: nº 2031, 2047, 2057–2059, 2070, 2073–2075, 2080); for this see Eilers 2002: 163, 256–259. Perhaps honorific, Rodríguez Neila 1986: 82 ff. Cic. fam. 10.32.1. On Balbus the Younger’s participation in the quadrumvirate of Gades, Rodríguez Neila 1980: 61 and 78; 2006: 138.

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CONCLUSION The appointment of Balbus as hospes publicus in Gades shows that the adoption of this old Roman custom by provincial cities in the mid-first century B. C. involved a very specific institution, therefore distinct from the patronatus, which incorporated the recipient into the civic body of the granting city. The condition of hospes granted by Gades not only implied acceptance of Balbus’ Roman citizenship – obviously, the hospitium could not be granted to a citizen of the community – but wholehearted consent. This consent was, however, probably not explicitly expressed, which was one of the main arguments set forth by Balbus’ accuser, who did not understand, it seems, the full value of the concession of hospitium for a Roman tribunal, a value that the patronatus obviously did not have. All of this highlights not only that in this period the functions of hospitium and patronage were well differentiated; it also shows that they were not only instruments in the hands of Rome and its elite for the control of provincials, but could also be used by the latter to their own ends.

FOREIGN CLIENTELAE, LA GAULE MÉRIDIONALE: UN MODÈLE D’INTÉGRATION ? Michel Christol Dans l’ouvrage d’E. Badian, achevé en 1956 et publié en 1958 (mais la préface est datée de janvier 1957), la Gaule Transalpine n’entre vraiment dans la problématique traitée que dans le dernier chapitre,1 celui qui est consacré à l’ascension de Pompée.2 Mais cette partie de l’empire romain revient largement sur le devant de la scène dans les appendices qui se trouvent à la fin du livre.3 Elle dispose alors, dans un cadre d’exposition qui est original, d’une égalité de traitement qui la place sur le même plan que les provinces de péninsule ibérique (Hispania Citerior et Hispania Ulterior) ou de la province d’Afrique (Africa).4 L’ouvrage qui s’était d’abord longuement étendu sur les questions relatives à l’Italie et aux rapports entre Rome et le monde grec, amplifiait désormais les perspectives qui avaient été tracées pour l’Afrique et pour la péninsule ibérique dans un chapitre précédent.5 L’architecture de cette composition se comprend aisément à l’aide de la chronologie d’ensemble de l’expansion romaine: c’est elle qui donne un rythme à l’évolution des régions qui constituaient l’imperium populi Romani, qu’il convient de considérer dans toute sa complexité.6 Tard venue, la Gaule Transalpine n’aurait donc pu prétendre qu’à une place mineure dans le développement qui constituait le principal de l’ouvrage. On pourrait cependant être tenté de renverser le problème et d’esquisser ainsi de nouvelles perspectives en vue de comprendre l’architecture de l’ouvrage et de la recherche entreprise. Même si elle était tard venue et tardivement pleinement entrée dans l’empire romain, elle n’en était pas moins indispensable à la compréhension du sujet qui visait une analyse de longue durée. On ne pouvait pas ne pas prendre 1

2 3 4

5 6

Il convient de se référer à l’index très soigné qui est présenté dans Badian 1958a: 334. La première référence concerne la page 140, mais avec l’indication « not a province in the second century », question sur laquelle Badian revient aux pages 263–264. Plus longuement Badian 1966 ; voir à présent Brennan 2000: II, 360–364. Badian 1958a: 252–290. Badian 1958a: 302–321. Pour cette dernière région, il faut être attentif à l’indication fournie par Badian 1958a: 309 pour préciser les contours de l’enquête réalisée: « Africa: Gsell, Inscr. lat. de l’Alg., i (these seem sufficient for a test collection) ». Cette observation montre les difficultés d’une enquête précise par l’intermédiaire du CIL, VIII. C’est un point de faiblesse dans l’établissement des résultats, qu’il importe de compenser par les enquêtes complémentaires réalisées, par H.-G. Pflaum à partir de la région de Cirta, puis par J.-M. Lassère qui envisage l’Africa dans sa plus grande extension: Lassère 1977. Badian, 1958a: 116–140 (chapitre V). Lintott 1981a.

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en compte tout ce qu’apportait aux connaissances son histoire propre. Dans la réflexion engagée, il ne fallait plus considérer la province comme un accessoire de peu d’importance si l’on voulait envisager les premiers prolongements de la situation qui avait été analysée et si l’on voulait avancer d’une histoire proprement italienne à une histoire plus marquée par la part des provinces. On peut se demander si l’intérêt que l’auteur s’impose de porter à cette région ne résulterait pas de ce qu’elle apparaissait aussi, par la documentation la concernant, comme un « laboratoire » d’expérimentation d’une question essentielle : la place des clientèles provinciales dans la diffusion du droit de cité romaine. En effet, en intégrant enfin l’histoire de cette province, Badian disposait de sources très explicites se référant à cet aspect de l’évolution des sociétés provinciales, notamment dans la composante aristocratique dont la force d’entraînement social et politique est importante.7 Et de surcroît, la démarche qu’il construisait trouvait dans la documentation qu’apportaient les grands recueils épigraphiques les moyens de s’engager dans un traitement du sujet prenant une valeur exemplaire. Il semble disposer des moyens de faire de l’histoire, c’est-à-dire d’apporter un traitement convenable à un sujet d’une certaine ampleur, et par là d’aborder la vie politique romaine en ultime horizon de réflexion en retournant des provinces et des parties périphériques de l’empire de Rome vers le lieu où s’élaborait la vie politique dans les formes institutionnelles les plus traditionnelles. C’est dans les sources relatives à la Transalpine que Badian puise des références majeures sur les interactions qui s’établissaient entre les « autorités » provinciales (les représentants de Rome8) et les communautés qu’elles avaient sous leur responsabilité. Les références concernent l’action de C. Valerius Flaccus, et celle de Pompée lui-même. Elles sont aussi des références canoniques sur le sujet.9 Il s’agit d’abord d’un ensemble de textes de César10 qui concernent une famille d’aristocrates helviens, puisque le personnage qui fut introduit dans la cité romaine, C. Valerius Caburus, était princeps Helviorum. Nous apprenons qu’il devait ce bienfait à C. Valerius Flaccus, consul en 93 av. J.-C., proconsul en Hispanie Citérieure et en Transalpine entre 82 et 80 av. J.-C. Puis par l’abréviateur Justin, résumant les Histoires Philippiques de Trogue Pompée, nous apprenons que le père et l’oncle de cet écrivain et personnage important du peuple des Voconces, que César avait pris dans son entourage lors de ses campagnes, avaient suivi Pompée, l’un dans la guerre contre Sertorius, l’autre dans la guerre contre Mithridate. Ils avaient aux côtés de ce grand général, détenteur de pouvoirs extraordinaires, parcouru le monde et combattu pour 7

8 9 10

C’est aussi un aspect qu’a tenté de mettre en valeur la problématique adoptée par Keay – Terrenato 2001. Mais on peut regretter que les références à l’œuvre d’E. Badian ne soient pas ressenties comme importantes, et que ses travaux ne soient ni mis à l’épreuve ni exploités pour tout ce qu’ils apportent. Il convient de tenir compte des vicissitudes de l’organisation provinciale, sur lesquelles E. Badian avait apporté lui-même des réflexions qui altéraient la vision traditionnelle qui s’était souvent imposée à partir de l’œuvre de C. Jullian : Ebel 1975 ; Goudineau 1978. Goudineau 1996 : 74–75. Caes. B.Gall. 1.47 ; 1.53 ; 7.65.

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Rome. Ils avaient gagné dans ces circonstances le droit de cité romaine ob virtutem.11 Pouvait donc être mis en évidence un aspect essentiel, et peut-être longtemps exclusif, des interventions dans les provinces des représentants de Rome : le recrutement parmi les peuples provinciaux de troupes d’auxiliaires,12 soulignant ainsi le rôle de ces dernières dans les campagnes militaires et les bienfaits obtenus en récompense méritée.13 Tout au long du déroulement de ces processus, tant pour l’engagement des hommes et la constitution des troupes que pour l’exercice de leur commandement, le rôle des aristocraties provinciales passait au premier plan. Elles apparaissaient comme les meilleurs des « interfaces », dotées ainsi, dans cette perspective, d’un rôle majeur. E. Badian mettait ainsi en valeur un phénomène qui avait des incidences à longue portée sur la transformation des sociétés provinciales et sur leur intégration dans l’empire romain. L’exemple des clientèles africaines de Marius, dont l’importance se révèle durant l’affrontement entre César et les Pompéiens, pouvait alors prendre une place significative. E. Badian l’évoque à plusieurs reprises, mais sans trop insister sur la marque durable du nom de Marius.14 Il en va de même pour ce qui concerne la marque du vainqueur des Allobroges Q. Fabius Maximus Allobrogicus, dans la position que prend sa famille comme relais urbain des aspirations de ce peuple.15 Et l’on revient ainsi en Transalpine, à l’époque de la conspiration de Catilina. Avant d’aller plus loin il convient d’éclairer les rapports entre l’ouvrage de Badian et les travaux de R. Syme, qui publia en 1958 son ouvrage majeur, Tacitus (2 vol.) aux presses de l’Université d’Oxford, et qui datait sa préface de septembre 1957. Les deux ouvrages furent achevés en parallèle. R. Syme était le maître de Badian et celui-ci exprima dans la préface de son livre toute la gratitude qu’il pouvait ressentir envers le maître qui non seulement lui avait proposé le sujet de son doctorat mais encore qui en avait avec soin suivi l’élaboration. C’est ce qu’il indique lorsqu’il rédige ses remerciements :16 « First, there is that to Professor Syme, who suggested the subject and the bipartite treatment, and to whose constant advice and encouragement I owe more than pietas can hope to repay ». Mais on comprend 11 12 13

14

15 16

Just. Epit. 48.5.11. On signalera l’hypothèse de Harmand 1971–1972 (Trogue Pompée aurait pu être le rédacteur du Bellum Africum) ; voir surtout Duval 1971 : I,310–313. Rambaud 1969 ; voir aussi, à propos de la péninsule ibérique (mais sans nécessairement se référer aux ancêtres de Trogue Pompée, et à l’exemplarité du cas) : Cadiou 2008 : 262–275, 661– 684 ; Barrandon 2011 : 87–88, 213–229. Tac. ann. 3.40.1–3 : « nobilitas ambobus ob maiorum bona facta eoque Romana ciuitas olim data, cum id rarum nec nisi uirtuti pretium esset ». Sur l’importance du thème du beneficium, Badian, 1958a : 229, 237 (et l’index, 331), et pour une analyse en terme de chronologie, en insistant sur l’époque de Marius, ibid. : 198–207. Badian, 1958a : 237, 265–266 pour l’utilité des rapports de clientèle dans l’établissement des possibilités d’hospitium (à propos de Plut. Mar. 40.14), cf. 260–261. Le sujet a été repris et développé par la suite dans la perspective de la diffusion du droit de cité, avec références aux attestations du nom de Marius : Fentress 1982. Pour les attestations dans le contexte des nomenclatures de cités : Quoniam 1950 ; sur le cas remarquable d’Uchi Maius, voir la mise au point récente de Beschaouch 1997. Badian 1958a : 263–264, cf. 314. Badian 1958a : VII.

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mieux les rapports qui se tissent entre les deux ouvrages, à propos de la Gaule méridionale, à la lumière de la publication posthume, par les soins d’A. Birley, d’un des premiers ouvrages de R. Syme qui était longtemps resté inédit, mais qu’il avait parfois évoqué comme un premier essai conduisant à diverses thématiques qui s’épanouirent dans Tacitus. En effet, dans The Provincial at Rome, il y a des passages qu’il est aisé de mettre en parallèle avec les développements de Badian sur la Gaule Narbonnaise.17 Outre qu’ils apportent à présent le premier traitement d’un certain nombre de thèmes qui seront ensuite largement repris par R. Syme lui-même (l’origine essentiellement indigène des sénateurs provinciaux, l’origine provinciale des ancêtres d’Agricola, l’importance de Nîmes et de Vienne opposée à la médiocrité de l’apport des colonies de vétérans), quelques remarques annoncent des sujets d’étude qui seront abordés d’une manière plus approfondie par E. Badian. Si la question particulière des sénateurs originaires de Gaule Narbonnaise n’est pas reprise et ne trouve aucun écho dans Foreign clientelae, il n’en reste pas moins qu’elle servait chez Syme de point d’appui pour affirmer l’intérêt de la recherche des corrélations entre diffusion de la cité romaine et inventaire des gentilices des « autorités » romaines présentes dans la province. Or, c’est un thème qui, chez Badian, sert de fil conducteur à la construction d’une grande partie des appendices de la fin de l’ouvrage, et c’est une approche qui sera utilisée au même moment par H.-G. Pflaum dans ses travaux sur l’onomastique des régions cirtéennes.18 C’est dans cet ordre d’idées que s’éclaire et se comprend l’enquête étendue portant sur l’inventaire des gentilices et sur leur fréquence statistique. Elle devait permettre d’établir des corrélations plus ou moins étroites avec les témoignages sur la présence des « autorités » publiques qui furent présentes dans la province. Elle permettait d’apprécier si leur marque s’était traduite dans l’anthroponymie des citoyens romains, qu’attestait l’épigraphie latine d’époque impériale. Ainsi aurait-on pu mettre en évidence les signes de l’influence des grandes familles sénatoriales d’époque républicaine, à partir du nombre des attestations dans l’épigraphie provinciale de leurs gentilices. R. Syme dans son premier ouvrage s’était interrogé sur l’utilité d’une telle recherche, tout en dessinant les contours qu’elle aurait dû prendre. Mais il demeurait hésitant sur les possibilités d’éventuels aboutissements, tout en étant soucieux de procéder à quelques expériences, c’est-à-dire à tenter des vérifications : « Deductions from names and from relative frequency of names are hazardous… and the following remarks claim to be neither statistical nor exhaustive. None the less, there are grounds for the belief that natives of valour and influence were rewarded with the Roman franchise by Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus…, by C. Valerius Flaccus… and by Pompey, who employed regiments of Gallic cavalry against Sertorius and who indeed spent a winter in that province ».19 Apparaît en filigrane l’usage des textes de César et de l’abréviateur Justin qui ont été mentionnés ci-dessus. On retrouve une esquisse de cette recherche dans Tacitus, mais l’appendice est bref, et il se li-

17 18 19

Syme 1999 : 59–66. Pflaum 1956 ; 1959. Syme, 1999 : 65.

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mite à des indications chiffrées trop générales,20 sans apporter un véritable commentaire pour exploiter les résultats et surtout sans approfondir la recherche conduisant dans toutes les strates de la société provinciale. Deux enseignements au moins peuvent être retenus, qui rejoignent les objectifs de la rencontre : le rôle des grands représentants de Rome dans l’intégration des aristocrates provinciaux, et la méthode qui vise à s’appuyer sur l’anthroponymie provinciale pour dégager la part, respective entre eux, de ces grands personnages de l’élite romaine de la fin de l’époque républicaine.21 E. Badian a tenté d’aller un peu plus loin. Il apporte dans l’appendice B de son livre22 deux éléments fondant une réflexion, à savoir : l’inventaire quantitatif des gentilices pour trois provinces et l’inventaire, gens après gens, de leurs représentants dans les provinces. Toutefois, il n’a pas tenté d’explorer l’ensemble des perspectives qui se dégageaient. Le chapitre XI évoque surtout comment les provinces auraient pu participer aux jeux politiques romains de la fin de l’époque républicaine,23 en insistant, grâce aux sources dont on dispose, sur l’accentuation de leurs interventions au profit de Pompée qui les utilisa d’une manière plus soutenue, tant celles de l’Italie que celles des provinces. La recherche des interactions oriente Badian plus vers Rome que vers les provinces. Or, la sollicitation de R. Syme visait à orienter l’attention sur les provinces et sur les transformations des sociétés provinciales, et l’on ne peut pas trouver dans l’ouvrage de Badian un essai pour enquêter dans les divers domaines qui s’ouvraient à lui à partir des inventaires fournis dans l’appendice B. On peut considérer que, dans la voie tracée par R. Syme, les données recueillies par E. Badian auraient permis de mieux appréhender, dans le détail de leurs effets, l’importance des clientèles des grands personnages. L’étude des sources relatives à la Transalpine, devenue Gaule Narbonnaise à l’époque augustéenne, aurait permis d’apporter des résultats allant au-delà des observations de R. Syme lui-même (certaines sont parfois négligées), et surtout aurait offert une valorisation de l’enquête précise qui fut effectuée. On peut ici apporter quelques observations, montrant quels auraient été les prolongements envisageables d’une entreprise24 dont l’exigence de la réalisation aurait été formulée par R. Syme, mais qui n’aurait pas été conduite à son terme par son élève, car le sujet traité n’imposait pas cet achèvement.

20 21 22 23 24

Syme 1958 : II, 783 (Appendice 78 : « Provincial nomina »). L’appendice suivant (79 : « Narbonensian Romans »), ibid. : 783–784, reprend pour sa première partie le développement qui se trouve dans Syme 1999 : 65. Voir Pflaum 1956 ; 1959. Badian 1958a :302–321. Badian 1958a :252–284. Il faut signaler les recherches de Knapp 1978, qui se place directement sous l’influence de Badian et de Syme (avec une critique des objections qui avaient été élevées par Brunt 1971 : 205, et avec le souci d’envisager une analyse par cité) ; et de Dyson 1980–1981, qui envisage aussi les différentes modalités de la diffusion des gentilices et la non-automaticité du lien avec l’octroi du droit de cité ; sur ce dernier point déjà Badian 1958a : 256–257. Relativement à la péninsule ibérique, la contribution de Keay 2001 : 128–129 est très allusive sur cette question.

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La liste des gentes présentes dans la province aurait dû tenir compte des témoignages sur les Cornelii et surtout sur les Valerii, puisque l’action de C. Valerius Flaccus est bien attestée par les sources, comme on l’a vu ci-dessus. S’il était possible de ne pas considérer la diffusion de ces gentilices dans l’inventaire d’ensemble, englobant tout l’Occident romain, il est difficile de les oublier lorsque l’on aborde la Transalpine, surtout si l’on souhaite dépasser les inventaires globaux et entrer dans le détail des constatations qu’il est possible de faire dans les cités. C’est évident en ce qui concerne les Valerii, d’après ce que nous apportent les Commentaires de César.25 D’autre part, pour la Narbonnaise au moins, le rejet des gentilices impériaux oblitère la réalité de la diffusion de deux gentilices, car il y a peu de gentilices impériaux, hormis les Iulii : leur diffusion importante relève aussi des phénomènes d’époque tardo-républicaine ou triumvirale.26 Les Claudii, les Flavii, les Ulpii et les Aurelii sont rarissimes, ce qui traduit une homogénéité de la romanisation juridique. Ce contraste devait être souligné, tout comme l’appartenance de plusieurs des Aurelii inventoriés aux sources relevant de la problématique des « clientèles provinciales » : les attestations de ce gentilice doivent plutôt être rattachées, dans l’épigraphie de la cité de Nîmes, à la famille et aux ancêtres d’Aurelius Fulvus, le sénateur nîmois ; elles ne concernent pas la diffusion d’un gentilice impérial qui se serait répandu au IIe et au IIIe siècles. C’est surtout par une approche encore plus approfondie que l’enquête de Badian aurait pu se poursuivre. Des analyses plus détaillées, s’enracinant dans les limites des cités,27 puisque ce fut un cadre d’évolution imposé par Rome, auraient permis de mieux dégager l’apport des dépouillements effectués. Deux recherches complémentaires, qui peuvent d’ailleurs se compléter sont alors envisageables. On peut d’un côté tenter de mettre en évidence les particularités de répartition ; notamment les zones de concentration d’un gentilice. Et dans ce cadre, qui ne fait que prolonger la statistique de Badian, ajouter les éléments relatifs à la chronologie des documents. L’identification, au sein de la documentation globale, des inscriptions de date haute (qui ne dépasseraient pas la fin du premier siècle ap. J.-C.), permet d’isoler des témoignages plus proches des périodes envisagées par cet auteur, car le nombre des générations est à présent limité et la critique qui porterait sur le caractère indistinct des datations perdrait ainsi de sa valeur. C’est ainsi que l’on peut mettre en valeur le nombre des attestations du gentilice Marius dans la cité de Nîmes, renforcé par la séquence associant le praenomen Caius au nomen gentili25 26 27

Voir n. 10–11 ci-dessus. Un exemple à mettre en relation est celui des Valerii que l’on trouve dans l’arrière-pays de Narbonne, à partir du cas de T. Valerius C. f. Senecio (CIL, XII, 5370) qui appartient à l’époque augustéenne : Christol 2000. C’est un point sur lequel on peut critiquer une répartition trop schématique des témoignages : Knapp, 1978 : 197–198 n’échappe pas à cette critique. Le bios politikos était de ce point de vue le genre de vie supérieur. Le premier siècle de l’histoire provinciale est celui de l’assomption continue des peuples vers l’acquisition la plus parfaite du genre de vie politique. Strabon le rappelle en faisant la louange de l’extension de la domination de Rome en Occident : les longs développements sur Marseille, mais aussi sur Nîmes et sur Vienne, sont significatifs : Str. 4.1.5 ; 11 ; 12. C’est aussi la perspective qui se dégage de l’œuvre de Pline (voir ci-dessous).

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cium Marius.28 Elle n’exclut donc pas la possibilité d’ouvrir un large dossier sur plusieurs sénateurs du Ier siècle, à partir du sénateur A. Marius Celsus, consul suffect en 69 ap. J.-C. Son origine nîmoise, envisagée par R. Syme a été contestée par Y. Burnand. A priori on ne pourrait pas trancher entre Vienne et Nîmes. Mais la concentration des témoignages épigraphiques et l’existence d’un repère précoce dans le monde des notables (antérieur à la fin du Ier s. av. J.-C., il se rapporte au quattuorvir C. Marius Celsus) donnent aussi, quoi qu’il en soit, de la force à l’hypothèse du premier : l’intervalle de temps qui sépare le moment où C(aius) Marius Celsus parvint au plus haut niveau dans la société locale, et le moment où l’on connaît des Marii Celsi dans l’ordre sénatorial est suffisamment large pour insérer dans le schéma préétabli les générations qui ont assuré l’ascension de la famille. Elle placerait à l’arrière-plan l’activité de Marius dans la Gaule méridionale au moment de l’invasion des Cimbres et des Teutons. L’épigraphie de la région de Nîmes permet aussi de se demander si l’exemple de C. Marius, comme responsable de larges octrois de la cité romaine, ob virtutem, est le premier témoignage sur ce phénomène. En restant dans la dernière décennie du IIe siècle av. J.-C. on pourrait être tenté d’envisager qu’un personnage tel que Q. Servilius Caepio ait procédé de la même manière (au moment où C. Marius intervenait dans la province d’Afrique), mais peut-être moins systématiquement : on peut déceler des points de concentration de ce gentilice dans des périodes hautes de l’épigraphie d’époque impériale (le Ier siècle ap. J.-C.). Ces observations doivent prendre en compte la trajectoire suivie par l’ascension sociale, inscrite sur une durée de quelques générations séparant la notabilité locale de l’entrée dans l’ordre sénatorial, comme le montre le cas de Cn. Iulius Agricola de Fréjus29 à propos duquel Tacite n’omet pas de relever l’étape importance de l’equestris nobilitas. Ainsi le pont que l’on établit entre statistique onomastique et attestations de la présence des grandes familles dans les provinces, s’il offre des perspectives, n’apporte dans sa globalité que des vraisemblances, qui sont variables en degré. Mais la méthode devient significative lorsque l’on constate l’adéquation des prénoms dans la dénomination des personnes, la présence des gentilices étudiés dans la dénomination des membres de l’élite locale ; de plus, si les témoignages sont précoces, leur valeur est plus importante, car l’intervalle entre la génération qui aurait bénéficié de l’accès à la cité romaine et celle qui apparaît dans l’inscription peut être fortement réduit. Les enquêtes qui précèdent conduisent aussi à examiner les aspects extérieurs des textes épigraphiques : les formes de la gravure, ou bien l’ampleur des supports. Ce dernier, dans quelques cas, permet de revaloriser des documents mal connus car publiés dans les normes du Corpus de Berlin, tous les textes ayant à peu près la même typographie dans leur reproduction. Un exemple suffira.30 28 29 30

Christol 1987. Syme 1958 : 455 et 607–608, cf. 54–55 (pages qui présentent un caractère plus général) ; déjà Syme 1999 : 28–29 et 75. Voir déjà Christol – Landes 2012.

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Au CIL XII, 4208 on trouve une inscription provenant de la commune de Lattes (cité de Nîmes). Elle n’avait pas été revue par Hirschfeld. Q•POM/////////O///SOMP DOMITIA // VX/////O

Il s’agit d’un fragment de linteau (1, 40 × 54 × 58), incomplet à droite, sur lequel a été aménagé le champ épigraphique dans un cadre mouluré. On peut lire : Q (hedera) POMPEIO • T • F [---] DOMITIA • L • F • VXO [---] Q(uinto) Pompeio T(iti) f(ilio) [---] / Domitia L(ucii) f(ilia) uxo[r---].

Le texte se poursuivait à droite. A la ligne 2 pouvait se trouver un verbe ou une séquence verbale (faciundum curavit, fieri iussit), ou bien une expression indiquant les modalités de l’action de Domitia, fille de Lucius. Les inscriptions de Nîmes offrent deux parallèles éventuels. L’inscription de l’édile C. Pinarius Albus, sur un support de forme allongé et de belles dimensions, apporte à son terme l’expression ex testamento, qui paraît la plus vraisemblable.31 Celle du quattuorvir C. Marius Celsus, réalisée par son épouse32 Pompeia Toutodivicis f(ilia), apporte l’expression sibi et viro suo. Les deux personnes citées disposaient du droit de cité romaine. Le gentilice Pompeius et le gentilice Domitius conduisent jusqu’à la problématique envisagée par E. Badian. On peut considérer que l’inscription appartient à un ensemble funéraire sur le lieu d’origine de l’époux, dans le territoire des Volques arécomiques. Il en va de même, également à une date haute, pour Pompeia Toutodivicis f(ilia), épouse du quattuorvir C. Marius Celsus. Et si l’on ignore les chemins de l’ascension des ancêtres de Pompeia Plotina, épouse de l’empereur Trajan,33 qui illustre dans cette cité le gentilice Pompeius, son origine nîmoise est bien assurée. Les mêmes remarques permettent de cerner la personnalité de l’épouse : Domitia L(ucii) f(ilia). L’emprise des Domitii Ahenobarbi, à partir des épisodes de la conquête,34 est très forte. Elle se retrouve aussi en plusieurs points de la province,35 et particulièrement dans le cadre plus restreint de l’aire d’établissement des Volques Arécomiques.36 A date haute on doit relever la position détenue à Nîmes par L. Domitius Axiounus.37 Enfin Cn. Domitius Afer apparaît comme le premier sénateur originaire de la colonie de Nîmes, parvenu au consulat en 39 ap. J.-C., rejeton d’une famille déjà installée dans les aristocraties d’empire, ce qui renvoie à une date bien plus ancienne pour l’acquisition par un de ses ancêtres du droit de cité romaine. 31 32 33 34 35 36

37

CIL XII 3621. CIL XII 3252. PIR2 P 679 ; Raepsaet-Charlier 1987 : 511–512, notice 631 ; Burnand 2006 : 314–315. En dernier Brennan 2000 : II, 359–362. Burnand 1975 : 29–40, 225. Burnand 1975 : 217–219, 223–225. On ignore l’origine exacte du sénateur T. Domitius Decidius (CIL VI 1403 = ILS 966), préfet du trésor entre 44 et 47, qui donna sa fille, Domitia Decidiana, en mariage au fréjussien Cn. Iulius Agricola : PIR2 I 143 ; Burnand 1975 : 219–220 ; mais on considère qu’il était issu de Gaule Narbonnaise : Burnand 2006 : 86–88. CIL XII 3215.

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On relève aussi la corrélation de proximité entre le nom d’un grand personnage et celui de personnes de rang social plus modeste, dans la proche agglomération de Lattes :38 Domitia Domiti f(ilia), de condition pérégrine,39 et Rustica Pompeiae li(berta).40 Dans les deux cas, un gentilice de citoyen romain a servi pour donner à une personne libre, mais de condition pérégrine, son nom propre, l’idionyme,41 ce qui montrerait l’attraction que pouvait provoquer la présence de grands personnages dans le proche environnement : les éléments de leur dénomination pouvaient guider les choix anthroponymiques d’autres parties de la population. Il apparaît donc que les enquêtes sur l’intégration des aristocraties provinciales, telles que les envisagèrent R. Syme, puis E. Badian, si elles portent des fruits évidents lorsque l’on s’intéresse à de très grands personnages du Ier siècle ap. J.-C., gagnent aussi aux enquêtes de détail, recourant au cadre de la cité pour la répartition des témoignages ainsi qu’au classement chronologique des documents, afin de donner plus d’importance aux témoignages les plus anciens et à ceux qui se rapportent aux premières élites municipales, témoins possibles des phases précoces d’intégration dans la vie civique et des temps les plus reculés de l’ascension vers les aristocraties d’empire. Elles font apparaître, à l’occasion, ce qui n’est pas un mince résultat, la nébuleuse de diffusion des gentilices dans des dénominations qui sont celles de pérégrins : cet enracinement traduit la position des grandes familles et manifeste une sorte de rayonnement de l’influence locale. Mais comme on l’a vu, d’autres données, plus matérielles, peuvent être utilisées. Ce sont des témoignages. Ils ne nous renseignent que sur des résultats ou des aboutissements. Les modalités de l’intégration ne se retrouvent pas de la sorte. C’est par le recours aux textes canoniques évoqués plus haut que se révèle l’importance du service militaire de Rome, constituant sans aucun doute les plus grands des services dont pouvaient se prévaloir les « autorités » romaines pour récompenser les provinciaux : mais ils étaient le plus souvent acquis hors de la province d’origine. Pour les Gaulois de Transalpine, la conquête césarienne, puis les guerres civiles offrirent d’autres occasion de bienfaits après ceux de C. Valerius Flaccus ou de Pompée le Grand et de quelques autres, tel Marius. Aussi la corrélation simple entre les gouverneurs de provinces et les gentilices provinciaux devrait être enrichie par la considération d’autres théâtres d’opérations : mais avons-nous, sauf par hypothèse, la possibilité de les repérer ? C’est une des restrictions qu’il faut aussi envisager. Si la réussite de l’intégration provinciale est manifeste, comme en témoigne le jugement de Pline l’Ancien,42 il faut observer que, vraisemblablement, la diffusion du droit de cité qui a fait l’objet de l’étude, celle qui résultait en général des mérites ob virtutem, a permis de faire entrer dans la cité romaine une partie des élites des 38 39 40 41 42

Publication de base : Demougeot 1972, inscriptions signalées par AE 1972, 321–349 ; voir aussi Christol 2001. Demougeot 1972 : 97–99 (n°27) et p.115 (d’où AE 1972, 329) ; revu par Christol 1999 : 139 avec fig.1 et 2, puis Christol 2001 : 38. Demougeot 1972 : 89–90 (n°21) (d’où AE 1972, 341). Phénomène observé aussi dans la cité de Riez : Chastagnol 1986. Plin. n.h. 3.5 (4), 31–36 ; Christol 1994.

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peuples de Transalpine. D’une façon uniforme, ou bien selon des modalités plus différenciées d’un peuple à l’autre ? Quelques variations dans la diffusion des gentilices selon les zones pourrait permettre d’introduire des nuances. En tout cas, chronologiquement, et en ajoutant les Iulii, c’est une partie du processus d’intégration qui s’esquisse ou qui se laisse voir, les effets de l’application du droit latin venant s’ajouter et compléter, peut-être pour des strates moyennes de la société, ce qui avait été entamé dès les dernières décennies du IIe siècle av. J.-C. et qui s’était poursuivi à l’époque des grands imperatores. Afin d’accompagner la perspective tracée par E. Badian et de la développer à la lumière des travaux sur le droit latin (qui se sont développés depuis une trentaine d’années avec la découverte de la tabula Irnitana), on doit se demander, à présent, si l’on ne doit pas adopter une démarche complémentaire. L’évolution du droit latin n’entre pas véritablement dans l’ouvrage de Badian, sauf par l’attention portée à l’organisation de l’Italie jusqu’à la guerre sociale. Or la réflexion s’est élargie quand elle a pris en compte cette nouvelle donnée dans l’étude et dans la compréhension des modèles collectifs d’intégration institutionnelle. L’ouvrage récent de D. Kremer43 renforce cette conviction, car il place la romanisation de la Gaule cisalpine, c’est-à-dire l’intégration dans la cité romaine des communautés d’une province, au cœur du problème envisagé dans sa longue durée. Cette région, la première province de Gaule, offre dans la chronologie du phénomène une expérience institutionnelle nouvelle, essentielle pour la compréhension de ce que l’on appelle « le droit latin provincial ». C’est d’abord un cadre spécifique, celui de la province, dans lequel entrent les communautés qui ne disposaient pas encore du droit romain : cette première Gaule des Romains fut ainsi un terrain d’application systématique et élargi, alors qu’auparavant les expériences étaient ponctuelles, liées à la fondation des colonies latines. C’est aussi un temps spécifique : on se place entre la guerre sociale et l’époque triumvirale. Puis, sous César à ce qu’il semble, c’est au-delà des Alpes que de façon globale la même expérience fut tentée, avec les mêmes préoccupations et selon les mêmes modalités générales. C’est là qu’à nouveau le droit latin fut utilisé comme cadre d’intégration de populations provinciales, par une application globale. Les sources d’époque impériale qui en conservent la trace, avec la mention des oppida latina chez Pline l’Ancien lorsqu’il décrit les communautés de Narbonnaise, montrent à la fois qu’il y a chez cet auteur une nomenclature des temps anciens, provenant de l’utilisation de documents administratifs marqués par les usages de cette époque, et l’indication de la place que tient la généralisation du droit latin comme structure fondatrice dans la présentation des communautés provinciales. De nouvelles expériences du même genre ne seront tentées que bien plus tard ailleurs en Occident, dans les Alpes Maritimes sous Néron, en péninsule ibérique sous Vespasien : ce décalage temporel doit être ressenti comme créateur de distance et de différences entre les provinces. Mais, d’autre part, on ne peut pas ne pas mettre en perspective cette originalité de la situation faite à la Transalpine avec le jugement favorable porté plus tard sur elle par Pline l’Ancien lui43

Kremer 2006. Sur le rôle de César, Sherwin-White 1973 : 232, 365–366. Voir aussi les études réunies par Chastagnol 1995 : 51–190, ainsi que par Christol 2010 : 175–224.

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même : Italia verius quam provincia. Ce jugement est le constat que des processus juridiques, moins liés aux rapports de clientèle, ont porté tous leurs fruits, et avec des résultats décisifs.

LE GOUVERNEUR ET LES CLIENTÈLES PROVINCIALES : LA PROVINCE ROMAINE D’AFRIQUE DE SA CRÉATION À AUGUSTE (146 AV. J.-C. – 14 AP. J.-C.)1* Frédéric Hurlet Dans l’économie du livre de Ernst Badian sur les Foreign clientelae, l’Afrique du Nord se voit attribuer une place qui est fonction des périodes et des espaces pris en considération. S’il y est souvent question des royaumes indigènes de cette région à travers le précédent créé par Massinissa en matière de relations de Rome avec les rois alliés et érigé par Badian au rang de modèle,2 la province d’Afrique créée en 146 à la suite de la destruction de Carthage est quant à elle souvent laissée dans l’ombre, au contraire de l’Italie ou des Hispanies. La conséquence est qu’exception faite de la période de conflit qui couvrit les deux dernières décennies du IIe siècle av. J.-C. pendant la guerre contre Jugurtha, les relations multiformes que les Romains nouèrent avec les communautés de la province et les provinciaux pendant le premier siècle de son existence n’y ont fait l’objet d’aucun traitement détaillé. Une telle lacune bibliographique perdure pour des raisons qui sont essentiellement documentaires. Les sources littéraires ne donnent que la vision de Rome et ne permettent de toute façon pas d’aller au-delà d’une histoire très générale de cette partie de l’Empire romain à l’époque républicaine ; quant aux inscriptions, d’ordinaire si précieuses pour étudier le monde provincial, elles sont peu nombreuses pour cette époque et commencent à être attestées en plus grand nombre à partir du Principat d’Auguste pour se multiplier de façon significative sous les Antonins. Il faut sans doute juger excessive l’affirmation de Theodor Mommsen, selon laquelle Rome se contenta de garder le cadavre à l’issue de la troisième guerre punique sans y éveiller de vie nouvelle.3 Une thèse soutenue récemment par Béatrice Pasa a au contraire montré à partir d’un réexamen systématique de la documentation archéologique *

1 2 3

Abréviations : CIA = Corpus des Inscriptions latines d’Albanie, éd. par S. Anamali, H. Ceka et É. Deniaux, Rome, 2009 ; E-J = Ehrenberg, V. et Jones, A. H. M., Documents illustrating the Reigns of Augustus and Tiberius, Oxford, 2e éd., 1955 ; LIA = Die Lateinische Inschriften aus Albanien, éd. par U. Ehmig et R. Haensch, Bonn, 2012. Je remercie É. Deniaux, X. Dupuis et Chr. Müller d’avoir relu ce texte avec attention et proposé des compléments d’information. J’associe à ces remerciements M. Jehne pour avoir formulé oralement des remarques que je n’ai pas manqué de prendre en compte. Badian 1958a : 125–129 et 295. Mommsen 1885 : 623 : « Man hielt das Gebiet fest, welches Karthago bei seinem Untergange besessen hatte, … nicht um dort neues Leben zu erwecken, sondern um die Leiche zu hüten » (cf. la traduction française, Histoire romaine, traduit par R. Cagnat et J. Toutain, II, Paris, 1887 [1985], p. 936). Mommsen ajoute non sans provocation que « cette région n’a pas d’histoire sous la République », jugement qui est bien entendu excessif.

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que les échanges économiques ne cessèrent évidemment pas en Afrique avec la chute de Carthage et que les cultes y restèrent foisonnants, comme dans le reste de la Méditerranée.4 Il demeure que d’un point de vue politique et administratif, l’image qui prévaut toujours est celle d’un certain immobilisme. Cette lacune documentaire a pour conséquence que nous avons une connaissance très imparfaite des fastes de la province d’Afrique.5 La situation est particulièrement critique pour la période qui s’est écoulée entre la création de la province en 146 et le déclenchement de la guerre contre Jugurtha trois décennies plus tard, puisque le nom d’aucun gouverneur ne nous est parvenu.6 Pour la suite, seule une dizaine de noms est connue sur la cinquantaine d’années qui séparent la guerre de Jugurtha de l’année 70, terme de l’enquête de Badian. Cette réalité n’est pas sans incidence pour toute recherche sur les clientèles provinciales, dans la mesure où il est indéniable qu’en tant que médiateur et par ses pouvoirs, le gouverneur était au centre des relations entre Rome et les provinciaux et un point de convergence pour ces derniers.7 En dépit de ces difficultés liées à l’état de notre documentation, la province d’Afrique apparaît tout de même à plusieurs reprises dans le fil de l’argumentation développée par Badian. On passera assez vite sur le chapitre V, consacré aux relations entre Rome et l’Occident entre 218 et 133, dont la partie sur l’Afrique reste très événementielle et adopte un point de vue consciemment romano-centriste – qui est moins d’actualité aujourd’hui.8 Les principales avancées concernant la province romaine d’Afrique apparaissent dans le dernier chapitre (XI), consacré aux « extra-italian clientelae », qui trouvent avec la guerre de Jugurtha un champ d’application pour l’Afrique. Il est nécessaire d’en présenter les résultats, sous la forme d’une synthèse divisée en trois points, avant de les soumettre à une analyse critique. 1. L’action la plus marquante de Rome dans la province d’Afrique pour ce qui concerne le développement des clientèles à l’époque républicaine fut celle de Marius. Elle découle de sa victoire sur Jughurtha, matérialisée par des assignations viritanes de terre à ses vétérans et la présence de nombreux Marii en Numidie au-

4 5 6

7

8

Pasa 2011. Sur les fastes de la province d’Afrique à l’époque républicaine, on consultera toujours Broughton 1951 et 1952, passim ; cf. aussi Jashemski 1950 : 132–134. Cette lacune dans les fastes de la province d’Afrique a conduit récemment D. Gargola (article à paraître) à mettre en doute l’idée selon laquelle des magistrats romains furent systématiquement envoyés à la tête de cette province après la destruction de Carthage et à taxer d’anachronisme les auteurs – Salluste, Velleius Paterculus, Strabon et Appien – qui firent de l’Afrique une province régulière dès 146. J’ai déjà fait remarquer que cette solution présentait l’inconvénient de reposer sur une forme d’argumentation e silentio (Hurlet 2012c : 103). Comme l’a justement rappelé Deniaux 2006b : passim. Deniaux 2000 souligne plus spécifiquement à propos de la province d’Afrique le soutien apporté par le gouverneur pour rendre plus actifs des liens de clientèle qui fournissaient souvent l’aide nécessaire pour le transport et la fourniture d’animaux à Rome à l’intention des édiles pour leur permettre d’organiser des uenationes spectaculaires. Badian 1958a : 125–140, avec la remarque caractéristique de la page 126 : « we are concerned only with the Roman attitude to them » (= Massinissa et Carthage).

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delà de la Fossa Regia. À deux reprises,9 le gouvernement de Marius est toutefois présenté par Badian comme une exception confirmant la règle ou plutôt la devançant pour trois raisons : tout d’abord parce que le recours formel à la guerre (bellum) contre un souverain issu d’une dynastie locale n’aurait pas été la pratique ordinaire à une époque où les Romains auraient préféré agir de façon plus diplomatique sans faire de la victoire militaire un préalable à la création d’une nouvelle province romaine ; ensuite parce que l’utilisation de la clientèle comme instrument par un individu et sa faction – les populares – se serait généralisée plus tard, notamment avec l’action de Pompée ; enfin, plus spécifiquement, parce que l’octroi par un magistrat romain de la citoyenneté romaine en récompense à des services rendus par des soldats combattant pour Rome et sans vote préalable d’une loi n’est pas attesté avant la Guerre Sociale – en dehors du cas de Marius. 2. Le principe même de la fidélité des liens de clientèle, dont on sait qu’il est cher à Badian, serait attesté par la décision prise dans le courant des années 80 par les leaders populares et leurs partisans de se réfugier en Afrique à partir du moment où ils furent chassés de Rome.10 Ils auraient compté sur le soutien des populations locales, en particulier des clients de Marius prêts à prêter main forte à leur patron et à ses partisans. C’est d’ailleurs le cas de Marius lui-même en 88,11 lorsque le retour de Sylla à Rome et la guerre civile qui s’ensuivit le contraignirent à fuir en Afrique.12 On citera également le nom de Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus, propréteur en 82, qui choisit l’Afrique après la défaite des Marianistes lors de la bataille de la Porte Colline à Rome, y fut combattu par Pompée et finalement exécuté.13 D’après Badian,14 les populares espéraient y recueillir une aide moins en raison de leurs liens avec les Africains que du prestige de Marius et de l’influence de son nom. Le même raisonnement prévaut pour les optimates avec les campagnes menées en Afrique en 84 par Q. Caecilius Metellus, qui était passé en Afrique et avait combattu le gouverneur choisi par les populares, C. Fabius Hadrianus, pour être finalement repoussé par ce dernier et se replier en Étrurie.15 Non seulement il pouvait, selon Badian,16 compter sur la réputation dans cette région de son père, le consul de 109, mais il y avait également servi sous les ordres de celui-ci pendant la guerre contre Jugurtha et établi des contacts personnels. On peut toutefois se demander s’il n’est pas contradictoire de faire de l’Afrique une terre d’élection pour les populares 9 10

11 12 13 14 15 16

Badian 1958a : 260 et 287. Mommsen 1885 : 623 a déjà souligné à juste titre qu’à l’époque républicaine, l’Afrique « n’a… d’importance historique que par la part qu’elle prend aux luttes de partis qui marquent la fin de la République ». Sur les événements des années 80 et la place de l’Afrique dans les conflits opposant durant cette période populares et optimates, cf. Lovano 2002 : 93–96. Badian 1958a : 237. Sur cet épisode, cf. le récit qu’en donne Gsell 1928 : 276–278, qui réunit l’ensemble des sources littéraires. Cf. Plut. Pomp. 10.1 et 11.1 ; Cic. leg.Man. 30 ; Liv. per. 89 ; Eutr. 5.9.1 ; Oros. 5.24.16 ; Schol. Bob. 138 et Schol.Gron. 320 Stangl. Cf. Gsell 1928 : 280–286. Badian 1958a : 269–270. App. b.c. 1.80 ; Plut. Crass. 6.2 ; sur le gouvernement de C. Fabius Hadrianus, cf. Liv. per. 84.5 ; Oros. 5.20.3 et Pseudo-Asconius Verr. Ed. Stangl p. 241. Cf. Gsell 1928 : 279–280. Badian 1958a : 266.

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pour rappeler ensuite que les optimates y avaient eux aussi développé des liens avec les populations locales. Il faut conclure à une flexibilité des liens de clientèle, marquée notamment par le principe selon lequel il était possible pour un individu de rompre à tout moment ses liens de clientèle ou de compter plusieurs patrons. On verra en outre qu’il faut de toute façon raisonner par région, et non à l’échelle d’un ensemble aussi vaste que l’Afrique du Nord. 3. Un autre résultat de la démarche de Badian, promis à un bel avenir à partir du moment où elle a été appliquée de façon méthodique, voire systématique, a consisté à exploiter les données onomastiques pour identifier des liens de clientèle et mesurer leur diffusion dans les différentes provinces. Il a ainsi ajouté à la fin de son livre plusieurs appendices dans lesquels la distribution des gentilices en Afrique a été mise en relation avec les noms des membres de l’élite romaine qui y furent envoyés, le principe étant que les Africains naturalisés prirent le nomen (ainsi que le praenomen) du dignitaire romain qui avait contribué à l’octroi de la citoyenneté romaine et dont ils étaient les clients. Les gouverneurs y exercèrent à ce titre une grande influence, puisqu’ils représentaient de façon permanente la primauté de Rome et occupaient une place centrale dans l’attribution de la ciuitas Romana à des indigènes ou d’autres types de bienfaits à des individus ou des communautés locales. C’est ainsi que Badian présente les nombreux Aemilii, Caecilii, Calpurnii, Domitii, Fabii, Marii ou Postumii, attestés sur des inscriptions provenant d’Afrique, comme des descendants potentiels d’Africains auxquels des gouverneurs d’époque républicaine avaient octroyé la citoyenneté romaine ; au nom de cet argument, il propose de remonter jusqu’à l’époque de la guerre de Jugurtha pour les Calpurnii et les Caecilii, ces deux gentilices renvoyant aux consuls de 111 et 109 qui combattirent le roi numide.17 Les résultats de l’ouvrage de Badian ont été et sont toujours soumis à une critique en règle, que l’on ne va pas détailler de nouveau.18 On soulignera que le cas de la province d’Afrique livre de nombreux éléments susceptibles de mettre en doute quelques-unes des conclusions de Badian. Le principal reproche que l’on peut formuler à leur encontre est que cette région de l’Empire est sans doute une de celles pour lesquelles le principe de fidélité des liens de clientèle est inapplicable à long, voire à moyen terme. Au lieu de raisonner à partir du point de vue d’une famille romaine soucieuse de pérenniser ses soutiens dans les provinces, il faut se mettre à la place des familles indigènes pour comprendre l’embarras dans lequel elles se trouvèrent au moment d’une des guerres civiles du dernier siècle de la République. Pour ce qui concerne l’Afrique, il est ainsi difficile de postuler a priori une pérennité des liens de clientèle tout au long des années 80 quand on sait à quel point cette province fut ballotée entre Syllaniens et Marianistes.19 Au moment de la guerre civile qui opposa Marius et Sylla en 88–87, le gouverneur de l’Afrique P. Sextilius prit le parti du second et se montra hostile à l’égard du premier en lui re17 18 19

Badian 1958a : 258 et 309–321. Sur les critiques adressées au Foreign Clientelae de Badian, je me permets de renvoyer à la contribution de ce volume rédigée par Fr. Pina Polo. Cf. dans ce sens Lovano 2002 : 102 qui souligne à propos des conflits des années 80 que la loyauté des provinciaux à l’égard de l’une ou l’autre faction était loin d’être indéfectible.

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fusant l’asylum dans sa province.20 Plus tard, la domination des Marianistes de 87 à 82 eut pour conséquence la nomination en 84 d’un gouverneur marianiste, C. Fabius Hadrianus, qui fut lui-même combattu par Q. Caecilius Metellus Pius, sans succès, et périt en 82 lorsque sa demeure à Utique, le praetorium, fut incendiée par les citoyens de cette cité à la suite d’une émeute.21 Il est évident que l’instabilité de la situation politique à Rome ne manqua pas d’écarteler les populations africaines sur les choix politiques à faire et créa également des crises politiques au sein des dynasties locales, tel prétendant au trône de Numidie prenant le parti d’une faction pour chasser le souverain en place et accéder ainsi au trône : ce fut le cas à la fin des années 80, lorsque Hiarbas, favorable aux Marianistes, renversa Hiempsal pour être finalement vaincu par Pompée et chassé du trône à son tour.22 La même analyse vaut pour les années 40, l’Afrique ayant été contrôlée par les Pompéiens avant de devenir césarienne à la suite de la bataille de Thapsus. Le récit du pseudo-César témoigne des renversements d’alliance auxquels le déplacement de la guerre civile sur le sol africain donna lieu lorsqu’il est fait mention de cités venant se ranger du côté de César, Acylla (Acholla) par exemple.23 Par la suite, les deux provinces d’Afrique – Africa Vetus et Africa Nova – et les Africains continuèrent à osciller entre différents camps après l’assassinat de Jules César, avant que Lépide ne leur assurât une stabilité à partir de l’année 40, de courte durée d’ailleurs. Il faut donc décentrer le regard et le déromaniser pour partir du principe que les individus et les cités devaient adopter une attitude pragmatique qui dépendait du rapport des forces en présence, mais qui n’était pas toujours couronnée de succès : qui aurait été capable de prévoir en Afrique, comme ailleurs, l’évolution de la situation politique à Rome ? Il vaut la peine de revenir sur la question des clientèles provinciales en Afrique pour l’aborder à partir de deux angles d’approche complémentaires : historiographique tout d’abord, dans le sens où les analyses de Badian, quoi qu’on en pense sur le fond, constituent le plus souvent un point de départ utile pour tout prolongement d’une enquête sur ce sujet ; historique ensuite, parce qu’il sera question de l’action menée dans ce cadre par un personnage central dans la province, le gouverneur. L’orientation de cette recherche ne signifie pas qu’il faut se faire du phénomène de la constitution d’une clientèle une vision purement administrative. C’était dans cette direction que s’était engagé Badian lorsqu’il parlait de « clientship founded by administration ».24 Claude Eilers a au contraire nuancé cette interprétation en soulignant à juste titre qu’en la matière, le critère décisif était non pas la fonction, mais le contact.25 Il demeure que pour un Romain, l’occasion la plus fréquente d’entretenir des liens avec les provinciaux et les cités provinciales était l’exercice d’un 20 21 22 23 24 25

Plut. Mar. 40.3–4 et App. b.c. 1.62. Cic. Verr. 2.1.70 et 5.94 ; Diod. 38.4 ; Liv. per. 86 ; Val.Max. 9.10.2 ; Oros. 5.20.3. App. b.c. 1.80 ; Sall. hist. 1.53 M ; Plut. Pomp. 12.6 ; vir.ill. 77. B.Afr. 33 ; cf. aussi B.Afr. 77 avec Thabena et B.Afr. 87 pour le sort réservé à Parada (Pheradi Maius) et Utique. Badian 1958a : 158. Cf. Eilers 2002 : 30 qui précise que « The idea of ‹ clientship based on administration › is therefore not particularly instructive ».

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gouvernement provincial. À ce titre, s’interroger sur l’existence des clients provinciaux des gouverneurs de la province d’Afrique, l’extension de ce phénomène et la durée de ces liens est une étude qui mérite pleinement d’être menée dans le cadre d’une recherche collective consacrée à la postérité de l’ouvrage de Badian sur les Foreign Clientelae. Le meilleur moyen d’honorer la mémoire de Badian est tout compte fait de débattre de nouveau de son objet d’étude et de la méthode employée, et de prolonger chronologiquement une analyse qui fut en son temps pionnière. L’ONOMASTIQUE COMME INSTRUMENT D’IDENTIFICATION DES CLIENTÈLES : RÉALITÉS ET LIMITES D’un point de vue méthodologique, le lien établi par Badian entre la liste des gentilices attestés dans une province et les noms des sénateurs romains qui y exercèrent un gouvernement provincial est apparu longtemps comme le seul moyen de reconstituer les réseaux de clientèle dont on sait qu’ils devaient exister, mais que l’on a du mal à appréhender pour l’Afrique par le biais des seules sources littéraires. Il faut faire à ce sujet quelques remarques complémentaires intégrant l’Afrique dans la démonstration. Presque en même temps que Badian et de façon indépendante, Hans-Georg Pflaum a suivi le même raisonnement en soulignant à propos de Cirta et de son territoire que les gentilices les plus fréquemment rencontrés étaient ceux des gouverneurs romains entre 46 av. J.-C. et le milieu du Ier siècle ap. J.-C.26 La démarche onomastique choisie par le savant français présente l’avantage d’affiner le principe général retenu par Badian, dans le sens où elle se limite à des territoires déterminés, en l’occurrence celui de la future confédération de Cirta. La campagne victorieuse que P. Sittius mena au début de l’année 46 comme partisan de Jules César contre le roi de Numidie Juba et qui le conduisit à s’emparer de la ville de Cirta explique que le nomen Sittius ait connu dans cette région une forte diffusion : 81 Sittii sont connus pour le castellum Celtianum et 97 pour Cirta d’après les chiffres donnés par Pflaum. L’immigration coloniale est un facteur d’explication d’une telle présence des Sittii, mais ce phénomène n’explique pas tout.27 Comme l’a déjà fait remarquer Jacques Heurgon,28 ceux-ci étaient au moins en partie des descendants non pas de Campaniens comme P. Sittius lui-même, mais d’individus auxquels la citoyenneté romaine fut accordée.29 Nous ne sommes toutefois pas en mesure de déterminer s’il s’agissait de soldats de différentes origines (des Hispani, des Maures et bien sûr des Numides) ou d’indigènes de la région de Cirta liés à P. Sittius et au service de celui-ci. Quoi qu’il en soit, le cas des Sittii est remarquable parce qu’il témoigne des liens qui existèrent entre P. Sittius et certains de ses admi26 27 28 29

Pflaum 1957 : 128 et Pflaum 1959 : 98. Dondin-Payre : 191. Heurgon 1957 : 22, n. 86. Un tel privilège fut donné par Jules César plus probablement que par P. Sittius, dont on ne connaît pas la nature exacte des pouvoirs et qui a pu intervenir auprès de Jules César en faveur de ses soldats et (ou) clients. Une telle médiation a très bien pu être en partie à l’origine de la diffusion du gentilice Sittius dans la région de Cirta.

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nistrés et qui passèrent par des relations de clientèle pour un nombre indéterminé d’entre eux. Il reste toutefois exceptionnel. Dans l’état actuel des connaissances, la forte proportion – relative – d’un gentilice aussi diffus que Cornelius par exemple ne découle pas nécessairement de l’intervention directe d’un gouverneur portant ce nomen. Il ne serait évidemment pas raisonnable de faire de tel Cornelius attesté par telle inscription d’époque impériale le descendant d’un Africain devenu le client de Scipion Émilien au moment de la chute de Carthage et de la création de la province d’Afrique. Jean-Marie Lassère a prolongé le raisonnement de Pflaum en l’étendant à l’ensemble de l’Afrique du Nord, mais en veillant dans le même temps à procéder à une enquête onomastique à l’échelle de chacune des grandes cités plutôt que de façon globale à l’échelle de cette partie de l’Empire. Il affiche également sa dette à l’égard de Badian, dont il cite d’ailleurs régulièrement dans les notes infrapaginales l’ouvrage sur les clientèles provinciales lorsqu’il commente des listes onomastiques.30 Le résultat ne va toutefois pas sans poser de sérieux problèmes méthodologiques. C’est ainsi que reprenant une suggestion de Badian,31 il propose de faire d’un Caecilius et d’un Calpurnius attestés chacun dans une inscription d’Utique, la capitale de la province d’Afrique à l’époque républicaine, les descendants d’Africains romanisés à la suite de leur entrée dans la clientèle des Caecilii Metelli et des Calpurnii.32 La même analyse prévaut lorsqu’il propose de lier l’onomastique de Sicca Veneria, qui fut peut-être la capitale de l’Africa Nova pendant le courte durée de vie de cette province, aux noms de proconsuls en fonction pendant la période allant de César jusqu’à la fin du Principat d’Auguste : C. Caninius, C. Sallustius Crispus, L. Domitius Ahenobarbus, L. Volusius Saturninus, Africanus Fabius Maximus, L. Cornelius Lentulus, L. Caninius Gallus et L. Nonius Asprenas.33 Pour séduisant qu’il soit et quelle que soit la prudence avec laquelle ces rapprochements sont faits, ce type d’argument reste toutefois très fragile, notamment parce que la démonstration repose sur un faible échantillon onomastique. Lassère a beau indiquer à propos du Caecilius et du Calpurnius d’Utique qu’il s’agit d’une possibilité, on ne peut raisonnablement pas identifier ces personnages avec des descendants de clients d’un Metellus et d’un Calpurnius de l’époque de la guerre de Jugurtha sur la foi de deux inscriptions ne transmettant chacune que des noms. La fragilité de ce type de raisonnement est accentuée pour l’Afrique par le fait que la grande majorité des inscriptions date de l’époque impériale, essentiellement d’ailleurs du IIe siècle ap. J.-C. et des premières décennies du IIIe siècle ap. J.-C. Il est ainsi contestable d’exploiter l’attestation d’une référence à un nomen aussi diffusé que Caecilius et Calpurnius pour supposer l’octroi de la citoyenneté romaine à une aussi haute 30 31 32

33

Lassère 1977 : 81, n. 32 et 35 ; 83, n. 45 ; 84, n. 60 ; 91, n. 101. Badian 1958a : 258. Lassère 1977 : 81 ; cf. aussi dans le même sens 83 pour un Sextilius, que Lassère fait « certainement » remonter au gouverneur de 87 av. J.-C. ; 123 pour un Caecilius de Thuburnica ; 132 pour les Pompeii ; 151 pour les Calpurnii et 163 pour le cas de Cn. Domitius dont le nom est « rapporté au gouverneur de 81 a. C. ». Cf. aussi dans le même sens Lassère 1980 : 36 et 41 pour la cité de Simitthus. Lassère 1977 : 155.

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époque et l’existence de liens de clientèle. S’y ajoute que nous sommes encore loin d’avoir des connaissances précises sur la manière dont les nouveaux citoyens choisissaient leurs gentilices, comme le rappelle à propos l’exemple hispanique de Cornelius Balbus récemment étudié par Francisco Pina Polo.34 Pour conclure sur ce point de méthode, la démarche de Badian a été à la fois partagée et appliquée de façon plus fine à l’échelle d’une cité ou d’un groupe limité de cités, mais sans produire de résultats probants ni incontestables. Elle a contribué à renforcer le réflexe traditionnel qui consiste à mettre en rapport des gentilices romains attestés en Afrique avec ceux des gouverneurs de la province d’Africa Vetus, devenue Proconsulaire sans doute à partir de 27 av. J.-C.35 C’est ainsi que dans sa synthèse bien informée sur l’histoire du Cap Bon de 146 av. J.-C. à 235 ap. J.-C., Samir Aounallah insère un tableau faisant état de « la part des gentilices des gouverneurs dans l’onomastique des villes du Cap Bon » et mettant en évidence leur importance quantitative (31,15 % de l’ensemble des gentilices portés à l’échelle du Cap Bon).36 Mais de là à penser que ces gouverneurs octroyèrent la citoyenneté romaine à la personne ou à son ascendant et lui transmirent leur gentilice, il y a un pas qu’il ne franchit qu’en précisant qu’il s’agit là d’une pure hypothèse.37 Aounallah rappelle à juste titre qu’un autre aspect qui ressort d’une telle étude onomastique est celui de la « psychologie et du comportement des individus » devant l’attractivité – ou non – d’un nom romain et le choix du nomen. Or sur cette question, les sources épigraphiques ne nous disent rien de précis. Il faut donc utiliser l’onomastique avec prudence, l’idée étant que seuls des gentilices rares et revenant régulièrement dans une ou plusieurs région(s) déterminée(s) peuvent nous éclairer sur cette question des clientèles provinciales, comme nous l’avons observé à propos des Sittii dans la région de Cirta. La meilleure démarche est sans doute celle qui consiste à observer la plupart du temps un scepticisme de bon aloi, comme le fait Louis Maurin lorsqu’il écrit à propos des inscriptions funéraires de Thugga que nombre des gentilices des gouverneurs « doivent ou peuvent venir de couches onomastiques locales (par la colonisation notamment), largement antérieures aux gou34 35

36 37

Pina Polo 2011a. À ce sujet, cf. aussi Dondin-Payre 2011 : 191 qui précise que l’Afrique se différencie de ce point de vue de la Gaule dans le sens où « les pérégrins y prennent plus volontiers le nom et le prénom de celui auquel ils doivent leur changement de statut, un représentant l’État romain » et qui ajoute que « pendant la République, les gouverneurs sont les plus concernés ». Le propos de cet article n’est pas de contester systématiquement cette règle de base, mais de montrer à quel point il est difficile de l’appliquer. Aounallah 2001 : 220–221. Comme en témoigne le lien que Aounallah établit entre certains gouverneurs et d’autres individus portant les mêmes prénoms et noms tout en précisant que le gouverneur s’était « peut-être » entremis en faveur de la personne elle-même ou d’un de ses ancêtres (Aounallah 2001 : 219). Le choix du prénom est toutefois un argument à manier également avec une grande prudence. Il est ainsi évident que si un Africain prenait le gentilice du gouverneur qui lui accordait la citoyenneté romaine, il adoptait aussi dans le même temps son prénom. Mais ce qui est vrai pour celui qui bénéficiait de la naturalisation ne l’est pas nécessairement pour ses descendants, puisqu’il fallait différencier les noms des enfants de sexe masculin dans une famille comptant au moins deux garçons et retenir dans ces cas nombreux un ou plusieurs autre(s) prénom(s) que celui du gouverneur romain qui était à l’origine de l’octroi de la citoyenneté romaine.

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verneurs en cause ».38 Mais il ne faut pas pour autant adopter un point de vue maximaliste, que je qualifierai d’hypercritique, en refusant par principe d’établir un lien entre une forte diffusion dans une région déterminée d’un gentilice peu répandu et la constitution d’une clientèle par un gouverneur portant le même gentilice et étant intervenu dans cette région. Le point d’équilibre est de toute façon difficile à atteindre. LE TEMPS DES IMPERATORES : CONCURRENCE ET FLEXIBILITÉ DES CLIENTÈLES Le seul phénomène que nous arrivons à observer, quoiqu’imparfaitement, à propos des clientèles des premiers gouverneurs de la province d’Afrique est celui de leur concentration au moment où apparaissent à partir de la fin du IIe siècle av. J.-C. ceux qu’on appelle les imperatores. Il faut laisser de côté l’entreprise gracchienne de la création de la colonie de Carthage, dont on rappellera l’échec final. Le premier nom qui s’impose est celui de Marius. Sa victoire sur Jugurtha fut remportée avec l’aide de soldats qui étaient pour une partie d’entre eux des Gétules et qui reçurent à la fin de leurs services des lots de terre de 100 jugères en vertu de la lex Appuleia de 103 av. J.-C.39. La fréquence des Marii en Afrique – en particulier dans l’Africa Nova, qui était au temps de Marius le cœur du royaume de Numidie, plus que dans l’Africa Vetus –40 doit s’expliquer vraisemblablement par l’octroi de la citoyenneté romaine en guise de récompense aux soldats qui servirent sous les ordres de Marius. Ceux-ci étaient à ce titre proches de leur général et leurs descendants sont d’ailleurs toujours qualifiés de clientes par le pseudo-César, qui rédigea le Bellum Africum un peu plus de cinquante ans après les campagnes de Marius en Afrique.41 Un tel lien avec Marius est resté vivant sur une longue durée, comme l’atteste une inscription de la cité de Thuburnica d’époque impériale sur laquelle Marius est qualifié de conditor coloniae, abusivement d’ailleurs.42 Il s’agit dans ce cas non plus des effets à long terme de relations de clientélisme, mais d’un acte relevant du phénomène de 38 39 40 41 42

Maurin dans Khanoussi et Maurin 2002 : 72. Il ajoute que « le gentilice d’un empereur ou d’un gouverneur est un critère de datation souvent admis. Il nous semble très aléatoire » (p. 71). vir.ill. 73.1. On se reportera à Gsell 1928 : 68. Cf. sur ce point Lassère 1977 : 115 et 128–129, qui reprend la bibliographie antérieure. On consultera toujours avec profit Gascou 1969 : 555–568 qui étudie la répartition du gentilice Marius dans l’Afrique romaine et en propose une carte. B.Afr. 35.4 : « complures Gaetuli qui sumus clientes C. Marii et propemodum omnes ciues romani ». AE 1951 81. Il est bien connu que Marius peut être crédité non pas de la création d’une colonie, mais d’installations viritanes de ses soldats (cf. Beschaouch 1997 : 98). Le souvenir de Marius est également resté vivant tout au long du Haut-Empire à travers l’emploi de l’adjectif Marianus dans la titulature de la colonie d’Uchi Maius, qualifiée de colonia Mariana Augusta Alexandriana Uchitanorum Maiorum (CIL VIII 15454 = ILS 1334), et du municipe de Thibaris, présenté à la fin du IIIe siècle ap. J.-C. comme municipium Marianum Thibaritanorum (CIL VIII 26181 = ILS 6790). L’emploi de l’épithète Marianus à Uchi Maius et à Thibaris montre que Marius était également considéré par ces cités comme le conditor.

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la mémoire qui sélectionne – et déforme – des faits historiques pour faire remonter l’origine de cette cité aussi loin que possible et attribuer sa fondation à une grande figure de l’histoire romaine.43 Une des questions qui se pose est de savoir si la fidélité de ces Marii à l’égard de Marius et de ses héritiers au sein de sa famille (son fils adoptif C. Marius ou son neveu Jules César) ou dans un sens politique (les populares) fut ou non durable dans les décennies qui suivirent ses campagnes en Afrique. On est tenté d’y répondre positivement eu égard au choix fait par Marius et plusieurs de ses partisans de se replier en Afrique à la suite de défaites militaires en Italie subies dans le courant des années 80. Un passage du Pseudo-César va également dans ce sens en écrivant que « Les Gétules passent continuellement, par bandes, dans son camp (celui de César), se rappelant les obligations qu’eux-mêmes et leurs ancêtres avaient à l’égard de C. Marius et entendant dire que César était parent de Marius ». Il ajoute que « César choisit parmi eux des hommes d’un certain rang, leur donne des lettres pour leurs concitoyens et les renvoie après les avoir exhortés à lever des troupes pour se défendre, eux et les leurs, et à ne pas se laisser commander sans résistance par ses ennemis jurés ».44 Le Bellum Africum fut rédigé par un partisan de Jules César, qui avait un intérêt politique évident à souligner la permanence des liens de clientèle. La référence aux lettres envoyées aux Gétules atteste dans ce sens que pour débaucher en sa faveur les populations locales, Jules César utilisa tous les moyens en son pouvoir, dont le rappel des clientèles de Romains proches de lui d’un point de vue politique et familial. On peut toutefois se demander si dans la pratique, une telle attitude marquée par une fidélité de longue durée était aussi mécanique. Rien n’est moins sûr et il faut prendre en compte les rapports de force qui ont pu rappeler opportunément aux Gétules lors de la campagne de Jules César en Afrique qu’ils étaient liés à Marius et à ses héritiers ; on peut également imaginer qu’ils espéraient en contrepartie la citoyenneté romaine, qu’ils ne possédaient pas ou dont Sylla les avait peut-être privés. Jules César fut au bout du compte un choix gagnant pour les populations gétules qui l’avaient soutenu, mais il faut penser aux autres populations qui choisirent le parti adverse, de gré ou de force. Une dernière remarque doit être faite à propos de l’analyse plus générale que Badian a déduite de l’action de Marius en Afrique. La guerre contre Jugurtha y a été présentée comme une révolte menée par un client, Jugurtha, qui s’estimait avoir été maltraité par son patron, en l’occurrence Rome. Elle est à ce titre analysée comme un exemple parmi d’autres, mais très éclairant, de l’idée selon laquelle le lien entre 43 44

Cf. Beschaouch 1997 : 98–99. B.Afr. 32.3–4 : « Interim Numidae Gaetuli diffugere cotidie ex castris Scipionis et partim in regnum se conferre, partim quod ipsi maioresque eorum beneficio C. Mari usi fuissent Caesaremque eius adfinem esse audiebant, in eius castra perfugere catervatim non intermittunt. Quorum ex numero electis hominibus illustrioribus [Gaetulos] et litteris ad suos ciues datis, cohortatus uti manu facta se suosque defenderent, ne suis inimicis adversariisque dicto audientes essent, mittit » ; cf. aussi B.Afr. 56.3 et, dans le même sens que le pseudo-César, Cass. Dio 43.4.2 qui précise dans le contexte de l’année 46 av. J.-C. que « les Gétules se rangèrent du côté de César, ainsi que certains de leurs voisins en partie en raison des Gétules parce qu’ils apprirent que ceux-ci avaient été grandement honorés, en partie en souvenir de Marius, parce que César était le parent de celui-ci ».

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le patron et ses clients, si caractéristique de la vie politique à Rome même, doit être étendu aux relations entretenues en matière de politique étrangère par les Romains avec les autres peuples placés dans leur orbite et sous leur influence.45 Cette conception est illustrée par un passage de Florus dans lequel il est écrit que Jugurtha « ne craignait pas plus ceux-ci (ses frères) que le Sénat et le peuple Romain, sous la protection et dans la clientèle desquels était le royaume ».46 Le problème est que cette formule est rarement attestée dans le cadre des relations entre États.47 Elle apparaît désormais plutôt comme une métaphore ou une image qui ne reflète pas la plus grande complexité de ce type de rapports. Le vocabulaire évoquait plutôt des liens d’amicitia : il vaut mieux qualifier à ce titre Jugurtha de roi ami ou de roi allié que de roi client. C’est dans cette direction que se sont engagés les travaux les plus récents, ceux de Eilers, Burton, Facella et Suspène par exemple, le vocabulaire de l’amitié étant adapté au langage des relations internationales dans le sens où il peut rendre compte aussi bien de rapports d’égal à égal que de liens entre un État supérieur (Rome) et un État jugé inférieur (le royaume numide).48 Après la mort de Marius et la défaite des Marianistes à la fin des années 80, l’Afrique resta à l’écart des conflits et de ce fait, la concurrence des clientèles se perçut moins, les gouverneurs des années 70 jusqu’à la fin des années 50 étant connus en petit nombre et n’apparaissant d’ailleurs pas comme des figures politiques de premier plan, du moins au moment où ils gouvernèrent leurs provinces.49 La campagne de Jules César en 47–46 replaça l’Afrique au centre des rivalités entre imperatores. Sa victoire à Thapsus contribua sans aucun doute à faire entrer dans sa clientèle un nombre indéterminé d’Africains et de communautés de cette région, mais ce phénomène reste difficile à étudier pour deux raisons. Il ne fut tout d’abord pas durable, l’assassinat de Jules César moins de deux années après sa victoire en Afrique conduisant les Africains à s’adapter au nouveau contexte et à se lier à d’autres Romains au gré des soubresauts de la vie politique romaine. L’analyse onomastique n’est en outre d’aucun secours dans ce cas précis, car le nomen Iulius est trop fréquent et peut tout aussi bien renvoyer à des liens établis plus tard par le fils adoptif de Jules César, Auguste, qui porta naturellement le nomen de son père, ou encore l’empereur Tibère. Plusieurs des premiers gouverneurs de la province d’Africa Nova, créée par Jules César en 46, présentent un plus grand intérêt pour notre enquête sur les clientèles provinciales de l’Afrique du Nord précisément parce qu’ils portent un gentilice peu répandu. On a vu supra que l’intervention militaire de P. Sittius en Afrique 45 46 47 48 49

C’est une idée qui a été réaffirmée par Badian, avec des nuances, dans une étude postérieure à la monographie sur les Foreign Clientelae (Badian 1984a : 408 et n. 50). Flor. 1.36.3 : « nec illos magis quam senatum populumque Romanum, quorum in fide et clientela regnum erat, metueret… » Le seul autre texte est un passage de Liv. 37.54.17. Eilers 2002 : 186–189 ; Burton 2003 ; 2011 ; Facella 2007 ; Suspène 2009 : notamment 50, n. 1 ; 2010 : 49–53. Sur ces questions, cf. aussi Coşkun 2005a ; 2008. On sait que L. Licinius Lucullus et L. Sergius Catilina furent gouverneurs de la province d’Afrique, mais ce gouvernement se situe plutôt au début de leurs cursus, après la préture et avant le consulat (ou la candidature à la magistrature suprême).

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expliquait la forte présence des Sittii dans la région de Cirta, la seule réserve portant sur le fait que ceux qui portaient un tel nomen n’étaient pas tous des descendants d’Africains qui étaient entrés dans la clientèle de ce partisan de Jules César et qu’il faut prendre également en compte le phénomène de l’immigration coloniale. Le cas de Salluste (C. Sallustius Crispus), qui fut le premier gouverneur de la nouvelle province, est plus complexe. Sur la bonne centaine de Sallustii attestés en Afrique du Nord, on n’en retrouve d’après Pflaum que huit pour le castellum Celtianum et pas plus de trois à Cirta même,50 mais en plus grand nombre dans le reste de la province d’Africa Noua par exemple à Sigus et ses environs ou encore à Thugga.51 Mais la carte de répartition de ce gentilice montre des Sallustii également disséminés plus au sud de cette province, ainsi qu’à Carthage et dans ses alentours.52 Il est très probable que Salluste accorda la citoyenneté à des Africains, qui reprirent ainsi son nomen,53 mais il est difficile de mesurer un tel phénomène et de déterminer si ces Sallustii étaient ou non les clients du gouverneur. Reste l’identification d’une éventuelle clientèle de C. Fuficius Fango. Envoyé par Octavien à la fin de l’année 42 pour gouverner les deux provinces d’Afrique du Nord, il fut défait par T. Sextius et se suicida au début de l’année 40.54 Nous savons que le nomen Fuficius est attesté en Afrique de façon localisée : sur les 35 attestations connues pour toute l’Afrique du Nord, 27 proviennent de la confédération cirtéenne, parmi lesquelles 23 ont été retrouvées à Thibilis – localité dépendant de Cirta. Cette indication est d’autant plus précieuse que ce gentilice d’origine campanienne est peu fréquent à l’échelle de l’Empire, mais l’interprétation de ce phénomène reste loin d’être évidente. On peut naturellement penser que ces Fuficii étaient les descendants d’Africains qui étaient entrés dans la clientèle de C. Fuficius Fango et avaient pris le nom de leur patron à la suite d’une intervention de celui-ci à Cirta et dans ses environs ; cette analyse est d’autant plus plausible que le témoignage de Dion Cassius présente l’Africa Nova comme la région de l’Afrique du Nord qu’il contrôlait et d’où il fit partir ses troupes en direction de l’Africa Vetus, situé à l’est, lorsqu’il fit campagne contre Sextius.55 On ne peut toutefois pas exclure l’hypothèse selon laquelle la présence de ces Fuficii résulta au moins en partie d’un phé-

50 51 52 53 54 55

Sur les chiffres, cf. Pflaum 1957 : 128 et 1959 : 99 et 132. Cf. Dondin-Payre 2011 : 191–193 à propos des Sallustii de Sigus et de Thugga. Cf. Lassère 1977 : 189 et 194 et 618–619 pour une carte de répartition des Sallustii en dehors de l’Africa Nova. On signalera ainsi l’existence à Sigus d’un personnage qui alla jusqu’à reprendre les tria nomina du gouverneur Salluste : C. Sallustius Crispus (ILAlg 2.6753). Ces événements sont présentés par Appien (b. c. 5.26) et Dion Cassius (48.22–23) ; cf. aussi Fishwick 1993 : 61. Cf. Cass.Dio 48.22.4–5 et 23.1 qui fait de la Νουμιδία la base-arrière de C. Fuficius Fango. Le terme Νουμιδία y reste ambigu, car il correspond à l’époque de Dion Cassius à une province qui n’est pas exactement semblable à l’Africa Nova d’un point de vue territorial, mais cette question de vocabulaire reste pour nous secondaire, dans le sens où la région de Cirta faisait de toute façon partie à la fois de la province césarienne de l’Africa Nova et de la province sévérienne de la Numidia (si l’on accepte la datation traditionnelle de la naissance de la province de Numidie, ce qui est malgré tout loin d’être assuré).

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nomène migratoire ayant conduit des Campaniens, compagnons de P. Sittius, à s’installer dans cette région de l’Afrique du Nord.56 Les questions relatives à la clientèle que Lépide se constitua pendant les quatre années passées à la tête de l’Afrique posent des problèmes de méthode identiques à ceux qui viennent d’être soulevés. La longue durée du gouvernement de cette région de l’Empire par le triumvir coïncida avec une période de stabilité qui fait suite aux multiples conflits de la fin des années 40 et dont les études récentes ont souligné plusieurs aspects.57 Parmi ceux-ci se trouve l’idée qu’il élargit le nombre de citoyens romains afin de se constituer une clientèle fidèle.58 Qu’il ait développé des relations personnelles en Afrique avec des individus et leurs communautés ne fait aucun doute. C’est ce que rappelle le contenu d’une inscription de Thabraca : Lépide y est qualifié de patronus d’une cité qui était sans doute un municipe et qui lui accorda ce titre à la suite et en vertu d’un décret des décurions.59 La vraie question est de déterminer jusqu’à quel point une telle politique fut appliquée de façon systématique. L’onomastique a été de nouveau exploitée,60 mais cette méthode se heurte à des limites qui ont été rappelées supra, la principale étant dans ce cas précis que le gentilice Aemilius porté par le triumvir est très répandu en Afrique et dans l’ensemble de l’Empire. Le problème, déjà soulevé à propos des Caecilii et des Calpurnii, est que les nombreux Aemilii attestés sur des inscriptions d’époque impériale pouvaient être des descendants d’indigènes auxquels Lépide octroya la citoyenneté romaine et qui furent des clients de ce dernier, mais une partie d’entre eux était également issue de l’émigration provenant d’Italie depuis le IIe siècle av. J.C.61 Il est dans l’état actuel de nos connaissances impossible de déterminer de façon assurée la proportion respective des Aemilii romano-italiens et de ceux qui étaient des Africains liés à Lépide. LE PRINCIPAT AUGUSTÉEN : LA HIÉRARCHIE DES CLIENTÈLES Les clientèles provinciales des gouverneurs ne disparurent pas avec la mise en place du Principat, mais la pratique du patronat sur les collectivités publiques se transforma profondément. Il est bien connu qu’Auguste cessa rapidement d’être qualifié 56 57 58 59 60

61

Sur le nombre de Fuficii connus en Afrique et les raisons de leur forte implantation dans la région de Cirta, cf. Dupuis 1998. Fishwick 1994 ; Allély 2004 : 193–213. Lassère 1977 : 201 ; Allély 2004 : 148 et 212. Cf. aussi Roddaz 2003 : 191 qui précise avec raison que « sur ce point aussi, les témoignages sont ténus ». AE 1959 77 : M(arco) Lepido imp(eratori) / tert(ium), pont(ifici) max(imo), / IIIuir(o) r(ei) p(ublicae) c(onstituendae) bis, co(n)s(uli) / iter(um), patrono / ex d(ecreto) d(ecurionum). Par exemple par Lassère 1980 : 35 qui précise à propos d’un M. Aemilius attesté à Simitthus qu’ « on est tenté de conclure … à la romanisation ancienne d’une famille africaine, par les soins de Lépide » ; cf. aussi Berthier 1981 : 156–157 qui voit dans la forte diffusion du gentilice de Lépide dans le territoire de la future confédération cirtéenne l’indice d’un ralliement des anciens partisans de Sittius à la cause du triumvir et de leur « empressement à emprunter le gentilice Aemilius », mais cette hypothèse reste purement gratuite. Comme l’a fait remarquer Bertrandy 1994 : 203.

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sur les dédicaces de patronus : sa suprématie était telle qu’elle ne se réduisit plus aux liens traditionnels entre patrons et clients.62 Une telle situation explique qu’à l’échelle de l’Empire, les cités et leurs élites aient choisi, à côté du prince, un autre patron avec lequel elles pouvaient nouer des liens plus personnels : tout d’abord l’un ou l’autre proche d’Auguste, en particulier ceux qu’on appelle les « co-régents » et qui étaient des membres de la famille impériale comme Agrippa, les princes de la jeunesse ou encore Tibère avant son avènement, mais cette formule disparut dans le courant du Principat d’Auguste sans doute parce que ces personnages étaient trop proches du prince ;63 ensuite des sénateurs romains, parmi lesquels se trouvaient les gouverneurs envoyés à la tête des provinces pendant une durée plus ou moins longue. Pour ce qui est de l’Afrique Proconsulaire, les témoignages sur la permanence du patronage exercé par les gouverneurs de cette province à l’époque augustéenne sont incontestables. Si l’on suit l’ordre chronologique, le premier document à apparaître dans notre documentation est une table d’hospitalité et de patronat du pagus Gurzensis concrétisant l’accord conclu par cette communauté avec L. Domitius Ahenobarbus, proconsul d’Afrique en 13/12 ou 12/11 av. J.-C. Il est à ce titre utile d’en reproduire le contenu de manière à l’analyser dans le détail : P(ublio) Sulpicio Quirinio C(aio) Valgio co(n)s(ulibus), / Senatus populusque, ciuitatium stipendiariorum / pago, Gurzenses hospitium fecerunt quom L(ucio) Domitio, / Cn(aii) f(ilio), L(ucii) n(epote), Ahenobarbo proco(n)s(ule) eumque et postereis / eius sibi posterisque sueis patronum co(o)ptauerunt ;/ isque eos posterosque eorum in fidem clientelam/que suam recepit vac. / faciundum coeraverunt Ammicar Milchatonis f(ilius) / Cynasyn., Boncar Azzrubalis f(ilius) Aethogursensis / Muthunbal Saphonis f(ilius) Cuinas. Uzitensis « Sous le consulat de P. Sulpicius Quirinius et de C. Valgius, le sénat et le peuple, (qui sont) Gurzenses par le pagus, des cités de stipendiaires ont conclu un hospitium avec L. Domitius Ahenobarbus, fils de Cnaius, petit-fils de Lucius, proconsul. Ils l’ont coopté comme patron lui-même, ainsi que ses descendants pour eux-mêmes et leurs descendants. Lui-même les a accueillis, ainsi que leurs descendants, dans sa protection et sa clientèle. Ont pris soin de faire : Ammicar Cynasyn ( ?) fils de Milchato (citoyen de ?), Boncar Aetho, fils d’Azzrubal, citoyen de Gurza et Muthumbal Cuinas, fils de Sapho(n), citoyen d’Uzita ».64 62

63 64

Cf. David 2009 : 85–86 qui précise à juste titre que « ne pouvant être le patron de toutes les cités, il ne l’était d’aucune et occupait ainsi une position de suprématie générale et d’arbitre qui pouvait choisir entre les prétentions des différents patrons, sans craindre de les mécontenter puisqu’il était nécessairement le bienfaiteur de chacun d’eux ». Sur les raisons pour lesquelles Auguste ne pouvait être le patron de tous les habitants de l’Empire, cf. aussi Jehne 2012 : 39–41 qui souligne qu’en la matière, le prince adopta une attitude différente de celle de son père adoptif Jules César. Sur le patronat exercé par les « co-régents », cf. Cogitore 1993 : 829 qui précise que « cette formule disparaît rapidement au profit d’autres procédés, plus représentatifs du fonctionnement d’une dynastie » ; cf. aussi Hurlet 1997 : 468. CIL VIII 68 = ILS 6095. Sur les tabulae patronatus, cf. Nicols 1980 : 535–561 ; sur cette inscription, cf. Aounallah 2001 : 34–35 et Aounallah 2010 : 31–33 qui insère une photographie et dont j’ai suivi la traduction. Sur ce type de document, cf. Guédon 2010 : 120–125 à propos de l’Afrique et l’annexe 4 pour le texte et la traduction de ce document. Sur la date du proconsulat de L. Domitius Ahenobarbus, cf. Thomasson 1996 : 21–22 et Hurlet 2006b : 53. On notera que ce proconsul fit entrer dans sa clientèle non pas une cité, mais un groupe de cités « de stipen-

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Daté de la fin du Principat d’Auguste ou du début du Principat de Tibère, un autre document de même nature est attesté en Afrique. Il s’agit de la table d’hospitalité et de patronat qui témoigne de l’accord conclu entre la cité d’Assuras, qui devint une colonie romaine à l’époque augustéenne, et le proconsul d’Afrique, A. Vibius Habitus.65 Cette inscription a été découverte en Molise, en Italie, sans doute parce qu’elle provenait de la résidence de ce sénateur originaire de Larinum. Le formulaire attesté sur l’inscription est parvenu sous une forme traditionnelle qui est déjà attestée pour le pagus Gurzensis et qui fait référence à l’hospitium, la cooptatio et la receptio in fidem clientelamque en indiquant à la fin les noms des représentant des cités, les légats : [Coloni coloniae Iuliae Assuritanae hos]/pitium [fe]c[erunt cum A(ulo) Vibio Habito]/ pro(con) s(ule) liber[is posterisque eius eumque] / rogarunt uti [se liberos posterosque] / suos in fidem clie[ntelamque reciperet] ; / A(ulus) Vibius Habitus pro[co(n)s(ul) colonos coloniae] / Iuliae Assuritanae [liberos posterosque eorum] / in fidem et clientel[am suam suorumque] / recepit vacat / [Egerunt] vacat / M. Canin[ius ---] / --« Les colons de la colonie Iulia d’Assuras ont conclu un hospitium avec A. Vibius Habitus, proconsul, ses enfants et ses descendants et lui ont demandé de les accueillir dans sa protection et sa clientèle, ainsi que leurs enfants et leurs descendants ; A. Vibius Habitus, proconsul, a accueilli dans sa protection et sa clientèle, ainsi que dans celles de ses enfants et de ses descendants les colons de la colonie Iulia d’Assuras, leurs enfants et leurs descendants … ont agi … M. Caninius … ».66

On notera enfin que deux autres proconsuls d’époque augustéenne sont qualifiés de patronus sur deux inscriptions provenant de Lepcis Magna : il s’agit de M. Licinius Crassus Frugi, proconsul en 9/8 ou 8/7 av. J.-C.,67 et de L. Caninius Gallus, prodiaires », au moins deux, sans doute trois, qui étaient regroupées dans un pagus à une époque où les cités autonomes étaient encore peu nombreuses. L. Domitius Ahenobarbus est également connu pour avoir été le patron de la cité de Buthrotum en Épire (AE 1985 771 = CIA 275 = LIA 253 ; cf. à ce sujet Deniaux 1999 ; Deniaux 2006a : 345–347 ; Deniaux 2007 : 294–296). Il reste à s’interroger sur la raison de son patronat en Afrique. Depuis le gouvernement de Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus à la fin des années 80 av. J.-C., les Domitii Ahenobarbi ont pu passer pour une famille qui a su se constituer des clientèles (Deniaux 2000 : 1303–1304), mais la stabilité de ces liens est loin d’être assurée (Carlsen 2006 : 152–153) et on verra infra qu’il existe d’autres explications liées au statut même de proconsul d’Afrique. 65 La date à laquelle A. Vibius Habitus exerça son proconsulat n’est pas déterminée avec exactitude, car aucune des sources ne donne d’indication chronologique précise. Thomasson 1996 : 28 propose l’année proconsulaire 16/17 en intercalant ce gouvernement entre le proconsulat de L. Aelius Lamia et celui de M. Furius Camillus, mais l’examen d’une monnaie provenant de Thaena sur laquelle est gravé le nom de A. Vibius Habitus qualifié de procos a conduit les éditeurs du Roman Provincial Coinage à dater ce proconsulat de la fin du Principat d’Auguste (RPC 1 n° 810 et p. 203 ; cf. aussi RPC 1, p. 184 où est proposée avec un point d’interrogation la datation proconsulaire 13/14). 66 AE 1913 40 = E-J 356 ; cf. aussi Guédon 2010 : annexe 4 pour le texte et la traduction de ce document. Sur sa provenance, cf. les commentaires de Díaz Ariño 2012, 211, n. 56. 67 IRT 319 = AE 1951 205. M. Licinius Crassus Frugi est cité sur l’inscription à l’ablatif comme formule de datation et présenté comme patronus (de la cité de Lepcis Magna). La présence au début du document d’une titulature impériale d’Auguste permet de dater ce gouvernement provincial de la 14e puissance tribunicienne d’Auguste, soit de 9/8 ou de 8/7 av. J.-C. (sur la

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consul durant la dernière décennie du Principat d’Auguste.68 Le choix du proconsul comme patron de cité est une pratique qui perdura à l’époque impériale pour l’Afrique, puisque le titre de patronus y est attesté sur des dédicaces à des gouverneurs d’époque flavienne, antonine et sévérienne.69 Trois séries de remarques peuvent être faites à propos de l’ensemble de ces documents. 1. Il ne faut pas prendre au pied de la lettre les précisions qui ont été données par les tables sur la durée des liens entre la cité et le gouverneur et en vertu desquelles les Gurzenses et la colonie d’Assuras accueillirent comme patrons le proconsul romain, ainsi que ses descendants. Il s’agit d’une formule traditionnelle à laquelle on n’accordera pas une signification absolue et qui doit être interprétée dans un sens protreptique plus que mécanique. Il faut comprendre que la mort d’un patron mettait un terme légal à ses relations de patronage et que son fils ou un de ses fils était incité à renouveler formellement de tels liens tout en restant libre de la décision à prendre à ce sujet.70 2. La permanence tout au long du Haut-Empire des liens entre le proconsul et la cité ou tout autre communauté (le pagus) sous la forme du patronage du premier sur la seconde est une singularité propre à l’Afrique, dans la mesure où les gouverneurs agissant comme patrons sont connus en plus petit nombre dans le reste de l’Occident et disparaissent de notre documentation pour l’Orient rapidement, dès les premières décennies du Ier siècle ap. J.-C.71 Quelles qu’en soient les raisons (habitude épigraphique ? caractère latin d’une institution qui ne fit que se greffer sur les pratiques grecques de l’Orient ?), cette différence entre l’Afrique et les autres régions de l’Empire est remarquable. Conscient de cette situation, Eilers en a malgré tout conclu de façon générale au déclin du patronat de cités par les sénateurs et mis cette évolution sur le compte d’un changement d’attitude aussi bien de la part des sénateurs que des cités : plus qu’une fonction, le patronat serait devenu un titre purement honorifique dont les premiers ne percevaient plus l’utilité en raison de la naissance du Principat et que les secondes jugeaient plus attractif de conférer à des notables locaux pour le même motif.72 En d’autres termes, les sénateurs d’époque impériale ne voyaient plus l’intérêt de compter dans leurs clientèles des cités provinciales aussi distantes, qui savaient pour leur part que la figure centrale dans le processus de prise de décision était désormais le prince, et non plus le Sénat et ses membres.

68 69 70 71 72

date du proconsulat de M. Licinius Crassus Frugi, cf. Thomasson 1996 : 22 qui propose l’année 9/8 av. J.-C., mais on ne peut pas absolument écarter l’année proconsulaire 8/7 av. J.-C. ; cf. aussi Hurlet et Suspène 2012 : 82 qui propose de réserver la datation proconsulaire 8/7 av. J.-C. au proconsulat de P. Quinctilius Varus). IRT 51 = AE 1938 2 : L(ucius) Caninius L(ucii) f(ilius) Gallus, XV sacris fac(iundis), / co(n) s(ul), proco(n)s(ul), patron(us) dedic(auit). Sur la date du proconsulat de L. Caninius Gallus, cf. Thomasson 1996 : 27. Liste dans Eilers 2002 : 287–292. Eilers 2002 : 61–83 parle à juste titre de « flexibility ». Cette particularité a été soulignée par Nicols 1980 : 537 et 544–545, ainsi que par Condina et Foraboschi 2000 : 1318. Il faut renvoyer aux analyses de Eilers 2002 : 161–181.

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Le cas de l’Afrique reste à part, dans le sens où il s’écarte de la règle telle qu’elle vient d’être définie en montrant que les gouverneurs et les communautés de cette province continuèrent à tirer des bénéfices respectifs de la relation patron-client. Les proconsuls d’Afrique continuèrent en effet à évoluer sous Auguste dans un univers concurrentiel qui valorisait le statut de patron de cités comme instrument de la compétition aristocratique,73 à l’instar de ce que l’on constate sous la République ; le fait que l’un d’entre eux, A. Vibius Habitus, ait jugé utile de conserver une table de patronat et d’hospitalité dans sa propre maison en Italie, où elle a été mise au jour, s’explique par le surcroît de dignité qu’il pouvait en retirer. Quant aux cités, elles n’ignoraient pas qu’une série de décisions relevait du gouverneur quand il s’agissait de demandes spécifiques qui n’entraient pas dans le domaine de compétences du prince et exigeaient une connaissance du terrain. On ne s’expliquerait pas autrement pourquoi un nombre non négligeable d’ambassadeurs de cités, les legati, se dispensa de se rendre à Rome ou auprès du prince pour aller trouver le gouverneur de province, naturellement plus accessible.74 3. La raison pour laquelle la situation en Afrique représente l’exception plus que la norme en matière de patronat exercé par les gouverneurs de province sous Auguste et par la suite n’a encore jamais fait l’objet d’une analyse détaillée.75 Plusieurs réponses peuvent être données, qui se complètent plus qu’elles ne s’excluent. Le point de départ est la question de l’identité des proconsuls qui furent patrons de ces cités d’Afrique, de leur statut au sein du Sénat et de la nature de leurs relations avec le pouvoir impérial. Il est un fait que sous Auguste, les proconsuls d’Afrique furent toujours des consulaires arrivés au sommet d’un cursus honorum restructuré dans le sens d’un renforcement de la hiérarchisation sociale. C’est peut-être la supériorité d’un tel rang qui explique pourquoi les cités d’Afrique se tournèrent vers leurs gouverneurs pour établir des relations privilégiées avec le pouvoir romain : elles choisirent des sénateurs influents dont elles savaient qu’ils pouvaient agir en leur faveur une fois qu’ils étaient de retour à Rome. Cette justification vaut à ce titre pour les gouverneurs de la province d’Asie, qui furent également des proconsuls tirés au sort parmi les anciens consuls. Une des marques concrètes de leur supériorité était la présence momentanée sur une série de monnaies provinciales d’époque augustéenne de leurs portraits, privilège qui finit par disparaître pour être réservé au prince et aux membres de sa domus.76 On peut dès lors penser que la parfaite connaissance des hiérarchies sociales par les provinciaux, dont la part prise dans la réalisation de ces monnayages civiques ne doit pas être sous-estimée, les incita à devenir les clients de leurs gouverneurs. Il faut toutefois faire remarquer que le proconsul d’Asie cessa rapidement d’être choisi comme patron des cités de sa pro73 74 75 76

Sur le maintien de la concurrence entre sénateurs à l’époque impériale et son adaptation à la présence d’un princeps, cf. Hurlet 2012a. Sur l’importance quantitative des ambassades envoyées par les cités auprès des gouverneurs, Eck 2009 : 203–207 et Hurlet 2012b : 111–118. Il est d’ailleurs légitime de se demander si l’exception africaine en la matière confirme ou au contraire infirme la règle générale. Sur les portraits monétaires des proconsuls d’Afrique et d’Asie sous le Principat d’Auguste, cf. Hurlet et Suspène 2012.

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vince, alors que cette pratique perdura en Afrique. Cette différence entre les deux provinces laisse penser qu’il existe une autre explication que celle du statut. Mon hypothèse de travail est que la spécificité du contexte africain permet de mieux rendre compte du choix par les cités de cette province de leur gouverneur comme patronus. Il est bien connu que le proconsul d’Afrique fut le seul gouverneur d’une province publique à garder le commandement d’une légion tout au long du Principat d’Auguste et jusqu’au Principat de Caligula, alors que les autres proconsuls avaient renoncé de facto à faire usage de leur imperium militiae pour la plupart dès 27 et au plus tard à partir de la fin des années 10 av. J.-C. pour l’Illyrie et la Macédoine.77 Il fut donc perçu à ce titre comme un chef militaire qui pouvait faire entrer les cités dans sa clientèle d’autant plus facilement que celles-ci étaient à la recherche d’une protection dans un contexte marqué en Afrique du Nord par la persistance de troubles tout au long de l’époque julio-claudienne, voire au-delà. On peut trouver un argument en faveur d’un tel raisonnement dans le patronat exercé par deux proconsuls d’Afrique, M. Licinius Crassus Frugi et A. Vibius Habitus, à Lepcis Magna. Il s’agissait en effet d’une cité située aux frontières de la province qui fut touchée par les multiples révoltes des peuplades indigènes, par exemple en 6–8 ap. J.-C. et pendant la guerre contre Tacfarinas entre 17 et 24. A cette spécificité s’en ajoute une autre, qui tient à la non-présence du pouvoir impérial sur le sol même de l’Afrique. On sait que ni Auguste ni les membres de la domus Augusta ne firent de tournée d’inspection dans cette province.78 On comprend mieux dans ces conditions pourquoi des collègues du prince et ses proches tels qu’Agrippa, Caius et Lucius César, Drusus l’Ancien et Tibère, Agrippa Postumus ou encore Germanicus n’apparaissent jamais en Afrique comme patronus de l’une ou l’autre cité ou de l’un ou l’autre individu, au contraire de ce que l’on constate pour les autres provinces.79 L’Afrique fait là encore exception. Ce sont les proconsuls qui monopolisèrent pour le pouvoir romain ce type de relations.80 Certains d’entre eux furent des proches d’Auguste liés à celui-ci par des relations familiales, comme L. Domitius Ahenobarbus – qui avait épousé Antonia Maior, la fille d’Octavie et donc la nièce d’Auguste –,81 mais ce ne fut pas toujours le cas. L. Caninius Gallus, M. Licinius Crassus Frugi et A. Vibius Habitus ne sont en effet pas particulièrement connus pour être des proches d’Auguste et ne faisaient pas à proprement parler partie de la domus Augusta. Ils furent choisis par les cités comme patrons parce qu’ils étaient avant tout des chefs militaires au sommet du cursus 77 78 79 80

81

Cf. Hurlet 2006b : 147–154. Suet. Aug. 47 précise d’ailleurs qu’avec la Sardaigne, l’Afrique fut la seule province où Auguste ne se rendit pas. Les seuls empereurs à l’avoir visitée sous le Haut-Empire sont Hadrien et sans doute Septime Sévère (sur ces voyages, cf. Guédon 2010 : 189–206). Cf. les tableaux d’Eilers 2002 : 284–287. D’autant que les liens entre les élites des communautés de l’Afrique Proconsulaire et les sénateurs romains ou les membres de la domus Augusta restaient peu développés à l’époque augustéenne, au contraire de ce que l’on peut observer pour l’Italie dès la même époque ou pour l’Afrique Proconsulaire à partir du IIe siècle ap. J.-C. Sur ce personnage et ses liens avec Auguste, cf. Hurlet 2006b : 53, n. 128 ; Carlsen 2006 : 75– 81.

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honorum sénatorial, représentant la plus haute autorité romaine et à ce titre capables de les protéger. CONCLUSION Le nouveau régime laissa la pratique du patronat continuer à fonctionner pour ce qui est du monde provincial tout en la surveillant et en la supervisant.82. Il ne faut pas en déduire pour autant qu’Auguste fut un patron universel, car il ne pouvait accepter d’être à la fois le patron de quelques cités particulières et le patron de toutes. Mais sa position extraordinaire était telle et fut ressentie comme telle que ce titre ne fut plus nécessaire et fut transféré au début du Haut-Empire à des membres de sa dynastie et, pour l’Afrique, aux proconsuls. On assista sous Auguste non pas à une disparition ou à un affaiblissement des relations de patronat, mais à un renforcement de la hiérarchisation, conformément à une tendance générale qui se manifesta à partir de l’époque augustéenne. La naissance d’un nouveau régime créa un système à plusieurs niveaux dans lequel le prince était au sommet, pendant que le gouverneur apparaissait en Afrique comme un médiateur en raison de sa présence physique permanente sur le sol provincial. À ce titre, il était un des Romains vers lesquels les provinciaux, cités et individus, se tournèrent pour assurer leur protection. Le patronat restait pour les cités un moyen de défense de leurs intérêts et pour les proconsuls un des instruments d’une compétition aristocratique maintenue en vie par Auguste.

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Cf. David 2009 : 74 qui a montré qu’en matière de patronat, la position d’Auguste se situe dans le prolongement de l’évolution qui découle de la concentration du pouvoir dans les mains des principaux personnages de la fin de la République, les imperatores, et qui contribua non pas à exclure ces derniers, puis Auguste, du système des relations de patronat, mais à les placer au-dessus.

L’APPORT DE LA DOCUMENTATION NUMISMATIQUE À L’ÉTUDE DES FOREIGN CLIENTELAE : LE CAS DE JUBA II DE MAURÉTANIE* Arnaud Suspène Le matériel monétaire est particulièrement lié au pouvoir : il porte de nombreuses images sélectionnées au plus haut niveau politique, il constitue le principal outil de paiement au service des autorités publiques et il n’est pas rare de voir une zone d’influence politique se manifester par un rapprochement des étalons monétaires et des dénominations, selon des rythmes et des voies qui peuvent cependant être très variés, comme en témoigne la diffusion progressive de la métrologie romaine vers l’est à la suite de l’expansion de l’Empire.1 Bien que la documentation numismatique ait été peu utilisée par Badian en 1958, il y a donc un intérêt méthodologique à traiter ce type de sources dans la perspective d’une réévaluation du concept de Foreign Clientelae. Je prendrai un exemple restreint : celui du monnayage du roi Juba II de Maurétanie, qui sera le point d’entrée de ma réflexion et qui suscitera des comparaisons de portée générale. Le choix d’un roi africain se justifie aisément. Badian a beaucoup insisté sur l’importance de l’Afrique dans l’histoire des Foreign Clientelae. C’est même à un roi numide, Massinissa, que Badian attribue une des premières définitions de la relation entre Rome et les rois, qu’il décrit sous le terme générique de clientèle.2 En effet, dans le discours que Masgaba prononce à Rome au nom de son père après la victoire sur le roi Persée, Badian voit l’expression d’une théorie3 élaborée par Massinissa au moment de son alliance avec Rome et à laquelle il serait resté fidèle toute sa vie.4 Si l’on suit la version qu’en donne Salluste,5 les rois auraient la procuratio et Rome le ius et l’imperium. Si l’on suit la version de Tite-Live,6 du côté des rois se trouverait l’usus et du côté des Romains le dominium. Au-delà de la différence des termes, il s’agit bien de la description d’une relation inégale à laquelle le roi essaie de donner un contenu plus précis, avec un succès très relatif selon Badian. De manière plus générale, les « rois clients » semblent constituer une *

1 2 3 4 5 6

Les illustrations proviennent des maisons de vente mentionnées dans la liste des figures et ont été téléchargées via le site Coin Archives Pro qui autorise leur usage dans le cadre d’une publication académique. Je remercie tout particulièrement la maison CGB (cgb.fr) qui m’a fourni directement ses fichiers photographiques. Voir Grandjean 1997. Voir notamment sa note M (Badian 1958a : 295), mais aussi Badian 1958a : 125 et suivantes. Badian 1958a : 129. Badian 1958a : 137. Sall. Iug. 14.1–2. Liv. 45.13.12.

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forme particulièrement aboutie de la relation de clientèle.7 En effet, le mode d’articulation du royaume à l’Empire repose précisément sur le recours à une relation à la fois informelle et contraignante, qui préserve l’autorité du roi tout en garantissant le respect des intérêts romains. Pourtant, le concept de « rois clients » a fait l’objet d’un certain nombre d’études récentes8 tendant à contester la pertinence même de la notion de clientèle, peu attestée dans les sources et par ailleurs largement débattue,9 en ce qui les concerne. Ils sont donc au cœur du débat sur les Foreign Clientelae. Badian s’est arrêté en 70 avant notre ère et il a donc surtout traité du royaume numide. Mais la tradition royale fondée par Syphax et Massinissa se prolonge jusqu’à Ptolémée de Maurétanie, déposé puis éliminé par Caligula. Dans ce long développement, marqué par l’augmentation constante de l’emprise de Rome, Juba II représente un moment essentiel, en raison de ses caractéristiques personnelles, du moment où il écrit et de la longueur de son règne : c’est un roi érudit, capable de penser la relation avec Rome et l’histoire des royaumes africains sur la longue durée ; il est au pouvoir au moment de la réorganisation de l’Empire par Auguste ; il est presque l’exact contemporain de ce Prince, puisqu’il règne de 25 avant notre ère à 24 de notre ère. Si les intuitions de Badian sur la nature des relations entre les rois africains et Rome sont bonnes, elles devraient en toute logique être plus facilement vérifiables sous Juba II, qui fait face à une pression romaine particulièrement forte, que sous Massinissa. Cette rencontre entre un sujet particulier, le roi hellénisé Juba II, et un moment de formalisation de l’Empire, la période augustéenne, recommande particulièrement l’analyse du règne de ce prince pour la réévaluation des travaux de Badian. À l’intérêt propre des royaumes africains pour l’étude des Foreign Clientelae s’ajoute que les rois numides et maurétaniens ont été des rois monnayeurs. C’est vrai de Massinissa, de Juba ier, et plus encore de Juba II, pour citer ceux dont l’œuvre monétaire est la plus saillante. Le monnayage de Massinissa reste un monnayage de bronze, à l’usage interne du royaume, et de structure assez simple. Mais celui de Juba II est incomparablement plus varié et il est donc possible de voir comment cet instrument particulier qu’est la monnaie reflète l’évolution des relations avec Rome. Pour ce faire, l’on dispose désormais d’ouvrages précis et très documentés. Dans sa monographie sur le royaume de Maurétanie sous Juba II et Ptolémée, M. Coltelloni-Trannoy s’est livrée à un commentaire exhaustif de l’ico7 8

9

Badian lui-même n’isole pas la catégorie des « rois clients » du système général de la clientela tel qu’il le conçoit. Le travail essentiel est celui de Braund 1984, bientôt complété par de nombreuses études (voir les bilans de Facella 2007 et Suspène 2010). La contestation est à la fois terminologique et structurelle. D’une part, le terme client n’est appliqué à des rois que de manière métaphorique et exceptionnelle. D’autre part, les rois ne sont pas nécessairement des solutions d’attente en attendant l’intégration complète dans l’Empire. La contestation la plus aboutie du concept est venue de C. Eilers (Eilers 2002 : 1–18, 110, 182–184). Les travaux suscités par A. Coşkun (Coşkun 2005a et 2008) et P. Burton (Burton 2011 : 3–7), qui réorientent sur l’amitié une partie de la problématique, confirment le bienfondé de la démarche de C. Eilers. Voir également sur les aspects méthodologiques la contribution de Fr. Pina Polo dans ce volume.

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nographie monétaire des deux derniers rois maurétaniens ;10 plus près de nous, J. Alexandropoulos a consacré aux monnayages africains un corpus et des analyses développées, embrassant tous les aspects liés à la frappe.11 Les résultats de ces diverses contributions, au-delà d’une convergence globale (le constat de la romanisation progressive des émissions), ne sont cependant pas strictement identiques, précisément en ce qui concerne la vision du pouvoir royal qui se dégage du monnayage et la nature de ses relations avec Rome. Pour M. Coltelloni-Trannoy, il convient d’insister sur les emprunts du monnayage de Juba II à la typologie romaine, qui révèleraient la docilité du monarque à Rome.12 J. Alexandropoulos est plus nuancé et voit dans la présence d’autres traditions (africaine, lagide) le signe de l’affirmation du pouvoir royal.13 En 1974, D. Salzmann14 allait même jusqu’à parler d’une typologie dominée par l’expression de la puissance maurétanienne, les éléments « romains » étant résolument laissés au second plan. Ces thèmes très politiques relèvent tous de la problématique des Foreign Clientelae. Je me propose donc de revenir sur les caractéristiques du monnayage de Juba II et de replacer la documentation numismatique dans les débats récents sur les liens entre Rome et les divers ensembles qui dépendent d’elle, autour des notions de clientèle et d’amitié. Commençons par interroger les images monétaires. I) LE POUVOIR MAURÉTANIEN D’APRÈS L’ICONOGRAPHIE MONÉTAIRE DE JUBA II Juba II règne près de 50 ans. Sur une durée aussi longue, il est difficile de proposer un tableau unique et cumulatif de l’iconographie monétaire, et par conséquent de considérer qu’elle délivre un discours unique.15 Une difficulté additionnelle est que toutes ces séries ne sont pas sûrement datées, parce que les années de règne ne sont précisées qu’à la fin de la vie de Juba, à l’exception d’une mention isolée de la sixième année de règne.16 Cependant, un choix est toujours révélateur et ces images sont nombreuses et certaines sont même récurrentes ; elles peuvent donc être mises en série, et c’est alors qu’il est possible, en observant la prudence requise, d’établir une éventuelle convergence voire une unité de sens. C’est particulièrement vrai pour les questions qui nous occupent : la représentation des fondements du pouvoir de Juba et la description de ses relations avec Rome.

10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997. Alexandropoulos 2000 Coltelloni-Trannoy 1990. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 232. Salzmann 1974 : 182. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 215. Alexandropoulos n°114.

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Le portrait monétaire La typologie monétaire accorde une grande place à la représentation personnelle du roi Juba II. Son portrait, toujours glabre, est omniprésent au droit des monnaies. L’existence de ce portrait est en soi intéressante. Le portrait monétaire est un marqueur caractéristique de la puissance politique.17 Il avait été introduit dans les monnayages royaux d’Afrique par Massinissa et avait été repris par ses successeurs. Juba ier notamment avait placé sur ses monnaies un portrait pourvu d’une coiffure étagée caractéristique (fig. 1).18 L’usage du portrait remonte donc à la première affirmation de la monarchie numide et constitue une pratique à laquelle les rois africains étaient très attachés. Deux versions du portrait de Juba II existent. La première, utilisée sur les deux monnaies d’or connues et dominante pour l’argent, est attestée du début à la fin du règne.19 Elle est associée à de nombreux revers différents. Le roi porte le diadème traditionnel lagide, particulièrement large, et son buste est parfois drapé (fig. 2). Le portrait de Juba II n’a plus rien à voir avec l’iconographie des monnaies de Massinissa, toujours barbu, ni avec le portrait de Juba ier.20 L’inspiration est nettement hellénistique. Il y a donc à la fois exploitation d’une tradition du portrait royal en Afrique et prise de distance avec les interprétations qu’en ont données les monarques africains antérieurs au profit d’une conception de la royauté plus prestigieuse. Sur la seconde série de portraits monétaires, c’est l’ascendance héracléenne de Juba qui est mise en valeur, soit par la présence de la massue à la base du cou (Alexandropoulos Avers C), soit par la présence de la léontè qui coiffe le buste royal (Alexandropoulos Avers D : fig. 3), soit par l’association de la massue et de la léontè (Alexandropoulos Avers E). Cette ascendance est une revendication qui remonte aux rois numides, peut-être sous l’influence barcide. Il s’agit d’un thème dynastique, que Juba II choisit de traduire de manière très ostentatoire.21 La référence héracléenne s’explique aussi, cependant, par le déplacement du royaume à l’ouest de la Numidie originelle, vers les colonnes d’Hercule, en une Maurétanie dominée par Melqart et non plus par le Baal Ammon numide. Le territoire africain jouait en effet un grand rôle dans la légende d’Héraklès : les Anciens plaçaient le jardin des Hespérides au bord du Lixus, et Héraklès était considéré comme le fondateur de 17

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Le portrait monétaire est un outil régulièrement employé par les rois hellénistiques pour affirmer leur puissance (voir Picard 2012 par exemple). À Rome même, son apparition en 44 avant notre ère, en l’honneur de César (Woytek 2003 : 413–432 ; Suspène 2008), puis son adoption immédiate par les principaux protagonistes des guerres civiles, en font également un des attributs du pouvoir. Alexandropoulos n° 29. Alexandropoulos Avers A, B, F, G. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 49. Salzmann remarque avec raison que des prototypes existent sur le monnayage républicain (Salzmann 1974 : 176, d’après RRC 426/2 ; 4a). Mais Juba coiffé de la léontè est aussi un rappel possible des tétradrachmes d’Alexandre, où figure Héraklès, ancêtre de la dynastie argéade (Alexandropoulos 2000 : 230, qui suggère une médiation gaditaine). Le roi s’inscrit dans une tradition politique et monétaire prestigieuse.

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Fig. 1 : Alexandropoulos MAA 29 = Pecunem, vente du 7/4/2013, lot 178.

Fig. 2 : Alexandropoulos MAA 95 = Classical Numismatic Group, Triton XVI, vente du 8/1/2013, lot 609.

Fig. 3 : Alexandropoulos MAA 162 = CGB, vente 61 du 18 juin 2014, lot 41.

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nombreuses villes africaines.22 Son culte était très vivace en Afrique et rejoignait des traditions puniques ou phéniciennes, qui avaient des prolongements de l’autre côté du détroit, à Gadès par exemple. Le portrait de Juba II en Héraklès est donc certes une allusion dynastique mais aussi une image profondément enracinée dans le terreau africain.23 Les portraits héracléens sont eux aussi répartis sur l’ensemble du règne, mais ils semblent plus présents vers la fin, précisément au moment où la généalogie royale prend sa forme définitive, peut-être sous l’influence de Juba II lui-même.24 Ils sont renforcés par l’existence de revers héracléens (fig. 3).25 Si l’on se fie aux portraits monétaires dans leurs deux variantes, les sources de légitimité du roi sont d’abord son statut de souverain hellénisé, son ascendance dynastique et la nature particulière du royaume qu’il contrôle, dont il reprend l’histoire à son compte. Fait intéressant, l’affirmation du pouvoir royal paraît gagner en puissance à la fin du règne. Parmi les portraits monétaires, il faut également signaler l’existence d’un buste diadémé et drapé de l’épouse du roi, Cléopâtre Séléné, fille d’Antoine et de Cléopâtre VII, utilisé ou bien comme droit ou bien comme revers (fig. 4).26 Le diadème qu’elle porte est celui des reines Bérénice II et Cléopâtre VII.27 Cléopâtre Séléné est toujours représentée de manière abstraite et conventionnelle, avec de forts sous-entendus hellénistiques28. Elle présente en fait l’apparence d’une princesse lagide. En témoignent un certain nombre de revers, où dominent, à côté du nom de la reine, écrit en grec, le symbole isiaque, seul ou en association29 (fig. 5) et le bestiaire nilotique (le crocodile royal et, sur le bronze, l’hippopotame et l’ibis).30 Cléopâtre ne manquait pas de légitimité pour poser à la souveraine lagide : non seulement elle était la fille de la dernière reine d’Égypte mais elle aurait dû elle-même régner sur la Cyrénaïque selon les termes de la « donation d’Alexandrie » de 33 avant notre ère.31 Cette aura lagide très caractérisée eut une influence directe sur la représentation du pouvoir de son époux : le type lagide d’un aigle (aux ailes éployées) sur le foudre est repris en Maurétanie, où l’aigle est toujours assorti d’un sceptre également em

22 23 24

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Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 75. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 227–8. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 228. Coltelloni-Trannoy expose les divers aspects de l’utilisation d’Héraklès par les souverains de Maurétanie et note qu’Héraklès est un peu pour Juba II ce qu’Enée est pour Auguste (Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 176). Il y a selon toute probabilité une convergence étroite entre l’œuvre littéraire du roi et sa communication monétaire. Alexandropoulos Revers H1–3. Là encore des prototypes romains existent : RRC 444. Alexandropoulos Avers H ; Alexandropoulos Revers V. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 182. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 229 insiste sur le caractère générique de ce portrait. Alexandropoulos Revers A, B, O, Rv. Les principaux éléments associés sont un serpent (l’uraeus lagide) sur un autel ou une vache. Alexandropoulos Revers N. Voir Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 185. Juba II rattachait Égypte et Maurétanie par leur flore commune, émanant selon lui du Nil qui aurait eu sa source en Maurétanie. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 33.

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Fig. 4 : Alexandropoulos MAA 107 = Numismatik Lanz München, vente 155 du 10 décembre 2012, lot 360.

Fig. 5 : Alexandropoulos MAA 103 var = CGB, vente 59 du 19 juin 2013, lot 229.

prunté à l’Égypte mais que l’on trouve déjà sur les monnayages de Massinissa et de Juba ier (fig. 6). Ce montage est une claire allusion au pouvoir de Juba,32 dont le modèle est le prestigieux royaume égyptien et non le puissant allié romain. Sur les monnaies où Séléné est représentée au revers tandis que le buste de Juba figure au droit, il faut voir un couple royal de type lagide qui se montre dans sa grandeur. Ce

32

Cet aigle doit être distingué de l’aigle romain utilisé par Auguste, que l’on trouve par exemple sur les monnaies de 27 avant notre ère (RIC 277). L’aigle romain n’a pas le foudre et il tient toujours une couronne (qui n’est que rarement présente sur les monnaies maurétaniennes à l’aigle). Contra Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 166–7, qui range les monnaies de Juba à l’aigle parmi les monnaies d’inspiration romaine, mais voir Alexandropoulos 2000 : 224. L’aigle lagide, sur un foudre, est également attesté sur le monnayage républicain (RRC 4, 23, 44, 50, 72, 88, 105, 106, 314, 409, 428, 487, 549), mais ne figure pas sur le monnayage d’Auguste.

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Fig. 6 : Alexandropoulos MAA 86 = CGB, vente 59 du 19 juin 2013, lot 225.

n’est sans doute pas un hasard si les deux seules émissions d’or33 attestées pour Juba II portent précisément au droit le portrait et le nom du roi, et au revers le nom et le titre de la reine et des allusions isiaques : le couple royal est au centre de l’iconographie monétaire de Juba II. La mise en valeur de cette alliance matrimoniale relève du reste d’une tradition royale africaine : pendant la deuxième guerre punique, épouser Sophonisbe, princesse carthaginoise, était pour Syphax comme pour Massinissa un élément de « l’idéal royal »34 qu’ils poursuivaient. Au-delà de Sophonisbe, l’image de la reine Didon elle-même se profile en arrière-plan. Juba II ne pouvait pas ignorer ces références : par ses œuvres, il avait directement contribué à les diffuser. Souligner sa brillante réussite matrimoniale est donc pour le roi de Maurétanie le moyen de se placer à la hauteur de ses illustres ancêtres, voire de les surpasser. Enfin, l’étude du portrait sur les monnaies de Juba II appelle un dernier commentaire. Si le portrait du roi, bien qu’extraordinairement dominant, fait parfois place à celui de la reine ou se combine avec lui, le portrait d’Auguste est totalement absent. On est presque surpris par l’autorité et l’audace dont Juba fait preuve sur ce monnayage quand on pense aux monnaies du Bosphore ou de Thrace par exemple,35 où l’image du Prince éclipse régulièrement celle du roi, un phénomène bien documenté aussi dans les cités de l’Empire à partir de l’époque augustéenne.36 Il y a bien là une singularité maurétanienne, qui repose sur l’exaltation exclusive du roi comme figure de pouvoir.

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Alexandropoulos n° 67 et 68. Briand 2005 : 343. Wallace-Hadrill 1986 : 73 ; Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 43 (n. 52). Wallace-Hadrill 1986 : 71 ou mieux Burnett et alii 1992 : 39.

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Les thèmes des revers monétaires Les suggestions des portraits qui occupent le droit des monnaies, c’est-à-dire la face la plus importante pour l’expression politique, sont complétées par les informations de l’iconographie des revers. Certains, déjà évoqués, ne font que reprendre ou gloser le contenu des droits. D’autres ajoutent des éléments nouveaux. Certains revers particulièrement importants pourraient être appelés des revers géographiques. On trouve fréquemment sur le monnayage d’argent le buste de l’Afrique (fig. 7), à quoi il faut adjoindre les types connexes du lion et de l’éléphant.37 C’est une allusion au royaume sur lequel règne Juba, royaume riche (des épis de blé accompagnent l’effigie de l’Afrique) et puissant (on trouve aussi des javelots qui évoquent la guerre ou la chasse), et une référence à une continuité royale africaine qui remontait à Massinissa.38 Parmi les revers géographiques, il faudrait sans doute ranger le type au skyphos, rare vestige des références au vin jusque-là classiques dans le monnayage numide et le type au dauphin probablement emprunté aux émissions romanisées d’Hispania, où il a une signification régionale.39 La vache isolée, sans symbole isiaque, serait plutôt africaine elle aussi,40 mais la représentation d’un animal peut aussi constituer un type religieux, les animaux sacrificiels fournissant une part importante du répertoire iconographique antique. Certains types sont ambigus, tel le croissant, qui est une représentation africaine classique mais peut aussi désigner Sélénè, la lune, nom de la reine, ou renvoyer au culte isiaque. À ceci s’ajoutent, en tant que symboles complémentaires, le globule et l’astre également attestés pour l’Afrique.41 Une tête féminine tourrelée, représentation traditionnelle de la cité, avec l’indication du nom Caesarea relève à la fois de la géographie symbolique et du discours politique.42 Il ne s’agit pas en effet d’une indication d’atelier mais d’une allusion à la capitale royale,43 Césarée, que Juba s’est toujours appliqué à orner avec magni37 38

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Alexandropoulos Revers C1 et C2 (Afrique) ; D (éléphant) ; E1 et E2 (Lion). M. Coltelloni-Trannoy interprète ce bestiaire comme « la reprise de la frappe romaine d’Afrique » (Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 169), car les types proviennent majoritairement du monnayage du premier Juba. Selon elle, il s’agit par conséquent d’un signe d’hommage très direct de Juba II à Rome. Il est vrai que les monnaies de Juba Ier étaient en partie destinées aux troupes romaines et qu’elles sont associées à des quinaires frappés à Utique pour Caton (pour cette raison, Salzmann 1974 en fait un souvenir de Juba Ier et de Pompée). Mais la volonté de Juba Ier était clairement de prendre son indépendance à la faveur des dissensions romaines. Le retour de ses types sous son fils Juba II évoque davantage un projet royal africain que la bonne intégration du royaume dans l’Empire (sur la nature africaine de ces types, voir Alexandropoulos 2000 : 224). Alexandropoulos Revers I (skyphos) ; Alexandropoulos Revers T. Voir Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 168. Alexandropoulos Revers O. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 180. Alexandropoulos Revers J. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 228 souligne aussi que les thèmes isiaques eux-mêmes peuvent faire référence non seulement à l’Isis lagide, mais à une Isis honorée en Afrique à date antérieure. Alexandropoulos Revers L. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 220.

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Fig. 7 : Alexandropoulos MAA 70 = Classical Numismatic Group, Vente 90 du 23 mai 2012, lot 777.

ficence et qu’il célèbre très officiellement par ces monnaies44 et par une série voisine qui porte seulement le nom de la cité et l’indication de l’année de règne.45 Juba met ainsi en avant l’urbanisation de son royaume, également perceptible dans les cités de la côte, et son rôle de bâtisseur et d’évergète. De même que la culture des lettres grecques, le développement des cités insère la Maurétanie à l’intérieur de la civilisation gréco-romaine. L’existence d’une capitale royale en forme, au moment où l’Vrbs elle-même se structure en caput imperii,46 permet encore à Juba de renouveler la royauté africaine en la portant à un niveau de développement que ses prédécesseurs avaient échoué à atteindre et qui lui permet de rivaliser avec les autres monarchies contemporaines.47 Les « types géographiques » sont une des caractéristiques les plus marquées du monnayage maurétanien et révèlent toute l’influence de l’Afrique dans le discours figuratif. Cet espace africain est représenté de manière autonome et non comme une partie de l’Empire romain. Les types de revers les plus courants48 ne sont cependant pas les types géographiques mais le type de la corne d’abondance et du sceptre (fig. 2),49 et celui du symbole isiaque (fig. 5), deux motifs iconographiques particulièrement soignés et 44 45 46 47 48 49

Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 138 et suivantes pour le détail. Alexandropoulos Revers P. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 187 et suivantes relève un grand nombre de parallèles entre Rome et Césarée. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 11 pour un parallèle avec la Césarée fondée par Hérode. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 416 (n. 1) note tout le travail qui reste à faire pour établir la fréquence des types intermédiaires. Alexandropoulos Revers M2 (sur le type de revers M3 un trident remplace le sceptre). La corne d’abondance figure aussi seule (Alexandropoulos Revers M1). Ce dernier type se dédouble pour évoquer les cornes d’abondance géminées commémorant la naissance des enfants de Drusus II (Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 168), mais Alexandropoulos 2000 : 225 préfère y voir une allusion à des monnaies d’Antoine après la naissance de Ptolémée (RRC 520).

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d’une grande force expressive. Si le symbole isiaque, assorti du nom de la reine, renvoie comme on a vu au couple royal, l’alliance du sceptre et de la corne d’abondance, posés en sautoir, est tout aussi intéressante. Le sceptre est une allusion au pouvoir royal particulièrement appréciée des monarques africains ainsi qu’on a déjà pu l’observer. Quant à la corne d’abondance, elle est très présente chez les Lagides, notamment pour les reines,50 mais on la trouve aussi à Rome et particulièrement sous Auguste.51 Liée à la puissance financière et à la prospérité, elle évoque le bon gouvernant, détenteur et dispensateur de richesses, et rempart de la prospérité collective. La présence de grappes de raisin sortant du pavillon, bien que n’étant pas propre au monnayage maurétanien, évoque très bien les ressources agricoles du royaume et les raisons de l’opulence royale. Les thèmes les plus diffusés renvoient donc clairement au pouvoir et à la richesse de Juba II,52 c’est-à-dire aux deux activités royales par excellence : commander et donner. Un dernier thème iconographique peut être isolé sur les revers monétaires de Juba II et il est très important pour l’étude des Foreign Clientelae : il s’agit de la référence à Rome. En effet, si le portrait du roi ou de la reine occupe toujours les droits des monnaies, certains revers renvoient très clairement à la relation avec Rome. Rome est tout d’abord évoquée par la représentation des lieux essentiels du culte impérial : un temple, dont le fronton porte AVGVSTI (fig. 8),53 un autel, accompagné d’arbres ou de lauriers, et un bois sacré (LVCVS AVGVSTI) à l’intérieur duquel l’autel devait se trouver (fig. 9).54 S’ils ne sont pas les plus fréquents du monnayage de Juba II, ces types sont récurrents. Ils constituent certes une façon d’exprimer la loyauté du roi et de son peuple envers Rome, mais ils s’inscrivent aussi dans une tradition locale. Le temple fait ainsi écho au monnayage de Juba ier où est représenté un temple à colonnes et fronton,55 tandis que l’autel à Auguste fait penser à un type représentant un autel isiaque au serpent.56 De plus, ces types contribuent à la valorisation de Césarée, où le temple et le bois sacré devaient probablement être localisés.57 Plus généralement, ces bâtiments évoquent le phénomène de monumentalisation si important dans l’idéologie augustéenne et qu’on observe partout dans l’Empire à cette période, à commencer naturellement par

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Alexandropoulos 2000 : 225. L’alliance du sceptre et de la corne d’abondance pourrait donc peut-être évoquer là encore le couple royal. Par exemple avec le capricorne (RIC 125–128 ; RIC 477, etc.) ou avec Pax (RIC 252), ou encore sur les « as triomphaux » (RIC 426 etc.) et les quadrantes de la fin du principat (RIC 422 etc.). L’émission au type du roi chasseur perçant un sanglier de son épieu (Alexandropoulos Revers U) est la moins représentée à ce jour (Alexandropoulos 2000 : 416, n. 1). Elle va dans le même sens que les émissions les plus abondantes : le roi chasseur est une figure classique de la puissance royale et est utilisé dans l’iconographie monétaire depuis les Achéménides. Alexandropoulos Revers F1-F5 (F5 sans AVGVSTI). Alexandropoulos Revers G1. Peut-être un temple de Baal Ammon ou d’Ammon selon Alexandropoulos 2000 : 184. Alexandropoulos Revers G2. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 190.

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Fig. 8 : Alexandropoulos MAA 82 = CGB, vente 59 du 19 juin 2013, lot 218.

Fig. 9 : Alexandropoulos MAA 121 = CGB, vente 59 du 19 juin 2013, lot 217.

l’Vrbs. Ces revers soulignent donc avant tout la qualité des infrastructures maurétaniennes et la compétence religieuse du royaume.58 Juba cherche là encore à démarquer l’organisation de l’Vrbs,59 et à rivaliser avec les grandes capitales religieuses 58 59

Les thèmes religieux isiaques et la présence d’un taureau sacrificiel sur le bronze vont dans la même direction. Le temple, qui rappelle une représentation de la Curia Iulia sur le monnayage d’Octavien (RIC 266), est représenté distyle, tétrastyle ou hexastyle. Cela révèle plus une image de nature symbolique que la reproduction des diverses phases de la construction de l’édifice (contra Fischwick 1985, suivi par Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 191). Partant, il s’agit plus de désigner la monumentalisation du royaume que le monument lui-même. On rappellera que la Curia Iulia devait doter le sénat d’un espace consacré approprié à ses réunions, et que c’était donc un bâtiment à forte connotation politique. Sur la comparaison entre les deux monnaies et les deux édifices, voir Hill 1989 : n°66. On note que la ressemblance ne porte pas seulement sur les revers, mais sur l’ensemble droit-revers. Le couple Octavien / Curia Iulia a pour strict reflet le couple Juba II / Temple d’Auguste. L’implication est la même : Octavien fait parade de son action édilitaire,

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de l’Empire, Pergame, Ephèse, Lyon ou Tarragone, dont les édifices dédiés au culte impérial étaient célèbres. Le roi avait également bien perçu que les cultes publics en l’honneur de Rome formaient une des liaisons les plus importantes à l’intérieur de l’Empire, et ces monnaies sont peut-être l’expression la plus claire du sentiment d’appartenance à l’Empire des élites maurétaniennes. Le mode d’articulation choisi est aussi intéressant : il s’agit d’hommages rendus au Prince, et non à Rome même, ce qui correspond à une stratégie de personnalisation des rapports d’alliance caractéristique des rois amis.60 C’est ce que confirme l’usage par Juba II du motif romain du capricorne (fig. 10), un type monétaire qui aurait été imaginé par Auguste lui-même.61 Le choix du signe astral du Prince romain paraît de prime abord la revendication du lien indéfectible entre l’Empire et le royaume, matérialisée par la similarité des systèmes monétaires. Si l’on y regarde de près cependant, on note que sur les monnaies maurétaniennes, le capricorne est souvent accompagné des années de règne de Juba II. La présence de ces dates manifeste clairement le succès de la monarchie maurétanienne, dont la longueur rappelle le règne de Massinissa comme le principat d’Auguste. Le capricorne n’est donc sans doute pas tant le signe astral d’Auguste qu’un symbole de pouvoir personnel, comme le suggèrent la corne d’abondance, le gouvernail et le globe qui l’accompagnent et ce pouvoir, bienfaisant, sans limites et voulu par les astres, peut être aussi bien celui du Prince que celui du roi. Il y a bien à la fois « louange du prince » et « récupération du thème ».62 Un détournement analogue affecte le type de la victoire,63 qui semble aussi emprunté aux types monétaires augustéens (RIC 255 par exemple). Sur le monnayage maurétanien, la victoire est en effet juchée sur une tête d’éléphant, qui renvoie à l’Afrique et réinterprète l’emprunt romain. Les victoires auxquelles il est fait allusion ont été remportées aussi bien lors de campagnes accomplies pour les Romains qu’à l’occasion d’actions indépendantes conduites par le roi à l’intérieur du royaume.64 Il est difficile de considérer à l’aide de ces citations romaines que le royaume maurétanien se range résolument et sans ambiguïté parmi les Foreign clientelae de Rome. La mention de l’Vrbs, allusive ou détournée,65 s’accompagne toujours d’une insistance sur les mérites propres du royaume et de son maître. C’est au fond ce que montrait aussi l’usage du titre royal, en latin, invariablement porté par Juba II,66 et

60 61 62 63 64 65 66

comme Juba met la sienne en avant. L’un et l’autre se placent dans l’ombre d’un précédent respecté : César pour Octavien, Auguste lui-même pour Juba. Wilker 2008. Alexandropoulos Revers S. Suet. Aug. 94. 12. Ce type, récurrent sous Auguste, n’apparaît sur le monnayage maurétanien qu’à la fin du règne de Juba, peu de temps avant la mort d’Auguste. Sur le capricorne en dernier lieu, Terio 2006. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 226. Alexandropoulos Revers Q. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 50. En ce sens déjà Salzmann 1974 : 182. Les emprunts à la typologie républicaine ou impériale sont choisis avec soin pour faire ressortir l’originalité du pouvoir maurétanien. Le répertoire romain est utilisé avec beaucoup de maîtrise et de virtuosité. De rares légendes grecques pour Juba sont également attestées (Alexandropoulos n° 207).

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Fig. 10 : Alexandropoulos MAA 171 = CGB, vente 59 du 19 juin 2013, lot 226.

transcrit en belles lettres monumentales. Ce titre fait allusion sans doute à l’appellatio, un phénomène de validation des rois par Rome.67 Cette interprétation est renforcée par l’existence de revers monétaires avec les ornements triomphaux envoyés par Rome (les circonstances de cet envoi sont peut-être les campagnes gétules de 6 de notre ère) :68 la couronne ou le trône avec sceptre et couronne,69 dont la présence souligne la majesté royale. La mention du titre royal sur les monnaies signifie que le royaume est pérenne et que la reconnaissance du roi par les Romains est un élément de son succès. L’intégration du soutien de Rome dans les outils de légitimation du roi est en tout cas bien autre chose qu’un signe d’allégeance. On trouve même à l’occasion dans les légendes monétaires utilisées par Juba II une allusion à son père, Juba ier, roi lui-même et ennemi mortel de César.70 C’est le signe que cette royauté dérive également de droits héréditaires et non pas seulement du choix romain. Jusque dans l’épigraphie latine de ses monnaies, le roi insiste sur son pouvoir propre. Rome est donc bien présente dans l’iconographie monétaire de Juba II, bien qu’elle soit un thème marginal. Mais la référence romaine est toujours instrumentalisée par le roi. Elle lui permet de définir et de consolider sa position politique et de souligner le rayonnement du royaume sur la scène méditerranéenne. La référence romaine finalement ajoute encore à l’exaltation de la puissance du roi telle que l’expriment les portraits qui occupent le droit. Quant à une éventuelle relation de

67 68 69 70

Braund 1984 : 24. Voir cependant les prudentes remarques de Braund 1984 : 35. Alexandropoulos Revers P et R. Type Alexandropoulos G : Rex Iuba Regis Iubae F. L’indication de la filiation évoque fortement les titulatures impériales et les pratiques onomastiques romaines. On note que la citoyenneté romaine de Juba, en revanche, n’est pas mentionnée : si c’était un atout précieux quand le roi était à Rome ou quand il devait agir avec les Romains présents en Afrique, et tout spécialement avec les colonies qui s’échelonnaient sur la côte, elle n’avait pas sa place sur son monnayage.

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clientèle, terme qui a pourtant été appliqué aux royaumes africains par Florus,71 elle ne trouve aucune expression iconographique sur le monnayage royal. Le roi ne se présente pas more clientium : pour être du côté de Rome, il n’a rien rabattu de son autorité et de sa superbe.72 L’approche iconographique livre des résultats sans ambiguïté. Elle suggère un roi autonome et souverain qui ne manifeste guère de trace de subordination. Mais les images, on le sait, sont souvent trompeuses, et leur cohérence ne prouve pas leur véracité. Se pourrait-il qu’une volonté de voiler une réalité assez crue par un euphémisme iconographique ait présidé au choix des types monétaires ? L’hypothèse de l’euphémisme a été régulièrement avancée par les tenants du modèle de la clientèle : selon Badian, si les termes patrons et clients sont si rares dans les sources, c’est qu’il aurait été offensant pour un client de s’avouer tel.73 Pour dépasser les possibles illusions de l’iconographie, il convient d’adopter une approche plus technique du monnayage, qui donnera peut-être une version différente de la relation entre Rome et la Maurétanie. II) LE MONNAYAGE DE JUBA II : UN SYSTÈME ROMAIN SOUS UNE APPARENCE AFRICAINE ? Selon Alexandropoulos, c’est en effet plutôt dans les caractéristiques techniques du monnayage maurétanien que dans son iconographie que la marque de Rome est sensible. L’africanisme de la plupart des images ne devrait donc pas faire oublier l’essentiel : que l’adoption définitive des normes romaines, marquée par le rôle déterminant du denier dans le système maurétanien,74 est non seulement le signe d’une soumission profonde à Rome mais le prélude à l’annexion.75 Les arguments ne manquent pas à l’appui de cette thèse : la métrologie du monnayage précieux de Maurétanie est en effet d’inspiration romaine, bien que les responsables monétaires ne soient jamais réellement parvenus à garantir la stabilité pondérale et le titre ; le bronze lui-même est un monnayage de transition ouvert aux normes romaines.76 De plus, Juba II frappa en or, en argent et en bronze, produi-

71

72 73 74 75 76

Voir Flor. 1.36.3. Ceci confirme que l’usage de Florus est métaphorique, et que la métaphore est mal choisie. De fait, on note au moins deux bizarreries dans sa présentation des choses : c’est le royaume et non le roi qui serait client et les patrons du royaume seraient à la fois le Peuple et le Sénat. Dans le cadre d’une relation aussi personnalisée que la clientèle, et d’un pouvoir aussi individualisé que la monarchie, cela surprend doublement. Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 12 rappelle que révoltes et rébellions menaçaient les rois dont l’autorité n’était pas suffisamment affirmée. Badian 1958a : 12–13. Voir aussi Saller 1982 : 8 ; 1989 : 52–53 pour une analyse terminologique détaillée. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 230. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 213 : « royauté en sursis », « il s’agissait d’économiser le personnel administratif et militaire en attendant une annexion ». Voir Alexandropoulos 2000 : 216–220.

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sant le premier trimétallisme africain depuis la fin de Carthage en 146,77 tandis que le monnayage numide jusqu’à Juba ier avait été essentiellement en bronze.78 Or le trimétallisme était un trait constitutif du monnayage romain, comme l’atteste le titre même des magistrats chargés de la frappe dans le système du denier, les tresuiri aere, argento, auro flando feriundo.79 Juba a fait d’importants efforts pour mettre en place ce trimétallisme. La frappe de l’or en particulier est une nouveauté en Maurétanie. Elle est délibérée et ne doit pas être sous-estimée : il n’y a pas de gisement d’or dans le royaume,80 et il a donc fallu se procurer le métal à l’étranger. De plus la frappe d’or sous Juba II, découverte en 1952 seulement, est de taille extrêmement réduite : un « aureus »81 et un « quinaire » seulement ont été découverts. Que les émissions soient de faible volume signale une frappe dont l’objectif premier n’est pas économique, malgré l’énorme valeur du numéraire d’or par rapport aux autres numéraires, mais de prestige.82 Or, la frappe de l’or avait été introduite durablement à Rome par César83 qui avait inauguré un monnayage d’aurei et de quinaires dont Auguste venait de systématiser la production. Nul doute que c’est cet exemple que Juba avait en tête. On notera que l’existence de ces monnaies d’or place le royaume maurétanien dans une situation d’exception dans le monde méditerranéen : en dehors du monnayage de Rome, les frappes d’or sont rarissimes à partir de la période augustéenne. L’abondance des frappes d’argent maurétaniennes, et c’est la première fois dans cette zone que les monnaies d’argent sont produites massivement, rapproche aussi le monnayage de Juba du monnayage romain. La prolifération typologique du monnayage d’argent, en rupture avec les usages africains hérités de Carthage,84 est également un trait de romanité, puisque la variété typologique est une caractéristique marquée du monnayage d’argent romain, par opposition aux usages grecs, depuis le dernier tiers du deuxième siècle avant notre ère. Quant au bronze de Juba II, s’il reprend des influences numides et maurétaniennes, sans rupture avec la typologie de l’argent cependant, il est également possible de le relier à ce qui se passe à Rome au même moment. En effet, l’action monétaire d’Auguste avait commencé par une vigoureuse rénovation du numéraire de bronze,85 en déshérence depuis Sylla. Stylistiquement enfin, le monnayage de Juba II reprend les caractéristiques du monnayage romain contemporain. C’est un monnayage de qualité, aussi bien dans la gravure que dans la composition :86 le portrait par exemple est très abstrait et très 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86

Alexandropoulos 2000 : 248. Le système lagide avait lui aussi été trimétallique jusqu’à la fin du deuxième siècle. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 245. CIL III, 6076 (voir Suspène 2002 : 33). Ainsi que le note Alexandropoulos 2000 : 245. La métrologie est inférieure aux usages romains de plus de 10 % (6, 6 g contre 7, 85 g environ à Lyon pour l’aureus). Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 44. Woytek 2003 : 253–4. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 222. Amandry 2008. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 216, malgré les quelques émissions plus grossières relevées p. 231.

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héroïsé, selon les principes mêmes du monnayage augustéen.87 On ajoute que ce portrait monétaire est le plus souvent une simple tête, sans trace de vêtement, ce qui est un trait caractéristique du monnayage romain jusqu’à Néron.88 On doit interpréter dans le même sens une forme d’insistance sur l’épigraphie. Les titulatures grecques ou latines sont traitées avec un soin particulier : les lettres sont particulièrement grandes et la disposition valorise les légendes. Le texte est montré, plus qu’il n’est proposé à la lecture. Le retrait de l’épigraphie néo-punique, attestée jusque-là en Afrique et totalement absente du monnayage de Juba II, rend ce phénomène d’autant plus remarquable. On notera par exemple l’usage possible d’une forme de rébus,89 les mots Basilissa et Cleopatra étant complétés par un croissant qui donne le nom de la reine : Séléné. Ce sont là des pratiques qu’on observe dans le monnayage républicain et triumviral.90 On a donc bien le sentiment que le monnayage de Juba II est un monnayage étroitement modelé sur le système romain. Mais cela ne signifie pas nécessairement qu’il est la structure monétaire romanisée d’un royaume lui-même en voie d’annexion. En réalité, le peu de poids économique du monnayage d’or incite plutôt, au contraire, à attribuer à la volonté de Juba II cette romanité technique qui semble contredire la typologie. L’opposition entre l’organisation du monnayage et le discours monétaire qu’il porte doit certainement être dépassée. La clé d’interprétation se trouve dans la volonté du roi de Maurétanie d’imiter le Prince romain. Plus qu’un arrimage du royaume à l’Empire, dont il ne s’agit pas au demeurant de contester la réalité, le système monétaire du royaume révèle en fait un parti pris d’imitation. La raison en est simple. Le roi de Maurétanie a voulu se doter d’un des signes de la puissance royale qui est aussi un des meilleurs symboles de la richesse et de l’urbanisation : un monnayage de qualité. Ainsi, le trimétallisme du monnayage maurétanien signale moins un désir d’alignement sur les pratiques romaines que la volonté de disposer d’un système monétaire en rapport avec le développement du royaume, un monnayage plurimétallique qui était signe et moyen de prestige et de puissance depuis Auguste, voire César.91 C’est ici que la circulation monétaire, bien qu’imparfaitement connue pour la Maurétanie, apporte des indications précieuses. Jusqu’à Juba II, les émissions romaines en argent occupaient une position dominante en Afrique de l’ouest ;92 sous son règne, le monnayage royal représente une part supérieure à celle du monnayage romain dans la circulation en Maurétanie. L’ordre de grandeur, établi par J. Alexandropoulos à partir des trois sites de Thamusida, Banasa et Volubilis, est de 25 % de monnaies royales contre 9 % de monnaies romaines. La romanisation technique des émissions d’argent maurétaniennes, frappées à large échelle, permet au monnayage royal de supplanter le monnayage romain. Il n’est pas neutre, à cet égard, que les 87 88 89 90 91 92

Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 161 ; Alexandropoulos 2000 : 229. Woytek 2014. Seul l’aureus Alexandropoulos n°67, très lagide dans son inspiration, et un type de droit pour le monnayage d’argent (Alexandropoulos Avers B) présentent un buste drapé. Alexandropoulos Revers Bd. RRC 293/1. Marcius Philippus pour le rébus ; RRC 410/1–10. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 216. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 231–2.

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monnaies du roi soient diffusées dans l’ensemble de son royaume, partout où s’exerçait sa puissance.93 Par conséquent, la circulation du numéraire royal, dont la symbolique était sans ambiguïté au bénéfice du roi, conforte le sentiment d’un royaume solidement contrôlé par son roi et qui n’était pas une dépendance de Rome, mais plutôt un équivalent africain du cœur italien où dominait le Prince.94 Partant, le royaume de Maurétanie ne constituait pas une forme dégradée, mais une forme renouvelée de royauté, alliée à Rome et définie par elle d’une certaine façon, mais sans perte de prestige et dans un rapport de continuité historique avec les antécédents africains et lagides. Enfin, en imitant Auguste,95 promoteur d’un monnayage qui constituait une sorte d’acmè de la tradition monétaire romaine, Juba II, lui-même créateur d’un monnayage maurétanien qui n’avait jamais eu son pareil, devenait une sorte d’Auguste africain. La politique de la monnaie96 conçue par Juba II relève avant tout d’une imitatio Augusti, dont l’objectif est de consolider le pouvoir du roi, par les voies et moyens dont le Prince lui-même s’était servi et continuait à se servir à Rome. Ces outils n’étaient pas seulement iconographiques, bien que l’historiographie se soit surtout intéressée à cet aspect des choses, particulièrement spectaculaire il est vrai.97 En développant un monnayage brillant, le roi bénéficiait des mêmes moyens de paiement et des mêmes possibilités d’expression de sa richesse et de sa générosité que le Prince. Le mimétisme est délibéré et on ne peut que constater que l’œuvre monétaire d’Auguste et celle de Juba se déploient en parallèle, sur une durée de presque cinquante ans. Il n’est donc pas surprenant, ni contradictoire, que le système monétaire mis en place par Juba se modèle sur celui de Rome, tandis que le discours iconographique minimise ou instrumentalise l’influence romaine. Un monnayage de type romain veut simplement dire un monnayage performant, attribut d’un roi qui ressemble au Prince : les caractéristiques techniques du monnayage maurétanien renvoient à la puissance royale aussi directement que son iconographie. Ce constat induit deux conséquences. L’une porte sur la pertinence du royaume de Maurétanie en tant que foreign clientela , l’autre sur la variété de situations que recouvre en fait le rapport de « clientèle » tel qu’il est métaphoriquement défini.

93 94

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96 97

Voir Alexandropoulos 2000 : 231–232, avec de prudentes réserves sur la monétarisation des campagnes et de certaines zones tribales. Alexandropoulos 2000 : 218 remarque à propos du bronze que l’on constate sous Juba « une meilleure utilisation de la monnaie comme instrument de diffusion de l’image du pouvoir ». Juba s’est attaché à donner une représentation complète de son royaume, en intégrant toutes ses parties, à l’exception des éléments puniques et berbères, moins pertinents. L’imitation de Rome se traduit aussi dans l’organisation administrative du royaume et de son armée mise en place par Juba (Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 11, 204). On observe une même imitation dans la représentation en ronde bosse qui repose sur le choix d’un type principal décliné en copies puis mis à jour en fonction de l’évolution du règne (Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 156, 162). On a vu plus haut que l’évergétisme royal à Césarée rappelait l’action du Prince à Rome. J’utilise cette expression plutôt que celle de « politique monétaire », dont l’usage ne va pas de soi pour l’Antiquité, en raison de ses implications trop modernes. Zanker 1988.

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III) QUE PEUT-ON CONSERVER DE LA NOTION DE CLIENTÈLE ? De la clientèle à l'amitié Juba II est souvent présenté comme un roi de « transition », comme celui qui doit amener la Maurétanie, à force de romanisation, au point où elle doit être absorbée par Rome. Cette conception, fondée sur l’annexion du royaume intervenue près de trente ans après la mort d’Auguste,98 paraît aventurée : un règne de cinquante années est certainement une transition un peu longue, et l’on doit constater que dans le projet du roi tel qu’on le découvre sur son monnayage, rien n’annonce la disparition du royaume. Au contraire, la continuité historique est mise en avant, la solidité du pouvoir du roi, sa force, sa richesse, la qualité de son gouvernement sont évoquées à chaque instant. Ceci est parfaitement cohérent d’une part avec l’étendue de son royaume, qui couvre les deux tiers du Maghreb, de l’Atlantique à l’Amsaga, d’autre part avec le choix d’un prince jeune aux alliances prestigieuses pour occuper le trône. Par conséquent, les traits incontestables de romanisation que sont les influences stylistiques et métrologiques perceptibles sur le monnayage maurétanien ne peuvent signifier que Juba prépare la disparition de son royaume. Si le monnayage se romanise en effet, c’est même un facteur de prospérité et de solidité pour le royaume, et finalement un moyen d’assurer sa pérennité. La monnaie est un signe de civilisation, et c’est bien ainsi qu’elle est conçue à Rome même. Grâce au monnayage de Juba II, la Maurétanie consolide sa place dans l’oikoumène. Quant à Juba, il se présente comme un fondateur :99 il espère que son pouvoir durera, que son royaume prospérera, et qu’il transmettra sa position à son fils. Le nom royal de Ptolémée donné à ce fils comporte en lui-même l’idée d’une succession programmée et celle de la stabilité du royaume, soigneusement adossé au précédent égyptien. L’existence de monnaies dynastiques associant son buste et celui de Ptolémée (fig. 11),100 modelées sur des monnaies romaines associant Auguste et Tibère, et qui sont reprises par Ptolémée comme les prototypes augustéens sont repris par Tibère, va dans le même sens. Cela n’avait rien pour déplaire à Rome. Auguste lui-même avait voulu le royaume maurétanien, puisqu’après le legs (vraisemblable) du royaume par Bocchus et une

98 L’élimination de Ptolémée est probablement liée à la conspiration de Gétulicus, plutôt qu’avec une rivalité avec Caligula pour le culte d’Isis ou dans l’affirmation du pouvoir (Alexandropoulos 2000 : 243). C’est donc sans doute un événement ponctuel et non l’aboutissement d’un plan de longue date qui entraîna la disparition du roi. 99 Cette revendication n’est pas sans fondement : Juba sut jouer de l’appui des Romains pour donner à son royaume la forme qu’il préférait, très hellénistique, au détriment des composantes tribales présentes aussi en Maurétanie (Coltelloni-Trannoy 2005). Juba II fut bien, lui aussi, un bâtisseur d’empire. 100 Alexandropoulos Revers W et X. La titulature figurant sur le revers W, REX PTOLEMAEVS, c’est-à-dire le titre royal en latin et le nom du roi, qui est lagide, constitue un symbole très expressif de la double nature de la monarchie maurétanienne, héritière des Ptolémées et associée à Rome.

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Fig. 11 : Alexandropoulos MAA 111 = Classical Numismatic Group, Triton XV, vente du 3 janvier 2012, lot 1326.

période de vacance du trône il avait souhaité le retour d’un roi.101 C’était donner au royaume une véritable garantie, appuyée par le jugement du Prince. Qu’Auguste ait ou non envisagé l’annexion, il est clair que cette annexion n’était pas nécessaire : le roi ne présentait pas de danger et son maintien offrait plus d’avantages que d’inconvénients.102 Il était même politiquement flatteur pour le Prince d’avoir autour de lui des rois qui lui faisaient une sorte de cour.103 Cette stratégie avait été inaugurée par Pompée mais Auguste n’avait aucun raison de la rejeter :104 elle le plaçait dans la situation d’un Agamemnon, roi au-dessus des rois.105 La stratégie d’Auguste en Maurétanie peut même être replacée dans un contexte plus large : il est patent qu’Auguste a intensément exploité le vivier des rois d’Orient ou d’Occident et qu’il a même développé l’institution, au témoignage sans ambiguïté de Suétone.106 J’ai suggéré ailleurs que l’année 30 avant notre ère, sous l’influence d’Hérode de Judée en particulier, était décisive dans l’évolution de la stratégie d’Auguste sur ce point.107 Mais la volonté de s’entourer de rois et de collaborer avec eux fut une constante de la politique d’Auguste : dans les Res Gestae, il fait 101 En ce sens Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 25–27. 102 Sur la « double souveraineté » qui sert de régime administratif à certaines parties de l’Empire, voir Millar 1996. Sur l’intérêt de maintenir des royaumes et la question de leur intégration de fait à l’Imperium Romanum, Suspène 2010. 103 Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 32. 104 Sur Pompée modèle d’Auguste, sous un angle plus institutionnel, voir Hurlet 2006a. 105 Les paragraphes 30 à 33 des RGDA rappellent fièrement les hommages qu’Auguste reçut de rois lointains dont Rome n’avait jusqu’alors jamais entendu parler, le nom des rois qui se sont réfugiés auprès de lui, les cas où il eut à choisir un roi pour tel ou tel peuple. Les relations qu’il entretenait avec les rois constituent clairement un aspect de l’auctoritas d’Auguste. 106 Voir aussi Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 33–6 où se trouvent rassemblées les décisions d’Auguste au bénéfice des royaumes amis. 107 Suspène 2009.

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explicitement allusion à son choix de ne pas réduire en province le royaume d’Arménie et l’explique par un souci de fidélité au mos maiorum.108 On peut donc même considérer que le maintien des rois avait un rôle à jouer dans sa stratégie de restauration républicaine.109 Rien ne prouve en tout cas que l’annexion ultérieure ait été anticipée par Auguste et on doit se garder de tout finalisme sur ce point. À en juger d’après les sources, le règne de Juba II se présente comme le début d’une histoire maurétanienne nouvelle. Les judicieuses remarques de D. Braund sur la pérennité des royaumes sous l’Empire prennent ici tout leur sens.110 Les fondations simultanées du Principat augustéen et du royaume de Maurétanie s’inscrivent donc dans un projet de long terme. Dans cette association sur la longue durée, on retrouve peut-être une idée qui est implicite dans l’expression Foreign clientelae : celle du soutien réciproque entre deux partenaires inégaux à l’intérieur d’une relation pérenne, soit d’une forme de symbiose, appelée à durer. C’est le sens même du compromis social attribué à Romulus puisque la clientèle est destinée à consolider la société romaine en établissant des liens entre pauvres et riches.111 Peut-être est-ce de ce côté qu’il faut chercher l’héritage le plus durable de l’image de la clientèle développée par Badian. La deuxième conséquence à tirer de l’analyse du monnayage royal maurétanien dérive du choix de Juba II de se présenter en émule d’Auguste. À la théorie de la procuratio développée par Massinissa, Juba II a substitué celle de l’imitatio. C’est ce que son monnayage exprime et sa stratégie en ce domaine est différente de celle de Massinissa, plus explicitement soumis à Rome et plus tourné vers le groupe particulier des Scipions. Ceci manifeste clairement que les rois n’étaient pas des partenaires identiques entre eux et interchangeables. Chacun pouvait jouer de ses ressources pour composer une stratégie propre. C’est ce que Juba II a su faire en construisant un rapport politique original. Il savait pouvoir compter sur de nombreux atouts : son alliance avec Cléopâtre Sélénè ; son éducation politique faite à Rome par la famille julio-claudienne ; l’observation directe de ce qu’Auguste fit dans la Ville et qu’il reproduisit ensuite à Césarée ; sa formation intellectuelle qui lui permettait de se présenter comme un prince hellénisé ; sa compétence religieuse aussi ; sa qualité de citoyen romain également, qui devait être précieuse dans ses relations avec les colonies installées sur le territoire de son royaume. Il bénéficiait enfin d’une relation étroite avec Auguste, son contemporain, dont il était techniquement un comes, puisqu’il l’avait très vraisemblablement accompagné dans ses campagnes en Hispania.112 Il va de soi qu’un Massinissa, ou pour prendre un exemple contemporain, un roi du Bosphore n’avait pas les mêmes moyens à sa disposition. 108 RGDA 27.1–2. La force normative des Res Gestae n’est plus à démontrer : les successeurs d’Auguste étaient implicitement encouragés à ne pas supprimer les royaumes amis et alliés de Rome. 109 Voir la contribution de Claudia Tiersch dans ce volume. 110 Braund 1984 : 190. 111 Voir la contribution d’Angela Ganter dans ce volume. 112 Il est vraisemblable également qu’une forme d’estime existait entre le Prince et le roi (Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997 : 11). Ce point ne doit pas être négligé, y compris dans la définition même de l’amitié antique (Konstan 1997 : 9–12).

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Juba II a su également tirer parti de sa culture monétaire. L’importance de l’œuvre de Juba II dans la transformation du monnayage maurétanien a été souvent mise en évidence. Alexandropoulos notamment y a insisté avec force.113 On doit souligner que cette œuvre monétaire a été soigneusement pensée par le roi. Le roi savait ce qu’il faisait et il avait conscience des moyens à sa disposition. Élevé à Rome en un temps de transformations monétaires (l’œuvre de César, celle d’Antoine, celle d’Auguste en ce domaine sont bien connues), Juba II avait en matière monétaire une véritable expertise dont une partie provenait aussi des livres et de la tradition africaine, Carthage comme les anciens rois de Numidie et de Maurétanie ayant été des acteurs importants de la monnaie.114 La stratégie de Juba lui fut donc personnelle, et d’autres rois firent des choix différents. Cette diversité permet d’appréhender la variété de la relation d’amicitia et de societas qui, parce qu’elle est attestée dans les sources,115 reste la meilleure façon de décrire le rapport des rois avec Rome. On sait en effet aujourd’hui qu’il faut introduire de la pluralité dans les paradigmes qui servent à décrire les liens qui structurent l’empire : c’est vrai même du paradigme du roi ami établi par Braund, qui a succédé, ou qui aurait dû succéder ! au paradigme du roi client.116 C’est là le défaut majeur d’un concept très général et totalisant, comme celui de clientela, quand il est pris en dehors de son sens technique. Badian lui-même l’avait entrevu : en commentant le discours de Masgaba, il soulignait avec raison la part d’initiative que chaque roi pouvait conserver dans la conceptualisation de ses relations avec Rome, la limite ultime étant évidemment que les Romains pouvaient valider ou non ses propositions. Juba II, pour sa part, fut probablement celui des rois amis et alliés qui sut se montrer le plus convainquant.

113 Alexandropoulos 2000 : 214–5. 114 À côté de Massinissa et Juba Ier, déjà cités, il faudrait encore mentionner Bocchus Ier, l’ami de Sylla, qui est probablement à créditer de l’introduction des premières frappes en Maurétanie, entre 118 et 80 ; Bogud, qui inaugure l’argent romanisé et les légendes latines ; et Bocchus II qui intègre les influences gaditaines de l’autre côté du détroit. 115 Braund 1984 : 23. 116 Voir P. Kehne, dans un article qui vise d’abord le modèle de la clientèle mais qui rejette également le modèle unitaire des rois amis élaboré par Braund (Kehne 2000). Voir aussi les remarques lucides de Braund 1984 : 6 lui-même.

4. AMICITIA AND FOREIGN CLIENTELAE IN THE EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN

BEYOND CLIENTELA: THE INSTRUMENTALITY OF AMICITIA IN THE GREEK EAST Michael Snowdon It is a testament to the tenacity, clarity and probity of Ernst Badian’s arguments in Foreign Clientelae that they still inform and challenge our understanding of Roman international relations fifty-five years after first being published. Badian’s seminal study rightly moved scholarship of the subject away from the rigid juridical constructions of his predecessors to a more fluid system of relations, explaining the development of Roman hegemony in terms of its successful exploitation of informal fides-based relationships.1 For Badian, of course, these Treuverhältnisse – among which was amicitia – accorded very well with the system of asymmetrical clientship operating within domestic Roman society and to this extent he put forward the very appealing model of international clientela.2 However, even within the pages of Foreign Clientelae one can find Badian quietly acknowledging the limitations of his model, not the least of which is its incongruity with contemporary discourse, in which the Roman people is nowhere described (by itself or others) as being a patronus over other states, who likewise are never called clientes; both, however, are routinely designated “friends” or, homologously, “friends and allies” with one another.3 True to form, Badian rationalized this fundamental challenge to his model with sanguinity, commenting that the Romans’ avoidance of clientela in official documents stemmed from a desire to spare the feelings of their inferiors and as such, it followed, amicus was simply a polite chancellery term.4 There is 1

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Badian (1958a: 10–11) defines clientela as “a name for a bundle of relationships united by the element of a permanent (or at least long-term) fides, to which corresponds the officium (etc.) of the clients who receive its beneficium”, and observes that such relationships based upon fides are “of a moral and political rather than a legal kind; where there are legal foundations, it is the super-structure that is the realm of Fides – and that matters.” See also Badian 1958a: 13 n. 1, on his preference for the German Trueverhältnisse. Badian 1958a: 12–13: “Just as in private usage within Rome, amicus [was] a polite term for a social inferior (or, conversely, superior) – i. e. a patron or client –, so in the wider sphere, where there are no equals left to Rome as a great power… amicitia necessarily becomes another term for clientship, for which category its non-legal nature eminently fits.”; cf. p.68 (“[Rome’s] amici could only be her clients”). On the interchangeability of amicus and socius ac amicus, and particularly the imprecision of the latter in ancient authors, see Matthaei 1907; Sands 1908: 11–48; Heuss 1933: 110–112; Gruen 1984: 69–70; cf. Dahlheim 1968: 253–254 (an evolutionary convergence of two disparate terms); Laffi 2010: 35 (socius et amicus is a sort of hendiadys); contra Kienast 1968: 348–349. Badian 1958a: 6–7 with n. 1: “[Permanent clientship] was probably the way in which educated Romans in the second century considered the relations of Rome with at least some other states:

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more than a trace of begging the question here, but also, even more importantly, dismissing the actual language in which states conducted their relations has come at the cost of downplaying a relationship – amicitia – that was clearly central to the interactions between the Romans and the Greek city-states. This problem is symptomatic of – to borrow a diagnostic term from cultural anthropology – ‘etic’ studies like Badian’s, which seek to describe and explain a cultural phenomenon through an analytical framework outside the subject culture. Now on the one hand, ancient historians know well that because of its distance and detachment this approach can advantageously identify larger historical themes and processes and relate them to cross-cultural categories and operations; and insofar as the Romans did enjoy a real-world supremacy of coercive force that made any friendship with a foreign power asymmetrical and potentially subject to Roman influence, the model of foreign clientela can hold, and amicitia’s place within it remains both valid and analytically profitable.5 But there are obvious limitations and risks with an approach that typically subordinates particularist local discourses and identities to an external model: by promoting a patron-client model over the friendly relations asserted by the historical actors themselves, Badian and those of his ilk have managed, as one of the contributors to this volume has wryly observed, “to make the metaphorical, literal, and the literal, mere euphemism”, and this distortion poses a serious challenge to historical reality.6 This is particularly true for interstate friendship and its instrumental role in the interactions between the Romans and Greek city-states. Relying heavily on a histoire événementielle, Badian and others are able clearly to demonstrate that friendship (like other Treuverhältnisse) was related to the development and performance of the Romans’ hegemony, but a great deal about what exactly was done or how precisely it was achieved remains largely implied or, assuming a priori that friendship is a species of clientela, is satisfied by recourse to arguments about propaganda (e. g., friendship was a “polite term”). Assuming that amicitia was concomitant with clientela – a signally Roman institution that represents an expressly asymmetrical

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the avoidance of the term in official documents may be due to a desire to spare their feelings – for cliens usually implies inferiority… The polite term, of course, is amicus”; cf. Brunt 1988a: 394–395 (amicitia is “a courteous appellation which presupposes dependence”); Burton 2003: 342 (who collects further examples). For differing criticisms of Badian’s application of the clientela model, see Bleicken 1964; Gruen 1984: 158–162; Harris 1979: 135 n. 2; Burton 2003; and F. Pina Polo’s contribution to the present volume. So Verboven 2002: 49–62, who acknowledges that “as an ‘emic’ phenomenon Roman patronage was not a mere variant of amicitia, [but] as a social relationship Roman patronage did rest on the same ethical framework as amicitia … and so as a social ‘etic’ phenomenon Roman patronage can and should be described as a lop-sided amicitia” (62). Burton 2011: 3–6 (quotation at p.5). Roman authors’ use of the metaphor of clientela for their empire is not common and only appears in the last generation of the Republic: e. g. Cic. off. 2.27 (with Diod. 32.4.4–5, who gives the same assertion in the language of φιλία); rep. 1.43; Liv. 34.58.11; 37.54.17 (contra Pol. 21.23); Proculus, Dig. 49.15.7.1; Flor. 1.36.3. The only example that I know of from the epigraphic record that in any way alludes to the Romans as patrons is SIG3 665, a decree of the Achaean League which describes the Romans as προεστακότες (“defenders”, “managers”, or even “supervisors”) of the good order and harmony of the Greeks (l.44).

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relationship between superior and inferior – perverts the contemporary notion of friendship and its voluntary reciprocal basis, misascribing to it a top-down power model that underrates the agency and capacity of the so-called client.7 It is precisely in following the logic of this clientistic model that Badian remained content to end his inquiry with 146, by which point not only had “the need for diplomacy disappeared” but “proper international relations” had come to an end.8 This, it should be clear, will not do. To complement and give balance to Badian’s analysis, I want to turn back to the ipsissima verba and treat the language and discourses of Greco-Roman friendship with greater nuance and sincerity, adopting a more ‘emic’ – i. e. culturally internal – approach. For this, I would like to focus our attention on the documentary material preserved in the epigraphic record, which not only remains an under-utilised data set for this purpose but, more importantly for us, preserves actual interactions between Rome and other states. For a Roman senate decree, or Greek civic or honorary decree, is not just a record of a performance, but also the performance itself – epigraphic documentary texts are in a very real sense artefacts of the functioning empire; they are the instrumenta imperii by and through which power relations were expressed, negotiated, and carried out, and so where amicitia appears in these texts it can already be said to be doing something. So, in what follows, I’ll be employing what John Ma has called a “text-aware” approach – that is, “taking the inscriptions seriously as texts, whose language matters to us as interpreters, because it mattered to the power actors who uttered them.”9 These epigraphic texts contain the historical actors’ own language, carefully chosen to effect a desired outcome and to this extent constrained by social rules and customs. The assumptions and implications of these social customs and rules can reveal for us not only how contemporaries understood and performed their relationship, but, pulling back, permit us to observe their instrumental role in the formation and development of the nascent imperial state. Already we have seen that by prioritizing the language and social constructions of these documentary artifacts Badian’s clientela model becomes unsatisfactory, even misleading. And just as epigraphy can help illustrate the misapplication of a clientela model, so too can it illustrate the importance of amicitia; for when states 7

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Badian (1958a: 11–12) imagined that amicitia was originally not a class of clientela but a “related concept…of relations between equals”; this changed, however, over the course of the third and early-second centuries “until the Romans could no longer imagine the co-existence of genuinely equal states: her amici could only be her clients” (p. 68). The idiosyncrasy of Roman patronage is expressed clearly in the necessity of Hellenephones to transliterate the Latin terms (e. g. πάτρων, πατρωνεία, πατρωνεύειν). Badian 1958a: 110 and 114. For a treatment of Roman hegemonic development after 146 Badian (1958a: 13 n. 2) points us to Percy Sands’ 1908 work on Client Princes, which likewise approaches Roman international relations in the language of “protectorate” and “client”, but also treats friendship much more assiduously (and not as statically as Badian asserts). Ma 1999: 19–20; cf. Richardson 2008: 7–8; Burton 2003: 350 (“that the Romans – and their friends, of course – consistently used the language of friendship to describe their relations with other international powers must be significant and deserves attention”), and 2011: 3–6, 19–24 (“language and ideas…matter just as much (if not more) than sheer power and self-interest”).

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wanted to address one another, when they wanted to describe – or, as we shall see, prescribe – their relationship they routinely turned to the language of friendship. Roman senate decrees, for example, insofar as they typically begin with foreign envoys renewing their city’s friendship and end with the senate publicly proclaiming the city and its envoys fine and good friends and likewise renewing amicitia with the foreign state, reveal an interaction that is literally framed by friendship.10 In fact, we know from Greek decrees that cities would often send envoys to Rome explicitly ὑπὲρ φιλίας (καὶ συμμαχίας) and that such pronouncements could be received with elaborate public festivals.11 That such assertions were more than perfunctory formulary or courteous appellations is clear from the language of judgement (e. g., οἱ κατ’ ἄνδρα κεκριμένοι ἐν τῆι πρὸς Ῥωμαίους φιλίαι) and deliberation (e. g., οἵτινες ἐν τῆι φιλίαι τῆι ἡμετέραι ἐνέμειναν) found in official documents and, again what is more our concern here, in the manner in which both the Romans and the Greeks used it to affect their respective relations.12 By way of example and to begin to draw out some of the functions of interstate friendship, let us take a closer look at the will of Ptolemy VIII Physcon. Afraid for his life at the hands of his estranged older brother, Ptolemy VI Philometor, the childless Physcon drew up a will that would have bequeathed his kingdom of Cyrene to the Roman people if anything should happen to him. Or, as Physcon himself had inscribed at Cyrene and sent on to Rome: ἐὰν δέ τι συμβαίνηι τῶν κατ’ ἄνθρωπον πρότερον ἢ διαδοχους ἀπολιπεῖν τῆς βασιλείας, καταλείπω Ῥωμαίοις τὴν καθήκουσάν μοι βασιλείαν, οἷς ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς τήν τε φιλίαν καὶ τὴν συμμαχίαν γνησίως συντετήρηκα· τοῖς δ’ αὐτοῖς παρακατατίθεμαι τὰ πράγματα συντηρεῖν, ἐνευχόμενος κατά τε τῶν θεῶν πάντων καὶ τῆς ἑαυτῶν εὐδοξίας, ἐάν τινες ἐπίωσιν ἢ ταῖς πόλεσιν ἢ τῆι χώραι, βοηθεῖν κατὰ τὴν φιλίαν καὶ συμμαχίαν τὴν πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἡμῖν γενομένην καὶ τὸ δίκαιον παντὶ σθένει. “If any mortal fate should befall me before I leave behind heirs to my kingdom, then I bequeath my kingdom to the Romans, with whom I have from the beginning preserved friendship and alliance with sincerity; and to them I entrust the protection of my domains, praying in the name of all the gods and their own good reputation that if anyone should attack either the cities or countryside, they will give help with all their strength in accordance with the mutual friendship and alliance that we have for one another and in accordance with justice.”13

By returning to the text itself we can see the central role played by friendship (φιλία καὶ συμμαχία) in shaping the relationship between Physcon and the Romans as well 10 11 12

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For typical examples, see, SIG3 591 and 683; Sherk, RDGE nos. 7, 9, 10, 14, 15, 16, 18. Embassies for friendship: IG XI 4.756 (Delos); ISE III.134 (Troezen) and 169 (Alabanda); IG IV2 1.63 (Epidauros); SIG3 591 (Lampsacus); cf. Pol. 25.3.1; 31.3.1–4; 33.18.1–4; Liv. 42.6.6– 12; Sall. Iug. 102.6; Canali de Rossi 1997. Festivals: SIG3 694, ll.40–58; RDGE 47, l.28–29. Language of judgment: RDGE 47, ll.28–29; OGIS 438, ll.1–3; IGRP IV 291, l.1. Language of deliberation: RDGE 2, ll.7–8; nº 3, ll.1–2; nº 7, ll.54–55; nº 9, ll.21–22 and 47–48; nº 21, II.3; nº 24b, l.5; nº 70, l.16; lex agr. ll.75 and 79; Aphrodisias and Rome nº 8, ll.24–25 and 60–61; cf. Cic. Verr. 2.2.2, 3.80; de senec. 41; Caes. B.Civ. 1.61.3; Liv. 31.31.20; 36.35.8 (non sincera fide in amicitia fuisse); 37.53.14 (amicitia digna sunt); SEG IX, 7, ll.11–23. The translation is a slightly modified version of Austin 1981: nº 230. See Gruen 1984: 692–708 for a helpful account of the struggle between Physcon and Philometor that prompted this document.

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as in articulating the former’s scheme to insure himself against assassination.14 Friendship, though, is doing more than just keeping his enemies at bay. Note, in the first place, the strange condition by which Physcon has chosen to justify his bequest to the Romans on the basis of his own sincere friendship toward them rather than theirs toward him. One would have expected that a testator, especially a royal one, would anticipate or cite the goodwill of his beneficiary when leaving his bequest – the opposite here underlies an asymmetry between the two in the Romans’ favour. Further, by entrusting the welfare of his kingdom to the Romans Physcon has equated their power with – if not elevated it above – his own and thereby qualified and legitimated Roman authority within his own royal space. Yet on the other hand, the younger Lagid king has offered up his kingdom and its security to Rome because he knows that its friendly relation is circumscribed by mutual obligations – notice the particularly cumbersome language in the last line (κατὰ τὴν φιλίαν καὶ συμμαχίαν τὴν πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἡμῖν γενομένην) – and the clear equation of such action with justice (δίκαια). As such, Physcon’s public claims to the antiquity (ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς) and sincerity (γνησίως) of his friendship with Rome – concessions that do not necessarily diminish his own authority, even if they do affect – direct, and even constrain, the Romans to act reciprocally in his interests according to the norms of the discourse, leveraging Roman concerns about their own reputation (εὐδοχία) and sense of what is right (δίκαια). And so, the first point to draw attention to is that by simply using amicitia state actors could manipulate their relations with hegemonic Rome. Physcon’s decision to formulate his relationship with the Romans as one of friendship entailed a host of expectations – chiefly centered around reciprocated goodwill – that directed and constrained the Romans’ response. They could, of course, reject Physcon’s claim of amity outright, but this would have been rather difficult in light of their past efforts on his behalf against Philometor.15 Physcon underscores this point by asserting his own long-standing and genuine friendship for them (a claim warranted by those past Roman efforts) whose truthfulness is also grounded in the very bequest upon which it is predicated. However, even if Rome were to reject the troublesome Physcon’s claims to friendship, all would not be lost.16 For the ploy does not necessarily depend on the populus Romanus accepting and reciprocating friendship, but merely 14

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We should not be confused by the presence of συμμαχία into imagining something more to the relationship (see above, n. 3). It seems likely that if a formal treaty had existed between Physcon and the Romans, then he would have pointed to that document specifically – rather than φιλία καὶ συμμαχία – as seems to have been the case with his son a half century later: per omnes deos perque foedera, quae Romae fecisset (Caes. B.Civ. 3.108); cf. Braund 1983: 16–21; Gruen 1984: 701–702; Lampela 1998: 23–25; contra: Bickermann 1932: 425; Piganiol 1933: 414– 415. Pol. 31.10.1–7 (Roman Senate sends out envoys in 163 to have Cyprus added to Physcon’s kingdom – recounted at 31.17–19); 31.20 (after refusing to hand over Cyprus, the Senate annuls its friendship with Philometor and expels his envoys in 161). The Romans’ rejection of Physcon’s claims to friendship, and his entire bequest, is possible: the will is virtually absent from the literary record (save for a vague reference in Festus brev. 13.2) and Polybius’ account of his embassy in 154 (33.11.1–3) recounts only his theatrical display of scars and no mention of amicitia.

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the expectation of such by those who threatened the king. Physcon’s prominent publication of his testament – or at least these chosen sections of it – reminds us that such documents, and their discourses, are part of a larger international system, which the Cyrenean king has here leveraged to achieve his goal.17 His audience, not just – or not even principally – the Romans, must accept his claims to friendship and expect that the Romans will respond accordingly. The ploy works (as it was designed) because to the outside observer or would-be assassin Physcon has demonstrated enough friendship through word and deed that the Romans should help him, which, in turn, adds yet another level of (international) expectations and constraints on the hegemons.18 It was this ability to manipulate the Romans into action that had Greek envoys routinely beginning petitions in the Senate with a “renewal” of friendship.19 In so doing, representatives were able to take the initiative in describing their community’s relation with the Romans and pro-actively prescribe the terms of the interaction and constrain them into thinking and acting in an appropriate – or, following Physcon, “just” – manner. Put another way, that Greeks and Romans regularly chose to frame their relationship as one between friends and not, say, between patrons and clients much less conqueror and subject, had meaningful implications.20 For friendship had normative values that included the basic autonomy of each polity (as Badian himself observed) and normative rules about their voluntary, reciprocal obligations toward one another.21 The autonomy of friendly states is on full display, for example, in the Senate’s well-known admonition to the Rhodians in 178 that the Lycians had been named their friends (φιλία και συμμαχία) by the Treaty of Apamea, not their possession (ἐν δωρεᾷ) – the independence of friends here directly contrasts with the dominating treatment of the Rhodians, which both sides, to judge from

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Because of the political nature of this document (Gruen 1984: 703–705), there is no reason to assume that the testament was kept secret until after Physcon’s death simply to account for its absence in the sources (rightly underscored by Lampela 1998: 167). On whether or not this document is the actual will of Physcon, see the differing arguments of Oliverio 1932: 46 (copia authentica); Bickermann 1932: 425 (abridged, drawing attention to the perfect tenses in ll.6 and 27); Otto 1934 (with a foedus); Braund 1983: 18 (“no reason to suppose any distinction”); and Gruen 1984: 703 (“plainly does not duplicate the original”). Braund 1983 is unique among scholars in underlining the importance of amicitia in this text: “Particularly striking is the way in which Physcon harps upon his friendship and alliance with Rome…(especially) at ll.15–16, where Physcon’s reference to this friendship and alliance is not otiose…but rather an explanation of the appointment of the Romans as heirs to the kingdom (51).” It is also the case that Philometor, who had played the Roman envoys of 162 rather too flippantly, had lost his friendly diplomatic relations with the Romans: τὴν συμμαχίαν ἀναιρεῖν τὴν πρὸς τὸν πρεσβύτερον (Pol. 31.20.3; Badian 1958a: 109). The practice is so common that a complete list would be otiose, see Sherk, RDGE Index s. v. “χάριτα φιλίαν συμμαχίαν τε ἀνανεόω” for examples. Ferrary 1988: 117–131, esp.130–131. Badian routinely referred Rome’s ‘free’ amici in the course of Foreign Clientelae (e. g. pp.61, 68 n.2, 74, 82, 102, 144), the scare quotes meant to illustrate the gap between the ideal and, in his eyes, the actual condition of Roman friends (“the ‘free’ friend of Rome is free as long as Rome does not care,” p.54).

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their respective reactions, accepted as culturally true.22 Mutually implicated with the inherent sense of autonomy was the sense that friendly actions were made willingly or through exclusively moral coercion, as in the Physcon case above. Thus Sallust, looking back at the republican ideal, observed that the Romans had always sought amici not servi in the expansion of their imperium, preferring to rule by consent (volentibus) than compulsion (coactis).23 Epigraphic examples can flesh out these norms further while also illustrating their performative powers. Consider a decree from Ionian Metropolis passed during the struggle against Aristonicus, which relates that the city sent out a force of neoi to help the Romans in a battle with the Attalid pretender near Thyateira; or, in their words, “the dēmos has always (ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς) chosen the side of the Romans and its friendship with them, and after recovering its freedom with the greatest joy (thanks to the Romans), now wants to demonstrate its own policy (αἵρεσις) and goodwill (εὔνοια) for the Roman republic in these most critical circumstances.”24 Here we can see that the people of Metropolis, when called upon by Roman legates, including the venerable P. Scipio Nasica, to contribute a squadron to their command, responded by underscoring their subsequent action as one of choice (βουλόμενός τὴν ἰδίαν αἵρεσιν… ἐναποδείκνυσθαι) and their motivation as drawn from a long-standing friendship with the Romans and desire to reciprocate their own εὔνοια.25 In this way, the city framed an act of political expediency in terms of civic independence in the best tradition of the (autonomous) polis. The only obligations inherent in the statement are those moral duties placed upon them by the social norms of φιλία after the Romans had restored their freedom, not something coerced by a superior power or compelled by legal or pseudo-legal writ. There is also, of course, a nod to the future as well. The Metropolitans have acted not just out of a response to a past Roman action, but also an expectation of reciprocity in the future. This is at least part of the reason why the decree was 22

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Pol. 25.4.5: Λύκιοι δεδομένοι Ῥοδίοις οὐκ ἐν δωρεᾷ, τὸ δὲ πλεῖον ὡς φίλοι καὶ σύμμαχοι; and 5.1; cf. Livy’s attempt to rationalize the tensions in his adaptation over a century later (41.6.11– 12): “nec Lycios Rhodiis nec ullos alii cuiquam qui nati liberi sint in servitutem dari placer; Lycios ita sub Rhodiorum simul imperio et tutela esse ut in dicione populi Romani civitates sociae sint.” The Rhodians ardently opposed the Senate’s measure on the grounds that the patres had been deceived by the Lycians about Rhodes’ treatment of them, while the Lycians eventually simply tried to revolt from Rhodian control (Pol. 25.5.4). After a little more than a decade of squabbling, the Senate had to explicitly declare the Lycians to be free (Pol. 30.31.6). For a detailed analysis of Rhodian-Roman amicitia, see Burton 2003: 356–365. Sall. Iug. 102.6: “ad hoc populo Romano iam a principio imperi melius visum amicos quam servos quaerere, tutiusque rati volentibus quam coactis imperitare.” Cicero himself famously idealized the Roman empire as more of a patrocinium than an imperium because of its beneficia to other states, and his support of the lex Manilia came in part from a desire to uphold the Romans’ long-standing obligations toward its amici (below n. 54). I.Metrop. (Hauptseite), ll.20–22: ὁ δῆμος ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς ᾑρετικὼς τὰ Ῥωμαίων πράγματα καὶ τὴν πρὸς αὐτοὺς φιλίαν τε καὶ συμμαχίαν, καὶ μετὰ τῆς μεγίστης χαρᾶς ἀποδεξάμενος τὴν ἐλευθερίαν, βουλόμενός τε τὴν ἰδίαν αἵρεσιν καὶ εὔνοιαν ἐν τοῖς ἀναγκαιοτάτοις καιροῖς, ἣν ἔχει πρὸς τὰ δημόσια Ῥωμαίων πράγματα ἐναποδείκνυσθαι. On the context of the passage, see Jones 2004: 479–484. For the role of freedom and the importance of the language of its restoration in this text, see Snowdon 2008.

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passed, inscribed, and set up outside the Bouleuterion in the first place – as a memorial of the city’s past friendly actions to Rome by which they could prove such friendship in the future. This implicit expectation of future reciprocal action from Rome here is the same normative constraint that had motivated Physcon to establish his friendly bona fides with the Romans before leaving them his kingdom and that drove Greek states to make renewals of friendship in the Senate. It was also for this same reason that, for example, an Oropian advocate could get the Athenians to end their aggressions against the middling city with the otherwise audacious threat “not to overlook a Greek city – however small – in the friendship of the Romans”.26 The expectation of Roman support for its friends was an international norm. Through, then, the promotion and demonstration of friendship with the Romans, Greek cities were able to effect positive Roman action – or create a meaningful expectation of it – without conceding any measure of their customary independence.27 Insofar, then, as friendship was able to leverage the support of a superior power in aid of a weaker power without explicitly confirming the inferiority of the latter, one of its second-order functions was the rationalization of Roman superiority in a culture dominated by concerns for political autonomy. We saw in the case of Physcon’s will how the practical asymmetry between the king and the Romans could be elided because of these inherent norms, and so through the discourse of friendship Physcon was able not just to admit Roman puissance but also welcome, accommodate, and reconcile it within his sovereign space.28 The same was true for kings in other circumstances: when Pharnaces I of Bithynia completed his treaty with Tauric Chersonesus in 155 it included the condition that the treaty would be rendered void if either side fell out of friendship with the Romans, thereby holding Roman superiority as a central conceit of the oath;29 in the lex de provinciis praetoriis we find the Romans making a moral claim (δίκαιόν ἐστιν) of friendly kings (βασιλεῖς… 26 27

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SIG3 675, ll.20–22: παρεστήσατο τοὺς Ἀχαιοὺς μὴ περιιδε[ῖν] πόλιν Ἑλληνίδα ἐξανδραποδισθεῖσαν, οὖσαν γε ἐν τεῖ Ῥωμαίων φιλίαι καὶ πίστει. Of course the ability of friendship to manipulate relations through its social constraints and obligations worked both ways. It is possible, for example, that in using the language of friendship to ground their motivation, the Metropolitans were simply mimicking the same language of friendship used by the Romans to make the original appeal. Consider also that when Scipio Aemilianus and his retinue carried out their celebrated embassy to the East in the late 140 s they greeted ruling powers there in the language of friendship: “Meeting with kings and cities and renewing their previously established friendship (φιλία) with all of them, the Roman envoys increased their sway (ἡγεμονία) through goodwill (εὔνοια), and everyone was treated in a manner befitting their policy (αἵρεσις) toward the Roman people” (Diod. 33.28.4). See further below for the Romans’ use of amicitia in drumming up support for the wars against Perseus and Mithridates. The contemporary Polybius, as an analyst, was able to capture this process in essence when he observed of the Romans’ actions in the dispute between Philometor and Physcon that (31.10.7) “by taking advantage of ignorance of their neighbours, the Romans effectively increased and built up their own ἀρχή both by courting favour and by appearing to render a service (εὐεργετεῖν) to those who make the mistake.” IOSPE I.402, ll.2–4 ([τάν τε ποτὶ Ῥωμ]αίους φιλίαν διαφυλά[σσοντος καὶ μηδὲ]ν ἐναντίον αὐτοῖς πράσ[σοντος]); cf. ll.26–27 for the same stipulations imposed upon Chersonesus. For further discussion of this document and its larger context, see Hojte 2005 and Ferrary 2007a.

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πρὸς οὓς φιλία καὶ συμμαχία ἐστὶ τῶι δήμωι τῶι Ῥωμαίων) that they prohibit and actively persecute piracy within their own borders to support Roman efforts to secure the seas – amicitia here presuming and affirming, if also obscuring, Rome’s hegemonic demands.30 The same law in fact also contained a provision specifically exempting these friendly kings from certain of its stipulations, the very presence of such an exemption implying that the Roman law might have otherwise applied to foreign kings, even to those in amicitia.31 In these examples we can see how friendship could carve out a space for Roman superiority and insulate it from direct scrutiny within even a royal dominion. The effect on city-states was no different. The cases of the Metropolitans and Oropians mentioned above reveal that those poleis were able to acknowledge, even appreciate, the extraordinary military and political potency of the Romans within the confines of friendly activity: the Metropolitans in the context of providing support for Roman military action against Aristonicus, the Oropians using their military superiority as a threat against the Athenians. In another example, when envoys of Thisbae appeared before the Senate after the city’s capture in 171 the patres awarded control of the city for a decade to that faction which had not supported Perseus – or, in their language, “to those who had remained in the friendship of the Roman people.”32 The power of Rome – here in a context of not just physical but also political supremacy – was able to be rationalized in Thisbae through the expected performance of the rules of friendship (i. e. those who remained friends were treated friendly) and so, more generally, through its benefactions to the community. Such civic benefits, of course, were a common component of being in amicitia populi Romani and likewise served to smooth over the accretion of Rome’s superordinate power in the region. For the Alabandans, for example, intimate friendship (οἰκειότης καὶ φιλία) brought significant advantages, including fiscal immunities and military exemptions; for Colophon, the acknowledgement of a leading citizen as a “worthy friend of powerful Romans” brought a variety of benefits (καρπὸν), not the least of which was a formal civic patron (itself an explicit manifestation of

30

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Lex prov. praet. (= Crawford 1996 nº 12) Delphi B, ll.8–12: [ὁμοίως τ]̣ε καὶ πρὸς τὸν βασιλέα τὸν ἐν τ[ῇ ν]ήσῳ Κύπρωι βασιλεύοντα καὶ πρὸς τὸν βασιλ[έα τὸν ἐν Ἀλε]ξανδρείαι καὶ Αἰγύπ̣[τωι βασιλεύοντα καὶ πρὸς τὸν βασιλέα τὸν ἐπὶ Κυ]ρήνῃ βασιλεύοντα καὶ πρὸς̣ τοὺς βασιλεῖς τοὺς ἐν Συρίαι βασιλεύον[τας, πρὸς οὓς] φιλία καὶ συμμαχία ἐ[στὶ τῶι δήμωι τῶι Ῥωμαίων, γράμματα ἀποστελλέ]τω καὶ ὅτι δίκαιόν ἐστ̣[ιν αὐ]τοὺς φροντίσαι, μὴ ἐκ τῆς βασιλείας αὐτ[ῶν μήτε] τῆ[ς] χώρας ἢ ὁρίων πειρατὴ[ς μηδεὶς ὁρμήσῃ μηδὲ οἱ ἄρχοντες ἢ φρούραρχοι οὓς κ]αταστήσουσιν τοὺ[ς] πειρατὰς ὑποδέχωνται, καὶ φροντίσαι, ὅσον [ἐν δυνα] τοῖς ἐσ[ταὶ] τοῦτο, ὁ δῆμος ὁ Ῥωμαίω[ν ἵν’ εἰς τὴν ἁπάντων σωτηρίαν συνεργοὺς ἔχῇ]. Lex prov. praet., Cnidos III, ll.16–21: οἱτινες δῆμοι ἅ τε ἔθνη ὅταν τοῦτον τὸν νόμον ὁ δῆμος κυρώσηι βασιλεῖ βασιλεῦσιν δήμοις τε πρὸς οὓς φιλία συμμαχία τῶι δήμωι Ῥωμαίων ἐστὶν φόρους προσόδους τε στρατιώτας τε τελῶσιν, ἐν τούτωι τῶι νόμωι οὐκ ἠρώτηται. RDGE 2, ll.22–24: οἵτινες εἰς τὴν φιλίαν τὴν ἡμετέραν πρὸ τοῦ ἢ Γάιος Λοκρέτιος τὸ στρατόπεδον πρὸς τὴν πόλιν Θίσβας προσήγαγεν, ὅπως οὗτοι ἔτη δέκα τ[ὰ] ἔγγιστα κυριεύωσιν; cf. ll.7–8 (where the Thisbaean envoys appearing before the Senate are regarded as οἵτινες ἐν τῆι φιλίαι τῆι ἡμετέραι ἐνέμειναν).

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Roman greaterness).33 Sometimes, friendship with Rome could itself be the reward: after having their own long-standing φιλία and προαίρεσις toward the Romans recognized (as a result of suffering greatly on Rome’s behalf against Aristonicus), the people of Elaea created an elaborate public holiday that included civic prayers for the ἀγαθὴ τύχη and σωτηρία of the Romans as well as continuation for all time of their mutual amity (ἡμῖν εἰς ἅπαντα τὸν χρόνον τὴν πρὸς Ῥωμαίους φιλίαν καὶ συμμαχίαν).34 It is worth noting, too, that the Elaeans, who had witnessed first-hand the military might of the Romans, and whose own asymmetrical relationship with Rome is self-evident to us in the same manner as Physcon’s was, chose to set up this monument of (and to) Roman friendship in the Bouleuterion beside the statue of Democracy.35 In conceptualizing their friendly relationship with Rome as one that constrained two nominally independent polities to mutually support one another, Greek city-states could integrate and even welcome the growth of friendly Roman power as potentially benefitting them and thus as part of their own collective selfinterest. Of course, as the Elaean example clearly demonstrates, at the same time that amicitia/ φιλία made Roman superiority less problematic, it was also naturalizing it within the community. Henceforth, the Elaeans would be annually devoting a considerable portion of civic resources – funds, officials, space, time, etc. – toward recognizing the community’s long-standing friendship with Rome and praying for the continuation of the same into the future. This, in fact, is one of the most surreptitious functions of Roman amicitia: its capacity to orient (or re-orient) a city’s sense of time and space around Roman authority. Physcon, although meaningfully invoking friendship as an equalizing strategy, was nevertheless forced by the social rules of amicitia to locate Roman superiority (as friend) deep in the past (ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς) in order to have expectations for a future; and these future expectations, without a stated end date and to that extent endless, had, whether successfully executed or not, forever invested the Roman republic with a latent legitimacy of regal power in Cyrene.36 This particular function of amicitia to naturalize Roman superiority can be seen even more clearly in the example of the arbitral use of amicitia populi Romani. 33

34 35 36

Alabanda: ISE 169, ll.11–13 (σπεύδοντός τε [τοῦ] δήμου τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν πρὸς Ῥωμαίους οἰκ[ειό]τητα καὶ φιλίαν ἀνανεώσασθαι). Colophon: Claros, Polemaios, col. II, ll.24–31 (ἐνέτυχεν μὲν τοῖς ἡγουμένοις Ῥωμαίοις καὶ φανεὶς ἔξιος τῆς ἐκείνων φιλίας τὸν ἀπὸ ταύτης καρπὸν τοῖς πολείταις περιεποίησεν πρὸς τοὺς ἀρίστους ἄνδρας τῆι πατρίδι συνθέμενος πατρωνείας). ‘Greaterness’, of course, is meant to recall the Latin maiestas, which seems to appear first in the epigraphic record only with Caesar’s treaty with the Lycians (Mitchell 2005, l.9: τήν ἐξουσίαν καὶ ὑπεροχὴν τὴν Ῥωμαίων), which also included a profession of mutual friendship (φιλί[α καὶ συμμαχία κ]αὶ κοινωνία τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον, ll.6–7). SIG3 694, ll.10–14 and 44–53. SIG3 694, ll.29–31. It is possible that there is also an immediate claim to the present if, following Oliverio (1932: 53–55), we interpret Ptolemy’s committal of his domain to the Romans in ll.17–18 as a formal deposit (παρακατατίθημι) with them while he is alive; so, Otto 1934: 103–104; LeibmannFrankfort 1966: 78 n. 18; Gruen 1984: 704 n. 162; contra Bickermann 1932: 428; Piganiol 1933: 416; Braund 1983: 18 and 52.

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When asked to arbitrate the inveterate land dispute between Magnesia and Priene, the Senate stipulated that the territory would belong to whichever of them had it upon entering in amicitiam populi Romani.37 The formula has obvious imperial implications, and Sheila Ager has rightly observed the futility of such a terminus a quo, whose real function was to allow the Romans to deny responsibility for anything that had happened before their arrival in the East.38 Yet around the same time we also find Melitaea and Narthacium approaching the Senate to arbitrate their own long-standing dispute, and both cities claimed – by every indication of their own volition – to have possessed the disputed lands “upon entering into the friendship of the Romans”.39 To the extent that both Narthacium and Melitaea were willing to invoke Roman amicitia as a temporal terminus in their dispute and that they – as well as Magnesia and Priene – were willing to accept the premise that Roman amicitia was a prerequisite condition for ownership of the disputed lands, their understanding of these disputed lands – and their own lands in the case of the victors – had been spatially and temporally reconfigured in relation to Rome. This also holds true for the dozen or so examples, like that of Thisbae mentioned above, in which some aspect of a city’s territory, laws, or government was defined by the status quo upon entering Roman amicitia.40 Used in this way, amicitia populi Romani became a critical civic landmark that could literally define the territory or arrangement of the community and thus impact deeply a community’s civic integrity, memory, and identity, re-ordering them with Rome at the centre – as friend, of course. We can explore further this capacity of amicitia to naturalize Roman authority, and add a diachronic dimension to it, by turning to a series of documents dating to the period of the First Mithridatic War – a time when Roman authority broke down in Asia in no small part because its real-world actions (e. g. the rapacity of tax collectors and government agents) failed to correspond to discursive norms (e. g. of voluntary friendly relation premised on mutual goodwill and support). Let us take as our first example the well-known correspondence between the Carian city of Aphrodisias and the Roman proconsul Q. Oppius. Because of Mithridates’ rapid movements and his unexpected popularity among the Greek city-states, Oppius found himself trapped in the city of Laodicea shortly after the outbreak of the war, and from there he sent out appeals to neighbouring cities for military support. This much we can infer from a decree of Aphrodisias passed ca. 88 BCE, which relates that Aphrodisias was among the first to respond, sending troops and one of its leading citizens to assure Oppius that the city would do anything it could to help him 37 38 39 40

RDGE 7, ll.53–55: ὁπότερον ἂν τούτων δήμων εὑρίσκηται ταύτην χώραν εἰσχηκέναι, ὅτε εἰς τὴν φιλίαν τοῦ δήμου τοῦ Ῥωμαίων παραγένετο; cf. Ager 1996 nº 120. Ager 1996: 27. The futility of the amicitia formula is evident enough in the fact that it does not act as basis of the decision in either of the two instances in which it was applied. RDGE 9, ll.21–22 (μεθ’ ἧς χώρας εἰς τὴμ φιλίαν τοῦ [δήμου τ]οῦ Ῥωμαίων παρεγένοντο) and 46–48. For a detailed treatment of the role of friendship in these documents see Snowdon 2014. E. g. Lex Agr. (= Crawford 1996, nº 1), ll.75 and 79; lex prov. praet. Cnidos IV, ll.21–24; RDGE 3, ll.1–5; nº 7, l.54; nº 9, ll.20–24, 46–48; nº 21, col.2, ll.1–3; nº 22, ll.19–20, 24–25; nº 23, ll.50–51; nº 24b, ll.1–10; nº 70, ll.16–17; Aphrodisias and Rome, nº 8, ll.24 and 60; cf. Cic. Verr. 2.2.2; Liv. 25.40.4; 31.31.20; 40.46.12; 43.21.2; Caes. B.Gall. 1.43.6–8.

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now and in the future because the people “would rather die than live without Roman hegemony”.41 In both this encomium of Roman rule, and in the general eagerness of the Aphrodisians to demonstrate their loyalty to the Romans, scholars typically see “obsequious terms” and a “vocabulary of subordination”.42 But there is more to it than this. For turning our attention to Oppius’ subsequent letter to the Aphrodisians after the war, we find him praising the city for its goodwill (θελήσις) toward the Romans and characterizing the city’s support as a thing “befitting a good friend to have done.”43 I would suggest that Oppius’ language here is evidence that his initial appeal from Laodicea came in the language of friendship, not compulsion. This certainly would not be surprising. Roman envoys and commanders often invoked the name of friendship when asking for help. This was the case, for example, during the war against Perseus when an Argive honorary decree relates that the Romans “called upon the Achaeans to preserve their φιλία καὶ συμμαχία” and the Romans’ own manifesto against Perseus reveals that they had plied the Achaeans with memories of their own “long-standing goodwill” for the cities of the region.44 An appeal to friendship also fits the tenor of the Aphrodisians’ decree rather well. In commenting on the text, Reynolds herself drew attention to the Aphrodisians’ emphasis on their choice in the matter – this includes not just the standard autonomous decision-making powers of the demos, but also a pair of references to their long-standing chosen policy toward the Romans (αἵρεσις) and of course their preference (προαιρούμεθα) for death over life without Roman hegemony.45 Amicitia is here part of the larger mode of reciprocal exchange, looked at above, that defined the extra-legal relations of the Roman empire – the αἵρεσις of 41 42 43 44

45

The two inscriptions are published in Reynolds, Aphrodisias and Rome, nos. 2 (decree of Aphrodisias) and 3 (response of Oppius). The quotation above is from nº 2, ll.13–14: χωρὶς τῆς Ῥωμαίων ἡγεμονίας οὐδὲ ζῆν προαιρούμεθα. First to respond, Aphrodisias and Rome nº 3, l.25. The quotations are from Kallet-Marx 1995: 282 and Chaniotis 2003: 252. Aphrodisias and Rome, nº 3, ll.26–29: τοῦτο δὲ ἐποιήσατε κ[α]θὼς ἐπέβαλλεν συμμ[ά]χοις ἀγαθοῖς καὶ φίλοις δήμου Ῥωμ̣α̣ίων ποιῆσαι. Argive inscription: ISE 42, ll.5–10: ἀποσταλεὶς δὲ καὶ πρεσβευτὰς [μετὰ] Γα[ί]ου ὑπὸ [Α]ὔλου τοῦ ὑπάτου στραταγοῦ τῶν Ῥωμαίων [ἥκει] τοὺς Ἀχαιοὺς παρακαλῶν διαφυλάσσειν τάν τε φιλία[ν καὶ] συμμαχίαν τὰν ποτὶ Ῥωμαίους̣ ἔδοξε τῶι δάμωι, ἐπ[αινέ]σαι [Γ]ναῖον Ὀκτάιον Γναίου Ῥωμαῖον ἐπὶ τᾶι προαιρέσει ἣν [ἔχει] πρὸς τὰν πόλιν καὶ τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Ἀχαῖων (cf. Pol. 28.3.5; SIG3 649, 650). Manifesto: SIG3 613b, ll.4–6 (with Bousquet 1964): [ἵνα διαμ]ένῃ τὸ ὑπόμνημα τῆς ἡ[μετ]έρας καὶ Ῥωμαίων πρὸς τοὺς Ἕ[λλ]ηνα[ς εὐνοίας καὶ εὐσεβείας πρὸς τὸν θεὸν καὶ τὸ ἱερό]ν, ἐὰν καὶ ὑμῖν μέτριον [εἶναι] φαίνηται τὸ τὴν ἡμετέραν ε[ὔνοι]αν [πρὸς τὴν πόλιν καὶ τοὺς Ἕλληνας φανερὰν πᾶσι τοῖς π]αραγινομένοις εἰς τ[ὸ ἱερὸν κα]θιστασθαι. For other examples of friendship during this conflict, see RDGE nº 2 and 3; Pol. 27.4.9 (Rhodes stresses its εὔνοια before the Senate), 7.11 (Rhodes debates friendship with Perseus); Liv. 41.22.7–8 (Perseus looks to establish amicitia with Achaeans); 42. 25.1 (Rome renounces its amicitia with Perseus), 37.2 (Romans urge Genthius to respect amicitia with Rome), 40.5–10 (manifesto against Perseus), 42.4 (Perseus affirms amicitia with Boeotians); Cato ap. Gell. 6.3.26 (calling on Rome not to abandon tanta amicitia with Rhodes). Aphrodisias and Rome, nº 2, ll.4, 7 and 14, with Reynolds’ observations at p. 15. The standard decision-making powers of the Aphrodisians is expressed in their decisions to help Oppius (εἵλατο, l. 2), to send out men with the troops (ἑλέσθαι, l. 5), to fight alongside him (εἱλάμεθα, l. 8); nº 3, ll.26–29 (τοῦτο δὲ ἐποιήσατε κ[α]θὼς ἐπέβαλλεν συμμ[ά]χοις ἀγαθοῖς καὶ φίλοις δήμου Ῥωμαίων ποιῆσαι).

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the city is one based on the assumption of past support and the expectation of future goodwill, made clear in the Aphrodisians’ description of the Romans as saviours and benefactors, but also premised in Oppius’ initial appeal to amicitia from Laodicea, and justified by the benefits that came to Aphrodisias afterward for having acted in an appropriately friendly manner.46 This process of reciprocation required constant reiteration and justification, which is the reason that Aphrodisias felt it necessary (ἀνανκαῖον ἐστιν) to send to Oppius not just soldiers but also envoys with a copy of their decree outlining their goodwill toward Rome, and it is the same reason that Oppius promised to inform the Senate of the city’s friendly efforts upon his return to Rome.47 As noted above, these relations prescribed the interaction and placed obligations on both parties to support one another. Yes these were moral obligations, but in this exchange between Oppius and Aphrodisias we can see the willingness of both sides to participate in this discourse, the operation of it, and the mutual benefits of it to both; while, of course, in the Mithridatic war itself we can see the consequences of failing to live up to its normative rules and expectations. As an aside, this exchange also helps to identify the relative position of friendship to patronage along the spectrum of reciprocity. We can see in Oppius’ letter to the Aphrodisians that whereas friendship was a fluid reciprocal relation that entailed no formal introduction but simply an offer and acceptance, patronage was a more regimented arrangement that required a demonstration of past good deeds (friendly deeds perhaps) to justify a formal request for patronage and a formal acceptance by the prospective patron. Patronage, that is, was a relation predicated on a structural power imbalance that clearly demarcated the superior and inferior positions.48 Friendship, of course, elided this imbalance. Still it is nevertheless true that friendship in this instance, just as those above and countless other cases, remained an asymmetrical relationship, to the advantage of the Romans. Nowhere is this inequality more clear than in the chilling pledge of the Thasians at the outset of the war to “destroy themselves, their children and their wives, and stand against the forces of Mithridates… rather than in some harried circumstance abandon φιλία with the Roman people.”49 The sentiment here is in some ways similar to the Aphrodisians’ preference for death to life without Roman rule, but whereas the Aphrodisians had openly expressed the ἡγεμονία of the Ro46 47

48 49

Romans as saviours: Aphrodisias and Rome nº 2, l.4. Aphrodisias sends envoys and troops: Aphrodisias and Rome nº 2, l.3 (ἀνανκαῖον δέ ἐστιν ἐξαποστεῖλαι καὶ πρεσβευτὰς τοὺς ἐνφανιοῦντας τῷ ἀνθυπάτῳ περί τε τῆς αἱρέσεως). Oppius’ promise: Aphrodisias and Rome nº 3, ll.44–48 (τῇ συνκλήτῳ τῷ τε δήμῳ τὰ ἀφ’ ὑμῶν πεπραγμένα ἐστίν ὅταν εἰς Ῥώμην παραγένωμαι διασαφήσω). Aphrodisias and Rome nº 3, ll.49–53: οἱ αὐτοὶ πρεσβεῖς παρεκάλεσαν ὅπως ἔξῃ τῇ [ἐ]μῇ πατρωνήᾳ καὶ ὑμεῖν χρῆσθαι· τούτους ἐγὼ ἀνεδεξάμην. On this point, see further Eilers 2002: 23–27. RDGE 20c, ll.2–5: συνομό[σασ]θαι ἑαυτοὺς, τέκνα, συνβίους ἀνελεῖν καὶ ταῖς τῶν πολεμίω[ν] δυνάμεσιν παρατάξασθαι καἰ τὰ πνεύματα ὑπὲρ τῶν δημοσίων πραγμάτων ἡμετέρων ἐν τῆι χρείαι ἀποβαλεῖν μάλλον ἢ ἔν τινι καιρῶι ἀπὸ τῆς τοῦ δήμου τοῦ Ῥωμαίων φιλίας ἀπεστατηκέναι δόξωσιν. In a similar vein, Polybius (21.20.1) reports of a promise made by Eumenes II to the Romans in the aftermath of the victory over Antiochus III “never to abandon your friendship or good will for you for any other man so long as it is possible.”

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mans – a novel development of the era – the Thasians simply continued the traditional discourse of friendship. And in doing this, they illustrate rather clearly the capacity of friendship to operate something like a status in the inchoate empire by serving as a pre-supposed, semi-stable form of loyalty with the hegemon to be preserved at great cost. Aspects of this had appeared already before the provincial era: we noted above that Pharnaces and the city of Chersonesos included a condition in their treaty that invalidated their obligations to one another if one side should fall out of friendship with the Romans;50 already a generation earlier the Delphic Amphictyony had assured the world that it had praised Eumenes II in a manner suitable to those kings “who have been continual benefactors to the Greeks and have preserved the friendship of the Roman people”.51 In cases like these, φιλία with the Romans was more than a bilateral relationship, it was being used as an objective metric – a de facto status – to identify another’s moral quality and position in the world.52 For their part, the Romans seem also to have reckoned amici as constituents of their imperium by at least the late second century. The lex de provinciis praetoribus, for example, asserts that the Romans took up the security of the seas not just for their own citizens, but also for all those foreign nations in the friendship of the Romans.53 Cicero himself would later advocate for the lex Manilia with the same argument: war with Mithridates was for the salus of the socii et amici, on behalf of whom Romans had fought many great and serious wars.54 Even civitates liberae could in this way fall within the ambit of Roman hegemony. One of the privileges awarded to the three Greek captains of the SC de Asclepiade of 78 was the right to have future disputes heard by “any free city in the friendship of the Romans”.55 The result – more unanticipated than sinister – is that the civitates liberae, who were outside the provincial structure, were drawn within a loose imperial arrangement: amicitia could impress upon free cities certain obligation to abide by Roman decisions; of course, on the flip side, it could also afford them privileges like any other friend, such as those the populi liberi of Africa earned in the lex agraria.56 The aforementioned SC Asclepiade, however, also reveals a new evolution in Roman amicitia: for in the text we find the celebrated passage in which the Senate 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

See above, n. 29. SIG3 630, ll.16–18: [οἱ Ἀμ]φικτίονες φαίνωνται ἐπακολουθοῦντες το[ῖς] ἀξιουμένοις [καὶ τιμῶντες τ]ῶν βασιλέων, ὅσοι διατηροῦντες τὴν πρὸς Ῥωμ[αί]ους τοὺς κοινοὺς [εὐεργέτας φιλία]ν ἀεί τινος ἀγαθοῦ παραίτιοι γίντονται τ[οῖς] Ἕλλησιν. See above, n. 40. This is similar to, and a progression from, the international scope of amicitia leveraged by Physcon. Lex prov. praet. Cnidos II, 7–11: οἵ τε σύμμαχοι, ὀνόματος Λατίνου, ὀμοίως τε τῶν ἐθνῶν οἵτινες ἐν φιλίαι τοῦ δήμου Ῥωμαίων εἰσίν, ὅπως μετ’ ἀ[σ]φ[α]λείας πλοίζεσθαι δύνωνται καὶ τῶ[ν] δ[ι]καίων τυνχάνωσιν; cf. Cnidos III, ll.28–35; lex agr. ll.21 and 50. Cic. leg.Man. 6: “agitur salus sociorum atque amicorum, pro qua multa maiores vestri magna et gravia bella gesserunt;” cf. § 12. RDGE 22, ll.18–20: βούλωνται κρίνεσθαι, ἢ ἐπὶ τῶν ἡμετέρων ἀρχόντων ἢ ἐπὶ Ἰταλικῶν κριτῶν, ἐάν τε ἐπὶ πόλεως ἐλευθέρας τῶν διὰ τέλους ἐν τῆι φιλίαι τοῦ δήμου τοῦ Ῥωμαίων μεμενηκυιῶν. Lex agr., ll.75–79.

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instructs the consuls to inscribe the three Greek captains in the formula amicorum.57 This new Mithridatic-era Register of Friends, it seems, was a record of those individuals (if not also dynasts and cities) who were formally recognized as friends of Rome, and in this way the development of amicitia into an imperial status is even more patent: there is henceforth a formal mechanism by which to discern whether and when (and perhaps also how) one had come to enjoy amicitia populi Romani; however, I would suggest that in this new rigidity friendship lost much of the dynamism that it had enjoyed during the first century and a half of Roman involvement in the East. In any case, it is worth underlining that amicitia, even as it might be operating as something of an inchoate imperial status, did not necessary violate the social assumptions of independent action among friends nor the common discourse of Greek freedom, rather it filled in the interstices between Greek liberty and Roman hegemony with moral obligations and reciprocal expectations. By way of bringing together the various threads of this discussion, let us consider one last text of the period – a passage from a letter of Sulla to the people of Stratonicea, included as an introduction to the dossier of the SC de Stratonicensibus of 81. Of the Stratoniceans, Sulla wrote: [οὐκ ἀγνοοῦμεν ὑμᾶς] διὰ προ[γ]όνων πάντα τὰ δίκαια [πρὸς τὴν ἡμετέρα]ν ἡγεμ[ον]ίαν πεποιηκότας καὶ ἐν [παντὶ καιρῶι τὴν πρὸς ἡ]μᾶς πί[σ]τιν εἰλικρινῶς τετηρηκότας [ἔν τε τῶι πρὸς Μιθραδά]την π[ο]λέμωι πρώτους τῶι ἐν τῆι [Ἀσίαι ἀντιτεταγμένους κα]ὶ διὰ ταῦτα κινδύνους πολλούς [τε καὶ παντοδαποὺς] ὑπὲρ τῶν ἡμετέρων δημοσίων [πραγμάτων προθυμό] τατα ἀ[ν]αδεδεγμένους [–] καὶ τ[οὺς κοινοὺς] καὶ τοὺς ἰδιωτικοὺς [φιλίας ἕ]νε[κεν π]ρὸς ἡμᾶς εὐνοῖάς τε [καὶ χάριτος –]. “We are not unaware that from the time of your ancestors you have acted with all justice (δίκαια) toward our rule (ἡγεμονία), that at every opportunity you have conscientiously preserved your loyalty (πίστις) to us, and that in the war against Mithridates you were the first of those in Asia to oppose him; and for these reasons you have faced many different dangers – both public and private – that you most readily took upon yourselves on behalf of our republic because of your friendship (φιλία), goodwill (εὔνοια) and kindness (χάρις) toward us.”58

In the second clause we can see, and are not surprised to find, that Sulla has expressed the city’s actions as something taken up readily and willingly (προθυμότατα … ἀναδεδεγμένους) on behalf of the Roman res publica, recalling the sense of volition inherent in the condition of φιλία – a point emphasised later by the Senate in characterizing the Stratoniceans’ good actions as part of their regular course of action (προαίρεσις, line 46). Yet in the first clause we find a clear expression of Roman rule (ἡγεμονία) and what can surely be read as Sulla’s approval of Stratoni57

58

RDGE 22, ll.24–25 (Latin, l.12): τούτους εἰς τὸ τῶν φίλων διάταγμα ἀνενεχθῆναι φροντίσωσιν· τούτους τε πίνακα χαλκοῦν φιλίας ἐν τῶι Καπετωλίωι ἀναθεῖναι θυσίαν τε ποιῆσαι ἐξῆι; cf. Liv. 43.6.10 and 44.16.7 (formula sociorum), which, though concerning events of the midsecond century, are nevertheless a product of Livy’s writing in the early Augustan era. Modern discussions in Badian 1958a: 12; Valvo 2001; Raggi 2001: 112; Laffi 2010: 31–44; and Snowdon 2014. RDGE 18, ll.3–12. The presence of φιλία in the original is further confirmed by the new fragment of the text of the subsequent senate resolution, which reads χάριτᾳ [φι]λίαν συμμαχία[ν ἀνενεώ]σαντο (Sahin 2002: nº 2, l.28). The Tabaeans (RDGE 17) appear to have expressed much the same sentiment for the Romans during the same period.

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cea’s demonstrated loyalty (πίστις) toward it. This close association between φιλία and πίστις would seem to characterize the nature of the former, thereby drawing friendship and empire into even closer orbit.59 The city’s actions in fighting for the Romans’ ἡγεμονία, then, are to be understood in traditional friendly, reciprocal terms – based on the Romans’ own prior goodwill or good deeds and continued in the various rights and privileges awarded to the city by the decree itself. This, in Sulla’s formulation, has been justly done (δίκαια) – language that recalls Physcon’s plea to Rome three generations earlier. Perhaps more significantly, as we find it in the text – as Sulla expressed it and as the Stratoniceans accepted it – the many different dangers faced by the citizens both individually and collectively stem entirely from their (voluntary) loyalty/ friendship to Rome, to the exclusion of any other motives (εἰλικρινῶς); Sulla, in effect, has made it impossible for the Stratoniceans to have a self-interest beyond the preservation of Roman rule, and he thereby bonds the community’s interest, through friendship, with the interests of the Romans and those of the their hegemony. What is more, Sulla has characterized the Stratonicaeans’ sense of justice and loyalty – and ultimately their friendship – to the empire as consonant with the acts of their ancestors. For cities eager to demonstrate their friendship with Rome this is a welcome truth statement, yet it also reorients polis life around Rome as much as the arbitral amicitia formula in the Melitaea-Narthacium dispute and embeds the hegemony of the Romans (as friendship) deep in their civic past. And so this senate decree, like the others considered above and like many other documentary texts, provides us a unique and revealing insight into the operation of friendship in international relations. One that moves us beyond clientela, the structure (or even metaphor) of which has unduly arrested our understanding of contemporary thought and action. Through these texts we can see the subtle, but profound ability of amicitia to not just describe, but also prescribe relations between power actors. The instrumentality of friendship – at least part of it – was its creation of a relationship that had real rules that were beneficial to both sides, that could be manipulated to great affect by both sides, and whose implications had a significant bearing on the rationalization and the naturalization of Roman superiority in the East and its development of empire there.

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Compare also the paratactic expressions of φιλία and πίστις at ll.38 (συνετήρησεν τὴν ἰδίαν [εὔνοιάν τε καὶ πίστιν καὶ φιλίαν] πρὸς τὸν δῆμον τὸν Ῥωμαίων) and 78 (τήν τε φιλίαν κ[αὶ πίστιν καὶ εὔνοιαν πρὸς τὸν δῆ]μον τὸν Ῥωμαίων διὰ τέλους); cf. Cic. Lael. 65: “firmamentum autem stabilitatis constantiaeque est, eius quam in amicitia quaerimus, fides.”

NABIS, FLAMININUS, AND THE AMICITIA BETWEEN ROME AND SPARTA Paul Burton In 195, on the advice of the majority of Rome’s Greek friends, whose freedom the Romans had proclaimed the year before at the Isthmian Games at Corinth, the Roman proconsul Titus Quinctius Flamininus, “the liberator of Greece”, launched a war on Nabis, erstwhile ally of Rome and ruler of Sparta since 207.1 The ostensible casus belli was Nabis’ illegitimate possession of Argos, which Flamininus had actually allowed him to occupy just two years before, in 197. The reason for Flamininus’ change of heart, and even the justification for the war on Nabis in 195, has never been adequately or fully explained. The reason for this, it is argued here, is that the moral dimension of Roman behaviour, despite being the central feature of our ancient source accounts, is largely ignored in modern scholarly discussions, in favour of Realpolitik explanations and explanations based on Flamininus’ self-interest and ambitions. At the heart of the sources’ moral concerns is the nature of Roman international amicitia. Shifting the focus of analysis to the latter, as will be attempted here, can lend shade and nuance to, and an additional layer of explanation for Roman conduct.2 For scholars who believe that Rome was an aggressive international predator, the motives behind the Roman war on Nabis have never presented much of a problem. William Harris, for example, argued that the war was a result of the inherent bellicosity, aggressiveness, and greed of the Romans – and of Flamininus in particular, who wanted to extend his command, secure victory, and thus win more gloria in Greece.3 More recently, Sviatoslav Dmitriev has argued that the Romans cynically exploited the slogan of “the freedom of the Greeks” as “a pretext for aggression”, in order “to demolish Nabis’s power” and “prolong the Roman military presence in Greece”.4 1

2 3 4

On the accession date of Nabis, see below, 229. Throughout I refer to Nabis as “ruler” of Sparta in order to avoid the tendentious characterization of him by our overwhelmingly hostile ancient sources as a “tyrant”. On the other hand, the manner in which he perhaps attained and then exercised power at Sparta (without the traditional collegiality of the Spartan kings), would make using the term “king” (as Nabis himself did) equally distorting: Ehrenberg 1935: col.1472; Mossé 1969: 184, 187; Shimron 1972: 66 and Mendels 1978: 43 and n. 23. All dates B. C. unless otherwise indicated. The methodology adopted here is set out in detail in Burton 2011. Harris 1979: 218–219; cf. Derow 2003: 63; Dmitriev 2011: 207. Dmitriev 2011: 201–209. The “excuse to stay” explanation has its origins in anti-Roman Aetolian propaganda: [Alexander the Aetolian speaking] “manendi in Graecia retinendique exercitus Argos et Nabim causam [Romani] facerent” (Liv. 34.23.10). On the Roman-Aetolian disputes after Cynoscephalae, see below, 235–236.

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Scholars less willing to credit Roman aggression have had a much harder time explaining the Roman war decision of 195. Benjamin Shimron simply denied it was a Roman war at all, but a proxy war on behalf of Rome’s Greek allies.5 Victor Ehrenberg, André Aymard and H. H. Scullard argued that the war was defensive in nature, motivated by Roman anxiety over what Antiochus III (and the Aetolians) might do if Rome withdrew, and so became an excuse for the Romans not to evacuate Greece straightaway.6 Jean-Georges Texier suggested that it was genuine Roman fear of Nabis’ military power – particularly his naval power – that motivated Rome to act. In addition to being a security menace, the Spartan ruler’s fleet was an obstacle to Italian trade in the eastern Mediterranean.7 J. A. O. Larsen offered a political-constitutional explanation: the Romans were viscerally opposed to leftwing revolutionary governments, such as Nabis had instituted at Sparta and Argos, and so tried to suppress them before the revolution could spread to other states.8 Finally, Erich Gruen added a public-relations dimension to the usual explanations: Flamininus went to war with Nabis over his refusal to free Argos not simply in order to increase his personal gloria and to gratify his new ally, the Achaean League, but more importantly to enhance his own and Rome’s honour and reputation among the Greeks. The latter been tarnished by anti-Roman propaganda spread by the Aetolian League, casting doubt on the Romans’ sincerity as liberators of Hellas.9 As the senatorial commission of ten (decem legati) overseeing the final settlement of the Second Macedonian War urged, and Flamininus insisted on more than one occasion, if Nabis were allowed to maintain possession of Argos, Greece could never truly be free.10 Flamininus was therefore trapped by the rhetorical logic of the slogan of Greek freedom, and had to put his money where his mouth was, so to speak, in order “to reinforce his esteem and justify his propaganda”.11 None of these explanations, by themselves or in combination, fully account for the sudden shift in Roman attitude towards Nabis, since they for the most part ignore the two explanations that receive the heaviest emphasis in our sources: the 5 6 7

8 9 10

11

Shimron 1972: 92; contra Texier 1975: 82; Gruen 1984: 453; and even earlier, Aymard 1938: 206 n. 16. Ehrenberg 1935: col. 1477; Aymard 1938: 194–96, 200–201, 206; Scullard 1951: 114. Jones 1968: 159; Oliva 1971: 288; Errington 1972: 161; Hicks, Jr. 1980: 102; Piper 1986: 105; Eckstein 1987a: 305 concur. Texier 1975: 82, 88–89 and 1976–1977: 147–148, 153–154. Briscoe 1967: 9; Hicks, Jr. 1980: 102–103; Eckstein 1987a: 305; Cartledge in Cartledge and Spawforth 2002: 75 agree. Aymard 1938: 190 n. 29 doubts that Roman concern over Italian commercial shipping played a role; after all, Flamininus did not mention this at his parley with Nabis in 195. Larsen 1968: 400; cf. Texier 1975: 82, 89; Aymard 1938: 190–91; contra: Briscoe 1967: 9. See below and n. 50. Countering Aetolian complaints about Rome had been a major concern for Flamininus since before the Isthmian proclamation: Pol. 18.45.8–9; Liv. 33.31.8; Plut. Flam. 10.1–2. Liv. 33.44.9: “[Nabidi] si Argos … tenere liceat … nequiquam liberatam … Graeciam fore” (commissioners); cf. 34.22.12 (Flamininus at Corinth), 32.5 (Flamininus to Nabis). The Greeks, including the Achaeans, would later complain to Flamininus that his failure to depose Nabis made a nonsense of the liberation of Greece (Liv. 34.48.5–6). Gruen 1984: 147, 451–55 (the quotation from 455); some aspects of Gruen’s thesis appear already in Walbank 1940: 187, and Chrimes 1949: 29.

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personal immorality of Nabis (and his wife) and the violence of his regime at Argos. Very few scholars have been willing to credit these explanations because of our sources’ alleged lack of objectivity. Polybius, our main source, was a proud Achaean aristocrat and patriot, and therefore a priori predisposed to despising Sparta and being averse to egalitarian regimes like that of the “tyrant” Nabis.12 Even Arthur Eckstein, who mounted an effective defence of our sources’ reliability based on evidence external to the texts,13 was only willing to conclude that the ancient accounts, in showing the “immorality of Nabis’ past behaviour”, the Spartan ruler’s “terrorism”, and his “hideous despotism … over an unwilling people”, are merely internally consistent rather than demonstrably accurate.14 The reality is, of course, unrecoverable. Fortunately, this will not be our main concern. The focus of this paper, rather, is discourse, and in particular, the moralizing language used by our primary sources and the major players they depict. The ancient authors and the people they wrote about inhabited a world where moral justifications sufficed on their own, or at least powerfully supplemented reasons of Realpolitik and self-interest, to account for actions and explain behaviour. From this perspective, it matters less that the situation Polybius depicts at Argos was factually accurate or that Flamininus truly believed the awful things he said about Nabis and his regime; it only matters that such discourse was designed to be persuasive and justificatory. This paper will highlight rather than ignore the moralizing discourse of our sources, particularly as concerns Rome’s publicly expressed moral expectations of her international partners, and the nature and dynamics of the relationship that imposed and governed those expectations – amicitia. Our first task is to establish when and under what circumstances the Roman amicitia with Nabis, and that with Sparta in the abstract, was established. Controversy has attended this question ever since Flamininus and Nabis first tried to negotiate an end to the war through diplomacy in 195. Livy says that when Nabis first approached Flamininus in 197, offering to abandon his alliance with Philip, and to bring Argos with him onto the Roman side, Flamininus set the “terms of friendship” (condicionibus amicitiae) as follows: that Nabis make peace with the Achaean League and provide auxiliary troops against Philip. Nabis bargained Flamininus down to a temporary armistice with the Achaeans and the amicitia was estab-

12

13 14

Doubts about Polybius’ objectivity: Ehrenberg 1935: col. 1471; Aymard 1938: 34 n. 14 (although he speaks of the regime’s “sanglants excès”, “terreur”, and violence as fact); Chrimes 1949: 21, 30 n. 2, 32, 37; Briscoe 1967: 8; Mossé 1969: 183, 190, 192; Oliva 1971: 274–75 (and 275–78 for an overview of Nabis’ reputation among modern scholars); Shimron 1972: 80–83; Tigerstedt 1974: 66; Texier 1975: 19; Piper 1986: 115; Kennell 2010: 178. Livy, a proud Roman patriot, found Polybius’ prejudices congenial, and so reproduced them in his, our only fully surviving, account of Nabis’ rule (cf. Eckstein 1987b: 214). Eckstein 1987b: 227–28, discussing a decree of Mycenae (Syll.3 594). Eckstein 1987b: 233 (Dmitriev 2011: 204 wrongly attributes to Eckstein, rather than the ancient sources, the judgements quoted here). Eckstein argues (against a growing scholarly consensus) that in their parley of 195 (Liv. 34.31–32), both Nabis and Flamininus deliberately falsified the situation at Argos, but the details of Livy’s (i. e., Polybius’) narrative up to this point make Nabis look more wrong than Flamininus.

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lished.15 Later on, however, during the war itself, Flamininus challenged this version of history. At his parley with Nabis in 195 he argued that Rome’s friendship was with Sparta, not with Nabis personally, and the Spartan friendship was established with the Spartan boy-king Pelops, who reigned 210–199.16 The waters were further muddied when Nabis brought up what he called Sparta’s “most ancient treaty” (“vetustissimum foedus”) with Rome.17 Flamininus seemed to take the point about a treaty (how ancient it was is a matter of semantics18), asserting that Sparta entered Roman friendship by one and the same right of treaty as Messene had (“nam et Messenen, uno atque eodem iure foederis quo et Lacedaemonem in amicitiam nostram acceptam”), and that both cities were Roman allies.19 Confusion and paradox abound – as is to be expected of competing claims set in rhetorical contexts concerning, precisely, which party violated the terms of an alliance first. Both Nabis and Flamininus characterize the Roman-Spartan relationship as amicitia and societas.20 Is there a difference? It has been long established by now that the literary and epigraphic sources tend to use the terms amicus, socius, and socius et amicus interchangeably when talking about Rome’s international partners; that is, when the terms “ally” (socius) and “alliance” (societas) appear in a text, this does not necessarily mean that the state in question had a formal treaty of alliance with Rome, a foedus. More often than not, the formulaic “friend and ally” and “friendship and alliance” referred to a state that enjoyed an informal friendship with Rome.21 But, as has also been seen, Nabis mentions a formal treaty of alliance, a foedus, as well, and Flamininus, far from denying its existence, refers to treaty rights (ius foederis). Does this mean that Sparta had a formal treaty with Rome from the time of the Spartan boy-king Pelops, with whom, Flamininus asserts, the Romans entered into friendship and alliance?22 Unfortunately we have no record of such a treaty, aside for the passages under consideration here. A closer look at the history of Roman-Spartan interactions is therefore necessary. The upper limit for the relationship with Pelops is 210, when 15 16

17 18 19 20 21 22

Liv. 32.39.9–11; cf. Zon. 9.16. Liv. 34.32.1. Diodorus Siculus (27.1) claims Nabis murdered Pelops, but because Polybius (and thus Livy) knows nothing of this, and Flamininus fails to mention it in his list of charges against Nabis at Liv. 34.32, Diodorus’ evidence is probably to be rejected: Ehrenberg 1935: col. 1471; Aymard 1938: 192 n. 36; Texier 1975: 28; Piper 1986: 96 (against, e. g., Jones 1968: 158; Forrest 1969: 148; Briscoe 1989: 122). Shimron 1972: 84 says the truth behind this “familiar libel” is “uncertain”; Hicks, Jr. 1980: 90; Cartledge in Cartledge and Spawforth 2002: 68; and Dmitriev 2011: 204 agree that the charge is plausible but must remain doubtful. I agree with Oliva 1971: 279 (non liquet). Liv. 34.31.5. Few will follow the view of Chrimes 1949: 26 n. 6 that the “most ancient treaty” refers to “an alliance concluded at the time of the [Roman] embassy sent to enquire into the laws and institutions of famous Greek states before the publication of the Twelve Tables (cf. Liv. 3.31 fin.)”. Liv. 34.32.16. Nabis: Liv. 32.31.5 (amicitia ac societas), cf. 7, 8, 10, 12, 15 (societas), 16, 19 (amicitia); Flamininus: Liv. 32.32.1, 14 (amicitia et societas), cf. 19 (societatis), 4, 14 (amicitia). See, e. g., Matthei 1907, and now Burton 2011: 79–84 (with others listed at 80 n. 10). As Larsen 1935: 210–12; Badian 1958a: 59; Walbank 1979: 516; Briscoe 1981: 98.

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the boy-king came to power. This date coincides, strikingly, with the beginning of Rome’s diplomatic engagement with the Greeks in the First Macedonian War. An alliance was sought and struck with the Aetolian League in 211. The terms of the alliance contained a clause allowing for its scope to expand: “if so disposed and willing, the Eleans and Lacedaemonians and Attalus [king of Pergamum] and Pleuratus [king of Thrace] and Scerdilaidas [king of the Illyrian Ardiaei], should have the same rights of friendship”.23 The latter formula – eodem iure amicitiae – seems to echo Flamininus’ description of Sparta’s rights in the parley of 195, eodem iure foederis. Although Messene is not explicitly named in the Aetolian treaty (but is by Flamininus in 195, as the comparanda to Spartan rights), the fact that Attalus of Pergamum is mentioned points towards a solution to the problem of when the relationship with Pelops was established. As I have shown elsewhere, Attalus became an amicus of Rome soon after the pact with Aetolia was struck, probably in 209.24 Could the Roman-Spartan alliance have been made around the same time? Confirmation is lacking, unfortunately, since Polybius’ account for the war is largely lost, and Livy’s account, which depends on Polybius, is highly abbreviated.25 On the other hand, the mention of the Lacedaemonians in the Aetolian treaty and the context of the First Macedonian War, when Rome was actively seeking allies in Greece, such as Attalus, lend plausibility to a date of around 209 for a Spartan-Roman pact. Moreover, the fact that Sparta appears, alongside Messene, Elis, Attalus, and others, among the Roman adscripti in the Peace of Phoenice in 205, ending the First Macedonian War, probably points to some prior cooperation between Rome and Sparta during the war.26 If Flamininus was right when he insisted in 195 that the Roman relationship with Sparta was established with Pelops rather than Nabis – an assertion Nabis does not question – then the relationship must have begun before Nabis was listed as an adscriptus on the Roman side in the peace of 205. If this is accepted, we can narrow down the date further, to the regency of Nabis’ predecessor, Machanidas, who was killed at the battle of Mantinaea in 207. The period between the upper terminus of 210 and the lower one of 207 BC is thus eminently suitable for the establishment of a Roman-Spartan relationship, without doing violence to 23 24 25 26

Liv. 26.24.8–9[?]: “additumque ut, si placeret vellentque, eodem iure amicitiae Elei, Lacedaemoniique et Attalus et Pleuratus et Scerdilaedus essent, Asiae Attalus, hi Thracum et Illyriorum reges.” Burton 2011: 84–87. See, e. g., Rich 1984 (though we need not agree with his conclusion that the chronology of the Livian notices is problematic and should thus be arbitrarily revised upward or downward, according to the requirements of his thesis). Liv. 29.12.14: “ab Romanis [foederi adscripti] Ilienses, Attalus rex, Pleuratus, Nabis Lacedaemoniorum tyrannus, Elei, Messenii, Athenienses.” The characterization of Nabis as tyrannus is obviously a gloss. We need not agree with Holleaux 1921: 264 that the entire passage from Nabis to Messenii is an annalistic fabrication. On the principle that absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, the fact that we do not hear of Roman-Spartan cooperation during the First Macedonian War does not mean they were not amici. After all, they were both fighting on the same side against Philip V during the war. Indeed, the Spartan regent Machanidas lost his life fighting Philip’s allies, the Achaean League, in 207 (Pol. 11.18). The relevant principle here is the enemy of my enemy (or enemy’s friend) is my friend. Cf. Chrimes 1949: 26.

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any of the available evidence. The relationship belongs in the same context as the amicitia with Attalus of Pergamum, that is, in the early years of the last decade of the third century. Unlike those informal relationships, however, both Nabis and Flamininus seem to agree that the Spartan connection was formalized by a foedus. Is this the case, however? As has been seen, Flamininus’ statement in 195, that Sparta and Messene entered upon Roman friendship by one and the same right of treaty, eodem iure foederis, closely resembles the formula used in the 211 treaty with the Aetolian League, eodem iure amicitiae. This may be an indication that Flamininus is referring to that treaty rather than to some purported exclusive treaty struck with Sparta soon after.27 The slight shift of wording from amicitia to foedus may be due to the fact that the treaty could not refer to itself as a diplomatic fact by definition in 211, before it was ratified. After ratification, of course, the text of the treaty could not be changed. By 195, however, the treaty had long been a diplomatic fact and so could be referred to as such. Be that as it may, by 195 several parties mentioned in the text of the 211 treaty had indeed acted on the clause about including others within the Roman-Aetolian alliance, but none of these had formal, exclusive treaties with Rome; they had instead become informal Roman amici.28 Thus, it is unlikely that Sparta was the lone exception to this. In the absence, then, of specific evidence for a Roman-Spartan foedus outside of Nabis’ assertion in 195, and given Flamininus’ allusion to the Aetolian treaty of 211, the most plausible synthesis of the evidence that remains is that Sparta became an informal Roman amicus sometime between 210 and 207 in accordance with the clause in the Aetolian treaty allowing for expansion of its signatories, and for the purpose of fighting the common enemy of Rome, Aetolia, and Sparta, – Philip V.29 Now that the nature of the relationship and a rough dating for its initiation have been established, attention can be turned back to the question why Flamininus went to war with Nabis over Argos in 195, despite having allowed him to retain possession of the city in 197, when the Spartan ruler defected to Rome’s side. As Nabis himself demanded of Flamininus at their parley in 195, what happened in the interim to alter the status quo so drastically?30 For realists and pragmatists, as was seen earlier, there is no real problem here: Rome was inherently aggressive and 27 28 29

30

Recognized long ago by Holleaux 1921: 261 and n. 2, and Ehrenberg 1935: col. 1474. The possibility is dismissed without argument by Badian 1958a: 58, in favour of an exclusive Roman-Spartan foedus. For Attalus, see above, 229; for Athens, see now Burton 2013; no positive evidence exists for the amicitia with Elis and Messene before the peace of 205, but there is no evidence for a formal foedus either (the arguments to the contrary of Larsen 1935: 208–210 are not convincing). Dmitriev 2011: 185–188 observes that when ius foederis appears elsewhere in Livy, it does not necessarily refer to a formal treaty, and that Flamininus’ meaning when he says Sparta entered Roman friendship by one and the same right of treaty as Messene is “they had the same relationship with Rome; Flamininus does not say that this relationship was established by one and the same treaty” (187). Dahlheim 1968: 221–24 a long time ago convincingly argued that Sparta had no formal treaty with Rome. Liv. 34.31.8, 10: “societas mihi vobiscum convenit et ut vobis mitterem ad bellum auxilia, non ut Argis praesidium deducerem pepigistis … in condicionibus societatis Argos mihi reliquistis.”

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greedy, and Flamininus engineered the war to ensure he would not be recalled from Greece, but would remain to reap more glory and profit. The latter argument, however, is blatantly contradicted by the evidence often adduced in its support: Flamininus feared replacement, and so, according to Livy, wanted to finish the war as soon as possible after it began.31 As for Roman aggressive intentions towards Greece, this seems inconsistent with the considerable evidence for Rome’s reluctance to remain involved in – much less to control – Greek affairs after 196. For one thing, it ignores the fact that the senators debated for a long time (as they usually did) whether they had sufficient cause to declare war on Nabis.32 For another, it makes the complete evacuation of Roman troops from Greece to Italy by the end of 194, despite the looming threat of Antiochus the Great across the Aegean, and the open hostility of Rome’s Aetolian allies, very difficult to explain indeed. Other explanations for Flamininus’ volte-face of 195 canvassed earlier are similarly problematic. The idea that Flamininus was looking for an excuse not to evacuate Greece in 195, so that Rome’s defence against the imminent threat of Antiochus III and the Aetolians could be prepared, is undermined not only by his determination to end the war with Nabis quickly, but also by his conviction, even before the Isthmian declaration, and against the advice of the decem legati, that the best way to ensure Greek loyalty to Rome was to evacuate Roman forces entirely from Greece as soon as possible.33 That the Romans wanted to remove Nabis because of an innate Roman (and Achaean) aversion to the kind of left-wing revolution Nabis had instituted at Sparta and Argos makes little sense either. After all, when Nabis tried to defend himself on this score at his interview with Flamininus in 195, the Roman commander dismissed it as trivial compared to the many crimes attributed to him and his family and supporters.34 Roman fear of Nabis’ ambitions and military capability at sea may have some truth to it, but ultimately fails to account for Flamininus’ desire to end the war quickly and leave Nabis in power at Sparta.35 31

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Liv. 34.33.9, 14: “ipsius imperatoris animus ad pacem inclinatior erat … Haec propalam dicebat: illa tacita suberat cura ne novus consul Graeciam provinciam sortiretur et incohata belli victoria successori tradenda esset.” As Gruen 1984: 454 n. 95 notes, after having earlier tried to persuade the Greek allies to make war on Nabis, “as soon as Nabis offered to evacuate Argos Flamininus began to incline to peace”. Texier 1975: 84 regards this as paradoxical, but there is no paradox if one abandons Texier’s view of Flamininus as a deceitful aggressor. Liv. 33.45.3: “cum diu disceptatum esset, utrum satis iam causae videretur, cur decerneretur bellum …” In the end, they decided they did not, and left it up to Flamininus to decide what should be done (see below, 232). This was the senate’s usual pattern: not to rush to war out of sheer aggressiveness but to search for a proper pretext to ensure a iustum bellum. The famous debate over whether to accept the Mamertine deditio in 264 is but one example (on which, see now Burton 2011: 128–133). What is especially noteworthy here – and exceptional, compared to Rome’s system competitors at the time – is Roman self-restraint and instinctive need to find a moral justification for war. Senatorial hesitation over the moral aspects of the case is also apparent in the debate on the Mamertime deditio (cf. Pol. 1.10.3–4, with Burton 2011: 131). Liv. 33.31.10; cf. Pol. 18.45.9–10. Liv. 34.32.9: “servorum ad libertatem vocatorum et egentibus hominibus agri divisi crimina tibi obici dicebas [at Liv. 34.31.16–19], non quidem nec ipsa mediocria; sed quid ista sunt prae iis, quae a te tuisque cotidie alia super alia facinora eduntur?” Against the Greeks’ wishes: Liv. 34.48.5–6.

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Moreover, Rome failed to respond when Nabis simply recovered his naval position (and his port of Gytheum) as soon as the Romans were off the scene.36 Finally, the senate, leaving it up to Flamininus whether to make war on Nabis or not, indicated that the situation in the Peloponnese was of no great moment or of the highest interest to the Republic, especially when compared to the looming threat of Antiochus and his guest Hannibal.37 Other explanations based on Realpolitik and self-interest seem more plausible. It seems reasonable to assume, for example, that Flamininus wanted to placate Rome’s new allies, the Achaeans, by restoring Argos to their control (just as he had restored Corinth to the League in 198 as the price of their friendship) – especially now that the security of Hellas could not be entrusted, once the Romans evacuated, to the increasingly disgruntled and unreliable Aetolians. Concern over Rome’s image as a liberator, and over Flamininus’ reputation as an honest broker of Roman policy in the East, no doubt also played a role in the decision to go to war with Nabis in 195. Flamininus openly admitted to this in his parley with Nabis,38 and insisted as early as his meeting with the decem legati before the Isthmian declaration that the only way to shut down Aetolian criticism of himself and establish Rome’s good faith (pisteuthēnai: Pol. 18.45.9; fidem facere: Liv. 33.31.9) among the Greeks was to free the cities recently garrisoned by Philip. Another possibility (oddly unnoticed by scholars) is that by going to war over Argive freedom in 195, Flamininus was trying to make a grand good-faith gesture that might, in the short term at least, deflect attention away from the status of the “Three Fetters”, the garrison towns Demetrias, Chalcis, and Corinth. The Aetolians had been complaining that the Romans had no intention of evacuating these places, which spurred Flamininus to request, without success, that the decem legati set them free.39 The freeing of Argos might serve to mute Aetolian complaints in the short term and signal Rome’s sincere intention to evacuate Greece completely. The reason these explanations seem more plausible than the more extreme Realpolitik explanations enumerated earlier, I would suggest, is that they tend to hew 36

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Liv. 35.22.2, 25.2, 26–30, 35; Plut. Philop. 14–15.2. Flamininus advised the Achaeans, who wanted to stop Gytheum from falling into Nabis’ hands, to wait for the Roman fleet to arrive. Philopoemen convinced the League council to begin the war immediately, but in the end, decided to wait for the Roman fleet, partly because this is what Flamininus desired (Liv. 35.25.5–11). Liv. 33.45.4–5: “non ita magni momenti ad summam rem publicam esset: magis id animadvertendum esse quid Hannibal et Carthaginienses, si cum Antiocho bellum motum foret, acturi esset.” This is enough to refute Livy’s later assertion (34.22.5) that Flamininus was armed with a senatorial decree authorizing a declaration of war: Aymard 1938: 198 n. 6; Rich 1976: 15 n. 10; Briscoe 1981: 85; Gruen 1984: 454; Ferrary 1988: 91 n. 152; Pfeilschifter 2005: 339–41, 45; Dmitriev 2011: 201–202. I disagree with Aymard 1938: 199–201 that senatorial concern over Antiochus and Hannibal was the only subject of debate in the senate on this occasion since, as has been seen, what Livy says was debated was whether the Romans had sufficient justification for making war on Nabis (Liv. 33.45.3, quoted above, n. 32). Liv. 34.32.5: “An … Argos et Lacedaemonem … sub pedibus tuis relinquemus quae titulum nobis liberatae Graeciae servientes deforment?” Aetolian complaints: Pol. 18.45.4–6; Liv. 33.31.4–5; Plut. Flam. 10.1–2; Flamininus and the ten: Pol. 18.45.7–12; Liv. 33.31.7–11; Plut. Flam. 10.1. The decem agreed to free only Corinth, retaining a garrison in its citadel and at Demetrias and Chalcis.

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closer to what the evidence actually says. This is especially true in terms of the ancient sources’ predominantly moral (as opposed to pragmatic) preoccupations. Now it is of course true that Flamininus’ concern over Roman good faith, fides, had a pragmatic end in view: to burnish Rome’s (and his own) reputation and counter Aetolian propaganda. As noted earlier, Flamininus was not ashamed to admit as much before Nabis. But even more significant, I would argue, is that Roman fides was of any concern at all. And this goes to the heart of the nature of the RomanSpartan relationship, amicitia, whose foundations were, precisely, moral, by virtue of amicitia’s binding link and principal foundation, fides.40 It is Nabis’ betrayal of fides amicitiae that Flamininus emphasizes before the Spartan ruler in 195: “How, then, has friendship been violated? Chiefly in these two areas, of course: if you treat my allies as enemies, and if you join my enemies”.41 He also orders Nabis to stop talking about good faith and the rights of alliance, like a demagogue, and speak like the tyrant and enemy of Rome he truly is.42 This is in response to Nabis’ charges that Flamininus used to call him king, but now calls him a tyrant, even though he is the same person with whom Rome had earlier made an alliance, and that it is the Romans, not himself, who, despite their reputation for holding treaties and allies sacred, are guilty of Carthaginian-style bad faith.43 What Nabis (seemingly) fails to have intuited here is that the Romans had become increasingly dismayed by the apparent decline in the character and conduct of the Spartan ruler, especially as concerned Argos and its citizens. It of course requires little demonstration that the narratives of Polybius and Livy represent this to be the case: Nabis took possession of Argos by force even after promising he would not; he immediately betrayed the man who handed it over to him – Philip V; he has tortured and despoiled the leading citizens of Argos, treating them like slaves; and

40 41

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Burton 2011: 22–23, 39–42, 115–16. Liv. 34.32.15: “quibus igitur rebus amicitia violator? Nempe his maxime duabus, si socios meos pro hostibus habeas, si cum hostibus te coniugas.” The former refers to Messene, a Roman amicus attacked by Nabis in 201 (cf. Pol. 16.13.3), the latter to Nabis’ pact with Philip in 197 (cf. Liv. 32.38.1–3). Flamininus fails to explain why these violations did not matter in 197, when Rome renewed amicitia with Nabis. But this is no reason to deny that Sparta, Elis, and Messene were in a state of amicitia with Rome before 197, as Holleaux 1921: 263–64 n. 1. Flamininus is merely demonstrating his usual penchant for stretching the truth to score diplomatic points (Badian 1970: 53). And, as Chrimes 1949: 30–31 points out, Flamininus was merely repeating the Achaean propaganda line in accusing Nabis of “attacking” Messene in 201; he was, most likely, defending the city against an attack by Philopoemen. See also Ehrenberg 1935: col. 1475. Liv. 34.32.20: “Proinde parce, sis, fidem ac societatis iactare et omissa populari oration tamquam tyrannus et hostis loquere.” Tyrant vs. king: “de nomine hoc [sc. tyranno] respondere possum me, qualiscumque sum, eundem esse qui fui cum tu ipse mecum, T. Quincti, societatem pepigisti. Tum me regem appellari a vobis memini: nunc tyrannum vocari video” (Liv. 34.31.12–13); Roman bad faith: “et hercucles, si tales essetis quales esse Carthaginienses fama est, apud quos nihil societatis fides sancti haberet, in me quoque vobis quid faceretis minus pensi esse non mirarer. Nunc cum vos intueor, Romanos esse video, qui rerum divinarum foedera, humanarum fidem socialem sanctissimam habeatis” (Liv. 32.31.3–4).

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his regime rests on a foundation of fear, torture, and terror.44 More important, however, is that this is precisely how Flamininus constructs the history of Argos under Nabis’ rule in the interview of 195. Even earlier, Flamininus described Argos to the decem legati as being in a state of servitude, and Nabis’ regime as a contagion of evil. Before Nabis himself, the Roman commander accused him of holding Argos through fraud, of being most savage and violent towards his own people, of every day piling crimes on top of crimes, of slaughter, and of being a brutal dictator.45 Now regardless of whether all of this is true or not, it was really all the justification Flamininus and Livy/Polybius needed – for himself and his/their audience(s) – for the Romans to have undertaken the war on Nabis. This has to do, fundamentally, with the dynamics of the amicitia relationship. As I have tried to show elsewhere,46 the international amicitia relationship was fundamentally dynamic and fluid, being adjusted and recalibrated by the partners according to (real or apparent) fluctuations in circumstances, relative status, behaviour, and morality. The ability by both partners to interpret the parameters of the relationship, and their relative status (moral and otherwise) within it, meant that the level and nature of exchanges, and the interpretation of the relationship’s obligations were always subject to dispute, debate, and occasionally, recalibration. Such recalibration is precisely what happened between Nabis and Flamininus between 197, when the Spartan ruler took over Argos with Rome’s blessing, and 195, when his possession of the city seemed no longer tolerable. At the interview of 195, what Flamininus was trying to communicate to Nabis, and what Nabis failed to understand (or, more likely, pretended not to understand) was that the RomanSpartan relationship had changed significantly, even though on the surface it remained the same; that is, it was still based on the friendship established during the regency of Pelops before the end of the First Macedonian War, and the renewal of that friendship with Nabis in 197. This is why Nabis is (or purports to be) confused by Flamininus’ calling him a tyrant now whereas he called him king before; after all, Nabis asserts, I remain the same person I was then. By 196, the relative status within the relationship had shifted considerably in Rome’s favour. This was in part due, of course, to the Romans’ smashing victory at Cynoscephalae in 197. Before that, earlier in 197, Rome was willing to embrace Nabis as a friend, ally, and king – a partner worthy of Rome, in other words – because of a perceived similarity of

44

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Nabis at first promised only to enter Argos if the people elected to invite him in, but after hearing that he had been harshly spoken of in the assembly, forced his way in anyway (Liv. 32.38.4– 5). This is why Attalus later tried to dissuade Flamininus from accepting Nabis’ friendship unless and until the Spartan ruler evacuated Argos, along with his garrison, so that a vote could be held, without coercion, on whether he had been invited or forced his way in (Liv. 32.40.1–3). Betrayal of Philip: Liv. 32.39.1–2; torture and spoliation of Argives, “in servile modum”: Liv. 32.38.7–8, 40.10–11 (= Pol. 18.17); “metu et acerbitate poenarum”: Liv. 34.27.2; “terrore”: Liv. 34.27.9. Liv. 34.22.12–13 (“servitus, contagio … mali”), 32.3 (“saevissimo et violentissimo in suos”), 4 (Nabis holds Argos “per fraudem”), 9 (“a te tuisque cotidie alia super alia facinora eduntur”), 10 (“vera dominationis impotentissimae criminae”), 11 (“cadem”). Burton 2011: 246–353.

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concerns, as well as a (pragmatic) complementarity of needs.47 With the defection of Sparta’s perennial rival the Achaean League from Philip to Rome in 198, Philip’s sole remaining ally in the Peloponnese, Nabis, was now surrounded and isolated by anti-Macedonian forces, and thus needed Roman protection and support. The Romans, for their part, welcomed the prospect of having one less enemy to deal with, but more importantly, could appease the Achaeans by effectively neutralizing Nabis’ ongoing attacks on them.48 After Cynoscephalae had been fought and won, Roman power and status in the region had increased dramatically, thus rendering moot the initial complementarity of needs, and hence, the similarity of power-political status within the Roman-Spartan relationship. More important than this, however, was the character issue, and the shift in the relative moral status of the two powers. This happened for two reasons, in Roman eyes: Nabis’ regime at Argos had quickly degenerated into a brutal dictatorship, and the moral stature of Rome had soared by virtue of the declaration of Greek freedom in 196. For the Romans, the relationship required recalibration in order to bring the relative moral standing of the partners back into line with the changed practical reality. The Romans no longer needed Nabis’ support, as they had in early 197, when their victory over Philip was hardly a foregone conclusion. Nabis’ continued interpretation of his relationship in pre-Cynoscephalae terms – as indicated by his arguments before Flamininus at Livy 32.31 – was no longer sustainable after the Roman victory. It was his prerogative to so interpret the relationship, of course, but the Romans thought it required correction. This is what Flamininus’ response to Nabis at the parley of 195 was designed to do. His contrast of Nabis’ duplicity, criminality, savagery, violence, murderousness, and tyranny with the Romans’ status as “liberators of all Greece”49 is simultaneously a description of the adjustment downward of Nabis’ moral standing within the relationship and the adjustment upward of Rome’s. It thus laid the foundation for his demand of a specific concrete manifestation of this shift – the liberation of Argos. The foregoing interpretation may be strengthened by a striking parallel case of friendship breakdown, that of the difficult Roman-Aetolian relationship between 206, when the League made a separate peace with Philip, thus forcing on Rome an unsatisfactory end to the First Macedonian War, and the mid-late 190s, when the League felt cheated by the Roman settlement of Greece following the Second Mac-

47 48

49

On this, see Burton 2011: 46–53. Something that Philip did not do: Liv. 32.21.11. The Achaeans were actually bitterly divided on whether to abandon their fruitful, three-decade old Achaean-Macedonian alliance and go over to Rome. That, plus the fact that the Achaean decision was taken in the shadow of a hostile Roman army (Liv. 32.21.7), probably made Achaean reliability in the short term a real concern for Flamininus. Nabis’ offer allowed Flamininus to demonstrate further his fides to the League (as had his handing over of Corinth to Achaea earlier), and his commitment to neutralizing the Spartan threat to Achaea – precisely as Philip had failed to do. On the Roman desire to concentrate Achaean attention on the upcoming final showdown with Philip, and the importance of neutralizing the Spartan threat for both Rome and Achaea, see Ehrenberg 1935: col. 1476, and Aymard 1938: 151–54. Liv. 34.32.4–5: “nobis … liberantibus omnem Graeciam …titulum nobis liberatae Graeciae.”

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edonian War.50 The Romans never forgave the Aetolian League, formal Roman allies since 211, for making a separate peace with Philip V in 206, forcing Rome to end the First Macedonian War in a very unsatisfactory way. So in around 202, when the Aetolians pleaded for Roman help against Philip, who was attacking Aetolian dependencies in Asia Minor and Thrace, they were sternly rebuffed by the senate. Despite this, when the Second Macedonian War broke out, the Romans solicited Aetolian help, asking them in early 199 to return to their original status as friends. The Aetolians initially refused, but were actively campaigning on Rome’s side by summer that year. After the war was over, the Romans excluded the Aetolians from their counsels, in part because even before the battle of Cynoscephalae was over, the Aetolians plundered Philip’s camp. They then went on to claim the lion’s share of the credit for the Cynoscephalae victory, and complained that the Romans had not punished Philip enough, accusing Flamininus of deceit and treachery and failing to reward them properly for their enormous services. This is not how friends are supposed to behave, and Flamininus told them so. In so doing he perhaps stretched the truth about the provisions of the terms of the treaty of 211.51 In any case, Flamininus argued, the Aetolian separate peace of 206 rendered the earlier treaty null and void. Throughout these interactions, Flamininus repeatedly tried to make the point that the Aetolians’ moral stature had sunk very low, given their bad faith, badmouthing of Flamininus himself, and glory-grubbing for the victory at Cynoscephalae. The Romans, on the other hand, had seized the moral high ground not just by their defeat of Philip but by their proclamation of Greek freedom. The Aetolian refusal to acknowledge this shift in relative status required overt adjustment by Rome, and concrete, public demonstrations of the Aetolians’ reduced status in Roman eyes. These included Flamininus’ refusal to consult the League leadership, criticism of Aetolian bad faith, and telling the League strategos, Phaeneas, to “shut up”. The adjustment downward culminated in the Roman refusal to hand over to the League the towns of Larisa Cremaste, Pharsalus, and Echinus, granting them only Phthiotic Thebes – a deliberate and very public insult, and a blow to Aetolian pride and prestige.52 The parallels with the Roman relationship with Nabis before and after Cynoscephalae are certainly striking. Nabis’ attack on Messene and alliance with 50 51

52

On what follows, see now Burton 2011: 269–78. Flamininus claimed that the Aetolians were not entitled to the towns that had surrendered to the Romans, but only to those the Aetolians had taken by storm (Pol. 18.38.3–9; Liv. 33.13.3–13). But an epigraphic copy indicates that the original treaty made no such distinction (SEG 13.382 = IG2 9.1.241 [ll. 15–23]). Aetolian embassy, 202: Liv. 31.29.4; App. Mac. 4.2 (Badian 1958b: 208–11 questioned the historicity of the embassy, but see now Gruen 1984: 396–97 n. 214, and Eckstein 2008: 211– 17); Aetolian refusal to help, 199: Liv. 31.29–32; Aetolian assistance, 199: Liv. 31.40.9–41.1; post-Cynoscephalae disputes: Pol. 18.34; Aetolians plunder Macedonian camp: Pol. 18.27.3–4, 34.1; Liv. 33.10.6; Aetolians criticize Flamininus for lenient treatment of Philip: Pol. 18.36.6– 7, 37.8–9; Liv. 33.11.7, 12.3–4, 10; App. Mac. 9.1–2; Flamininus’ response (“shut up”, etc.): Pol. 18.37.1–12; Liv. 33.12.5–13; Aetolian demands for Larisa Cremaste, Pharsalus, Echinus, and Phthiotic Thebes, Roman refusal to grant the former three: Pol. 18.38.3–4; Liv. 33.13.6–7.

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Philip before 197 are the functional equivalent of the Aetolians’ separate peace with Philip in 206. Flamininus’ renewal of his friendship with Sparta, previous violations notwithstanding, are paralleled by the Roman solicitation, previous violations and hostile diplomacy notwithstanding, of Aetolian help in 199. Nabis’ appalling treatment the Argives and Spartans, resulting in a decline in his moral status in the Roman-Spartan relationship, is comparable to the Aetolians’ boasting and denigration of the Romans – and of Flamininus personally. The attempt by Flamininus to strip Nabis of Argos and to recalibrate the relationship to reflect the new practical and moral reality – perhaps bending the truth a bit along the way – finds a match in the Romans freezing Aetolia out of the settlement negotiations with Philip, refusing to grant them three of the four towns they demanded, and justifying this by distorting the terms of the treaty of 211. While it is true that in making war on Nabis in 195 the Romans did not have “a legal leg to stand on”,53 it is not the case, as I have tried to demonstrate here, that “after [197] Nabis did not commit any acts that would justify Roman war against him”.54 In terms of the moral and power-political gulf that had opened up between Rome and Sparta as a result of the Roman victory over Philip V, the Romans had all the justification they needed to adjust downwards, by force if necessary, Nabis’ relative status within the Roman-Spartan amicitia. Realpolitik certainly played a role in the Roman decision; the Romans prioritised their own power and prestige, and Flamininus attended to his public image and personal influence. For our ancient sources, however, such concerns are secondary to the moral dimension at the heart of the Roman-Spartan dispute. Their focus is on the prerogatives and obligations of international friendship, and the moral behaviour of the antagonists. This phenomenon should no longer be ignored or downplayed if we are to fully explain Roman behaviour, which otherwise appears in this case at best inconsistent, and at worst hypocritical. After the Second Macedonian War, the Romans’ power and moral status within Greece soared, as most of their friends and former enemies recognized. For those few recalcitrants who continued to rate themselves as Rome’s status equals – and in some cases their moral superiors – the lesson about whose interpretation of the relationship now mattered most had to be delivered with force.

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Gruen 1984: 454. Dmitriev 2011: 203.

VON PERSONALER ANBINDUNG ZU TERRITORIALER ORGANISATION? DYNAMIKEN RÖMISCHER REICHSBILDUNG UND DIE PROVINZIALISIERUNG ZYPERNS (58 V. CHR.) Claudia Tiersch In seiner Verteidigungsrede für Sestius stilisierte Cicero das gewaltsame Treiben des Angeklagten als legitimen Befreiungskampf eines rechtschaffenen Optimaten gegen populare Politiker, die nichts weniger als die Vernichtung des Staatswesens im Sinn hatten. Als besonders flagranten Fall schilderte er das Horrorjahr 58 v. Chr., in der das Wirken verantwortungsloser Konsuln das ruchlose Treiben des Volkstribunen P. Clodius erst ermöglicht habe. Hierbei kam Cicero auch auf Turbulenzen im außenpolitischen Bereich zu sprechen. So monierte er: Mitto eam legem quae omnia iura religionum, auspiciorum, potestatum, omnis leges quae sunt de iure et de tempore legum rogandarum, una rogatione delevit; mitto omnem domesticam labem: etiam exteras nationes illius anni furore conquassatas videbamus. lege tribunicia Matris magnae Pessinuntius ille sacerdos expulsus et spoliatus sacerdotio est, fanumque sanctissimarum atque antiquissimarum religionum venditum pecunia grandi Brogitaro, impuro homini atque indigno illa religione, praesertim cum eam sibi ille non colendi, sed violandi causa adpetisset; appellati reges a populo qui id numquam ne a senatu quidem postulassent; reducti exsules Byzantium condemnati tum cum indemnati cives e civitate eiciebantur. Rex Ptolomaeus, qui, si nondum erat ipse a senatu socius appellatus, erat tamen frater eius regis qui, cum esset in eadem causa, iam erat a senatu honorem istum consecutus, erat eodem genere eisdemque maioribus, eadem vetustate societatis, denique erat rex, si nondum socius, at non hostis; pacatus, quietus, fretus imperio populi Romani regno paterno atque avito regali otio perfruebatur–: de hoc nihil cogitante, nihil suspicante, eisdem operis suffragium ferentibus, est rogatum ut sedens cum purpura et sceptro et illis insignibus regiis praeconi publico subiceretur, et imperante populo Romano, qui etiam bello victis regibus regna reddere consuevit, rex amicus nulla iniuria commemorata, nullis rebus repetitis, cum bonis omnibus publicaretur. Multa acerba, multa turpia, multa turbulenta habuit ille annus; tamen illi sceleri quod in me illorum immanitas edidit haud scio an recte hoc proximum esse dicamus… em cur ceteri reges stabilem esse suam fortunam arbitrentur, cum hoc illius funesti anni prodito exemplo videant per tribunum aliquem et sescentas operas se fortunis spoliari et regno omni posse nudari! „Ich übergehe das ganze innere Elend: wir mussten ja erleben, daß auch die auswärtigen Völker von der Raserei dieses Jahres erschüttert wurden… Der König Ptolemäus (von Zypern, C. T.) hatte zwar nicht selbst vom Senat den Titel eines Bundesgenossen erhalten; er war jedoch ein Bruder des Königs, dem der Senat unter denselben Voraussetzungen diese Ehre bereits zuerkannt hatte; er entstammte demselben Hause und hatte dieselben Vorfahren, er unterhielt seit ebensolanger Zeit freundschaftliche Beziehungen zu uns; schließlich war er König, und wenn noch nicht Bundesgenosse, so jedenfalls kein Feind; ruhig und unangefochten erfreute er sich im Vertrauen auf die Vorherrschaft des römischen Volkes seines väterlichen Reiches und der friedlichen Königsherrschaft, die ihm die Vorfahren hinterlassen hatten. Über diesen Mann, der nichts ahnte und an nichts Arges dachte, wurde mit den Stimmen der üblichen Handlanger

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Claudia Tiersch durch Gesetz verhängt, daß er – so wie er auf seinem Throne saß: im Purpur und mit Szepter und mit den übrigen Abzeichen seines Königtums – von Amts wegen unter den Hammer kommen und daß auf Befehl eben des römischen Volkes, das sogar den im Krieg besiegten Königen ihr Reich zurückzugeben pflegte, das Reich eines befreundeten Königs mitsamt allem Vermögen eingezogen werden soll – eines Königs, dem man nichts vorzuwerfen hatte und gegen den keine Forderung bestand. Viel Bitteres, viel Schändliches, viel Heilloses fand in diesem Jahre statt; doch sicherlich können wir mit Recht behaupten, daß nach dem Verbrechen, das sie in ihrer Unmenschlichkeit gegen mich ins Werk setzten, dieses Stück das Allerschlimmste ist…1 Diese Tat, so der sichtlich erzürnte Redner, spräche allen bisherigen Fällen Hohn, in denen die Römer sogar Könige, die ihnen gegenüber gefrevelt hätten, gnädig wieder in ihre bisherige Stellung eingesetzt hätten, wenn sie sich ihres künftigen Wohlverhaltens sicher sein konnten. Es sei eine flagrante Verletzung der geheiligten altrömischen Tugenden von fides und amicitia, welches für die Zukunft Schlimmes befürchten ließe: Wie sollen sich da die anderen Könige in ihrer Stellung sicher glauben, wenn sie aus dem Beispiel, das dieses verhängnisvolle Jahr gegeben hat, ersehen, daß irgendein Tribun und ein Haufen Handlanger ihnen ihr Vermögen rauben und das ganze Reich entziehen kann?“2

Mit diesem Verdikt spielt Cicero auf ein Gesetz an, durch welches sein Intimfeind Clodius im Jahr zuvor Zypern der direkten Herrschaft des römischen Volkes unterstellt hatte, um dadurch das ebenfalls von ihm erlassene Frumentargesetz zu finanzieren.3 Dieses Gesetz hatte nicht nur 250 Jahre ptolemäischer Herrschaft beendet, der hiervon betroffene König Ptolemaios hatte auch das römische Angebot, seine Existenz als Priester des Aphroditetempels von Paphos weiterzuführen, ausgeschlagen und stattdessen seinem Leben durch Gift ein Ende gesetzt. Sein Vermögen war zugunsten der römischen Staatskasse veräußert worden.4 Die Botschaft dieser Rede, in der es Cicero auch darum geht, die Optimaten seiner Zeit lichtvoll vom angeblich verheerenden Treiben der Populare abzugrenzen, ist überdeutlich: Männer, die im Bereich der Innenpolitik durch zahlreiche neue Gesetze das Oberste zu unterst gekehrt und die etablierten instituta populi Romani über Bord geworfen hatten, schreckten auch im Bereich der Außenpolitik nicht vor einem Bruch geheiligter Grundsätze zurück, um damit eigene Interessen zu saturieren.5 Nur der standhafte Kampf aller Gutgesinnten (boni) gegen dieses Wüten, so die Botschaft Ciceros, könne die Ordnung im Inneren und Äußeren wiederherstellen.6 Genau hier möchte die vorliegende Untersuchung ansetzen. War der geschilderte Fall der Provinzialisierung eines sich im Frieden mit Rom befindenden Klien1 2 3

4 5 6

Cic. Sest. 56–58 Übersetzung M. Fuhrmann. Cic. Sest. 59. Liv. per. 104 spricht von zwei Einzelgesetzen: „Lege lata de redigenda in provinciae formam Cypro et publicanda pecunia regia, M. Catoni administratio eius rei mandata est“ (cf. Cass.Dio 38.30.5); Cic. Sest. 62: „regno enim lam publicato, de ipso Catone erat nominatim rogatum“; dom. 20: „cum lege nefaria Ptolemaeum… publicasses…, [Clodi,l bello gerendo M. Catonem praefecisti.“ vgl. auch Sest. 63; Schol. Bob. in Cic. Sest. 60–61 (Stangl 133). Auch Appian spricht trotz unpräziser Details von zwei Gesetzen (b. c. 2.23) vgl. hierzu Oost 1955; Badian 1965. Plut. Cat.min. 35 f.; Vell.Pat. 2.45.5; Cass.Dio 39.22.2; Oost 1955: 101. Vgl. Cic. Sest. 53–60. Vgl. hierzu Tiersch 2002.

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telkönigreichs tatsächlich derart neu und ungewöhnlich, ja verheerend für das Image Roms beim Umgang mit seinen auswärtigen Freunden? War dieser Vorgang Ausdruck der Erosion der res publica bzw. des pflichtvergessenen, räuberischen Vorgehens von depravierten Magistraten, die geheiligtes Recht ebenso mit Füßen traten wie den mos maiorum? Welche Rückschlüsse ermöglicht der Fall Zypern im Hinblick auf die Bedeutung äußerer Freunde und Klienten für Rom in der späten Republik? Sind hier Unterschiede zwischen Optimaten und Popularen auszumachen, so wie von Cicero behauptet? Kam es innerhalb der Spätzeit der Römischen Republik im Feld der Beziehungen zu auswärtigen Völkern zu politischem Handeln, welches gegenüber früheren Zeiten veränderten, d. h. verschlechterten Paradigmen folgte? Oder ist, wie jüngst Paul Marius Martin in seinem Artikel „L’ethique de la conquête“ vermutet hat,7 vielleicht eher sogar das Gegenteil der Fall? Martin postulierte, dass auch in der späten römischen Republik die Neigungen der Optimaten primär aristokratisch orientiert blieben, d. h. bestenfalls an den Interessen auswärtiger Könige ausgerichtet waren, während populare Politiker nunmehr verstärkt die Bedürfnisse der eroberten Völker in den Blick genommen hätten. War die Vorgehensweise des Clodius möglicherweise also, ganz im Gegensatz zu den Insinuationen Ciceros, von Intentionen getragen, die sowohl den Bewohnern Zyperns und Roms dienten und nur zum Nachteil für den König von Zypern waren? Doch die Frage ist noch weiterzutreiben. Bietet der Fall Zyperns eventuell Hinweise darauf, dass sich innerhalb der Krise der römischen Republik der römische Umgang mit abhängigen Territorien änderte, indem man nun auch stärker Verwaltungsinteressen von abhängigen Bevölkerungen als legitim anerkannte? Führte dies möglicherweise zu einer geographischen Ausweitung des römischen Klientelsystems, das nun auch weiter entfernt lebende Städte, Stämme und Völker zu Subjekten eines geplanten römischen Verwaltungshandelns machte? Ist demzufolge, um in den von Ernst Badian vorgezeichneten Kategorien zu bleiben, deren Gültigkeit zu prüfen eines der Leitmotive dieser Tagung war, von einem Bedeutungsaufschwung auswärtiger Klientelen für die innerrömische Politik in dieser Phase zu sprechen? Vollzog sich der Prozess der römischen Reichsbildung innerhalb der Republik auch durch Veränderungen von Integrationssystemen? Im folgenden soll anhand des römischen Umgangs mit König Ptolemaios von Zypern nach der Geltung auswärtiger Freunde in der Spätphase der Römischen Republik gefragt werden, um daran Veränderungen gegenüber früheren Zeiten präziser einschätzen zu können. Hierfür werden zuerst die Interessen Roms hinsichtlich der Provinzialisierung von Klientelkönigreichen in der mittleren Republik analysiert, anschließend gewandelte Interessenlagen in der späten Republik bestimmt, um drittens die Bedeutung des zyprischen Falles präziser zu bewerten.

7

Martin 2001a; vgl. auch Martin 2001b.

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KLIENTELKÖNIGE UND PROVINZIALISIERUNG IN DER ZEIT DER MITTLEREN RÖMISCHEN REPUBLIK Dass Rom in engere Beziehungen zu auswärtigen Königen trat, stellt ein Phänomen dar, welches sich erst in der mittleren Phase der römischen Außenpolitik ab dem 3. Jh. v. Chr. intensiver nachweisen lässt. Die Ursachen dieser Entwicklungen sind in der Überschreitung des italischen Expansionsraumes zu sehen, welches Rom in engeren Kontakt zu zahlreichen Königen des östlichen und südlichen Mittelmeerraumes brachte. Die Stadt trat hiermit in eine neuartige Phase zwischenstaatlicher Beziehungen ein, die in zunehmend geringerem Maße durch foedera gekennzeichnet waren.8 An deren Stelle traten informellere Beziehungen, sei es die Zuschreibung des Status der ‚civitas libera‘ an Gemeinden oder eben der amicitia zu Königen oder Stammesfürsten. Die Ursachen dieser Veränderungen sind vielfältig. Sie mögen zum einen im geringen römischen Interesse an der intensiven Einbindung des Wehrpotentials der betreffenden Völker, Stämme und Gemeinden gelegen haben bzw. an der nicht immer eindeutigen Natur des Zustandekommens dieser Beziehungen.9 Plausibel erscheint zudem die These, dass die Überschreitung der kulturräumlichen Grenzen Italiens für Rom auch einen mentalen Bruch mit vertrauten Kategorien bedeutete. Da man für die herrschaftstechnische Bewältigung der neu erschlossenen Räume oftmals weder eine politische Konzeption mitbrachte noch über die Möglichkeiten zu deren Umsetzung verfügt hätte, bot die wenig feste Verpflichtungen nach sich ziehende Natur der amicitia die optimale Form des flexiblen Offenhaltens verschiedener Außenbeziehungen, ohne jedoch auf jeglichen Einfluß verzichten zu müssen.10 Badians Annahme, dass die Natur der römischen Außenbeziehungen keineswegs auf rechtliche Kategorien zu reduzieren sei, behält unter diesen Umständen seine klare Berechtigung.11 Motive für die Ausbildung solcher informeller Netzwerke haben Forschungen zur Frühen Neuzeit erhellt, die unter Stichworten wie ‚akteurszentrierter Perspektive‘ oder Verflechtungsanalyse die Bedeutung derartiger sozial konstituierter Mechanismen für die Analyse von frühneuzeitlichen und auch modernen Außenbeziehungen in den letzten Jahren wiederentdeckt haben.12 Die dabei skizzierten Begründungslogiken für die Relevanz dieser personalen Beziehungen sind einleuchtend. Geographische und damit zeitliche Distanz erschwerten die Kommunikation, und über größere Distanzen nahmen die Machtmittel und die Durchsetzungsfähigkeit der Staatszentren tendenziell ab. Der Einsatz von Patronage bzw. Freundschaften schuf Kommunikationskanäle und ermöglichte es, auch über 8

9 10 11 12

In diesen Kontext gehört, dass die Städte Siziliens nach deren Eroberung erstmals anders behandelt wurden als die Gemeinschaften Italiens. Sie wurden als civitates liberae anerkannt, d. h. mussten keinen festgesetzten Mannschaftsbeitrag zum römischen Heer leisten; vgl. Badian 1958a: 37. Badian 1958a: 41. Vgl zu den Etappen der intellektuellen Wahrnehmung Richardson 2008: v. a. 10–62. Badian 1958a: 37. Osterhammel 2001; v. Thiessen – Windler 2010.

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größere räumliche Distanzen hinweg in Beziehungen zu lokalen Eliten zu treten und deren Kooperationsbereitschaft in nicht unerheblichem Ausmaß zu gewinnen und sicherzustellen.13 In seiner Monographie Friendship and Empire hat jüngst Paul Burton gezeigt, dass derartige Mechanismen auch für die Außenbeziehungen Roms intensiver zu berücksichtigen sind. Er verwies insbesondere darauf, dass der Eintritt Roms in eine veränderte Phase internationaler Beziehungen die Stadt in Kontakt mit traditionsreichen ausdifferenzierten Staatensystemen brachte. Dies machte eine Einordnung der bisherigen italischen Mittelmacht in die international üblichen diplomatischen Gepflogenheiten nötig, welche die spätere Großmacht im 3. Jh. v. Chr. in der ersten Phase ihrer überseeischen Expansion eben noch keineswegs dominierte. Hier verstellt eine durch die spätere Weltgeltungsposition Roms geprägte Perspektive den Blick auf die allmähliche Behauptung Roms in der mittleren Republik. Die Orientierung an Kategorien, Diskursen und auch Verpflichtungen der amicitia, welche die Ehre des jeweils anderen respektierten, gab Rom erst die nötige Flexibilität zu situativem Reagieren, eben weil sie beiden Parteien eine Fülle an Möglichkeiten bot, die jeweiligen bilateralen Beziehungen zu gestalten und zu interpretieren.14 Dennoch hat sich über die Natur der Beziehungen Roms zu seinen auswärtigen Freunden in den vergangenen Jahren eine intensive Debatte entwickelt. Widerspruch richtete sich vor allem gegen Badians Netzwerkanalysen, mit denen er nahelegt hatte, dass die Römer zwar den Aufbau ihrer Hegemonialstellung jenen personalisierten zwischenstaatlichen Freundschaften zu verdanken hatten, sie von diesen jedoch nicht selbst in die Verpflichtung genommen wurden. Gegen diese Annahmen wurde eingewandt, dass die Freunde Roms nicht nur Empfänger von Leistungen waren, sondern diese durchaus auch über Handlungsspielräume verfügten.15 Normative Kategorisierungen als Klientelkönige oder Vasallenstaaten laden demzufolge die Stellung dieser auswärtigen Herrscher in vereinfachender Weise negativ auf.16 Insbesondere wegen der feinen Nuancen diplomatischer Kontakte und der im Gegensatz zu klarer überschaubaren innerrömischen Sozialbeziehungen zuweilen weniger eindeutigen internationalen Kontakte sei der Begriff der amicitia deutlich angemessener. Dieser Einwand findet in der Tat durch vielfache Zeugnisse der Quellen Bestätigung, die z. B. David Braund zusammengestellt hat. So spricht gegen einen unmittelbaren Vasallenstatus bereits die Tatsache, dass befreundete Könige Rom zwar immer wieder punktuell mit Geld, Truppen oder Getreidespenden unterstützten, dass sich hieraus jedoch keine dauerhaften Verpflichtungen auf Tributbasis ergaben,

13 14 15 16

H. v. Thiessen – Windler 2005: 9; wie sehr z. B. römische Statthalter für die Informationsgewinnung auf befreundete Klientelkönige zurückgriffen zeigt am Beispiel Ciceros anschaulich Schulz 1997: 137–141. In diesem Sinne Burton 2011: v. a. 76–245. Burton 2003; mehrere Beispiele bietet der Sammelband von Coşkun 2005c. Zur Terminologie vgl. Coşkun 2005c; Dahlheim 1968: 2 f.; Coşkun 2005a: 2 Anm.4; Ders. 2008: 14 f. In diesem Sinne plädiert jetzt auch Burton 2003 für eine Kategorisierung dieser Beziehungen unter dem Begriff der amicitia.

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sondern der Charakter eines Leistungsaustausches beibehalten wurde.17 Rom versah seinerseits die Könige mit ehrenvollen Anerkennungen; die Ankunft von Königen wie Eumenes von Pergamon oder Prusias von Bithynien in Rom löste Rivalitäten innerhalb der Nobilität um die Gunst dieser Könige aus.18 So erfolgte eine Bestätigung als rex sociusque amicus mit ausdrücklicher Billigung des Senats.19 Untersetzt wurde dies zuweilen durch ehrenvolle Geschenke, z. B. eine sella curulis oder eine toga praetexta, im Falle Massinissas sogar durch eine Goldkrone.20 Zudem sah sich der römische Senat in wachsendem Maße mit Gesandtschaften konfrontiert, die ihn als Schiedsrichter in lokalen Konflikten bzw. Sukzessionsstreitigkeiten anriefen, ihn hiermit also durchaus in die Pflicht nahmen. Insbesondere die Schlacht von Pydna 168 v. Chr. löste eine derartige Gesandtschaftsflut nach Rom aus, welche Glückwünsche mit weiterführenden Bitten verbanden, daß der römische Senat schließlich sogar ein Edikt erließ, welches Königen den Zutritt künftig verhindern sollte. Dieses wurde natürlich nach Kräften umgangen.21 Königliche Freunde der Römer konnten ihrerseits durch ihre Stellung einen begünstigten Zugang zum Zentrum politischer Entscheidungsfindungen erhoffen. Die zahlreichen überlieferten Reisen von Königen nach Rom dienten genau dieser Beziehungspflege, wobei die Monarchen dabei sogar das Risiko eingingen, daß sie ihre heimische Position durch temporäre Abwesenheit schwächten.22 Doch bereits der Umstand enger Kontakte zu Rom stärkte die vielfach durch interne Zwistigkeiten bedrohte Position mancher Herrscher, mindestens dann, wenn dieser im Gefah17 18 19

20 21

22

Vgl. z. B. zu den Fällen von Hieron II. von Syrakus und Teuta Pol. 2.12.3; Walbank 1957: 69; Braund 1984: 63–66. Moniert wird dies von Cato d. Ä.; Plut. Cat.mai. 8; Braund 1989: 148. Basis dafür war in den meisten Fällen entweder ein entsprechender Antrag des Monarchen (z. B. bei Perseus: Liv. 40.58.8) oder die entsprechende Ratifizierung einer vorausgehenden magistratischen Initiative durch den Senat, z. B. die Privilegierung Massinissas durch Scipio Africanus (Liv. 30.15.11; 17.10.30). Verweigerte der Senat die Bestätigung, blieb die magistratische Initiative wirkungslos, z. B. bei Demetrius I. Soter (durch Ti. Gracchus; Pol. 31.33.3) bzw. Antiochus XIII von Syrien (durch Lucullus; Just. Epit. 40.2.2 f.). Die einzige bekannte Ausnahme einer Anerkennung durch Volksbeschluß ist die des Brogitarus durch ein Plebszit des Clodius; Cic. har.resp. 29; Sest. 56. Die ausführliche Beschreibung einer solchen Anerkennungsprozedur bietet für Herodes d. Gr.: Jos. AJ 24.379–389. Die Terminologie für die Anerkennung bleibt jedoch oft unscharf; vgl. Braund 1984: 30 f.; Dahlheim 1968: 163–170. Diese Zeichen evozieren Analogien zu römischen Magistraten; Liv. 27.4; 31.11.11. Massinissa ist jedoch der einzige historische bezeugte König, der eine derartige Goldkrone erhielt; Liv. 30.15; Braund, 1984: 27. Pol. 30.19; Liv. 45.14.4; per. 46. Die ambivalente Einstellung des römischen Senats zwischen Faszination und Abwehr gegenüber diesen auswärtigen Königen illustriert z. B. deren Diffamierung durch Cato d. Ä. als ‚Fleischfresser‘; Plut. Cat.mai. 8.7 f. Braund 1984: 55 f. Später wurden Zugangsmöglichkeiten derartiger Gesandtschaften sogar per Gesetz geregelt; vgl. Gruen 1974: 251–253. So löste der Besuch von Ptolemaios VIII. Euergetes II. Physkon 162 v. Chr. eine Revolte in der Kyrenaika aus; SEG XI 11; Braund 1984: 129 f., doch ebenso risikoreich war die Entsendung von Verwandten nach Rom, denn auch diese konnten in Rom intrigieren: Liv. 44.14.4; Magie 1950: 317 f.; 323. Eumenes II. von Pergamon sowie Massinissa wurde der Zutritt zum Senat verwehrt, im letzteren Falle mit dem expliziten Hinweis, es läge nicht in seinem Interesse, sein Volk allein zu lassen; Pol. 30.19; Liv. per. 46; Braund 1984: 56 f.

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renfall durch unmittelbaren politischen oder militärischen Schutz verstärkt wurde.23 Gerade weil auch die Römer entsprechende Erwartungen z. T. durchaus erfüllten, genoß die amicitia populi Romani einige Wertschätzung24 und zog nicht selten Vorteile für beide Seiten nach sich. Auch Fälle der Selbstromanisierung von mit Rom befreundeten Königen können in diesen Kontext eingeordnet werden, die keineswegs mit Romanisierungsprozessen der Bevölkerung in ihren jeweiligen Territorien einhergehen mussten.25 Offenbar war die Betonung der engen Beziehungen zu Rom für einige Könige als Legitimationsbasis derart wichtig, dass sie dafür Prozesse der kulturellen Distanzierung gegenüber der eigenen Bevölkerung in Kauf nahmen.26 Trotz des hierarchischen Beziehungsgefälles konnten alle Beteiligten spezifische Interessen in diesen Freundschaften zum Austrag bringen, wenn auch in unterschiedlichem Ausmaß.27 Dennoch behält die These Badians über die asymmetrische Natur des Systems befreundeter Könige ihre Geltung.28 Er verwies darauf, dass gerade die strukturelle Undefiniertheit dieses Systems personalisierter Beziehungen Rom die Möglichkeit geboten habe, mit indirekten Mitteln seine Interessen durchzusetzen, ohne sich selbst allzu starken rechtlich definierten Verpflichtungen auszusetzen, ja dass dieses System Interessen von Verbündeten an vertraglicher Absicherung sogar gezielt abwehrte.29 Tatsächlich belegen einige Beispiele bereits aus der Frühphase dieses Beziehungsnetzes Tendenzen der Asymmetrie: Befreundete Könige besaßen durchaus Handlungsspielräume, doch nur insoweit, als sie entweder mit den Interessen Roms konvergierten oder Rom keine eigenen Interessen innerhalb der betreffenden Region definiert hatte. Änderte sich dies, vermochte Rom unverzüglich einzugreifen, ohne durch normative oder rechtliche Hindernisse gebunden zu sein. Zudem existierten, auch wenn Cicero in seiner Sestiusrede die Traditionen aristokratischer Verbundenheit beschwor, klare Erwartungen Roms hinsichtlich des kooperativen Verhaltens der betreffenden Könige. Diese dienten nicht nur als Informationskanäle für lokale Gemengelagen, sie fungierten, wie der Fall Massinissas zeigt, oft auch als Sachwalter römischer Interessen. Bei Verdacht auf ein Handeln entgegen römischen Interessen wurden Grenzen aufgezeigt, wie z. B. Eumenes II. von Pergamon erfahren musste, der lange Zeit römisches Vertrauen genossen hatte, 23 24 25 26 27

28 29

Dies betont zu Recht Coşkun 2005a: 11 f. vgl. Braund 1984: 186. Braund 1984; Coşkun 2005a: 16. Beispiele bieten Primo 2010 bzw. Kropp 2010. Vgl hierzu die äußerst instruktive Analyse von Schörner 2011: v. a. 126–130 bzw. 129 zur Münzprägung als Repräsentationsmedium einiger Klientelkönige; vgl. hierzu auch Burnett 2005. Die komplexen Mechanismen derartiger Beziehungen illustriert für den Bereich des British Empire wunderbar Newbury 2003. Insbesondere vermag er zu zeigen, welche Motive die Beteiligten auf beiden Seiten trieben, an einem derart ungleich strukturierten Beziehungsnetz festzuhalten: der europäische Wunsch, Einfluss mit begrenzter Personalstärke auszuüben, aber auch die dynastischen und ökonomischen Vorteile lokaler Herrscher, sich der europäischen Herrschaft in gewissem Maße einzufügen. In diesem Sinne auch Rich 1989. Liv. 34.57.4–59; Vgl. Badian 1958a: 76 f. bzw. 85 zu entsprechenden Forderungen des achaischen Bundes.

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wegen Verdachtsmomenten über sein Verhältnis zu Perseus von Makedonien von den Römern jedoch fallengelassen wurde.30 Auch wenn sich Rom vielfach nicht in administrative Alltagsgeschäfte einmischte, belegen Quellen, dass für bestimmte lokale Aktionen ein Abgleich mit römischen Interessen erwartet wurde. Bereits 179 v. Chr. hatte Kallikrates, einer der Führer des Achaischen Bundes, seine Landsleute gewarnt, dass römische Interessen für die Römer mehr zählten als Bündnisse oder Verträge.31 Für einen Einsatz, der lediglich diplomatische Kontakte, Anerkennungen, Ehrengaben und ggf. militärische Unterstützungen bedingte, gewann die Republik also unschätzbare Vorteile. Insofern erwies sich die amicitia in der Tat aus römischer Sicht als ein elastisches Instrument, mit dessen Hilfe sich entfernter lebende Völker bei begrenztem Engagement kontrollieren ließen. Hinzu kommt ein Sachverhalt, den Ernst Badian so deutlich herausgestellt hat, wie wenige andere Forscher nach ihm, die sich dem Phänomen der Klientelkönige eher unter typologischen bzw. systematischen Aspekten gewidmet haben. Badian verwies zu Recht auf die Dynamik der außenpolitischen amicitia-Beziehungen Roms. Mochten die Könige anfangs sogar die formlose Gestalt ihrer Beziehungen zu Rom als vorteilhaft empfinden, weil diese positive Beziehungen auf vermeintlich freundschaftlicher Augenhöhe ohne konkrete Verpflichtungen suggerierte, und ohne den inferioren Status eines der Beteiligten in Vertragsform zu gießen, bot genau dies letzten Endes der res publica erhebliche Chancen zur schrittweisen Ausweitung ihrer Interessensphäre. Wie essentiell Rom auch in die Existenz verbündeter Könige eingriff, zeigen Interventionen in die innere Machtgeometrie der Makedonen in den achtziger Jahren des 2. Jh. v. Chr., die zwanzig Jahre später ihre Parallele im analogen Vorgehen gegen die Attaliden fanden. In beiden Fällen versuchte Rom, anstelle des jeweils regierenden Königs einen Konkurrenten zu installieren, der römischen Wünschen besser entsprach. Insbesondere die Schlacht von Pydna 168 v. Chr. erwies sich dann als weitere Etappe auf dem Weg zu einer direkteren Machtdurchsetzung Roms.32 In diesen Zeitraum sind dann auch Berichte zu datieren, in denen Herrscher ihre Söhne zur Erziehung nach Rom sandten und sie damit sowohl zum Unterpfand guter Beziehungen machten als auch zum Symbol ihrer Einbindung in römische Normen.33 In dem Maße, in dem sich die Interessensphären Roms als Folge des militärisch konnotierten Leistungsideals der Nobilität, einer Ideologie der permanenten Verteidigungsnotwendigkeit und aufgrund der Einbeziehung in immer entferntere lokale Interessen erweiterten, sorgte dies für eine zunehmende Aushöhlung der eigenständigen Macht ‚befreundeter‘ Könige. Symbolhafter Ausdruck dafür war z. B. der Auftritt des Königs Prusias von Bithynien mit einer Freigelassenenkappe vor römi-

30 31 32 33

Pol. 29.5 f.; 30.1; 6; Badian 1958a: 102 verweist in seiner Diskussion der Quellenlage darauf, dass diese Verdachtsmomente keineswegs unbegründet gewesen sein müssen, sondern Eumenes durchaus gute Gründe für eine engere Kontaktaufnahme zu Perseus gehabt haben könnte. Pol. 24.8.6; 17.2; 33.16.7. In diesem Sinne bereits Pol. 30.6.3 f.; Liv. per. 42.47.9. Mehrere Beispiele gibt Braund 1984: 9–22.

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schen Senatsgesandten34 sowie testamentarische Übereignungen von Herrschaftsbereichen seitens ihrer Machtträger an die römische Republik.35 Ciceros Behauptung, dass Rom stets Rechte und Würde befreundeter Könige respektiert habe, wird von der Faktenlage also nur in minderem Maße gedeckt. Anders verhält sich dies mit dem zweiten Teil seines Vorwurfs an Clodius, dass es nie römische Praxis gewesen sei, die Gebiete befreundeter Könige in Provinzen umzuwandeln. In der Tat ging deren Verlust an eigenständiger Macht keineswegs mit einer Zunahme von Provinzialisierungen einher. Bis zum Ende des 2. Jh. v. Chr. wurden lediglich sieben Provinzen eingerichtet.36 Dass dahinter allerdings nicht der Respekt vor royaler Amtsausübung stand, sondern der weitgehende Verzicht der römischen Republik auf die politische Organisation eroberter Gebiete vielmehr von Interessen diktiert wurde, welche einer völlig anderen Eigenlogik folgten, hat bereits Werner Dahlheim prägnant nachgezeichnet. So wies er nach, dass die Etablierung dieser Provinzen vor allem von einem kontinuierlichen Grundverständnis bestimmt wurde: Wenn Rom sich in einem eroberten Gebiet dauerhaft etablierte, tat es dies nur, sofern es durch drückende dauerhafte Gefahrensituationen hierzu gezwungen wurde: Eine provincia bedeutete lediglich die auf Dauer gestellte Präsenz römischer Legionen unter eigenständigem Kommando.37 Zwar führte diese Gemengelage in der Folge dazu, dass auch lokale Rechtsstreitigkeiten an den jeweiligen Kommandeur herangetragen wurden und sich bestimmte Formen des Umgangs damit entwickelten, doch ist deren Umfang nicht zu überschätzen, und dieses politische Teilfeld gehörte auf jeden Fall nicht zu den Gründen für die Einrichtung einer Provinz. Neuere Untersuchungen zur römischen Provinzorganisation in der mittleren Republik haben immer wieder deren weitgehend empirischen Charakter betont.38 Nathalie Barrandon hat in ihrer Untersuchung über Regeln und Umgangspraktiken mit der Korrespondenz von Statthaltern nach Rom zudem deutlich gemacht, wie oft der Senat Bitten seiner Statthalter um Entscheidungen oder Problemlösungen einfach ignorierte oder verschleppte, da es kein institutionalisiertes Verfahren hierfür gab.39 34

35 36 37 38

39

Pol. 30.18.1; vgl. einen ähnlichen Auftritt von Masgaba, dem Sohn Massinissas vor dem römischen Senat: Liv. 45.13.12; Bleicken 1964: 182 warnt vor einer Überbewertung des Klientelbegriffs, Quellenstellen wie diese deuten jedoch darauf hin, daß sowohl Badian als auch Errington, der die Meinung vertrat, dass die außenpolitischen Verhältnisse Roms nicht vom ‚Völkerrecht‘ sondern von den inneren Verhältnissen Roms zu erklären seien, grundsätzlich recht haben; Errington 1990. Braund 1983. Dies waren Sardinien und Korsika, Hispania Citerior und Ulterior sowie Macedonia, Africa, Gallia Cisalpina und Asia. Dahlheim 1977: 74 f. Vgl. zur mangelnden geographischen Aufladung des Begriffs der provincia innerhalb der Republik, welcher ausschließlich personell als Verantwortlichkeit eines Imperiums-Trägers verstanden wurde auch Richardson 2008: 37. So z. B. Hurlet 2010: 71; erste gesetzliche Regelungen zur Provinzialverwaltung waren neben der Einrichtung der Repetundengerichtshöfe 149 v. Chr. die lex Porcia vom Ende des 2. Jh. v. Chr. sowie ein weiteres, aus Knidos und Delphi bruchstückhaft erlassenes Gesetz, welches Kilikien und Makedonien Prätoren zuwies, vgl. Richardson 2008: 37–41. Barrandon 2010: v. a. 86–94.

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Interessanterweise konterkariert im übrigen bereits der Fall der Provinzialisierung Spaniens Ciceros Behauptung, dass Rom bisher niemals befreundeten Fürsten ihre Gebiete entrissen habe, um daraus Provinzen zu bilden. Die Provinzialisierung geschah zwar nach der Beendigung von Kriegshandlungen auf spanischem Boden, doch die beteiligten spanischen Stämme hatten zumeist auf römischer Seite gekämpft und sahen sich demzufolge durch diese Entwicklungen zutiefst enttäuscht. Der jahrzehntelange Widerstand gegen Roms Herrschaft auf der iberischen Halbinsel ist im Kontext der dadurch hervorgerufenen Frustrationen zu sehen.40 Ein Vertrag schloß hier sogar eigenständige Städtegründungen der Provinzialen aus und behinderte damit aus römischen Sicherheitserwägungen heraus v. a. im 2. Jh. v. Chr. gezielt lokale Entwicklungsprozesse.41 Die Perzeption römischer Provinzialmagistrate als letztlich unerwünschter Konkurrenz zu den römischen Obermagistraten erklärt sowohl die oftmals schwierige Datierung der Einrichtung von Provinzen als auch die mehrfach erkennbaren Verschleppungen offizieller Provinzgründungen.42 Selbst das Gebiet, welches Attalos III. von Pergamon für die Zeit nach seinem Tod 133 v. Chr. den Römern testamentarisch zugesprochen hatte, um eine Verwaltung zu gewährleisten, wurde nicht direkt nach seinem Tod zur Provinz Asia erklärt, sondern erst 129 v. Chr., als der Aristonikosaufstand die Sicherheitslage dieser Region für Rom unkalkulierbar machte.43 John Richardson brachte dies auf die prägnante Formel „The language that they used to describe what they were doing and the structures of government through which this great expansion took place did not refer or even relate to annexation or colonisation of other states or nations, but to control of what others did, brought about by the exercise of Roman power and supported by Roman military might.“44 Der zögerlichen Haltung zur Provinzialisierung stand ein römisches Interesse an der finanziellen Nutzung der eroberten Gebiete keineswegs entgegen. Dies geschah jedoch eher in nicht kontrollierter Weise durch Privatleute, seien es Senatoren, die Landstücke zur eigenen Nutzung okkupierten oder italische Geschäftsleute.45 So wurde nach der Vernichtung Karthagos und der Einrichtung der Provinz Africa 146 v. Chr. im Nordosten des heutigen Tunesien auf dem Boden des annektierten karthagischen Territoriums vorerst lediglich ein Brückenkopf zur Kontrolle der sizilischen Meerenge sowie des benachbarten numidischen Königreichs besetzt, doch bereits lange vor den Veteranenansiedlungen unter Augustus oder intensiveren administrativen Maßnahmen wurden große Teile des ager publicus verkauft bzw. Verpachtet.46 Die eroberten Territorien interessierten anfangs vor allem aus römi40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Dahlheim 1977: 77–102. Liv. per. 41. Vgl. zur Einrichtung von Sardinien und Korsika Dahlheim 1977: 44–53. Dahlheim 1977: 139; ähnlich auch Kallet-Marx 1995: 58. Richardson 2008: 62. Schneider 2011; Graßl 2004; Ferrary 2002; Schneider 2000; Badian 1997. Shaw 1977 bzw. für Creta et Cyrene, Plin. n.h. 19.39 zur Nutzung von Gütern durch Steuerpächter zur Kultivierung der begehrten Heil- und Gewürzpflanze Silphium. In Africa bestand spätestens ab 115 v. Chr. für Peregrine und römische Bürger die Möglichkeit, ager publicus von den Zensoren in Rom zu pachten, römische Bürger konnten ager publicus kaufen, der privatrechtlich ihre Eigentum wurde, allerdings mit einem Vectigal belastet blieb ; Lex agr. ll. 85–89;

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scher Sicherheitsperspektive, später in wachsendem Maße auch in ihren wirtschaftlichen Möglichkeiten, als praeda. Ein ähnliches Interesse Roms an deren Bewohnern läßt sich für diese Zeit hingegen nicht feststellen. Eine Ausweitung von Klientelbeziehungen auf Bevölkerungsgruppen unterhalb der monarchischen Ebene im Sinne patronaler Fürsorge ist nur in Ausnahmefällen nachweisbar.47 EIN BEDEUTUNGSGEWINN VON AUSWÄRTIGEN KLIENTELEN IN DER KRISE DER REPUBLIK? Auch zu Beginn des 1. Jh. v. Chr. wandelte sich diese Situation nicht entscheidend. Dies erscheint auf den ersten Blick paradox, wurden doch gerade in der ersten Hälfte dieses Jahrhunderts durchaus weitere Provinzen eingerichtet. Werner Dahlheim hat jedoch gezeigt, dass diese Provinzialisierungen nahezu immer durch den Druck äußerer Verhältnisse zur Gewährleistung minimaler Sicherheitsstandards erzwungen wurden (z. B. zur Beseitigung eines Machtvakuums infolge der Seeräubergefahr), dass andere Provinzialisierungen aber aus Machtkontrollgründen gezielt unterbunden bzw. zumindest aufgeschoben wurden.48 Ein Beispiel hierfür ist Kyrene, welches den Römern bereits 96 v. Chr. testamentarisch übereignet worden war, danach aber keineswegs direkt in den Provinzialstatus überführt wurde.49 Rom löste das Administrationsproblem vielmehr dahingehend, dass es die Städte für frei erklärte und das Königsland okkupierte, ansonsten aber vorerst nichts unternahm. Erst zwanzig Jahre später, interessanterweise ebenfalls im Kontext von Getreidegesetzen in Rom, wurde Creta et Cyrene zur eigenständigen Provinz erhoben.50 Dies zeigt, welche spezifisch innerrömischen Dynamiken und Prägekräfte den Umgang der Republik mit abhängigen Territorien bestimmten. Zudem implizierte die Provinzialisierung eines Territoriums lediglich dessen militärische Sicherung, nicht zwingend aber eine intensive administrative Fürsorge bzw. eine Einbeziehung provinzialer Bevölkerungsteile in patronale Strukturen. Zwar gab es einzelne Statthalter, wie z. B. Q. Mucius Scaevola in Asia, die für ihre besonders umsichtige Amtsausübung gerühmt wurden bzw. andere Nobiles, die sich um Provinziale bemühten, etwa Ti. Sempronius Gracchus, doch zeigt deren ausdrückliche Memorierung, dass es sich hierbei offenbar eher um Einzelerscheinungen handelte. Und auch im Fall des Mucius Scaevola war dessen Amtszeit nicht

47 48 49

50

45. Bereits in der späten Republik entstanden so die großen afrikanischen Latifundien römischer Ritter ; Schulz 1997: 216. Z. B. neben Flamininus, Marcellus (151–152 v. Chr. App. Iber. 48), Ti. Sempronius Gracchus (197 v. Chr.; Liv. 40.5.5); vgl. Badian 1958a: 121; 124. Dahlheim 1977: 138. Dies hat bereits Oost 1963 herausgearbeitet. Bereits 96 v. Chr. hatte Ptolemaios Apion den Römern die chora basilike testamentarisch vererbt, welche von diesen auch genutzt wurde. Erst 74 v. Chr. erhielt Kyrene das Provinzstatut und wurde mit Kreta zur Provinz Creta et Cyrene vereinigt. Liv. per. 70; Oost 1963: 11; 86 v. Chr. hatte Lucullus die Bewohner dieser Provinz in heftigen inneren Streitigkeiten vorgefunden; Plut. Luc. 2.4; Oost 1963: 16; zur Provinzgründung App. b.c. 1.111; Sall. hist. 2.45–47; Oost 1963: 20 f.

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nur kurz bemessen, sondern spielte auch für seine weitere Karriere keine besondere Rolle.51 Dieser Umstand verdeutlicht das Grundproblem, dass eine aktive Ausübung von Statthalterschaften innerhalb Roms keinerlei Bedeutung besaß oder positives Interesse erweckte. Vielmehr konnten solche Bemühungen mit den konkurrierenden Profitinteressen von Steuerpächtern kollidieren. Zudem sahen sich Statthalter in ihren Handlungsspielräumen häufig durch weitere konkurrierende Partikularinteressen eingeschränkt.52 Das völlige Desinteresse der Römer an Vorgängen in den Provinzen hatte bereits Cicero während seiner Quästur auf Sizilien erfahren und bitter beklagt.53 Er zog daraus für sich die Konsequenz, längere Phasen der Abwesenheit von Rom künftig nach Möglichkeit zu vermeiden. Selbst rahmenrechtliche Regelungen für Provinzen folgten weniger als bisher angenommen grundsätzlichen Überlegungen oder Planungen, sondern wurden in territorialem Maßstab (z. B. Marius für Afrika, Sulla für Asia) bzw. auf Basis konkreter Interessen erlassen, die eher innerrömischen Motiven geschuldet waren als dem Wohl der Provinzen. Ein erhellendes Beispiel hierfür ist Sullas lex Cornelia, die keineswegs der Provinzorganisation im Allgemeinen gewidmet war, sondern ausschließlich der Provinz Asia galt.54 Zudem hat die neuere Forschung herausgearbeitet, dass Sulla hierdurch zwar tatsächlich Rahmenbedingungen für Tributzahlungen bzw. für die Finanzierungen städtischer Gesandtschaften festlegte, den Hintergrund hierfür jedoch seine Kontributionsforderungen an die Städte dieser Provinz während des Mithradatischen Krieges bildeten, welche diese Städte beinahe in den Ruin trieben. Sie waren gezwungen, zur Finanzierung dieser Forderungen Kredite bei römischen Finanziers zu völlig überhöhten Zinssätzen aufzunehmen, so daß ihre Schulden binnen weniger Jahre explodierten.55 Erst die Reduzierung dieser Forderungen durch Lucullus trug zur Konsolidierung der städtischen Finanzsituation bei,56 und in den Folgejahren entwickelten sich einige Regeln der lex Cornelia zum Grundgerüst weiterer Provinzialgesetze, was den Ursprungsplänen Sullas jedoch nicht intentional zugrundelag. Zudem sorgte der Druck Sullas auf diese Städte offenbar bei diesen für den Zwang, sich stärker mit römischen Bedin51

52 53 54

55 56

Zu Q. Mucius Scaevola vgl. Cic. Lael. 1.1; Diod. 37.5.1; Val.Max 8.12.1, zudem wurde er seitens der Provinzialen mit zahlreichen Inschriften geehrt; Ferriès – Delrieux 2011: 207–230; zu den Abkommen des Ti. Sempronius Gracchus mit keltiberischen Stämmen, die seitens des Senats weder gefördert noch ratifiziert wurden, weshalb sie nur ‚die Verträge des Gracchus‘ genannt wurden App. Iber. 43; 48; Badian 1958a: 123. Dies zeigt sehr illustrativ und an mehreren Themenfeldern – wie z. B. Rechtsprechung, Steuereinziehung und Piratenbekämpfung – Schulz 1997: 200–288. Cic. Planc. 65 f. Deshalb wurde die Statthalterschaft von Kilikien von ihm schmerzlichst beklagt; Cic. fam. 1.7.9; 2.12.2; Blösel 2011: 72. App. Mith. 61; vgl. Coudry – Kirbihler 2010; Santangelo 2007: 107–133; 118. In diesen Kontext fügt sich auch das überzeugende Argument von Kallet-Marx 1995: 230, dass die wirklich Provinzialisierung Asias erst im Kontext des 1. Mithradatischen Krieges vorangekommen sei, als die römische Überzeugung der eigenen Unbesiegbarkeit eine empfindliche Schlappe erlitten habe. Plut. Sull. 25.4 spricht von 20000 Talenten als Strafzahlung, die Sulla von den Städten Asias forderte, vgl. auch App. Mith. 62. Sulla unterteilte hierfür die Provinz in Distrikte, die die Teile dieser Strafzahlung aufbringen mussten; Santangelo 2007: 111 f. Plut. Luc. 20.

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gungen zu arrangieren. Zumindest belegen Inschriften eine auffallende Zunahme von Städtepatronaten ab dieser Zeit, welche den jeweiligen Patronen Einfluss und Vermögenszuwachs gleichermaßen bringen konnte.57 Grundsätzlichere Normierungen erfolgten dann erst unter Pompeius bzw. Caesar,58 die zusammen mit pragmatischen Handlungsroutinen, die sich bereits herausgebildet hatten,59 das Fundament der späteren Provinzialverwaltung bildeten. Innerhalb dieser Ordnung blieben dann auch Städtepatronate von wesentlicher Bedeutung. Diese Entwicklungen erklären auch die Ambivalenzen in den Antworten auf die Leitfrage, ob auswärtige Klientelen in der Krise der römischen Republik eine erhöhte Rolle spielten. Einerseits ist ein Bedeutungszuwachs auswärtiger Klientelen unübersehbar, sowohl wegen der wachsenden Vernetzungen der verschiedenen Regionen des römischen Reiches aus politischen, wirtschaftlichen und militärischen Gründen, als auch deswegen, weil der Desintegrationsprozeß der res publica als Entstehung öffentlicher Klientelen sichtbar wird.60 Angesichts wachsender Spaltungen innerhalb der römischen Nobilität, die an unterschiedlichsten Orten ausgefochten wurden,61 wurden die traditionell von Klientelkönigen erbrachten Unterstützungsleistungen mit Geld und Truppen jetzt für den betreffenden Nobilis im Gefahrenfall überlebenswichtig.62 Konflikte wurden in zunehmendem Maße in auswärtige Territorien hineingetragen. Zudem brachte die Verbindung zu prominenten Königen in Rom durchaus Sozialprestige.63 Tatsächlich sind einige Herrscher wie Deiotarus oder Herodes d. Gr. dafür bekannt, durch eine geschickte Schaukelpolitik die innerrömischen Konkurrenzkämpfe zum Ausbau der eigenen Regionalmacht genutzt zu haben.64 57

58 59 60 61 62

63 64

Vgl. Eilers 2002: 145–150; Santangelo 2007: 128–132. Zur Ehrung des Lucullus durch seine provinzialen Klienten, die ihn auch mit erheblichen Erbschaften ausstatteten Cic. Flacc. 85; Plut. Luc. 23.1 f.; 39; ähnlich für Caesars Statthalterschaft in Hispania Ulterior Caes. B.Civ. 2.18.5 f.; Plut. Caes. 12.4. bzw. für Mucius Scaevola Cic. Att. 6.1.5; fam. 15.4.15; Schulz 1997: 256. Zur lex Pompeia de provincia Bithynia vgl. Fernoux 2004: 129–146. Caesar entzog die Steuereintreibung den Steuerpächtern und übertrug sie direkt den Städten; App. b.c. 2.92; 5.4.19; Cass.Dio 42.6.3; Plut. Caes. 48.1; Santangelo 2007: 117. Hierzu instruktiv Schulz 1997: 200. Mouritsen 2001: 62 v. a. zur Beziehung zwischen dem Leiter und den Teilnehmern der römischen contiones. Vgl. zur Personalisierung der römischen Außenpolitik in der späten Republik Wendt 2008: v. a. 27–31. Legendär ist z. B. die Unterstützung des Mithridates von Pergamon für Caesar im Bellum Alexandrinum, wobei auch 3000 Juden unter dem Befehl von Antipater, dem Vater von Herodes d. Gr. mitkämpften; Jos. AJ 14.127–139. Bereits zuvor hatten Nobiles bei Rekrutierungsproblemen auf die Unterstützung befreundeter Könige und Städte zurückgegriffen, so z. B. 134 v. Chr. Scipio Aemilianus (App. Iber. 84) bei den Numiderkönigen und hispanischen Städten sowie C. Marius 104 v. Chr. bei Nikomedes III. von Bithynien (Diod. 36.3.3; 34.38); Schulz 1997: 48. Dies zeigt der Neid Ciceros auf einen Konkurrenten, den er bezichtigte, allzu wohlwollend beim Empfang bedeutender Fremder zu sein; Cicero selbst bemühte sich jedoch um einen besonders ehrenvollen Empfang für Ariarathes von Kappadokien; Cic. Att. 13.2a; Braund 1989: 148. Zum weitverzweigten Beziehungsnetz des Deiotarus vgl. Coşkun 2005b. Zu Herodes d. Gr. vgl. Weber 2003.

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Andererseits besaßen auswärtige Klientelen für die Interessen römischer Nobiles auf Grund der spezifischen Geometrie römischer Machtverhältnisse gegenüber Soldaten, Veteranen, Senatoren sowie der plebs urbana eher untergeordnete Bedeutung. Beim Überlebenskampf innerhalb der Nobilität waren auswärtige Territorien meist eher als Geber materieller oder personeller Ressourcen interessant. Vor allem aber mussten auswärtige Klienten angesichts der rapide wechselnden Machtverhältnisse jederzeit in der Lage sein, die Seiten zu wechseln, d. h. sie waren gezwungen, sich stets mehrere Optionen offenzuhalten. Hieraus erklärt sich die in der Forschung oft konstatierte Instabilität entsprechender Patronagebeziehungen. Beispiele dafür sind etwa die auswärtigen Klientelen des Pompeius oder von der anderen Seite her das durchaus flexible Gebaren der hispanischen Cornelii Balbi.65 Eines der flagrantesten Beispiele, welches die beschränkten Handlungsmöglichkeiten auswärtiger Klienten geradezu leitmotivisch verkörpert, ist die sogenannte „Ägyptische Frage“. Deren Hintergrund bildeten gravierende Kräfteverschiebungen zwischen römischer Republik und Ptolemäerreich seit dem 2. Jh. v. Chr., die ebenso durch den Aufstieg Roms wie durch heftige dynastische Spannungen innerhalb der Ptolemäerdynastie selbst bedingt waren.66 In dem Maße, in dem das rohstoffreiche Ägypten zur begehrten Ressource innerhalb des sich steigernden innenpolitischen Machtkampfs der römischen Nobilität wurde, erhöhte sich das römische Interesse an dieser Region. Eine Gelegenheit zur Intervention bot sich, nachdem einer der ptolemäischen Herrscher Alexandros II, innerhalb heftigster dynastischer Streitigkeiten, die die ersten Jahrzehnte des 1. Jh. v. Chr. geradezu endemisch prägten, im letztlich vergeblichen Bemühen, die Herrschaft zu halten, sein Reich testamentarisch den Römern vermacht hatte.67 Als er 88 v. Chr. fiel, bestand somit ein wie auch immer gearteter Rechtstitel, auf den offenbar auch Männer wie Crassus und Rullus 65 bzw. 63 v. Chr. rekurrierten, als sie beantragten, Ägypten zu provinzialisieren und die fruchtbaren Ländereien auch an landlose Römer zu verteilen.68 Allerdings vergingen mehr als zwei Jahrzehnte, in denen die Römer aus Gründen der innenpolitischen Machtbalance zögerten, in Ägypten einzugreifen, wenngleich das Thema fortan Teil der innerrömischen Debatten war. Die Frage stellte sich erneut 58 v. Chr.69 Die Herrschaft des amtierenden ägyptischen Herrschers Ptolemaios XII war wegen seiner illegitimen Abkunft70 von Beginn an prekär gewesen und der ägyptische Hof hatte ihn offenbar nur deshalb auf 65

66 67 68 69 70

Diese Zweiseitigkeit betont zu Recht Dingmann 2007: 222–333, v. a. 331–333. Er beschreibt den Gewinn für Pompeius eher in Prestige bzw. punktuellen finanziellen Unterstützungen, nicht in stabilen Sozialbeziehungen, welche die Grundlage für eine dauerhafte Machtposition hätte sein können. Auch Schoenlin Nicols 1992: 191 konstatiert diesen Kontrast und verweist darauf, dass persönliche Erwägungen bzw. Faktoren von lokaler Relevanz im Ernstfall Vorrang vor klientelären Erwägungen besaßen. Zum geschickt taktierenden Verhalten der Cornelii Balbi vgl. Pina Polo 2011a. Zu den Ereignissen vgl. Hölbl 1994: 183–194 sowie Klodt 1992: 23–30. Zum Testament vgl. Olshausen 1963: 29–32; Badian 1967a. Vgl. zu den Ereignissen Klodt 1992: 24. Suet. Iul. 54.3; Caes. B.Civ. 3.107.2; App. b.c. 1.102; Cic. leg.agr. 2.41; Braund 1984: 59 f.; Shatzman 1971: 363–369; Havas 1977: 39–56. Trog.Pomp. Prol. 39; Cic. leg.agr. 2.42; Paus. 1.9.3.

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den Thron gehoben, weil die eigentliche Linie ausgestorben war und man die Annexion Ägyptens durch Rom verhindern wollte.71 Zur Sicherung seiner Macht hatte sich Ptolemaios um die Anerkennung als socius und amicus des römischen Volkes durch horrende Zahlungen insbesondere an Pompeius und Caesar erkauft, musste deshalb jedoch die Steuern in seinem Herrschaftsbereich anheben, verlor dadurch widerum innenpolitisch an Akzeptanz und wurde auch wegen seines fehlenden Widerstandes gegen die Absetzung seines Bruders Ptolemaios von Zypern vertrieben.72 Daraufhin begab er sich nach Rom und machte noch höhere Schulden in der Hoffnung auf eine Rückkehr mit römischer Unterstützung. Die Problematik seiner möglichen Rückführung spaltete über Jahre die römische Öffentlichkeit. Für sie sprachen die Interessen all derjenigen, die ihn durch Kredite unterstützt hatten und nach seiner Reinthronisierung auf eine Rückzahlung bzw. weitere Gewinne hoffen konnten. Wie stark sich der Senat in seinen Handlungsoptionen aber bereits paralysiert hatte, zeigen die Widerstände gegen alle verfügbaren Varianten: So war der Senat absolut nicht an einer direkten Provinzialisierung Ägyptens interessiert, denn ein Prokonsul von Ägypten drohte die innerrömische Machtbalance noch stärker zu tangieren als ein schwacher Ptolemäer von Roms Gnaden. Allerdings wurde die dann eigentlich logische Rückführung des Ptolemäers dadurch behindert, dass man nicht einmal bereit war, einem Angehörigen der Nobilität diese Aufgabe zu übertragen, weil man diesem das Prestige und die Ressourcen, die aus einer solchen Aufgabe entspringen mochten, missgönnte.73 A. Gabinius, der als Prokonsul von Syrien, die Wiedereinsetzung des Königs auf ausdrückliche Bitten des Pompeius realisierte, handelte damit gegen einen ausdrücklichen Senatsbeschluß. Zudem ließ er sich die Unterstützung durch Ptolemaios Auletes reichlich finanzieren. Der König starb 51 v. Chr., tief verschuldet.74 71

72

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Bereits 75 v. Chr. wurden zwei seleukidische Prinzen in Rom vorstellig und beanspruchten mit Hinweis auf ihre ptolemäische Abkunft von mütterlicher Seite die Herrschaft in Ägypten, allerdings hatte der Senat, der keine Kombination aus seleukidischer und ptolemäischer Herrschaft zulassen wollte, keinerlei Interesse; Cic. Verr. 2.4.60; Olshausen 1963: 31; Klodt 1992: 24. Dies zeigt, wie wenig die formelle Anerkennung als amicus, der ihm 59 v. Chr. tatsächlich gegen Zahlung weiterer enormer Summen an Pompeius und Caesar gelang, ihm hierbei half; Caes. B.Civ. 3.107; Cass.Dio 39.12.2 zur formellen Anerkennungen. Zu den Maßnahmen des Ptolemaios und den Reaktionen seiner Untertanen vgl. Klodt 1992: 25 f.; Bloedow 1963: 29– 34.Wie ungleichgewichtig die Beziehungen zwischen römischen Nobiles und befreundeten Königen waren, zeigt dieser Fall sehr deutlich: Ptolemaios hatte während des Syrienkriegs von Pompeius 8000 in dessen Heer kämpfende Reiter finanziert und diesem 63 v. Chr. während dessen Aufenthalt in Damaskus einen 4000 Talente teuren Goldkranz überreicht. Als es daraufhin jedoch in Ägypten zu Aufständen kam, verweigert Pompeius seine Hilfe, weil er wohl zu Recht den senatorischen Vorwurf wegen eines direkten Eingreifens in Ägypten fürchtete; Plin. n.h. 33.136; Jos. AJ 14.35; App. Mith. 114; Huß 2001: 682. Um Pompeius von dieser Aufgabe abzuhalten, hatte man zuerst 57 v. Chr. P. Cornelius Lentulus Spinther, dem für das Jahr 56 v. Chr. die Provinz Kilikien zugefallen war, mit der Rückführung beauftragt. Cato d. J. hatte diesen Auftrag jedoch mit sakralrechtlichen Maßnahmen ausgehebelt; Cic. fam.1.1–7 (Lentulusbriefe); Q.fr. 2.2.3. Cass.Dio 39.12.3; 15.2; zu den Ereignissen Klodt 1992: 27–29; Olshausen 1963: 49–56. Zum Senatsbeschluss Olshausen 1963: 54–56. Ptolemaios hatte Gabinius 10000 Talente für die Rückführung versprochen; Cic. Rab.Post. 21; Plut. Ant. 3.4; Schol.Bob. in Planc. 86 (Stangl

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Die geschilderten Beispiele ermöglichen es, ein Grundmuster des Umgangs der römischen Republik mit befreundeten Königen für die Zeit der Krise der römischen Republik zu bestimmen. In gewissem Maße waren die Beziehungen der amicitia zwischen Rom und auswärtigen Königen durchaus von einem Gefühl der aristokratischen Verbundenheit geprägt. Die wachsende Macht Roms intensivierte allerdings die Asymmetrie dieser Beziehungen, welche die Interessen immer stärker auf die materiellen Ressourcen der Verbündeten als auf deren Statuswahrung lenkte. Die eigenständige Amtsausübung befreundeter Könige war, zumindest wenn sie gemäß römischen Interessen erfolgte, für die römische Nobilität aus Gründen der innernobilitären Machtkontrolle das gegenüber einer Provinzialisierung geringere Übel. Dem widersprach jedoch nicht die allgemeine Tendenz einer wachsenden Assimilation vormals unabhängiger Mächte an den Rändern des römischen Imperium. Zudem wurden die auswärtigen Herrscher in zunehmendem Maße in die Spannungen innerhalb der römischen Nobilität involviert, was für sie in einigen Fällen mit Bedeutungsgewinn verknüpft sein konnte, generell aber zu Unsicherheit und einer geringeren Berechenbarkeit ihrer Beziehungen zu Rom führte. Essentielle Unterschiede zwischen optimatischen und popularen Politikern sind hier, entgegen einiger Vermutungen der aktuellen Forschung, nur in wenigen Fällen feststellbar.75 DIE ANNEXION UND PROVINZIALISIERUNG ZYPERNS – EIN POPULARER SÜNDENFALL? Vor diesem Hintergrund sind die Bedeutung der Provinzialisierung Zyperns, die Vorgehensweise des Clodius und die Vorwürfe Ciceros präziser einzuordnen. So war Ciceros Behauptung, der Ptolemäer habe sein Land von den Vorvätern übernommen und ungestört verwalten können, bis ihm Clodius dieses gewaltsam entrissen habe, nur bedingt richtig. Seit dem Tode Ptolemaios IX. 80 v. Chr. war Zypern unter Ptolemaios von Zypern tatsächlich zum staatsrechtlich weitgehend selbständigen Herrschaftsbereich geworden.76 Allerdings hatte sich in den Jahrzehnten zuvor die beginnende Schwächephase der Ptolemäerherrschaft seit Ende des 2. Jh. v. Chr. gerade auch anhand der Besitzstreitigkeiten konkurrierender Ptolemäer um diese Insel manifestiert. Die Form der Verwaltung Zyperns wurde Ausdruck der kontinuierlichen Machtfragmentierung und des Bedeutungsverlusts des Ptolemäerdynastie. Die Entmachtung des regierenden Königs und die Überführung seines

75

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168), Cass.Dio 39.16.3; 55.1–3; 56.3 f.; Klodt 1992: 29 f. mit weiterer Literatur; Olshausen 1963: 57–60. Als Preis für seine Einsetzung musste Ptolemaios den C. Rabirius Postumus, einen römischen Ritter, zum Dioiketes einsetzen. Dieser trieb die versprochenen Summen aber derart rabiat ein, daß er vom König zum Schutz vor der aufgebrachten Menge zunächst inhaftiert wurde, um ihn dann entkommen zu lassen; Klodt 1962: 30–51 zum Prozeß gegen Rabirius. Selbst die 123 v. Chr. erlassene lex Sempronia de provinciis consularibus (Cic. dom. 24; Balb. 61), welche festlegte, dass die konsularischen Provinzen künftig vor der Wahl der Konsuln festzulegen seien, beabsichtigte damit wohl v. a., dass die künftigen Statthalter zwei bis drei Monate mehr zu Verfügung hatten, um Heere zu rekrutieren und auszurüsten; so plausibel Schulz 1997: 44 f. Hill 1940: 204 f.

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Landes in eine römische Provinz durch Clodius waren also keineswegs zwingend und erfolgten aus dem schieren Grund der Finanzierungsbedürfnisse seines Getreidegesetzes.77 Vorwürfe, der König sei seinen Pflichten zur Seeräuberbekämpfung nicht nachgekommen, sind als nachträgliche Rationalisierung der Gesetzesinitiative zu deuten.78 Dennoch war dieses Vorgehen eben auch nicht beispiellos oder gar ein Indiz für die Gesetzesverachtung der Popularen, da bereits die Entstehung der Provinz Creta et Cyrene aus ähnlichen Gründen heraus erfolgt war.79 Auch Bithynien, dessen Herrscher Nikomedes keinen legitimen Erben hinterlassen hatte, wurde in jenen Jahren provinzialisiert.80 Für den Unwillen der Nobilität sorgte außer schwachen Reflexen aristokratischer Verbundenheit81 lediglich der Umstand, dass der Nutznießer der so erzielten Gewinne die römische plebs war. Wie wenig sich die von Cicero hoch gepriesenen Optimaten in ihrem Gebaren gegenüber Klientelkönigen von popularen Politikern unterschieden, zeigen die nachfolgenden Ereignisse. Clodius war geschickt genug gewesen, Cato d. J., den ebenso idiosynkratischen wie angesehenen Vertreter der römischen Optimaten, in sein Vorhaben einzubinden, indem er ihm die Ausführung der Mission übertrug. Für Ciceros Behauptung, Cato habe sich anfänglich strikt geweigert, da er seine Mission eher darin sah, die Optimaten innerhalb Roms im Widerstand gegen die Caesarischen Gesetze vom Jahr zuvor zu einen, gibt es keine Belege. Plausibler erscheint Ciceros These, der Respekt vor dem Volksbeschluß habe Cato zur Akzeptanz veranlaßt.82 Dennoch ist dieses Erklärungsmuster keineswegs ausreichend. Denn immerhin handelte es sich hierbei um ein außerordentliches Kommando, und damit um einen Sachverhalt, gegen den sich der optimatische Streiter bei deut77 78

79 80 81

82

Fest. Brev. 13.1; Amm. 14.8.15; Sen. Cons.Marc. 20.6 gehen davon aus, dass das Geld zu Beginn des Bürgerkriegs noch im Aerarium war. Die offiziellen Begründungen dafür lieferten offenkundig der bestehende römische Rechtsanspruch durch Testament Ptolemaios X. sowie die mangelnden Anstrengungen des zypriotischen Königs bei der Seeräuberbekämpfung. Diese letztgenannte Begründung erscheint eigenartig, nachdem Pompeius wenige Jahre zuvor die Seeräubergefahr in diesem Teil des Mittelmeeres weitgehend beseitigt hatte. Möglicherweise griff Clodius hierbei auf Argumente zurück, die auch für die Provinzialisierung von Kreta, Kyrene und Kilikien maßgeblich gewesen waren. Schol. Bob. in Cic. Sest. 57 (Stangl 133): „ferente autem rogationem Clodio publicatom fuerat eius regnum, quod diceretur ab eo piratas adiuvari.“ Cic. Flacc. 30 betont jedoch, dass der König von Zypern die Piraten nicht unterstützt hätte, dies übernimmt auch Hill 1940: 206. Vgl. hierzu Dahlheim 1977: 145–152. Spekulationen, dass Clodius in dieser Sache eigene Vorwürfe an Ptolemaios hatte, erscheinen überzogen; Cass.Dio 38.30.5; Str. 14.684; App. b.c. 2.23; Oost 1955, 98.; Hill 1940: 206, übernimmt diese Behauptungen jedoch weitgehend. Zum Kontext der Provinzialisierung vgl. Dahlheim 1977: 140. Die Quellen haben durchweg ein ungünstige Bild von Ptolemaios gezeichnet, was allerdings aus den beschränkten Möglichkeiten seines Wirkens zu erklären ist. Str. 14.684 überliefert, dass das Gesetz die Anschuldigung enthielt, Ptolemaios sei undankbar gegenüber seinen römischen Wohltätern gewesen; auch Cass.Dio 39.22.3 überliefert, die Zyprioten hätten Cato willkommen geheißen, da sie hofften, socii der Römer zu werden anstelle von Sklaven. Vell.Pat. 2.45.4 betont die Habgier des Königs, Oost 1955: 101, eher skeptisch; vgl. auch Fest. Brev. 13.1; Val.Max. 9.4 ext.1; App. b.c. 2.23. Liv. per. 104: „Lege lata de redigenda in provinciae formam Cypro et publicanda pecunia regia, M. Catoni administratio eius rei mandata est“; Cass.Dio 38.30.5; Cic. Sest. 62; dom. 20; App. b.c. 2.23.

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lich gravierenderen Gelegenheiten heftigst gewehrt hatte.83 Dass Caesar in einer Volksversammlung Clodius zu diesem Coup gratuliert habe, weil Cato so die Gelegenheit zu Protesten fürderhin genommen sei, erscheint deshalb keineswegs unplausibel.84 Wenn Cato jedoch all seine diesbezüglichen Bedenken über Bord warf, um die Absetzung von Ptolemaios durchzuführen, ist durchaus auch sein Prestigeinteresse mit einzubeziehen. Das Beispiel des Pompeius hatte gezeigt, welche öffentliche Geltung man erlangen konnte, wenn man beladen mit Ruhm und Beute wieder in Rom erschien, und tatsächlich scheint Cato sich nach seiner Rückkehr aus Zypern durchaus in Beziehung zu Pompeius gesetzt zu haben. So verglich er seine Erfolge in Zypern mit der Niederringung eines Landes durch Eroberung und deklarierte, dass sein Beitrag zum Staatsschatz sogar den des Pompeius übertroffen habe.85 In der Tat war Clodius ein brillanter Coup geglückt, da er durch die Gewinnung Catos die geschlossene Front der Optimaten sprengen und letztlich auch die Verbannung Ciceros durchsetzen konnte.86 Lassen schon diese Überlegungen Zweifel an Ciceros Behauptung aufkommen, Cato sei durch Zwang zu seiner Aufgabe genötigt worden, deutet auch sein Gebaren darauf hin, das er keineswegs die ehrenvolle Behandlung von Königen als das Ziel seiner Operation ansah, wie Cicero dies als exemplarisch für das römische Volk und alle boni behauptet hatte. Catos Zurückhaltung beschränkte sich lediglich darauf, Ptolemaios nicht persönlich abzusetzen. Er wartete vielmehr auf Rhodos ab und schickte einen nicht näher bekannten Freund namens Canidius voraus, um dem Monarchen die Lage zu erklären. Erst nach dessen Selbstmord im November 58 v. Chr. betrat er Zypern.87 Als jedoch der ägyptische Ptolemaios, der mittlerweile von den eigenen Untertanen entmachtet worden war, bei Cato auf Rhodos erschien und um die Hilfe Roms bat, wurde er von diesem brüsk abgewiesen. Er bot ihm lediglich an, persönlich mit ihm nach Alexandria zurückzukehren und seine Wiedereinsetzung durchzusetzen.88 Ptolemaios verließ sich jedoch nicht auf dieses Anerbieten und reiste nach Rom weiter. Diese wenig von aristokratischer Verbundenheit getragene Haltung Catos findet ihre Bestätigung auch in einer Bemerkung bei Plutarch, wonach Cato die ihm als römischen Beamten erwiesenen Schmeicheleien verachtet habe.89 Auf Zypern bemühte sich Cato dem Ausweis aller Quellen zufolge auftragsgemäß mit Akribie um einen Verkauf der königlichen Güter zum höchstmöglichen Preis – und zwar sowohl der Kostbarkeiten aus dem Besitz des Ptolemaios als auch der Grundstücke.90 Hierbei soll er durch Versteigerungen und Anreizmechanis83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

Z. B. innerhalb der Debatte um die lex Gabinia, d. h. die außerordentliche Kommandogewalt für Pompeius im Krieg gegen die Seeräuber. So behauptet Cic. dom. 22. Plut. Cat.min. 45; Cass.Dio 39.22.4–23. Vell.Pat. 2.38.6 spricht sogar von einem Senatusconsultum, welches die Entsendung unterstützt habe, Badian 1965: 117. Plut. Cat.min 35–36; Vell.Pat. 2.45.5; Cass.Dio 39.22.2; Oost 1955: 100. Plut. Cat.min. 35.5–6, Fehrle 1983: 148. Plut. Cat.min. 12–15. Plut. Cat.min. 36; Cic. Sest. 57; 59; dom. 20; 52; Vell.Pat. 2.45.5.

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men die Preise der zu veräußernden Güter nochmals in die Höhe getrieben haben. Wie weit sein Ehrgeiz reichte, zeigt der von Plinius überlieferte Verkauf hispanischer Fliegen, die als Heilmittel gegen diverse Krankheiten galten.91 Auf diese Weise gelang es ihm, 7000 Talente zu erlösen, immerhin ein Drittel der Summe, die Pompeius von seinem Feldzug in den Osten nach Rom brachte. Wie wichtig ihm der verlustfreie Transport des Geldes in das öffentliche Aerarium war, zeigen nicht nur seine sorgfältigen Vorbereitungen für die Reise, sondern auch der Umstand, dass er offenbar bei seiner Rückkehr nach Rom an den zu seinem Empfang versammelten Senatoren vorbeisegelte und zuerst das Geld im Aerarium ablieferte. Auf diesen pekuniären Aspekt bzw. auf sein dadurch gewonnenes Prestige vor der innerrömischen Öffentlichkeit scheint seine Perspektive auch fokussiert gewesen zu sein. Von einem wie auch immer gearteten Verwaltungshandeln Catos wird nichts überliefert, ebensowenig wie Clodius, der hier allein die Interessen seiner binnenrömischen Klientel im Blick hatte, für derartiges in seinem Gesetz Sorge getragen hatte. Die mangelnden Informationen zu Cato werden in der Forschung gelegentlich damit begründet, dass Plutarch als Hauptquelle eher Details überliefert habe, die für den Charakter des Protagonisten relevant gewesen seien und administrative Details hierzu nicht gehört hätten. Ernst Badian betonte, dass die Einrichtung einer Provinz auch nicht Catos Aufgabe gewesen sei.92 Dennoch fällt auf, wie gering, etwa im Unterschied zu Pompeius oder auch zu A. Gabinius,93 das Interesse Catos daran war, die administrativen Probleme in Angriff zu nehmen, die sich aus der Übernahme der römischen Kontrolle über Zypern für die Bewohner der Insel ergaben.94 Mochten auswärtige Könige noch zuweilen im aristokratisch geprägten Fokus der Aufmerksamkeit stehen, so wiesen die Interessen senatorischer Wahrnehmung offenkundig kaum darüber hinaus. Sowohl Cato als auch sein Nachfolger App. Claudius Pulcher scheinen die Insel eher als Objekt finanzieller Gewinne genutzt zu haben, wenngleich Cato selbst für sich eher immateriellen Prestigegewinn aus seiner Mission zog. Dass aber auch er noch durch andere Motivlagen angetrieben wurde, zeigt sein Verhalten gegenüber den zyprischen Aktivitäten seines Neffen Brutus. Cato, der bereits durch Bestechungen die Wahl seines Schwiegersohnes Bibulus zum Konsul befördert hatte95 und der im Fall des Verdachts auf Bestechlichkeit bei Konsulatswahlen geschworen hatte, er würde die Schuldigen verfolgen, es sei denn, dies beträfe seinen Schwager Silanus,96 ermöglichte jetzt auch seinem Neffen Brutus die schran91 92 93

94 95 96

Plin. n.h. 29.96; vgl. auch 8.196 zum Verkauf eines kostbaren babylonischen Teppichs. Badian 1965: 113. So schildert Cicero, Gabinius habe die Steuerpächter in Syrien ruiniert, d. h. die Einwohner Syriens vor illegaler Auspressung durch die publicani bewahrt; Cic. prov.cons. 10–12; Pis. 41. Die publicani beschwerten sich deshalb im Senat über ihn und empfingen ihn bei seiner Rückkehr mit Schmähungen, Cic. Q.fr. 2.12.2; 3.2.2; Klodt 1992: 30 f. Zur Verachtung Catos für Griechen vgl. Cic. Mur. 31; off. 3.88; Plut. Cat.min. 12; Oost 1955: 104. Suet. Iul. 19.2: Zudem hatte er darauf gedrängt, dass für die nichtexistenten Erfolge des Bibulus in Syrien eine zwanzigtägige supplicatio beschlossen werden solle; Cic. Att. 7.2.7; Oost 1955: 105. Plut. Cat.min. 21; Cic. Mur. 62.

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kenlose Bereicherung auf Kosten der zypriotischen Bewohner. So hatte eine Delegation aus Salamis anfangs vergeblich versucht, in Rom eine Summe von unter einhundert Talenten zu borgen,97 denn ein Gesetz des A. Gabinius aus dem Jahr 58 oder 57 v. Chr. verbot die Gewährung von Krediten an Provinziale. Daraufhin wurden zwei Senatusconsulta erlassen, wonach dieser spezielle Kreditvertrag dennoch gültig sein solle. Deren Urheber war Brutus.98 Bezeichnenderweise besagten die Senatusconsulta nichts über den gültigen Zinsfuß. Cicero hielt selbst in seinem Provinzialedikt für Kilikien/Zypern 12 % für angemessen.99 Der Vertrag zwischen Brutus und den Salaminiern setzte jedoch 48 % fest, ungeachtet der Tatsache, dass Brutus diese nicht als unsichere Schuldner ansah.100 Stellt man sich der Frage, warum die Salaminier dennoch zu Brutus gingen und nicht anderswo den Kredit zu einem günstigeren Zinssatz erhielten, wurde bereits in der älteren Forschung vermutet, dass man sich an Brutus gewandt habe, weil dieser im Gefolge seines Onkels auf Zypern gewesen sei und er deshalb von den hilfesuchenden Zyprioten als Patron angesehen wurde. Allerdings nutzte Brutus sein Patronatsverhältnis zu den Salaminiern für die eigene Bereicherung schamlos aus und Cato schritt dagegen nicht ein, obwohl er von späteren Entwicklungen durchaus wusste.101 Cato muss vom Treiben seines Neffen Kenntnis gehabt haben.102 Beide kehrten 56 v. Chr. ungefähr zur gleichen Zeit nach Rom zurück103 und auch die weiteren Ereignisse fanden in Rom vor den Augen Catos statt. Diese Episode ordnet sich durchaus in einen größeren Zusammenhang ein, innerhalb dessen römische Nobiles auf Grund gewachsener Ausgaben und steigender Belastungen für das eigene Vermögen in zunehmenden Maße auf die Erpressung von Provinzbewohnern als eine der wenigen verfügbaren Methoden zur überdurchschnittlichen ‚Vermögenskonsolidierung‘ setzten.104 Doch auch Cicero, der sich in seiner eingangs zitierten Rede als Fürsprecher der angeblich von den Popularen bedrohten Interessen befreundeter Könige und Völker positionierte hatte, machte in seiner späteren Tätigkeit als Prokonsul von Kilikien 51/50 v. Chr. deutlich, dass ihm ebenfalls die Interessen römischer Freunde höher standen als die benachteiligter Provinzialer. In seiner Eigenschaft als Prokon97 Cic. Att. 5.21.12. Die ursprüngliche Schuldsumme ist nicht auszumachen, 50 v. Chr. wollten sie jedoch 106 Talente zurückzahlen; zu den Ereignissen vgl. Braund 1989: 143–145. 98 Cic. Att. 5.21.11 f. 99 Cic. Att. 5.21.11; 6.1.6. Ähnliches legte ein Senatsbeschluss 50 v. Chr. fest; Cic. Att. 5.21.13 sowie Lucullus für Asia; Plut. Luc. 20. 100 Cic. Att. 5.21.11. 101 Cic. Att. 6.1.5; fam. 15.4.15; 5.21.13; 6.2.8; Oost 1955: 107. 102 So auch Oost 1955: 105. 103 Plut. Brut. 3; Oost 1955: 106; Deniaux 1993: 271–274. 104 Dies zeigen sowohl Schulz 2011 sowie Schneider 2011. Beide weisen nach, dass Landbesitz und städtischer Immobilienbesitz allein häufig keine ausreichenden finanziellen Karrieregrundlagen mehr lieferten; wirklich befriedete Provinzen jedoch finanziell auch nicht mehr lukrativ waren. Große Vermögen waren nur durch Kriege bzw. durch Erpressung von Provinzen zu ewerben; die unterschiedlichen Chancen und Fähigkeiten der römischen Senatoren bei der ‚Nutzung‘ dieser Optionen, setzte die weniger erfolgreichen Standesgenossen unter verschärften Druck.

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sul von Kilikien wurde er von den Salaminiern um Hilfe gegen Scaptius, einen der Emissäre des Brutus gebeten, der ihnen völlig überhöhte Zinssätze abpressen wollte. Sogar als die Salaminier Cicero lediglich anflehten, das Geld zur Sicherheit in einem Tempel deponieren zu dürfen, lehnte Cicero diesen berechtigten Wunsch ab, um, wie er später selbst einräumte, Brutus einen Gefallen zu tun.105 Ähnlich agierte er im Falle des kappadokischen Königs Ariobarzanes III., für den er eigentlich einen Schutzauftrag hatte. Da dieser jedoch Brutus und Pompeius Geld schuldete, stützte Cicero die Aktivitäten ihrer Agenten in Kappadokien, dieses Geld einzutreiben. Auch Ariobarzanes musste höhere Steuern eintreiben, um die Forderungen des Pompeius zu erfüllen. Seine ohnehin instabile Stellung wurde durch die Notwendigkeit, die Forderungen der Römer zu erfüllen, die eigentlich seine Patrone waren, zusätzlich unterminiert.106 Ciceros Gebaren steht hier in starkem Kontrast zu normativen Grundsätzen angemessener Provinzialverwaltung, wie er sie selbst mehrfach geltend gemacht hatte,107 doch bezeugt es eindrücklich die prioritäre Bedeutung binnenrömischer Vernetzungen gegenüber den Interessen von Provinzialen. Eine erste lex de provincia hatte offenkundig zwar bereits P. Lentulus Spinther erlassen, der von 56–53 v. Chr. Prokonsul von Kilikien und Zypern war.108 Das Gebaren Ciceros zeigt jedoch, wie wenig wirksam diese Regelungen die Interessen der Provinzialen im Konfliktfall schützten. Hier setzten sich grundlegende Veränderungen erst unter der Ägide Caesars bzw. im Prinzipat durch.109 Zypern selbst wurde mit Kilikien zur Doppelprovinz vereinigt, was zu Problemen führte, da der auf dem Festland stationierte Statthalter nahezu nie vor Ort war.110 Offenbar büßte die Insel auf Grund der miserablen Verwaltung für die Römer derart an Interesse ein, dass Caesar Zypern Ende 48 v. Chr. wieder an die Ptolemäer übergab,111 und sie erst nach der Schlacht bei Actium wieder direkter provinzialer Verwaltung unterstellt wurde. Zypern erscheint in den folgenden Jahrhunderten als zwar eine eher unspektakuläre, aber offenbar prosperierende Provinz des Römischen Reiches.112 ZUSAMMENFASSUNG Mit der Provinzialisierung Zyperns durch die lex Clodia wurde in der Tat erstmals ein König ohne vorhergehende Kampfhandlungen abgesetzt und sein Land ohne drängende militärische Notwendigkeit der römischen Provinzialverwaltung unter105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112

Cic. Att. 5.21.12; 6.1.7; vgl. hierzu Braund 1989: 144 f.; Rawson 1975. Cic. Att. 6.1.3–5; Schulz 1997: 193–197. Z. B. Cic. Verr. 2.4.89; fam. 3.8; Braund 1989: 146–148. Cic. fam. 1.7.4; 13.48. Er wurde von App. Claudius Pulcher 53–51 v. Chr. abgelöst, dieser dann bis 50 v. Chr. durch Cicero; Cic. fam. 3.8.2–5; Att. 5.21.6; 10–13; 6.1.5–7; 2.7; 3.5; Hill 1940: 226 f.; Badian 1965: 113. Vgl. für Neuansätze unter Caesar Kirbihler 2011. Badian 1965: 115. Cass.Dio 42.35.5; Badian 1965: 114. Zwischen 30 und 22 v. Chr. wurde Zypern wahrscheinlich durch legati des Princeps verwaltet, seit 22 v. Chr. wurde es wieder Provinz; vgl. Mitford 1980: 1295.

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stellt, um die Einkünfte Zyperns sowie des königlichen Vermögens für die römische Staatskasse nutzen zu können. Ein Vergleich dieses Falls mit anderen Beispielen des römischen Umgangs mit auswärtigen Völkern hat indes gezeigt, dass Zypern, im Gegensatz zu Ciceros eingangs zitierter Behauptung, durchaus keinen Sonderfall darstellt, sondern sich in Vielem in die paradoxen Mechanismen der römischen Reichsbildung einordnen läßt. So konnte gezeigt werden, dass sich v. a. im 1. Jh. v. Chr. allmählich ein Begriff von der geographischen Ausdehnung und Struktur des römischen Gemeinwesens ausbildete und Vorstellungen über administrative Anforderungen aufkamen. Hierzu trugen auch die wachsenden Erfahrungshorizonte in der alltäglichen Provinzialverwaltung bei. Allerdings wurden diese veränderten Gegebenheiten nahezu nicht im politischen System der res publica oder dessen Karriereanreizen abgebildet. Außerdem wurde die Tätigkeit der Statthalter durch konkurrierende Partikularinteressen erschwert. Entscheidend blieben die Stadt Rom und die hier tagenden Versammlungen römischer Bürger, was die Neigung verstärkte, abhängige Gebiete als praeda populi Romani zu bewerten, ohne die Interessen der dortigen Bewohner in römische Politik zu überführen. Insofern überrascht es letztlich nicht, dass bei der Ausplünderung Zyperns Optimaten wie Cato d. J. und Populare wie Clodius einträchtig zusammenwirkten, ohne dass einer von beiden Impulse für die Verwaltung Zyperns gegeben hätte. Dennoch ist die Frage, ob sich im Verlauf der Geschichte der römischen Republik die Bedeutung auswärtiger Klientelen erhöht hat, zu bejahen. Waren es anfangs v. a. befreundete Könige, die im Sinne informeller zwischenstaatlicher aristokratisch geprägter amicitia-Beziehungen den Fokus des römischen Senat bildeten, führte das Interesse Roms an der Kontrolle bzw. Fragmentierung auswärtiger Machtpotentiale zur Erosion dieser Monarchien, ohne dass Rom auf die Anbindung befreundeter Könige je ganz verzichtet hätte. Als Folge dieser wachsenden römischen Dominanz verstärkte sich die Notwendigkeit für abhängige Städte und Völker, direkte Beziehungen zu Rom zu suchen. Dies führte zu einer wachsender Zahl direkter Patronagebeziehungen und lokaler Vernetzungen, welche zumindest für einige Patrone auch mit erheblichem Prestige- und Geldgewinn verbunden waren. Dass die oftmals vernachlässigten Interessen und Bedürfnisse dieser auswärtigen Territorien in wachsendem Maße Teil der politischen Agenda Roms wurden, war unvermeidbar. Das problematische Kapitel der Provinzialisierung Zyperns zeigt jedoch die systembedingten Schwierigkeiten bei der administrativen Integration eroberter Räume innerhalb der Römischen Republik.

5. THE IMPACT OF FOREIGN CLIENTELAE IN ROME: POLITICAL AND MILITARY ASPECTS

RECONSIDERING FOREIGN CLIENTELAE AS A SOURCE OF STATUS IN THE CITY OF ROME DURING THE LATE ROMAN REPUBLIC* Cristina Rosillo-López “Clientelae abroad were of very real value to the prominent Roman wanting a public career. But beyond this concrete importance there was the reputation they gave him: for power, in Rome, was indissolubly linked with standing and prestige, and these were advertised by foreign clientelae as much as by the attendance of Roman clients. Foreign envoys attending his levee no doubt added distinction to the crowd; the introduction of envoys and even of kings into the Senate was a public advertisement of his standing among the allies”.1 Badian described in this way the importance of foreign clientelae for the Roman politician: as an invaluable source of status and reputation; and as a beneficial and useful asset which could be maintained over time and, in some cases, transmitted to the following generations. For Gelzer, Pompey’s power “rested on his clientelae”.2 In general, the consensus among scholars is that “…provincial clientelae were of the highest value to a politician’s reputation”.3 Furthermore, “…prestige was probably the most important advantage a Roman derived from such relationships”.4 However, Roman sources do not present such a precise, straightforward, and unambiguous image. Foreign clientelae could be providers of money and goods in kind for the Roman politician. Their role as a source of prestige and a boost to a political career in Rome should be re-evaluated. Furthermore, the elite was not the only component of the Roman political body. In order to analyse the possible advantages of foreign clientelae in the city of Rome, the points of view of both elite and non-elite should be acknowledged and analysed. These opinions were not always in tune, since the two groups did not share the same interests and political interpretations. A caveat should be put forward: opinions, as represented by the sources, were neither consistent nor homogeneous through time. They also depended on the political issues and stakes that existed at a specific moment in time. Did elite and non-elite share the same conception of foreign clientelae? Did they

*

1 2 3 4

This paper has been produced within the framework of the research project “Las clientelas provinciales en el Occidente del Imperio romano” (HAR2010–16449), financed by the Spanish Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad. Translations come from Loeb editions, unless otherwise stated. Badian 1958a: 163. Gelzer 1969: 93. Gelzer 1969: 99. Eilers 2002: 97.

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consider them as a positive resource which brought status or as a negative asset which could entail discredit? Were foreign clientelae a source of status within the Roman elite? For status to be effective, it has to be communicated satisfactorily. Foreign communities publicised their relationship with Roman politicians. Inscriptions that commemorated past deeds of the patron for the benefit of the city were set up in prominent places. Gratitude was not the only reason behind them: “…inscriptions set up in the provinces (…) were not intended to honor the recipient as much as to convey to the particular audience something about the status of the recipient”.5 In 50 B. C., Cicero wrote a missive to Cato with the intention of exalting his own exploits as governor of Cilicia, aiming to capture his correspondent’s goodwill for the granting of a triumph. Cicero applauded Cato’s attention to the complaints of the provincials, and alluded to the latter’s own clientelae: “And not only will everybody almost unanimously declare to you about me the things which I desire most, but also your two greatest clientelae, the island of Cyprus and the kingdom of Cappadocia, will speak to you about me, as will King Deiotarus, I think, who is especially attached to you alone”.6 Moreover, Cicero was also aware that Cato was patron of two cities in Cyprus (Citium and Salamis).7 How was he acquainted with all that information? How had Cato managed to share and circulate the fact that several communities counted him among their patrons? Communicating and sharing with their peers the existence and attachment of foreign clients was not as straightforward as it seems at first sight. Thus we should review the events and moments at which the existence of foreign clientelae could be announced and transmitted. Foreign clients usually travelled to Rome when necessity compelled them. Once there, they made an effort to knock on as many doors as possible in order to achieve their objective. Exclusivity was never a requisite in patronage; senators could have multiple ties of patronage toward different communities, and vice versa. The case of Sicily is most telling, because of the abundance of data.8 The Marcelli had had a long-lasting patronage over Sicily, but they were not the only Roman patrons: the Scipiones, Claudii and the Metelli were also counted among them; Verres was the patron of Syracuse and Messina.9 In the Divinatio in Caecilium, delivered before the trial against Verres, Cicero boasted that the Sicilians had de5 6

7 8 9

Schoenlin Nicols 1992: 15. Cic. fam. 15.4.15: “cumque omnes uno prope consensu de me apud te ea, quae mihi optatissima sunt, praedicabunt, tum duae maximae clientelae tuae, Cyprus insula et Cappadociae regnum, tecum de me loquentur, puto etiam regem Deiotarum, qui uni tibi est maxime necessarius.” See Plut. Cat.min. 12.2 (Cato’s “ancestral guest-friendship” with the king of Galatia); Eilers 2002: 260, 256; appendix C143, C155. Cato’s relationship probably date from 58–56 B. C., when he organize the province of Cyprus. Citium: Cic. fin. 4.56. Salamis: Cic. Att. 6.1.5 (together with Brutus). Other examples of multiples ties in Italy and Gaul in Wiseman 1971: 45–47; Schoenlin Nicols 1992: 48–64. Marcelli in Sicily: Cic. Verr. 2.3.45; 4.90; Claudii over Messina: Cic. Verr. 2.2.122; Metelli collectively over the Sicilians: Ascon. 187 Stangl; Cornelius Lentulus over the Sicilians: Cic. Verr. 2.2.103; Metelli Scipii over Segesta: Cic. Verr. 2.4.79; Verres: Cic. Verr. 2.2.114; 4.140.

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cided to resort to him, in addition to their numerous and traditional patrons.10 The Abderites, who lacked support in Rome, asked two citizens of Teos to act as their envoys and call for help to the latter’s patrons. The epigraphic commemoration of their deeds stresses the fact that they looked for aid in many places: “They met with the [leading men] of Rome, winning them over by their daily perseverance, and induced the patrons of the city to help our people. When [some] preferred our adversary and championed his cause, by their explanation of the affair and by daily calls at their atria, they won over their friendship”.11 Foreign clients in the city were present during the salutationes, a moment of sociability in which citizens of different economic classes and political influence crossed.12 Ideally, throngs of people would gather every day in the politician’s atrium in order to parade his popularity and prestige.13 From the late second century B. C. onwards, callers were classified according to their rank. Livius Drusus and Caius Gracchus were the first to separate them, “…receiving some in privacy, some in company with others, and others en masse”.14 Clients also used to accompany senators on their daily walk, both as a tangible proof of their prestige and as a way to express their support publicly. This accompaniment was especially important during elections, when candidates tried to surround themselves with supporters during the deductio, or procession to the Forum, or the adsectatio, throughout the day.15 These processions were a source of dignitas.16 The sources mention several instances in which senators were accompanied by friends and clients for protection. Clodius used to travel with Greek companions, probably clients.17 The presence of foreign clients in the salutationes, adsectationes, deductiones, and in the houses of Roman senators entailed several logistical problems. Word-ofmouth was the main informal channel of information in the city of Rome.18 How to distinguish between one foreign-looking embassy and another? Client kings were more conspicuous, but a foreign-looking embassy could be very similar to another foreign-looking embassy. Furthermore, much geographical knowledge would be needed to differentiate between one city in Asia Minor and another in Crete.19 Foreign clients could be present in a particular house one day, and then in another the following day, probably diluting the effect of their presence. This pa10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Cic. div.Caecil. 2: “in veteribus patronis multis”; div.Caecil. 14 on the Marcelli as patrons. SIG 3, 656. Translation Eilers 2002: 238; Canali de Rossi 1997: nº 337. The date of the text is a matter of discussion. Traditionally dated ca. 166 B. C., recent historians prefer to place it in the first century B. C. (see Eilers 2002: 114–119). The terms patron and atria are transliterated into Greek. Erskine 1994 interprets this as stemming from the desire of the ambassadors to impress the Abderans with new words and their dexterous handling of Roman politics. See Goldbeck 2010. Cic. off. 1.130 on an empty house and the discredit it entailed; Goldbeck 2010: 227–224 on the diminishing prestige of not having enough callers. Sen. ben. 6.34: “alios in secretum recipere, alios cum pluribus, alios universos.” Yakobson 1999: 78–79. Comm.pet. 34, 36. Cic. Mil. 28; Rawson 1973: 239. Laurence 1994; Rosillo-López forthcoming. Nicolet 1988 on politics and geographical knowledge in Rome.

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rade of foreign clients and ambassadors promenading and sauntering from one senatorial house to another may have precluded the identification of their actual patrons. This difficulty was reinforced, as we have seen, by the fact that they looked for help not only from their patrons, but also from other important politicians. Thus, if increasing prestige was the goal, other formulas had to be found. Having the most prestigious clients or ambassadors in residence was a way of expressing that those clients were exclusive to the head of that household.20 At their arrival in the city, foreign envoys were registered in the temple of Saturn by the quaestor who, following the orders of the consuls (as stated in the senatus consultum de agro Pergameno), decided where ambassadors were to be lodged.21 The latter could be accommodated at the expense of the treasury, could stay with guestfriends (proxenoi) with whom they had hospitia, or could even reside with their patrons.22 The Pergamene emissary who brought to the urbs the will of king Attalus, by which the latter entrusted his kingdom to the Romans, lodged at Tiberius Gracchus’ house; the father of the tribune had been one of the patrons of Pergamum.23 Several Eastern kings stayed at Pompey’s houses, such as king Ptolemy Auletes at his Alban villa, in the outskirts of Rome.24 The fact that both Aemilius Lepidus and Aemilius Paullus refused to lodge Charops, a politician from Epirus who had just carried out political repression at home, was felt as a profound humiliation.25 Occasional references hint that, at least in some cases, quaestors paid attention not only to old family ties, but also to intellectual affinities. The philosopher Dio, head of the Alexandrian embassy, whose murder was allegedly organised by Caelius on the orders of king Ptolemy, was lodged at the house of L. Lucceius, a cultivated man.26 After the first attempt on his life, he moved to the residence of Titus Copinius, whom he had met in Alexandria. Titus and his brother Gaius are also presented by Cicero as very erudite young men.27

20 21

22 23 24 25 26 27

Of course, not all embassies were composed of foreign clients, but their effectiveness was probably greater if ambassadors could find help from Roman patrons. As we have just seen, the Abderites, deprived of them, sent two citizens of Teos who had patrons as their envoys. IGRR IV 262 ll. 17–19; Sherk 1969: 68, dated 129 B. C. Similar instructions in the senatus consultum et foedus cum Astypalaeensibus of 105 B. C., ll. 10–11, IG xii 3,173; IGRR IV 1028; Sherk 1969: 94–99; Pina Polo 2011b: 74–75; 78–81). See Coudry 2004 on the procedures for the reception of ambassadors. On the role of the quaestor: Plut. Mor. 275c. If stipulated on the treaty of alliance, some ambassadors could claim expenses and free lodging. Failure to do so generated grave suspicions of espionage: Liv. 42.26.2–7; Ferrary 2007b: 116–118. Allusions to hosts of Roman senators always referred to prestigious Greek philosophers and writers, or to foreign kings; sources only mentioned this kind of people because they were worthy of attention. Liv. 42.1.9–10; Coudry 2004: 534–535; see on the difference between hospitium and patronage Nicols 2001; Eilers 2002: 111–112. Plut. Ti.Gr. 14; Badian 1958a: 173–174. Tiberius Gracchus the Elder had travelled to Asia in an embassy in 165 B. C. (Pol. 30.27.1–4; 31.19–20; Broughton 1951: 438). Cass.Dio 39.14.3; Str. 17.1.11. Pol. 32.6.5–6 (160 B. C.). Cic. Cael. 52, 54. On Dio see RE s. v. Dion (14); Coudry 2004: 558 on the affair. Cic. Cael. 24.

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Clientelae could also be paraded in funerals, although their presence was due more to coincidence and chance than to careful planning, taking into account their long trips. When Aemilius Paullus died, his corpse was carried by his foreign clients, some of whom happened to be in Rome by chance: “…at all events, out of all the Iberians and Ligurians and Macedonians who chanced to be present, those that were young and strong of body assisted by turns in carrying the bier, while the more elderly followed with the procession calling aloud upon Aemilius as benefactor and preserver of their countries”.28 Thus the three communities could be counted among his clients, showing that Aemillius Paullus’ clients covered both East and West.29 In 60 B. C., Clodius, not yet the famous tribune but a rising politician, may have found a way to communicate to both elite and non-elite Romans the existence of his clients: providing them with seats at the games.30 Cicero, who had already begun his dialectic skirmishes with him, related the conversation to Atticus: “…for instance, when we were escorting a candidate, he asked me whether I used to give the Sicilians seats at the gladiatorial shows. I said, “No”. “Well,” said he, “now I am their new patron, I intend to begin the practice: though my sister, who, as the consul’s wife, has such a lot of room, will not give me more than standing room”. “Oh, don’t grumble about standing room with your sister,” I answered. “You can always lie with her”.31 Cicero acknowledged that his quip was not worthy of his own status (“…you will say it was not the remark for a consular to make. I confess it was not”), but he excused himself by stating that he hated Clodia.32 Clodius had just returned from his quaestorship in Siciliy (61–60 B. C.), where he travelled after being acquitted of sacrilege in the infamous Bona Dea affair.33 In 60–59 he was still trying to find his own way in politics, and began to clash with the triumvirs.34 In order to build up his image in Rome, Clodius planned to parade the Sicilians during the games. The efficacy of Clodius’ means of communicating the existence of his clientèle is open to debate. Does the fact that Clodia provided the Sicilians with places for the games necessarily entail that the rest of those present made note of them, and linked their presence to Clodius? People did in fact notice where others were seated. During the trial of Murena, accused of electoral corruption, Cicero had to address a thorny affair: one of the Vestals, who belonged to Murena’s family, had relinquished one of her spaces to

28 29 30 31

32 33 34

Plut. Aem. 39.8. Plut. Aem. 39.9. Rawson 1973, 1977 on the Claudii clientelae in the East; Jehne 2009: 160–161 on ambassadors attending games as a way to socialise with senators. Cic. Att. 2.1.5: “quin etiam cum candidatum deduceremus, quaerit ex me num consuessem Siculis locum gladiatoribus dare. negavi. ‘at ego’ inquit ‘novus patronus instituam; sed soror, quae tantum habeat consularis loci, unum mihi solum pedem dat’ ‘noli,’ inquam ‘de uno pede sororis queri; licet etiam alterum tollas.” Cic. Att. 2.1.5: “non consulare inquies dictum. Fateor.” Cic. In Clod. et Cur. fr. 15–16; Ascon. 52–53 C; Schol.Bob. 86, and 89 Stangl. Gruen 1966: 122–123.

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one of Murena’s supporters, an eques named L. Matta.35 The orator argued that the Vestal had done it pie, for affection, and not because Murena asked her, since it was illegal. The lex Calpurnia de ambitu (67 B. C.) forbade offering places in the games to members of the tribes. The practice was endemic, since a senatus consultum of 63 B. C. and the lex Tullia de ambitu of the same year ratified the prohibition.36 At least some foreign ambassadors were seated prominently at games, in the section reserved to the senators, such as envoys from Judea and from Aphrodisias in the 40s and 30s; we do not know how far back this custom went.37 Augustus certainly forbade their presence in the rows reserved for the senators: “At Rome he would not allow the envoys of the free and allied nations to sit in the orchestra, since he was informed that even freedmen were sometimes appointed”.38 In any case, Clodius wanted seats for his Sicilian clients for the gladiatorial games, not for the theatre. The games usually took place in the Forum, where temporary wooden structures were erected. Some worthy Roman politicians saw their virtue recompensed by the concession of a special place for the games, which was inherited by their offspring. Thus, the Maenii enjoyed a good vantage point from the balcony of the Basilica Porcia.39 A similar honour was conferred on the descendants of Servius Sulpicius Rufus in 43 B. C., who would enjoy the games in the part of the Rostra where Rufus’ statue had been placed.40 Jehne has suggested that, if Roman senators watched the games in the Forum from the senaculum, foreign ambassadors were probably located in the Graecostasis, immediately below.41 However, ambassadors of Massalia attended the games once from the senaculum.42 It was probably these seating arrangements that Clodius wanted to extract from his sister. They would put Sicilians in a prominent and not usually available location, one which was not granted to all ambassadors who stayed in the urbs, least of all to foreign clients. Cicero’s retort and the bitterness of his retelling to Atticus show that Clodius’ comment struck home, and was deeply felt. Skinner interprets Clodius’ comment as 35 36 37 38

39 40

41 42

Cic. Mur. 73. Rawson 1991: 524–525 on this affair, clarifying that the Vestal did not give him her own seat, but her locus, that is, her space, the place she had for giving to others. Cic. Mur. 67; 73. The lex Tullia de ambitu allowed offering places in the games only to members of the candidate’s own tribe. Jos. AJ 14. 10. 6 (210); Reynolds 1982: doc 8, ll. 6–78; doc. 9, ll. 10–11; Jehne 2009: 160–161. Suet. Aug. 44.1: “Romae legatos liberarum sociarumque gentium vetuit in orchestra sedere, cum quosdam etiam libertini generis mitti deprendisset.” Nevertheless, in the time of Claudius or Nero, foreign ambassadors seated with senators in the Theatre of Pompey (Tac. ann. 13.54; Suet. Claud. 25.4; Edmondson 2002: 9); the same occurrence in the reign of Trajan (Cass.Dio 69.15.2; Edmondson 2002: 15). On the lex Iulia theatralis, passed between 20 and 17 B. C.; see Rawson 1991 508–545. Edmondson 2002: 13 for a graphic representation of seating in the theatre according to the law. Festus, s. v. p.135, ed. Müller. They had sold their house for the erection of the basilica. Cic. Phil. 9.16. Separation in gladiatorial games, imposed by Augustus, seems not to have been effectively enforced. Even though the law established different seating of men and women, Ovid recommended this venue as a place to seduce the latter (Ov. Ars. 1.163–176; Edmondson 2002: 15). Jehne 2009: 160–161. Just. Epit. 43.5.10.

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an aristocratic boast against a homo novus: he had a sister married to a consular, and could dispose of wide resources. Furthermore, she has remarked that Cicero was “possessive” of his clients in Sicily, as attested by his fury at Mark Antony’s proposal to grant them citizenship.43 Clients could be brought into the city en masse as a way of providing a real representation of their size. For obvious logistic reasons, this was not technically possible, except in the case of Italian clients, who lived in relative proximity. A broad number of senators came from Italian towns, where they had clients. Pompey, for instance, was the owner of several estates in Picenum, and had a vast patronage network in the area. In 56 B. C., he summoned a magna manus from that region and the ager Gallicus to oppose Clodius’ politics.44 In 43 B. C., during the war of Mutina, Cassius’ Transpadane clients proved themselves a useful force.45 Introduction of foreign embassies in the Senate was the prerogative of consuls and, in their absence, of praetors.46 The consuls decided the order of admission, a decision that was sometimes influenced by the presence of bribes.47 The first reception, prior to their admittance into the Senate, took place in the Graecostasis, a lower platform where the consuls sat and the foreign embassies requested an audience, and waited their turn.48 Speaking during a session in favour of a foreign embassy could be a way to transmit the fact that a senator, or group of senators, was its patron. Direct oral communication, that is, sharing in conversation the identity of a senator’s foreign clientelae, provided the opportunity to spread openly and unequivocally the news of their existence and prestige. Sources are available precisely for the politician who was thought in later centuries to have literally armies of foreign clients: Pompey, even though the size and existence of such a dense network of Pompeian clientelae had been much discussed.49 Furthermore, contemporary sources do not seem much convinced about their veracity. Dolabella, writing from Caesar’s camp in May 48 B. C., derided Pompey’s ostentation of the value and size of his clientelae: “You observe that neither by the glamour of his name and achievements, nor by his patronage of divers kings and peoples, which he used frequently to boast about, has Cn. Pompey been protected”.50 Dolabella wrote to convince Cicero to join Caesar’s side during the civil war, so it is expected that his vision of Pompey’s resources would be slightly derogatory. Nevertheless, Dolabella provides 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Skinner 1983: 278–279. Mark Antony’s proposal: Cic. Att. 14.12.1. Cic. Q.fr. 2.3.4; Rawson 1978: 132; Gelzer 1969: 95. Cic. fam. 12.5.2; Gelzer 1969: 97. On praetors and foreign embassies see Brennan 2000: 115–116; on consuls: Pina Polo 2011b: 58–82; 261–269. Schol.Bob. 158 Stangl. Stouder 2009 on its possible construction in the fourth century B. C., related to the concession of the hospitium publicum to Massalia. See Schoenlin Nicols 1992; Pina Polo forthcoming. Dolabella in Cic. fam. 9.9.2: “Animadvertis Cn. Pompeium nec nominis sui nec rerum gestarum gloria neque etiam regum ac nationum clientelis, quas ostentare crebro solebat, esse tutum.” Schoenlin Nicols 1992: 170, n. 31 suggests that it was a paraphrase of Dolabella’s words, while Syme 1964: 201, n. 92 attributes it to Sallust.

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the clue about communication on the size and importance of one’s clientelae: ostendere crebro. Pompey probably informed other members of the elite about his foreign support.51 Oral comments seem to be the most likely source. Comments to persons who were close to him for a time, such as Caesar, his father-in-law, could explain the mentions of Pompey’s foreign clientelae in the Bellum Civile which are, in fact, the only contemporary allusions to them.52 However, Dolabella did not count among Pompey’s closest friends. Either he learnt about it directly from Caesar, or Pompey’s allusions to his foreign clientelae had circulated widely across senatorial circles, spread either by him or by his supporters.53 Nevertheless, oral comments were not the only way in which the existence of foreign clientelae could be communicated to other members of the elite: written narratives were also a means of transmission. Information about Pompey’s clientelae could have come from the literary circle around him, and Theophanes of Mytilene is the most likely source. The latter was not only a confidante of Pompey, but also wrote a narrative of the latter’s accomplishments, including the Third Mithridatic War.54 During his stay in Rome, he was courted by Roman politicians due to his close link with Pompey.55 Cicero consulted him through Atticus to find out how well-disposed the general was towards him.56 The orator’s decision, during the civil war, to leave Italy and join Pompey’s camp followed Theophanes’ advice.57 Outside senatorial circles, his name was well known; in fact, Cicero mentioned him publicly in a trial.58 The nature of Theophanes’ work remains unknown. It was used by later historians and biographers, such as Plutarch, who criticised its objectivity in the portrayal of other politicians.59 Taking into account Theophanes’s intimacy with the Roman general, and Plutarch’s comment on the Greek’s desire to please him, his work was probably greatly encomiastic. It may have even been the source for Pompey’s favourable portrayal as a responsible and just administrator, and as someone much admired in the East, from which the existence of numerous clientelae 51

52 53 54

55 56 57 58 59

Quint. 11.1.36 also mentions Pompey’s tendency to talk up his own exploits. Pompey’s empty boasts were apparently well remarked by his contemporaries: at the beginning of the civil war, he claimed that he could call upon Caesar’s two legions and an army of 30,000 men. Marcus Favonius challenged him on the Senate to stamp upon the ground and do so (Plut. Pomp. 60.3–4). Caes. B.Civ. 1.61.3; 2.18.7. On conversations see O’Neill 2001: 94–135; Rosillo-López forthcoming. On Theophanes and Pompey see Yarrow 2006: 54–67. The nature of their relationship, closer to friendship than to any other category, is of no consequence for this hypothesis. On Theophanes’ work as a source for the Third Mithridatic War see Anderson 1922. Franklin 2003 on Theophanes’ work in comparison with Posidonius. Cic. Att. 2.5.12. Cic. Att. 2.17.3. Cic. Att. 9.1.3. On Theophanes as an approachable back door to Pompey and internal Roman politics see Yarrow 2006: 60–64. Cic. Arch. 24. Plut. Pomp. 37.3. Plutarch considered an invention the implication of Rutilius Rufus in the massacre of the Romans in Asia by Mithridates. On Plutarch’s bias against Theophanes see Yarrow 2006: 61–62.

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should be presumed by others to derive.60 Furthermore, Schoenlin Nicols has suggested that Theophanes’ vicious portrayal of Rutilius Rufus may indicate that the work was also destined for a Roman audience.61 The nature of the work and the language in which it was written, Greek, obviously targeted an elite audience, one that was much more restricted than if the work had been written in Latin. Furthermore, the work was apparently well known in 62 B. C., since Theophanes was merely described in a public trial as “…the writer of his [Pompey’s] deeds” (scriptor rerum suarum).62 Texts of a similar nature were not uncommon during the Late Republic. Lucullus, Pompey’s predecessor in the command of the Third Mithridatic War, had had his accomplishment glorified in a similar work, in Greek.63 Laudatory pamphlets and autobiographies flourished, and were used as political weapons, in this case, as an instrument to communicate the existence of one’s foreign clientelae.64 Permanent mementoes of patronage of communities were also displayed in the Forum. Equestrian gilded statues (statuae equestres inauratae) of Verres were erected by the provincials, near the temple of Vulcan, by businessmen, farmers, and the Sicilian community.65 Probably at least the latter would proclaim and communicate his patronage over the Sicilian cities. It is the only reference for this practice by foreign clients before the Principate, since statues set up by provincials were usually set up in honour of the Roman people, not to specific magistrates.66 Oral testimony by grateful provincials (some of them clients) about the rightful administration of their former governor usually took the form of embassies travelling to Rome to deliver laudationes. These embassies acted as character witnesses during trials of repetundae. The practice became abusive during the Late Republic, since governors pressed the cities to send embassies with that objective, which entailed considerable expenses for cities whose financial situation was dire. The case of Appius Claudius Pulcher is telling: once he left the province of Cilicia, he wrote several times to his successor, Cicero, to complain that the latter had recommended the cities not to send embassies to compliment him in Rome.67 His correspondent found himself at pains to justify his behaviour, alleging that he had also issued a recommendation to the cities in order to spare them the expense, while at the same time expressing his eternal friendship to Appius Claudius. To check abuses, these laudationes were regulated, firstly by a lex Cornelia in 81 B. C., although Cicero did not mention exactly which one it was of the several statutes of the same name.68 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68

Schoenlin Nicols 1992: 175–182. Schoenlin Nicols 1992: 179, n. 65 pace Anderson 1963: 36. Cic. Arch. 24. Cic. Arch. 21. Scholz and Walter 2013; Rosillo-López forthcoming. Cic. Verr. 2.2.137, 145, 150, 154, 167–68; Prag 2013: 279–280 on Verres’ pan-Sicilian patronage. On Verres’ statues: Sehlmeyer 1998: 213–215; Berrendonner 2007: 217–218. Cic. Phil. 6.12–15: statutes erected by Roman clients to Lucius Antonius. On similar honour to Augustus, but with statues not of the prince, but allegories of the provinces, see Berrendonner 2007: 217, n. 95. Cic. fam. 3.8; 3.10. Cic. fam. 3.10.6.

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Two laws of Pompey (de vi and de ambitu) reiterated the prohibition of laudationes in trials.69 In A. D. 11 Augustus forbade such delegations from being made until at least sixty days after the departure of the governor from his province.70 The presence of embassies in a trial proclaimed their allegiance to a patron in the centre of the Forum. However, what happened in the cases of former governors that were not accused? Where were such laudationes delivered? Did the ambassadors speak in Greek or with the aid of a translator, so that the message could be conveyed more widely?71 In his hearty apologies to Appius Claudius, Cicero mentioned that laudationes were delivered in the Senate to a former governor, not a private person, with the ambassadors acting as representatives of their communities, not for their own private affairs.72 However, just one paragraph earlier, Cicero contradicted himself by stating that such appointments were not usually made for the delivery of the eulogies: “…that this is what I had seen happening to many ex-governors – deputations had come to Rome on their behalf, but I had no recollection of these deputations being allowed any special time or place to deliver their eulogy”.73 The procedure is not clear, and the eventual presence in the Senate of an embassy from a city of Cilicia, during the month of reception of embassies, with the sole objective of delivering a eulogy of their former governor, is very improbable. It is possible that Cicero was gilding the pill for Appius Claudius to soothe the enraged senator. Foreign clientelae were also useful for Roman senators because of the resources they provided, the display of which could heighten prestige and status.74 Badian, in fact, considered resources as the second benefit for politicians from clientelae.75 How could these resources communicate to the city that a senator enjoyed the trust of so many clients? Beasts, money, and all types of goods were provided by clients to their patrons, especially when the latter were running for the aedileship, which demanded huge outlays and expenses. Games could be financed through contributions, more or less voluntary, of provinces and clients. Cicero accused Calpurnius Piso of receiving a hundred talents from the Achaeans in order to pay for games.76 Appius Claudius travelled to the East in order to collect money, statues, and other resources from his clients for games that never took place.77 Former governors usually had clients in the provinces they had administrated. L. Valerius Flaccus re69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76

77

Val.Max. 6.2.5; Plut. Cat.min. 48.3–4; Pomp. 55.4–5; Cass.Dio 40.52. Cass.Dio 56.25. On the languages used by foreign ambassadors in the Senate see Pina Polo 2013a. Cic. fam. 3.8.4. Cic. fam. 3.8.3: “deinde me ita vidisse accidere multis, ut eorum causa legationes Romam venirent, sed iis legationibus non meminisse [me] ullum tempus laudandi ant locum dari”. Badian 1958a: 158–162. Yakobson 1999: 21–23 on reasons for generosity outside elections. Badian 1958a: 162–163. Cic. Pis. 90. Eilers 2002: 206, 219 lists Piso as patron of Beroea, Amphipholis (both in Macedonia) and Samothrace, as registered in statue bases. These honours probably stemmed from Piso’s proconsulship in Macedonia (57–55 B. C.). For the date of delivery of the In Pisonem see Nisbet 1961: 199–202. Cic. dom. 111–112; Schol.Bob. 91 Stangl. On the clientelae of Appius Claudius in the East see Rawson 1971: 231; 1977: 353.

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ceived a contribution for the celebration of games from the cities of Asia during his service as governor of the province (97–91 B. C.). Again, the games never took place, and the money was deposited in the municipal treasury of the city of Tralles, of whom the Valerii Flacci were patrons.78 Around forty years later, Flaccus’ son claimed the money as his father’s heir. But the city had put the money to use, lending it with interest, and conflict ensued.79 In his autobiography, Sulla justified his defeat in the elections for the praetorship by stating that the people desired games with oriental and exotic beasts.80 If he became aedile, his connections with Eastern kings would serve him to present spectacular games. The elephants that Pompey deployed for the inauguration of his theatre in 55 B. C. were probably secured thanks to his clients in the East. In this case, though, the result was not the one expected, since the audience was impressed by the beasts, but also manifested compassion towards them.81 In 195 B. C., the Sicilians provided cheap corn in honour of Flaminius, and his son distributed it during his aedileship.82 Such outlays did not grant prestige and status automatically. When Cicero came back from his quaestorship in Sicily, he believed he would be praised for delivering cheap grain to the city at a moment of very high prices, but people did not seem to have noticed.83 Furthermore, again, communicating the origin of such assets was not an easy task. Foreign beasts, for instance, could be obtained through other means, such as amicitia, or by simple acquisition.84 Verboven has suggested that both patronage and amicitia were an “…alternative mechanism for the allocation of scarce resources”.85 However, in amicitia, the resources were offered as help, whereas in patronage they were given in exchange for deference.86 In this case, the final result was the same: that is, exotic beasts were displayed in the games, regardless of the way in which they had been obtained. Pompey exhibited a lynx from Gaul, when Caesar, his father-in-law, was proconsul of the province.87 Caelius deployed all his best arguments towards Cicero in order to get panthers from Cilicia. Cicero refused it again and again, and his friend finally got them from Curio.88 A governor did not need to be patron of a region or a province to extort these goods: Cicero praised his brother for sparing the province of Asia the vectigal aedi78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88

Cic. Flacc. 53; Eilers 2002: 251. Cic. Flacc. 56; 59; Rauh 1993: 245; Erkelenz 1999. Alexander 2002: 92–94 on the issue of the legal owner of the money. Plut. Sull. 5.1; Plin. n.h. 8.16; Sen. brev.vit. 13.6. Shelton 1999 on displeasure at the sight of the elephants as an expression of anti-Pompeian sentiment and of pity at the elephants appearing as suppliants; Bell 2004: 162–172 on the use of elephants in Roman games and Pompey’s case. Liv. 33.42.8. Cic. Planc. 64–65. Bertrandy 1987 on the logistics of the transport of animals from North Africa. On the different economic functions of amicitia see Verboven 2002: 341–349. On the differences and similarities between amicitia and patronage see Verboven 2002: 49–62. Verboven 2002: 16. Verboven 2002: 62. Plin. n.h. 8.84. Cic. fam. 8.2; 8.4; 8.8; 8.9; 8.10; Att. 6.1.21.

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licium, the contributions for the games of the aediles.89 Nevertheless, in some cases, people were aware of the connections and what could be obtained through them.90 Thus, foreign clientelae may have been a source of status within the elite, but it was an arduous and complicated task to communicate and display their existence. Clients could travel to Rome, and their presence could be felt in the salutationes, adsectationes, deductiones, and every place where Roman senators went accompanied. However, the multiplicity of patronage ties made it difficult to ascertain whose clients the visitors were. Neither was residence an indicator of patronage ties. Parading clients in the games, in special places, could represent an effective means of communicating this, but it seems that Clodius’ plan was exceptional. Written and oral communications were probably more effective, as attested by the alleged importance in the sources of Pompey’s network of foreign clients. Statues were a more direct testimony, although they were not a common means of parading foreign clients. The laudationes provided information about the link between a patron and a city, but these were usually restricted to trials for extortion. Finally, resources were one way to display foreign connections, but such goods could also be obtained through other means, especially amicitia. This review of how the elite could communicate the existence and identity of their foreign clients reveals the difficulties of such a task. It was not an easy way to show off one’s status, not even through the exhibition of resources. Status could be displayed to other senators, but also to the people. Were foreign clientelae a source of prestige for the people? Did non-elite citizens consider that foreign clientelae were a positive asset for a politician? The answer to these questions involves a supplementary difficulty because, as always, we are dependent on elite sources. The moments of formal communication between elite and non-elite, in which the matter of clientelae and foreign embassies was touched upon, are of special interest: courts of justice, and contiones. Speeches delivered in the courts of justice did mention patrons and clientelae. It is not surprising, since the cause of the event was the presence of foreign embassies which had successfully made the rounds and had pleaded to senators, in order to bring the governor who had been responsible for the extortion to court. In all the contiones delivered by Cicero before the people, there is not a single mention of foreign clients, neither his nor anybody else’s. The speech Pro Lege Manilia would be the most likely place for the subject to occur. Cicero spoke before the people in 66 B. C. during a contio, in which he supported the proposal to charge Pompey with the leadership of the Roman troops in the war against Mithridates, the Third Mithridatic War. The orator mentioned at length how the name of Pompey was praised everywhere, especially in Asia.91 He also explained to the Roman people that Pompey’s auctoritas was considerable, so cities and peoples surrendered in deditio to him alone.92 Apart from these vague references, there is no other allusion to Pompey’s foreign clientelae. 89 90 91 92

Cic. Q.fr. 1.1.26. Quintus was, though, patron of the city of Colophon (Ferrary 2000: 351–353; Eilers 2002: 227). Plut. Pomp. 52.4; Cic. fam. 7.1; Plin. n.h. 8.7.20; Cass.Dio 39.38. Cic. leg.Man. 43–44. Cic. leg.Man. 46.

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This striking absence is corroborated in the Third Catilinarian. In 64 B. C., L. Licinius Murena was governor of Transalpine Gaul. Apparently, he worsened the Allobroges’ financial situation by helping Roman creditors to collect their debts. The provincials, then, decided to send an embassy to Rome, to seek relief through appealing to their patrons. In 63 B. C., Catiline’s co-conspirators thought that the support of a warlike tribe would be useful for their coup against the government. Thus, Umbrenus met the ambassadors of the Allobroges in the Forum, and learnt about their unsuccessful lobbying: “He saw that they complained about the greed of the magistrates, they blamed the Senate because there was no help from that quarter, and they expected that death would be the cure for their miseries”.93 Plunged into the intricacies of Roman internal politics, the Allobroges were not much convinced of their involvement in the plot, and hoped that the information they had would be more valuable for them that their military support.94 Short of contacts in the city, they asked for the counsel of Q. Fabius Sanga (RE 143), “…a man whose patronage had been very useful to their country”, who relayed the plans to Cicero.95 The Allobroges’ information helped to frame the conspirators, and to implicate them through letters, leading to their murder without trial. All this relevant information is missing in the speeches delivered before the people. Cicero mentioned the Allobroges three times in the Third Catilinarian.96 He described them as legati Allobrogum, omitting the reasons for their presence in Rome, why they were approached by the conspirators, or the intervention of Fabius Sanga, their patron. Arguments ex silentio do not demonstrate a hypothesis. These instances alone do not substantiate the idea that non-elite citizens did not consider clientelae as a source of status and prestige and, thus, the elite avoided, or just omitted, mentioning it. The attitude and opinions of the Roman plebs towards embassies and clientelae present in Rome, though, are much more telling. Roman popular opinion was not negatively disposed towards clientelae per se, but towards what they implied. As we shall see, foreign clientelae visited Rome when they had problems to resolve, a request to present to the Senate, or when they wanted to bring a former governor to trial. Roman people almost exclusively saw the negative parts of the relationship. Furthermore, intolerance towards the illegal enrichment of the elite seems to have been widespread during the Republic. Thus, clientelae do not seem to have been a source of prestige for Roman politicians in the eyes of the Roman people. A patron could not be brought to trial for exceeding demands towards their clients, since it was a strictly non-legal relationship. However, many governors had been patrons of some cities or even the whole region, coming into contact with them during their term of office; thus, they could be tried afterwards. This was sim93 94 95 96

Sall. Cat. 40.2–3: “Postquam illos videt queri de avaritia magistratuum, accusare senatum, quod in eo auxili nihil esset, miseriis suis remedium mortem exspectare.” On sociability in the Forum and conversations see Rosillo-López forthcoming. Their calculations proved correct, since they received a reward from the Senate (Sall. Cat. 50.1). Sall. Cat. 41.4–5: “cuius patrocinio civitas plurumum utebatur.” A Fabius had been the conqueror of the Allobroges. Eilers 2002: 46–50. Cic. Cat. 3.4; 3.6; 3.8.

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plified, up to a point, by the lex Calpurnia de repetundis and the establishment of a permanent tribunal (quaestio perpetua) under the charge of a magistrate to deal exclusively with extortion.97 Receiving bribes from ambassadors, some of whom were clients, was not considered strictly illegal.98 However, it stood in a grey zone, since it was frowned upon by a number of people who considered it improper. Furthermore, it was widely assumed that senators delayed the reception of the embassies in order to increase the bribes that were offered to obtain an audience in the Senate.99 The praeco Granius, whose freedom of speech and sincerity became almost a byword of the Late Republic, chastised the consul Scipio Nasica precisely for this practice. After a suspension of all judicial proceedings had been proclaimed, the consul bumped into Granius in the middle of the Forum, and enquired: “…why he was sad; was it because all the auctions were postponed?” “Rather,” said he [Granius],“because they have sent back the ambassadors.”100 Granius was actually expressing heavy criticism, which could not be dismissed, since such acts were reprobated. The lex Gabinia in 67 B. C. reserved the month of February for the reception of embassies by the Senate, in order to avoid the voluntary delaying of their admission in exchange of money.101 This same quip was used by Cicero in a private letter to his brother in 54 B. C. The orator had spoken publicly against king Antiochus I of Commagene, who had requested some special privileges, including that of wearing the toga praetexta. The consul Appius Claudius Pulcher was pushing the affair, and apparently getting benefits from it: “For he sees that if I adopt a similar style of discussion in the other business, February will not bring him anything in”.102 Cicero mockingly taunted Verres by stating that the rapacious governor only felt at home in the Senate during the month of February.103 Thus, this practice was vox populi by the Late Republic; the lex Gabinia may just have concentrated these deals into a shorter space of time. Some populares politicians used wrongdoings in the provinces by patrons and magistrates as one of the bones of contention of their policies, something which apparently resonated positively with the Roman plebs. The discourse denouncing the exploitation of the provinces was used by Caius Gracchus, when the propraetor Fabius sent grain from Hispania. Gracchus convinced the Senate to return the grain 97 On the lex Calpurnia and the permanent tribunal: Cic. Brut. 106; off. 2.75; Verr. 2.3.195; Tibiletti 1953b; Fontette 1954; Brunt 1961; Ferrary 1979; Lintott 1981b; Richardson 1987; Rosillo-López 2010: 115–124. 98 See Rosillo-López 2010: 136–144 for a discussion about it. 99 On the procedure and customs of the Senate related to the reception of foreign embassies see Brennan 2009: 188–190. 100 Cic. Planc. 33: “consuli P. Nasicae praeco Granius medio in foro, cum ille edicto iustitio domum decedens rogasset Granium quid tristis esset; an quod reiectae auctiones essent: ‘immo vero,’ inquit, ‘quod legations”; cf. Schol.Bob. 158 Stangl. 101 Cic. fam. 1.4.1; Att. 1.14.5. See Bonnefond 1984: 71–73; Bonnefond-Coudry 1989: 295–346. Pina Polo 2011b: 261–264 has argued that the law confirmed the habitual practice of receiving ambassadors at the beginning of the consular year. 102 Cic. Q.fr. 2.10.2: “Videt enim, hoc genere dicendi si utar in ceteris, Februarium sterilem futurum.” 103 Cic. Verr. 2.2.76.

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to the cities, and to censure him for placing a heavy financial burden on the provincials. The popular repercussion of Gracchus’ conduct was very positive: “…this decree brought Gaius great reputation as well as popularity in the provinces”.104 The same arguments were used by Pompey, in his first contio before the people as elected consul. Besides announcing the long-desired restoration of tribunician powers, Pompey declared that he intended to solve the problem of the provinces, which were vexatae, and the non-effective courts of justice. A maximus clamour from the people answered to these proposals.105 It is another instance in a list of mentions of this popular resentment. Other popular tribunes of the people attacked the problem from a different angle. Cornelius and Gabinius proposed laws that restricted access to money by the embassies and the amount of time they could spend in Rome, in order to curb demands of money from Roman senators. The tribune Cornelius, during his term of office, presented to the people laws aimed at controlling electoral and provincial corruption, which angered the Senate and were blocked by various means.106 In the case of extortion, his proposal aimed to diminish the amount of money that provinces spent on bribing senators when the embassies travelled to Rome. Thus, in 67 B. C., he complained in the Senate that the ambassadors borrowed money in Rome for such expenses, and that the repayment of principal and heavy interests were crushing the provinces financially.107 Facing Cornelius’ demand of legislation on this, the Senate prevaricated, alleging that such loans had already been forbidden by a previous senatus consultum, which had been applied to an embassy of Cretans in 69 B. C.108 Despite senatorial opposition, his colleague Gabinius managed to pass a law, with the support of the people, which extended to all provincials the prohibition on borrowing money in Rome (lex Gabinia de versura Romae provincialibus non facienda).109 Gabinius’ law probably shared a great part of the contents of Cornelius’ proposal. Thus, this case featured two very popular tribunes of the plebs, who managed to pass a law against senatorial wishes, banking on widespread popular opinion against the enrichment of senators and financial middlemen through the exploitation of embassies and foreign clientelae who travelled to the city of Rome. This popular resentment against senators getting rich through bribery from clients and ambassadors represents one of the leitmotifs from Sallust’s Bellum Iugurthinum, by the late second century B. C. During the dispute for the kingdom, Jugurtha killed one of his half-brothers, while the other appealed to the Roman Senate for help. The question of the murder was dealt with in a session, with both 104 105 106 107 108 109

Plut. CGr. 6. 2; Garnsey and Rathbone 1985; Erdkamp 2000. Cic. Verr. 1.45. Rosillo-López 2010: 66–68; 141–143. Ascon. 57C. Ascon. 57C. Cic. Att. 5.21.12; 6.1.5; 2.7. Cf. Bonnefond 1984: 61–100 on the possible date and content of the law. Interestingly, Cornelius’ unsuccessful proposal to curb electoral corruption by punishing the divisores or middlemen was also opposed by the Senate and enjoyed a wide support with the plebs, up to the point that the people rejected the proposal of the Senate, which was more lenient. A revolt of the divisores ensued during the voting of the law: Ascon. 74–75C; Marshall 1985: 261; Rosillo-López 2010: 66–67.

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Jugurtha and his rival Adherbal trying to find supports among senators. During the voting, Aemilius Scaurus, the prototype of the haughty aristocrat for Sallust, decided to vote against Jugurtha: “He saw the king’s scandalous and shameless bribery and was afraid that the outcome would be the usual one, namely that polluted licence would create popular resentment”.110 Scaurus’ strategy was correct because, when the scandal of Jugurtha’s bribes exploded, people were outraged. The vector and catalyst of this indignation was the tribune elect of the plebs, Caius Memmius. When news arrived in Rome about the massacre of Cirta and Adherbal’s murder, Jugurtha’s supporters in Rome filibustered the inquiry in the Senate through endless arguing and delayed discussion. Memmius, still magistrate elect, informed the people of the situation in a contio.111 In Sallust’s view, the Senate reacted against Jugurtha because of its guilty conscience, and decided to send an army.112 After military skirmishes, peace was settled, but news arrived in Rome that it had been achieved only because Jugurtha had bribed several Roman commanders: “After rumours about the events in Africa and how they were handled became common, the consul’s actions were the topic of conversation everywhere people gathered in Rome. The plebs were indignant, the ‘fathers’ troubled”.113 Public opinion was thus aroused against Roman misdemeanours; the tribune Memmius channelled and inflamed that opinion in contiones. Memmius’ speech is obviously a fabrication by Sallust, but the content was probably true to what was delivered.114 The running theme deals with the dislike of aristocrats and their sway and control of politics. Interestingly, it is framed through popular indignation against exploitation of provinces and enrichment of senators: “In former years you were silently indignant that the treasury was plundered, that kings and free peoples paid tribute to a few aristocrats, that the same men held both the highest glory and the greatest wealth (…) And those who have done these things are neither ashamed nor sorry. Instead they parade before your eyes, grand men, displaying priesthoods and consulships, some their triumphs, as if they held these things as an honour, not as plunder”.115 Popular resentment towards enrichment of the magistrates in the provinces was not a feeling 110 Sall. Iug. 15.3: “Is postquam videt regis largitionem famosam impudentemque, veritus, quod in tali re solet, ne polluta licentia invidiam accenderet, animum a consueta libidine continuity.” On Sallust’s negative view of Scaurus, see Paul 1984: 66–67. 111 On the powers and attributions of elected magistrates see Pina Polo 2013b (consuls designati). The question whether Memmius could convoke a contio as tribune elect is a subject for discussion. The wording by Sallust is ambiguous: populum Romanum edocere (Sall. Iug. 27.2). It may imply that Memmius did in fact convoke the meeting using his right to do so as tribune-elect, as Frolov and Pina Polo have suggested that other elected magistrates could do (Frolov 2011: 48; Pina Polo 2016, for an analysis of all known cases). 112 Sall. Iug. 27. 113 Sall. Iug. 30: “Postquam res in Africa gestas quoque modo actae forent fama divulgavit, Romae per omnis locos et conventus de facto consulis agitari. Apud plebem gravis invidia, patres solliciti erant.” 114 Paul 1984: 97 (on Memmius’ speech). Some of Memmius’ speeches may have been available in Sallust’s time. 115 Sall. Iug. 31.9–10: “Superioribus annis taciti indignabamini aerarium expilari, reges et populos liberos paucis nobilibus vectigal pendere, penes eosdem et summam gloriam et maximas divitias esse. (…) Neque eos qui ea fecere pudet aut paenitet, sed incedunt per ora vestra magnifici,

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ignored by the elite. Diodorus, a Sicilian persecuted by Verres, travelled to Rome and pleaded for help to his patrons, telling his story everywhere. Verres’ father and friends wrote to the governor of Sicily and advised him to curb somehow his enrichment, since: “…the facts were known, and were arousing ill-feeling”.116 In order to identify the senators who had accepted bribes, Jugurtha was summoned to Rome and paraded before a contio. The audience was incensed: “…the plebs were hostile to the king and some were calling for him to be put in chains, others for him to be punished like an enemy in the ancestral manner if he did not disclose his accomplices”.117 Memmius managed to control the feelings of the crowd. However, Jugurtha’s statement was cut off by the intervention of another tribune of the plebs, who forbade him to speak. Nevertheless, in 109 B. C., through the initiative of the tribune C. Mamilius Limetanus, a quaestio was set up to investigate the accusations of bribery and incompetency of magistrates during the war against Jugurtha (the so-called quaestio Mamilia).118 The Senate opposed to it, but the law was passed before the people. According to Sallust, the inquiries were held without scruples, “on the basis of rumour and the people’s caprice”.119 Popular hostility towards senatorial enrichment through embassies and clients was consistent. Foreign clients do not seem to have been considered by the plebs as a positive asset to be flaunted and which brought status and prestige. In conclusion, the intention of this paper has been to challenge the statement that foreign clientelae were a source of status for senators in the city of Rome. Status ought easily to have been displayed and identified by other members of the elite. Foreign clientelae did not fit into that description. The existence of foreign clients was difficult to communicate within the elite. Provincials could have several patrons, and also visited people to whom they were not attached by such a link. Showing off their presence in Rome was not an easy task, and in some cases it was related to infamous reasons, such as extortion trials. Oral and written proclamations of their existence were rare, and of varying success. Even their role as providers of resources was not as useful, since the latter could also be achieved through amicitia. A tiger showed at the games was, in the end, just a tiger, whether it had been acquired through money, friendship, or clients. All these reasons reinforce the general premise and, thus, the difficulty of claiming status for the attachment of foreign clients to members of the elite. Status should have brought positive repercussions and tangible or intangible benefits. As we have seen, this was not the case in the city of Rome, at least not for non-elite citizens. Popular public opinion about foreign clientelae was related to the moments in which the Roman plebs received information about them. First of all,

116 117 118 119

sacerdotia et consulatus, pars triumphos suos ostentantes; proinde quasi ea honori, non praedae habeant.” Cic. Verr. 2.4.41: “rem claram esse et invidiosam; insanire hominem.” Sall. Iug. 33.3: “quamquam regi infesta plebes erat et pars in vincula duci iubebat, pars, nisi socios sceleris sui aperiret, more maiorum de hoste supplicium sumi.” Paul 1984: 105, the ancestral manner was execution, preceded by scourging. Sall. Iug. 40.1; 40.5 Sall. Iug. 40.5: “ex rumore et libidine plebis.”

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trials of repetundae, where senators were judged for exploiting provincials. Secondly, the stay in Rome of embassies, which had travelled to the city to complain and which, according to the vox populi, were compelled to borrow huge amounts of money to buy their admittance into the Senate, thus enriching not only senators, but also the lenders, which ruined cities and provinces financially. In both cases, the elite got rich illegally, and the plebs got angry because of it. The mental association by the Roman plebs of foreign clientelae with all these negative aspects probably explains why foreign clients were not considered a source of status and, thus, why the elite refrained from mentioning them in speeches before the people. For a senator, it would be a senseless move to claim status and prestige for something which he was aware was deeply unpopular among non-elite citizens. Foreign clientelae were part of Roman customs, but it is doubtful that their existence entailed status or reputation for Roman senators in the city of Rome.

AUXILIA AND CLIENTELAE: MILITARY SERVICE AND FOREIGN CLIENTELAE RECONSIDERED* Jonathan R. W. Prag Ernst Badian concludes Foreign Clientelae by observing that “The foreign clientelae of Roman individuals and families, for long a source of profit and prestige to the patron and an instrument of empire more solid than the legions, become instruments of domestic discord, as tension increases after 133”. A few lines later, after expanding on the place of the Italians in that process, he adds, “Meanwhile overseas clientelae are thrown into the struggle for Rome, and Pompey first combines the client army and a network of clientelae spanning the Roman world into the bases of personal predominance.”1 In the course of his work, Badian argues that the rise of the client army, in the time of Gaius Marius, was in due course furthered by the addition of military clientelae overseas. However, for Badian, neither Roman client armies nor (non-Roman) military clientelae, are of great significance until they impact directly upon internal Roman affairs in the late Republic. In the first part of the work, the essentially non-military role of Rome’s extra-Italian allies is repeatedly stressed: “their armies were not worth considering except for purely local defence” (41). It was only with the civil war of 88 B. C. “that we find the military and political importance of the provinces decisively demonstrated” (265). Before that, “the private army that Scipio Aemilianus took with him to Numantia in 134 [was] much more portentous” (sc. than the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus), but also practically unique in Badian’s view (168 n. 2). After Marius, “We may sum up the new situation by saying that all types of foreign connexions suddenly acquire a new importance as reservoirs of military power that could be used by ambitious individuals against the Roman state”, and it was only at this point that “military clientela naturally emerged as a decisive weapon in internal power politics” (272). From the purely internal perspective of Roman politics, such an analysis would still be widely accepted (assuming that we reject the formal category of interstate clientela, and downplay the prominence of clientela per se in this process). Much more debateable is the highly reductive treatment of foreign military service prior to the end of the second century. For Badian, overseas “clientship founded by administration” was far more significant (158), and his list of ways by which clientela might be established consists merely of “victory in war, administrative contacts, or the initiative of the state concerned (or of the Senate)” (159). It is telling, in this regard, to look at how Badian treats the case of Gaius Flaminius, son of the notorious * 1

FRHist = Cornell, T. J. (ed.). 2013. The Fragments of the Roman Historians, 3 vols., Oxford. Badian 1958a: 289–90.

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Flaminius who died as consul for the second time at the battle of Lake Trasimene in 217 B. C., as an early example of how overseas contacts could lead to permanent connexions over multiple generations. In 227 B. C. the elder Flaminius was the first of the new praetors sent to govern the Sicilians. In 195 B. C. the Sicilians, in honour of his memory, sent grain to the younger Flaminius who was then serving as aedile at Rome, which he was able to use to his personal advantage. However, what Badian chooses not to note (in line with his presumption that such provincial forces were of no value), is that when Flaminius the younger was subsequently sent to Hispania as praetor in 193 B. C., he took the opportunity, against the Senate’s expectation, to levy troops from Sicily on his way out to Hispania, surely exploiting that same connection once again.2 Given the extent to which Badian’s claim for the existence of interstate clientela has been criticised,3 it is important to note that it is really the rise of the client army (i. e. personal clientship) post-133 and particularly post-Marius that he in fact emphasises. No less important for this discussion is the extent to which Badian downplays any military role for overseas clients prior to this final phase of the Roman Republic. These two aspects may of course not be unconnected in his reasoning, and are linked by his principal concern with Republican politics. This separation of personal and military clientela prior to the late Republic, as exemplified in his treatment of Gaius Flaminius, is significant because one of its consequences is to place greater emphasis, echoed in subsequent accounts, upon the (flawed) idea of interstate clientela in foreign relations, and substantially to underplay the role of what might be (but probably should not be) called clientela in the context of the raising and use of military forces in overseas contexts.4 The intention of this paper is to reevaluate the extent to which personal relations between Roman and non-Roman elites serve to facilitate, and are in turn developed by, military service on the part of non-Italian soldiers, i. e. auxilia externa.5 The importance of such relationships, and the military service that goes with them, deserves to be given a more central place in our analysis of Republican imperialism than either Badian, or the subsequent critiques of Badian, have allowed. In the loosest sense, these rela2

3 4 5

Grain sent to C. Flaminius as aedile in 195 B. C., Liv. 33.42.8: “Eo anno aediles curules M. Fuluius Nobilior et C. Flaminius tritici deciens centena milia binis aeris populo discripserunt. Id C. Flamini honoris causa ipsius patrisque aduvexerant Siculi Romam: Flaminius gratiam eius communicauerat cum collega.” Flaminius’ levy in 193 B. C., Liv. 35.2.7–9: “si tumultus in Hispania esset, placere tumultuarios milites extra Italiam scribi a praetore. Mens ea senatus fuit ut in Hispania tumultuarii milites legerentur. Valerius Antias et in Siciliam nauigasse dilectus causa C. Flaminium scribit et, ex Sicilia Hispaniam petentem, tempestate in Africam delatum uagos milites de exercitu P. Africani sacramento rogasse; his durarum prouinciarum dilectibus tertium in Hispania adiecisse.” See, e. g., the various critiques in Burton 2003 and 2011 (esp.3–6); Eilers 2002; Ferrary 1997; Gruen 1984: 158–200; and the contribution by Pina Polo in this volume. See, e. g., Pina Polo 2008 for a specific critique of the application of clientela to the raising of provincial military forces at the very end of the Republican period. Festus 16 L: “Auxiliares dicuntur in bello socii Romanorum exterarum nationum …”; Varro, l. l. 5.90: “Auxilium appellatum ab auctu, cum accesserant ei qui adiumento essent alienigenae”; cf. Liv. 22.37.7–8.

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tionships might be called “foreign clientelae”, but not necessarily, nor to much advantage. In what follows I am solely concerned with inter-personal relations between members of the elite, however those relationships might play out on the international stage: it is not my aim in this discussion either to try to classify interstate relations, or to categorise any of the episodes which are discussed here specifically as clientela. The observation that we should avoid the overuse or abuse of the category of clientela already emerges clearly in Peter Brunt’s classic essay.6 I have to date found only a single instance, prior to the civil wars of 49–31 B. C., when foreign auxiliaries are explicitly termed clientes, and that is in Sallust’s report of the murder of Cn. Calpurnius Piso in Hispania by Hispanic horsemen in 64 B. C., who according to some were old and loyal clients of Pompey (Cn. Pompeii ueteres fidosque clientis).7 The instance which Badian himself emphasises, that of P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus gathering troops for Numantia in 134 B. C., is cited because, in Appian’s account, it includes a group of “500 of his clients and friends, whom he joined in one body and called the troop of friends”.8 However, this particular group is clearly distinguished in Appian from the extensive force of overseas auxilia which Scipio also recruited “on the score of private friendship”; it is Badian who assumes that the term “clients” can be extended to the foreign contingents. Furthermore, Badian also emphasises this inferred extension of clientship as a “prologue to a new era”, rather than in any way reflecting existing recruitment practices.9 This is therefore a highly misleading assessment of patterns in recruitment of overseas manpower, auxilia externa, as well as a very tendentious extension of the role of clientela. I can hardly claim to be the first to address the place of auxilia in this discussion. Above all, Tadasuke Yoshimura, in an article published in 1961, aimed precisely to fill in the perceived gap left by Badian. Yoshimura specifically identified Badian’s failure to consider the importance of such troops for Roman imperial prac6 7

8

9

Brunt 1988a: 382–442, e. g. 391, “clientship appears infinitely more often in modern than in ancient writings”; sections 2 and 7 of Brunt’s essay are of most direct relevance to this paper. Sall. Cat. 19.3–5: “Sed is Piso in prouincia ab equitibus Hispanis quos in exercitu ductabat iter faciens occisus est. Sunt qui ita dicant, imperia eius iniusta, superba, crudelia barbaros nequiuisse pati; alii autem equites illos Cn. Pompei ueteres fidosque clientis uoluntate eius Pisonem adgressos; numquam Hispanos praeterea tale facinus fecisse, sed imperia saeua multa antea perpessos.” App. Iber. 84: οὕτω μὲν ὁ Σκιπίων αὖθις ὑπατεύων ἐς Νομαντίαν ἠπείγετο, στρατιὰν δ’ἐκ καταλόγου μὲν οὐκ ἔλαβεν, πολλῶν τε πολέμων ὄντων καὶ πολλῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐν Ἰβηρίᾳ, ἐθελοντὰς δέ τινας, ἔκ τε πόλεων καὶ βασιλέων ἐς χάριν ἰδίαν πεμφθέντας ἀυτῷ, συγχωρούσης τῆς βουλῆς, ἐπηγάγετο καὶ πελάτας ἐκ Ῥώμης καὶ φίλους πεντακοσίους, οὓς ἐκ ἴλην καταλέξας ἐκάλει φίλων ἴλην. πάντας δὲ ἐς τετρακισχιλίους γενομένους… (“He did not take any army from the active-service-list, because many wars were being waged at the time, and because there were plenty of soldiers in Hispania; but with the Senate’s consent he took a certain number of volunteers sent to him by cities and kings on the score of private friendship. To these were added 500 of his clients and friends, whom he joined in one body and called it the troop of friends. All these, being about 4000 in number …”, translation White). On this passage see Pina Polo 2001. Badian 1958a: 168 with n. 2.

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tice and military action, noting Badian’s interest rather in their significance for domestic politics.10 There is much to recommend his analysis, although in following Premerstein in asserting the organic connection between military allegiance, personal, and political clientela, he retains a centrality for clientela that is undoubtedly overstated.11 Yoshimura focuses, as almost all studies of auxiliaries do, upon the Caesarian civil wars, before using the examples of Scipio Africanus in Hispania and Scipio Aemilianus at Numantia to push the analysis back into the Republican period. His core argument, albeit based upon little more than the case of Africanus in Hispania in the Hannibalic War, is that the role of auxilia externa was crucial to the Republican empire, and that individual Roman commanders played a crucial role in exploiting that resource. Both those claims are entirely reasonable: the scale and significance of auxilia externa in Roman Republican imperialism have been almost universally ignored or underestimated.12 By way of illustration, Figure 1 presents a global distribution map of attested instances of foreign units in Roman service in the two centuries prior to 49 B. C. The map is intended to be no more than impressionistic, since the detailed presentation of the supporting evidence must be reserved for another time.13 Table 1 collects evidence for state interest in this resource, in the form of attested senatus consulta authorising overseas levies, such as those undertaken by Gaius Flaminius or Scipio Aemilianus, during the Republican period.14 The point to emphasise, given the extent of the phenomenon, is that any account which focuses (to the near or total exclusion of other evidence) on the most famous instances, such as Scipio Aemilianus at Numantia or Caesar and Pompeius in the civil wars, will risk encouraging the traditional interpretation of such actions as merely manifestations of the importance for the great dynasts of such clientela. Once it is accepted that this was a far more common phenomenon, that took place with much greater frequency across the empire and that was utilised frequently by a great many commanders in the field, the primary role of military clientela, or the domination of military clientship by certain individuals, becomes much harder to sustain. Very similar things might be said about the deeply misleading, but seemingly immovable traditional emphasis upon the significance of Marius’ actions in recruitment of citizen volunteers in 107 B. C.15 10 11 12

13 14 15

Yoshimura 1961: 476. Yoshimura 1961: 475; see Brunt 1988a: 435–8 especially; cf. Rouland 1979a for an attempt to deny any link between military service and clientela. The best general statements are Cheesman 1914: 7–11 and Ilari 1974: 25 n. 1. Specific studies of specific subsets of the evidence are: Afzelius 1944: 90–98 (Livian evidence for 200–167 B. C.); Hamdoune 1999: 7–104 (Numidians); McCall 2002: 100–113 (cavalry); Prag 2007 (Sicilians); and Cadiou 2008: 611–684 (Hispania). The map, and this discussion as a whole, prefigures a work-in-progress, provisionally entitled Non-Italian Manpower: the role of auxilia externa in the Roman Republic; see already Prag 2007, 2011a, 2011b. And compare the senatorial restriction of 171 B. C.: Liv. 43.17.2; Pol. 28.13.11, 28.16.1. See now Wolff 2010, gathering the other evidence for volunteers; and especially already Brunt 1971: 391–415 and 1988c: 253–6 demonstrating the continuation of conscription post-Marius and the essential myth of the post-Marian professional army of volunteers.

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Table 1. Attested instances of senatorial permission to recruit overseas in the Republican period. Date

Action

Principal source

207 B. C.

Permission to the consuls to levy troops from anywhere they pleased, and to transfer them from any province to wherever they pleased.

Liv. 27.38.9–12

193 B. C.

Permission for the praetor assigned to Hispania to conduct a tumultuary levy of troops extra Italiam.

Liv. 35.2.7–9

191 B. C.

Permission for the consul assigned to Greece to levy up to 5000 troops extra Italiam.

Liv. 36.1.8, cf. 36.4

178 B. C.

Consul instructed to cross into Gallia Cisalpina and levy as many troops as possible from the states there.

Liv. 41.5.5 and 9.

171 B. C.

Permission for auxilia from Liguria, Crete and Numidia for the consul assigned to Macedonia.

Liv. 42.35.6–7

154 B. C.

Senate writes to allies in Greece and Asia with permission to assist legates in restoring Ptolemy.

Pol. 33.11.6–7

153 B. C.

Senate orders military contribution from Segeda in Hispania, according to treaty.

App. Iber. 44

147 B. C.

Permission for Scipio Aemilianus to write to the allied kings and states for volunteers for the war against Carthage.

App. Pun. 112

134 B. C.

Permission for Scipio Aemilianus to take foreign volunteers to Numantia.

App. Iber. 84

109 B. C.

Permission for Q. Caecilius Metellus Numidicus to levy auxiliaries from abroad (specifically from the reges).

Sall. Iug. 43.3–4

107 B. C.

Permission for C. Marius to levy auxiliaries a populis et regibus.

Sall. Iug. 84.2–3

104 B. C.

Permission for C. Marius to levy troops from overseas against the Cimbri

Diod. 36.3.1

67 B. C.

Permission granted through the lex Gabinia for Pompeius Magnus to receive help from the peoples and kings overseas.

App. Mith. 94

51 B. C.

Permission for M. Bibulus to levy troops in Asia

Cic. fam. 15.1.5 (SB 104)

51 B. C.

Permission for M. Cicero to levy populorum liberorum regumque sociorum auxilia voluntaria in Cilicia.

Cic. fam. 15.4.3 (SB 110)

49 B. C.

Permission for Pompeius Magnus to levy troops from the peoples neighbouring Italy.

App. b.c. 2.34

For the purposes of this discussion, however, it is Yoshimura’s attempt to refine the model for auxilia recruitment that is of most immediate interest.16 The basis upon which auxilia are recruited into Roman service is remarkably hard to define.17 Past discussions have tended to focus upon formal status categories of the peoples providing this manpower as the best way to identify the basis for recruitment, such as 16 17

Yoshimura 1961: 479. Cf. Prag 2011a: 16–22.

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allies (contributions), “client kings” (contributions), subject peoples (forced levies), and mercenaries.18 Increasingly, however, our understanding of Republican imperialism runs counter to such attempts to place the Republican empire into rigid institutional boxes, and trying to define any of the first three of those groups in fixed constitutional terms is to miss the point. The extent of Roman use of mercenaries presents a problem of ideological discourse in the sources that would require a paper to itself.19 Yoshimura’s advance was to think more specifically in terms of modalities of recruitment rather than prioritising underlying statuses, distinguishing between: (1) service for financial reward; (2) levies on the basis of imperium; and (3) appeals on the basis of private relationships of gratia/auctoritas. More recently, Paul Burton has suggested something similar within his wide-ranging attempt to reassess mid-Republican imperialism in terms of amicitia, rather than clientela – although he arguably understates the general phenomenon of auxiliary recruitment, considering it to be “exceptional”, and overstates the role of “the logic of amicitia” (to the near exclusion, e. g., of foedera) in his desire to eliminate clientela from the discussion.20 Unsurprisingly, given Burton’s insistence on the inapplicability of Badian’s clientela model to the interstate level, Burton’s own emphasis is on amicitia as an interstate relationship, both in the specific realm of auxiliary recruitment and more generally. Burton distinguishes between occasions (1) when auxiliary help was completely voluntary and unsolicited by Rome; (2) when mutual agreements on the provision of troops were worked out informally in the field with Roman commanders; and (3) when Roman commanders or the senate officially and unilaterally solicited military contingents from their amici. Both categories (2) and (3) are however downplayed in the subsequent discussion, perhaps because (2) prioritises interpersonal relationships, and (3) does not admit of a discourse of friendship. Moreover, it is notable that once examples are discussed, categories (1) and (2) are in fact difficult to distinguish in practice, and few of the instances offered by Burton under (1) can really be described as independent voluntary acts. Inevitably, the exclusion of all evidence after 146 B. C. imposes limits on the analysis, as we shall see from the examples discussed below. The differences between the models of Yoshimura and Burton are significant: Yoshimura prioritises the role of the individual (through gratia or auctoritas), where mercenary recruitment (passed over by Burton) or simple imperial orders are not at work; Burton by contrast emphasises interstate amicitia, reading the majority of instances he discusses as “a manifestation of the practical logics of unequal amicitia, which compel partners to deploy equalization strategies”.21 What is true is that the number of attested examples of auxiliary recruitment that are determined explicitly by personal relationships, however defined, remain 18 19 20 21

Cf. Cheesman 1914: 8; Brunt 1971: 169; Illari 1974: 25 n. 1. Some initial discussion in Prag 2011b: 107–8. Burton 2011: 172–187. Burton 2011: 178. Burton has a notably optimistic view of the impact of all of this upon Rome’s “friends”, concluding this section of his work with the claim that “the burden of service under Roman amicitia was not terribly onerous, and Rome’s foreign relations were more truly consultative than those of other states” (205).

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few, and are principally associated with the two Scipiones: to take one example from each, Scipio Africanus’ treatment of Hispanic chieftains, and in particular of the Celtiberian Allucius, in the aftermath of the capture of New Carthage is presented in terms of personal beneficia by Livy;22 while the ability of Scipio Aemilianus to facilitate the recruitment of foreign soldiers, both on the basis of his inherited personal connections with Massinissa and his own influence, is reported by Appian and Valerius Maximus.23 It is, moreover, undeniable that most of the explicit evidence for this sort of service is to be found in the civil war narratives associated with the late Republican dynasts and triumvirs. In a great many more instances, as with the example cited above of C. Flaminius the younger, the personal connection is left implicit. This lack of explicit evidence for the personal role of the commander doubtless justifies the absence of personal relations from Burton’s discussion (notwithstanding any desire to emphasise interstate relations on his part), in contrast to Yoshimura, and Burton essentially restricts instances of what he considers an “informal battlefield agreement” to those cases where troops are attested as present but we do not have any evidence for how they were recruited in the first place. However, in the vast majority of cases we lack any explicit evidence at all for modes of recruitment, and it should be unsurprising that detailed accounts of the actions of commanders in this regard survive only occasionally in our sources, and then only for the great figures of Republican history such as the two Scipiones. The enormous quantity of actual evidence for the use of auxiliaries, illustrated above in Figure 1 and Table 1, might encourage us to imagine that these rare occasions when the details are recounted in our sources are in fact emblematic of wider patterns of practice; and yet, it must be conceded that such an argument can only ever be speculative. What is nonetheless unsurprising and undeniable is the role played in auxiliary recruitment and usage by elite individuals on both the Roman and non-Roman 22

23

Liv. 26.50 (New Carthage, 210 B. C.): Scipio restores the captured fiancée of Allucius to him, emphasising the care he has taken to show her all due respect and urging, on the basis of his own fides that “In return for that gift, I ask only this – be a friend of the Roman people” (“hanc mercedem unam pro eo munere paciscor: amicus populo Romano sis”). The conclusion of the episode is that “Allucius then held a troop-levy amongst his dependants (“dilectu clientium habito”), and within a few days returned to Scipio with 1,400 handpicked horsemen” (translation Yardley); cf. Pol. 10.19–20 and 10.34–35.2. Val.Max. 5.2 ext.4 (Scipio Aemilianus in Numidia and Celtiberia, 151/0 B. C.): “ille cum graui Carthaginiensium bello premeretur ac uix tutelae imperii sui sufficeret, tamen Scipioni Aemiliano, quia nepos Africani erat, bonam magnamque partem Numidici exercitus, quam Lucullum consulem, a quo auxilia petenda missus fuerat, in Hispaniam duceret, promptissima mente tradidit, praesentique periculo respectum pristini beneficii anteposuit” (“Hard pressed by a major war with the Carthaginians and scarcely equal to the protection of his own power, he (sc. Massinissa) nonetheless very readily handed over to Scipio Aemilianus, because he was Africanus’ grandson, a good large part of the Numidian army to be conducted by him to consul Lucullus, by whom he had been sent to ask for reinforcements, in Hispania; thus placing regard for a former benefaction above present jeopardy”, translation Shackleton Bailey), cf. App. Pun. 71–2; 124 (Carthage, 147 B. C.): “Finally, five ships of the people of Side, which followed out of friendship for Scipio, dropped their anchors in the sea …” (μέχρι νῆες Σιδητῶν πέντε, αἳ φιλίᾳ Σκιπίωνος ἕποντο…).

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sides. The much-emphasised status and autonomy of the Roman commander in the field is, at one remove, echoed in the figure of the auxiliary commander, since auxiliary units were self-contained and under their own native commanders, to a greater extent even than those of the Italian allies.24 Very occasionally, as in the case of the Celtiberian Allucius aiding Scipio Africanus (above), or with the Allobrogian cavalry commanders Roucillus and Egus serving under Julius Caesar, we can see this double relationship explicitly rendered in terms of the native commander assembling his own clientes.25 However, here too this is more usually left implicit in the treatment of auxiliary commanders: they are, for example, given high status as participants in the Roman general’s consilium, or rewarded publicly in front of their own troops in contione.26 Their status among their own people plays out in turn in the honours that they receive from their own troops, sometimes explicitly presented as honours following upon Roman honours.27 The nexus of auctoritas and gratia, to use Yoshimura’s terms, which such activities generate, can only serve to reinforce connections and future obligations. Not perhaps clientela, nor very obviously amicitia, but certainly a perfectly recognisable nexus of interpersonal relations, founded upon status and beneficia. More generally, military service, whether initiated through a personal connection or otherwise, is one very obvious context in which such personal relationships develop. Deiotarus’ service with Cicero in Cilicia in 51 B. C. is, unsurprisingly, 24 25 26

27

Prag 2011b: 105–110. Liv. 26.50 (“dilectu clientium habito”); Caes. B.Civ. 3.59–61 (reference to the clientes and the magnus comitatus of Roucillus and Egus). Participation at consilia: Liv. 34.26.4–6 (principes Graeciae at consilium of T. Flamininus, 195 B. C.), cf. 34.33.5 (“sociorum etiam principibus adhibitis habuit consilium”); Liv. 44.36.8 (“legati circa imperatorem ducesque externi erant…” with L. Aemilius Paullus at Pydna, 168 B. C.). Rewards in contione: Liv. 42.60.8–10 (after the Roman defeat near Sykyrion in Thessaly, 171 B. C.): “et in consilio apud consulem pro se quisque in Aetolos conferebant causam: ab iis fugae terrorisque principium ortum; secutos pauorem Aetolorum et ceteros socios Graecorum populorum. quinque principes Aetolorum, qui primi terga uertentes conspecti dicebantur, Romam missi. Thessali pro contione laudati, ducesque eorum etiam uirtutis causa donati.” (“And in the conference before the consul each in his own defence assigned the blame to the Aetolians; the beginning they said of the flight and panic had been made by them; the other allies from the peoples of Greece had also followed the rout of the Aetolians. Five chiefs of the Aetolians, who were the first said to have been seen turning their backs, were sent to Rome. The Thessalians were praised before an assembly, and their leaders were also awarded presents for valour.” translation Schlesinger; cf. Pol. 27.15.14, App. Mac. 12.) Note also the rewards for Celtiberian cavalry in castris recorded on the bronze from Asculum of 89 B. C. (CIL I2.709 = ILLRP 515); and the treatment of Iugurtha (Sall. Iug. 8, quoted below). On military rewards for auxiliaries, see Prag 2011a: 27. For example, Syll.3 744 (Aetolians honour Ladames of Calydon, c.84 B. C.): [τὸ κοινὸν τῶν] Αἰτωλῶν Λαδά[μεα -- Καλυ|δώνιο]ν ἀρε[τ]ᾶς ἕνεκεν καὶ εὐε[ργεσίας τᾶς εἰς | αὐτό], στρατευσάμενον, τειμ̣[αθέντα δόρατι | ὑπὸ Λευκί]ου Κορνηλίου Σύλλα καὶ σ[τρατιωτικοῖς || δώροις ἐπ’ ἀ]νδραγαθίᾳ (“The koinon of the Aetolians (honours) Ladames [son of ?] the Calydonian, for his excellence and his goodwill towards them, after he had served in the army and been honoured with a spear by Lucius Cornelius Sulla and with military prizes for his courage.” My translation.). On the uncertain restoration of the end of line 3, which could also be πολιτείᾳ, i. e. citizenship, see Cousin 1886: 183–5.

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never expressed in terms other than his loyalty to the Roman state in the course of Cicero’s letters from Cilicia, and we have already noted above (Table 1), that Cicero was formally authorised by the Senate to levy local auxiliaries. Howsoever the service was negotiated or demanded, Cicero nevertheless entrusted his son and nephew to the tetrarch during the campaign; and after that campaign Cicero could, at least in the context of public oratory at Rome, appeal to the personal ties that resulted.28 The young Attalus II served regularly with Pergamene troops alongside Roman forces in the 190s and 180s B. C.: the personal connections resulting from his service, and indeed from contubernium with members of the Roman elite during the campaigns, played a direct role in the politics of his visit to Rome in 167 B. C.29 Famously, the young Iugurtha served under Scipio Aemilianus at Numantia in 134/3 B. C. and developed a close relationship with Scipio and others, while also learning Latin.30 This last instance has prompted interesting reflections from Andrea Raggi which are pertinent to this theme. After rewarding Iugurtha in contione, says Sallust, Scipio took Iugurtha into his tent, and advised him “to cultivate the friendship of the Roman people as a body, rather than that of private individuals, and not to form the habit of bribery.” Scipio’s subsequent promise to Micipsa to raise Iugurtha’s standing with the Senate and People of Rome, has echoes of the public honours Scipio the Elder ensured were confirmed upon Massinissa.31 Raggi’s point, 28

29

30

31

Cic. fam. 15.2.2 (= SB 105, to the Senate, September 51 B. C.): “…and that I should have King Deiotarus close at hand, a most faithful and friendly ally to our country, whose advice and material support might be of service to the commonwealth”; Cic. Att. 5.20.9 (= SB 113, December 51 B. C.): “Deiotarus from whom I have had a large military contingent has written that he will come to me at Laodicea with the boys” (i. e. the young Cicerones, entrusted to him during the campaign); Cic. Deiot. 39: “public life has bound me to him in friendship, mutual regard in hospitality, intercourse in intimacy; while his great services to me and to my army have created the strongest of bonds between us” (“summam uero necessitudinem magna eius officia in me et in exercitum meum effecerunt”) (translations Shackleton Bailey and Watts., with modifications). Pol. 30.1.2: Attalus, brother of Eumenes came to Rome “with the hope of receiving some marks of attention, as they had fought side by side (συμπεπολεμηκέναι) with the Romans and loyally shared all their dangers. … He was very cordially received on all sides since they had become intimate with him in camp… (διά τε τὴν ἐν τῇ στρατείᾳ γεγενημένην συνήθειαν)” (translation Paton); cf. 30.3.1: “Attalus … solicited their favour in return for his kind offices and ready assistance in the war with Perseus.” See also Pol. 21.33.2: 21.39.5. Sall. Iug. 7.2–9.1 (Numantia, 134/3 B. C.): “Therefore, when Micipsa sent cavalry and infantry to aid the Romans in the war with Numantia (“equitum atque peditum auxilia mitteret”), he gave Iugurtha command of the Numidians whom he sent to Hispania (“praefecti Numidis quos in Hispaniam mittebat”)… he shortly acquired such a reputation that he became very popular with our soldiers and a great terror to the Numantians… Therefore Scipio relied upon Iugurtha for almost all difficult undertakings…” (translation Rolfe); Iug. 101.6 for learning Latin; cf. Vell.Pat. 2.9.4; App. Iber. 89; and see next note. Raggi 2008: 104; Sall. Iug. 8.2: “Now when Numantia had been destroyed and P. Scipio determined to disband his auxiliary troops and return to Rome himself, after giving Iugurtha gifts and commending him in the highest terms before the assembled soldiers, he took him into his tent and advised him to cultivate the friendship of the Roman people as a body, rather than that of private individuals, and not to form the habit of bribery…”; 9.1 “After speaking in this way,

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echoing Scipio’s, is the significant difference between formalised public relations and the much more shadowy area of private, informal elite relationships, which present hazards as well as potential benefits for both sides. Sallust may or may not be deliberately exploiting an implicit comparison with the practices of Scipio Africanus the Elder; the perils of such one-to-one relationships for inter-state relations were entirely familiar to Polybius, who as an official representative of the Achaeans called to his defence a senatus consultum requiring senatorial authority for requisitioning when pressed by Q. Marcius Philippus;32 and are no less visible in the political manoeuvres surrounding both Attalus II and Iugurtha. As Raggi and Burton have emphasised, the primary category for the formalisation of these relations, as it is represented in our sources, is not clientela but amicitia. The formal grant of amicitia populi Romani to individuals – as well as states – is most familiar from the SC de Asclepiade of 78 B. C., for Asclepias and two other Greek navarchs active in the service of Rome, but an earlier example in Livy takes us back to the Third Macedonian War, and the figure of a Macedonian noble who supported the Roman cause.33 Raggi collects the other eastern examples, but to these one could add, for example, the repeated attestations in Caesar of Gallic chieftains to whom the formal position of amicus had been awarded by the Senate, and whose descendants played a key role in the Gallic campaigns.34 Amicitia does not,

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Scipio dismissed the young man with a letter to be delivered to Micipsa: … To us he is dear because of his services, and we shall use our best efforts to make him beloved also by the Senate and People of Rome…” (translation Rolfe); cf. Liv. 30.17.7–14 for Massinissa. Pol. 28.13. Raggi 2008 specifically collects and discusses examples of such individual grants in the East. Burton mentions in passing the phenomenon of individual grants, but only because it “confirms the conceptual slippage between interpersonal and international amicitia” and therefore justifies his treatment of amicitia for international relations (intended as pointed contrast to Badian’s presumption of the same slippage for clientela); he does not discuss individual cases (2011: 82–3). On the SC de Asclepiade (78 B. C., CIL I2.588 = ILLRP 513 = Sherk, RDGE 22), see Raggi 2001. For the Macedonian, Onesimus son of Python, see Liv. 44.16.5–7 (169 B. C.): “ea introductus in curiam cum memorasset, senatus in formulam sociorum eum referri iussit, locum lautia praeberi, agri Tarentini qui publicus populi Romani esset ducenta iugera dari, et aedes Tarenti emi” (“On being introduced to the Senate, he recited these facts, and the Senate ordered that he be enrolled in the formula sociorum, that a residence and entertainment be provided for him, that 200 iugera of ager publicus in the territory of Tarentum be given him, and that a house be bought for him at Tarentum” (translation Schlesinger); cf. Raggi 2008: 106). Caes. B.Gall. 1.43 (Ariovistus, speech of 59 B. C.): “Caesar initio orationis sua senatusque in eum beneficia commemorauit, quod rex appellatus esset a senatu, quod amicus, quod munera amplissime missa; quam rem et paucis contigisse et pro magnis hominum officiis consuesse tribui docebat” (“Caesar began his speech by relating the benefits conferred upon Ariovistus by himself and by the Senate; the Senate had called him king and friend and had sent gifts with a most lavish hand. This privilege, as he pointed out, had fallen to the lot of but few, and was usually granted in consideration of great personal services”, translation Edwards); B.Gall. 4.12 (55/4 B. C.): “In eo proelio ex equitibus nostris interficiuntur quattuor et septuaginta, in his uir fortissimus Piso Aquitanus, amplissimo genere natus, ciuis auus in ciuitate sua regnum obtinuerat, amicus ab senatu nostro appellatus” (“In that engagement were slain seventy-four of our cavalry, and among them the gallant Piso of Aquitanita, the scion of a most distinguished line,

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of course, arise solely in the context of military aid, but it is clear that military service was a significant route by which such aid, and its future expectation, could be formalised. The place of amici populi Romani is clearly asserted, for example, at the end of the second century B. C. in the lex de prouinciis praetoriis, with its emphasis upon the safety of Romans, allies, Latins, and the friends of the Roman people.35 Among other things, such formalisation of status serves, as already noted, to reduce the significance of any interpersonal relationships that might inevitably arise within the context of military service. But the existence of formal status categories hardly eliminates the place of private relationships, and both state and personal friendship would naturally function side-by-side, with greater or lesser success according to circumstance (witness the civil wars). However, it is not a story of amicitia alone: the formal category of “friend” sits alongside an alternative form of reward and formalisation of status for military service, which is the granting of citizenship, uirtutis causa.36 Grants to individuals on this basis are a familiar practice in the Roman Republic (Cicero’s pro Balbo is the locus classicus). The practice was traditionally (already in Cato the Elder) traced back to the grant to L. Mamilius of Tusculum in 458 B. C., for his defence of the Capitol, with further examples known from the fourth and third centuries; the most famous instances are perhaps Marius’ notorious grant to the Camertes, and the grant to Celtiberian cavalry by Pompeius Strabo in the Social War, recorded on the Asculum bronze of 89 B. C.37 It is commonly asserted that such grants by individual commanders in the field were a recent development, with Marius again the

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whose grandfather had held the sovereignty in his own state, and had been saluted as Friend by the Roman Senate”, translation Edwards); B.Gall. 7.31: “Interim Teutomatus, Ollouiconis filius, rex Nitiobrigum, cuius pater ab senatu nostro amicus erat appellatus, cum magno equitum suorum numero …ad eum peruenit” (“Teutomatus, the son of Ollovico and king of the Nitiobriges, whose father had been saluted as Friend by the Roman Senate, came to Vercingetorix with a large number of horsemen…”, translation Edwards); cf. 8.44. Crawford 1996: nº 12, Cnidos Copy, col. III, ll.31–35: …ὥστε τοὺς πολίτας Ῥωμαίων καὶ τοὺς συμμάχους Λατίνους τε τῶν τε ἐκτὸς ἐθνῶν, οἵτινες ἐν τῆι φιλίαι τοῦ δήμου Ῥωμαίων εἰσίν, μετ’ ἀσφαλείας πλοίζεσθαι δύνωνται… (“…that the citizens of Rome and the allies and the Latins, and those of the foreign nations who are in a relationship of friendship with the Roman people, may sail in safety…”). Raggi 2008: 102–3 notes the potential overlap with amicitia privileges in relation to (the apparent absence of) citizenship grants in the Greek East, for which see also Ferrary 2005; Burton 2011, in line with his focus on interstate relations only, appears not to take citizenship grants into consideration. L. Mamilius in 458 B. C. (Cato the Elder, FRHist Cato F25 = Peter F25, from book 1 of the origines: “Nam de omni Tusculuana ciuitate soli Lucii Mamilii beneficium gratum fuit”, “For of all the Tusculuan community, only the service rendered by Lucius Mamilius was welcome”, on which FRHist vol. III, p.76, “the first known example of a personal grant of this type, and it is evidently to this event that the fragment refers”; cf. Liv. 3.29.6, with Ogilvie 1965: 445, accepting the notice); 300 Campanian equites in 340 B. C. (Liv. 8.11.15–16, discussed and accepted in Oakley 1998: 513–515); 300 Campanian equites in 215 B. C. (Liv. 23.31.10–11); compare the reward of citizenship in 212 B. C. for the slaves enrolled during the Hannibalic War (Liv. 25.6.21, cf. 24.16.9); Moericus the Iberian and Sosis the Syracusan in 211 B. C. (Liv. 26.21.9–13); Muttines the Numidian in 210 B. C. (Liv. 27.5.6–7, cf. Syll.3 585, l.32); the Camertes in 101 B. C. (Cic. Balb. 46, Val.Max. 5.2.8, Plut. Mar. 28, Mor. 202c); Celtiberians at

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focal point for presumed innovation.38 However, this is to ignore the broader set of evidence, and indeed Cicero’s own claims for the extent of the practice (e. g. pro Balbo 24), as well as to overprivilege the specific instance of the Camertes enfranchised by Marius and the unique survival of the Asculum bronze. The enfranchisement of the Camertine cohorts provoked a reaction because of its scale (two whole cohorts, suggested to be as many as 1,000 men) and because of Camerinum’s existing foedus with Rome, not because of the underlying principle of grants uirtutis causa. The fact that the Asculum grant took place explicitly under the terms of the recent lex Iulia should not lead us to infer that the basic practice of uiritim grants by generals was itself novel: as has been pointed out several times, a fragment of Sisenna almost certainly refers to the existence of a preceding lex Calpurnia which already conceded such grants (and given that this lex was making that concession, it should not, I think, be thought to innovate on the principle);39 and the fact that such grants were increasingly being regulated at a moment of crisis such as the Social War hardly proves that they did not take place before, especially when other evidence clearly shows that they did. Cicero in the pro Balbo unsurprisingly privileges examples from the preceding generation, as is his wont, and in particular the examples of Marius and Pompeius, but that can hardly be taken as proof of the absence of the practice before then. On the other hand, the point has rightly been made that trying to map specific patron-client networks on the basis of the presumed onomastic traces left by such citizenship grants is a deeply flawed idea, and should be abandoned.40 Nevertheless, by way of conclusion, we should not throw the baby out with the bathwater. I noted at the outset that explicit statements of clientela in the context of military service are extremely rare (and, it should be added, those of state clientela are non-existent, if we ignore the modern category of “client-kings”41); I have traced briefly some of the evidence for the importance of interpersonal relations between Roman and local elites in the exploitation of auxilia externa; and I have noted some of the evidence for the reward of these troops through the formalisation of status in relation to the Roman state, whether through the formal category of amicus populi Romani, or the granting of Roman citizenship. However, the role of the individual, as noted, is hardly likely to be eliminated through such formal grants,

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Asculum, 89 B. C. (CIL I2.709 = ILLRP 515). Collections of relevant material in O’BrienMoore 1942: 38 and Badian 1958a: 302–308 (focusing on the late Republic). So, e. g., Badian 1958a: 259, speaks of “new and revolutionary extensions … due to Marius.” FRHist Sisenna F71 (= Peter F120), from book 4: “milites, ut lex Calpurnia concesserat, uirtutis ergo ciuitate donari” (“that the soliders to be granted citizenship because of their courage, as the Calpurnian law had allowed”). FRHist, vol. III, p. 396–7 concludes that it should most likely be distinguished from the lex Calpurnia of the Social War, which provided for the creation of new tribes, and that it need not even belong to 90 B. C.; cf. Gabba 1976: 90–91, likewise suggesting it was a distinct law, perhaps of the first months of 90 B. C., and Crawford 2010: 98, suggesting that “the statute may in any case be of any date before late 90 B. C.”. Pina Polo 2011a; in Badian’s defence, he actually rejected the idea, based on the false analogy of occasional grants uirtutis causa, of extensive citizenship grants in the provinces in the Republican period (1958a: 259–60); but his successors have not been so cautious. Convenient recent overview of the subject in Hekster 2012: 185–6.

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and it is through the individual, and often through military service, finally, that clientela returns, as can clearly be seen in several examples. Towards the end of the second century B. C., Menippos of Colophon was honoured by his city for his many actions on its behalf, not least because he was “Elected general of the hoplites in time of war and with the presence of the Roman armies, and having immediately carried out the same magistracy a second time, he received himself those of the Romans who came into the city…”. Later on, the decree continues, “Consequently, being recommended to the most important Romans on account of his excellence in all things, and himself going on embassies on their behalf and being judged worthy of their trust, he became famous in many Greek cities, and having made these men genuine patroni (πάτρωνας) of the city he became extremely useful for the people before the authorities, to whom is brought everyone’s most compelling business.”42 Quintus Oppius, captured by Mithridates in 88 B. C., but aided by the city of Aphrodisias, which had undertaken military action on his behalf, in turn agreed to take up the position of patron for the city.43 Lastly, the demos and neoi of Ilion honoured Pompeius Magnus as patron in or after 62 B. C., for releasing the men of the city both from the barbarian wars and the dangers of the pirates.44 In other words, one might argue that, alongside the formalisation of the individual or community’s status, the interpersonal relationship on the Roman side, which often emerged from a 42

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Robert and Robert 1989: Menippos decree, col. II, ll.7–18: στρατηγὸς χειροτονηθεὶς ἐπὶ τῶν ὅπλων ἐμ πολέμωι καὶ παρουσίαι στρατοπέδων ῥωμαϊκῶν καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα πάλιν τὴν αὐτὴν ἀρχὴν λαβὼν, τούς τε παραγινομένους εἰς τὴν πόλιν Ῥωμαίων αὐτὸς ἐξεδέχετο, τὰς τῶν πολιτῶν οἰκίας ἀνεπισταθμεύτους ποιῶν, τοῦ τε κοινῆι συμφέροντος τὴν πλείστην ἐποιεῖτο πρόνοιαν τὰς δαπάνας συναιρῶν; and col. III, ll.5–13: τοιγαροῦν διὰ τὴν ἐμ πᾶσιν ἀρετὴν τοῖς μεγίστοις Ῥωμαίων συσταθεὶς αὐτός τε πρεσβεύων ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν καὶ πίστεως ἀξιούμενος ἐπίσημος γέγονε παρὰ πολλαῖς τῶν Ἑλληνίδων πόλεων, τῆς τε πόλεως γνησίους αὐτοὺς πεποιηκὼς πάτρωνας χρησιμώτατος παρὰ τοῖς ἡγουμένοις γέγονε τῶι δήμωι παρ’ οἷς ἀναγκαιότατοι πᾶσιν εἰσὶν ἀνθρώποις χρεῖαι. The translation is mine, but borrows from both Robert and Robert 1989: 101 and Eilers 2002: 125. Reynolds 1982: doc. 3, ll.21–29, 49–57: καθ᾿ ὃν γὰρ καιρὸν ἐκ Λαοδικήας πρὸς ὑμᾶς ἔπεμψα γράμματα ὅπω̣[ς] στρατιώτας πρός με ἀποσ[τέ]λητε, ἐν πρώτοις ἀπεστε̣[ί]λατε, τοῦτο δὲ ἐποιήσατε κ[α]θὼς ἐπέβαλλεν συμμ[ά]χοις ἀγαθοῖς καὶ φίλοις δήμου Ῥωμ̣α̣ίων ποιῆσαι … οἱ αὐτοὶ πρεσβεῖς παρεκάλεσαν ὅπως ἔξῃ τῇ [ἐ]μῇ πατρωνήᾳ καὶ ὑμεῖν χρῆσθαι· τούτους ἐγὼ ἀνεδεξάμην, καταλογῆς ἕνεκεν τῆν ὑμετέρας πόλεως, ἐμὲ τοῦ δήμου τοῦ ὑμετέρου πάτ̣ρωνα ἔσεσθαι (“For on the occasion when I wrote to you from Laodicea that you should send me soldiers, you were among the first to send them and your conduct was exactly what was due from good allies and friends of the Roman people; … the same ambassadors begged that you too should be allowed to enjoy my patronage. I accepted because of my regard for your city and undertook the position of patron of your People”, translation Reynolds). SEG 46.1565: ὁ δῆμος κα[ὶ οἱ ν]έοι | [Γναῖον Πο]μπήιον, Γναίου [υ]ἱόν, Μάγνον, τὸ τρίτον | [αὐτοκράτ]ορα, τὸν πάτρωνα καὶ εὐεργέτην τῆς πόλεως | [εὐσεβεία]ς ἕνεκεν τῆς πρὸς τὴν θεὸν τὴν οὖσαν αὐτῶι | [---]ν καὶ εὐνοίας τῆς πρὸς τὸν δῆμον, ἀπολύσαντα | [μὲν τοὺς ἀ]νθρώπους ἀπὸ τε τῶν βαρβαρικῶν πολέμων | [καὶ τῶν π]ιρατικῶν κινδύνων, ἀποκαθεστακότα δὲ | [τὴν εἰρ]ήνην καὶ τὴν ἀσφάλειαν καὶ κατὰ γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλασσαν (“The demos and the neoi (honour) Gnaius Pompeius Gn.f. Magnus, imperator III, patron and benefactor of the city, for his piety towards the goddess being for him [---] and for his good will towards the demos, after he released (or discharged?) the men both from the barbarian wars and the dangers of the pirates, and established peace and security through land and sea.” My translation).

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military context, was indeed consolidated over time in the acceptance of a role as formal patronus. I would not wish to suggest that any of this is specific to military

Fig. 1. Distribution map of attested instances (n = 327) of the deployment of auxilia externa in the period 264–49 B. C. (a soldier indicates land forces; a ship, naval forces). Evidence is derived from literary and epigraphic sources. Marked geographical locations are often very approximate (author: Jonathan R. W. Prag). Base map is copyright Ancient World Mapping Centre, 2003 (see http://awmc.unc.edu/wordpress/ free-maps/), and reused under the terms of the CC BY-NC 3.0 license (http://creativecommons.org/ licenses/by-nc/3.0/legalcode).

service on the part of foreign peoples, but it is very clear that recruitment and service of non-Italian peoples as auxilia externa under a Roman commander provides a clear channel through which such relations, both formal and informal, evolve, and that their place in our understanding of Roman imperial control needs much greater emphasis than Badian’s study, with its inward emphasis upon clientelae, allowed.

6. FOREIGN CLIENTELAE BEYOND THE REPUBLIC

FROM PATRONUS TO PATER THE CHANGING ROLE OF PATRONAGE IN THE PERIOD OF TRANSITION FROM POMPEY TO AUGUSTUS* Martin Jehne Für Hans Vorländer zum 24.9.14

The Roman emperor is sometimes described as the universal patron of all his subjects.1 This interpretation has been criticised and modified from several different viewpoints.2 However it is still not clear whether or not it makes sense to see the emperor as the patron of huge clientelae, even if it is not in doubt that we must reckon with massive changes in the clientelae system in the period of transition from Republic to Empire.3 This paper outlines my ideas about the reasons for, and the consequences of, these changes. It starts with some reflections on patronage and its relevance in Roman social and political relations, focussing on the difference between relation and system, and on the limits of patronage. It then continues with the quest for foreign clientelae under the monarchy, or to put it another way: while people struggled for official acknowledgment as patrons and for enlargement of their clientelae during the late Republic, and some, such as Pompey, were especially successful in doing so, what happened when Caesar became the first sole ruler? Finally, I will focus on Augustus, try to clarify why he did not aspire to be a universal patron, and discuss what he became instead. ROMAN PATRONAGE Numerous inscriptions provide proof of the formal patronatus over cities,4 and many passages in literary sources attest the activities of clientes and patroni in imperial Rome and elsewhere.5 So patronage survived the end of the Republic. Claude * 1 2

3 4 5

I owe special thanks to François Gauthier (McGill University Montreal) and to Charlotte Tupman (London) for improving my English. Cf. Premerstein 1937: 112–113; 116; Saller 1982: 73–76; Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 78–81; Wendt 2008: 101. For criticism, see Veyne 1976: 536; 568; Brunt 1988a: 438–440. The irreconcilable positions of Premerstein 1937, who assumed the decline of patronage in the imperial period, and Saller 1982, who emphasised its continuing or even increased significance, are cleverly and convincingly explained and criticized by Winterling 2008: 302–305 (Engl. 2009: 39–43); 2011: 213– 216. His own explanation, a change of emphasis from the instrumental to the symbolic meaning of patronage interaction at least in the city of Rome is brilliant, but those rituals in the aristocratic houses are peripheral to my main point of focus here. As Winterling 2011: 215; 216–218, already pointed out. Cf. Humbert 1957: 188–284; Canali De Rossi 2001: 129–195; Eilers 2002: 192–268. For the city of Rome, cf. Ganter forthcoming.

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Eilers argued that the formation of patron-client relations required a formal act such as a declaration of self-commendation from the client to his future patron,6 or a city decree asking an influential Roman to become a permanent patronus of the city.7 He is fundamentally sceptical about the common notion that mere beneficia generated relationships of patronage.8 But as Verboven made clear in his review, this does not apply in all cases.9 The abundance of sources defining beneficia as the origin of obligations to reciprocate,10 and the impossibility for humble recipients of beneficia to return it on the same level, generates a huge number of enduring social relations of exchange between people of unequal status – something which sociologists and anthropologists subsume under the heading of ‘patronage’.11 These types of relations may be universal in hierarchical societies. Be that as it may, Eilers correctly insists on the fact that liberti were not called clientes and that they had no say in being subject to their former dominus even when he was now, after manumission, called patronus.12 By way of analogy, conquered cities had no choice but to accept the Roman general’s verdict and often became his clients afterwards – involuntarily.13 For all this, Eilers defends a special Roman sense of patronatus that is not to be subsumed into the wider sociological category of ‘patronage’, with its claim to widespread applicability in very different cultures and epochs.14 In my view, Eilers successfully argued for a special Roman use of the terms patronus and cliens. I agree with him that the relations between Roman clientes and patroni were only a subset of Roman asymmetrical personal relations with mutual

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Cf. Eilers 2002: 20–22. As is in evidence in the famous inscription from Aphrodisias documenting the city’s request to Q. Oppius and his positive answer, cf. Eilers 2002: 23–25 (on Reynolds 1982: nº 3, p.16–20); cf. 30–32. Eilers 2002: 30–32; 33. Cf. Verboven 2003. See, for instance, Cic. off. 2.63: “Danda igitur opera est, ut iis beneficiis quam plurimos adficiamus, quorum memoria liberis posterisque prodatur, ut iis ingratis esse non liceat. Omnes enim inmemorem beneficii oderunt eamque iniuriam in deterrenda liberalitate sibi etiam fieri eumque, qui faciat, commune hostem tenuiorum putant.” Cf. Verboven 2003. For different features in relations of patronage, cf. Eisenstadt – Roniger 1984: 48–49. Cf. Verboven 2003; Nicols 2014: 5–13. For an instructive overview of modern research on patronage, see Ganter forthcoming. Eilers 1982: 19–20; 34; 35–36. Cf. also Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 76. Cf. Eilers 2002: 33–36. Eilers 2002: 4–8; cf. Also Nicols 2014: 17. Moreover, Eilers 109–144 argued that a relation of patronage between a Roman senator and a city can only be identified by the use of the terms patronatus or clientela, which presupposes the knowledge and comprehension of this profoundly Roman institution, and by those criteria he dated the emergence of formalised city patronage in the Greek East to the later second century B. C. But against this reconstruction cf. the reasonable criticism of Bloy 2012, who also re-dates (on p.192–200) the famous inscription of Teos (SIG3 656 = Eilers 2002: C 101) mentioning πάτρωνας (l. 23) and ἀτρίων (l.26–7) back to the aftermath of the Third Macedonian War, which means that there exists evidence for the use of the term patronus in Greek epigraphy already in the 160s (the text is dated to the late 90s/ early 80s of the first century B. C. by Eilers 2002: 114–119; Goldbeck 2010: 196–201, both following and enhancing the considerations of Chiranky 1982: 470–481).

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exchange and expectations of services – the usual criteria for patronage.15 Nevertheless, as Verboven argued in his review of Eilers’ book, it is not unreasonable to look for these kinds of relations in Roman society even when the Roman terms were not used.16 Eilers’ own example, the mixed crowd at salutationes that did not consist of freedmen and clients alone,17 is a case in point: the isolated fact that even high-ranking senators were sometimes willing to visit the morning salutation of a colleague18 could be understood as some sort of deference, or even subordination. Yet one should not isolate this single event in a system of reciprocity because the visiting senator could expect the colleague to feel grateful for this uncommon act of symbolic reverence and to show it. In this context, it was an important act of friendship and an ostentatious declaration of his continuing integration into normal senatorial business that Augustus was willing to visit fellow senators,19 even if he probably no longer went to morning salutations. However this sort of action has to be taken together with the fact that all the senators regularly attended Augustus’ morning reception.20 That a precise term for the relations between unequal partners within the elite did not exist at Rome should not concern us too much: I cannot identify terms for those differences in modern German society, either. How do you publicly name people at different levels in the hierarchy of authority? Are there formal terms for the well-connected members of a modern political party and for the less influential ones who stick to their more distinguished colleagues, hoping for support for their careers, and who thereby increase the power of their potential sponsors? In sociological terms, those are relations of patronage, but of course, the realities of inequality can only partially be expressed in public discourse. As a consequence, it still seems reasonable to assume that the terminology of patronus and cliens was sometimes avoided.21 There was a general tendency in Rome, as in other hierarchical societies, to reserve some spaces of communication for rituals of demonstrative equality that may mitigate social stress.22 So to call someone a friend, even if he was highly dependent upon the speaker, was agreeable and polite and would help the addressee to try even harder to assist his superior. 15 16 17 18 19 20

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Cf. for instance the definition of Saller 1982: 1, quoted also by Eilers 2002: 6. Verboven 2003 (ch.3); cf. also Goldbeck 2010: 257 n. 2 for the convincing argument that identifying patronatus and clientela via the Latin terms and focusing on this sort of connection as Eilers recommends does not justify ignoring other forms of personal relations. Cf. Eilers 2002: 8. For examples, cf. Goldbeck 2010: 75 n. 1. Suet. Aug. 53.3; Cass.Dio 57.11.7. Cf. Winterling 1999: 123–124; 126–127; 132, who convincingly argued that all the senators showed up nearly every day. This encroachment on the emperor’s time made it more or less impossible for him to go to the morning receptions of senators. For the shift in meaning of salutationes in aristocratic houses in the early empire, cf. Winterling 1999: 138–142; Goldbeck 2010: 263–281. For Augustus’ gestures of politeness and reverence, cf. also Jehne 2005: 282– 290; 296–298. Cf. Cic. off. 2.69: “…patrocinio vero se usos aut clientes appellari mortis instar putant.” The interpretation of Eilers 2002: 15–16 seems to me to be over-sophisticated. For my concept of ‘Jovialität’ – perhaps something like ‘demonstrative equiponderance’ in English – cf. Jehne 2000: esp.213–217.

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Gestures of “Jovialität” are normal practice not only in pre-modern, but also in modern societies. To obtain a clearer view of the differences between ancient or early modern societies on the one hand, and modern bureaucratic and constitutional states on the other, I draw upon the clever proposal of Johnson and Dandeker to differentiate between patronage as a social relation and patronage as a social system,23 which was recently supported by Peter Eich as a reasonable way to comprehend the Roman Empire.24 The core difference lies not so much in dimension, but in the shift from personal relations usually cultivated by personal contact to a complex network with different levels of patrons and clients. Such a network is identified as a patronage system when it functions as “the prime mechanism in the allocation of scarce resources and the dominant means of legitimising the social order”.25 The main point is that the ubiquitous relations of patronage had produced a network that no longer relied exclusively upon personal contact, and which had become more than the sum of many individual relationships.26 Yet the existence of a system like this did not mean that personal relations of patronage were no longer relevant. Patronage as a system requires, according to Johnson and Dandeker, that patronage is the essential way of distributing scarce resources,27 while relations may exist as a less significant factor. So patronage as a system is necessarily an accepted element in the society concerned. In contrast, this is not clear for relations of patronage. In some societies they may be public, allowed, accepted; in others, clandestine, forbidden, rejected.28 That people promote their relatives and friends and expect to get something back in due course does happen every day, even in our contemporary democratic societies, but that people act like this overtly and as a matter of course, feeling completely in agreement with the rules and values of their society, is no longer possible in the public realm of our countries – or so I hope. Here we see the difference between patronage as a relation and as a system, and since in the Roman world patronage was not some nasty business to be hidden from the eyes of others, but rather a very important system of distribution and an honourable act conforming to the rules of behaviour, the Roman Empire qualifies as having a patronage system. Still, it is important to differentiate between the Roman patronatus as a special case, with a number of individual features, and the sociological model of patronage, which produces a particular type of social relation that can probably be found in every human organisation, but can be more or less prominent therein.29 A usual feature in definitions of patronage is voluntariness: both patrons and clients offered and accepted the relationship of their own will and both were at liberty to end it. Johnson and Dandeker emphasize this point in their definition,30 but, 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Johnson – Dandeker 1989: 220 and passim. Eich 2005: 72–74. Johnson – Dandeker 1989: 223. Cf. Johnson – Dandeker 1989: 223. Cf. Johnson – Dandeker 1989: 223. For this difference in “social self-interpretation”, cf. also Winterling 2008: 299 (engl. 2009: 36). Convincingly emphasised by Verboven 2003. Johnson – Dandeker 1989: 223–224; cf. Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 78; Drummond 1989: 101; Garnsey – Woolf 1989: 154; see Eisenstadt – Roniger 1984: 48 (g). Flaig 1992: 103 n. 30 ar-

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correctly, it was not accepted by Eilers. He clarifies that there are voluntary and involuntary relations of personal dependency that can be subsumed under the heading of patronage. As he demonstrates, freedmen and conquered cities had no choice, whereas cities in other situations and free men were able to choose.31 I would like to transfer those observations which Eilers tried to restrict to the relations of patronatus and clientela in a formalised Roman sense to the wider world of sociological patronage. Relations of patronage may often be voluntary and only rarely compulsory, but in those asymmetrical social relations inequality of power, as well as social norms and practices, would often make an alternative arrangement impossible. Patronage is above all a mechanism of distribution, on the systemic level as well as on the relational level. As such, it is governed by the basic rule of distribution: resources are always too scarce in comparison with human needs and desire. This is sad, but this is one of the few facts that were left unchanged by the establishment of monarchy in the Roman Empire. When we conceptualise relations of patronage as a mechanism of distribution, we have a permanent gap between clients’ wishes and patrons’ resources – and the other way round, of course. So clients worked hard to draw the attention of their patrons to their business, and at least since the late Republic, patrons worked hard to push their clients into regularly forming a physical representation of power by being around their patrons at the salutatio and at important public events like electioneering.32 This sort of relation is instrumental, symbolic and performative – to use the differentiation of Aloys Winterling33 – and it did not vanish because of monarchy, even if electioneering eventually became less intense. Naturally, both sides tried to improve their success rate, often with poor results. In order to understand the ongoing activities of clients, but also to a lesser degree of patrons, the fundamental question seems to be: how did the participants cope with disappointment, or more to the point: why did they not abandon the business of patronage? To my mind, there are two possible reasons why relations of patronage lasted nonetheless. First, the support of a patron or a client could always fail because of too much competition and resistance from others. So with an ideology that the partners were obliged to make an effort, but did not have to guarantee success, all the participants would accept failure to a certain degree. Yet permanent failure should be a cause for reconsideration of the relationship. At this point, the second reason is relevant. For clients, there was often no alternative to the patrons they had. Even if patron-client relationships were voluntary in principle, as some

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gues against Johnson and Dandeker that the idea of free choice for patrons does not make sense for the plebs urbana and other groups in relation to the emperor, even if they were able to deprive him of their acceptance. He concludes that the head of the political system is outside of the patronage system – all too true, to my mind. Yet voluntariness is not only lacking in regard to relationships with the emperor, but very often in average relations of patronage, and this is the important point here. Eilers 2002: 32–37. Cf. for retinues, Muñiz Coello 2004. Cf. Winterling 2008: 306–308 (Engl. 2009: 45–48); see also Winterling 2011: 215–216.

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modern scholars emphasize:34 the more humble the client, the more he would be doomed to continue to align himself with a lazy or clumsy patronus. So the gradual transformation of the patron-client connection in the city of Rome into a relationship of labour for money via sportulae seems to be a logical way out of the unsatisfying cycle of vague hopes and nebulous expectations.35 Concerning the Roman patronage system, Andrew Wallace-Hadrill noted: “The republican system was pluralist in its nature. A multiplicity of patrons acted in competition with each other, offering alternative routes of access to resources.”36 In principle, I agree with that, but to understand more clearly what happened in the period of transition from Republic to Empire, we should raise to the surface a basic feature of patronage which is only implied in Wallace-Hadrill’s emphasis on pluralism: the patron-client relation is inherently particularistic.37 When a patron acts on behalf of a client, the ideology of patronage compels him to support his partner, regardless of whether the cause is just, competitors are better qualified, working for the interests of a client will promote the common good, and so on. This particularistic structure of patronage is evident in the patron’s classic role: his primary obligation was the defence of his clients in court.38 To the Romans, advocacy meant the use of all rhetorical tricks available to succeed in winning the case, and this is how Cicero and other late-Republican lawyers did their jobs.39 Now this particularistic structure was in need of some rules concerning how to handle conflicting obligations. Some effort to limit the necessity to help his clients appears in the reply that Q. Oppius gave when he was offered the opportunity to become a city patron of Aphrodisias in Caria in ca. 85/84 BC – the famous inscription mentioned earlier and analysed by Claude Eilers.40 Oppius told the Aphrodisians that he was perfectly willing to be their patron and to support them and work to their advantage as far as his obligations of faith allowed.41 Eilers takes this as evidence of a rule that for a Roman, the interests of the res publica had to be placed above those of dependent

34 35 36 37 38

39 40 41

Cf. above n. 30. For the development of sportulae, cf. Goldbeck 2010: 174–186; Vössing 2010. Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 78–79. Cf. Saller 1982: 33, quoted below. See Eisenstadt – Roniger 1984: 48: “(a). Patron-client relations are usually particularistic and diffuse“ (the first point in their catalogue of the features of patronage). Cf. Neuhauser 1958: esp.166–177, with the justified criticism of Crook 1995: 146–149 on Neuhauser’s implicit presuppositions. See also Brunt 1988a: 405 (who correctly insists on the fact that in the later periods, while advocates still used to be called patronus, not every defendant automatically became the formal client of his advocate); Drummond 1989: 91–92; Eilers 2002: 88–89. Cf. Crook 1995: 138–144. Eilers 2002: 23–25; 85–86; 92–93; cf. also Nicols 2014: 72. Eilers 2002: 241 (C 107) ll.32–43: δι’ ἃς αἰτίας | [? πᾶσαν ποιήσομαι] | φροντίδ[α καὶ ἐν ἀρ]||χῇ καὶ ἰδιώτ¢[ης ὢν ὅ]|περ ἂν σωζομέν¢[ης] | τῆς ἐμῆς πίστ[ε]|ως ποιῆσαι ὑμεῖν δ¢ύ|νωμαι τοῖς τε δημο¢||σίοις πράγμασιν ὑ¢[μ]ε|τέροις εὐχρηστῆσαι, | καὶ ἀεί τινος ἀγαθοῦ | παραίτιος γενέσθαι (the patronatus is mentioned in l.51). The Greek noun is πίστις, i. e. Latin fides, so Oppius wants to preserve his faith and trustworthiness.

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clients.42 Nevertheless, this vague reference to pistis does not amount to a sharp criterion defining acceptable and unacceptable behaviour for a patron and a client.43 The problem is treated in Cicero’s reflections on friendship. Cicero presents the idea that it shall be the first law of friendship (prima lex amicitiae) that friends will ask from each other only honourable deeds, and friends will act for each other only in honourable causes.44 So for Cicero the philosopher, the possible conflict does not exist in friendship. Even if friendship is not identical with patronage, of course, the construct can be easily transferred to patron-client relations as well. Unfortunately, this wonderful solution as to how to avoid conflicting obligations is a circular construction, based on the utopian idea that there can be no different opinions about the legitimacy of a given request. That does not help at all in practice. A client should not ask his patron to commit blatant crimes for him, of course, but what about help against the patron’s friend who is damaging the vital interests of the client? It is easy to imagine countless examples of situations difficult to assess for a client or a patron, even if both were fanatical adherents of Cicero’s theory. In the end, that a client’s wish was in accordance with the patron’s good faith would only be known by the reaction of the patron, and a patron could not often openly say “no” without his clients losing faith in his capacity and willingness to help. Wallace-Hadrill goes on to draw the logical consequence from his observation that patronage systems are pluralistic: “It would appear axiomatic that if one patron achieves monopoly control of resources, he destroys the system and becomes the state itself.”45 But what did this mean for Rome? Since patronage definitely did not disappear with the emperor, what happened? Did the emperor not have a monopoly position? What was his attitude regarding patronage? POMPEY AND CAESAR AS PATRONS In the last decades of the Republic, Pompey was without doubt the most impressive figure in Roman external policy. As a consequence of his series of extraordinary commands and splendid victories, many individuals and communities across the Empire had received beneficia directly or indirectly from Pompey, and were more or less obliged to gratia according to Roman practice. So Pompey had an unusually large number of relationships with individuals, cities, and client kings which could potentially be mobilised in case of need.46 This is a position of patronage according 42 43 44

45 46

Cf. Eilers 2002: 92–93. Cf. Jehne 2005: 301–302. For some reflections on the difficulty of assessing at what point the common good was endangered and when particularistic interests had to step back, cf. Jehne forthcoming b. Cic. Lael. 44: “Haec igitur prima lex amicitiae sanciatur, ut ab amicis honesta petamus, amicorum causa honesta faciamus, ne exspectemus quidem dum rogetur;” cf. the whole passage 37–44, discussing the priority of the res publica over friendship. For Cicero’s theory, cf. especially Gotter 1996; Lundgreen 2013, with further bibliography. Wallace-Hadrill 1989: 78–79. For Pompey’s clientelae, cf. Badian 1958a: 252–284; see now Dingmann 2007: 222–333; Wendt 2008: 16–36; Pina Polo forthcoming.

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to my loose definition, even if not in exact Roman terms. For Pompey, this was something to be proud of – as Dolabella wrote to Cicero in a spiteful way while Pompey and his army were besieged by Caesar and his troops at Dyrrhachium in 48 B. C.47 In his book on the development of Roman external policy in the late Republic and early Principate, Christian Wendt has organised much of his argument around the view that the radical change in the Roman power structure in this period was closely connected to the outstanding positions of Pompey, Caesar, and Augustus in the patronage system of the Empire. For Wendt, Pompey had already achieved a rank that made it impossible to return to the politics of consensus of the traditional Republic. The res publica depended on the despotism of Pompey. That he lacked the determination and willpower to march on Rome when he returned from the East in 62 B. C. did not make him a Republican. The continuing existence of the Republic until Caesar’s invasion in 49 B. C. was only a formality; in principle, monarchical structures were already established.48 Individuals whose power became disproportionate in comparison to that of their peers are a standard feature in explanations for the downfall of the Republic, and the systematic acquisition of clients, bound by obligations of gratitude, is of paramount importance for the accumulation of power. So it is not surprising that Wendt argues in this direction for Pompey, then for Julius Caesar, and, in the end, for Augustus.49 If we follow this general perspective, there seems not to be much difference between the three super-patrons in respect to their handling of clientelae. Yet a closer look at the framing of patronage may make us aware of the fundamental change in the structure and significance of patronage for Pompey, Caesar, and Augustus. To my mind, Pompey’s struggle for clientelae was completely traditional, and for all his success, he did not achieve a position of irreversible dominance in this field. This can easily be demonstrated by the fact that Caesar was able to compete when he had conquered Gaul and had won clients beyond that by generosity and ‘Jovialität’.50 Moreover, power did not depend only upon numerous clients. Crassus’ effort to equal the score against Pompey and Caesar in the power department was not motivated by a lack of clients. Crassus was well known for his ceaseless activities in the courts and elsewhere in Rome, and for the many people from the

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Cic. fam. 9.9.2: “Animadvertis Cn. Pompeium nec nominis sui nec rerum gestarum gloria neque etiam regum ac nationum clientelis, quas ostentare crebro solebat, esse tutum,…” Wendt 2008: 16; 34–35. For some criticism of his premises, cf. Jehne 2010. Wendt 2008: 28–31, esp.29: “So gewann er den Status eines obersten Patrons, den seine Klienten aufsuchten und mit dem sie in persönlicher Abhängigkeit verbunden waren” (Pompey); 38–44; 52–63, esp.54: “Die Absicherung und die Monopolisierung der Klientel hatten absoluten Vorrang” (Caesar); 91; 101–103, esp.101: “Die so vollzogene Monopolisierung der reichsweiten Klientel”; 126–127; 132–133, esp.132: “Der Princeps als Patron des Imperiums”; 143–146 (Augustus). On ‘Jovialität’, see above, n. 22. On Caesar’s attitude towards his friends and clients, cf. Jehne 1987: 226–227.

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ruling classes who owed him money or gratitude or both.51 His deficiency lay in the field of military laurels, and in this he wanted to improve his performance. The prospect of acquiring additional clients as a consequence of victory in war was certainly not unpleasant for Crassus, but this was not his motive for attacking the Parthians.52 The fate of Pompey gives us an important clue to the character of foreign clientelae in the last years of the Republic. When Pompey returned from the East, he was the most distinguished man in the Roman world. Splendid triumphs lay ahead to celebrate his famous victories, and he had implemented a wholly new organisation in the Roman East, which meant, under the terms of Roman patronage, that he had given countless beneficia to princes, leading men, cities, and so on. The whole of the East looked at Pompey as its master and hero.53 However, when Pompey came home, he realized painfully that the senate did not really care. Evidently, Lucullus and others insisted on reviewing every single regulation not least because of personal enmity, but the important point here is that Pompey could not do very much to counter it.54 In his struggle to prevail against his enemies all those provincials who were strong supporters of their benefactor simply did not matter. Foreign clientelae could not be transferred into internal politics because the clients usually lacked Roman citizenship and were not present in any case. We can even go one step further. When did the adherents of Pompey become useful in Roman struggles? The devastating answer is this: in civil war. In 49 B. C., Pompey made his escape from Italy to Greece, and there he began to build up his army, relying fully on the resources of the eastern Mediterranean.55 Personal relations were now more important because in civil war, both parties were Roman and claimed the support of Roman subjects as true representatives of Rome. For the 51 52 53

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For Crassus’ connections and influence, cf. Gruen 1974: 66–74; Marshall 1976: 80–81; 172; Ferrill 1978: 175–177. The idea of Hackl in Hackl – Jacobs – Weber 2010: 62, that Crassus was a more or less inept politician is strange. See Marshall 1976: 143–144; 146–149; Ward 1977: 281–282; Wendt 2008: 46. That Crassus needed to make money in war, too, might be surprising for a man of proverbial wealth, but cf. Jehne forthcoming a for Crassus falling behind in political competition. That Pompey did the organizational business all by himself and ignored the usual habit of waiting for a senatorial embassy produced the result that he was the one and only man to whom all the beneficiaries of Roman decisions were personally obliged. I would no longer stick to my rather harmless assessment of this fact as a consequence only of fulsome feelings of happiness and pride after his stunning successes in the wars (as, for instance, in Jehne 42008: 39). For the debate on Pompey’s acta in the East, cf. Murphy 1993; Freeman 1994; and now Rising 2013. Rising points out that the conflicts concerning the ratification of Pompey’s acta are recorded only in the later sources and not by the contemporary Cicero. Therefore, Rising sees senatorial debate and decision about Pompey’s measures in the East as routine business that did not matter much for Pompey or for others, and which was only made into a great conflict later when the theory became prominent that the senate had driven Pompey into the arms of Caesar by his stubborn inflexibility. I do not agree with that, if only because Caesar did take the time in 59 to prepare and push through a general lex accepting Pompey’s regulations collectively, cf. Cass.Dio 38.7.5; Plut. Pomp. 48.3–4; App. b.c. 2.13 (for additional argument, cf. Jehne 2013: 41–42 nn. 96–97). For Pompey’s military support in the East, cf. Dingmann 2007: 312–322.

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provincials, it was usually impossible to decide who was right,56 and so personal obligation would be a welcome criterion for siding with one party and not with the other.57 Admittedly, military pressure did not often allow for the weighing up of personal relations, but there were situations when it mattered. It was at least a way of thinking, and thereby a universally accepted way to justify a decision. After Pharsalos, when Pompey discussed with his consilium where to go to reconsolidate his position for a renewal of resistance against Caesar, an important argument for voting for Egypt was the expectation that the young king Ptolemy XIII was obliged towards gratefulness and friendship as a consequence of Pompey’s long connection with his father, Ptolemy XII.58 As is well known, this calculation proved wrong in the most catastrophic way for Pompey. The new king was led by considerations of power and security, not by those of personal relations. However, when Caesar arrived he justified his landing in Alexandria with old obligations, too,59 and got himself into a mess that he barely survived. In 46, after the victory at Thapsus, Caesar became what Pompey never was: undisputed ruler of the Roman world. He won this position primarily through military success, relying on his loyal soldiers for whom he was a commander, and also, in a way, a patron. Throughout his life, the business of patronage was important for Caesar. In 68 B. C. he had emphasized this in a public speech in the following way: “it seems to me that for our necessitas [i. e. the obligation as a patron] we should not lack commitment, labour, and industriousness.”60 When he returned to Rome from Africa in 46, he made a detour over Sardinia61 which Cicero commented upon sarcastically as follows: “he did not survey this estate of his so far; none is more miserable, yet he does not despise it.”62 In fact, Caesar had set foot in nearly all the Roman provinces,63 and it does not seem far-fetched to assume that the wish to present

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58 59 60 61 62 63

Cf. the reasoning of the Massilians in 49 B. C., Caes. B.Civ. 1.35.3: “…legati [sc. Massiliensium]… ex auctoritate haec Caesari renuntiant: intellegere se divisum esse populum in partis duas. Neque sui iudici neque suarum esse virium discernere, utra pars iustiorem habeat causam.” In the case of the Massilians, looking for personal ties did not help either because of conflicting obligations, cf. Caes. B.Civ. 1.35.4–5 (following the passage quoted above n. 56): “Principes vero esse earum partium Cn. Pompeium et C. Caesarem, patronos civitatis, quorum alter agros Volcarum Aremicorum et Helviorum publice iis concesserit, alter bello victos Sallyas adtribuerit vectigaliaque auxerit. Quare paribus eorum beneficiis parem se quoque voluntatem tribuere debere, et neutrum eorum contra alterum iuvare aut urbe ac portibus recipere.” Cf. for the whole affair and its background Nicols 2014: 33–40. Caes. B.Civ. 3.103.3; 106.1; Plut. Pomp. 76.7–8; cf. Lucan. 8.442–455; App. b.c. 2.83; 84; Cass.Dio 42.2.4; 3.2. Cf. Loreto 1994: 19–24 (who rates the argument of obligation as only formal, p.24); Dingmann 2007: 322–323; Losehand 2008: 154–155. Caes. B.Civ. 3.107.2; 108.3–109.1. Gell. 13.3.5: “Equidem mihi videor pro nostra necessitate non labore, non opera, non industria defuisse.” B.Afr. 98. Cic. fam. 9.7.2: “illud enim adhuc praedium suum non inspexit nec ullam habet deterius, sed tamen non contemnit.” The only province that is lacking is Creta et Cyrenae, cf. Jehne 1987: 30–31 with n. 117.

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himself to the local notables and enter into some personal contact there was one of the motives behind his decision to go to Sardinia as well.64 The essence of patronage, consisting of gratitude and obligation as the consequence of benefactions received, was expected, and practised, by Caesar. When he was criticised for the disreputable background of many of his new senators, he answered: “I would have been grateful even to tramps and cutthroats if they had helped me to protect my dignitas.”65 As we can see here, the obligations of patronage were more important for Caesar than the dignity of the most respected institution of the res publica, the senate. His promotion of many adherents into office was another element of his gratitude as a patron who wanted to surpass his helpers in the balance sheet of reciprocal services again. For that, he was willing to push aside the rules of the res publica, most disgracefully illustrated by the spontaneous decision to make Caninius Rebilus consul for one day only.66 Altogether, Caesar seems to have been completely insensitive to the fact that as a consequence of his position, the volume and extent of his generosities were disproportionate to the old patronage system. An episode in Plutarch’s biography of Brutus brings out the problem more clearly.67 Brutus presided at court in Sardes in a case against the former praetor L. Ocella, who was prosecuted for the exploitation of provincials. Brutus condemned him and seems to have stripped him of his praetorian and senatorial ranks. In contrast to this, Cassius had already acquitted two friends who had been charged for similar wrongdoings, and had only censured them in private conversation. Now Cassius criticised Brutus for his uncompromising behaviour and declared that this was not the time for a strict interpretation of the law, but for clever and lenient politics. In Brutus’ response, he reminded Cassius of the Ides of March, when they had killed Caesar. The dictator had not exploited the people himself, but had tolerated the fact that others did. As can be learned from this anecdote, Caesar seems to have been very generous, even with the crimes of his supporters.68 This sort of behaviour was completely in agreement with the rules of patronage, which did not expect a patron to prove whether his clients did right or wrong, but required him to help them anyway. Sallust seems to have been one of those who profited from Caesar’s attitude.69 64 65

66 67 68 69

Cf. Jehne 1987: 360–361. Suet. Iul. 72 : “iam autem rerum potens quosdam etiam infimi generis ad amplissimos honores provexit, cum ob id culparetur, professus palam, si grassatorum et sicariorum ope in tuenda sua dignitate usus esset, talibus quoque se parem gratiam relaturum.” Cf. for my interpretation Jehne 2012: 38. With this caricature of a consulship, Caesar provoked a mixture of desperation and outrage in the circles of adherents of the old Republic, as documented in the famous letter of Cicero to his friend Curius, Cic. fam. 7.30.1–2. Plut. Brut. 35.1–6. Cf. Cass.Dio 43.47.4. According to Cass.Dio 43.9.2–3, Sallust exploited his province of Africa Nova contrary to the legal regulations and was accused de repetundis, but not condemned (see also Ps.-Cic. inv. in Sall. 19, with the reproach that Sallust had to pay 1.2 Mill. sestertii for that to Caesar; since the text is by its very nature full of slander and distortions the story is highly dubious). Malitz 1975:

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City patronage does not fit very well into this picture of Caesar as a dedicated patron. To be sure, he became patron of several cities. In the careful collection of Eilers we find Caesar as patron of Alabanda, Chios, Cnidos, and Pergamum, Thespiae being uncertain.70 Fortunately, Eilers did not only collect the materials for the Roman East, his topic at hand, but also for the western part of the Empire. In Italy, Caesar is attested as a patron in Bovillae Undecumanorum, Vibo Valentia, and Alba Fucens, and perhaps also in Interamna Lirenas.71 In the western provinces, we have evidence only in literary sources for Caesar as patron of Hispalis and Massilia.72 All these documents date to the middle of 46 B. C. or earlier, the period when Caesar was still struggling in the Civil War as a party leader. In this era, the augmentation of clientelae wherever possible was still the natural thing to do. Later, when Caesar was the sole ruler of Rome and its Empire, we would expect cities to become even more interested in winning Caesar as an official patron. However, we have no evidence for this. Since the number of surviving inscriptions for Julius Caesar is not at all great, we should not overestimate this observation. Nevertheless, in the light of the parallel to Augustus, the state of the records may not be completely fortuitous. Perhaps even Caesar did not think it fitting any longer to accept becoming a city patron when he was already sole ruler. THE NEW EMPIRE: AUGUSTUS TAKES CARE OF HIS SUBJECTS After his stunning success at Actium, the future Augustus, whom we call Octavian, spent the winter of 31/30 B. C. on the island of Samos. On this occasion, the Samians approached him with a petition and asked him for the privilege of freedom. Octavian refused and explained that he had only decorated the Aphrodisians with this extraordinary honour because they had terribly suffered for his cause in war. He claimed that in order to bestow the most valuable privilege, he had to insist on certain criteria, which Samos did not meet in full. He added that he would love to do a favour for his wife, who supported the Samians’ appeal, but he would not do so if it meant that he had to abandon his habits. Moreover, he emphasised that he did not care for the money that they paid as tribute, and that he was not willing to give the highest privileges to someone without adequate cause.73 The dating of this event is disputed, but I still stick to the analysis of Badian, which resulted in the aforementioned date.74 If we accept this date, we have here a

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87–88, assumed that Sallust was saved by Caesar because of their amicitia. If this guess should be correct, we would have here an example of Caesar placing personal relations above the rule of law. Eilers 2002: 272. Eilers 2002: 284. Cf. also the paper of Bitto 1970. Eilers 2002: 285 (B.Hisp. 42; Caes. B.Civ. 1.35.4 [see above, n. 57]). The event is documented only in an inscription from Aphrodisias. See the edition with commentary by Reynolds 1982: nº 13 (p.104–106). Reynolds 1982: 104–105, dated the event to 38 B. C., but Badian 1984b: 165–169, argued for a later date: he emphasised that Aphrodisias was situated in the realm of Antonius till the Actium war, but Antonius was not at all mentioned in the text; moreover, Octavian even referred

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particularly precious document, because it shows us that the transformation of Octavian-Augustus from party leader to sole ruler responsible for all was well on its way immediately after his great victory.75 For here we find two different sorts of argument and behaviour. The Aphrodisians were denoted as having sided with Octavian in war and having been taken by assault for their loyalty to ‘us’.76 As we know, the Aphrodisians suffered terribly in the Parthian invasion led by Prince Pacorus and Q. Labienus from 40 to 38 B. C.77 So it seems natural to connect this allusion with the events of 40/39 B. C.78 The war of Labienus was, from the point of view of the triumvirs, an attack against Rome and its Empire, but also against themselves,79 and according to the perspective of Labienus, the former legate of Cassius, it was a justified campaign directed against the triumvirs who had nearly destroyed the anti-Caesarian party.80 So it is perfectly comprehensible that the firm stance of Aphrodisias against the invaders was praised as ‘loyalty to us’, which could be understood as loyalty to Rome.81 But it is not completely surprising that the conduct of the Aphrodisians was described as ‘siding with me’, which means siding with Octavian. Naturally, he took the revival of the party of Caesar’s murderers as an attack on Caesar’s heir. Octavian writes in his letter to the Samians that he rewarded no cities except Aphrodisias with freedom.82 In fact, the eastern part of the Empire was administrated by Antonius, so it was none of his colleague’s business to reward cities there. Moreover, Aphrodisias was not the only city severely damaged by the invaders in 40/39 B. C.83 So Octavian seems to have had a special obligation to recompense and gratify the Aphrodisians for their engagement, and it is generally assumed that

75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83

to the Aphrodisians as siding with him, not with us (Reynolds 1982: nº 13 l.3: … ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ τὰ ἐμὰ φρονήσας …), as would have been appropriate in 38 when Antonius was the lord of the east. This seems to be convincing to me, cf. Jehne 2012: 40 with n. 65. Badian’s dating is also accepted by Millar 2000: 22–23, and it is to be preferred to the alternative proposed by Bowersock 1984: 51, who assumes that the refusal of Augustus to give to the Samians the privileges they asked for happened only in the late 20s – this would leave only a very short period of time till Augustus’ shift of opinion in 20 B. C. (when he finally conceded freedom to the Samians, Cass.Dio 54.9.7; cf. Plin. n.h. 5.135). Bringmann – Wiegandt 2008: 98 argue now again for 21/20 B. C., but the underlying assumption that Livia should have been with Augustus at this moment is not compelling. Cf. Jehne 2012: 40–41. Reynolds 1982: nº 13 ll.2–3: ἔξεστιν ὑμεῖν αὐτοῖς ὁρᾶν ὅτι τὸ φιλάνθρωπον τῆς ἐλευθερίας οὐδένι δέδωκα δήμῳ πλὴν τῷ τῶν Ἀφροδεισιέων ὃς ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ τὰ ἐμὰ φρονήσας δοριάλωτος διὰ τὴν πρὸς ἡμᾶς εὔνοιαν ἐγένετο. Cf. Tac. ann. 3.62.2. For the invasion, cf. Sherwin-White 1984: 302–305; Noé 1997. For the suffering of Aphrodisias, cf. Reynolds 1982: nº 10; 11; 12 (here the damages in the war against Labienus are explicitly mentioned, ll.5–6); possibly nº 7 (p.51); see Noé 429–31. Cf. Reynolds 1982: 106; Badian 1984b: 166; Millar 2000: 22. Explicitly in Reynolds 1982: nº 7 ll.2–4. For the aims of Labienus, cf. for instance, Lerouge-Cohen 2010: 178–180. So Reynolds 1982: 106. See above n. 76. See Reynolds 1982: nº 7 ll.2–5; 9; Cass.Dio 48.26.3–4. Cf. Reynolds 51–52; Noé 1997: 421– 434; Lerouge-Cohen 2010: 176–177 n. 4; 178–180.

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he was a patron of the city.84 Now, when the Samians asked him for a privilege, he acted in a completely different manner. The Samians did not have a specific relation with Octavian beforehand; on Samos, the headquarters of the enemy’s fleet had even been present until the Actium campaign.85 So Octavian had no reason to be particularly grateful to them, and this may explain his refusal. However, the text tells another story. Octavian did not argue that he was disappointed at their siding with the enemy of himself and of Rome, but rather that he could not give precious privileges without special merit. As a major patron still struggling with a competitor, he should have given them something just to bind them to his cause and to increase the size of his following in this way. Instead, he gave them nothing and argued in the mode of rational criteria, not of personal gifts given in order to gain clients. Last but not least, he even made it explicit that the backing of the Samians’ initiative by his own wife was to no avail against the necessity to have suitable reasons, in terms of merit, for earning a privilege. To put it in a nutshell: at this point Octavian is no longer acting in the system of competition for personal clientelae, but in a monarchical system. That the radical change in the political system that resulted from the emergence of a sole ruler could not leave traditional systems of distribution like patronage unaffected is not surprising. But what actually happened? As already mentioned, a popular answer seems to be that the princeps now became the universal patron of all. But this is not convincing, not even if we take it as a metaphor.86 The basic contradiction in universal patronage lies in the fact that the patron-client relationship is particularistic in its very nature, while the emperor could no longer be particularistic. Even when we move to patronage as a system and see the emperor as the origin and goal of a network of power broking, we still have the moments of personal meetings or written petitions when the emperor had to cope with real people and was trapped in a relationship with those people, first and foremost with the brokers around him with their conflicting interests. The obligation of a patron or a client was not to weigh up the initiative of his partner according to the criteria of law and justice, but to help him anyway, provided the matter did not run radically contrary to all rules of behaviour.87 Yet the emperor could no longer act like this. For him, it was impossible to explain failure as the result of the resistance of competitors, because the ascription of omnipotence was part of his real power.88 If he acted as patron of everybody, he had to give something to everybody, which meant that the resources of the Empire would be exhausted in a short time. In addition, in a controversial claim, he could not justify a decision for a petitioner and against his opponent by pointing to a close personal 84 85 86 87 88

The formal status of a city patron of Aphrodisias is not epigraphically attested for Octavian, but seems probable in the light of Octavian’s special activities for Aphrodisias, cf. Reynolds 1982: 40; 45; 103; Orth 1984: 72–73; Badian 1984b: 158. Badian 1984b: 168. Eilers 2002: 185–186 emphasises that no evidence exists for the idea that the emperor was the patron of all. So this can only be taken as a modern metaphor. Cf. also Brunt 1988a: 439. We find this vague limitation to a patron’s duty in the letter of Q. Oppius to the Aphrodisians, cf. above, n. 41. For the power and impotence of the emperor, cf. Jehne 2005: 295–296; 302–303; 306–307.

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relation to the former and none to the latter, because this would be the end of all confidence in imperial justice. The emperor could no longer be a lawyer; he was bound to be the judge.89 So, by the very structure of his power, the emperor was condemned to pose as an institution above all partisanship, making decisions according to universal principles and not through personal preferences. It does not seem to have happened only by chance that the terms patronus, cliens, even beneficium and the like do not show up at all in the whole text of Augustus’ res gestae, and amici are mentioned only once, in the appendix.90 The shift in power that went with a sole ruler was immediately observed by his subjects, and they changed their behaviour accordingly. We can see this clearly in the conduct of foreign embassies. During the Republic, they would have gone to Rome to get a hearing in the senate, supported by their patrons.91 During Caesar’s rule and Augustus’ long principate, this was not forbidden: indeed it was still normal procedure.92 However, provincials and external people knew very well whose decision was now crucial, and so they tended to travel to the emperor.93 The fact that Augustus still had personal friends and clients94 does not contradict this assessment of the position of the emperor. He could not completely back 89

90 91 92

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Eilers 2002: 189 uses the same metaphor for the situation of the Roman state in relation to its empire, and he draws the conclusion that Badian’s theory of foreign clientelae does not work: Rome could not be the patron of the cities of the empire, but had to be the judge over their quarrels. RgdA app. 4: “…donata pecunia … amicis senatoribusque, quorum census explevit,…” Amicitia is used five times, but exclusively in an external meaning and context, describing friendly relations with foreign powers, cf. 26; 29; 31; 32 (twice). For ambassadors coming to Rome from the east during the Republic, cf. the impressive compilation of Canali De Rossi 1997, who collected 674 embassies. On embassies to the senate and to the emperor in the early empire, cf. the list of Ziethen 1994: 195–263 (she collected 183 cases). Often, the envoys visited both the senate and the emperor, in different locations or together in the senate, and in most cases, the information in the honorary inscriptions for ambassadors which form the bulk of our evidence is not very clear about their activities in Rome. On the other hand, the sending out of senators to cities or foreign rulers was still customary in the imperial era; for the embassies in the year of the four emperors, cf. Seelentag 2009. Cf. Millar 21992: 343–345; Eilers 2002: 177–178. Already for the rule of Caesar, we have the striking example that the Galatian king Deiotarus sent his envoys to Caesar in Spain (Cic. Deiot. 38; 41). Even more spectacularly, Brithagoras traveled as an envoy of Heracleia Pontica for a long time through the Mediterranean in the entourage of Caesar, whom he wanted to ask for freedom for his hometown (Memnon of Heracleia, FGrHist 434, ch. 40.3–4; Memnon claims that Brithagoras stayed for 12 years with Caesar, which would only be possible in the case that Brithagoras had already sided with Caesar in the 50s – rather improbable, in this context, so a scribal error has to be considered seriously). In the Augustan principate, an embassy from Mytilene went to Augustus residing in Tarraco, IGRR IV 38 l.8, to be taken together with Sherk 1969: nº 26; cf. the commentary of Sherk p.155–157; Ziethen 1994: 144; Arrayás Morales 2010: 127–149 (telling the long story of relations between Mytilene and Roman commanders from Pompey to Augustus), esp.143–148. In Str. 10.5.3, we find the episode of an ambassador sent out by the fishermen of the small island of Gyaros who wanted to meet Augustus in Corinth to ask him for a reduction of tribute for his community. Cf. only Suet. Aug. 56.2; 66.1; 4 (friends); 56.4; 67 (clients, freedmen, slaves; the chapter begins with: Patronus dominusque …).

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out of the patronage system, since the Empire’s population continued to act and think at all social levels according to the principles of patronage, which were still accepted as the primary form of distributing resources. A remark by Richard Saller is illuminating: “…it seems to me that the crucial quality which gave the emperor his patronal character was the expectation that he would distribute beneficia in accordance with particularistic rather than universalistic criteria.”95 I would not try to argue against this assessment of expectations. The patronage system was an everyday experience in the Roman Empire, and it had no doubt become a way of thinking about and conceptualising human relations.96 Not even the emperor would be free of this. Nevertheless, there existed another way of thinking, also well known and spread throughout the Mediterranean world, and this was the distribution of, and adherence to, justice, which suited the emperor’s role much better. The contradiction between the two systems could not be resolved, but since social arrangements are never free of contradictions it is no wonder that the Roman Empire lived with a balance of tensions between the principles of patronage and the principles of justice.97 There are some indications that the number of official clients of the emperor did not grow after he seized power – and perhaps even declined. Eilers documented that Augustus was the patron of an impressive number of cities. Yet at least some of those honours had already been awarded in the triumviral period, and few were added when Augustus was already Augustus and the connection would have been especially attractive for the communities of the Empire.98 Looking at the successors, Eilers notes the total disappearance of the imperial patronage of cities.99 His explanation that the honour was no longer interesting for an emperor100 does not tell the whole story. Why should an emperor not accept insignificant honours now and then, if they did not cause problems for anyone? I think those honours had become a nuisance because emperors were no longer keen to accept particularistic obligations, which were still implied in the role of a city patron.

95 Saller 1982: 33 (building on observations of Millar 21992: 11); accepted by Nicols 2014: 6. 96 Cf. also Nicols 2014: 18. 97 For the concept of ‘balance of tensions’, see Rehberg 2014: 186–191. For the contradictions and the consequences, cf. Jehne 2005: 295–306. 98 Eilers 2002: 284–285 lists eight cities in Italy, four cities (and tribal communities) in the western provinces, two in the eastern provinces. For six of the cities in Italy, it is certain that Augustus had already become their patron in the triumviral period; see also Eilers 186. Nicols 2014: 87 assumes that Augustus refused to accept the patronatus only of peregrine communities, but for this conclusion Nicols needs to qualify the contrary evidence for the Seduni (ILS 6755) and the Nantuates (ILS 6754) as “patronage by ascription (that is, that they did not seek formal approval of Augustus to do so [i. e. to claim his patronage], but felt they enjoyed it by virtue of Roman custom)” (p.94). In this line of argument, we could also treat the evidence for citizen communities as patronage by ascription without an act of approval by Augustus. 99 Eilers 2002: 186: “No later emperor [sc. than Augustus] is known to have been a city patron”. Cf. Nicols 2014: 99: “there is no inscription referring to Augustus (or any of his imperial successors) as patron that can be dated after 6 BC”. 100 Eilers 2002: 186.

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Personal relations with the emperor also seem to have changed in an interesting direction. While the development of patronage between the emperor and the cities ended in the total disappearance of imperial city patronage, the relations of friendship with senators became universal – by name. As Aloys Winterling concluded from his examination of imperial salutationes, all the senators as well as many of the equites became the amici of Augustus.101 This was obviously a new formalistic amicitia, still expressed in the rituals of personal relations (regular participation in the emperor’s salutatio), but not marking any distinctions between the senators in relation to Augustus. So this sort of amicitia could not be any more than a consequence of the absence of enmity, since no senator could openly be an enemy of the emperor any more, and if he was, this was declared by a formal imperial renuntiatio amicitiae,102 which was more or less equivalent to a death sentence. Characteristically, the emperor does not seem to have addressed someone from this group as amicus.103 In addition, the emperor still had close friends, with whom he spent times of leisure and was in frequent personal contact.104 This could have been the equivalent of Republican reciprocal relations of friendship as part of a patronage system. But concerning those more personal friends, we grasp the fundamental change that the Empire brought about when we look at the famous episode of Augustus and his friend L. Nonius Asprenas. In 9 B. C., Cassius Severus, well known for his severe prosecutions, had charged L. Nonius Asprenas with mass murder. A friend of the accused, the princeps Augustus, asked the senate for help as to what he should do. If he supported Asprenas, this would be judged as a measure to save a defendant from legal punishment. If he did not support him, people would think that he had abandoned a friend in need, and this would be taken as a prejudgement. In this dilemma, he found a compromise with the approval of the senate. He sat down for some hours in the audience, but

101 Winterling 1999: 166–168: in his differentiation, this is the third group of friends (cf. also Winterling 2011: 222–225). Winterling 2011: 220; especially 232 (“Freund und Patron der gesamten Aristokratie”) calls the emperor a universal patron, but this refers only to this third group of friends, not to the whole population of the empire. Nevertheless, I would recommend avoiding this terminology. If all the members of the imperial elite were friends of the emperor, no senator could base a claim for special promotion against senatorial competitors on this relationship any more. So this sort of friendship was not patronal and particularistic, but on the contrary, the Emperor emphasised that the members of the third group were all alike to him. The paradox that Winterling 2011: 220 identified between the inevitability of aristocratic friendship and the incompatibility of the monarch with this sort of relationship was covered by demonstrative equiponderance (“Jovialität”, cf. above, n. 22) – a mechanism adopted in many situations of communication between unequal partners. Winterling 1999 convincingly conceptualised the imperial court as governed by the Emperor’s favour (“Gunst”). Since imperial favour was free in principle, the exchange was no longer patronal: the Emperor had left the system of distribution according to mutual obligations. 102 Cf. Winterling 1999: 171. 103 Cf. Winterling 1999: 167–168. 104 This is the second group of friends for Winterling 1999: 167, in contrast to the third group (above, n. 101) and the first, which encompasses the people who were around him every day, many of them of lower status.

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kept silent and did not make a speech in assistance of his friend.105 In the end, Asprenas was acquitted.106 The problem that Augustus presented to the senate was the contradiction between the obligations of a friend or patron – the problem is exactly the same for symmetrical as for asymmetrical social relations – and the power of a monarch. Since Augustus was princeps and nobody wanted to risk annoying him, the jury would probably not pronounce a judgement contrary to an evident opinion of the princeps. Augustus’ dilemma was that his conduct would be interpreted as a clear statement in the eyes of the public anyway, whatever he did or did not do. So he went to the senate for consent in a strange solution whose interpretation he clarified for the senators – that is to say: it was known to the jury. However, why did he take the trouble at all instead of siding firmly with his friend and also giving a laudatory speech, as would normally be expected? In the Roman patronage system, this was his duty, for which a friend or patron usually would not be censured. Yet Augustus was afraid that he would be criticised for perverting the course of justice. Again, the tension between patronage and ruler for all is clearly visible. The public assumed that Augustus had a success rate of 100 % whenever he decided to support a defendant in court, so in fact, Augustus’ decision about taking sides was identical with the final decision of the jury. This did not only mean that the autocratic facts of Augustan rule would have been out in the open, which was not in accordance with his principate, but in addition, it was a burden for monarchy because the monarch was personally implicated in a procedure which did not permit fair justice. In the phrase immediately preceding his report on the episode of Asprenas, Suetonius made the problem perfectly clear: he [sc. Augustus] wanted his friends to be great and powerful in the community, on the condition that they were still in the same position regarding law as all the others, and were equally bound by the statutes regulating the courts.107 This was no more than a pious hope. In practice, the two wishes of Augustus – according to Suetonius – had to be the source of eternal conflict between the obligation to help his friends and the commitment to fair justice. From this sort of tension between contradictory principles there existed no way out, but only the chance for pushing it into the background and avoiding moments of visibility, which Augustus achieved with remarkable virtuosity. If my argument is correct, that a sole ruler in the Roman Empire could not expand the number of his clients in a conventional way in order to become the patron of all, we are still left with at least two questions, which I will try to answer here only briefly. First, what alternative was there for the emperor to shape his dominant position? And second, why did patronage not die? 105 Suet. Aug. 56.3: “cum Asprenas Nonius artius ei iunctus causam veneficii accusante Cassio Severo diceret, consuluit senatum, quid officii sui putaret; cunctari enim se, ne si superesset, eriperet legibus reum; sin deesset, destituere et praedamnare amicum existimaretur; et consentientibus universis sedit in subselliis per aliquot horas, verum tacitus et ne laudatione quidem iudiciali data.” Cf. Cass.Dio 55.4.3; Quint. inst.orat. 11.1.57. 106 Cass.Dio 55.4.3; cf. Deroux 2004: 178–181; see Winterling 1999: 171. 107 Suet. Aug. 56.2: “amicos ita magnos et potentes in civitate esse voluit, ut tamen pari iure essent quo ceteri legibusque iudiciariis aeque tenerentur.”

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The emperor became the distributor of justice, who took loving care of his subjects. This is a universal principle, and, of course, it is an ideology far removed from the realities of daily practice. The suitable label for this new liability that the emperor had to accept was not patronus patriae or perpetuus patronus Romani imperii,108 but pater patriae, a title conferred on Augustus in 2 B. C.109 Since Augustus composed his res gestae with the utmost care, it cannot be considered accidental that he placed this honour in the very last chapter of the main text. There Augustus reports that the senate, the equester ordo, and the populus Romanus universus called him pater patriae and passed a decree to inscribe this in the vestibulum of his house, in the curia Iulia and in the forum Augustum under the quadrigae which had been put up for him according to a decree of the senate.110 As has been recently noted by Raymond Starr, the location in Augustus’ house seems to have been exactly the place where the tabulae patronatus, made of bronze, were traditionally situated.111 So pater patriae superseded patronus, with an important shift in meaning. As a formalised metaphor for the position of the princeps, only pater was suitable: the father’s dependants were not more or less voluntary clients, but members of the family (or better: the familia), subject to his patria potestas. So the paternal tradition contains both sides: loving care for family members and severe punishments for misconduct.112 Moreover, the relations between the father and his children were not governed by the reciprocity of goods and services. The children had to obey their father, and they could not even theoretically exchange him for another by their own free will if they did not benefit sufficiently from the connection. Ro108 Tiberius was characterized in this way in Vell.Pat. 2.120.1, when he was sent out once again to deal with a dangerous military problem, this time the situation in Germania after the defeat of Varus. While this description of Tiberius’ functions under Augustus as a military troubleshooter is not absurd, the formulation is no more than a fulsome metaphor of a devoted author, cf. Brunt 1988a: 439. Nicols 2014: 91 assumes that Augustus could have been addressed in this way, too, and therefore Velleius’ honorific appellation of Tiberius proves that the “Empire might have more than one patron”. Since we do not have a similar expression for Augustus, it is by far easier to suppose a metaphorical excess of Velleius than a hidden concept in the emperor’s role. 109 RgdA 35.1 (see below, n. 110); Suet. Aug. 58; Cass.Dio 55.10.10; Ovid. fasti 2.127–130. For the significance of this Augustan title, cf. Premerstein 1937: 166–175; Béranger 1953: 276– 278; Alföldi 1971: 92–98; Brunt 1988a: 439; Nicols 2014: 98–99. 110 RgdA 35.1: “Tertium decimum consulatum cum gerebam, senatus et equester ordo populusque Romanus universus appellavit me patrem patriae idque in vestibule aedium mearum inscribendum et in curia Iulia et in foro Aug. sub quadrigis, quae mihi ex s. c. positae sunt, censuit.” 111 Starr 2010. For tabulae patronatus, cf. Nicols 1980. 112 On the Roman father and his powers, cf., for instance, Martin 2009: 262–265; 312–320. See also Cass.Dio 53.18.3 for an interpretation of the imperial title pater patriae that is focused only on situations of harmony: the father has to love his children, they have to revere him. For ancient thought about reciprocal obligations between father and children and its application to the relationship between emperor and subjects, cf. Stevenson 1992: 427–429; 431–432; 435– 436. Nicols 2014: 98 ignores the dimension of strictness and power to punish in the role of the Roman pater; his assessment that Augustus preferred pater to patronus as a “title with essentially the same authority but without the constraints” is convincing to me inasmuch as the emancipation of constraints is assigned to the emperor, not to his subjects.

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man family roles were asymmetrical and not dominantly reciprocal – so basically the father was the ruler of his sons and they owed him loyalty, not only compensation for his services. The relationship between the emperor and even leading senators was similar, as Egon Flaig demonstrated in a shrewd interpretation of the case of C. Silius in 24 A. D. When C. Silius boasted that he alone had succeeded in controlling his legions in 14 A. D., and that without his achievement the rule of Tiberius would have been quickly overturned, the emperor did not react gratefully but furiously, and it did not take long before Silius was charged with maiestas and had to commit suicide.113 Flaig’s conclusion is convincing: the emperor would not only rely upon the respect of his subjects and their willingness to reciprocate for his benefactions, but he insisted on their unconditional loyalty.114 That patronage survived is a fact and is not surprising. Eventually, it existed and was well established in all pre-modern states and in many modern political systems, which were often monarchical. Claude Eilers assumed that the title ‘patron of a city’ became more and more honorific and to a large extent lost its former political content.115 Aloys Winterling arrived at the conclusion that for senators, being traditionally the most important patrons in the Roman world, the performative and symbolic effects of the rituals of patronage became increasingly more important than the instrumental effects.116 Both claim that the better way to promote partisan interests was to get to the emperor or the people around him, and this was no longer guaranteed by senatorial patrons.117 In fact, the emperor’s freedmen and slaves became more important than most of the honourable senators. Altogether, we now have a real separation of more or less formalised patron-client relations, which were predominantly symbolic as demonstrations of social esteem, and informal personal relations, which continued and perhaps even intensified the act of networking to influence decisions for the advantage of one’s friends. The latter can be subsumed under the sociological category of patronage. To be a successful patron in this metaphorical sense, one still had to work hard on social relations with very different people. Above all, one should establish a good connection with the emperor and his associates, because closeness and grace were essential in order to get something done. Yet it was difficult to interact with the imperial circle if one was from the far corners of the Empire. In 238 A. D., when the inhabitants of Skaptopara in Thrace tried to do something about the frequent exploitation by members of the imperial service, they only reached the emperor Gordian III because a native of the village served in the praetorian guard and had the opportunity to make the emperor listen.118 This soldier, named Aurelius Pyrrus, was not a patron in the formal sense, but what he did was a service within the patronage system.

113 114 115 116 117 118

Tac. ann. 4.18.2–19.4. Cf. Flaig 1992: 103–104; 1993; 2003b. Eilers 2002: 171–172; 181. Winterling 2008: 306–308; 314; 2011: 216–220; 231–232. Eilers 2002: 176–180; Winterling 2008: 309–310; 2011: 217–218. Cf. the new edition of the (lost) inscription of Hallof 1994: 414–422.

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CONCLUSION It is time for a summary. My chief purpose here was to show that the idea of the emperor as the universal patron does not work, for structural reasons as well as in historical fact. The exchange of goods and services in the form of patronage is inherently particularistic. The partners have to support each other without weighing up their merits in comparison with competitors or making justifications against rival claims. In contrast, a sole ruler was responsible for everybody and could no longer pose in public as the particularistic supporter of his clients without also caring for their foes. He had to find a universalistic ideology. So the role model became the father or the judge, somebody who was equitable, lenient, but also strict if necessary, and this is the part that Augustus began to play, apparently straight after Actium. In the end, the positive expressions for what the emperor did were tutela and cura concerning the people of Rome, Italy and the whole Empire.119 The major patrons of the Republic, such as Pompey, acted in the traditional way, but the direct effects of foreign clientelae on internal politics were limited.120 It is not for nothing that senators of the late Republic tended to stick to Rome and avoid service in the provinces, not caring about the loss of opportunities to make friends there and extend their network of clients.121 Foreign clients did not play a vital role in in the political centre. Even if they contributed to the funding of election campaigns or provided exotic animals for games,122 this was not as important for making a career than staying in Rome and remaining visible and active there. Pompey had to learn this when he was blocked in Rome in spite of his great achievements in war and his huge number of clients in the East.123 If we look at the relationship from the clients’ point of view, it was more promising to obtain something from a powerful patron like Pompey, who had a good chance to stop an aggressive group of publicani or an uncooperative governor – if he wanted to. Unfortunately, it was not so easy in neighbourhood struggles because Pompey might sometimes already have generated the problem of the imperial period: the neighbour could also claim to be a friend of Pompey, so the obligations neutralized each other. Caesar marked the transition from Republican competition to monocratic rule, and as far as we can see, Caesar did not do much to distance himself from the par119 Those categories have already been highlighted by Premerstein 1937: 117–133, but he linked the terms too closely with his concept of ‘Gefolgschaftswesen’; moreover, his assumptions of a cura et tutela rei publicae universa as an official institution is not convincing. For the significance of the emperor’s tutela, cf. especially Béranger 1953: 257–261; for cura, cf. the useful collection of sources with an arrangement according to different meanings of Hauser 1954; for a collection and interpretation according to Republican and early imperial authors in chronological order, cf. Palma 1980: 31–124. 120 By my assessment of direct effects I do not want to minimize the indirect effects, for instance the strain on basic equality in the leading group. 121 Cf. Blösel 2011. 122 For animals at the games, cf. Bernstein 1998: 303–304. The senate had already tried to prohibit the exploitation of Italians and provincials for the games in 182 B. C. (Liv. 40.44.11–12), apparently with meagre results, cf. Bernstein 276–277. 123 Cf. above n. 54.

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tisan features of patronage. He did not really occupy a universalistic stance. There is no sign that the rewarding of helpers would eventually stop, even if former enemies were not left without a chance to progress in their careers. Yet universalistic ideology came with some epithets, such as saviour of mankind or of the civilized world124, and even, by a decree of the Roman senate, pater or parens patriae.125 Nevertheless, in contrast with Augustus, Caesar did not make parens patriae part of his official titulature,126 which is another proof that he did not really distance himself from the party leader obligated to his supporters in civil war. At least concerning the distinction of becoming a city patron, Caesar perhaps became reluctant in his last two years. His short reign evidently does not allow for a conclusion as to how far he understood that as dictator perpetuo, he had to change his role. This is what Augustus did. During his long rule he had a lot of time to do so, but interestingly, he seems to have begun his personal adaptation to the new conditions immediately after sole rule became likely. He could not distance himself completely from the role of a patron because it was an important part of the Roman way of thinking, communicating, and acting in socio-political contexts. Yet Augustus seems to have avoided the uncontrolled growth of his obligations as a personal patron. Instead, he increasingly transformed his role into that of a father and judge. Within this role he would distribute justice, not fervent support against competitors who were conceptualised in the patronage system as enemies. Altogether, patronage would not disappear as a way of life and as a sort of glue in a society characterised by massive inequality, and the emperor could not escape it completely. So the basic contradiction between the patronage system and the rule 124 From Ephesus, we have an inscription already honouring Caesar after Pharsalos as τὸν … κοινὸν τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου βίου σωτῆρα (SIG3 760 = IEphesos 251 ll.5–7). Also after Pharsalos, he was called in Pergamum [τὸν] κοινὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων [σωτῆρα καὶ ε]ὐεργέτην (Raubitschek 1954: nº(J) = SEG 14, 762 ll.3–4). In Kartheia on Keos, an inscription was published for Caesar (probably after Thapsus, cf. Raubitschek 74 n. 26) as σωτῆρα τῆς οἰκουμένης (IG XII 5, 557); cf. Jehne 1987: 192. See also the statue of Caesar on top of the oikumene in the temple of Jupiter on the Capitol, which was decreed for him after his victory at Thapsus (Cass.Dio 43.14.6; 21.2; cf. Jehne 206–209; Koortbojian 2013: 95–96). 125 For Caesar’s title parens (or pater) patriae, cf. Liv. per. 116; Flor. 2.13.91; Suet. Iul. 76.1; App. b.c. 2.106; 144; Cass.Dio 44.4.4; 48.3; cf. Nik.Dam. FGrHist 90 F 130.22 (80). See Alföldi 1971: 83–91; Jehne 1987: 191–193. Sometimes the title is taken as an expression for Caesar being the patron of all the citizens, cf. Premerstein 1937: 167–169; Harmand 1957: 130–131; Alföldi 96–97. But in this interpretation, the differences between a pater and a patronus are blurred. However, we cannot exclude the possibility that pater is sometimes used for patron in metaphorical hyperbole. 126 Suet. Iul. 76.1 calls pater patriae a cognomen of Caesar, but this is refuted by the other literary sources (cf. above n. 125) and even more so by the epigraphic evidence which shows no traces of pater patriae as a cognomen: see for instance the titles in the latest Caesarian inscription so far known, a decree from Sardes dated to fourth March of 44 B. C., published by Herrmann 1989: 133 ll.3–5: Γάϊος Καῖσαρ αὐτοκράτωρ καὶ ἀρχιερεύς, δικτάτωρ διὰ βίου. After Caesar’s assassination, the title was inscribed on the base of the statue on the forum erected by Amatius where people worshipped their dead hero (Cic. Att. 14.15.2; Suet. Iul. 85; Greek sources mention not a column, but an altar, cf. App. b.c. 3.2; Cass.Dio 44.51.1). After the destruction of the monument (Cic. Att. 14.15.2; Phil. 1.5), Antonius erected another statue of Caesar with the honorific inscription: parenti optime merito (Cic. fam. 12.3.1).

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of law continued to persist. Consequently, the sole ruler had to develop devices to distance himself from the consequences of the fact that on the one hand, hope for some gain via the help of the patron must often have been thwarted, and that on the other hand, justice did not prevail regularly. One of the most important means to cope with disappointment is the insistence on rational criteria, which we met in Augustus’ answer to the Samians’ request for freedom. This was not completely new, of course, but the development and refinement of transpersonal principles of administration under the Empire may have been accelerated not only by the need for better ruling and greater justice, but also by the interests of the emperor and his staff not to be too closely implicated in the unrestrained demands for support of the patronage system.

CHANGE AND DECLINE IN CIVIC PATRONAGE OF THE HIGH EMPIRE Claude Eilers In Roman Patrons of Greek Cities, I sketched out some changes that the formal patronage of provincial cities underwent during the High Empire. Speaking broadly, city patrons, who were drawn from the upper ranks of the senate in the Republic, were drawn more from the less prestigious orders, and patrons seem to be increasingly recruited from within client cities themselves or nearby cities. I characterized these changes as a ‘decline’,1 a notion that I want to re-explore in this article, not least because this characterization has recently been challenged. In an article published in 2009, and in his long-awaited monograph of civic patronage, Nicols has argued against the notion of decline, asserting that city-patronage remained “vital” in this period.2 He enumerates four points in favour of the continued vitality of the institution and invokes one of the few literary passages where city patronage appears as an illustration (which I shall return to shortly). Nicols’ first point is that the continued vitality of the formal patronage of cities is implied by the chapters of surviving municipal charters where the co-optation of patrons was regulated.3 These regulations are well worth noting, but whatever they imply about the standing of patronage may be more Republican than Imperial. We know, for example, that the Roman colony of Urso in Hispania contained rules on the co-optation of patrons within its charter, often referred to as the lex Ursonensis.4 But individual charters were not composed afresh for each foundation, but drawn from pre-existing models that were themselves the product of a long evolution.5 Moreover, occasional glimpses of the history can be deduced from a charter’s text, where inconsistencies and anachronisms suggest what had gone before. One chapter of the lex Ursonensis, for example, refers to the possibility of a tumultus Italicus Gallicusve (ch. 62). This implies that this chapter of the lex Ursonensis was derived from the charter of an Italian colony, and that at least this part of the text goes back to the third century B. C.6 This cautions against assuming that measures in the charters reflected the legal, social, or political concerns even of the time of foundation. Some parts might be centuries old.

1 2 3 4 5 6

Eilers 2002: 161–181. Esp. Nicols 2009: 325–335; re-affirmed 2014: 318–319. Nicols 2009: 334; 2014: 15. For the text, Crawford 1996: nº.25, ch.97, with the new chapters discovered by Caballos Rufino 2006. Galsterer 1988: 89; Bispham 2007: 205–225. Sherwin-White 1973: 83; Crawford 1996: 433.

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How old were the chapters on civic patronage that we find in the lex Ursonensis? Again, there seem to be traces of earlier evolution. In its chapter on co-optation of patrons, the lex Ursonensis makes an anachronistic reference to the lex Iulia agraria of 59 B. C., which led Crawford to conclude that this chapter had been copied more or less whole from an earlier Julian charter of that date.7 Whether those rules were original to that law, or had in turn been copied from a still earlier measure, is quite unknowable. But Roman colonization had a long history and it seems likely that some form of regulations concerning patrons were probably needed from very early. A similar point can be made about the Flavian municipal law, which also contains signs of copying and adaptation from pre-existing charters: a reference to coloni in ch. 79, for example, reveals dependence on a law dealing with coloniae.8 Regarding patrons Galsterer has noted that the Flavian rules about cooptation of patrons follow directly on those setting out rules for the colony’s elections. This raises the possibility that in cities with the earliest versions of these rules, competence over co-optation of patrons had belonged to the assembly.9 Apparently the transfer of this competence to the decuriones came in some later revision.10 It seems highly unlikely that we will ever know in what historical moment that revision took place. Still, by the High Empire the rules about co-opting civic patrons had been in place for at least a century-and-a-half. It is surely correct to suppose that the existence of regulations like these implies that patronage was important, but this argument is most valid for the specific historical moment when the rules were introduced and/or changed. In all subsequent versions of the charter, the continued inclusion of these rules could be the product of simple inertia. Nicols second point is that the high place of patrons is reflected in two alba decurionum, where patrons are listed before decuriones.11 One of these is the famous album of Canusium, which is ordered fairly straightforwardly in terms of status:12 first patroni c(larissimi) v(iri), then patroni eq(uestres) R(omani), then quinquennalicii (regular, then adlected), and so forth. The inclusion of patrons in the Album is clearly a sign of the relative importance of the title, but the superior placement probably reflects the need to put clarissimi first in any list organized hierarchically, as was in any case legally required,13 rather than any superiority of these patrons qua patrons. This is a little clearer in the late antique album of Timgad in north Africa, where the first category is not introduced as patroni, but simply c(larissimi) v(iri), with the first five of ten senators being marked as p(a)tr(onus) as each was listed.14 Following the sena7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Crawford 1996: 397. González and Crawford 1986: 225. A civic degree from Corfinium records the awarding of tabulas patrocinales aheneas to a local luminary “consentiente populo” (“with the people’s approval”), perhaps reflecting an earlier process: CIL IX 3160 = ILS 6530, ll.4–5. Galsterer 1988: 87. Nicols 2009: 329; 2014: 279–299. CIL XI 338 (abbreviated version at ILS 6121). On the historical context, see esp. Salway 2000. Ulpianus, Dig. 50.3.2: “In albo decurionum in municipio nomina ante scribe oportet eorum, qui dignitates principis iudicio consecuti sunt, postea eorum, qui tantum municipalibus honoribus functi sunt.” Chastagnol 1978: esp. 22–28 (an abbreviated version of the text can be seen at ILS 6122).

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tors are two individuals, the first a p(erfectissimus) v(ir), fl(amen) p(erpetuus), the second simply a p(erfectissimus) v(ir), neither of which is marked as a patron. Then come two sacerdotales, the first of whom is a p(a)tr(onus), followed by the duoviri and the other civic offices and priesthoods (none of whom were patrons). Since the last mentioned patron (listed among the sacerdotales, who follow the equestrians) follows five clarissimi and two perfectissimi who are not called patrons, it is clear that at least in this list patronage is not the defining category. The organizational principle is hierarchical based on seniority of office. The title of patron was clearly seen as worth including, but does not itself play a role in the ordering of the list. As his third point, Nicols notes that many attested patrons of decurional rank also held the highest civic offices and priesthoods in their cities, which he takes to imply that the title of patron was the highest obtainable in a city.15 This may indeed be correct – it would hardly be surprising if decuriones reserved such honours as were in their control for their most highly regarded peers, which should correlate to local electoral success – but the evidence on this point is less straight-forward than it seems and may be insufficient to sustain the argument. Most of the evidence for city patrons comes from inscriptions that provide details of their civic careers. Consider this funerary inscription from Locri (CIL X 21): D(is) M(anibus) / C. Oct(avius) Cres/cens, patron(us) / municipii, o(mnibus) h(onoribus) f(unctus), / vix(it) ann(os) LXXX. Uxor / pientis(sima) marito b(ene) m(erenti) f(ecit)

Crescens was patron of his municipium and had held all his city’s offices. When, however, was he made patron? His cooptation as patron could have been at the beginning, middle, or end of his career, and this inscription gives us no guidance on this question. The same question could be asked of inscription from Saepinum (AE 1927.119) that lists his offices: C. Afinio C. f. Vol. / Cordo, / q(uaestori), IIIIvir(o), IIvir(o) i(ure) d(icendo) II, / IIvir(o) quinq(uennali) / patrono munic(ipii)

Here the offices quaestor to quinquennalis are listed in hierarchical and (one assumes) chronological order. And, in keeping with epigraphical convention, the title of patron is kept separate from the cursus honorum, which it was not a part of. It may well have been the case that the co-optation of Cordus came at the end of the series of offices that are listed, but that would only be a guess and nothing requires it. Multiplying that guess by the hundred or so inscriptions recording city patrons and their local careers only multiplies the uncertainty. Indeed, given that epigraphic honours are not spread out evenly through men’s public lives, but skew towards the ends of careers – indeed, funerary texts like the one above for Crescens, by definition come at the end – the raw data can only inflate the apparent seniority of attested patroni. Nicols’ fourth point is that the number of patrons of decurional rank increases from the first to the second centuries.16 This is, strictly speaking, correct. When 15 16

Nicols 2009: 334–335; 2014: 154. Nicols 2009: 335; 2014: 318–9.

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Duthoy collected the data for Italy in the 1980s, for example, he counted 17 patrons of decurional status in the first century and 81 in the second.17 This implicitly acknowledges, however, a key fact. Down to the death of Augustus, patroni of cities were much more prestigious than this. Of the almost 250 patrons we know from inscriptions from Italy and the provinces in this period (see Table 1 below), only a few seem have been from outside the senatorial order. If we exclude two inscriptions which are difficult to date,18 and two more where the status of the attested patrons are unclear,19 we are left with five non-senatorial patrons before the death of Augustus. Two of these, however, are allied kings,20 and three others are interesting enough to consider individually. Q. Quinctius Valgus is attested as patronus of Aeclanum in the late Republic.21 He was a Sullan partisan who during the proscriptions amassed vast estates that included (according to Cicero) the whole of the ager Hirpinus.22 He seems to have been one of a number of trans-regional grandees in the decades following the Social War,23 and his importance is attested by the magistracies that are attested for him in several cities,24 by his daughter’s marriage to a Roman senator, Servilius Rullus (tr.pl. 63 B. C.), and by the careful and respectful way in which Cicero mentions him in the de lege agraria.25 Valgus, however, is the only non-senator attested as patronus in the epigraphy of the Republic. Rather than contradicting the general pattern that all Republican city patrons were senators, the example of Valgus largely confirms its relevance. In most other periods, one would expect someone of his wealth and influence to have found his way into the senate. The unique facts of this period and Valgus’ own history or preferences made him a viable patron without membership in the senate. 17 18

19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Duthoy 1984–6: 132, Table 5. Cf. also Nicols 2014: 244. The old-fashioned spelling in CIL XI 6167 = ILS 5673 suggests but does not guarantee a date no later than Augustus for L. Octavius Rufus, patronus of Suasa, who was honoured for endowing their baths (Fagan 1999: 302). In CIL X 792, a certain Q. Sallustius P. f., a IIviri.d. and quinquennalis, is honoured as patronus of Pompeii. His lack of a cognomen implies a date no later than Augustus (the concerns of D’Arms 1978: 54 that he is called simply patronus and not patronus coloniae are misplaced.) M. Atilius Vernus was co-opted patron of Bocchoris in A. D. 6 (CIL II 3695 = ILS 6098); Q. Marius Balbus, of Lacilbula in A. D. 7 (CIL II 1343 = ILS 6097). It is unclear who either was or what was their status (see Nicols 1980: 544). C. Iulius Eurycles of Sparta was patron of Epidaurus (IG 42.1.592), probably before the death of Drusus in 9 B. C. Juba II of Mauretania was patron of Carthago Nova (CIL II 3417) probably under Augustus, but in any case before A. D. 23. ILLRP 523 = CIL IX 1140 = CIL 12.1722 = ILS 5318: C. Quinctius C. f. Valg(us) patron(us) munic(ipi) / M. Magi(us) Min(ati) f. Surus, A. Patlacius Q. f. / IIIIvir(i) d(e) s(enatus) s(ententia) portas, turreis, moiros / turreisque aequas qum moiro / faciundum coiraverunt. Cic. leg.agr. 2.69; 3.3, 8, 13–14. Cf. also his vast estates near Casinum (Cic. leg.agr. 3.14, cf. ILLRP 565.) Harvey 1973: 79–94; Nicolet 1966: 25, 414, 422; Bispham 2007: 434–436. On the type, see Bispham 2007: 412–413, 434–436. quinquennalis at Abellinum (ILLRP 598); IIvir and then IIvir quinquennalis in Pompeii (ILLRP 645, 646). Cic. 3.13: “vir multum bonus est; neque ego nunc de illius bonitate, sed de generi impudentia disputo; cf. 2.69: “virum optimum.”

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Q. Caecilius Atticus appears as patron and duumvir quinquennalis in an inscription from Tuder in Umbria early in Augustus’ reign (CIL XI 4652): Q. Caecilio Q. f. Atticopatrono, / C. Attio P. f. Bucinae, IIvireisquinq(uennalibus) / ex. d.d.

Another inscription shows that he was a tribunus militum of legio XXXXI (which can only be triumviral), and a third, a praefectus frumento.26 C. P. Jones has made a convincing case that he was the adoptive son and heir of Cicero’s famous friend, Atticus, whose full name following his own testamentary adoption was Q. Caecilius Atticus Pomponianus.27 This identification places the patron of Tuder in Rome’s highest circles: his adoptive sister Caecilia was Agrippa’s first wife,28 whose infant daughter (the patron’s niece) was the Vipsania betrothed to Tiberius.29 Whatever advantages this close association to the imperial family had brought him, however, will have disappeared after Agrippa divorced his sister in c. 28,30 and after this nothing more is heard about him. Jones suggests that he may have decided to follow his adoptive father’s policy and refrained from participating in politics. That is certainly possible, though an early death can never be ruled out perhaps before reaching high office. Indeed, we cannot quite be sure that the younger Atticus was never a senator, if (as Jones urges) the office in Tuder as quinquennalis was honorary.31 In any case, as brother-in-law of Agrippa, it is not difficult to see why the younger Atticus would be seen as a valuable patron, regardless of his lack of senatorial standing. M. Holconius Rufus of Pompeii provides the first clear case of a city patron whose career was exclusively local, unlike Valgus and Atticus whose offices and connections seem Italy-wide. Luckily Holconius’ career is well attested and his cooptation can be dated and contextualized. The base for his cuirassed statue summarizes his career (CIL X 830 = ILS 6361b):32 M. Holconio M. f. Rufo | trib(uno) mil(itum) a popul(o), IIvir(o) i(ure) d(icendo) V, | quinq(uennali) iter(um), | Augusti Caesaris sacerd(oti), | patrono coloniae.

Holconius’ stature within Pompeii is striking: not only did he hold his city’s highest offices several times, but he was also tribunus militum a populo. This title had been created by Augustus to recognize the most prominent members of the civic elite in Italy; they received it on the recommendation of their popular assemblies, and it came with equestrian rank.33 As final testimony to his prominence, note the title 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

CIL XI 4650 = ILS 2230; CIL XI 4651. Shackleton Bailey 1991: 68. Jones 1999: 93–94, pointing to Nep. Att. 12.1–2; probably in 37 B. C. (Syme 1986: 143); Roddaz 1984: 81–85. Roddaz 1984: 539–540. Suet. Gram. 16.1, with Syme 1986: 143–144, cf. 314. Jones 1999: 93. Cities sometimes elected prominent outsiders to civic magistracies, most famously emperors (Boatwright 2000: 59–65; Sherk 1993: 285–288); for Republican examples, Bispham 2007: 459–460. Cf. CIL X 838 = ILS 6361a: M. Holconio M. f. Rufo | IIv(iro) i(ure) d(icendo) quinquiens, | iter quinq(uennali), trib(uno) mil(itum) a populo, | flamini Aug., patr(ono) colo(niae) d(ecreto) d(ecurionum) Suet. Aug. 46 with D’Arms 1978: 56–58.

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patronus coloniae, which he seems to have been one of very few non-senators to have held. Indeed, the title of tribunus militum a populo seems to have been created to recognize the cream of Italy’s municipal elites – but he is the only one of them who is attested as patron.34 In light of this it is not at all surprising that Holconius Rufus is widely regarded as the most distinguished Pompeian of his age,35 and his impressive list of offices, titles, and priesthoods must reflect his high standing within Pompeii, perhaps attributable to wealth and multiple benefactions.36 As it happens, his cooptation as patron can be roughly dated. In the inscription quoted above Holconiusis said to have been IIvir. i.d. five times and quinquennalis twice. An earlier inscription that does not call him patron lists his offices as IIvir. i.d. four times and quinquennalis once.37 Since this fourth term as duumvir i. d. can be dated to 2 B. C. (CIL X 890 = ILS 6391), he must have become patron after that date and before Augustus’ death. In the Late Republic, then, and down to the death of Augustus, city patrons in Italy and the provinces were all senators, with the exception of a handful of remarkable individuals whose personal prestige approached the senatorial. In the centuries that followed, however, most patrons were not senators. When did this change take place? It did not happen all at once, but we can see some key changes beginning already in the first century after Christ, at least to judge from two fragmentary inscriptions. The first of these is an acephalous inscription from Auximum that commemorates a man (whose name and career is unfortunately lost) as the first equestrian ever co-opted as patron of that city,38 clearly implying that Auximum had only ever co-opted senators before this.39 A pair of fragmentary inscriptions from Rusellae, apparently with identical texts, from the time of Tiberius probably said something similar about a man who had been quinquennalis twice and praefectus of two Julio-Claudian princes.40 So, as we turn our attention to the question of when cities began adopting non-senators as patrons, these inscriptions, taken together with the case of Holconius Rufus and the trends within the epigraphical evi34 35 36 37 38 39 40

On tribuni militum a populo see especially Nicolet 1967. Castrén 1983: 60: “Without doubt the most distinguished personage in Pompeii in the Augustan period”; D’Arms 1978: 60: “single most distinguished citizen”; Beard 2008: 206: “the most powerful Pompeian we know”. He paid for a reconstruction of the theatre: CIL X 883, 834 = ILS 5638. Prof. John Dobbins informs me that there is reason to believe that Holconius was also involved with the rebuilding of the sanctuary of Apollo. CIL X 837 = ILS 6361: M. HolconioRufo / IIv(iro) i(ure) d(icendo) IIII, quinq(uennali), | trib(uno) mil(itum) a populo, Augusti sacerdoti, ex d(ecreto) d(ecurionum). CIL IX 5856 = ILS 6574: [……] Q. f. / [……] patrono / [dec]uriones publice, / [cui] primo equiti Romano / [po]st coloniam deductam / decurionum consulto / colonorumque voluntate / patrocinium delatum est. The only known patrons from earlier are Pompeius Magnus (CIL IX 5837 = 12.769 = ILS 877 = ILLRP 382 (cf. Plut. Pomp. 6) and M. Titius (suff. 31) (CIL IX 5853). Saladino 1980: 233–236 (AE 1980.465): [- – – c]ius Q. f. Celer [- – -] / [- – – IIvir qu]inq(uennalis) bis, praef(ectus) Ge[rmanici] / [et Drusi] Caesarum quin[q(uennalis) – – -] / [- – – p] atronus ex e[quite – – -] // [- – -i]n hac colonia [- – -] (etc.). The supplement e[quite] is guaranteed (the second, more fragmentary stone reads equi[te].)

327

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dence suggest that in the last years of Augustus’ principate or the first of Tiberius’cities began to co-opt non-senators as patrons. From this point onwards, in any case, patroni seem to have been drawn in roughly equal numbers from senators, equestrians in the imperial service, and local elites.41 At the same time, however, the number of senatorial patrons seems to have been declining (cf. Table 1). Some skepticism has been expressed about the numbers,42 but in some parts of the empire, such as the Greek east, the decline is dramatic. In Italy, the numbers are roughly static, although we should expect the numbers of attestations to growing, in light of the “epigraphic habit” – i. e., the fact that significantly more inscriptions were being produced in the second and third centuries than before and after, with peak production apparently occurring under the Severi.43 In the Latin speaking provinces, the raw numbers of patrons does indeed increase, but this is more likely to be a product of the paucity of Latin provincial epigraphy in the Republican period. It is surely striking, however, that in absolute terms more senatorial patrons globally are attested for the century before the death of Augustus than in the 180 years thereafter, even though the latter period is almost twice as long and much more epigraphically productive.44 454647484950

Table 1: Senatorial patrons in Greek and Latin inscriptions c. 90 B. C. to A. D. 14 A. D. 14 to 192 13545

3246

senatorial patrons of provincial cities in Latin West

3647

9348

senatorial patrons of cities in Italy

5849

8450

senatorial patrons of provincial cities in the Greek East

total:

229

209

The change is not merely quantitative, but qualitative. Before the death of Augustus the typical city-patron was not merely a senator, but amongst the most senior and influential of that number – the vast majority of city patrons that date from the Re-

41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48 49 50

Summarized at Duthoy 1984–6: 132, Table 5. Nicols 2009: 326. Mrozek 1973; MacMullen 1982; Meyer 1990; Woolf 1996. Only patrons found in inscriptions are tabulated, and rather than listing the 400+ inscriptions, I cite already published catalogues where they exist. Most of these lists are slightly out-of-date, but the trends will not be substantially altered. No list of patrons of Italy under Augustus is extant, so these are given in Appendix 1 below. Derived from those collected at Eilers 2002: 192–268, 280–281. Eilers 2002: 165, 280–281, 282–283 (senators only, ignoring those dating to the third century). Eilers 2002: 285, 287. Eilers 2002: 288–292 (Tiberius to Commodus). Germanicus’ son Drusus Caesar is honoured as patron of Metellinum in the A. D. 20s (CIL II 609). Bispham’s list of patrons in Italy before Actium (2007: 457–458) includes 22 senators attested in inscriptions; another 36 are listed in Appendix 1, below. Duthoy 1984–6: 136–153: senatorial patrons belonging to his periods I–IV (from A. D. 14 to 192).

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public were ex-consuls and ex-praetors.51 Indeed, during Augustus’ principate, the princeps and his close relatives make up roughly half of all known patrons of Italian cities.52 By contrast, not a single member of the imperial family is attested as city patrons after Tiberius’ rule. This change in who was becoming patron seems to have coincided with a change in where they were based. In the Republican age, patrons of cities were senators based in Rome. This changed in the Empire, when cities increasingly co-opted as patrons their own citizens and those of nearby cities.53 A good example of this comes from Tuficum in Umbria, which honoured a Roman knight who had held offices and priesthoods in the city and was also its patron and of nearby Cupra Montana and Attidium.54 Other examples are easy to find both in Italy and the provinces.55 The underlying change is not trivial, and it has broad implications about the function of patronage of cities in Italy and the provinces. Under the Republic, patrons had acted most importantly as a connection between ruling-centre and subjectperiphery, with patrons acting to advocate on behalf of clients before their peers in Rome, where they both lived and fulfilled their duties as senators.56 In the imperial period most patrons could not have performed this role. The careers and influence of most patrons were located in their own patriae, and those patrons who had pursued equestrian or senatorial careers seem to have been chosen for geographical proximity to the client-city rather than for their proximity to the centers of power.57 As part of his argument for the continued vitality of civic patronage, Nicols points to a passage of Arrian’s Discourses of Epictetus, where Epictetus is approached by an ambitious rhetor who was travelling to Rome to resolve a dispute about his status at Cnossos, specifically whether or not he was the colony’s patronus (at term which Arrian translates both as προστάτης and πάτρων in this passage)58. Epictetus encourages the rhetor to be satisfied with what he had and to 51 52 53 54 55

56 57

58

Cf. the lists of Bispham (2007: 457–458) for Republican Italy and mine for the Greek East (Eilers 2002: 269–276) and Italy (below, Appendix 1). For city-clients of Caesar, Augustus, and the imperial family, Eilers 2002: 284–286. The shift has been widely noted: Warmington 1954: 45–46; Duthoy 1984; Eilers 2002: 97–102; Nicols 2009: 333; 2014: 254–255. The skepticism of Andermahr 1998: 20–24 primarily relates to the proportion of senatorial patrons who were patroni patriae. CIL XI 5718 = ILS 6642 (Tuficum): L. Musetio / L. f. Ouf. / Sabino, / equo publico, / patrono municipi / Tufic.et municipi / Attidiat. et Cuprens / Mont. pontif. augur / IIIIvir. iuri dicund. / decuriones et plebs / ex epulis suis ob merit. / eius. L. d. d. d. A patron of Auximum (his patria) was also patron of nearby Aesis, Numana, and Trea (CIL IX 5831–2 = ILS 6572–3); a patron of Alba Pompeia (patria) was also patron of neighboring Aquae Statiellae and Augusta Bagiennorum, and slightly more distant Genua (CIL V 7153). Cf. also CIL XI 1059 (Parma, Forum Novum, and Forum Druentium); CIL V 331 = I.Ital. X 2.8 (Opitergium, Aquileia, Parentium, and Emona). Cf. Eilers 2002: 84–108. An important exception to this may be Canusium, which listed in its album of A. D. 223 an impressive group of consular patrons who seem to be listed according to their place in the Emperor’s consilium (so Salway 2000). To judge from other epigraphical evidence, this does not seem to be typical. Arr. Epict. diss. 3.9. Greek authors occasionally use προστάτης to translate patronus: App. b.c. 2.4.14; Cass.Dio 38.17.5; Plut. Rom. 13.2; Mar. 5.4; Dion.Hal. 2.9.2–3.

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pursue true virtue. Nicols’s notes that the rhetor’s willingness to take his appeal all the way to Rome, even in winter, implies that the honour was important to him and takes this as evidence of the continued vitality of the institution. One important point to recognize at the outset is that everything that we know about the Cnossian rhetor or his case comes from the text, and everything that Arrian recorded here comes from the young man’s self-presentation. He is described as a man of wealth with land and cattle and gold and silver who as a youth had begun pleading of cases and involving himself in civic politics.59 All this must ultimately depend on what the rhetor had said or implied about himself and his past, which will have been at the very least self-interested and may even have been exaggerated, falsified, or invented to some degree. So, for example, when Epictetus criticizes the rhetor for not being content with the honours that he already had, he is presumably reacting to the claims (perhaps implicit) that the rhetor had made about his own civic service. In light of this, we cannot know for certain that the rhetor actually had in fact held civic offices, though that in itself would not be surprising.60 In any case, the status and achievements of attested patrons either in Cnossus or elsewhere provide no reliable guide about the status of our rhetor for at least two reasons. First, the inscriptions recounting patrons’ careers do not show when in that career a patron was co-opted, only that he had become patronus sometime during his career, as I noted above. Secondly, we know that the nomination of any epigraphically attested patron was ipso facto successful. The nomination of our rhetor, by contrast, was unsuccessful, which undermines any suggestion that his standing was typical of known patrons, who had succeeded where he had failed. If the passage provides us little insight into our would-be-patron, it gives us even less insight into patronage as an institution. It implies that a Roman colony might have patrons, although this is not news, since we know hundreds of them from inscriptions. It also implies that being patron of a city had some prestige attached to it. Again, however, this is implicit in all discussions of patronage, including mine of this very passage more than a decade ago.61 It may, of course, occasion some surprise that an appeal could be made to the Emperor in a case where the cooptation of a patron had failed, but this probably has less to do with patronage than the fact that almost anything could be appealed to the Emperor.62 Something had clearly gone wrong with the co-optation of the rhetor of Cnossus; Arrian’s description gives no hint what. Nicols raises the possibility that there had been a successful vote to co-opt the rhetor as patron, but that this had been over-turned in a lawsuit similar to those allowed in the lex Ursonensis.63 The rele59 60 61 62 63

Arr. Epict. diss. 3.9.18, 3.9.9. Pace Nicols 2009: 328: “he already had obtained a number of (civic) honors in Cnossus, suggesting decurial status and the ownership of significant property at the very least.” Eilers 2002: 105–108; cf. also (e. g.) Veyne 1976: 349 n. 219 (trans. Veyne 1990: 175–176 n. 166); Lendon 1997: 83–84. Cf. e.g, Millar 1977 (1992): 465–549, passim. Nicols 2009: 332: “one may assume that objections had been raised in the local senate, and that the rhetorician’s cooption had initiated a legal process, and that the rhetorician may have lost at the first instance. At that point the rhetorician began his process of appeal.”

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vant clause in that charter, however, only allows for fines against the magistrate responsible for an illegal co-optation;64 nothing in the lex Ursonensis implies that a wrongly co-opted patron would lose his title, in contrast to under the Flavian municipal law.65 It is probably better to look elsewhere. Perhaps, for example, there were irregularities in the council’s vote on the rhetor’s co-optation. The right combination of a bare quorum, a close vote, and irregularities in balloting could presumably produce a contestable result. (Imagine, for example, a vote in which the quorum was 50, and the votes were 24 in favor, 23 against, and three spoiled ballots. Would this pass? Would the quorum be sufficient? And would the procedural rules and the rulings on the day be clear enough to prevent an appeal?) Whatever the truth behind the Cnossian rhetor’s complaint, it occurred within changes in patterns of who became patron, where they were based, and (one must assume) what they were doing, changes that imply that civic patronage became increasingly honorific during the course of the principate, something that can be characterized as decline.66 It is important to note, however, that it probably did not seem be decline to those involved. When Auximum co-opted its first non-senatorial patron there will have been no sense that by doing the title was somehow diminished – far from it, this was surely seen as a special honour for an extra-ordinary equestrian. So, too, in a decree passed in A. D. 242, when the praefectura of Peltuinum co-opted a clarissima femina Nummia Varia as the city’s patrona.67 The most striking thing in this case of course is that it is a woman being co-opted – women made up only a tiny fraction of c. 1500 known city-patrons68 – but again this was surely meant as a special distinction for her, and not regarded as any diminution of the title. Indeed, the decree of Peltuinum describes patronage as “an honor which is foremost amongst us” (honore, qui est aput nos potissimus). Nicols compares this to a criticism that Epictetus had made of the Cnossian rhetor – that he had not been content with his existing honours, but by seeking the title of patron was pursuing something greater and more conspicuous (ἀλλὰ μείζονός τινος ἐπιθυμεῖς καὶ ἐπιφανεστέρου). Together Nicols takes this to mean that patronage was the highest of civic honours.69 This interpretation, however, involves a slight mis-reading of one text and an over-reading of the other. Epictetus is not saying that patronage was grander than other honours, but that it was a more prestigious honour than the Cnossian rhetor had previously held – and given how little can be said about the 64

65 66 67 68 69

Crawford 1996: nº 25, ch.97, l.20: “qui atversus ea fecerit HS (quinque milia) colonis eius coloniae dare damnas esto, eiusque pecuniae colonorum eius coloniae cui volet petitio esto.” (“Whoever shall have acted contrary to these rules, is to be condemned to pay 5000 sesterces to the colonists of that colony, and there is to be suit for that sum by whoever shall wish of the colonists of that colony”). González- Crawford 1986. Ch.61. Eilers 2002: 105–108; cf. Veyne 1976: 349 n. 219 (trans. Veyne 1990: 175–176 n. 166). CIL IX 3429 = ILS 6110, 11. 3 ff. For women as patrons, see now Hemelrijk 2004, who lists roughly twenty patronae attested in epigraphy. Nicols 2009: 334. Cf. also: “greater and more conspicuous than other civic honors” (p.328); “the highest prestige a decurion might obtain” (p.332); “the highest rankone might obtain in a community” (p.335).

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rhetor or his background, this is of little help in gauging the importance of patronage. The decree of Peltuinum does indeed describe patronage as an honor potissimus; this, however, requires only that the honour was very high, not that it was higher than all others: that is, this superlative is what the grammarians call “elative”, in contrast to the “comparative” superlative.70 We should not conclude, therefore, that patronage was more highly valued than seats of honour, public statues in especially prominent places, public funerals, honorary magistracies, salutations, laudationes, and the like, especially given that emperors and their families cease to be patrons of cities, but continue to receive other honours from cities. In any case, the purpose behind this description of patronage is not to inform the reader about the relative value of patronage as compared to other honours. Rather, it is to elevate the honorands’ glory by exalting the honour being given to them. So, too, probably the statement that co-optation of Nummia would make Peltuinum “glorious and safe and protected in all things” (gloriosi et in omnibus tuti ac defense esse possimus), which again is framed not to describe what the new patroness was really expected actually to accomplish, but to flatter her by exaggerating the effect that her patronage might bring. (One might in any case reasonably guess that the language is largely boilerplate and reused from one occasion to the next.) It is surely correct, then, to argue that the title of patron was highly valued. This, however, does not falsify the argument that the title of city-patron became increasingly honorific.71 Highly valued honours can still be mere honours and imply little or nothing about underlying social roles. The question here is not whether being made a patronus was valued by those who gave and received it. We have every reason to think that it was. That fact, however, tells us very little about its sociological role or its systemic importance. What we need to consider is whether the underlying relationship had changed, whether this affected the kinds of interaction between the participants, and whether the impact of the institution in the socio-political sphere was altered because of it. At least two important changes took place. First, in the patronal system of the Republic practically all attested patrons are senior senators. By the high Empire, the typical patron was not nearly so grand. Nicols may be correct to suppose that the minimum standing of such patrons was the upper reaches of local elites, but that is significantly inferior to the statuses that seem to have been required under Augustus. The question is whether the changing status of patrons reflects some deeper change in the social institution. That this was so is implied by the second change, which involves what we may call the patronal network. If we map out the social networks made up of attested clientelae down to the death of Augustus, one “node” of almost all the relational ties was in Rome; the network was centralized and functioned empire wide (see, e. g., the map of patrons of Italian cities in fig. 1.). The network relates to the function – patrons, who were all senators, were based in Rome, and their role as patron in70 71

Kühner and Stegmann 1962: 2. 441 n. 25. Eilers 2002: 105–108; the argument was adumbrated by Veyne 1976: 349 n. 219 (trans. Veyne 1990: 175–176 n. 166); cf. also Lendon 1997: 83–84.

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Fig 1 Map: The network of city patronage in Italy under Augustus (author: Claude Eilers). The data is in Appendix one. Each patronal relationship is represented by an arrow that begins at a patron’s likely base of operations (in Rome, in most cases here) and ends at the client-city. A number within a circle denotes a patron of his own patria.

volved them exercising their influence on behalf of their clients with their fellow senators, who were also based in Rome. The map for the imperial period (fig. 2) is quite different. The network – if it can be described as a single network – was highly decentralized, and many of the “centralities” were local. The clear implication is that the patrons are now more local and their roles were local, a point that is confirmed by the increasing numbers of men who are patroni of their own patriae.72

72

Eilers 2002: 105–108.

Change and Decline in Civic Patronage of the High Empire

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Fig 2 Map: The network of city patronage in Italy in the second-half of the second century A. D. (author: Claude Eilers). The patrons are numbered according to the catalogue of Duthoy (1984–6); the selection is all patrons whom Duthoy dates to his period IV (A. D. 138–192). Each patronal relationship is represented by an arrow that begins at a patron’s patria and ends at the client-city. A number within a circle denotes a patron of his home city. A number in Italics is used where the patria of the patron is not known. Question marks are where the identity or location of a client city is in doubt.

The question is whether these changes might be accurately described as decline. Different observers will inevitably make different judgments about decline, depending on criteria that are inevitably subjective. Given, however, that declining prestige and shrinking scope are phenomena that are normally regarded as decline in other matters, I contend that the description is valid here.

334

Claude Eilers Appendix 1. Patrons of Italian Cities under Augustus.73

1

M. Acilius Glabrio (procos. Afr. 25 B. C., PIR2 A 71)

Ostia

CIL XIV 4324

2

Sex. Appuleius (cos. 29 B. C.)

Aesernia

CIL IX 2637 = ILS 894

3

Q. Articuleius Regulus (pr. an. inc.)

Canusium

CIL IX 331 = ILS 929

4

*Q. Caecilius Atticus (praef. frum.)

Tuder

CIL XI 4652 (see above with nn. 26–31)

5

C. Caesar

Rusellae

AE 1980. 449

6

Germanicus (?) Caesar

FanumFortunae

CIL XI 6220

7

Imp. Caesar divi f.

Luna

CIL XI 1330 = ILS 78

8

Imp. Caesar Augustus

Grumentum

CIL X 206

9

Imp. Caesar Augustus

Salassi

ILS 6753 = I. di Augusta Praetoria 1

10

L. Caesar

Aesis

CIL XI 6200

11

L. Caesar

Alba Fucens

CIL IX 3914

12

L. Caesar

Cosa

AE 1977. 249

13

L. Caesar

Pisae

CIL XI 1420–1 = ILS 139–40

14

C. Calvisius Sabinus (cos. 4 B. C.)

Canusium

CIL IX 414

15

M. Claudius Marcellus

Pompeii

CIL X 832 = ILS 898

16

Nero Claudius Drusus

LucusFeroniae

AE 1988. 546

17

Ti. Claudius Nero

Amiternum

AE 1983. 327

18

Ti. Claudius Nero (?)

Capua

CIL X 3848

19

Ti. Claudius Nero

LucusFeroniae

AE 1988. 546

20

Paullus Fabius Maximus (cos. 11 B. C.) Hatria

ILS 919

21

M. HerenniusPicens (suff. A. D. 1)

Veii

CIL XI 7747, CIL XI 3797 = ILS 922

22

*M. Holconius Rufus (IIviri.d. V)

Pompeii

CIL X 830, 838 = ILS 6361a-b (see above, with nn. 32–37)

23

C. Marcius Censorinus (cos. 8 B. C.)

Aquinum

CIL 10.5396

24

L. Munatius Plancus (cos. 42 B. C.)

Urbs Salvia

CIL 9.5816

25

L. Nonius Asprenas (cos. A. D. 6)

Velia

CIL 10.8342b

26

M. Nonius Balbus (pr. an. inc.)

Herculaneum

AE 1976. 144

(PIR2

27

Q. Numonius Vala

Paestum

CIL 10.481 = ILPaestum 70

28

*L. Octavius Rufus (trib. mil.)

Suasa

CIL XI 6167 = ILS 5673

29

C. Poppaeus Q. f. (cos. A. D. 9)

Interamnia

ILLRP 617 = ILS 5671

73

N 244)

Asterisks mark possible non-senators. For a list of patrons of Italian cities before Actium, see Bispham 2007: 457–8; for those after the death of Augustus, Duthoy 1984–6.

Change and Decline in Civic Patronage of the High Empire

335

30

Q. Poppaeus Q. f. (suff. A. D. 9)

Interamnia

ILLRP 617 = ILS 5671, ILLRP 618 = ILS 6562

31

Cn. Pullius Pollio (pr. an. inc.)

Forum Clodi

CIL XI 7553

32

P. Tettius Rufus Tontianus (pr. an. inc., PIR T 104)

Atina

CIL X 5060

33

M. Titius L. f. (suff. 31 B. C.)

Auximum

CIL IX 5853

34

M. Vipsanius Agrippa

Claterna

CIL XI 6814

35

M. Vipsanius Agrippa

Cubulteria

CIL X 4616

36

M. Vipsanius Agrippa

Gnathia

CIL IX 262

37

M. Vipsanius Agrippa

Reate

CIL IX 4677 = ILS 6543

38

M. Vipsanius Agrippa

Rufrae

CIL X 4831

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INDEX OF PERSONS Acces Licirni of Intercatia: 146 n. 33 Acilius Glabrio, M. (procos. Afr. 25): 334 Adherbal: 278 Aelius Lamia, L. (cos. 3 A. D.): 179 n. 65 Aelius Niger, M. of Igabrum: 118 Aemilius Lepidus, M. (cos. 187 and 175): 266 Aemilius Lepidus, M. (cos. 46 and 42): 169, 177 Aemilius Paullus, L. (cos. 182 and 168): 35, 266, 267, 288 n. 26 Aemilius Scaurus, M. (cos. 115): 278 Aemilius, M. of Saguntum (magistrate in 44–43): 112 Aemilius, M. of Simitthus: 177 Aeneas: 61, 63, 64, 190 n. 24 Afinius Cordus, C. (magistrate in Saepinum): 323 Africanus Fabius Maximus (cos. 10): 171 Aimilius, L. of Obulco: 112 Alexandros III of Macedonia: 92, 188 n. 21 Alexandros the Aetolian: 225 n. 4 Alexas of Heraclea: 30 Allucius: 129, 133, 137, 287, 288 Amatius (Pseudomarius): 318 n. 126 Ammius, Cn. of Carteia (magistrate ca. 90): 112 Amparamus Nemaiecanus: 146 n. 34 Annius Appius, M. of Iguvium: 30 Antiochos I of Commagene: 276 Antiochos III Megas: 102, 221 n. 49, 226, 231, 232 Antiochos XIII Philadelphos Asiatikos: 244 n. 19 Antipater of Idumaea: 251 n. 62 Antonia Maior: 182 Antonius (Hibrida), C. (cos. 63): 113, 114 Antonius (Pietas), L. (cos. 41): 271 n. 66 Antonius, M. (cos. 44 and 34): 21, 149 n. 58, 190, 194 n. 49, 206, 269, 308 n. 74, 309, 318 n. 126 Appuleius Saturninus, L. (tr. pl. 103 and 100): 89, 90 Appuleius, Sex. (cos. 29): 334 Apuleius: 114 Argentarius, L. of Carteia (magistrate ca. 90): 112 Ariarathes of Cappadocia: 251 n. 62 Ariobarzanes III: 259 Ariovistus: 290 n. 34 Aristo of Massalia: 30

Aristonicos: 215, 217, 218 Articuleius Regulus, Q. (pr. an. inc.): 334 Asclepiades of Clazomenae: 142 n. 6, 290 Asinius Gallus Saloninus, C. (cos. 8): 146 n. 37 Asinius Pollio, C. (cos. 40): 149 Atilius Caiatinus, A.: 65, 66, 67 Atilius Regulus Calenus, M. (cos. 335): 65 Atilius Vernus, M. (patronus of Bocchoris): 324 n. 19 Atilius Verus, M.: 146 n. 36 Attalos I Soter: 230, 234 n. 44 Attalos II Philadelphos: 289, 290 Attalos III of Pergamum: 248, 266 Aurelius Fulvus: 158 Aurelius Pyrrus: 316 Berenice II: 190 Bilistages: 125, 126 Bocchus I: 206 n. 114 Bocchus II: 203, 206 n. 114 Bogud: 206 n. 114 Brithagoras: 311 n. 93 Brogitarus: 244 n. 19 Caecilia: 325 Caecilius Atticus, Q. (praef. frum.): 325, 334 Caecilius Metellus Celer, Q. (cos. 60): 138 n. 117 Caecilius Metellus Numidicus, Q. (cos. 109): 37 n. 79, 285 Caecilius Metellus Pius, Q. (cos. 80): 28, 29, 30, 40, 118, 167, 169 Caecilius Niger of Lennium: 114 Caecina, A.: 37 n. 79 Caelius Rufus, M. (pr. 48): 266, 273 Caesius, P. of Ravenna: 30 Caligula: 182, 186, 203 n. 98 Calpurnius Bibulus, M. (cos. 59): 257, 285 Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, L. (cos. 58): 272 Calpurnius Piso, Cn. (q. pro. pr. Hispania 65–64): 283 Calvisius Sabinus, C. (cos. 4): 334 Canidius: 256 Caninius Gallus, L. (cos. 2): 171, 179, 180 n. 68, 182 Caninius Rebilus, C. (cos. suff. 45): 171, 307 Canuleius Dives, L. (pr. 171): 34, 35 Cassius Longinus, C. (cos. desig. 41): 269, 307, 309

366

Index of Persons

Cassius Longinus, Q. (tr. pl. 49): 117 Cassius Severus, T.: 313 Charops: 266 Claudius Centho, Ap. (pr. 175): 33 n. 65 Claudius Marcellus, M. (cos. 222, 215, 214, 210 and 208): 21 Claudius Marcellus, M. (cos. 166, 155 and 152): 122, 136, 249 n. 47 Claudius Pulcher, Ap. (cos. 212): 69, 70 Claudius Pulcher, Ap. (cos. 54): 257, 271, 272, 276 Claudius Pulcher, P. (cos. 249): 69 Claudius: 110 n. 18, 114, 150 n. 63, 268 n. 38 Claudius, Ti.: 146 Cleopatra Selene II: 190, 191, 193, 205 Cleopatra VII: 190 Clodia: 267 Clodius Pulcher, P. (tr. pl. 58): 239, 240, 241, 244 n. 19, 247, 254, 255, 256, 257, 260, 265, 267, 268, 269, 274 Commodus: 327 n. 48 Copinius, C.: 266 Copinius, T.: 266 Cornelius, C. (tr. pl. 67): 277 Cornelius, Cn. (eques of Ilerda, turma Salluitana): 112 n. 24 Cornelius Balbus, L. (cos. suff. 40): 13, 29, 108, 141, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 172 Cornelius Balbus (Minor), L. (q. 44): 149, 150 Cornelius Blasio, Cn. (pr. 194): 33 n. 65 Cornelius Cethegus, M. (cos. 204): 97 Cornelius Dolabella, L. (pr. ca. 100): 33 n. 66 Cornelius Dolabella, P. (cos. suff. 44): 269, 270, 304 Cornelius Galus, L. of Forum Iulii: 30 n. 35 Cornelius Lentulus, L. (cos. 3): 171 Cornelius Lentulus Gaetulicus, Cn. (cos. 26 A. D.): 203 n. 98 Cornelius Lentulus Spinther, P. (cos. 57): 253 n. 73, 259 Cornelius Scipio, L. (cos. 259): 96 Cornelius Scipio Africanus, P. (cos. 205 and 194): 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 119, 121 n. 9, 121 n.12, 122, 123, 124, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 137, 139, 244 n. 19, 284, 287, 288, 289, 290 Cornelius Scipio Africanus Aemilianus, P. (cos. 147 and 134): 33 n. 64, 89, 96, 101, 102, 103, 133, 171, 216 n. 27, 251 n. 62, 281, 283, 284, 285, 287, 289, 290 Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus, L. (cos. 190): 102

Cornelius Scipio Asina, Cn. (cos. 260 and 254): 96 Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, L. (cos. 298): 49, 96 Cornelius Scipio Calvus, Cn. (cos. 222): 128 n. 56 Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio, P. (cos. 138): 215 Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio, P. (cos. 111): 276 Cornelius Sulla Felix, L. (dict. 82–81): 30, 92, 146, 167, 168, 174, 200, 206 n. 114, 223, 224, 250, 273 Culchas: 123 n. 20, 127, 128 n. 54 Curius: 114 Curmanus, C. of Carteia (magistrate in 105): 115 Curvius, Q. of Carteia (magistrate in 120): 115 Deiotarus: 251, 264, 288, 311 n. 93 Demetrius I Soter: 244 n. 19 Didius, T. (cos. 98): 33 n. 63 Dido of Carthage: 192 Dio of Alexandria: 266 Diodorus: 279 Domitia Decidiana: 160 n. 369 Domitius Afer, Cn. (cos. 39 A. D.): 160 Domitius Ahenobarbus, Cn. (cos. 122): 156 Domitius Ahenobarbus, Cn. (promag.? 82–81): 167, 171 n. 32, 179 n. 64 Domitius Ahenobarbus, L. (procos. 13/12– 12/11): 171, 178, 179 n. 64, 182 Domitius Axionus, L.: 160 Domitius Decidius, T.(pr. tr. 44–47 A. D.): 160 n. 39 Domitius Sincaius, Cn. of Sardinia: 30 Drusus Maior: 182, 324 n. 20 Drusus Minor: 194 n. 49 Edeco: 126, 127, 129 n. 65, 133, 137 Egus: 288 Epictetus: 328, 329, 330 Eumenes II: 221 n. 49, 222, 244, 245, 246 n. 30, 289 n. 29 Fabia (daughter of Q. Fabius Maximus Rullianus): 65, 67 Fabia (sister of Q. Fabius Maximus ‘Cunctator’): 66 n. 26 Fabius, M. of Saguntum (magistrate in 44–43): 112 Fabius, P. (eques of Ilerda, turma Salluitana): 112 n. 24 Fabius, Q. of Saguntum: 29, 114 Fabius Hadrianus, C. (pr. 84): 167, 169 Fabius Maximus Allobrogicus, Q. (cos. 121): 155, 276

Index of Persons Fabius Maximus Rullianus, Q. (dict. 315): 65, 66, 67 Fabius Maximus Servilianus, Q. (cos. 142): 129 Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, Q. (dict. 221 and 217): 66 n. 26, 94 Fabius Sanga, Q. (senator in 63): 275 Fabricius Luscinus, C. (cos. 282 and 278): 20 Favonius, M. (pr. 49): 270 n. 51 Flaminius, C. (cos. 223 and 217): 282 Flaminius, C. (cos. 187): 273, 281, 282, 284, 287 Fuficius Fango, C. (procos. Africa 41–40): 176 Fulvius Flaccus, M. (cos. 125): 89, 90 Fulvius Nobilior, M. (cos. 189): 33 n. 62 Fulvius Nobilior, Q. (cos. 153): 135 Furius Camillus, M. (cos. 8 A. D.): 179 n. 65 Furius Philus, P. (cos. 223): 100 Gabinius, A. (cos. 58): 253, 257, 258, 277 Gentius: 220 n. 44 Germanicus: 182, 327 n. 48 Gordianus III: 316 Granius: 276 Hadrianus: 182 n. 78 Hamilcar Barca: 128 Hannibal Barca: 70, 83, 91, 93, 94, 97, 100, 101, 123, 124, 127, 128, 130, 232 Hasdrubal Barca: 97, 123, 128, 129, 130 Hasdrubal of Gades: 30 Helvius, M. (pr. 197): 33 n. 65 Herennius, C.: 37 n. 79 Herennius Picens, M. (cos. suff. 1 A. D.): 334 Herodes I: 194 n. 47, 204, 244 n. 19, 251 Hiarbas: 169 Hiempsal: 169 Hieron II of Syracusa: 85, 244 n. 17 Holconius Rufus, M. (magistrate in Pompeii): 325, 326, 334 Hostilius Mancinus, C. (cos. 137): 135, 136, 137, 138 Indibilis: 123 n. 20, 126, 127, 128 n. 54, 128 n. 56, 129 n. 65, 132 Iulia: 63 Iulius Agricola, Cn. (cos. 77 A. D.): 156, 159, 160 n. 39 Iulius Caesar Vipsanianus, C.: 182 Iulius Caesar, C. (dict. 49/44): 21, 27, 29, 31, 38, 39, 40, 63, 92, 103, 110, 111, 116, 117, 126, 141, 143, 144, 147, 148, 149, 155, 162, 169, 170, 171, 174, 175, 176, 178, 188 n. 17, 197 n. 59, 198, 200, 201, 206, 218 n. 33, 251, 253, 256, 259, 269, 270, 273, 284, 288, 290, 297, 303, 304, 305 n. 54, 306, 307, 308, 309, 311, 317, 318, 328 n. 52

367

Iulius Caesar, C. (Octavianus) (Augustus): 15, 20, 21, 26, 51, 60, 116, 146, 149 n. 58, 165, 171, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 186, 190 n. 24, 191 n. 32, 192, 195, 196 n. 59, 197, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 248, 268, 271 n. 66, 272, 297, 299, 304, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 317, 318, 319, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 331, 332, 334 Iulius Caesar, L.: 182, 334 Iulius Caesar Vipsanianus, C.: 334 Iulius Eurycles, C. of Sparta (patronus of Epidaurus): 324 n. 20 Iunius, M. of Obulco: 112 Iunius Brutus (Callaicus), D. (cos. 138): 33 n. 66 Iunius Brutus, M. (cos. desig. 41): 257, 258, 259, 307 Iunius Silanus, D. (cos. 62): 257 Juba I: 170, 186, 187, 191, 193 n. 38, 195, 198, 200, 206 n. 114 Juba II: 13, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 205, 206, 324 n. 20 Jugurtha: 165, 166, 167, 168, 171, 173, 174, 175, 277, 278, 279, 288 n. 66, 289, 290 Labienus, Q. (leg. 42): 309 Latinus: 61, 63, 64 Lavinia: 61 Licinius Crassus Dives, M. (cos. 70 and 55): 141, 252, 304, 305 Licinius Crassus Dives, P. (cos. 205): 100 Licinius Crassus Frugi, M. (cos. 14): 146 n. 35, 179, 180 n. 67, 182 Licinius Crassus, P. (cos. 97): 30, 33 n. 66 Licinius Lucullus (Ponticus), L. (cos. 74): 175 n. 49, 249 n. 50, 250, 251 n. 57, 271, 305 Licinius Murena, L. (cos. 62): 267, 268, 275 Livius Drusus, M. (cos. 112): 89, 265 Livius Drusus, M. (tr. pl. 91): 89, 90 Livius Ocella, L. (pr.): 307 Livius Salinator, M. (dict. 207): 69, 97 Lucceius, L.: 266 Lutatius Catulus, Q. (cos. 78): 30 Lutatius Diodorus, Q.: 30 Machanidas: 229 Mago Barca: 97 Malchus: 145 n. 23 Mamilius Limetanus, C. (tr. pl. 109): 279 Mamilius, L.: 291 Mandonius: 125, 126, 132, 133 Marcius, C.: 114 Marcius Censorinus, C. (cos. 8): 334

368

Index of Persons

Marcius, L. of Carteia (magistrate in 104): 115 Marcius Philippus, Q. (cos. 186 and 169): 290 Marius, C. (cos. 107, 104–100 and 86): 13, 30, 37 n. 79, 89, 90, 155, 159, 161, 166, 167, 168, 173, 174, 175, 250, 251 n. 62, 281, 282, 284, 285, 291, 292 Marius, C. (cos. 82): 174 Marius Balbus, Q. (patronus of Lacilbula): 324 n. 19 Marius Celsus, A. (cos. suff. 69 A. D.): 159 Marius Celsus, C.: 159, 160 Masgaba: 185, 206, 247 n. 34 Massinissa: 165, 185, 186, 188, 191, 192, 193, 197, 205, 206 n. 114, 244, 245, 247 n. 34, 287, 289, 290 n. 31 Matrinius, T. of Spoletum: 30 Matta, L.: 268 Memmius, C. (pr. 104?): 278, 279 Menippos of Colophon: 293 Meniscus of Miletus: 142 n. 6 Micipsa: 289 Minucius Thermus, Q. (cos. 193): 33 n. 61 Mithridates of Pergamum: 251 n. 62 Mithridates VI Eupator: 154, 216 n. 27, 219, 222, 270 n. 59, 274, 293 Moericus the Iberian: 291 n. 37 Mucius Scaevola, Q. (cos. 117): 249, 250 n. 51, 251 n. 57 Munatius Plancus, L. (cos. 42): 334 Muttines the Numidian: 291 n. 37 Nabis of Sparta: 14, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237 Nero: 150 n. 63, 162, 201, 268 n. 38 Nikomedes III of Bithynia: 251 n. 62 Nikomedes IV Philopator of Bithynia: 255 Nonius Asprenas, L. (cos. suff. 36): 171 Nonius Asprenas, L. (cos. suff. 6 A. D.): 313, 314, 334 Nonius Balbus, M. (pr. an. inc.): 334 Nummia Varia (patrona of Peltuinum): 330, 331 Numonius Vala, Q. (patronus of Paestum): 334 Octavia: 182 Octavius Crescens, C. (magistrate in Locri): 323 Octavius, L. of Triponzo: 145 n. 23 Octavius Rufus, L. (trib. mil. patronus of Suasa): 324 n. 18, 334 Onesimus of Macedonia: 142 n. 6, 290 n. 33 Oppius, Q. (pr. 89?): 219, 220, 221, 293, 298 n. 7, 302, 310 n. 87 Otacilius Crassus, T. (pr. 217 and 214): 66 n. 6, 100 Otacilius, Q. (eques of Ilerda, turma Salluitana): 112 n. 24

Pacorus I: 309 Pacuvius Calavius: 68, 69, 70 Paullus Fabius Maximus (cos. 11): 334 Pelops of Sparta: 228, 229, 234 Perseus of Macedonia: 216 n. 27, 217, 220, 244 n. 19, 246 Phaeneas: 236 Pharnaces I of Bithynia: 216 Philippus V of Macedonia: 100 n. 43, 102 n. 55, 227, 229 n. 26, 230, 232, 233, 234 n. 44, 235, 236, 237 Philopoemen: 232 n. 36, 233 n. 41 Pinarius Albus, C.: 160 Plautus: 47 Pliny the Younger (cos. suff. 100 A. D.): 108 Polybios: 290 Polystratus of Carystus: 142 n. 6 Pompeia Plotina: 160 Pompeius, Q. (cos. 141): 26, 27, 38, 39 Pompeius Magnus, Cn. (cos. 70, 55 and 52): 13, 14, 15, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 37, 38, 39, 40, 63, 73, 74, 111, 114 n. 35, 118, 130 n. 69, 141, 144, 147, 148, 153, 154, 156, 157, 161, 167, 169, 193 n. 38, 204, 251, 252, 253, 255 n. 78, 256, 257, 259, 263, 266, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 277, 281, 283, 284, 285, 292, 293, 297, 303, 304, 305, 306, 311 n. 93, 317, 326 n. 39 Pompeius Magnus, Cn. (praef. class. 49?): 117 Pompeius Magnus Pius, Sex. (cos. desig. 35): 21, 27 Pompeius Niger, Q. of Italica: 40 Pompeius Strabo, Cn. (cos. 89): 21, 30, 38, 39, 40, 291 Pompeius Veientanus, T.: 68 Pomponia: 97 Pomponius, C. (patronus of Curubius): 144, 145 n. 23, 146 n. 31 Pomponius Atticus, T.: 270, 325 Poppaeus, C. (cos. 9 A. D.): 334 Poppaeus, Q. (cos. suff. 9 A. D.): 335 Porcius Cato, M. (cos. 195): 33, 34, 35, 125, 126, 244 n. 18, 244 n. 21 Porcius Cato (Uticensis), M. (pr. 54): 22, 193 n. 38, 253 n. 73, 255, 256, 257, 258, 260, 264 Postumius Albinus, L. (cos. 173): 33 n. 66 Postumius Pyrgensis, M.: 68 Prusias II of Bithynia: 244, 246 Ptolemaios of Cyprus: 253, 254, 255 n. 79, 255 n. 81, 256 Ptolemaios of Mauretania: 186, 203

Index of Persons Ptolemaios Philadelphos: 190 n. 49 Ptolemaios VI Philometor: 212, 213, 214 n. 18, 216 n. 28 Ptolemaios VIII Physcon: 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 218, 224, 244 n. 22, 285 Ptolemaios IX Soter: 254 Ptolemaios X Alexandros I: 255 n. 78 Ptolemaios XI Alexandros II: 252 Ptolemaios XII Auletes: 240, 252, 253, 266, 306 Ptolemaios XIII Philopator II: 306 Ptolemaios Apion of Cyrene: 249 n. 49 Pullius Pollio, Cn. (pr. an. inc.): 335 Pyrrhus I of Epirus: 83 Quinctilius Varus, P. (cos. 13): 315 n. 108 Quinctilius Varus, Sex. (pr. 57): 149 Quinctius Flamininus, T. (cos. 198): 14, 103 n. 55, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 249 n. 47, 288 n. 26 Quinctius Valgus, Q. (patronus of Aeclanum): 324, 325 Rabirius Postumus, C.: 254 n. 74 Romulus: 43, 50, 52, 53, 71, 88 n. 93, 205 Roucillus: 288 Rustica: 161 Rutilius Rufus, P. (cos. 105): 270 n. 59, 271 Sallustius, Q. (patronus of Pompeii): 324 n. 18 Sallustius Crispus, C. (pr. 46): 171, 176, 307, 308 n. 69 Scaptius, M.: 259 Scribonius Curio, C. (tr. pl. suff. 50): 273 Sempronius Gracchus, C. (tr. pl. 123/2): 53, 89, 90, 265, 276, 277 Sempronius Gracchus, Ti. (cos. 177 and 163): 26, 32, 33 n. 63, 38 n. 88, 121, 124 n. 29, 134, 135, 136, 138, 139, 249, 250 n. 51, 266 Sempronius Gracchus, Ti. (tr. pl. 133): 89, 135, 136, 281 Sempronius Longus, P. (pr. 184): 26, 32 Sempronius Tuditanus, C. (pr. 197): 32 Sempronius Tuditanus, P. (cos. 204): 100 n. 43 Septimius Severus: 182 n. 78 Sergius Catilina, L. (pr. 68): 88 n. 93, 155, 175 n. 49, 275 Sertorius, Q. (pr. 83): 28, 40, 41, 154, 156 Servilius, P.: 37 n. 79 Servilius Caepio, Q. (cos. 140): 129 n. 67 Servilius Caepio, Q. (cos. 106): 33 n. 66, 159

369

Servilius Casca, C. (tr. pl. 212): 68 Servilius Geminus, C. (dict. 202): 97 Servilius Pulex Geminus, M. (cos. 202): 97 Servilius Rullus, P. (tr. pl. 63): 252, 324 Sextilius, P. (pr. 89 or 88): 168 Sextius, T. (pr. 45): 176 Silius, C. (cos. 13 A. D.): 316 Sittius, P.: 170, 171, 176, 177 Sophonisba: 192 Sosis the Syracusan: 291 n. 37 Sulpicius Galus, C. (cos. 166): 35 Sulpicius Rufus, Ser. (cos. 51): 268 Syphax of Numidia: 131, 186, 192 Tacfarinas: 182 Terentius Varro, C. (cos. 216): 97 Tettius Rufus Tontianus, P. (pr. an. inc.): 335 Teuta: 244 n. 17 Theophanes of Mytilene: 270, 271 Tiberius: 175, 178, 179, 203, 315, 316, 325, 326, 327, 328 Timasitheus of Lipara: 142 n. 6 Titinius Curvus, M. (pr. 178): 33 n. 61 Titius, M. (cos. suff. 31): 326 n. 39, 335 Titius Fronto, M. of Turiaso: 146 n. 33 Trajanus: 160, 268 n. 38 Tullius Cicero, M. (cos. 63): 20, 37 n. 79, 141, 145, 215 n. 23, 222, 243 n. 13, 245, 250, 251 n. 63, 254, 255, 256, 258, 259, 260, 264, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 285, 288, 289, 292, 302, 304, 325 Umbrenus, P.: 275 Valerius Caburus, C.: 154 Valerius Flaccus, C. (cos. 93): 13, 33 n. 63, 154, 156, 158, 161 Valerius Flaccus, L. (cos. suff. 86): 272, 273 Valerius Laevinus, M. (cos. 210): 100 Valerius Senecio: 150 n. 25 Varius Severus Hibrida, Q. (tr. pl. 90): 113, 114 Verres, C. (pr. 74): 20 n. 8, 264, 271, 276, 279 Vespasianus: 162 Vibius Habitus, A. (cos. 8 A. D.): 179, 181, 182 Vipsania: 325 Vipsanius Agrippa, M. (cos. 37): 150 n. 63, 178, 182, 325, 335 Vipsanius Agrippa Postumus, M.: 182 Viriathus: 129 Volusius Saturninus, L. (cos. suff. 3 A. D.): 171

SUBJECT INDEX adfinitas see marriage alliance adsectatio 265, 274 aerarium 96, 255 n. 77, 257 ager Gallicus 269 Hirpinus 324 publicus 85, 87, 248 Romanus 98 amicitia 13–14, 46, 50, 51, 57–58, 59, 67, 77, 120, 129, 175, 206, 209–224, 225, 227, 228, 230, 233, 234, 237, 242, 243, 246, 254, 260, 273, 274, 279, 286, 288, 290, 291, 303, 307 n. 69, 313 amici 20, 29, 142 n. 6, 209, 214 n. 21, 215 n. 23, 222, 228, 229, 230, 253, 286, 290, 291, 292, 311, 313 appellatio 198 arcana imperii 59, 66 asylum 71, 169 auctoritas 93, 204 n. 105, 274, 286, 288 auxilia 282, 283, 284, 285, 292, 294 auxiliary, auxiliarius, 38, 39, 102, 110, 114 n. 35, 117, 135, 155, 286, 287 barbarus 114 basileus, βασιλεύς 127, 139 boni 240, 256, see also optimates, optumi beneficium 57–58, 76, 77, 155 n. 13, 215 n. 23, 287, 288, 298, 303, 305, 311 Campania 65–70, 71 Cappadocia 22 Celtiberia 26, 38, 122, 134 Cilicia 22 Civil War, bellum civile 269–270, 283, 284, 287, 305, 308 civitas foederata 147 honoraria 142, 143, 150 libera 75, 79, 81, 84–85, 91, 222, 242 Romana 108, 109, 118, 147, 168 sine suffragio 67 stipendiaria 146 virtutis causa 112 client, cliens 19, 20, 21, 24, 25, 29, 30, 33, 36, 37–38, 40, 41, 46, 48, 50, 52, 53, 54, 107, 111, 168, 173, 181, 199, 209, 241, 251, 252,

264, 265, 266, 267, 269, 271, 272, 279, 280, 283, 288, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 311, 312, 314, 315, 317, 321, 328, 332 client-kingdom, client-state 68, 85, 120, 185–186, 206, 241, 243, 245 n. 26, 246, 251, 255, 286, 292, 303 client-patron relationship (ties, network) 14, 15, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 32, 34, 35, 36, 41, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 88, 129, 136, 181, 249, 252, 258, 260, 292, 301, 302, 316, 331–332 clientelae Etruscan 93–103 family 95 foreign 44–46, 51, 54, 57, 58, 59, 71, 73, 75, 78, 79, 83, 89, 96, 103, 202, 205, 210, 263, 264, 269, 270, 271, 272, 274, 275, 276, 279, 280, 283, 297, 305, 317 gentilician 31–32, 35, 41, 58 Italian 57, 58, 68, 74, 75, 79, 89, 91 Latin 95 military 281, 282, 284, see also soldiers, veterans provincial 19, 21, 24–31, 35, 37, 38, 39, 58, 73, 154, 158, 166, 169 urban 19, 43, 44–46, 51, 54 clientelism 52 common people, plebs 68, 69, 103, 252, 255, 263, 267, 275, 279, 280, 300 n. 30 concordia 53 consul 24, 269, 328 contentio dignitatis 39 contio 38, 251 n. 60, 274, 277, 278, 279, 288, 289 contubernium 289 conubium 69, 70, 71, 108 n. 9, 117 cura 317 cooptatio 179 decuriones 322, 323 deditio 22–23, 120 n. 8, 122, 134, 135, 137, 231 n. 32, 274 deductio 265 devotio 137 dignitas 265 divisores 277 n. 109 dominus 298

372

Subject Index

hegemon, hegemony, ἡγεμών, ἡγεμονία 128, 221, 223–224 elite Roman, nobiles 12, 19, 52, 57, 60, 65, 71, 73, 75, 78, 91, 141, 157, 249, 251, 252, 258, 263, 282, 289, 292, see also nobility, nobilitas provincial 13, 40, 57, 58 senatorial 58, 59, 60 Italian 63, 64, 70, 71, 325, 326 emperor, princeps 177–183, 297, 310–316, 317, 318, 319, 329 epigraphic habit 327 equites 69 n. 36, 102, 111, 117, 147, 313, 328 euergetism 62 exemplum 61, 133 fides, bona fides, fides Romana 45, 49, 58 n. 2, 61 n. 12, 73–74, 76, 83, 209, 216, 233, 235 n. 48, 287 n. 22, 302 n. 41 First Macedonian War 229, 234, 235–236 First Mithridatic War 219 foederati 64 foedus, foedus domesticum, foedus publicum, foedus aequum, foedus iniquum 57, 61–64, 66, 67, 70, 71, 75, 78, 79, 81–82, 84, 85, 86, 89, 91, 94, 99, 124 n. 29, 128, 137, 138, 148, 214 n. 17, 228, 230, 242, 286, 292 foreigners, peregrini 28, 29, 34, 40, 43, 51, 111 n. 21, 114, 142, 145, 146, 248 n. 46 formula amicorum 223 sociorum 223 n. 57 togatorum 87–88, 99, 116 n. 47 freedmen, liberti 20, 50, 298, 316 Gaul 11, 12, 21, 103, 156, 159, 264 n. 8, 273 gens 24, 31–32, 35, 157, 158 gift 53 gloria 225, 226 Gracchurris 26 Graecostasis 268, 269 gratia 45, 286, 288, 303 Greece 225, 226, 229, 231, 232, 235, 237, 305 habitus 52, 54 Hannibalic War 12, 67, 68, 70, 71, 79, 82, 83, 85, 86, 91, 101, 125, 134, 192 Hercules 188, 190 Hispania 11, 12, 21, 24–25, 28, 30, 32, 33, 34, 38, 40, 41, 107, 109, 117, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 130, 132, 134, 135, 138, 144, 193, 205, 282, 283, 284, 321

honor potissimus 331 hospes, hospes publicus 13, 142 n. 6, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151 hospitium, hospitium publicum, hospitium privatum 13, 19, 57–58, 67, 121, 123, 137, 141, 142–144, 146, 149, 150, 151, 155 n. 14, 179, 266, 268 n. 48 imperator 11, 13, 21, 23, 24, 25, 27, 28, 32, 33, 36, 38, 39, 41, 128, 162, 173–177, 183 n. 82 instrumenta imperii 211 Italici 75, 78, 79, 81, 84, 87–89, 91 Italy 57, 58, 59, 63, 64, 67, 75, 78, 79, 80–89, 91, 103, 264 n. 8, 308, 312 n. 98, 317, 324, 326, 327, 328 ius conubii 108, 114 n. 33 belli 139 foederis 228, 230 n. 29 in bello 134 Latii 31, 116 Latins 81, 91, 118, 291 Latin War 81 laudationes 271, 272, 274, 331 lex / leges annales 101–102 Calpurnia de ambitu (67) 268 Calpurnia de civitate sociorum (90?) 292 Calpurnia de repetundis (149) 276 Clodia de rege Ptolemaeo et de insula Cypro publicanda (58) 259 Cornelia de provincia ? (57) 259 Cornelia de provinciis ordinandis (81) 250 Cornelia sumptuaria (81) 271 de provinciis praetoriis 216, 222, 291 Gabinia de bello piratico (67) 256 n. 83, 276 Gabinia de versura Romae provincialibus non facienda (67) 277 Gellia Cornelia de civitate (72) 28–29, 144, 147 Iulia agraria (59) 322 Iulia de civitate latinis et sociis danda (90) 116 n. 47, 292 Iulia theatralis (20–17) 268 n. 38 Manilia de imperio Cn. Pompeii 215 n. 23, 222 Papia de peregrinis (65) 148 n. 51 Plautia Papiria de civitate sociis danda (89) 116 n. 47 Pompeia de ambitu (52) 272

Subject Index Pompeia de provincia Bithynia 251 n. 58 Pompeia de vi (52) 272 Porcia (de provinciis?, late 2nd century B. C.) 247 n. 38 Sempronia de provinciis consularibus (123) 254 n. 75 Tullia de ambitu (63) 268 Ursonensis 143 n. 13, 145 n. 25, 321, 322, 329 Vatinia de provincia Caesaris (59) 103 liberti see freedmen marriage alliance, adfinitas 61–64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 70 mos maiorum 49, 205, 241 municipium civium Romanorum 98, 99, 149 n. 59 sine suffragio 98 nobility, nobilitas 35, 60, 61, 62, 63, 68, 70, 71, 78, 246, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, see also Roman elites nomina 24–31, 107–118, 156–161, 168, 170–173, 175, 176 non-elite see common people North Africa 11, 12, 13, 165, 168, 171, 175, 176, 177, 182 obsides 132–134 officium 57–58, 73, 76, 77 oikos, οἰκός 62 oppidum 114, 116, 162 optimates, optumi 14, 49, 50, 115, 167, 168, 239, 241, 255, 256, 260 ovatio 33 pater, pater patriae 15, 315, 318 patria potestas 315 patricians 43, 51, 52–53 patrocinium 215 n. 23 patron, patrona, patronus 15, 19, 20, 28, 33, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 46, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 107, 108, 144, 145, 146, 147, 167, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 199, 209, 217, 251, 258, 264, 265, 266, 272, 273, 274, 279, 293, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 307, 308, 310, 311, 312, 314, 315, 317, 318, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332 patronage 19, 21, 23, 25, 37, 43, 44, 48, 51, 52, 54, 95, 101, 141, 147, 180, 183, 211 n. 7, 221, 242, 264, 275, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 306, 307, 308, 310, 312, 313, 314, 318, 319, 329, 330, 331

373

patronatus 13, 141, 143, 145, 151, 297, 298, 299 n. 16, 300, 301, 312 n. 98 peregrini see foreigners philia, φιλία 51, 129, 210 n. 6, 212, 215, 218, 222, 223, 224 n. 59 pistis, πίστις 224, 302 n. 41, 303 plebeians 43, 51, 52–53 plebs, plebs urbana see common people populares 14, 115, 167, 174, 239, 241, 255, 258, 260, 276 populus Romanus 213, 217, 218, 219, 223, 245, 290, 291, 292, 315 praetor 24, 34, 269, 328 princeps see emperor proconsul 24, 39, 181–182, 183, 253, 258 propraetor, pro praetore 24, 96 proskynesis, προσκύνησις 125–126, 139 province Africa (Nova et Vetus) 153, 159, 165, 166, 168, 169, 171, 172, 173, 175, 176, 247 n. 36, 248, 307 n. 69 Asia 181, 247 n. 36, 249, 273 Cilicia 255 n. 78, 258, 259, 271 Creta et Cyrene 248 n. 46, 249, 255, 306 Cyprus 14, 22, 254–259, 260 Dalmatia 29 Hispania Citerior (Tarraconensis) 26, 27, 32, 34, 35, 38, 143, 153, 154, 247 n. 36 Hispania Ulterior (Baetica) 21, 26, 32, 34, 35, 39, 40, 147, 149, 150 n. 63, 153, 247 n. 36, 251 n. 57 Gallia Cisalpina 103, 116, 162, 247 n. 36 Gallia Transalpina (Narbonensis) 153, 154, 155, 157, 275 Macedonia 247 n. 36 Noricum 29 Pannonia 29 Sardinia et Corsica 30, 247 n. 36 Sicily 100 Syria 253 proxenos, proxenia, πρόξενος, προξενία 145, 266 publicani see tax-gatherers quaestor 39, 266 n. 21, 323 receptio (in fidem clientelamque) 179 renuntiatio amicitiae 313 rex 127, 244 rogatio Servilia agraria (63, lex agraria) 222 Romanisation 203

374

Subject Index

salutation, salutatio 265, 274, 299, 301, 313, 331 Second Macedonian War 235–236, 237 Second Punic War see Hannibalic War Selene (goddess of the moon) 193 sella curulis 244 senaculum 268 senate 14, 34, 35, 98, 102, 180, 181, 244, 269, 280 senators, patres 15, 69, 180, 217, 252, 278, 279, 280, 298 n. 14, 313, 316, 321, 324, 327 n. 49, 331, 332 senatus consultum de agro Pergameno 266 de Asclepiade (78) 222, 290 de Bacchanalibus 64 de coniurationibus principum 97 de Stratonicensibus (81) 223 et foedus cum Astypalaeensibus (105) 266 n. 21 Sertorian War 27, 39, 118, 144, 154 servi see slaves slaves 50, 215, 316

Social War, bellum sociale 28, 38, 71, 74, 75, 89–90, 91, 115, 116 n. 47, 162, 291, 292, 324 societas, societas armorum 13, 128, 206, 228 societates publicanorum 37 socii, socii navales 20, 67, 96, 98, 99, 100, 103, 116 n. 47, 131, 142 n. 6, 209 n. 3, 222, 228, 253 soldiers, veterans 99, 101, 166, 252 sportulae 302 strategos autokrator, στρατηγός αὐτοκράτωρ 128 tabula patronatus 315 tax-gatherers, publicani 68 n. 30, 250, 251 n. 58, 257 n. 93, 317 toga praetexta 244, 276 Treaty of Apamea 214 tutela 317 viri clarissimi 322–323 perfectissimi 323

historia

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einzelschriften

Herausgegeben von Kai Brodersen, Mortimer Chambers, Bernhard Linke, Mischa Meier und Walter Scheidel.

Franz Steiner Verlag

ISSN 0341–0056

205. Efrem Zambon Tradition and Innovation Sicily between Hellenism and Rome 2008. 326 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09194-7 206. Susanne Carlsson Hellenistic Democracies Freedom, Independence and Political Procedure in Some East Greek City-States 2010. 372 S. mit 2 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09265-4 207. Adam Schwartz Reinstating the Hoplite Arms, Armour and Phalanx Fighting in Archaic and Classical Greece 2013. 337 S. mit 19 Abb., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-10398-5 208. Elizabeth A. Meyer Metics and the Athenian Phialai-Inscriptions A Study in Athenian Epigraphy and Law 2010. 167 S. und 47 Taf., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09331-6 209. Margret Dissen Römische Kollegien und deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert 2009. 337 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09387-3 210. Joachim Szidat Usurpator tanti nominis Kaiser und Usurpator in der Spätantike (337–476 n. Chr.) 2010. 458 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09636-2 211. Armin Eich (Hg.) Die Verwaltung der kaiserzeitlichen römischen Armee Studien für Hartmut Wolff 2010. 210 S. mit 4 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09420-7 212. Stefan Pfeiffer Der römische Kaiser und das Land am Nil Kaiserverehrung und Kaiserkult in Alexandria und Ägypten von Augustus bis

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214.

215.

216.

217.

218.

Caracalla (30 v. Chr. – 217 n. Chr.) 2010. 378 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09650-8 M. A. Robb Beyond Populares and Optimates Political Language in the Late Republic 2010. 225 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09643-0 Kai Brodersen / Jaś Elsner (ed.) Images and Texts on the “Artemidorus Papyrus” Working Papers on P. Artemid. (St. John’s College Oxford, 2008) 2009. 169 S. mit 70 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09426-9 Eberhard Ruschenbusch (†) Solon: Das Gesetzeswerk – Fragmente Übersetzung und Kommentar Hrsg. v. Klaus Bringmann 2010. 168 S. mit Frontispiz, geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09709-3 David Whitehead Apollodorus Mechanicus: Siege-matters (Poliorkhtikav) Translated with Introduction and Commentary 2010. 162 S. mit 6 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09710-9 Bernhard Linke / Mischa Meier / Meret Strothmann (Hg.) Zwischen Monarchie und Republik Gesellschaftliche Stabilisierungsleistungen und politische Transformationspotentiale in den antiken Stadtstaaten 2010. 236 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09782-6 Julia Hoffmann-Salz Die wirtschaftlichen Auswirkungen der römischen Eroberung Vergleichende Untersuchungen der Provinzen Hispania Tarraconensis, Africa Proconsularis und Syria 2011. 561 S. mit 26 Tab. und 3 Ktn., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09847-2

219. Dirk Schnurbusch Convivium Form und Bedeutung aristokratischer Geselligkeit in der römischen Antike 2011. 314 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09860-1 220. Gabriel Herman (ed.) Stability and Crisis in the Athenian Democracy 2011. 165 S. mit 3 Tab., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09867-0 221. Christoph Lundgreen Regelkonflikte in der römischen Republik Geltung und Gewichtung von Normen in politischen Entscheidungsprozessen 2011. 375 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09901-1 222. James H. Richardson The Fabii and the Gauls Studies in historical thought and historiography in Republican Rome 2012. 186 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10040-3 223. Jan Bernhard Meister Der Körper des Princeps Zur Problematik eines monarchischen Körpers ohne Monarchie 2012. 327 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10080-9 224. Federicomaria Muccioli Gli epiteti ufficiali dei re ellenistici 2013. 526 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10126-4 225. Claudia Horst Marc Aurel Philosophie und politische Macht zur Zeit der Zweiten Sophistik 2013. 232 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10280-3 226. Maria Osmers „Wir aber sind damals und jetzt immer die gleichen“ Vergangenheitsbezüge in der polisübergreifenden Kommunikation der klassischen Zeit 2013. 407 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10299-5 227. Alberto Dalla Rosa Cura et tutela Le origini del potere imperiale sulle province proconsolari 2014. 362 S. mit 1 Karte, geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10602-3 228. Bruno Bleckmann / Timo Stickler (Hg.)

229.

230.

231.

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Griechische Profanhistoriker des fünften nachchristlichen Jahrhunderts 2014. 228 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10641-2 Joseph Geiger Hellenism in the East Studies on Greek Intellectuals in Palestine 2014. 177 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10617-7 Klaus Altmayer Die Herrschaft des Carus, Carinus und Numerianus als Vorläufer der Tetrarchie 2014. 506 S. mit 28 Abb. und 2 Ktn., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10621-4 Björn Schöpe Der römische Kaiserhof in severischer Zeit (193–235 n. Chr.) 2014. 369 S. mit 4 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10695-5 Frederik J. Vervaet The High Command in the Roman Republic The Principle of the summum imperium auspiciumque from 509 to 19 BCE 2014. 369 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10630-6 Sara M. Wijma Embracing the Immigrant The participation of metics in Athenian polis religion (5th–4th century BC) 2014. 197 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10642-9 Richard W. Burgess Roman Imperial Chronology and Early-Fourth-Century Historiography The Regnal Durations of the So-called “Chronica urbis Romae” of the “Chronograph of 354” 2014. 208 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10725-9 Luca Asmonti Conon the Athenian Warfare and Politics in the Aegean, 414–386 B.C. 2015. 200 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10901-7 Aideen Carty Polycrates, Tyrant of Samos New Light on Archaic Greece 2015. 260 S. mit 11 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10898-0 in Vorbereitung

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www.steiner-verlag.de www.steiner-verlag.de www.steiner-verlag.de Franz Franz Franz Steiner Steiner Steiner Verlag Verlag Verlag

isbn isbn isbn 978-3-515-11061-7 978-3-515-11061-7 978-3-515-11061-7

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