Rome and Provincial Resistance (Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies) [1 ed.] 9781138824980, 9781315740201, 1138824984

Citation preview

Rome and Provincial Resistance

This book demonstrates and analyzes patterns in the response of the Imperial Roman state to local resistance, focusing on decisions made within military and administrative organizations during the Principate. Through a thorough investigation of the official Roman approach towards local revolt, author Gil Gambash answers significant questions that, until now, have produced conflicting explanations in the literature: Was Rome’s rule of its empire mostly based on oppressive measures, or on the willing cooperation of local populations? To what extent did Roman decisions and actions indicate a dedication towards stability in the provinces? And to what degree were Roman interests pursued at the risk of provoking local resistance? Examining the motivations and judgment of decision-makers within the military and administrative organizations—from the emperor down to the provincial procurator—this book reconstructs the premises for decisions and ensuing actions that promoted negotiation and cooperation with local populations. A groundbreaking work that, for the first time, provides a centralized view of Roman responses to indigenous revolt, Rome and Provincial Resistance is essential reading for scholars of Roman imperial history. Gil Gambash is Lecturer in the Department of Maritime Civilizations, University of Haifa, Israel.

Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies

1 The Roman Garden Katharine T. von Stackelberg 2 The Eunuch in Byzantine History and Society Shaun Tougher 3 Actors and Audience in the Roman Courtroom Leanne Bablitz 4 Life and Letters in the Ancient Greek World John Muir 5 Utopia Antiqua Rhiannon Evans 6 Greek Magic John Petropoulos 7 Between Rome and Persia Peter Edwell 8 Passions and Moral Progress in Greco-Roman Thought John T. Fitzgerald 9 Dacia Ioana A. Oltean 10 Rome in the Pyrenees Simon Esmonde-Cleary 11 Virgil’s Homeric Lens Edan Dekel

12 Plato’s Dialectic on Woman Equal, Therefore Inferior Elena Blair 13 Roman Literature, Gender, and Reception Domina Illustris Edited by Donald Lateiner, Barbara K. Gold and Judith Perkins 14 Roman Theories of Translation Surpassing the Source Siobhán McElduff 15 Displaying the Ideals of Antiquity The Petrified Gaze Johannes Siapkas and Lena Sjögren 16 Menander in Contexts Edited by Alan H. Sommerstein 17 Consumerism in the Ancient World Imports and Identity Construction Justin St. P. Walsh 18 Apuleius and Africa Edited by Benjamin Todd Lee, Ellen Finkelpearl and Luca Graverini

19 Lucian and His Roman Voices Cultural Exchanges and Conflicts in the Late Roman Empire Eleni Bozia 20 Theology and Existentialism in Aeschylus Written in the Cosmos Richard Rader 21 Rome and Provincial Resistance Gil Gambash

Other Books in this Series: Childhood in Ancient Athens Iconography and Social History Lesley A. Beaumont Late Classical and Early Hellenistic Corinth 338–196 BC Michael D. Dixon

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Rome and Provincial Resistance Gil Gambash

First published 2015 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2015 Taylor & Francis The right of Gil Gambash to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gambash, Gil, 1973– Rome and provincial resistance / by Gil Gambash. pages cm. — (Routledge monographs in classical studies ; 21) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Roman provinces—Politics and government. 2. Rome—Politics and government. 3. Indigenous peoples—Rome—Provinces—History. 4. Government, Resistance to—Rome—Provinces—History. 5. Insurgency—Rome—Provinces— History. 6. Imperialism—Social aspects—Rome—History. 7. Roman provinces— Social conditions. 8. Rome—Social conditions. 9. Roman provinces—Military policy. 10. Rome—Military policy. I. Title. DG87.G36 2015 937—dc23 2014044599 ISBN: 978-1-138-82498-0 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-74020-1 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

To Jessica

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Contents

Preface

xi

Introduction

1

1

Tension Management

20

2

Handling Revolt

62

3

Official Appointments

99

4

Commemoration

124

5

The Jewish Revolts

144

Conclusion

180

Name Index Places and Ethnic Groups Index General Index

197 201 205

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Preface

Provincial revolts under the Roman empire have rarely been approached en groupe, as a general problem. As far as the perspective of the Roman government is concerned, it remains true that most known cases of conflict in the provinces have been treated in isolation. This book examines the ways in which the Roman holders of power understood and responded to incidents of resistance in the provinces of the empire during the Principate. In its general treatment of the issue of provincial unrest from the Roman perspective, the book offers an insight into a topic that has not been sufficiently studied before. On a most basic level, it may be located shoulder to shoulder with other works that deal with practices and phenomena recognized to have been disruptive to Roman order. More broadly, the book aims to occupy a missing slot on the shelf that belongs to the study of the essential nature of Roman imperialism. Clifford Ando suggests in his important work on imperial ideology and provincial loyalty that ‘no date identifies that moment when Rome ceased to rule her subjects through coercion and began to rely on their good will.’ It is perhaps best to imagine this book as supplying not so much an absolute such date but a general idea of the early point in Rome’s relationship with each province at which this reliance on local goodwill was consciously created. I wish to thank my two great teachers, Hannah Cotton and Brent Shaw. Much of what I have learned from them is folded within these pages.

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Introduction

Disruption to routine Roman rule could wear many shapes, and elicit from the central governing authorities a variety of responses—ranging from the practical to the symbolic.1 Modern scholars have emphasized the disturbance caused to Roman ‘order’ by piracy, the slave revolt, banditry, and the activity—or mere existence—of various other groups that may be defined as ‘outsiders’ and a threat to society.2 Unrest within indigenous populations in the provinces is also generally recognized by modern scholars to have worked against the ideal of Roman order and peace.3 Individual cases of local instability have often attracted specific attention, especially when well documented and seen to have involved large-scale operations. Such studies reveal the local opposition’s ruinous potential to disrupt the routine of governance, and suggest that the issue should have been placed high in the order of priorities of the Roman government. Yet, unlike the phenomena mentioned earlier, the incidence of indigenous unrest has won little attention insofar as generalizing research is concerned. Quite a number of individual occurrences of unrest and rebellion have indeed been painstakingly investigated, but only two publications by Dyson come to mind when explanations for the phenomenon itself are sought.4 It is the aim of this book to examine from a historical perspective the occurrence of local opposition to Roman control, often referred to in cursory mentions of the phenomenon itself, or of individual examples of it, as the ‘provincial revolt.’ This term must be employed with caution, because of the relative flexibility with which each of its parts may be interpreted. Most cases of local opposition that reached the scale of actual war with the Romans have been given a convenient title that typically takes the name of the leader of the movement to represent the coalition of the participating groups. But to refer to the Boudican revolt of 60–61 as ‘provincial’ might imply that it encompassed the entire administered province of Britain and its inhabitants, which obviously was not the case, seeing that the sources report on only a number of local groups that joined the struggle.5 Furthermore, the fact that Boudica’s own tribe, the Iceni, was in fact not a part of the administered province but ruled by the client king Prasutagus (Boudica’s husband)

2

Introduction

up to his natural demise may suggest that the term ‘revolt’ does not accurately reflect a reality in which an autonomous client kingdom fights the Romans for whatever possible cause, let alone that of avoiding annexation.6 Still, the term ‘provincial revolt’ is employed widely, and it will not do merely to shun it here. Rather, it would perhaps be more useful to qualify the common term in a way that would allow this book to maintain the prevalent discourse, and at the same time to ensure that the term is comprehensively defined. The necessary qualification is usefully supplied by the terminology employed in the discourse of Augustan cosmological perception of the world, which refers to the term provinciae as the spheres of Roman control, both within the administered territories and beyond them. The same concept is adopted by Augustus’ own Res Gestae, and should best be translated into Greek by the word hegemonia, rather than by arche, that would indeed stand for direct rule and administered territories only.7 If there existed such an awareness, at least from Augustus’ time onwards, of Roman hegemony over cultures and societies that lay beyond officially annexed provinces, and if the sphere of this hegemony could have been loosely referred to as the provinciae, we should not doubt that, even to the Roman authorities themselves, the actions of a Boudica or an Arminius would have been considered as ‘provincial revolt’ against Roman control. While it focuses on the provincial revolt, then, this book was conceived in order to offer an answer to a simple question that often presents itself to scholars from various fields, who find themselves bound—even if briefly and superficially—to come to grips with the reconstruction of reality in the Roman provinces: was Rome’s rule of its empire mostly based on oppressive measures, or on the willing cooperation of local populations? More specifically, did the Roman administration at all aspire to a peaceful routine in the provinces? And, if it did, did officials and decision-makers within its ranks rely more on coercing indigenous populations into acquiescence, or on creating an accommodating atmosphere within which local groups could willingly accept, and even participate in, Roman rule? It may sound reasonable to many of us that there should at least exist a grey area in between these two radical scenarios—oppression on the one hand, conciliation on the other. But scholars of the Roman provinces may often find themselves baffled by the fact that modern up-to-date scholarship accommodates statements from both extremities, some serving as essential premises underlying thorough and elaborate researches. In the field of general studies of Roman imperialism and its various aspects, one may all too easily come across contradictory representations of Rome’s attitude towards subjugated populations. For example, modern scholarship can emphasize, on the one hand, Rome’s desire to create and maintain through war and brutality an image that would be deterring, not only to its enemies but also to the residents of the empire. Other studies underline, on the other hand, the Roman government’s wish to keep the flow of tribute to the treasury running uninterrupted, or to secure undisturbed traffic along trade

Introduction

3

routes—objectives that would have been seriously impeded by local unrest. More specific studies of individual provinces often base their case on the premise that Roman governance was belligerent and engaged in acts of brutality as a matter of policy. Yet such a representation of Roman rule has itself been criticized for reconstructing an oversimplified reality in which, quite basically, the Romans were always ‘bad,’ to use Mary Beard’s deliberately crude terms.8 Whom are we to believe, then: the historian who concludes that the benefits that the empire offered its subjects rendered Roman rule acceptable and even desirable to them; or the one who portrays a reality of continuous Roman oppression in the provinces, which results, in turn, in entrenched local opposition? To be sure, on setting out to investigate the history of the relationship between Rome and its dominions, whether for a single province or for the empire as a whole, it would perhaps be advisable to remember Beard’s warning that, in this story, there are no heroes and no innocents. Nevertheless, the contradiction currently prevails, and general caveats such as this will not suffice to solve it. THE STATE OF THE FIELD While its focal point is the provincial revolt, this book aims, then, to be yet another chapter in the historiography of Roman imperialism—one that is, strangely enough, still missing from it despite the energy that has been invested in a relatively small number of individual revolts and rebels. The deficiency is underscored by the extensive, encompassing treatment that has been accorded to other features of imperialism, closely related to the issue of provincial stability: aspects of acculturation; the functions of the Roman army; the security of the frontiers; Rome’s foreign policy; and, of course, Roman expansionist motivations.9 And it is perhaps surprising that discussions of these very themes usually generate a sense of reluctance to express more than a fleeting interest in the issue of provincial revolts, complex and not easily yielding to generalization as the latter might be. A survey of the state of the field reveals that the absence of generalizing research on the problem is most felt when the main topics of Roman imperialism are brought to the fore. The general question that should guide us here has already been formulated by Whittaker: can Roman attitudes to subject and frontier peoples teach us anything about the way in which they governed their empire?10 It may be the belief of most Roman historians that the answer to this question should be answered in the affirmative. At least insofar as regards the case of provincial populations and the stability of their relationship with Rome, the process of deducing the policies of the Roman government from its known official actions has not been thoroughly undertaken yet. It is the aim of this book to begin to produce some answers to the part of this question that deals with the empire’s subject population, using

4

Introduction

revolts in the provinces as a magnifying glass with which to investigate the issue of the Roman administration’s attitude towards indigenous groups in their home regions. The premise adopted here is that an examination of the phenomenon of provincial revolt from the government’s perspective should be able to produce not only a better understanding of how Rome dealt with provincial unrest, but also a clearer picture of the way in which the empire was run in order to secure the absence of opposition and the prevalence of peaceful routine. Important questions may be asked about the mechanics and ideology of the running of an empire. Such issues as the Roman ideology of war, or the various roles played by the Roman army, have already been examined insofar as they concern various aspects of Roman imperialism.11 But they can be looked at, just as usefully, under the topic of revolt in the provinces, for example, in order to highlight the responsibility of military presence, or the nature of the appointment of governors, in maintaining provincial calm or in provoking resistance. What follows will exemplify some of these themes of imperialism, in order both to emphasize their relevance and importance to this work and to demonstrate how their research thus far has mostly neglected the questions that will be asked here. Unexplored as the topic is, it would be most judicious to touch first on the one issue to which discussions on most fundamental topics of Roman imperialism normally return: the question of Rome’s grand strategy. Sparked by Luttwak’s hypothesis in 1976, debate is still very much alive as to whether such a thing as a Roman grand strategy ever existed.12 The nature of the discussion and the main features of its development are sufficiently well known and do not require detailed exposition here. Suffice to say that Luttwak and his later supporters recognized a transformation in imperial frontiers, from zones in the first century that were not necessarily clearly defined as they kept changing with the empire’s expansion, into fixed boundary lines in the second century, distinct and set to follow natural barriers such as rivers where possible, and artificial ones, such as walls, where nature had to be supplemented. This rigid system, according to the hypothesis, had to adjust itself to a more flexible strategy of defense in depth, designed in the third century to meet the intensifying threat of foreign invasions. It should be noted that, while Luttwak chose for his book the title The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire, his actual sphere of investigation was only the frontiers of the Roman empire. Yet, once started, the debate did not limit itself to the frontiers alone, as critics began to question the motivation and capability of Roman administration to formulate, apply, and adhere to such an intricate scheme as a grand strategy.13 Most people today would accept such a definition of grand strategy as ‘the constant and intelligent reassessment of the polity’s ends and means.’14 Yet a definition as broad as this hardly dictates that an ‘end’ should be found only in a choice between ‘expansion’ or ‘consolidation,’ or that the utilization of ‘means’ should merely amount to the deployment of legions

Introduction

5

and fortifications. If anything, a picture far larger and more complex should be imagined, in which frontiers would have been surveyed side by side with provinces, and ideology would have been included in the discussion of ends, just as diplomacy—foreign as well as provincial—would have been considered as part of the means. However, while it is admitted by both supporters and doubters of Roman grand strategy that the concept is as complex as this indicates, no room is left in the discussion for relevant aspects of local unrest in the provinces. A work such as Whittaker’s, for example, would admit that a whole series of factors needs to be implicated in the evaluation of a grand strategy: the posting and movement of legions; the efficient use of manpower; central military inventories; muster roles and orders of battle; information services such as maps, strategic reports, etc.; support services; logistical organization; officers and committees for supply and planning; the construction of roads, colonies, alliances; planning; appreciation of the different roles of diplomacy; policing and military action, and the need for defense in depth; finally, a central decision-making process; rational objectives of war; and discrimination between wars of survival and wars of glory. Yet, even though so many of these factors relate directly also to war within the provinces, Whittaker bases his conclusion against Roman grand strategy only on an examination of the frontiers and on the expansionist ideology of imperium sine fine.15 It will be the task of this study also to examine the extent to which the Roman provincial administration functioned in accordance with tenets that may be ascribed to a strategic approach to governance. In considering the Roman army, it is noteworthy that scholars have recently started to emphasize its role in the provinces as that of an army of occupation, rather than as a defensive force.16 Inasmuch as this is true, one should seek to examine not only the part played by the army in policing the provinces but also its involvement in local revolts—most obviously in putting them down, but also, and not less importantly, in supplying them with a cause. Research on individual revolts would be judged remiss if it neglected to bring into consideration the effect of Roman military presence over the emergence of local movements of opposition. P. Ostorius Scapula’s campaign to disarm the British tribes in 48–49 and Suetonius Paullinus’ persecution of the Druids in 60–61 have been taken by British scholars to have contributed to the eruption of the Boudican revolt. Likewise, the relocation of Legio III Augusta within the territory of the Musulamii in north Africa and the strategic road that was built by its soldiers across local migratory routes have been seen as primary causes of the outbreak of the revolt of Tacfarinas in 17.17 Yet, wide-scope works on imperialism seem either to avoid the issue of the relation between military presence and provincial revolt, or to make do with superficial observations on the topic: Isaac’s chapter on internal unrest specifically states that it aims to deal mostly with minor disturbances, such as brigandage; Mattern’s survey of the roles of the Roman army and the strategic precepts of its employment ‘uses’ revolts—or the

6

Introduction

‘tenacity with which Romans held new territory’—merely in order to fortify her straightforward thesis that the central aspect of Roman strategy was Rome’s image in the eyes of foreign nations.18 Also noteworthy is the fact, mentioned earlier, that the discussion of Rome’s grand strategy looks mostly outward, towards threats beyond the border and their effect on the frontier zones and their fortification. This may derive from a widely popular conception that, internally, the Roman empire was too peaceful to justify an examination of the provincial aspect of grand strategy. It is significant that a focused research on the topic has related more than one hundred cases of unrest in the provinces to the period between the time of Augustus and Commodus—surely a number demanding attention, even if only a handful of the cases were of significant scale.19 The general issue of the employment of the army, whether for aggressive purposes or for routine security and defense against both external and internal threats, goes hand in hand with the issue of the general formulation of policies, and with the implementation of such policies by diplomatic means. Diplomacy was, of course, constantly and intensely employed by the Roman government in its negotiations with foreign states, and the phenomenon has been carefully examined.20 There is no reason to avoid the terminology of diplomacy also in approaching the ‘internal’ affairs of Rome’s interactions with provincialized peoples. It was Millar in 1977 who posed the question of whether the emperor and his court were policy-makers, or whether they merely reacted to circumstances—crises above all. Though his conclusion, still widely accepted, sees the emperor mostly as having been reactive to events, many scholars, including himself, have since been engaged nonetheless in the search for various aspects of Roman policy throughout the empire’s lifetime.21 It is crucial to note that, in most cases, the policy in question falls under the category of foreign relations, and that questions asked about the Roman approach to the neighbors of the empire are not usually turned towards the ‘pacified’ provinces, even when relevant and applicable to them. A typical example would be the topic of ‘war and imperialism,’ treated for the period of the republic (between 327 and 70 BCE) by William Harris, and for the empire by others.22 Harris’ theory is that foreign wars throughout the period of the early and middle republic were encouraged by the Senate, not in a wish to defend the current assets of the empire, nor even for the sake of extending Roman power as opportunity offered, but mostly in order to satisfy the interests of senators as individuals, eager for distinction in war as well as for the riches war brought to them. Certainly, as Sherwin-White pointed out, there must have been greater complexity to Roman foreign policy than this, and yet the discussion nonetheless sheds revealing light on republican motivations for war and expansion. But wars, sometimes great and glorious, were also fought within the provinces and that territory considered to be under Roman control. Would it not be pertinent, then, to ask whether revolts broke out as a result of senatorial ambition?

Introduction

7

Yet another aspect of the problem centers on the complex and much debated issue of acculturation in the Roman world. The subject of ‘Romanization,’ though thoroughly discussed in most researches of specific revolts, shows for the most part little concern for the provincial revolt when examined as an empire-wide phenomenon.23 Certainly, the strong emphasis placed by the sources and by modern scholarship on Romanization among local elites has done little to encourage a thorough evaluation of the provincial revolt as a class-crossing phenomenon.24 It is perhaps above all Ando’s work on imperial ideology and provincial loyalty that may be seen to supply a balancing focus, looking as it does at the people living within the empire as willing participants and recognizing in them a strong interest in the continued existence of the state, and a belief in its just rule.25 Indeed, the key to understanding the Roman reaction to local revolts as it will be presented here may very well lie in the administration’s own perception of its subjects as willing participants. True enough, it is under the theme of Romanization that the most significant attempt to make a group of revolts the subject of a focused research was undertaken; yet Dyson was mostly interested in the immediate impact of acculturation on a consolidating province, and he therefore sought, through two papers written in the 1970s, only to produce a model for the outbreak of five revolts that occurred in the second generation after Roman occupation.26 More specifically, Dyson was convinced that each of these case studies should be interpreted as a ‘revitalization movement,’ defined as ‘an effort by a native people whose cultural and political identity is under assault by a superior culture to assert its independence and self-identity.’27 His model therefore did not bring the Roman side under any consideration, but focused instead only on surveying local elements relevant to his thesis: the survival and prevalence of local institutions under Roman rule; the emergence of a Romanized local as leader of the resistance movement; indications of acculturation; and testimony of local resentment towards it. Much as Dyson’s work contributes to this research, its narrow scope and multiple presuppositions render its overall impact on the topics that will be examined here limited. METHODOLOGY How, then, is this project to be undertaken in practical terms? To return to the questions that this book attempts to answer: these circle mostly around processes of decision-making insofar as Roman policy in the provinces is concerned. By ‘policy,’ I do not mean strategy, let alone a grand one, but rather a program of actions and the principles on which they are based, often transitory in nature, and set either for the provinces in general, a single province, or a group within it; either for a war, a campaign, or a battle in

8

Introduction

the course of it; and so forth. It may be formulated intelligently, arbitrarily, or otherwise, and at its extreme it may be epitomized by a single action. While a close examination of a continuum of such policies may not necessarily reveal the workings of a grand strategy, it may nevertheless disclose certain habits and traditional attitudes. For an empire, it does not take a grand strategic approach to act consistently towards the maintenance of peace (or war). Above all, the question to guide this examination would be to what extent Roman decisions and actions indicate a dedication to stability in the provinces; or, alternatively, to what degree they are pursued at the risk of provoking active resistance to Roman rule itself. Naturally, it is the strata of decision-makers within the military and administrative organizations— from the emperor down to the provincial procurator—that proves to be the focus of the investigation; to the extent that they may be established by the sources, it is these people’s motivation, judgment, and whimsicality that are sought in order to reconstruct the background for actual decisions and ensuing actions. The research neither presupposes the existence of a master plan of any scope or contents for the administration of the provinces, nor does it even assume that such pronunciations of policy for which we do have attestation, such as Augustus’ famous consilium, for example, were taken by subordinates or by posterity to be more than mere recommendations. Instead, the examination works its way up, from the particular to the universal. Relevant isolated decisions will be recognized and analyzed, and these can be ones taken by any rank in the government and implemented at any scope throughout the empire. If the decision to conduct a census aroused the Jews in Judea, for example, it would have mattered less to their own frustration whether it was the provincial governor’s decision or the emperor’s, and whether it was to be conducted just in Judea or elsewhere in the empire as well. Additionally, more generic groupings of such decisions may be suggested, determined by specific criteria. Thus, it will be possible to ask whether distinct lines of action can be seen as having been representative of a period, a province, a group within it, and so forth, and whether consistency is attested, both through time and space, and down the chain of command. It is such a process that should allow us eventually to make inferences regarding the nature of policy in the provinces. The relevance of the topic should apply from a time as early as circles of Roman decision-makers noted the emergence of a Roman hegemony, and began to make a distinction between resistance from within this hegemony towards Roman presence and other, external conflicts, still treated, strictly speaking, under the category of foreign affairs. Such a moment should be seen in events around the middle of the second century BCE in Lusitania, Greece, and arguably also Carthage. Yet the numerous variables under the republic that have serious influence over such relevant issues as imperial expansion, consolidation of provinces and spheres of control, and the

Introduction

9

functioning of central and provincial administration make it impossible to include occurrences prior to the time of Augustus within the limited scope of this book. As regards the later limit, of Pekáry’s one hundred cases of unrest referenced earlier, only a handful are subsequent to the Bar Kokhba revolt, and these are all poorly documented and do not necessarily answer the narrower definition that is followed here.28 Hadrian’s reign will therefore close the period under examination. Still more specifically, even within this period it will be impossible to treat in depth all cases of local resistance to Roman control, both because available evidence indicates the profusion of relevant cases and since, on the other hand, this evidence is hardly ever comprehensive enough to allow a whole, uncontroversial representation of specific cases in and of themselves. Instead, several key themes in Roman imperialism have been designated, which are the most relevant to the topic of the research. Each of the themes is discussed in a separate chapter, along with a variety of topics related to it: general tension management; aspects of military deployment and the actual handling of revolt; relevant official appointments; and consequent commemoration. Since the case of the Jews after the great revolt of 66–70 is different in many ways from most other provincial revolts, it is discussed in the latter part of the book, and compared to the general case. The number of cases covered here may be regarded as limited, and is dictated by the nature of the body of evidence. It should be pointed out, though, that the caveat applies most strongly to the limited group of provinces surveyed by the book; this does not necessarily correspond to the number of rebellions, since the considerable time line recoverable in such a place as Judea offers the opportunity to follow the action of several administrations and their reaction to different events of provincial tension. Furthermore, the patterns discoverable in the more documented cases are often corroborated by what little we do know of events of tension in less documented provinces, such as Germany and Pannonia. Finally, since Judea, Africa, and Britain supply considerable grounds for discussion, the scope of the investigation is Mediterranean-wide, and includes provinces and regions inherently different in nature. The examination will focus on the relevant actions of Roman decisionmakers, and on the indigenous reaction to them. These are retraceable by means of a combined body of evidence, incorporating written and material sources. Admittedly, the discussion will rely at points on the work of historians—such as Josephus and Tacitus—whose narrative and facts modern scholars have learned to suspect. Past decades have seen, however, much attention dedicated to most of the historians relevant to this research, and their possible biases are better known today. This information will help in qualifying the statements and details supplied by the written sources, as will, whenever possible, cross-reference to, and corroboration by, other related sources, not least the material corpus.

10

Introduction

The discussion will be conducted along three time periods related to the actual occurrence of opposition: the time preceding the incidence of open revolt, not only insofar as immediate causes are concerned but also in terms of background of stability in the region; the time of the event of revolt itself; and the time following the revolt, as far as the memory of the experience may be seen to have prevailed and affected Roman conduct. Each of the chapters will navigate freely along this axis of opposition, in accordance with the requirements of the discussion, and it requires, therefore, some elaboration here. THE CONTEXT OF REVOLT The outcome of a full-scale, hard-line indigenous revolt was devastating for both rulers and subjects. Dio, in obvious yet indicative exaggeration, estimates at 580,000 the number of casualties on the Judean side in the rebellion of Bar Kokhba;29 with regard to the Roman side Fronto exclaims, ‘Again under the rule of your grandfather Hadrian, what a number of soldiers was killed by the Jews!’30 Some put at ‘twelve or even thirteen’ the number of legions employed by the Romans throughout the three years of this revolt.31 The Jews in Judea, at any rate, never recovered from it. It would have taken dedication to a major cause to enter such an undertaking, as well as the willingness to make sacrifices, especially after it had become clear across the Mediterranean that on the Roman side there was no lack of dedication to the cause of imperialism, nor of willingness to fight for the preservation of the empire. For Bar Kokhban propaganda there would have been no available examples of successful revolts across the empire, other than perhaps that of the Cherusci under Arminius, more than a century earlier. Indeed, on the whole, the frequency of large-scale rebellions across the empire may impress us as relatively low.32 The causes of revolts are usually ascribed by scholars either to an occurrence unusually offensive to local routine, or to gradual and unrelenting escalation in provincial antagonism of whatever nature towards Roman presence. In most cases, a combination of the two is identified. Thus, in the case of the Boudican revolt it is noteworthy that scholars are eager to recognize a series of earlier events as contributory to rising local antagonism: from the campaign in 48–49 of Ostorius Scapula to disarm some of the conquered British tribes; through the alleged persecution of the Druids, culminating with Suetonius Paullinus’ attack on Mona in 60–61; to the callingin of massive loans to provincials by Roman financiers in the same year.33 The nature of the effect of Roman actions on the sensibilities of indigenous groups, if known to us, would supply possible explanation for particular opposition movements. The impact on British tribes of the flogging of a British queen by a Roman procurator would satisfy many as the leading cause for the eruption of the fierce Boudican revolt. But as we are

Introduction

11

here interested in the possibility of a Roman policy at work, we need to examine Roman understanding of and consideration for local sensibilities even before we look into the actual moment of injurious action. Sections dedicated to the context of revolt, therefore, as they undertake to examine various aspects of Roman conduct in the provinces prior to the eruption of revolt, pay attention first of all to those rebellions that never erupted. That is, to the extent that such occasions actually arose and may be recognized, it would be most telling to learn how Roman officials, when they could, acted to avoid provincial unrest by adjusting their governance to the reality in the provinces. P. Petronius’ reluctance to follow Gaius’ order to erect a statue of the emperor in the Temple at Jerusalem would arguably be a case in point, as it may have prevented a Jewish revolt that quite likely would have been as devastating as that which did break out in 66. Evidence that relates to the Roman approach towards delicate local issues is thus to be examined, initially in the opening chapter—‘Tension Management’—and then in passim, as specifically relates to each of the topics discussed in the following chapters. Only once such a background is established may the focus turn to the Roman conduct in times and places that may be more directly related to the outbreak of revolt. Certainly, not all opposition is subject to explanation based on supposed rational causes, and it will be necessary to avoid the temptation to treat all likely-offensive events as definite causes of rebellion. Furthermore, the fact that it is mostly Roman authors who supply the account of events should make us cautious as we try to pinpoint the ‘real’ reason for the instigation of local opposition. But, to an extent, this ‘real’ reason, if it cannot be established with certainty, as is often the case, should perhaps worry us less than those speculated—or even invented—reasons that are given or implied by the Roman literary sources. As the aim of this book is to examine the dedication of Roman officials, and, by implication, of the Roman government as a whole, to the maintenance of calm in the provinces, what needs to interest us here above all is how the Romans explained to themselves the occurrence of local unrest. And, of course, such explanations, even when distanced to one degree or another from reality, would nonetheless be all the more authoritative when supplied by individuals with proconsular experience, such as Tacitus and Dio, or even by members of the emperor’s staff, such as Suetonius.34 The reasons for rebellion, immediate and distinct as well as potential and less obvious ones, should not only be identified but also be assessed in terms of Roman deliberation and intentionality. It may certainly not be taken for granted that Roman decision-makers could have foreseen the outcome of their actions. One should remember that the Roman administration’s understanding of local dynamics would have been lacking in many cases—certainly in recently acquired provinces—and that officials with varying capabilities, personalities, and interests were still given at this stage considerable freedom in administering their sphere of control. Revolts could thus have erupted also as the result of a mere miscalculation on the part of

12

Introduction

Roman officials, and the latter’s acts should therefore not be evaluated, as they usually are, solely with the final outcome of violent local reaction in mind. If there is anything to be learned from the suddenness and fierceness of the eruption of Arminius’ revolt, it is the extent to which the Roman perception of stability in the German region mismatched reality. Finally, it should be noted that the discussion of the context of revolt may not be complete without some more information that issues related to the actual occurrence of revolt may offer. A viable method of learning, when the sources are silent, about ‘Roman intentionality’ would be to look into the Roman reaction to the outbreak of revolt. Examining, for example, what room was left for negotiation once indigenous opposition was underway, and to what extent Roman administration insisted on measures that were recognized as contributive to the conflagration, may throw light on the Roman officials’ order of priorities and the place of provincial stability therein. THE OCCURRENCE OF REVOLT As in foreign wars, when rebellion was already underway, previous basic rules of conduct may no longer have applied, and diplomacy changed its nature. The imperial power, it must be emphasized, did not usually fight from a standpoint of threatened existence, and might therefore have been flexible in its application of force. While its ultimate goal was the preservation of imperial assets, in most cases it would have had the freedom to choose and control the means of pacifying or reclaiming a rebelling region. It is this elementary characteristic of the balance of power in the empire that serves as the basis for sections examining the Roman treatment of ongoing revolts. The Roman empire’s power, like any power, may have had its limitations, but in comparison to the resources of any of the indigenous groups in the provinces, this power was unlimited. It is for this reason that it should prove useful to examine the actual nature and level of Roman response to local resistance, and to investigate to what degree there was consistency of action in this response, and how this might relate to the picture depicted in the examination of the background of revolt. It first ought to be noted that, upon the outbreak of hostilities, the original reasons for the revolt may have been forgotten, or at any rate lost relevance. Once Roman troops and posts were destroyed, Roman action could have taken place merely in retaliation and with the wish for self-preservation. To be sure, at the first moment of surprise, Roman forces available in the province may have found themselves fighting for their own survival, unprepared and dispersed through detachments as they happened to be. But once the first wave of unexpected violence that usually betokened the opening of a revolt subsided, the local governor or general in command, and, eventually, the central Roman government, would have assessed the situation and

Introduction

13

decided upon the appropriate line of action. One has to assume that any deliberation on such matters would have taken into consideration current and future Roman interests in the region. There was much to lose by the excessive use of force, and, if only future stability was envisaged, imperial experience must have taught Roman officials early on that the good will of the population could guarantee peace much more efficiently than the presence of legions. Depending on the Roman wish to concentrate on rebel centers alone, friction with uninvolved local populations would not have been unavoidable. It would be reasonable to assume that, in some cases, revolts did not sweep with them all the members of an indigenous group. Among other reasons, aspects of Romanization, a preference for peaceful routine under Roman rule, and the mere instinct for survival could all dissuade considerable portions of the population from joining a predictably destructive and often futile struggle against the Romans. While initially, when looking at peaceful routine, we would be searching for the active cultivation by Roman officials of pro-Roman local groups, at this point, once tension arises, it would be most telling to observe Roman awareness of such groups and the attention accorded to them, even while revolt was underway. A harsh policy of burnt villages would not have contributed to the preservation of sympathetic elements, and, while severe treatment of revolts is generally quoted as most efficient in deterring other watchful subjects, it is also frequently cited as a major cause for subsequent unrest. Tacitus’ famous account of the shouting match across the river between the rebel Arminius and his brother Flavus, who was fighting for the Roman side, may demonstrate how it was beneficial for the Romans to have indigenous agents on their side, representing their cause among local groups.35 Such details as the number of legions used in the campaign, the methods they employed, and the consideration they demonstrated towards the local population may indicate whether Roman leaders approached the mission of subduing a rebellion in a calculated harsh manner or, to the contrary, with mildness, once again calculated, which would have been atypical of regular foreign campaigns of conquest. Similarly illuminating, the Roman activity that followed immediately after the subjugation of rebellion should also be touched on in these parts of the discussion, as this activity often related directly to the events and nature of the revolt itself, and as it would have symbolized to the Roman world in general the official end of hostilities. As the Roman legions eventually emerged victorious from most conflicts in the provinces, they had the power of last action. It is therefore not necessarily the decisive battle or the capture of the head rebel that signified the conclusion of the conflict, since various measures may still have been taken— strictly punitive in many cases, but also practical and in consideration of future local stability. If we manage to understand why in some cases Roman commanders burned cities, sacked temples, and devastated the countryside in the

14

Introduction

aftermath of a revolt, and in others they were satisfied with the execution of rebel leaders, or even with their mere exile, we may be in a position to speculate on possible Roman guidelines for governing the provinces. Explaining the intensity of the final Roman action merely as being proportionate to the scope of the preceding campaign would confine the discussion to an essentially emotional sphere, which would hardly suffice to explain the governing philosophy of an empire of such size and longevity. It would also not take us very far, seeing that subjugation campaigns of equal scope and duration could spell completely disparate outcomes for the local populations involved. Also the ever-recurring suggestion of the ‘intimidation factor’ need not satisfy us here as an all-encompassing solution. Instead, tangible Roman interests in each province need to be recognized, and the service or damage done to them through the final Roman action should be assessed. It is only thus that we may be able to determine whether it was only Augustus’ fear of a future Pannonian invasion of Italy that should explain the relative Roman leniency after the capture of Bato; and whether it was indeed vindictiveness, an attempt to create future deterrence, or something else—maybe a disarmament campaign—that prompted Paullinus’ brutality after Boudica was already dead and her rebel army defeated. THE AFTERMATH OF REVOLT On another level, as soon as provincial opposition was suppressed, the event of revolt moved into the domain of the past, and began to exist solely as a memory. Naturally, there would have been more than just one version of this memory—at the very least the two formed by the Roman administration on the one hand, and by the defeated provincials on the other—yet each such version may be seen to have borne, for a certain amount of time after the return of peace, some practical influence over the status of ensuing local stability. It should therefore prove most useful for a discussion of the Roman approach to provincial stability to examine the practical aspects of such collective memories, and to explain how they were formed, presented, and possibly manipulated, in the aftermath of hostilities and as part of the reemergence of routine. It should be emphasized that, as this book’s focus is the agency of Roman officials, the collective memory that is of relevance here is one very particular in nature. In agreement with Jan Assman’s assertion that collective memory is especially susceptible to politicized forms of remembering, it is above all those memories that were ‘made’ for the collective that should be sought and analyzed here.36 What is meant by ‘made memories’ is those instances when Roman authorities turned to the archive, in this case that of recent history, and made a choice of commemoration, thereby creating a memory for the collective who wished to remember and for the individual who remembered in order to belong.37 Furthermore, insomuch as this process is also a

Introduction

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part of the wider phenomenon of the cultural memory of a literate society, it is my intention to limit my search only to cases that would apply to Aleida Assman’s qualification of the functional memory, as opposed to the stored one.38 By this I merely mean to suggest that only acts of remembering practical knowledge should interest us here—knowledge, that is, that still had direct effect over the governing of the provinces. As the issue here is the memory and commemoration of organized local resistance, the examination begins with the time immediately following the suppression of opposition, and with those actions of the Roman authorities that may be seen to have had influence, intentional or accidental, over the recollection of the event of unrest in the provinces. The character of official actions that followed the conclusion of revolt may be seen at times to have derived from a conscious concern for the future nature of the relationship with the provincials. Harsh treatment of a population already pacified, for example, could have discouraged mutinous ideas both locally and—if given publicity—across the empire. Leniency too could have hoped to achieve the similar effect of provincial stability by winning the good will of the locals. If Roman decision-makers were indeed guided by such considerations in choosing their steps, the message sent to the provincials would have been one consciously and deliberately pronounced. Of course, whether the locals themselves were impressed at all by such a message—and to what extent their own narrative of the rebellion overlapped with the Roman definitions of leniency, deterrence, and other terms prevailing in this dialogue of power—would have been an additional variable. Indigenous memory of rebellion, therefore, whenever it may be traced or speculated upon, should play an important part in the discussion; on balance, however, local interpretations of events existed regardless of Roman intentions, and all initiative for the instigation of a next revolt remained finally, despite everything, in local hands. Cases in point are available, though they require a thorough examination. Such examples as Tiberius’ supposed leniency towards the Pannonians in 9 CE or Paullinus’ harsh treatment of the British countryside in 61 may, upon examination, prove to have originated in deliberate intentions regarding prospects of stability. Moreover, if that indeed were the case, it would be interesting at least to pose the question: to what extent were outbreaks of subsequent events of rebellion across the empire, such as the attack of Arminius on Varus in 9 CE or the great Jewish revolt in 66 CE, affected by the respective preceding Roman policy in Pannonia and in Britain? There can be little doubt that provincial interest in and knowledge of occurrences elsewhere in the empire existed, and that no individual province could have remained isolated from empire-wide influences. But practical measures for the memorialization of a rebellion did not usually end with those Roman actions that followed immediately after the suppression of local opposition. Even before historians and chroniclers set to their task, the Roman propaganda mechanism commemorated the suppression of revolts, though not necessarily in the same way as it did victories

16

Introduction

won over foreign enemies. Sections dedicated to the aftermath of revolt will also examine the potential practical implications of the formal celebration of the suppression of organized resistance; while so doing, the discussion will keep a necessary distinction between this kind of propaganda and that employed after foreign campaigns. As the available sources demonstrate, internal victories over rebelling provincials were commemorated on a moderate scale, restricted to the decoration of individuals and, on occasion, to the dedication of monuments within the pacified province alone. This practice, as Chapter Four shows, stood in contrast to the habit of grand-scale commemoration that normally followed foreign achievements, from victories won on the battlefield to diplomatic accomplishments. Scholars interested in isolated cases of provincial resistance to Roman rule may have assumed as much.39 But the fact that the study of the Roman approach towards war, thorough as it is, has for the most part ignored the case of internal conflicts has thus far prevented informed generalizations on the issue.

NOTES 1. This could even include what some scholars portray as self-deception—for example, regarding the treatment by Roman authors of political rebels as mere bandits, see Gonzales (1998); on referring as conquered to geographically challenging regions that still contained disruptive elements, see Goodman (2007), 68–80. 2. Slave revolts have been treated by Bradley (1989) and Shaw (2001). Other groups that posed an obstacle, if not an actual threat, to Roman government were surveyed by MacMullen (1966): political dissidents, philosophers, magicians, astrologers, diviners, prophets, urban mobs, and latrones. For bandits see, for example, Grünewald (1999). The role in society—or rather outside it—of outlaws, aliens, and outcasts has received thorough attention in Shaw’s chapter on ‘Rebels and Outsiders’ in CAH vol. 11, 361–404. 3. For a discussion on Roman perceptions of peace, see Hardwick (2000). 4. Dyson (1971; 1975). Mostly interested in the immediate impact of acculturation on a consolidating province, Dyson sought only to produce a model for the outbreak of revolts that occurred in the second generation after Roman occupation. 5. Dates in this book are CE, unless specifically stated otherwise. 6. This is identified by scholars as one of the causes for the outbreak of the Boudican revolt; see Mattingly (2006), 101–113. 7. Whittaker (2004), 39–40. 8. Beard (2006). 9. Aspects of provincial revolt could also be included in the discussion of Rome’s reaction to disasters. Though touching on defeat in war, the topic of revolt is missing from the treatment of the topic by Toner, whose span of events is wide, jumping from Cannaea to Adrianople and Alaric’s sack of Rome in a single sweep; Toner (2013), 131–143. 10. Whittaker (2004), i. 11. On the Roman ideology of war see Mattern (1999); on the roles of the army in the provinces see Isaac (1990).

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12. Luttwak (1976). For support of the hypothesis see, for example, Ferrill (1991). For a thorough survey of the debate and its development, see Whittaker (2004), chapter 2. 13. See, for example, Millar (1982); Isaac (1990); Whittaker (1994). 14. Kennedy (1991), 6. 15. Whittaker (2004), 32; 46. 16. Le Roux (1982); Isaac (1990), chapters 2–3; Mattern (1999), 101. 17. For example, Lassère (1982). 18. Isaac (1990), 55–100; Mattern (1999)—for example, 22–23, 108, 122; for criticism of Mattern’s argumentation see Talbert (2001). 19. Pekáry (1987). 20. For example, Millar (2002), 160–228. 21. Millar (1977). On acceptance of this view see Errington’s (2006) introduction. For more on Roman policy see ahead. 22. Harris (1979); for the empire see, for example, Mattern (1999). 23. The chapter in Champion’s (2003) Roman Imperialism, for example, titled ‘ “Romanization”: Cultural Assimilation, Hybridization, and Resistance’ does not try to tackle aspects of provincial resistance at all, despite the promise of its title. 24. The consensus is that a harmony of interests existed between imperial and local elites. See, for example, Brunt (1990). 25. Ando (2000). 26. Dyson (1971; 1975). The cases examined are those of: Vercingetorix; the Batones in Pannonia and Dalmatia; Arminius; Boudica; and that of the Batavians. 27. Dyson (1971), 246. 28. Pekáry (1987). The aim of Pekáry’s survey is to take issue with a representation— promoted, according to Pekáry, by Aristides, and then Boissier and Gibbon— of an empire that is peaceful and thriving for its inhabitants, and to fortify the opposite view—supported, again, in Pekáry’s own view, by Juvenal and then again Syme. All categories of unrest in the provinces are thus included. 29. Dio 69.14. 30. De Bello Parthico 2. 31. Eck (1999), 81. 32. Millar (2002), 195. 33. On Scapula’s campaign see Dudley and Webster (1962), 34. On Paullinus and the Druids see Webster (1978), 63–83. Regarding the calling-in of loans, Seneca alone is said by Dio (62.2) to have lent forty million sesterces to locals. See Chapter Three (this volume) for an analysis of Dio’s allegations and Webster (1978, 83–84). For money lending to client kings, see Andreau (2001), 9–29. 34. Millar (1982, 3) emphasizes this fact: ‘the works of the two Plinies, Tacitus, Suetonius, Dio and Ammianus, come from precisely the class of men who were called to the emperor’s consilium, acted as his secretaries or served on his staff.’ 35. Tac. Ann. 2.9–10. 36. J. Assman (2006), 1–30. 37. Ibid. 38. A. Assman (1999). 39. Millar (2005, 102), for example, has noted that the triumph celebrated by Vespasian over the Jews in 71 was the only one ever to be held in celebration of a victory over a provincial population; Goodman (1987, 235) also observed as much concerning the issuance by the Flavians of Iudaea capta coins.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Ando, C. (2000), Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire (Berkeley). Andreau, J. (2001), La banque et les affaires dans le monde romain: (IVe siècle av. J.-C.-IIIe siècle ap. J.-C.) (Paris). Assmann, A. (1999), Erinnerungsräume: Formen und Wandlungen des kulturellen Gedächtnisses (Munich). Assmann, J. (2006), Religion and Cultural Memory: Ten Studies (trans. R. Livingstone) (Stanford). Beard, M. (2006), ‘How People Lived in Roman Britain,’ Times Literary Supplement (6 October): 5–6. Bradley, K. R. (1989), Slavery and Rebellion in the Roman World, 140–70 BC (London). Brunt, P. A. (1990), ‘The Romanization of the Local Ruling Classes in the Roman Empire,’ in Roman Imperial Themes (Oxford): 267–281. Champion, C. B. (ed.) (2003), Roman Imperialism: Readings and Sources (Malden, MA). Dudley, D. R. and Webster, G. (1962), The Rebellion of Boudicca (London). Dyson, S. L. (1971), ‘Native Revolts in the Roman Empire,’ Historia 20: 239–274. ———. (1975), ‘Native Revolt Patterns in the Roman Empire,’ ANRW 2.3: 138–175. Eck, W. (1999), ‘The Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Roman Point of View,’ JRS 89: 76–89. Errington, R. M. (2006), Roman Imperial Policy from Julian to Theodosius (Chapel Hill, NC). Ferrill, A. (1991), ‘The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire,’ in P. Kennedy (ed.), Grand Strategy in War and Peace (Yale): 71–85. Gonzales, A. (1998), ‘La révolte comme acte de brigandage: Tacite et la révolte de Tacfarinas,’ AfrRom 12: 937–958. Goodman, M. (1987), The Ruling Class of Judaea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt against Rome, AD 66–70 (Cambridge). ———. (2007), Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations (London). Grünewald, T. (1999), Räuber, Rebellen, Rivalen, Rächer (Stuttgart). Hardwick, L. (2000), ‘Concepts of Peace,’ in J. Huskinson (ed.), Experiencing Rome (London): 335–368. Harris, W. V. (1979), War and imperialism in Republican Rome, 327–70 BC (Oxford). Isaac, B. H. (1990), The Limits of Empire: The Roman Army in the East (Oxford). Kennedy, P. (ed.) (1991), Grand Strategy in War and Peace (Yale). Lassère, J.-M. (1982), ‘Un conflit ‘routier:’ Observations sur les causes de la guerre de Tacfarinas,’ AntAfr 18: 11–25. Le Roux, P. (1982), L’armée romaine et l’organisation des provinces ibériques d’Auguste à l’invasion de 409 (Paris). Luttwak, E. N. (1976), The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire from the First Century A.D. to the Third (Baltimore). MacMullen, R. (1966), Enemies of the Roman Order: Treason, Unrest, and Alienation in the Empire (Cambridge, MA). Mattern, S. P. (1999), Rome and the Enemy: Imperial Strategy in the Principate (Berkeley). Mattingly, D. J. (2006), An Imperial Possession: Britain in the Roman Empire, 54 BC–AD 409 (London). Millar, F. (1977), The Emperor in the Roman World, 31 BC–AD 337 (Ithaca, NY). ———. (1982), ‘Emperors, Frontiers and Foreign Relations, 31 BC–AD 378,’ Britannia 13: 1–23. ———. (2002), Rome, the Greek World, and the East (Chapel Hill, NC).

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———. (2005), ‘Last Year in Jerusalem: Monuments of the Jewish War in Rome,’ in J. Edmondson, S. Mason, and J. B. Rives (eds.), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome (Oxford): 101–128. Pekáry, Th. (1987), ‘Seditio. Unruhen und Revolten im Römischen Reich von Augustus bis Commodus,’ Ancient Society 18: 133–150. Shaw, B. D. (2001), Spartacus and the Slave Revolts (Boston). Talbert, R. J. A. (2001), Review of Mattern (1999), AJP 122: 122–123. Toner, J. (2013), Roman Disasters (Cambridge). Webster, G. (1978), Boudica: The British Revolt against Rome AD 60 (London). Whittaker, C. R. (1994), Frontiers of the Roman Empire: A Social and Economic Study (Baltimore). ———. (2004), Rome and Its Frontiers: The Dynamics of Empire (London).

1

Tension Management

Various means were available to Roman officials in bringing to mitigation local tension on all levels of intensity, and during all stages of its existence. Actions taken by informed officials could have nipped in the bud local frustration and insubordination, still before active opposition emerged; or they produced a quick return to peaceful routine, even after violence had broken out and battles had been fought. Among other aspects discussed here, the examination includes the consideration demonstrated by incoming Roman rule towards newly annexed provinces; various aspects of routine coexistence between the local population and Roman groups such as the army and the colonies; the variety of channels of communication available to provincials in their attempt to bring their grievances before higher levels of authority; and the persistence of Roman trust in provincial loyalty.

CONQUEST To the mind of many historians, modern as well as ancient, the initial period of coexistence between an indigenous population and Roman invaders could not have passed without friction and various occasions for grievances on the part of local groups of all statuses—including client allies. It is frequently the case in analyses of indigenous opposition that a general atmosphere of local discontent with Roman rule is imagined and laid out prior to any examination of specific causes for revolt.1 Modern accounts would frequently base themselves in such a case on modern sensibilities towards such issues as the loss of ‘freedom’ or the payment of tribute, as well as, where available, on general ancient accounts that are none the better informed, even if they appear less anachronistic in their morality. We should approach such automatic assumptions with extreme caution, since specific circumstances, sometimes unheeded by ancient historians themselves, could have implied a relationship between conqueror and subjects that would have developed in quite a contrary manner.

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Writing on Britain, Tacitus does not seem to have investigated too thoroughly the causes of the Boudican revolt for the composition of the Agricola.2 His general statement on local discontent, put in the mouths of ‘the Britons,’ would have no doubt instructed various postcolonial histories of the Boudican revolt:3 A single king ruled us once, but now two are imposed on us: a legate terrorizes our lives, and a procurator tyrannizes over our property. Their discord and their harmony are equally destructive to their subjects. The centurions of the one, the slaves of the other, combine violence with insult. Nothing escapes their avarice and their lust any more. In war it is the strong who plunders. Now, it is for the most part by the cowardly and unwarlike that our homes are plundered, our children torn from us, the conscription is enjoined on us, as though it were for our country alone that we could not die. Regardless of the fact that such a report makes no pretense of basing itself on any known historical events, it should be read within the wider context of a Greco-Roman historiographical tradition that ascribed anti-Roman thoughts to rebelling indigenous populations in much the same programmatic way. No doubt based on certain specific occurrences, this widespread tradition would assume, even when no real opposition was witnessed, that indigenous populations that found themselves subjugated to Roman rule must have resented their ‘new’ situation, especially insofar as concerned their loss of autonomy and the avarice of their captors. Examples are ubiquitous. In his introduction of ‘the fourth philosophy’ of revolt in Judea, Josephus indeed ultimately lays the emphasis on religion and God’s will as Judas’ main cause for instigating opposition to Roman rule in 6 CE. The historian, however, does not resist the temptation to include resentment of taxation and the general aspiration for liberty as primary elements in Judas’ alleged doctrine—a doctrine that is aimed at a people that had experienced Herod the Great’s rapacious taxation, and which may have seen, after the king’s death, groups within it soliciting the annexation of Judea to the Roman provincial system.4 Dio’s words for Boudica, before the decisive battle with the Romans takes place, focus almost exclusively on the ‘enslavement’ of the Britons by the Romans, and on all-devouring Roman greed.5 Tacitus’ representation of the reality in Britain before 60, as conceived by the locals, fits neatly into such a historiographical pattern, as is also demonstrated through his own reconstruction of Boudica’s prebattle speech in the Annales.6 And, while the contents of such speeches were doubtless conceived by the historians themselves, inspired as they were by formulae described here, it is not implausible that stereotypical representations of provincial hatred towards the Romans circulated more widely, and were merely copied into historical accounts. A case in point is Caratacus’ alleged exclamation upon being brought to Rome after long years of

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opposition in Britain: ‘And can you, then, who have got such possessions and so many of them, covet our poor tents?’7 Two major themes in Roman imperialism offer contrasting backgrounds to any attempt to ascribe unrest among indigenous groups to an instinctive local reaction to mere Roman presence. The first is that the Roman governing system, when functioning without disruptions, had the ability to make itself acceptable to indigenous populations in the long run. The remarkable record of provincial stability during Rome’s long centuries of imperialism is the best testimony for the realization of this end. Britain’s peaceful existence after the Boudican revolt is a standard case. And the seven decades of Roman rule over Judea prior to the great revolt are presented ahead as a still more vivid example of the general efforts of the Roman administration to understand and solve local problems to the satisfaction of the indigenous population. The second issue that should be noted is that of the various local structures of power and control that Roman imperialism had come to replace, and its preparatory effect on the ‘readiness’ of local populations to accept Roman rule, or, more generally, to surrender their notion of autonomy to whatever external power proved to prevail in its bid for domination. It was rarely the case that Roman control expanded into a governmental vacuum. Even if on a smaller, more local scale, frames of influence and power that may best be described as imperialistic already existed in various parts of the Mediterranean and northern Europe prior to the advent of Roman hegemony. There should be no doubt that these would have meant that Rome’s potential subjects were familiar with various forms of foreign control. A well-known example may be seen in the Hellenistic world, which, upon the intensification of its relations with Rome, tended to relate to the western power through categories familiar to the Greek experience.8 Thus, Rome was repeatedly approached and treated as a Hellenistic king would have been, and the Greek states all but forced on it the responsibilities of such a king. If anything appeared irregular to the Greeks, it would have been the initial reluctance of the Senate to assume such a role. In southeastern Later Pre-Roman Iron Age (henceforth, LPRIA) Britain, processes of economic development and the centralization of power soon saw those groups that stood in close contact with Romanized Gaul and with Rome itself assuming a leading role on the island, especially insofar as concerned control over trade with the continent. Material evidence from the south of the island—perhaps coinage above all—make easily distinguishable the leading role taken by such groups as the Catuvellauni and Trinovantes, and the growing dependence on them of tribal groups further to the north and west, such as the Durotriges, Dobunni, and Iceni.9 Furthermore, even within the dominant groups themselves the power balance proved unstable, and it appears that one group above all—the Catuvellauni—managed to establish authority over the rest. The Catuvelaunian Cunobelinus issued his coins in Camulodunum, the center of the Trinovantes, which fact convinces

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scholars that he assumed control over the eastern group. And it is coinage again that suggests that the north-south divide across the Thames did not last. The influence of the Catuvellauni-Trinovantes is seen to have expanded across the middle Thames, and eventually to have dominated Berkshire, north Hampshire, and the entire region of the Cantii.10 True enough, it is difficult to assess the level of political control that might have accompanied the expansion of such economic influence, but the production of Cunobelinus’ coinage in Camulodunum, and later the presence of his sons in Kent, anticipating the Roman invasion, may indicate that Catuvellaunian control had a physical aspect to it. In all likelihood, both before the Roman invasion and after it, such groups as the Trinovantes and the Iceni would have weighed the advantages and disadvantages of Roman presence on the island against the Catuvellaunian alternative. No doubt, some may indeed have pronounced statements similar to those anti-Roman ones quoted by Tacitus. People holding such opinions, it is probable, would have willingly joined an ongoing opposition movement, though it is hardly the case that ‘general frustration’ would have been a strong enough incentive for the instigation of revolt.11 On the other hand, however, it would appear that other groups, attentive to developments across the Channel, preferred Roman hegemony, and even direct rule. Claudian propaganda would have described the emperor’s achievement in invading Britain in language similar to that used by the geographer Pomponius Mela:12 Britain—what sort of place it is and what sort of inhabitants it produces— will soon be described more precisely and on the basis of greater exploration. For, behold, the greatest of emperors is opening it up after it has been closed so long, the conqueror of peoples not only unconquered but unknown to boot. The truth of the actual facts—as he is pursuing it in warfare, so he is bringing it back to display in his triumph. However, the picture presented earlier of aspects of Romanization within southeastern British societies, and of connections of various natures and on different social levels between groups in Britain and the Roman center, should create a sharp distinction between the invasion of 43 and the previous ventures of Roman forces into the ‘unknown.’ Such campaigns as Gallus’ in Nubia, Balbus’ in the land of the Garamantes, Paullinus’ across the Atlas mountains, or even Caesar’s in Britain had all been conducted much in the way of exploratory campaigns, with no thorough previous knowledge of the region being probed, and with few or no connections established in advance with the indigenous population. These earlier campaigns were never undertaken with the predetermined intention of permanent occupation, and seldom yielded lasting treaties. To be sure, the conduct and progress of the Claudian invasion would seem to indicate that it had been planned from the very outset as the first act of the annexation of the entire island.13 As much

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as large parts to the north and west of Britain were indeed still unknown to the invading Romans, such an intention of thorough conquest would have demanded a well-prepared landing, and a plan for the initial handling of the local population immediately encountered, hostile as well as cooperative. Accounts of the invasion usually focus on the figure of Caratacus, prince of the Catuvellauni, who would lead indigenous resistance to Roman conquest from the time of the legions’ landing down to his capture in 51. And indeed, our only source’s narrative follows the Roman campaign by describing the opposition encountered by the Romans, to the effect that ‘the Britons’ at this stage seem to be divided solely into two groups: those who resist persistently, and those who capitulate upon a setback.14 Dio’s focus on invasion leaves room solely for those elements ‘against us.’ Crucially for the landing forces, even at this early stage there seems to have been a third group that was in fact friendly to the Romans. Whether the landing took place in Kent, Hampshire, or Sussex, the immediate pursuit of hostile elements towards the Thames could not have been undertaken without the knowledge that the south of the island would not pose a threat to the army’s rear, nor disrupt lines of supplies and communication with the mainland.15 It would be worthwhile, therefore, prior to any discussion of opposition, to recognize possible aspects of cooperation that, if they indeed existed, must have been established and maintained in advance. The evidence that suggests earlier contacts between British notables and Roman emperors should be used with caution, as allegiances could have been withdrawn in the face of an invasion. Coins that seem to bear the head of Tiberius might suggest that Cunobelinus pledged his loyalty to the Roman emperor, yet by 43 Cunobelinus was dead, and his sons, Caratacus and Togodumnus, were leading the opposition of the Catuvellauni and their allies against the advancing Roman army.16 Insofar as the southern Atrebates are concerned, however, their leaders seem to have been loyal to Rome at least from the time of Augustus.17 In addition to the Romanized coinage of Tincommius, Eppillus, and Verica, the written sources suggest that Tincommius and Verica came to Rome as supplicants and exiles.18 The expansion of Catuvellaunian rule south of the Thames at this period may serve as a likely explanation for such unrest in the southern regions. Some scholars even suggest that it was these circumstances that led the Romans to come to the succor of their allies.19 Is it likely at all, then, that the invading army met with hostility on the part of the Atrebates? Some scholars appear to be convinced that this was the case, though a satisfactory explanation is missing from the discussion of the problem. Available hypotheses go as far as to speculate that Vespasian’s campaigns soon after the invasion must have included also the pacification of this group.20 But there is no evidence whatsoever of opposition offered by the Atrebates in the course of the conquest process, and the few military detachments that have been excavated in the region could easily have been supply bases, especially if the landing point was indeed in Sussex/Hampshire, rather than

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in Kent.21 The two peoples reported by Suetonius to have been subjugated by Vespasian are more likely to have been the southwestern Durotriges and Dumnonii.22 Furthermore, upon landing, Dio reports on a sequence of setbacks and retreats of the local forces, with the Romans pursuing close behind.23 The immediate advance of the invading forces towards the north and across the Thames indicates that the region south of the Thames felt secure when the Catuvellaunian leaders retreated from it. Cooperation of the southern groups could have been achieved by means of the restoration of their exiled king, Verica, though there is no indication in the sources of his presence in Britain after the invasion. Or it could have been secured by allying other leading figures in the region. The one person whom we know played a major part in ruling the southern British tribes soon after the invasion was Cogidubnus.24 Tacitus mentions him in a brief survey of Roman governors of Britain, saying that he was given certain states, and that he was most faithful to the Romans.25 An inscription from Chichester refers to him as Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus, and titles him ‘great king of Britain,’ though the reading of the additional title of ‘legatus Augusti’—published in RIB—has been strongly argued against since its publication.26 No coins issued by him have been found. It is not known when and how he became ruler in the south: he could have been ruling even before the invasion, or he could have been made king by the Romans soon thereafter, either beside the returning Verica, instead of him, or as his successor. Yet, it is clear from his nomenclature as it appears on the Chichester inscription that he was granted Roman citizenship by Claudius; Tacitus’ words suggest that he remained loyal. Modern accounts of Roman Britain regard him on this basis as the perfect example of the client king. In corroboration of this notion it might be added that the territory over which he was put in charge, possibly well into Nero’s reign, seems to have remained calm and loyal even when other parts of Britain revolted, and that it demanded little military attention on that account.27 It would appear that, whether through long established connections, or through the agency of such local leaders as Verica and Cogidubnus, the southeast became supportive of Roman presence in Britain, either before the invasion actually took place, or as soon as the Catuvellaunian leaders lost their influence there. The very implementation of the invasion seems to have counted on such a reality. Insofar as the primary opposition encountered is concerned, it must have been prepared for in advance, and not necessarily in general terms only. That is, the Roman planners of the invasion must have known prior to landing what groups might offer resistance, and even which individuals would lead them. Such knowledge would have been easily obtainable from Roman acquaintance with and involvement in British power networks, and it would have been essential for the successful conduct of the campaign, not only in strategic terms of plans for ‘the day after the invasion’ but also in immediate tactical respects that would dictate where to march and whom to confront. When the proceeding of the invasion is

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considered, it becomes clear that the Romans landed with a clear picture of the opposition in mind and that it was the eastern kingdom of the Catuvellauni that had been targeted first. Dio’s narrative refers to the Britons as seeking intelligence regarding the coming invasion, even if they ended up being misled, probably by the delay caused by the refusal of mutinous Roman troops to cross from Gaul.28 Aulus Plautius, the commander of the invasion, divided his force into three divisions, ‘in order that they should not be hindered in landing, as might happen to a single force.’29 Upon landing, even though the Romans encountered no immediate opposition, Plautius is said to have searched it actively and expectantly, and when he did come across the hostile Britons, these are said to have been led by Caratacus and Togodumnus, the sons of Cunobelinus, who had died sometime before 43. The description of the confrontations that followed relates to the coalition led by Caratacus as the sole enemy against which the Romans were fighting; the conquest by Claudius of Camulodunum, the center of power of the eastern kingdom, is described as the pinnacle of the campaign, and as the explicit end of the invasion stage.30 After this, it is clear that the Catuvellaunian ‘empire’ no longer existed. Whatever resistance Caratacus was to lead from now on would have been across the Severn, among the Silures. Upon departure, Claudius is reported to have instructed Plautius to subjugate the ‘remaining districts.’31 It is noteworthy that Dio is also careful to mention the capitulation of other groups among the Britons during and at the end of this process. The strategy of the Roman commander, like the basic plan of so many other invading armies in antiquity, must have relied on the persuasive effect of decisive victories in the field over hesitant and hostile elements. This may have been Plautius’ motivation to seek engagement soon after landing. The first victories, first over Caratacus, then Togodumnus, ensured the surrender of a part of the Dobunni.32 The fall of Camulodunum, and of Catuvellaunian rule, brought about the capitulation of other tribes.33 Dio’s report appears to be corroborated by other sources. Suetonius knows of representations, conducted by Claudius in the Campus Martius, of the ‘surrender of the kings of the Britons.’34 The triumphal arch of Claudius at Rome, as well as its more modest replication at Cyzicus, suggests that a considerable number of British kings were implicated in the emperor’s victory, though neither of the inscriptions is preserved or elaborate enough to indicate whether these were conquered by force or merely allowed to capitulate upon the fall of the Catuvellaunian leaders.35 Literary reports on the relationship that evolved between the Roman administration and some of the local kings demonstrate further how not all indigenous groups were treated similarly during the first stages of the invasion. Regarding the Iceni’s status in 47, for example, Tacitus writes that they were ‘a powerful tribe, not yet weakened by war, since they had voluntarily joined our alliance.’36 The Iceni in fact remained a client kingdom until the death in 60 of king Prasutagus, and the subsequent rebellion of his wife,

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Boudica.37 And there is no reason to believe that the kings mentioned in Claudius’ triumphal arch were not all treated similarly: Cogidubnus’ kingdom in the south was already mentioned earlier, and the northern Brigantes, as well as probably part of the Dobunni, would have had autonomy similar to the Iceni’s during the generation after the invasion.38 Those groups that chose to confront the invading legions and had to be taken by force were treated harshly. More centralized societies, such as the Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes, once defeated, would have been subjected to Roman control through their major tribal centers. Camulodunum became the seat of both a legion—probably Legio XX—and a smaller auxiliary force. Decentralized societies, with numerous smaller units and subsidiary centers, such as the Durotriges and the Dumnonii, would have been subjugated thoroughly and garrisoned throughout in order to secure calm. Suetonius reports that more than thirty battles were fought and twenty hill-forts (oppida) were taken during Vespasian’s campaigning in the southwestern regions between 43 and 47.39 It is, of course, necessary to emphasize the violence of the war itself.40 Still, to imagine that Roman aggressiveness endured even once decisive victory had been achieved would be to ignore the general momentum represented by the various sources towards unconditional acceptance of Roman rule even among recently hostile elements. The archaeological picture of rapid disappearance from the south of practically all military presence of the Romans surely agrees more with the notion that the emerging Roman administration, for its own future benefit, would not have been punitive or vengeful once peace had become possible.41 Archaeology can also be helpful in providing evidence on the primary relationships between the invading Romans and the various indigenous groups, yet it should be employed here with caution and reserve, since examples are available of selective use of the available finds. Not every hint of Roman military presence should serve as proof of local opposition and conflict with the Roman army, nor can the lack of such presence be understood always and beyond doubt as an indication of wholly friendly relationships between locals and invaders. As was argued earlier regarding the land of Cogidubnus, the exiguous evidence for a military presence that was found in Fishbourne and Chichester may very well point towards supply bases, whereas the finds in Silchester may have had to do with the securing and control of a major route. On the other hand, quick pacification of hostile elements would have left few traces behind, especially as the Roman forces were at first pushing relentlessly forward. The surprisingly sparse evidence of Roman forts in the territories of the Catuvellauni and Trinovantes may be an example of just such efficiency of conquest, supported also ex silentio by the literary sources.42 Furthermore, as was mentioned earlier, the degree to which a civilization was centralized would have had major implications on its pacification process. This may explain why Aulus Plautius could achieve victory over the eastern kingdom by means of one major battle, and stability by means of as little as the garrisoning of the main center at Camulodunum,

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whereas, shortly thereafter, Legio II Augusta, headed by Vespasian, had to fight numerous battles with the Durotriges, a group to the south best described as a decentralized confederation, and had to garrison their territory as densely as to control separately each of their subsidiary centers.43 To sum up this point: the first steps of the invasion seem to have been premeditated and well prepared. Supportive elements were recognized and quite likely approached in advance; the hard core of the potential opposition was marked as the primary target; and an encouraging policy was formulated, however loosely, according to which cooperative elements would be appreciated by the maintenance of their autonomy, and repenting opposition would gradually come to be trusted as a regular part of the growing province. Such a picture, significantly more elaborate than the one that regards the invasion as a choice of ‘either death or slavery’ for all Britons, also seems to be consistent with our knowledge of the conduct of the Roman expansion that was to follow in the next couple of decades.44 So much for the extreme case of recent conquest. Appian gives an eyewitness account when he talks about ambassadors and delegations representing tribes of barbarians coming to Rome to seek annexation by the imperial rule: ‘I have seen some of those on missions at Rome, offering themselves as subjects, and I have seen the emperor rejecting men who would be of no use to him.’45 The statement, though it relates to the early second century, may be seen to represent also an earlier reality, such as depicts, for example, Augustus’ Res Gestae. Given our knowledge of such missions, the situation described by Augustus and Appian may apply not only to solicitors of Roman conquest but also to client kingdoms seeking direct rule. The provincialization of Judea is a case in point. THE ROUTINE OF GOVERNMENT Herod was old and sick when he died in 4 BCE. His death could not have come as a surprise to the Roman government. But, especially in light of the turmoil that engulfed the kingdom after his death, the question ought to be raised of to what extent Rome was prepared for the day after Herod. His reign was long and stable. Indeed, from the Roman point of view, it would have appeared as relatively peaceful, especially when taking into account that this was the turbulent Near East, and the fact that, prior to the installation of the Idumean as king in 37 BCE, the region was given to much unrest.46 Certainly, it would have been in the empire’s best interests to maintain the calm achieved during this period. It is thus important to ask what knowledge the Roman administration had regarding the real stability of Herod’s multiethnic realm, and what action was planned based on this knowledge. By ‘knowledge’ here I refer both to a general understanding of the various local groups and their special problems, and to actual information from

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the field, regarding levels of popular displeasure and unrest among Herod’s subjects. That is to say, when attempting to analyze decisions made by Roman officials, especially regarding the matters of Jews in Herod’s kingdom, it is first essential to try to estimate what general perception was held by the Roman administration with regard to the region and its inhabitants. Such an image would have been based on familiarity with a variety of factors, such as major events in Jewish history, the tenets of the Jewish religion, and the opinions (and prejudices) held by the neighboring non-Jewish world with regard to the Jews. It is once such a perception is reproduced—even if only in the most general terms—that the channels of real-time information available to Roman decision-makers should be identified and examined. Typical examples of such channels of intelligence would be reports from Roman officials of the region, as well as information delivered by provincials themselves—both Jewish and otherwise—by means of embassies to Roman officials and, frequently, to the emperor himself. This, in turn, should supply an informed background for the ultimate decisions taken by Augustus—not to annex Judea initially in 4 BCE, and then to annex it in 6 CE. As will be shown, there is little on which to base a view according to which the Roman administration was apprehensive of a potential lack of Jewish submissiveness throughout the process. The problem of ingrained Jewish rebelliousness should be highlighted in such an examination. Much in the Roman attitude towards the Jews after Herod’s death may be interpreted in different ways, depending on whether we think that the Jews were already seen at this early point as being highly prone to revolt. The topic was identified and discussed even in antiquity, and has been subject to much debate in modern scholarship. Josephus puts the following words in the mouth of Titus, as he addresses the Jews after the burning of the Temple: ‘You have been the men that have never left off rebelling since Pompey first conquered you, and have, since that time, made open war with the Romans.’47 In accordance with Titus’ alleged allegations, some scholars identify in Judaism itself a ‘necessary background component,’ which would have been directly involved in pushing the Jews repeatedly towards resistance to any form of foreign rule.48 This approach is seemingly in line with such allegations against the Jews as that expressed by a late second-century Philostratus, who states that ‘the Jews have long been rebelling not only against the Romans but against all humanity.’49 It is true that Tacitus, on a rare occasion of generosity towards the Jews, blames the province’s procurators alone for driving Judea to revolt.50 But it should be noted that the approach that goes so far as to recognize a Jewish ‘tradition of rebellion,’ from the time of Pompey onwards, regards maladministration as a trigger that merely accelerated existing processes.51 On the other hand, other scholars object to a differentiation between Jews and other provincial populations based on subordination, or the lack thereof. Where attested, it is claimed, Jewish opposition is not significantly different from other provincial resistance movements, neither in scale nor

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in cause.52 Whether for reasons of taxes, religion, or otherwise, provincial revolts occurred frequently across the empire during the first century of the Principate, and they remained a continuing problem thereafter. The Jews may by no means be regarded as a special case against such a background, and should therefore not be assumed to have been more committed than others to the concept of revolt. Naturally, such a notion makes possible the ascription of the outbreak of revolt to a large extent to the incompetence of one procurator.53 This latter point of view appears to be supported by an analysis of Roman perceptions of the Jews, as expressed by Roman writers. The analysis examines the writings of Seneca, Martial, Tacitus, Juvenal, Suetonius, and others, and finds no overwhelming indication of a particular Roman apprehension regarding Jewish rebelliousness, not even after the first great revolt occurred.54 Such writers, it is claimed, may have recognized strange and outlandish aspects in Jewish customs; but Jews in themselves would not have constituted an issue important enough to encourage a serious research, and would not have been a group noticeable enough to provoke long-simmering hostility.55 Insofar as regards the decades that followed the first Jewish revolt, these claims will be put to the test in Chapter Five, where a reality of ongoing Roman suspicion will be presented that did not necessarily find reflection in the writings of contemporary authors. At the time of Herod’s death, however, there is very little to negate a hypothesis of general Roman unconcern. The significance of Roman knowledge of previous conflicts in the region should be assessed with caution. To be sure, the former success of the Maccabees in their uprising against the Seleucid house would have been known in Rome, but need not have created a prejudice essentially different from that formed by knowledge of similar events of uprising in the history of other newly acquired provinces.56 By the same token, the clashes with Rome in 63 and 37 BCE happened both at a very early stage in the relationship between Rome and the Jews, and in a region still in great turmoil. Once again, such clashes need not have been interpreted any differently from the regular tension, highly familiar to the Roman administration, that was prevalent for a variety of reasons in recently or partly subjugated areas. That is not to say that a natural proclivity towards revolt could not emerge under particular circumstances of unrelenting local antagonism towards Roman rule, nor that the Roman administration was oblivious to the possibility of such antagonistic populations existing within the empire.57 At the very least, if we wish to consider the Jews as naturally rebellious, we should allow for some time to elapse before we can clearly state that the Roman administration could appreciate such a tendency. Accumulating experience of unrest in Judea in particular, and within Jewish communities across the Roman world in general, would have been key for the consolidation in antiquity of a universal perception of the Jews as insubordinate, such as was expressed by Philostratus and quoted earlier. A statement like

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that naturally had a wide basis of evidence on which to rely. At the time of Herod’s death, on the other hand, little in the history of the Jewish relationships with neighbors and local powers would have made Judea stand out from the crowd. In addition, a differentiation must be sustained between a possible general Jewish proclivity towards insubordination and an anti-Roman sentiment. Modern enumerations of such events of unrest as appear in Josephus frequently create the false impression that, once the Romans had set foot in the region, all opposition was aimed solely at them. At least until Archelaus’ banishment in 6 CE that was not always the case. The falling out between the Hasmonean Hyrcanus and Aristobulus over the succession of their mother, Salome Alexandra, led the former to seek Rome’s support, which fact resulted in his installation by Pompey as ethnarch in 63 BCE. The declared anti-Roman message of Aristobulus, which saw him seek Parthian support in his struggle against his brother, did not hinder him from accepting two legions from Caesar during the civil war. And, as will be shown presently, the major rebellion that broke out in Jerusalem after Herod’s death was hardly anti-Roman in nature, and, though it probably started spontaneously, it was fueled by a popular hatred of the Herodian dynasty, and by the hope of bringing it to an end. It would appear, then, that, at the time of Herod’s death, there was still little reason for the Roman government and officials to identify a rebellious nature in the Jews, or to expect a revolt instinctively. Roman imperialism by this time was an experienced process, whose organizational memory would have preserved lessons learned in numerous provincial pacification operations, some stretching across decades. Spain and Pannonia would have seemed to the Augustan administration much more prone to rebellion than post-Herodian Judea. It remains, therefore, to examine the events that followed Herod’s death, and to assess the influence they had on the Roman government, and on its consequent decisions with regard to the governance of Judea. The possibility that there were no prearranged Roman plans to incorporate the kingdom into the provincial system at this stage must be highlighted. Preparations for the annexation of client kingdoms could be made by the Roman administration in advance, when time was ripe for such a move, or when the monarch had no expected successor. And, on many occasions, it was the king himself who bequeathed his kingdom to the emperor (or to the Roman people) in his will.58 The general problem of the annexation of client kingdoms has been addressed earlier, and various possible reasons for such a move have been pointed out, not least the individual prestige that could be gained by an extension of areas directly under Roman control, and economic considerations, aiming at the maximization of profit for the empire. Aspects of security have also been emphasized as occasionally guiding the Roman administration in making the decision to annex a client kingdom. Above all, it has been persuasively shown that the primary motivation for such a move would have been Rome’s advantage.59

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Herod is said to have been authorized by Augustus to name his own successor.60 The king’s repeated rewriting of his will until the very last days of his life, his uninterrupted succession by Archelaus as king of Judea, and the apparent support of this succession by Syria’s governor Varus all clearly indicate that, as far as the Augustan administration was concerned, time had not arrived yet for the region, or for parts of it, to be incorporated into the provincial system. Certainly, Augustus had no pressing need for the symbolic gains that could have been derived from such an extension of the empire’s boundaries. And any extra profit was probably not considered significant enough to justify annexation. Above all, it should be realized that there could have existed no Roman apprehension regarding the possibility of losing control over the kingdom. As will be shown ahead, such apprehension may have emerged for a fleeting moment after Herod’s death, when his kingdom sank into turmoil. And similar fears may well have been the cause for the removal of Archelaus in 6 CE. But, going on the available evidence, Augustus must have hoped to find in Archelaus a second Herod. Moving forward to Judea’s provincialization, we do not know much more about Judea’s governors than Josephus tells us. Yet, judging by the attention accorded by both Josephus and Tacitus to the problems that occurred during Pontius Pilate’s term in office, it must be assumed that trouble, had it occurred at any given time between 6 and 41, would have been recorded in the sources still available to us. It is for this reason that, before allowing Pontius Pilate to take over the narrative, we should remind ourselves that this individual was in all likelihood exceptional, and that his term in office should therefore not be regarded as representative of Roman governance in Judea throughout the period. Though obvious, this fallacy occurs all too often with the disaster of 66–70 lurking just around the corner. Schürer, even as he emphasizes the unique independence of the Sanhedrin and the great deference shown to Jewish religious sensitivity, is nonetheless hasty to denounce the Roman administration, drawing a line between theory and practice: ‘Roman officials on the spot were constantly inclined to treat these niceties with indifference.’61 Given the fact that Schürer refers in this passage only to the years 6–41, it is easy to recognize the effects of Pontius Pilate’s governorship in distorting his view. The problem of images, for example, had reportedly been acknowledged and successfully dealt with by the predecessors of Pontius Pilate long before his arrival. Throughout the initial two decades of its provincialization, the prefects of Judea are said by Josephus to have respected the Jewish abhorrence of images, and to have presented in Jerusalem only those standards that complied with the Jewish law.62 Pilate is reported to have presented image-bearing standards in Jerusalem, in a direct challenge of the understanding that prevailed between the Jews and the previous Roman prefects. On this particular issue it would be hard to ascribe ignorance to Pilate. We should, of course, not assume that he was fluent in the intricate practices of Judaism’s several contemporary streams. But the problem of images had

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been acknowledged and successfully dealt with by his predecessors long before his arrival. Furthermore, Josephus reports that the effigies were brought into Jerusalem in the night time; it thus may be assumed that Pilate expected opposition, and merely miscalculated the force of the reaction. If anything, his action may be regarded as an attempt to test the limits of the Jews’ tolerance, and the relative peacefulness of the region must have given him confidence in this attempt. The fact that he withdrew from his plan as soon as Jewish opposition proved to be unrelenting should demonstrate that no confrontation was sought over the issue, and that the upkeep of the current calm was judged to be more valuable. It is noteworthy that in Philo’s version of probably the same event, put in the mouth of Agrippa I in his letter to the emperor Gaius, it is Tiberius himself who is notified by the Jews of Pilate’s act, and it is his own interference with the work of the procurator—through an angry immediate letter—that puts an end to the conflict, and restores calm to the province.63 The governor of Syria’s visit to Jerusalem upon Pilate’s removal must have made clear to the Jews themselves the existence and nature of Roman sympathy. Upon arrival Vitellius remitted to the inhabitants of the city all taxes on the sale of agricultural produce, and agreed that the vestments of the high priest should be kept in the custody of the Temple priests.64 This was not the only occasion on which he acted benevolently towards the Jews and showed respect for their religion. When marching against Aretas IV of Nabatea, he diverted the course of the army in accordance with their request, in order to avoid once again the presentation of image-bearing standards in Judea.65 Shortly thereafter he is said to have offered sacrifice to the God of the Jews.66 Claudius acted on a more universal level in favor of the Jews. Recognizing that, because of the restrictions of their religion, the position of the Jews was fragile across the empire, he made in his Alexandrian edict a direct reference to his predecessor’s ‘madness’ in wishing to be worshipped as a god by the Jews. He then issued a second edict, which reaffirmed the rights and freedom of cult of the Jews, wherever in the empire they were settled.67 A demonstration of the implementation of this policy may be found in the quick action taken in 41–42 by Petronius, while still governor of Syria, in response to the infringement of the Jewish law by the Greek community at Dora. Petronius sent a letter to the magistrates of the city, where he directly referred to Claudius’ recent edicts and subjoined them to his own reproach.68 He also added a practical reason for his insistence on the matter: ‘both I myself, and King Agrippa, for whom I have the highest honour, have nothing more under our care, than that the nation of the Jews may have no occasion given them of getting together, under the pretense of avenging themselves, and become tumultuous.’ This motivation was certainly shared by Claudius as well. His policy regarding the Jews was clearly implemented by the governors of Syria and

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the procurators of Judea after Agrippa’s death. As before, whenever there occurred a breach in the guidelines dictated by the emperor, the Jewish population of Judea was quick to complain to a higher authority and to find satisfaction with the attention accorded to their plight, and with its solution. Peacefulness apparently persisted through the terms of Cuspius Fadus and Tiberius Iulius Alexander as procurators of Judea, and until 48 there is little indication of tension in the region.69 Fadus put an end to the insignificant movement of Theudas; his attempt to regain custody over the vestments of the high priest was peacefully thwarted by means of a Jewish embassy to Claudius, authorized by himself and by Syria’s governor, Cassius Longinus.70 And Alexander executed the sons of Judas the Galilean—the ‘original’ rebel—perhaps because they were suspected of continuing their father’s opposition to Roman rule.71 From 6 to 64, then, on the whole, the system appears to have functioned well and stably from the official Roman point of view, and it is obvious that the Roman officials and the Jewish population learned each other’s limits early and quickly, and, for the most part, tried to comply with them.72 To take this statement still further, the idea that Judea’s procurators were either generally incompetent or hostile to the Jews appears to be widely off the mark; it is based more on Josephus’ formulaic discourse than on the events he depicts, and it is heavily influenced by the alleged faults and failures of the one procurator on whose shift the crisis actually started—Gessius Florus.73 The universal and inevitable hardships that Roman imperialism brought with it aside, the Roman administration was alert to the specific sensitivities of the Jews—and flexible enough to supply solutions in most cases. The avoidance of the presentation of image-bearing standards in Jerusalem was mentioned earlier; the Romans were also careful not to produce imagebearing coins in the mint at Caesarea; and Jews were exempt from appearing before a Roman magistrate on a Sabbath.74 Such examples of routine consideration represent better the reality of foreign rule in Judea than those occasions when a Roman procurator failed to keep the peace, or a Roman emperor threatened to disrupt it. And, to be sure, judging by the insignificant military presence in the region, as well as by the low rank of the officials sent to govern it, it may not be assumed that the Roman administration feared a full-scale rebellion. Occasional riots and disturbances, on the other hand, would have been a regular part of the reality of imperialism, whether for common reasons, such as the pressure caused by taxation or military drafts, or for more specific reasons, individual to each region and its particular nature.75 Just how much free will the local population could exercise in the face of state intervention when choosing to adopt Roman ways of settlement and civic routine is an issue still in debate, with the answer resting probably somewhere in the mid-range of the pendulum.76 The reality of coexistence between locals and settlers has been underplayed by recent scholarship in favor of an emphasis on moments of tension.

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Sources for Britain, once again, add significant detail to this same discussion. Archaeology has revealed on more than one occasion representations of Roman deference towards indigenous practices, even in briefly occupied Scotland.77 In a moment of typical criticism towards one of the province’s more lenient governors, Tacitus recounts, ‘Britain was then under Vettius Bolanus, who governed more mildly than suited so turbulent a province.’78 The circumstances of Bolanus’ governorship will be examined in Chapter Four of this book, since his nomination and term in office, from 69 to 71, still no doubt fell under the long shade of the Boudican revolt of 60–61. Yet the question of what ruling mildly a province—turbulent or not—specifically entailed remains pertinent also for the routine conduct of governors and, more broadly, of emperors themselves. For the latter, Pliny’s Panegyricus supplies general lines for desired conduct, albeit in the most general of terms.79 The emperor, it is suggested, is best advised to reconcile between rivaling cities, and to calm restlessness among the people, not so much by authority and power as by reason. He is to intervene in the acts of unlawful magistrates, and to reverse and render void unjust undertakings. Essentially, he is to be omnipresent, see everything, hear everything, and always be ready to assist one and all. This idealization of the emperor’s role may easily be dismissed as part of Pliny’s rhetoric, or as serving the familiar topos of the ‘good governor.’80 Fronto’s sinister curtness, on the other hand, may be taken to represent the other extremity, when he demands of his emperor seditiosos compescere, feroces territare.81 It is, as always, the fine details of daily routine that breathe life into such high slogans. There is irony in the fact that it is Tacitus again, castigating placidity in others, who supplies us in his extolment of Agricola with solid contents to fill in Pliny’s mold, and, in effect, with an elaborate example of what may be regarded as the quintessential mild governorship. Agricola appears to have held a clear idea of the local mind and the ways to secure its cooperation:82 Next, with thorough insight into the feelings of his province, and taught also, by the experience of others, that little is gained by conquest if followed by oppression, he determined to root out the causes of war. Beginning first with himself and his dependants, he kept his household under restraint, a thing as hard to many as ruling a province. He transacted no public business through freedmen or slaves; no private leanings, no recommendations or entreaties of friends, moved him in the selection of centurions and soldiers, but it was ever the best man whom he thought most trustworthy. He knew everything, but did not always act on his knowledge. Trifling errors he treated with leniency, serious offences with severity. Nor was it always punishment, but far oftener penitence, which satisfied him. He preferred to give office and power to men who would not transgress, rather than have to condemn

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Several indicators suggest that provincial issues played in the background of Agricola’s arrival in Britain. At that point in time, the local Roman administration would have had the recently conquered peoples of Wales to organize— above all the Silures and the Ordovices.83 And, perhaps as a result of the intense focus put by his predecessor, Frontinus, on campaigning abroad, the province itself became restless.84 Just and sensible governance stands out as the single most essential element in Agricola’s conciliatory approach; the key to achieving this purpose lies in the wise and selective appointment of public officials. Tacitus, of course, makes Agricola the exemplar of this governing philosophy. We can easily imagine Suetonius Paullinus’ term in office, which had suffered the eruption of the Boudican revolt, as the negative example set before Agricola’s eyes. There is no reason why we should not assume that, at least for those predecessors of Agricola whom we know shared his positive approach towards the provincials, Suetonius Paullinus’ experience served as an example too. While the specific details escape us, we can at least imagine Turpilianus, Trebellius, and probably also Bolanus working to assure that the locals would have no grievances to complain about.85 As was shown earlier, it is perhaps demonstrative of the obviousness of the governor’s order of priorities that Trebellius was blamed by Roscius Caelius (and condemned by Tacitus) for turning his greed towards the plunder and impoverishment not of the local population but of the Roman troops themselves.86 Indeed, the caution adopted by governors in Britain after the Boudican revolt—perhaps even until as late as Agricola’s term in office, some two decades later—may be ascribed to the poignant memory of the violent event and the following actions of the governor then, Suetonius Paullinus. Yet the measures adopted by such magistrates as Agricola need not be seen as prescribed only in provinces with violent provincial history. Staying in Britain, it is worthwhile examining events prior to the Boudican revolt, which may have a bearing on the topic of the Roman administration’s consideration towards the local population. The only other group that the sources name as having taken active part in the Boudican revolt is that of the Trinovantes, who had become a part of the province upon their defeat soon after the Roman invasion in 43. Tacitus includes two reasons that would have driven the Trinovantes to join an opposition movement against the Roman authorities: the rapacity of the settlers in the colony at Camulodunum, and the temple of Claudius, built there after the emperor’s death in 54. The contribution of these two issues to the choice of the Trinovantes to join the Boudican revolt should be appraised, since it may well have been the case that a cause for grievance appeared only soon before the events of 60–61, already under Paullinus’

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governorship. Regarding the colony we hear that ‘it was against the veterans that [the rebels’] hatred was most intense; for the new settlers in the colony of Camulodunum drove people out of their houses, ejected them from their farms, called them captives and slaves, and the lawlessness of the veterans was encouraged by the soldiers, who lived a similar life and hoped for similar license.’87 How might Tacitus’ account of the ill treatment of locals by colonists be accommodated within this picture? In order to answer this question the foundation of the colony at Camulodunum needs to be examined in more detail. About Scapula’s reasons for founding a colony of veterans Tacitus says,88 But on the Silures neither terror nor mercy had the least effect; they persisted in war and could be quelled only by legions encamped in their country. That this might be the more promptly effected, a colony of a strong body of veterans was established at Camulodunum on the conquered lands, as a defense against the rebels, and as a means of imbuing the allies with respect for our laws. Both reasons given by the historian for the establishment of the colony deserve a careful and critical scrutiny, as the latter one has indeed already won. The idea that it was a deliberate aspect of Roman policy to introduce to local communities Roman culture and lifestyle, and that the latter was at all homogenous enough to be introduced as such, has been questioned on many respects.89 Above all we know that local leaders themselves participated actively in the adoption of various Roman ‘improvements’—such that involved, for example, civil institutions, town planning and facilities, coinage, and the imperial cult.90 More directly related to the problem discussed here, it should be noted that colonies of veterans were not regularly used under the Principate as propugnacula imperii—namely, they were not frequently located in recently pacified or hostile territories. In most cases, they were allocated either vacated or unworked lands and not in agri captivi.91 Feats of expansion, it has been shown, created the circumstances for the foundation of new colonies on lands given up by the advancing legions, which fact may explain the emergence of such settlements under Claudius, the Flavians, and Trajan, and the termination of the phenomenon under Hadrian. Possible incentives for the foundation of these colonies include the mitigation of socially disruptive effects of peak discharges of veterans, and perhaps also their costs. But even this rough sketch of circumstances alone produces serious questions regarding the exact nature of the private case of Camulodunum. Surely, Tacitus depicts at one and the same time a colony given the location and lands of the advancing XX Valeria Victrix, and one that is established on agri captivi, subsidium adversus rebellis. Was the colony at Camulodunum a typical retirement place for a recently discharged cohort of veterans, or was it a rare example of the use of such a settlement as a propugnaculum imperii?

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It is perhaps the long shadow of the Boudican revolt and the gloomy fate of the colony, cast in this case retrospectively, that makes most modern scholars readily adopt Tacitus’ explicit words, while neglecting the underlying, conflicting reality that is represented by the historian’s own broader narrative. In fact, it is highly unlikely that the colony was designed by Scapula, nor conceived by his successors, as a serious barrier against potential local hostility. As was mentioned earlier, both Tacitus and archaeology show that the colony was not fortified when first put on the ground. And the general deployment of forces across the island, as shown in the next section, shifted constantly and rapidly towards the frontlines of expansion campaigns. If there is anything that proves that the colony at Camulodunum was not meant to substitute for regular forces, it is the fact that in 60–61 it was found to be completely reliant on what little available forces could come to its succor. It was never expected to serve as reinforcement for the first lines of defense against the sudden attack; if anything, its plight may be seen to have worked to undermine the functioning of the first available reserve forces.92 On the other hand, other parameters hint at a more conventional colonization project. That at the time of the foundation of the colony there may be witnessed a ‘peak discharge’ is recognized even by those who make Camulodunum a fortress of imperialism.93 Furthermore, in addition to the telling fact that the settlement had no fortifications, it is clear from the plan of the colony that the grid system was located on an unoccupied land. It leaned to the west against the fortress that was adjacent to the Sheepen site—one of the two preconquest occupation sites in Camulodunum.94 The fortress itself was located at the very eastern point of the Sheepen site, and has been seen as ‘paying respect’ to the site.95 The choice of the location of the new city, further to the east, beyond the extreme point of the fortress, may thus appear to have followed the original intention not to disturb or threaten the functioning of the local center. Above all, it is Tacitus’ assertion that the colony was built as a ‘defense against the rebels’ that should be suspected as heavily biased and little informed. The mention of rebels here most likely refers to the revolt in 47 of the neighboring Iceni, treated by him in the immediately preceding passage. It has already been suggested in the previous chapter that Tacitus may have tried to ascribe to Scapula precaution in a situation highly reminiscent of the circumstances that, a decade later, were to produce the Boudican revolt. It is easy to imagine how, following the Boudican revolt, Scapula could have been retrospectively perceived by some of Tacitus’ readers as reckless in withdrawing the legion garrisoning Camulodunum for campaigns in the west not two years after his disarmament project had incited the Iceni to revolt. One option, then, is that Tacitus wished to defend from such accusations a governor whose actions were in line with the historian’s own support of expansionist policy. Alternatively, the claim that Camulodunum had been established to substitute for regular troops may have been meant to go hand

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in hand with the ideas of the ‘civilizing mission’ allotted by Tacitus to the Romans. The fallacy behind either option is apparent, and the possibility that we are in fact witnessing an example of Tacitean inventiveness is reinforced by the fact that no other coloniae are known in Britain until the foundation in the 90s of Colonia Domitiana Lindensium (at Lincoln) and Colonia Nervia Glevensium (at Gloucester).96 That is, for about another four decades, during the heat of expansion, when forces were constantly mobilized forward, there was no resort by the Roman administration to the security that wellplaced colonies of veterans allegedly would have offered.97 It is a circular argument to claim that that was a result of the experience of the downfall of the colony at Camulodunum. Other than Tacitus’ sentence, all evidence suggests that no such use of colonies was made in Britain to begin with. At least as far as the Roman administration in 49 was concerned, the colony at Camulodunum was not an island of Romanness installed within a sea of local hostility, but an unfenced settlement located well within the Roman province, next to a local center with which it was meant to coexist. Not only did the settlement of veterans established by Claudius in 50 as Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium (modern Cologne) manage to coexist since its foundation alongside the local population of the Ubii, but also its presence apparently made the Ubii by 69–70 loyal enough to Rome to resist vigorously the attempts made by Iulius Civilis to recruit them to his ‘national’ cause.98 This point should be highlighted when examining the motivation of the Trinovantes to join the Boudican revolt. Tension should not be taken for granted. What exactly was the nature of such a dramatic failure in coexistence a decade after the colony’s foundation? The issue of the agri captivi seems to have featured prominently in the conflict, and should be looked at more closely. Tacitus’ narrative has frequently been read as though the grievance of the locals originated from the allotment to the colony of lands taken by the Roman government for the purpose of the settlement’s foundation.99 Tacitus indeed refers to agri captivi in his passage on the foundation of the colony quoted earlier, but it is important to read his Latin carefully. In saying colonia . . . deducitur in agros captivos, he makes use of a verb often employed for describing the leading forth of a colony to a place. And deducere is often followed by in with an accusative, whose purpose is to denote into which, or what kind of, place the colony was conducted.100 What Tacitus is in fact saying is that a colony was established ‘on the conquered lands,’ and we have to assume that the lands used in the process were ones that already had the status of captivi before the colony was founded. This is, of course, quite plausible in light of the Trinovantes’ initial opposition to the Roman invasion, and the necessity of the invading armies—led by Claudius himself—to take Camulodunum by force. More may be deduced about early Roman activity in the immediate neighborhood of the local center from the fact that a legion and some auxiliary units were stationed at

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Camulodunum, which was in all likelihood made into the administrative center of the new province. Roman legions and auxiliary units required their own territoria (or prata) around the town, from which they would have obtained wood, grain, fish, and other such items. These territoria consisted of large amounts of provincial land, and certain soldiers would have been authorized to employ locals dwelling on these grounds for the delivery of such supplies.101 It should be emphasized that there is abundant evidence for the careful delineation of these territories by army surveyors. Spain and Dalmatia, for example, supply inscriptions that relate directly to a differentiation between legionary territory and other land, and we hear of governors, procurators, centurions, and primipili involved in the settlement of territorial disputes and the establishment of boundary lines.102 Legio XX, stationed at Camulodunum since the invasion, would not have acted differently in the six years that elapsed until its mobilization to the front with the Silures. Notably, the sites of both the legionary fortress and the fort of the auxiliary forces were located to the side of the indigenous center in Camulodunum, and it has been suggested that this was done specifically in order to pay respect to the local center.103 Tacitus’ words should make it clear that the new colony took its place on the agri captivi from 43, and should therefore be regarded as a colony established on vacated land—in accordance with the prevailing Roman practice noted earlier. We know little of the actual size of the territory involved, but it is unnecessary to imagine a need for additional annexation of land upon the foundation of the colony.104 Where such a need might have occurred, it is plausible to surmise that land would have been purchased rather than confiscated; after all, the same status quo with the local population that would have allowed the withdrawal of military forces hardly would have allowed for the forced confiscation of land.105 Camulodunum may be an early example, but there is nothing unusual in the process, and we know that military surveyors from the relevant legions were frequently employed in the centuriation required for the establishment of such new colonies on lands vacated by the army.106 The point in stressing these likely circumstances for the establishment of the colony at Camulodunum in 49 is twofold. First, there is nothing in the evidence that suggests that the Trinovantes perceived as a grievance the mere foundation of the colony. While they were condemned to suffer the loss of land and property as the losing side in the war, they may very well have welcomed the departure of the legion in 49, and its replacement by a smaller body of settlers. Secondly, and more importantly, whatever tension followed at Camulodunum and its immediate vicinity after the foundation of the colony should be related to specific problems in the forced coexistence of veterans and locals, and not to official Roman policy in Britain. The encroachment on indigenous property described by Tacitus is never presented as a formal act, guided by Roman officials, and no new agri captivi are known to have been annexed to the colony. Quite to the contrary, the

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pressure put by the colonists on private local lands may have been symptomatic of a shortage of land for settlers. Tacitus’ reference to the perpetrators of offenses against the indigenous population as in coloniam Camulodunum recens deducti is regularly taken to represent the entire body of settlers, having arrived in Camulodunum recently—that is, a decade earlier, in 49. But, perhaps more accurately, Tacitus’ qualification may have referred to a much smaller group within the settlers—namely, to those people who arrived most recently in the standing colony of Camulodunum, after the pioneer group had established the settlement and was allotted most available land. Such a reading would offer a plausible explanation for the need of landless individuals to encroach on neighboring lands, and for the tacit approval of troops—themselves potential future newcomers to the colony. Tacitus’ account makes it all too clear who should have been held responsible for the ongoing discomfort of the indigenous population. By ascribing to the settlers—all of them, or just the newcomers—the vices of impotentia and licentia, and by implying the collaboration of the attendant troops, he in fact suggests that there were also other, lawful ways to run a colony, and that, quite as in the parallel story of the annexation of the Iceni, it was the way in which the idea was implemented, rather than its mere occurrence, that brought about the ruinous consequences. Needless to say, even such wrongdoings as described by Tacitus, perpetrated by private individuals, should be seen as part of the overall responsibility of the governor of the province, for he alone would have been held accountable for the well-being of the province by the emperor. The issue ought to be considered of the extent to which such injurious activity, taking place in this case just outside the administrative center of the province, would have been noticed and minded by the governor or his subordinates. Regarding the other possible cause for the rebellion of the Trinovantes, Tacitus says, ‘In addition, a temple erected to the Divine Claudius was ever before their eyes, like a fortress of eternal oppression; men chosen as priests squandered their fortunes on the semblance of religion.’107 Obviously given as part of the explanation for the general resentment of members of the Trinovantes towards Roman presence, Tacitus’ statement is nevertheless not altogether clear, especially in its latter part. The podium of the temple of Claudius was discovered in the vaults of Colchester Castle, and its dimensions indicate that the building itself was indeed monumental.108 The possibility first ought to be considered that Tacitus, knowing of the location and size of the temple, merely inferred retrospectively, given the fact that the Trinovantes ended up joining the revolt, that it must have been looked upon as a symbol of tyranny by them. He seems to be reading the local mind quite in a similar fashion when he remarks that ‘it appeared no difficult matter to destroy the colony, undefended as it was by fortifications.’109 It is at least essential that we read his remark on the temple in context, attaching itself closely as it does to the preceding report on the conduct of the settlers and their plunder of local property in the vicinity of the

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oppidum. The comment on the temple is divided into two parts, not necessarily directly relating to each other. The first part comes immediately after an ad hoc, and it would therefore be most natural to read it as referring back to the report on the conduct of the settlers, and, in fact, as deriving from it. That is to say, read in context, the reference to the local resentment towards the temple should be taken not as a statement of absolute Trinovantian abhorrence of Roman religion and all attributes related to it, but as a specific comment on an object that kept reminding those who saw it of a current reality of oppression. Regardless of the context, Tacitus’ own words in fact suggest exactly this idea, as they make the presence of the temple a symbol of tyranny, rather than the reality of one—quasi arx aeternae dominationis aspiciebatur. It is important to linger over this point, since the reading suggested here allows us to dismiss modern accounts that add to the heap of ‘causes’ the ever-elusive factor of religion. Some scholars would, for example, go as far as to claim that the Boudican revolt was in fact a ‘religious war,’ which broke out in response to Suetonius Paullinus’ campaign against the stronghold of the Druids on the island of Mona.110 But other than the concurrence of the two events there is little to support such a view. None of the sources mentions the Druids in relation to the revolt. Paullinus is reported by Tacitus still to have been occupied with securing the island when word of the outbreak of rebellion in the east reached him.111 It is quite likely therefore that knowledge of his conquest of Mona and action against the island’s sacred groves had not yet reached the east of Britain. And, to be sure, an evaluation of the effect of any Roman action that harmed the Druids, or even targeted them specifically, should take into consideration the much weakened status of this religious and political elite by the middle of the first century CE. While the reasons for the deterioration in Druidic power may still be debatable, it is widely recognized that, starting with the Roman conquest of Gaul, the traditional role of the Druids as mediators between human beings and gods could no longer coexist with the rising power of the secular elite, not only in Gaul but also in LPRIA Britain.112 By the time of the Boudican revolt it by no means may be taken for granted that the presence of Druids in a battle fought on the island of Mona, or even the consequent Roman action against sacred Druidic sites, would have provoked a sympathetic indigenous reaction in the east. Just as the fact that the colony at Camulodunum was not walled does not constitute a cause for revolt, the mere existence of the temple ought not to be taken as more than a red cloth waving before the eyes of the plundered locals, set in any case to seek retribution. Arguably it is the desire to explain Tacitus’ alleged statement on religious tension that encourages modern interpretations of the second part of the historian’s remark to adopt a distorted translation of the actual words in the Latin. All that Tacitus says is that the chosen priests wasted their fortunes on the ‘semblance’ of religion.113 Yet, most available translations, and certainly most modern

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interpretations of the statement, infer that these priests were elite members of the Trinovantes, and that they were compelled by Roman authorities to spend their fortune on the cult.114 Thus, the second part of the comment may be harnessed to a reading of its first part that sees the actual practice of Roman religion in Camulodunum as a cause for revolt. It has been noted that, while the two inferences mentioned earlier may have been implied by Tacitus, other options should be kept in mind: the priests could have been wealthy Roman citizens; or they could indeed have been members of the Trinovantes, but ones who embraced the office for the improved status that it brought and spent on it willingly. It is difficult to determine Tacitus’ intention in formulating the remark. It would not be too far-fetched to see here yet another example of his customary cynicism, centered on his fascination with the ‘semblance of religion,’ or around the spending of fortunes on a doomed project. To be sure, he does not seem to suggest that the priests themselves had joined the opposition movement. If of indigenous origin, we might in fact imagine that they were specifically targeted for their proRoman choices. MILITARY DEPLOYMENT Spheres of Roman influence are often difficult to delineate precisely, if only for reason of strong forces of local connectivity that assured constant communication between neighboring regions, located on either side of speciously distinct boundary lines. Campaigns of expansion and conquest of ‘foreign’ territory, settled by ‘barbarians,’ were often conducted, in reality, against political entities already affected in one way or another by the approaching presence of Roman power. By 43 CE, for example, parts of Britain— mostly to the southeast—were already far from being as detached from the Romano-Hellenistic culture and from Roman mechanisms of power as contemporary Roman representations of it persistently suggested.115 It is for this reason that, as we turn to examine the deployment of Roman forces, an emphasis should be placed on well-attested occasions of local resistance to conquest and annexation.116 The rapid demilitarization of areas previously unwelcoming to Roman presence is the extreme case that illuminates all others. In Africa, the sources record intensification of Roman military activity and colonization during the time of Octavian-Augustus. The facts are known and need be mentioned only briefly: the fasti triumphales report a quick succession of triumphs won in Africa early in the reign of Octavian-Augustus: L. Statilius Taurus in 34 BCE; L. Cornificius in 33 BCE; L. Autronius Paetus in 28 BCE; L. Sempronius Atratinus in 21 BCE; and L. Cornelius Balbus in 19 BCE.117 In the year 3 CE the proconsul L. Passienus Rufus received triumphal ornaments for action in Africa.118 And in 6 CE, we learn from coins issued by Juba II and from an account by Dio, a bellum Gaetulicum was

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fought, and another Roman general, Cossus Cornelius Lentulus, emerged triumphant.119 This latter group of the Gaetuli is of interest here. Loosely defined by most ancient authors as ‘southerners,’ they inhabited the southern slopes of the Aures and Atlas mountains, probably as far to the west as the Atlantic Ocean.120 We hear of their activity against Rome in the Jugurthine war, and we find them allied with Caesar in his campaign against Juba I. Yet the effect of Roman imperialism on Gaetulian society and culture at the time of Augustus could not have been significant. Roman colonization projects were, and will probably remain until the second century, too distant and sparse to have had an impact beyond the backbone of the mountain-ridge, and the Roman administration does not appear to have undertaken the task of fully engaging with southern semi-nomadic groups before this time.121 Dio corroborates the notion of a loose, mediated contact with Rome when he reports that in 3 CE the Gaetuli rose against King Juba of Mauretania, discontented for one reason or another and ‘scorning the thought that they, too, should be ruled over by Romans.’122 Such a statement, more than it reflects genuine local sentiments, sheds light on the Roman perception of the extent of Gaetulian motivation to become a part of the provincial system, and hence on the de facto status of the region at the time. To be sure, unrest among the Gaetuli would have been noticed by the Augustan government. Rome’s growing interest in the southern areas bordering on the Roman sphere of influence would have encouraged direct involvement, as would the danger to the stability of a friendly kingdom, one sharing a boundary with the Roman province. We see similar patterns of intervention—shaped essentially by forces of expansion—in various other places in the Roman world.123 Client kingdoms, functioning in more than a few respects similarly to regular Roman provinces, would have witnessed direct Roman intervention in their local affairs as frequently as Roman interests were jeopardized.124 A Gaetulian campaign was thus conducted, which must have seen the mobilization of the bulk of the Roman troops stationed in Africa. Legio III Augusta would have been the core of this force, having been stationed in Africa no later than 30 BCE, and having served since then as the regular legionary garrison for Roman Africa.125 Legio XII Fulminata, or part thereof, probably also participated in the campaign, as we learn from inscriptions.126 To be sure, the legions would have been reinforced by the auxiliary forces of Juba, who is known to have returned from Cappadocia for joining the campaign.127 The intention was no doubt the obtainment of the full submission of the Gaetuli to Roman power, represented in the occasion by the rule of Juba. The victory was achieved in 6 CE, and celebrated both locally and in Rome, with Juba minting coins commemorating the war, and with Lentulus winning the ornamenta triumphalia, and duly assuming the title of Gaetulicus. But to what extent did Roman officials conversant with the vicissitudes of local realpolitik actually believe that the Gaetulian threat to Juba’s kingdom

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had been checked, or that the cooperation of the Gaetuli had been secured? The answer to this question must not be based solely on aspects of celebration and commemoration: Roman propaganda needs often worked to make the best of achievements soon revealed to be insignificant, if not altogether fleeting.128 It will therefore be precarious to deduce from the various representations of the victory about the Roman government’s evaluation of the actual success of the campaign. It is in practical spheres, rather than in symbolic ones, that we should look for symptoms denoting the Roman evaluation of reality in Africa after the bellum Gaetulicum. In terms of colonization, about a dozen colonies were founded in Africa Consularis itself under Augustus, and a similar number may be seen in King Juba’s Mauretania. But insofar as regards the southern reaches of the region, it is the issue of the nature and location of military forces that stands out in what it has to tell us about the relationship between Rome and the Gaetuli after the latter’s initial submission. With the conclusion of the bellum Gaetulicum and the period leading to the revolt of Tacfarinas, conditions for enduring contact between Roman and local cultures changed significantly. Roman troops had taken a further step southwards, beyond the line that connects Cirta and ThubursicuNumidarum, thus bringing expansionist ambition physically into the realm of influence of southern tribes.129 Two acts above all would first make Roman presence tangible in the region. Firstly, Legio III Augusta moved sometime after the Gaetulian War into the city of Ammaedara (Haidra), in the southeast of the territory of the Musulamii.130 Secondly, a new road was built by this legion in 14 CE, under the proconsul L. Nonius Asprenas, from Ammaedara to Capsa (Gafsa), and from there to the port of Tacapae (Gabes) on the western shore of the Lesser Syrtis.131 With the violent eruption of the Tacfarinian rebellion looming large just behind the horizon (in the year 17 CE), the picture of the relationship between the local population in the southern reaches of the province and the Roman administration during this period is of acute relevance. The archaeology of the areas in question has come up with no more than conjectures regarding the outbreak of the revolt, mostly related to the impact of the encounter between the arriving Romans and the indigenous societies. Most of these modern interpretations adopt a point of view sympathetic with imagined local hardships, and assume an oppressive Roman approach. One distinct theory relates to the road built from Ammaedara to Capsa, and from there to Tacapae, and thought to have intercepted migration routes of the Musulamii, thus allegedly interfering with the local pastoral routine of migration.132 Another hypothesis suggests that intense colonization may have led to widespread expropriation of land from local hands.133 Both ideas have been rejected for multiple reasons, related mostly to the lack of evidence and to the absence of supportive examples for such processes from elsewhere.134 Indeed, ideas of tension on these grounds may further be disproved by an examination of the unfolding of the Tacfarinian

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revolt itself, whose duration, geographical scope, and ethnic variety may hardly limit the reasons for tension to such specific causes. But this discussion ought to be postponed until the next chapter, which deals with revolt itself. Here it is the issue of the Roman military’s location and function in the period between conquest and revolt that must be addressed. Firstly, it should be emphasized that all additional legionary forces that had been sent to the area in support of Legio III Augusta during the Gaetulian War—such as Legio XII Fulminata—were withdrawn as soon as victory had been achieved. It is a fact well worth emphasizing—especially for a period immediately following war of conquest—that the III Augusta remained the province’s sole legionary garrison, and the only legion in Africa west of the Nile. The location of this legion should be considered and interpreted with particular attention. Sometime after the conclusion of the war in 6 CE, and still before the death of Augustus in 14, we find the hiberna of this legion in Ammaedra, as indicate inscriptions and the archaeology of the site.135 The legionary fort excavated here, however, does not supply a solution for the entire legion, since its area—some 25 acres—corresponds to the size of no more than half of the legion—five cohorts.136 Evidence for the location of the other five cohorts is sparse, and, based on the location of Augustan colonies, roads, and archaeological finds, the areas of Tripolitania and Sicca Veneria supply the most likely solutions.137 Locally recruited auxiliary forces no doubt served heavily in supporting the legion’s activity and chores, but it is from the location and deployment of the legion itself that we may learn best about the Roman administration’s policy and aims. Imagining a relatively thin spread of legionary units along the line that connected Sicca, Ammaedara, and Triploitania, still within friendly territory, suggests an outward-facing orientation, aimed perhaps initially at defense from without, but, ultimately, also at further expansion.138 To be sure, the employment of the legion in the building of a road suggests the absence of tension—at least as far as the Roman administration was able to perceive the situation—both among foreign neighboring tribes such as the Garamantes and, crucially, among recently annexed groups, not least the Musulamii themselves. Another issue should be discussed alongside the location of the various military units after the Gaetulian War—namely, the composition of the auxiliary forces. Particularly noteworthy in this respect are the Musulamii, who are considered by scholars to have been the ones suffering most heavily from the presence of legionary troops in Ammaedara, and from the building of the new road to Tacapae. The combination in north Africa of nomadic migration, the lack of clear political and geographical boundaries, and the prevalent use by ancient writers of loose designation for the various local groups has allowed the description of the Musulamii as Gaetulian,139 Numidian,140 or just a separate entity, generally regarded as North African.141 The location of their territory within the Gaetulian region, however, is not in dispute.

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The city of Ammaedra, much relevant to this discussion, was located in the southeastern part of Musulamian land. By 17 CE, the Musulamii became a regular part of the auxiliary force that complemented the activity of Legio III Augusta. Tacfarinas himself is thought to have been a Musulamian leader, who defected from the auxilia with ‘his men’ to start a long and challenging revolt against the Roman administration.142 While the identification of the rebel leader himself as Musulamian—and a prince at that—may be contested, the presence of the Musulamii on the Roman side is undisputed, and should be highlighted here. By this point, a full decade had elapsed since the conclusion of the Gaetulian war, and it may well be the case that they joined the auxiliary forces soon after Lentulus’ victory, still before the relocation of Legio III Augusta into their territory. Even our evidence for the year 14 CE—indicating the building of the road from their territory to Tacapae—may not be easily linked with restlessness among the Musulamii some full three years later. Driving home the point, the presence of Musulamian chiefs—and, by indication, their troops— among the Roman forces fighting against the Tacfarinian revolt is registered as late as in 24 CE, the conflict’s last year, when Dolabella executes several of them for suspecting their loyalty.143 The reservations noted earlier about the possible negative impact of the legionary presence in Ammaedra and the building of the road from there to Tacapae should thus be reiterated and emphasized. While some of the Musulamii may have joined Tacfarinas in his revolt, others, including leaders important enough to raise the suspicion of the Roman governor, remained loyal to the Roman side throughout the years of the revolt. Evidence from elsewhere in the Roman world suggests that Africa was by no means an exceptional case as far as the role and place of the Roman army were concerned. Millar’s discussion of centralization in processes of governmental decision-making under the empire leaves room for some independence of first-century provincial governors in the conduct of foreign affairs.144 It is noteworthy, though, that we do have evidence for active involvement on the part of emperors in provincial affairs, and even of interventions in local initiatives taken by provincial governors. Germany, to be sure, is a case in point. The example of Corbulo’s clashing with the Chauci in 47, the year of Plautius’ return from Britain, is most revealing, and should be cited here:145 That they might not throw off their obedience, he built a fort among them, while he sent envoys to invite the Greater Chauci to submission and to destroy Gannascus by stratagem. This stealthy attempt on the life of a deserter and a traitor was not unsuccessful, nor was it anything ignoble. Yet the Chauci were violently roused by the man’s death, and Corbulo was now sowing the seeds of another revolt, thus getting a reputation which many liked, but of which many thought ill. ‘Why,’

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Dio too suggests that the jealousy of the emperor was the cause of the intervention.146 This interpretation, however, is often used by ancient writers whose topic is the relationship between a weak or ‘bad’ emperor and a successful general. Even if true in this case, it does little to weaken the pacifying effect of the imperial policy on the tense German front.147 In invaded Britain, expansion meant, at first, the purposeful conquest of the entire island—this much can be assumed quite safely. Even if it was merely Dio’s speculation, based upon subsequent events, that Claudius instructed Plautius to subjugate also the ‘remaining districts,’ the departing emperor must have left some policy of the sort with Britain’s first governor. For one, the intense celebration in Claudian propaganda of achievements won in Britain, immediately upon the emperor’s return to Rome, created anticipation that far exceeded the conquest of Britain’s eastern kingdom. In Britain itself, the administration of the invasion wasted no time in making troops available for further advance, as soon as peace was thought to have been consolidated. And it is remarkable that, despite this apparent haste, most of the groups that came to be trusted by the advancing forces to be left at their rear, whether ruled directly or by client kings, did not betray this trust. In what follows it is important to pay careful attention, not only to the progress of the expansion, and to the Roman administration’s choices between action and negotiation when dealing with the local groups, but also to the expectations generated by Rome and the emperor. As the case of the rebellion of Boudica was to demonstrate to Roman ambitions on a devastating scale, the distance between gaining more and risking all could be quite short. In fact, at least down to the year 60, the Roman administration seems to have paid equal attention both to expansion and to consolidation of acquired imperial assets. To be sure, despite their frequent tendency to press forward, the first governors of the province were most unwilling to take too many risks as regarded their rear. It is also evident that this, however, hardly necessitated the suppressive handling of indigenous communities. As seems to have been the case earlier, during the first stages of the invasion, likewise now, when persistent expansion campaigns took place, indigenous opposition to conquest seems to have been subjugated intensely and thoroughly, yet with little predilection on the part of the Roman administration for subsequent punitive measures. Regarding the opening of Agricola’s term in office Tacitus says, ‘Next, with thorough insight into the feelings of his province, and taught also by the experience of others, that little is gained by conquest if followed

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by oppression, he determined to root out the causes of war.’148 He then continues to elaborate on various discomforts of the indigenous population dealt with by the governor, which, we are led to believe, could have encouraged opposition if not taken care of. No doubt, Tacitus’ eulogy may be read also as part of the common topos of ‘the good governor.’149 The fact that it falls in line with our knowledge of several of Agricola’s recent predecessors strongly suggests that, in this case, eulogy matched reality.150 In fact, this approach of Britain’s governors may have served in the background of the gradual withdrawal of garrisons for the sake of further expansion. In the occupied territories and in the client kingdoms that surrounded them, members of the elite were allowed to maintain their wealth and status, as indicated by a variety of data dated to the years soon after the invasion—from rich burials in Camulodunum and Verulamium to rural villas.151 In addition, religious duties might have been given to local notable families.152 We do not have direct evidence, but it is likely that civil administration would have been handed over to them as well, as part of the regular Roman system of mutual benefit that would relieve Roman officials from the responsibility, and that would work to enhance the prestige of the locals involved in the task.153 To be sure, what little evidence we do have supports a picture of a relationship between conqueror and conquered that would not have been based so much on coercion on one side and blind obedience on the other as on an affinity of interest.154 The Trinovantes and the Catuvellauni, the core of the British coalition against which the invasion was initially targeted, seem to have been subdued efficiently by the loss to Claudius of Camulodunum, and by the subsequent presence within this main cultural center of a legion—probably Legio XX— and some additional auxiliary forces.155 In Verulamium a fort has been excavated that was probably built in this subsidiary political center of the Catuvellauni in order to take advantage of the relative centralization of this society.156 The few other forts that have been excavated in this region are seen to have served the function of protecting the communication network, significantly along the road that led north, towards the territory of the Corieltauvi.157 There is no evidence of unrest among the Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes in subsequent years. The fort in Verulamium was probably not occupied for more than five or six years.158 By 49, when the front against the Silures was becoming increasingly demanding, the governor, Ostorius Scapula, was trusting enough to advance the legion stationed in Camulodunum to southern Wales.159 He did leave behind, at Camulodunum itself, a newly founded colony of veterans, specifically, if Tacitus is to be trusted, ‘as a defense against the rebels.’160 The mention of rebels here should not confuse us, as Tacitus is most likely referring to the revolt in 47 of the neighboring Iceni, treated by him in the immediately preceding passage. As we shall see, this disturbance was caused by Scapula’s attempt to disarm the Iceni, and, other than Tacitus’ repeated reference to the ‘rebels,’ there is little to show that the event was actually interpreted as betrayal of loyalty.

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It should be assumed that, when writing these lines, Tacitus had in mind the bloody events of the Boudican revolt, taking place a decade later in that same region when the Roman governor, Suetonius Paullinus, was campaigning on the western shores of the island. By noting Scapula’s precaution in establishing a colony soon after a conflict with a neighboring client kingdom, and just upon advancing a legion westwards, Tacitus in fact tries to defend Britain’s second governor—highly esteemed by him on account of his expansionist projects—from accusations, real or imaginable, of reckless pressing forward, or, perhaps, of excessive trust in the loyalty of the indigenous groups. Be that as it may, although according to Tacitus the raison d’être of the colony at Camulodunum was to substitute for the advancing army in the case of local revolt, both Tacitus’ own subsequent reports and the archaeology of the site suggest that it had never been fortified.161 This, of course, proved fatal in the one case when the colony might have lived up to Tacitus’ expectations from it. But as for the 50s, it would appear that the east of the island was no longer regarded as liable to provide further resistance, and that neither Scapula nor the two governors that followed him thought it necessary to keep it garrisoned. Insofar as the south of the island is concerned, Cogidubnus’ kingdom remained calm, and was in all likelihood incorporated into the province upon the king’s death under Nero’s reign, either in the late 50s or after the Boudican revolt.162 It was the groups of the southwest—above all the Durotriges and the Dumnonii—that presented the Roman forces with a challenge and a need for a different approach. As was mentioned earlier, it was possible that that society’s confederative structure of multiple, partly autonomous social units demanded that Vespasian’s campaigning in the region between 43 and 47 would involve numerous battles and the dense garrisoning of the territory. As was to be expected, such a decentralized society also took longer to become fully controlled, pacified, and, eventually, trusted. Garrisoned hill-forts in the territory of the Durotriges are testified to well into the Neronian period; as expansion continued westward, into the territory of the Dumnonii, Legio II Augusta settled in Exeter, in a fortress built in 55; other forts across the land of the Dumnonii seem to have remained occupied until the time of Vespasian.163 Nevertheless, even in the case of southwestern Britain, the quick pace and consistency of the withdrawal of forces are indicative of the Roman determination to mobilize troops northward. By the time of the Flavians there remained nearly no outposts south of the Severn, and the fortress at Exeter soon remained the sole available source of legionary troops throughout southern Britain.164 Also in this case, no unrest is recorded in the region after the wars of conquest were over. The evidence in the territories of the northern Corieltauvi and Cornovii, though scarce, suggests a similar pattern.165 There is no extant literary narrative to tell the story of conquest and occupation here, but the archaeology suggests that the same process of pacification and advancement was

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followed. On the one hand Roman fortifications in LPRIA centers—for example, Leicester and Ancaster—may testify to attempts to control indigenous opposition from within the local centers of the Corieltauvi; the vexillation forts at Kinvaston and Wall suggest the positioning of forces towards a possible attack on the Cornovii.166 On the other hand, concentration of forts along major routes may be linked to the later demanding campaigns further to the north and west, against the Brigantes and the Silures. To be sure, the advancement c. 60 of Legio IX Hispana to a base in Lincoln, then again early under the Flavians further north to York, should be related to the attack on the Brigantes, and to the prevailing Roman strategy of locating forces on friendly ground, on the borders of hostile territory.167 In an administration recognized here as attentive to provincial affairs, the question must be asked of what became of the routine running of the province when the governor was absent for prolonged periods. A possible answer may be found in the second part of Agricola’s term in office, which saw him advance into Scotland. The newly attested official function of the iuridicus makes its appearance in Britain around this time, perhaps not surprisingly. The main duties of the iuridicus consisted in civilian matters, and he is conventionally thought by scholars to have served as deputy to the governor, when the latter was on campaign.168 Two iuridici are known for the Flavian period: the first, C. Salvius Liberalis, served under Agricola; the second, L. Javolenus Priscus, served around the mid-80s under one of Agricola’s successors.169 It may be not least as a result of this administrative innovation that the resources of the local governor could be stretched to the northern ends of the island without risk to stability in the south.

NOTES 1. See, for example, the debate between Bénabou (1976; 1976a; and then 1978) and Thébert (1978). 2. See Clarke (2001) for a discussion of the Agricola in generic terms. 3. Tac. Agr. 15. 4. According to Josephus himself: Joseph. AJ. 18.4. See Chapter Five (this volume). 5. Dio 62.3. 6. Tac. Ann. 14.35: ‘Roman lust has gone so far that not our very persons, nor even age or virginity, are left unpolluted.’ For Tacitus’ reconstruction of revolts and its problems, see Woolf (2011). For general background on the Boudican revolt, see Aldhouse-Green (2006). 7. Dio 61.33.3. Cf. the explanation that Dio again (56.16.3) puts in Bato’s mouth, when the chief rebel explains to Tiberius why the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt had started: ‘You Romans are to blame for this; for you send as guardians of your flocks, not dogs or shepherds, but wolves.’ 8. Gruen (1986) presents the nature of the relationship in all its intricacy. See, for example, the chapter on ‘Adjudication and Arbitration’ (96–131). 9. Nash (1987), 124–128. 10. Cunliffe (2005), 149–177.

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Tension Management 11. See ahead an emphasis on the differentiation between the instigation of revolt and the decision to join in an ongoing opposition movement. 12. Mela 3.6.49 (trans. Braund [1996], 102). For more on the ‘invented’ image of Britain, see Stewart (1995). 13. Upon departure from the island, Claudius is said by Dio (60.22) to have ordered Plautius to ‘subjugate the remaining districts’; of course, Dio may be putting the words in the emperor’s mouth, basing himself on knowledge of Plautius’ subsequent campaigns. 14. Dio 60.20–1. 15. Regarding the location of the landing see Hind (1989); Bird (2000). 16. Dio 60.20. For a general presentation of the Catuvellauni, see Branigan (1985). 17. For the Atrebates see Cunliffe (2005), 149–177. 18. Verica/Berikos, for example, is reported by Dio (60.19) to have persuaded Claudius to send an army to Britain, after he had been driven out of the island as a result of an uprising. About Berikos as Verica: the identification of the two has been accepted since Allen (1944), 10. See also Millett (1990), 41; Braund (1996), 96–97. 19. Braund (1996), 96–97. 20. Mattingly (2006), 99–100. 21. Mattingly (2006, 100) mentions a campaign base below the villa at Fishbourne, a legionary base below the town of Chichester, and military finds at Silchester; yet, Millett (1990, 46) sees the sites at Chichester and Fishbourne as strategic installations, and the finds from Silchester as relating to Roman control of the route passing there. 22. Suet. Vesp. 4. See Millett (1990), 49–50. 23. Dio 60.20. 24. The name might have been Togidubnus; see Tomlin (1997, 129), and Coates (2005). See Barrett (1979) for the man and his career. See also Black (2008) for the most recent evaluation of the archaeological sources. 25. Tac. Agr. 14. 26. RIB 91 = CIL 7.11 (Chichester): [N]eptuno et Minervae | templum | [pr]o salute do[mus] divinae | [ex] auctoritat[e Ti(beri)] Claud(i) | [Co]gidubdni r(egis) lega[ti] Aug(usti) in Brit(annia) | [colle]gium fabror(um) et qui in eo | [sun]t d(e) s(uo) d(ederunt) donante aream | . . .]ente Pudentini fil(io) [To Neptune and Minerva, for the welfare of the divine house by the authority of Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus, king, imperial legate in Britain, the guild of smiths and those therein gave this temple from their own resources, . . .]ens, son of Pudentius, presenting the site]. Bogaers (1979) has persuasively criticized the reading of ‘legatus’ in line five, and suggested the following reconstruction, now commonly accepted: [Co]gidubni re[g(is) m]agni Brit(anniae or annorum). 27. See Barrett (1979) for Cogidubnus’ possible date of death. 28. Dio 60.19. 29. Ibid. On Plautius see Birley (1981), 37–40. 30. Braund (1996), 70. Though Camulodunum was located on the land of the Trinovantes, some of Cunobelinus’ coins bear the place’s name, possibly because the mint was located here. 31. Dio 60.21. 32. On the Dobunni see Cunliffe (2005), 178–200. 33. Dio 60.20. 34. Suet. Claud. 21. 35. On the arch and the inscription from its main vault (CIL VI. 920 = ILS 216), see Barrett (1991). Barrett also discusses in his article the monument

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36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45.

46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55.

56. 57.

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from Cyzicus and its inscription (CIL III. 57061 = ILS 217). Note the common mistake, made, for example, by Millett (1990, 46), in thinking that the inscriptions ‘state’ that eleven kings were involved; some of the reconstructions discussed by Barrett allow for as many as twenty-one kings. Tac. Ann. 12.31. On the Iceni see Cunliffe (2005), 178–200. Part of the Dobunni is said to have capitulated upon one of the very first setbacks of the opposition to the invasion (Dio 60.20). The Brigantes, though more remote to the north, are generally considered to have been affected enough by the invasion to come to terms with Claudius, and may therefore be referred to on his arch; in 51 their queen, Cartimandua, handed the fugitive Caratacus over to the Romans (Tac. Ann. 12.36). On the Brigantes see Hartley and Fitts (1988). Suet. Vesp. 4. Mattingly (2006), 99. For Mattingly’s diagrams of changing garrison patterns, see Mattingly (2006), 133; for the theory of a Roman preference for winning the goodwill of the locals see Millett (1990), Chapter 4. We next hear of unrest among the Trinovantes only during the Boudican revolt. Millett (1990), 47–9; Suetonius (Vesp. 4) says that more than thirty battles were fought, and twenty hill-forts (oppida) were taken, though this may not refer solely to the territory of the Durotriges. The hypothesis on a harsher reality is Mattingly’s (2006, 100). For the situation in Britain in the following decades, see Gambash (forthcoming— 2015). App. Praef. 7. In general, Braund’s (1984, 189) warning remains true: ‘It is far too easy to ignore the fact that peoples might actively seek their own annexation. We should not allow modern obsessions with independent nationhood and the oppression of the Roman provincial administration to blind us to this fact.’ That is not to say, of course, that Herod did not have to deal at all with internal disturbances: see Price (1992), 5, n. 13. These were, for the most part, minor; for a comprehensive enumeration of the cases, see Richardson (1996), 249–261, esp. 250f. Joseph. BJ 6.329. Shaw (1989). Philostr. VA 5.33. Tac. His. 5.10. Price (1992), 2–11. Goodman (1991). Goodman (2007), 397–418. Gruen (2002a). It is for this reason, Gruen (2002, 39) claims, that the reaction to the Jewish revolt would have been one of disbelief, indignation, and, finally, ‘selfrighteous rage at these uppity dependents who did not appreciate the benefits of the Roman empire.’ The region of the Thebaid in Egypt, for example, was notorious for its insubordination under the Ptolemies, and was in fact rebelling even when Egypt moved to Roman hands in 30 BCE (CIL 3.14147). Cornelius Gallus evinces knowledge of the permanent rebelliousness of the Thebaid in his inscription from Philae (CIL 3.14147: Thebaide communi omn[i]um regum formidine subact[a] . . .). The issue of local ‘inborn propensity’ towards

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58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79.

80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86.

violence and rebellion, however, should be approached with caution, as advises Haas (1997, 12) in the case of the population of late-antique Alexandria. Braund (1984), 129–164. Braund (1984), 187–190. Joseph. AJ. 16.129. Schürer (1973–1987), 381. Joseph. AJ 18.55–6: ‘. . . our law forbids the making of images; it was for this reason that the previous procurators, when they entered the city, used standards that had no such ornaments.’ See Eck (2011) on the sensitive and balanced approach of Roman administration to unrest. Philo Leg. 299–305. Joseph. AJ. 18.90. Joseph. AJ. 18.121. News of the death of Tiberius reached him in Jerusalem at that time. Ibid. Joseph. AJ 19.287–91. See Pucci Ben Zeev (1998), doc. 29, for a full bibliography and a discussion of the edict. Joseph. AJ 19.303–11 and Pucci Ben Zeev (1998), doc. 30. On Fadus see Joseph. BJ 2.220; AJ 19.363. On Alexander see Joseph. AJ 18. 259; 20.100. Joseph. AJ 20.6. Regarding the execution of the sons of Judas, see Joseph. AJ 20.102. Josephus does not supply a reason for Alexander’s act. Eck (2011). For example, Schürer (1973–1987), 455: ‘It might be thought, from the record of the Roman procurators to whom, from [the year 44], public affairs in Palestine were entrusted, that they all, as if by secret arrangement, systematically and deliberately set out to drive the people to revolt.’ Goodman (2007), 417. See Pekáry (1987), 133–150. Pekáry lists about one hundred events of unrest across the empire in the period from Actium to Commodus. For example, Mattingly (2006), 273. Woolliscroft and Hoffmann (2006), 203–224. Tac. Agr. 8: Praeerat tunc Britanniae Vettius Bolanus, placidius quam feroci provincia dignum est. Pliny (Paneg. 80.3): O vere principis, atque etiam dei curas, reconciliare aemulas civitates tumentesque populos non imperio magis quam ratione compescere, intercedere iniquitatibus magistratuum, infectumque reddere, quidquid fieri non oportuerit: postremo, velocissimi sideris more, omnia invisere, omnia audire, et undecunque invocatum statim, velut numen, adesse et adsistere! [This, to be sure, is the care of the princeps, as well as that of a god: to resolve differences between rivaling cities, to pacify restless peoples, not so much by power as by reason; to intervene when magistrates inflict injustice, to undo what should never have been done; finally, like the swiftest of stars, to see all, hear all, and be present at once with aid wherever your help is sought.] Mann (1985). Fronto (ep. de eloqu. 1.5). Tac. Agr. 19. An elaboration on the nature of the contrivances (circumcisis) follows. For Roman Wales see Arnold and Davies (2000). Tac. Agr. 18.1. See Gambash (forthcoming—2015). For more information on the governors mentioned here and others, see Chapter Three (this volume). Tac. His. 1.60.

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87. Tac. Ann. 14.31: Quippe in coloniam Camulodunum recens deducti pellebant domibus, exturbabant agris, captivos, servos appellando, foventibus impotentiam veteranorum militibus similitudine vitae et spe eiusdem licentiae. 88. Tac. Ann. 12.32: id quo promptius veniret, colonia Camulodunum valida veteranorum manu deducitur in agros captivos, subsidium adversus rebelles et imbuendis sociis ad officia legum. 89. Tacitus’ more elaborate representation of the active Romanization of Britain appears in Agr. 21, with the notorious conclusion: ‘Step by step they were led to things which dispose to vice, the lounge, the bath, the elegant banquet. All this in their ignorance, they called civilization, when it was but a part of their servitude.’ 90. The topic has won considerable attention, notably from Woolf (1994, 1995, 1998); Webster and Cooper (1996); Mattingly (1997); Huskinson (2000), 20–22. 91. Mann (1983), 56–63; Brennan (1990). 92. Legio IX, under the command of Petilius Cerialis, was defeated by the rebels shortly after failing to extend timely help to the colony. Its initial rush to defend the colony could have accounted for its lack of preparation; its impetuous engagement with the rebels may be ascribed to retributive motivations. 93. Notably Brennan (1990), 496–498. Some ten contemporary colonies are identified by Mann (1983), 60. 94. The other occupation site was the Gosbecks, located 3 kilometers to the southwest, and accommodating a smaller auxiliary fort. 95. See Collis (1984), 225–226; Crummy (1977), 85–87. 96. See Millett (1990, 85–91) for the coloniae, as well as for Londinium and Eburacum (York), that were founded on neutral ground. 97. See the next chapter for Roman considerations of security after the revolt. 98. Tac. His. 4.28: . . . quod gens Germanicae originis eiurata patria Romanorum nomen Agrippinenses vocarentur [. . . this nation (i.e., the Ubii), being of German origin, had forsworn its native country, and assumed the Roman name of the Agrippinenses]. On Agrippinensis see Doppelfeld (1975). 99. Sealey (1997), 17: ‘If the agri captivi were deemed to have been won by expelling the enemy, an authorized Roman could help himself to as much land as he wished, when he wished. This is what happened at Colchester. Natives were driven from their lands and treated as captives and slaves; there was no one act of land seizure in AD 49, when the colonia was founded, but a continuing haphazard appropriation of land that went on until AD 60, when the storm broke.’ 100. Lewis & Short, deducere I (milit.). 2 (Pub. Law). 101. Sherk (1974), 553–555. 102. For Spain: CIL 2.2916a-d. For Dalmatia: CIL 3.13250 (= ILS 5968); see also Wilkes (1969), 105–108 and 456–459. 103. Crummy (1985). 104. For the colony, Sealey (1997, 16) calculates fifty iugera per settler for three thousand settlers, or some 37,750 hectares in all—a territory that might have amounted to a circle around the town with a radius of 9 kilometers. We have no sure knowledge of the extent of legionary land, which probably varied from province to province according to the local conditions (Sherk 1974, 554). MacMullen (1963, 6–12) is persuasive in disproving various earlier hypotheses, and admits that we are reduced to deductions from function: ‘the territorium was intended to contain enough land to help materially in supplying the troops, and even beyond this it offered room

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105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110.

111. 112. 113. 114.

115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128.

129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134.

for self-sufficient towns to grow up later. This suggests (and we can say no more) a very wide area.’ Mann (1983), 61; Brennan (1990), 493. Sherk (1974), 555–556. Tac. Ann. 14.31. Crummy (1997), 55–58. Tac. Ann. 14.31. G. Webster (1978), 63–83; esp. 89. Webster does include the regular list of causes in his account, yet the conjecture he reaches is that ‘all these grievances were kept alive and fanned into hot resentment by the constant and insidious stream of propaganda from the Druids, in a desperate effort to save their sacred places.’ More generally on the Druids: Piggott (1975); Green (1997); Ross (1999). Tac. Ann. 14.30. J. Webster (1999); Creighton (1995). De La Bédoyère (2003), 62–63 (meaning, of course, ‘spending fortunes’). For example, Braund (1996), 135; Mattingly (2006), 107: ‘the creation of a temple of the divine Claudius at the colony was also a major focus of discontent in that the Trinovantian elite was obliged to contribute to its elaboration and to annual ceremonies’; see also ibid., 110. Gambash (forthcoming—2015a). See Brewer (2000) for various aspects related to the movement of legions in such places as Britain, the Danube, and the East. Fasti Triumphales: CIL I, 50, 76. Vell. Pat. 2.116. Mazard (1955) nos. 194–198; Dio 55.28.3–4; see also Lentulus’ inscription from Leptis Magna, AE 1940: 68. Shaw (1980), 36. Whittaker (1978), 192; Shaw (1982), 42–43. Dio 55.28.3. The Brigantes in Britain are a case in point, discussed in passim ahead. Braund (1984). LeBohec (1989), 335–341. ILS 8966. Vell. Pat. 2.116.2. The opening section of this chapter touched on several such campaigns as Gallus’ in Nubia, Balbus’ against the Garamantes, Paullinus’ across the Atlas mountains, and Caesar’s in Britain. See Chapter Four (this volume) for an elaborate discussion on the nature of discrepancies between commemoration and reality. For further examination of the nature of these tribes and the term Gaetulian, see Chapter Two (this volume). CIL 8.10018 and 8.10023; ILS 151. See Bénabou (1976), 65; CIL 8.10018 and 8.10023; ILS 151. CIL 8.10018 and 8.10023; ILS 151: Imp Caes Augusti f Augustus tri pot XVI asprenas cos pr cos VII vir epulonum viam ex castr hibernis tacapes muniendam curavit leg iii Avg CI[. . . .]. Lassère (1982). A notable example is Rachet (1970), 88–90. See also Bénabou (1977), 307; Charlesworth in CAH v. 10, 643. Researches of pottery and onomastics, for example, were able to show that Roman colonization in the steppes did not begin before the time of the Flavians; see Lassère (1982, p. 12 n. 14–15). Against the notion that the new Roman road interfered with nomadic routine, see Shaw (1980), 42–43.

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135. CIL 8.10018 and 8.10023; ILS 151. 136. Mackensen (2000). 137. For Tripolitania see Mattingly (1994), 79. For Sicca Veneria see LeBohec (1989), 340–353; small forts of uncertain date are known near Vaga (Beja) and Simitthu (Chemtou). 138. For the Roman strategy towards expansion, locating forces among allies, facing hostile territory, see Millett (1990), 51–54. See further in this section for more examples from Britain. 139. Florus (2.31) and Orosius (6.21.18) specifically name the Musulamii on the Gaetulian side. See Syme (1951), 115; Shaw (1980), 40. 140. The confinement of this label to the boundaries of the province of Africa Nova was artificial, and anyway ceased to exist with the creation of Africa Consularis, when ‘Numidian’ returned to signify the entire pre-Roman Numidian area, to the west and south of the Carthaginian territory. For the Musulamii as Numidian see Lassère (1982, p. 23, n. 2), who arguably misunderstands Camps. 141. While Camps-Fabrer (1960, 156) insists that the Musulamii are not Gaetulian, she never claims that they are Numidian; her map (fig. 27 and pp. 251–252) assigns separate territories to each of the groups. 142. On Tacitus as a source see Devillers (1991). 143. Tac. Ann. 4.24. 144. Millar (1982), 7–16. 145. Tac. Ann. 11.19–20: Ac ne iussa exuerent, praesidium immunivit, missis qui maiores Chaucos ad deditionem pellicerent, simul Gannascum dolo aggrederentur. Nec inritae aut degeneres insidiae fuere adversus transfugam et violatorem fidei. Sed caede eius motae Chaucorum mentes, et Corbulo semina rebellionis praebebat, ut laeta apud plerosque, ita apud quosdam sinistra fama. Cur hostem conciret? Adversa in rem publicam casura; sin prospere egisset, formidolosum paci virum insignem et ignavo principi praegravem. Igitur Claudius adeo novam in Germanias vim prohibuit, ut referri praesidia cis Rhenum iuberet. 146. Dio 61.30. 147. A most elaborate example would be Tacitus’ depiction of the relationship between Domitian and the returning Agricola (Agr. 39–46). 148. Tac. Agr. 19. 149. Mann (1985). 150. See Chapter Three (this volume). 151. Mattingly (2006), 100; 109. 152. Tac. Ann. 14.31. 153. Woolf (1998, 18; 39) recognizes in Gaul similar processes of local elites being involved in ruling. More generally on the system and its origins, see Brunt (1976). 154. Millett (1990), 68. 155. Crummy (1977). 156. Frere (1983). 157. Millett (1990), 48–9. 158. Frere (1983), 5; Millett (1990, 49) thinks it may have been even shorter. 159. Tac. Ann. 12.32. 160. Ibid. See the next chapter (this volume) for a full interpretation of this episode. 161. Tac. Ann. 14.31: ‘It appeared too no difficult task to destroy the colony, which was not surrounded by any fortifications; our generals did not take this precaution, as they were more mindful of pleasantness than of practicality.’ Crummy (1977), 87.

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For the latter date, see Barrett (1979), 241–242. Braund (1996), 108–112. Millett (1990), 50. Mattingly (2006), 133, figure 5. On the Corieltauvi see Cunliffe (2005), 178–200. On the Cornovii see G. Webster (1991). See Clay and Mellor (1985); Todd (1975). Millett (1990), 51–4. Mattingly (2006), 275. Birley (2005), Iurid. 1–2.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Aldhouse-Green, M. J. (2006), Boudica Britannia: Rebel, War-Leader and Queen (New York). Allen, D. F. (1944), ‘The Belgic Dynasties of Britain and Their Coins,’ Archaeologia 90: 1–46. Arnold, C. J. and Davies, J. L. (2000), Roman and Early Medieval Wales (Stroud). Barrett, A. A. (1979), ‘The Career of Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus,’ Britannia 10: 227–242. ———. (1991), ‘Claudius’ British Victory Arch in Rome,’ Britannia 22: 1–19. Bédoyère, G. de la (2003), Defying Rome: The Rebels of Roman Britain (Stroud). Bénabou, M. (1976), La résistance africaine à la romanisation (Paris). ———. (1976a), ‘Résistance et romanisation en Afrique du nord sous le HautEmpire,’ Assimilation et résistance à la culture Gréco-Romaine dans le monde ancien (Paris). ———. (1977), ‘Tacfarinas,’ Les Africains 7: 293–313. ———. (1978), ‘Les Romaines ont-ils conquis l’Afrique?’ Annales (ESC) 33.1: 83–88. Bird, D. G. (2000), ‘The Claudian Invasion Reconsidered,’ OJA 19.1: 91–104. Birley, A. R. (1981), The Fasti of Roman Britain (Oxford). ———. (2005), The Roman Government of Britain (Oxford). Black, E. (2008), ‘Fishbourne, Chichester, and Togidubnus Rex Revisited,’ JRA 21: 293–303. Bogaers, J. E. (1979), ‘King Cogidubnus in Chichester: Another Reading if RIB 91,’ Britannia 10: 243–254. Branigan, K. (1985), The Catuvellauni (Gloucester). Braund, D. (1984), Rome and the Friendly King: The Character of the Client Kingship (London). ———. (1996), Ruling Roman Britain: Kings, Queens, Governors and Emperors from Julius Caesar to Agricola (New York). Brennan, P. (1990), ‘A Rome away from Rome: Veteran Colonists and Post-Augustan Roman Colonization,’ in J. P. Descoeudres (ed.), Greek Colonists and Native Populations: Proceedings of the First Australian Congress of Classical Archaeology Held in Honour of Emeritus Professor A.D. Trendall, Sydney, 9–14 July 1985 (Canberra): 491–502. Brewer, R. J. (ed.) (2000), Roman Fortresses and Their Legions (London). Brunt, P. A. (1976), ‘The Romanization of the Local Ruling Classes in the Roman Empire,’ in P. D. M. Bucuresti (ed.), Assimilation et résistance à la culture grécoromaine dans le monde ancien: Travaux du VI Congrès international de la Fédération internationale des Associations d’études classiques, Madrid septembre 1974 (Paris): 161–173. Camps-Fabrer, H. (1960), ‘Parures des temps préhistoriques en Afrique du nord,’ Libyca 3: 9–214.

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Clarke, K. (2001), ‘An Island Nation: Re-reading Tacitus’ “Agricola,” ’ JRS 91: 94–112. Clay, P. and J. E. Mellor (1985), Excavations in Bath Lane, Leicester (Leicester). Coates, R. (2005), ‘Cogidubnus Revisited,’ AntJ 85: 359–366. Collis, J. R. (1984), Oppida: Earliest Towns North of the Alps (Sheffield). Creighton, J. (1995), ‘Visions of Power: Imagery and Symbols in Late Iron Age Britain,’ Britannia 26: 285–301. Crummy, P. (1977), ‘Colchester: The Roman Fortress and the Development of the Colonia,’ Britannia 8: 65–105. ———. (1985), Unpublished Lecture at Durham University, quoted in Millett (1990), 48. ———. (1997), City of Victory: The Story of Colchester—Britain’s First Roman Town (Colchester). Cunliffe, B. W. (2005), Iron Age Communities in Britain (London). Devillers, O. (1991), ‘Le rôle des passages relatifs à Tacfarinas dans les Annales de Tacite,’ AfrRom 8: 203–211. Doppelfeld O. (1975), ‘Das römische Köln, I: Ubier-Oppidum und colonia Agrippinensium,’ ANRW 2.4: 715–782. Eck, W. (2011), ‘Die römischen Repräsentanten in Judaea: Provokateure oder Vertreter der römischen Macht?’ in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome (Leiden): 45–68. Frere, S. S. (1983), Verulamium Excavations, vol. 2 (London). Gambash, G. (forthcoming—2015), ‘Flavian Britain,’ in A. Zissos (ed.), A Companion to the Flavian Age of Imperial Rome (Malden, MA). ———. (forthcoming—2015a), ‘Estranging the Familiar: Rome’s Ambivalent Approach to Britain,’ Impact of Empire 11. Goodman, M. (1991), ‘Opponents of Rome: Jews and Others,’ in L. Alexander (ed.), Images of Empire (Sheffield), 222–238. ———. (2007), Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations (London). Green, M. (1997), Exploring the World of the Druids (London). Gruen, E. S. (1986), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome (Berkley). ———. (2002), Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, MA). ———. (2002a), ‘Roman Perspectives on the Jews in the Age of the Great Revolt,’ in A. M. Berlin and J. A. Overman (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt (London): 27–42. Haas, C. (1997), Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict (Baltimore). Hartley, B. and Fitts, L. (1988), The Brigantes (Gloucester). Hind, J. G. F. (1989), ‘The Invasion of Britain in A.D. 43—An Alternative Strategy for Aulus Plautius,’ Britannia 20: 1–21. Huskinson, J. (2000), ‘Looking for Culture, Identity, and Power,’ in J. Huskinson (ed.), Experiencing Rome: Culture, Identity, and Power in the Roman Empire (London): 3–28. Lassère, J.-M. (1982), ‘Un conflit “routier”: Observations sur les causes de la guerre de Tacfarinas,’ AntAfr 18: 11–25. LeBohec, Y. (1989), La Troisième Légion Auguste (Paris). Mackensen, M. (2000), ‘Les castra hiberna de la legio III Augusta à Ammaedara/ Haïdra,’ in M. Khanoussi, P. Ruggeri, and C. Vismara (eds.), L’Africa Romana. Atti del XIII convegno di studio (Rome): 1739–1759. MacMullen, R. (1963), Soldier and Civilian in the Later Roman Empire (Cambridge, MA). Mann, J. C. (1983), Legionary Recruitment and Veteran Settlement during the Principate (London). ———. (1985), ‘Two “Topoi” in the “Agricola,” ’ Britannia 16: 21–24. Mattingly, D. J. (1994), Tripolitania (Ann Arbor).

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———. (ed.) (1997), Dialogues in Roman Imperialism: Power, Discourse, and Discrepant Experience in the Roman Empire (Portsmouth, RI). ———. (2006), An Imperial Possession: Britain in the Roman Empire, 54 BC–AD 409 (London). Mazard, J. (1955), Corpus Nummorum Numidiae Mauritaniaeque (Paris). Millar, F. (1982), ‘Emperors, Frontiers and Foreign Relations, 31 BC–AD 378,’ Britannia 13 (1982), 1–23. Millett, M. (1990), The Romanization of Britain: An Essay in Archaeological Interpretation (Cambridge). Nash, D. (1987), ‘Imperial Expansion under the Roman Republic,’ in M. Rowlands, M. Larsen, and K. Kristiansen (eds.), Center and Periphery in the Ancient World (Cambridge): 87–103. Pekáry, Th. (1987), ‘Seditio. Unruhen und Revolten im Römischen Reich von Augustus bis Commodus,’ Ancient Society 18: 133–150. Piggott, S. (1975), The Druids (London). Price, J. J. (1992), Jerusalem under Siege: The Collapse of the Jewish State 66–70 CE (Leiden). Pucci Ben Zeev, M. (1998), Jewish Rights in the Roman World (Tübingen). Rachet, M. (1970), Rome et les Berbères (Brussels). Richardson, P. (1996), Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans (Columbia, SC). Ross, A. (1999), Druids: Preachers of Immortality (Stroud). Schürer, E. (1973–87) The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vols. 1–3 (London). Sealey, P. R. (1997), The Boudican Revolt against Rome (Buckinghamshire). Shaw, B. D. (1980), ‘Archaeology and Knowledge: The History of the African Provinces of the Roman Empire,’ Florilegium 2: 28–60. ———. (1982), ‘Fear and Loathing: The Nomad Menace and Roman Africa,’ in C. M. Wells (ed.), L’Afrique romaine (Ottawa): 29–50. ———. (1989), Review of Goodman (1987), JRS 79: 246–247. Sherk, R. K. (1974), ‘Roman Geographical Exploration and Military Maps,’ ANRW 2.1: 534–562. Stewart, P. C. N. (1995), ‘Inventing Britain: The Creation and Adaptation of an Image,’ Britannia 26: 1–10. Syme, R. (1951), ‘Tacfarinas, the Musulamii and Thubursicu,’ in P. R. ColemanNorton (ed.), Studies in Roman Economic and Social History (Princeton): 113–130. Thébert, Y. (1978), ‘Romanisation et déromanisation en Afrique: Histoire décolonisée ou histoire inversée?’ Annales 33.1: 64–82. Todd, M. (1975), ‘Margidunum and Ancaster,’ in W. Rodwell and T. Rowley (eds.), The Small Towns of Roman Britain (Oxford): 211–223. Tomlin, R. S. O. (1997), ‘Reading a 1st-Century Roman Gold Signet Ring from Fishbourne,’ Sussex Arch. Coll. 135: 127–130. Webster, G. (1978), Boudica: The British Revolt against Rome AD 60 (London). ———. (1991), The Cornovii (Wolfeboro Falls, NH). Webster, J. (1999), ‘At the End of the World: Druidic and Other Revitalization Movements in Post-Conquest Gaul and Britain,’ Britannia 30: 1–20. Webster, J. and Cooper, N. J. (1996), Roman Imperialism: Post-Colonial Perspectives (Leicester). Whittaker, C. R. (1978), ‘Land and Labor in North Africa,’ Klio 60: 331–362. Wilkes, J. J. (1969), Dalmatia (London). Woolf, G. (1994), ‘Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: Culture, Identity, and the Civilizing Process in the Roman East,’ Proc. Camb. Phil. Soc. 40: 116–143.

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———. (1995), ‘The Formation of Roman Provincial Cultures,’ in J. Metzler, M. Millett, N. Roymans, and J. Slofstra (eds.), Integration in the Early Roman West: The Role of Culture and Ideology (Luxembourg): 9–18. ———. (1998), Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul (Cambridge). ———. (2011), ‘Provincial Revolts in the Early Roman Empire,’ in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome (Leiden): 27–44. Woolliscroft, D. J. and Hoffmann, B. (2006), Rome’s First Frontier: The Flavian Occupation of Northern Scotland (Stroud).

2

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On examining the range of cases put under the scope of this book, it appears that a specific modus operandi would have been adopted by the Roman government on embarking upon the subjugation of rebelling indigenous populations. The aim of this chapter is to isolate and characterize in practical terms this Roman approach. Among other issues, the concentration of efforts on rebel groups, and, above all, on rebel leaders will be highlighted, as well as various aspects of the building and employment of the task force put together for provincial campaigns. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the immediate aftermath of revolt, underlining the lack of Roman vindictiveness and punitive measures, in favor of a quick return to the familiar routine and the resumption of the province’s original status. MANEUVERING FORCES A close examination of Roman actions during attempts to subjugate provincial revolts yields several features that appear to be characteristic of the treatment of indigenous opposition. When fighting against provincial populations there were several general guidelines that would have been followed by Roman officials and generals, so long as specific circumstances allowed it. It will be difficult, of course, to identify a strict consistency that would clearly and invariably differentiate the case of the provincial revolt from other occasions of warfare. A range of variables would have caused each conflict to be approached differently, and sweeping generalizations are hard to produce. Still, on examining the range of cases put under the scope of this book, it appears that a specific modus operandi would have been adopted by the Roman government on embarking upon the subjugation of resistant indigenous populations. The aim of this section is to isolate and characterize in practical terms this Roman approach. Provincial unrest would have affected important aspects of local routine, such as the flow of tribute, and the security of traffic along trade routes. Petronius’ care for the cultivation of the land in Judea during the crisis between Gaius and the Jews is of particular interest.1 The Syrian governor’s

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fear of a resulting famine is mentioned as one of the factors that encouraged him to resolve the situation as efficiently as possible. And such awareness shown towards the basic requirements necessary in order to regain and maintain peaceful routine in provinces undergoing tense moments would have been demonstrated elsewhere.2 Just as importantly, persistent insurrection could have had a destabilizing effect beyond the boundaries of the area initially disturbed. Literary evidence of local awareness of problems elsewhere in the empire is available. King Agrippa, for example, is credited by Josephus with a great degree of such knowledge in his reported attempt to dissuade the Jews from revolting; Tacfarinas is said by Tacitus to have spread rumors that ‘elsewhere also nations were rending the empire of Rome, and that therefore her soldiers were gradually retiring from Africa.’3 To be sure, regional channels of communication would have allowed interested neighbors to join ongoing opposition movements. Tacfarinas was joined by the Maures and the Garamantes as late as in 24; the Trinovantes joined Boudica’s revolt soon after its outbreak; the Zealots in Jerusalem recruited the Idumeans to their cause in 68.4 And the disturbances caused by the Jews of the Diaspora between 115 and 117 may demonstrate how unrest could spread gradually far beyond regional boundaries. When dealing with rebellious provincial populations, therefore, more risks would have been taken by Roman commanders, both in the size of the forces with which they chose to march into battle and in the tactics employed by those troops.5 This does not mean that the threat of internal unrest was regarded lightly. Great significance appears to have been awarded to a swift solution of local tensions, and to an immediate first encounter with the rebels, even if this entailed numerical inferiority. Indeed, Roman generals did not usually have the benefit of employing large forces in the subjugation of local opposition. Partly, on top of the regular motivation for swift reaction, the phenomenon would have stemmed from the awkwardness of the governmental system as a whole. To be sure, the sudden mobilization of troops towards a rebelling province would have upset the fine balance of the deployment of legions across the empire. Even the movement of forces within a given province—especially frontier provinces, or ones large and sparsely garrisoned—would have challenged a governor anxious to concentrate military resources on short notice. In addition, one should consider all the implications of the assignment by the central government of more troops to a region and a governor originally restricted in their military power. Such a decision could not have been regarded lightly by emperors, especially when insecure and suspicious of the accumulation of too much power in the hands of individuals far removed from the influence of the center. P. Quinctilius Varus in 4 BCE and C. Cestius Gallus in 66 CE came to Judea to subjugate local revolts. Varus, leaving on short notice, brought with him the two legions that were still in Syria—a third had earlier been

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sent by him to Jerusalem, and was at this point under siege by the rebels; this force was supplemented by ‘whatever allied forces kings or tetrarchs could provide.’6 Gallus, taking some time before launching his campaign, marched at the head of a larger force—just short of thirty thousand men: Legio XII Fulminata, two thousand men from each of the other three Syrian legions; six cohortes of infantry, four alae of cavalry, and some thirteen thousand royal forces. Taking into consideration that, in both cases, both Galilee and Jerusalem could have presented fierce opposition, it may be assumed that Varus would also have preferred a force at least as large as that assembled by Gallus. His determination to act promptly, however, may serve to explain the small size of his force and, on the other hand, his success in crushing a revolt at its very beginning, whereas Gallus’ better-prepared campaign met with opposition it ultimately was not able to handle. Prompt reaction to rebellion is often accentuated in narratives of subjugation efforts. C. Cornelius Gallus’ campaign up the Nile was launched immediately upon his nomination as Egypt’s first prefect, early in 29 BCE. The monument that was erected in Philae to commemorate the achievements of the campaign highlighted, among other activities, the purposeful subjugation of revolt in the Thebaid, maintaining that Gallus had taken by storm five rebelling cities in fifteen days, some by assault and others by siege.7 The inscription also emphasizes the capture of the rebel leaders, a fact that demonstrates how focused the Romans’ efforts were.8 The outbreak of the rebellion of Tacfarinas in Africa may serve well in demonstrating in finer detail Roman action in the face of rising local opposition. In 17 CE, the first year of the conflict, Africa’s governor, Furius Camillus, reacted to the threat by gathering a force of ten thousand men, probably most of the troops immediately available to him in and around the province.9 The enemy—Maures, Cinithii, Musulamii, and quite likely others—consisted of a wide coalition that can hardly be confined to one category of antagonistic groups in north Africa, such as bandits, nomads, or expropriated farmers. Whether Camillus was the one offering or accepting the challenge of a set battle, it is clear that this was the scenario most desired by him, and the one perceived by him as most likely to put a decisive end to an incipient insurrection of such order of magnitude. It is of note that he was an inexperienced soldier; yet expectations of him were clear, and he answered them by breaking the backbone of the enemy coalition in the initial encounter.10 Events in Britain during the Boudican revolt unfolded in much the same way, though the sources allow a more detailed picture. The revolt is described as a ‘disaster’ (clades) by Suetonius; as a ‘serious disaster’ (gravis clades) by Tacitus; and as a ‘terrible disaster’ (πάθος δεινὸν) by Dio. Suetonius mentions two major cities that were sacked, as well as a great number of citizens and allies that were killed in the events; Dio also knows of two sacked cities, and eighty thousand dead among the Romans and their allies; Tacitus’ more elaborate account in the Annales narrates the fall

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of Camulodunum, Londinium, and Verulamium, the defeat and annihilation of the infantry of a division of Legio IX, and the killing in all of about seventy thousand Romans and their allies.11 The numbers are high, though the three sources are in agreement, and modern scholars frequently quote them without suggesting qualifications to their appraisals. To be sure, the surprise of the attack, as well as the dwindled numbers of troops around the disturbed region, adds credibility to the claims. And Boudican archaeological layers from all three sites mentioned by Tacitus have produced enough evidence to corroborate the occurrence of intense man-made destruction.12 At least in one other site, that of Chelmsford, there appears to have been destruction of the same nature, and on a similar scale.13 Still, are modern scholars right to compare the stakes in the decisive battle to those of the battle of Hastings?14 The most important factor to have facilitated destruction and carnage on a great scale would have been the surprise and lack of preparedness on the Roman side for the possibility of an indigenous uprising: quasi media pace incauti.15 Throughout the process of conquest and expansion, the Roman administration seems for the most part to have preferred to follow the pattern of further advancement only once pacification and trust had been established in newly occupied territories. And trust would have been key in a situation whereby the governor was away from the province, campaigning with two legions in Wales, and leaving East Anglia behind, sparsely fortified, with but a few legionary troops stationed close enough to extend practical help. Tacitus, as well as the many modern scholars who repeat his observation, does not decode a complex reality, unseen by Suetonius Paullinus, when he proclaims that, by attacking the island of Mona, the governor left his rear open to attack.16 By the same token, the southeast had been ‘left open to attack’ by all of Britain’s governors since the invasion of 43. There was no other way for a general to employ a force of four legions and produce significant territorial gains in an island as large and as politically decentralized. The fact that the Roman administration was caught unprepared, however, did not detract from the resolution with which the challenge was answered. The steps taken by the Roman government and its representatives on the island generate a sense of emergency, and even fear for the loss of the entire province. The assumption adopted by both ancient and modern historians, that the province was all but lost, should therefore be called into question.17 In fact, quite a few indicators suggest that the crisis was contained without too great an effort: no reinforcements from outside the island were required; mobilization of forces within Britain itself was extremely limited; the subjugation of the revolt did not take long, though Paullinus seems to have felt enough at ease to await the most expedient moment for him to engage with the enemy; and, as far as is known, there was no resort to negotiation with the rebels. Other than the much discussed problem of the date and duration of the revolt, there is no controversy regarding these issues, and in what

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follows each of them will be briefly explained and put in the context of the sequence of events. Q. Petilius Cerialis, commander of Legio IX, met the rebels soon after the outbreak of hostilities, immediately after Camulodunum had been lost. His legion seems to have been divided at the time into two detachments, one based further to the north, either in Lincolnshire or in Nottinghamshire, the other apparently based in Longthorpe in Peterborough (Cambridgeshire).18 In the rash charge that he had led against the enemy, it is usually accepted that he lost 1,500–2,000 men—all the infantry that he had brought with him.19 Once word was brought to Britain’s governor, Suetonius Paullinus, of events in the east he rushed to Londinium—possibly the next town in importance after Camulodunum, and hence the immediate place to defend after the fall of the colony.20 Assessing the situation when in Londinium, he realized that, due to the small number of troops present, the town could not be saved, and decided to leave it to the rebels, who were obviously already on their way; Verulamium too was left defenseless, probably for the same reason.21 It is difficult to know for sure what drove the opposition movement onwards at this stage. Tacitus seems convinced that only considerations of easy plunder now determined which places would be attacked; Londinium is described as busy with trade, and Verulamium as generally wealthy.22 But the earlier attack and brief siege on Camulodunum, as well as Paullinus’ apparent conviction that Londinium would be attacked even if he stayed to defend it, at least make Tacitus’ emphasis on easy and defenseless targets questionable. And, of course, the rebelling Britons did take the field eventually. The ideological words that Tacitus puts in Boudica’s mouth before the decisive battle demonstrate that the historian himself did not wish to depict the revolt in its later stages as being fueled solely by greed. The possible association of both Londinium and Verulamium with Roman rule, as well as the likely presence in those places of Roman citizens, would have made them desirable targets for a vengeful, or just generally anti-Roman, movement.23 Other than the fallen Camulodunum, Paullinus was leaving behind no strategic assets, and he still had resources and room to maneuver in fighting the opposition. The south was quiet, and most likely ready to cooperate upon demand; the west, where he left the two legions he campaigned with, was also mostly open, outside the territory in south Wales of the resistant Silures. The limited mobilization of troops and their small number in the eventual battle suggest that Paullinus was not too alarmed by the numbers of the enemy, probably hopeful to be able to preserve his recent achievements in Wales despite the setback in the East. Out of the force of two legions that went with him to Mona he recalled only Legio XIV and the veterans of Legio XX. When Legio II, summoned from the south, failed to appear, the battle was nevertheless not delayed. The remainder of Legio IX under Cerialis’ command, though not necessarily negligible, was obviously

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not counted on.24 Once Londinium was given up, there need have been no rush, and Tacitus’ narrative indeed includes the mention of delay prior to the battle, reportedly ended on the initiative of Paullinus himself, after a careful choice of advantageous location had been made.25 Paullinus’ approach to the imminent battle with the rebel forces is best described as decisive, if not urgent. Even after waiting for reinforcements from the XIV and XX legions to join him from the west, he appeared for the decisive battle with no more than ten thousand troops.26 Steps taken by the British governor appear to have been characteristic of the mentality usually adopted by Roman commanders in the provinces when faced with emerging local opposition. Decisive action would have been called for, since, as suggested earlier, insurrection, once started, could spread fast and infect neighboring regions. Reliance on reinforcements from outside the province would not have been possible because of the pressure of time and the general awkwardness of the imperial system in transferring legions from their home base to the troubled area. Relatively small task forces thus had to be employed, which regularly proved efficient in checking the threat. This should hardly surprise us, since, when faced with unorganized ranks, the skill of the legion would have outweighed its numerical inferiority. Some further issues concerning the time frame of the Boudican revolt deserve consideration. Tacitus refers only to the year 61 in dating the revolt.27 It has nevertheless been the subject of much debate whether the revolt broke out in 60 or 61, since all scholars agree that the events described by Tacitus must have occurred over a period of two years.28 However, recent evocations of this fact fail to notice that by ‘events’ the original controversy referred to the actual fighting—that obviously took place during part of a campaigning season—as well as to the year in office of the succeeding governor, Petronius Turpilianus—who would have replaced Paullinus in the winter after the rebel army had met with defeat.29 The mistaken impression is thus given in some publications that the revolt itself stretched across two years.30 Even if the reprisals that followed the subjugation of the revolt are counted as part of the war, these were terminated as soon as Turpilianus stepped into office. Insofar as the events of the rebellion itself are concerned, estimates should range from five weeks to about four or five months for the duration of active opposition—from the attack on Camulodunum to the rebels’ decisive defeat on the battlefield.31 Bearing in mind that this period includes a brief, violent eruption (unanimously estimated at a few summer weeks), a calculated delay, and a final battle, the Boudican revolt should be considered a short-lived one, both in absolute terms and certainly in comparison to other great provincial revolts. By 60, Nero might have begun to acquire some diplomatic experience through negotiations and decision-making regarding the prolonged conflict with Parthia over the investiture in Armenia. He had inherited this problem from Claudius, and it was not brought to its satisfactory end before the summer of 66. Both warfare and diplomacy were employed on that tense

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eastern front, and the fact that Nero could eventually present so grandly the policies that led to the diplomatic solution of the conflict persuades scholars that he would have been involved in the formulation of these policies at the very least during the 60s, if not earlier.32 Obviously, if the Boudican revolt indeed lasted only five weeks, Nero and his consilium would not have had the time to become a significant factor in its solution. However, taking into account the likely possibility that the revolt lasted longer, and that word was sent to Rome as soon as it broke out, the central government, had it been convinced of the seriousness of the crisis, could have reacted at the very least by sending reinforcements to the island.33 Especially in light of the emperor’s intense and beneficial involvement in the province’s affairs immediately in the aftermath of the revolt, the possibility that Nero chose for the moment to let Suetonius Paullinus handle the situation need not necessarily be interpreted as incompetent passivity, or as carelessness. If the biographer Suetonius is to be judged reliable, there was a point at which Nero might have considered withdrawing from Britain altogether: ‘he had thoughts of withdrawing the military from Britain, and was checked only by the fear of appearing to diminish the glory of his father.’34 There could have been, of course, other, more tangible considerations involved than Claudius’ heritage. We do not know the timing nor the context for the idea of withdrawal from Britain, but, if at all related to the Boudican revolt, it is possible to surmise that it originated with news of the outbreak of the rebellion. To be sure, nothing in Nero’s dedication to the pacification of the region in the aftermath of hostilities suggests that he contemplated the idea at a later time. Therefore, since the decision was obviously ultimately made to keep the province, the central government in Rome must have evaluated that the situation did not warrant outside intervention. Urgency remained a distinctive feature in the background of Roman operations conducted against local opposition that had not been quelled immediately, and proved enduring. The Tacfarinian conflict, which showed remarkable resilience after the initial defeat inflicted on the rebels in 17, is a telling case. Tiberius applied pressure to the Senate in order to bring an end to the war against Tacfarinas by making appropriate appointments to the province of Africa.35 In the province itself, governors invested great efforts in bringing all opposition to an end with whatever forces were available to them. But, despite Tiberius’ urgency, the conflict did not see large armies put at the disposal of the provincial governor, nor, for that matter, the special appointment of generals with imperium maius. Throughout the first years of the revolt, African governors had to deal with the problem and cover vast territories with only one legion—the III Augusta—and the complementary auxiliary forces under their command. Only in the year 20 a second legion, the IX Hispana, was sent by Tiberius to Africa, and was withdrawn again early in 24, even though the revolt was not yet quelled and Tacfarinas was still roaming free.36

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Throughout the conflict, despite the limited size of the forces stationed in Africa, Roman tactics in the field included the simultaneous employment of multiple small detachments in separate areas. Blaesus in 22 and Dolabella in 24 used such a tactic, even though it resulted in the Roman side frequently finding itself fighting in small numbers.37 Such methods had precedent in earlier revolts, and would have been familiar to Roman commanders hard pressed for solutions.38 That hesitation under such circumstances would have been unacceptable is made clear by an incident that unfolded during the term in office of Camillus’ successor, L. Apronius. Tacfarinas attacked a Roman cohort, which reacted by turning its back on the threat. Apronius responded by reviving the traditional punishment of decimation, flogging to death every tenth soldier.39 Also noteworthy is the fact that, in his activity against Tacfarinas, Q. Iunius Blaesus, governor of Africa in 22, went as far as to break the Roman habit of moving the army into winter quarters, and to maintain the widespread pressure that had been achieved in the summer also through the winter.40 Such urgency was naturally alien to foreign campaigns of expansion, which, even when guided by urgency for a variety of other reasons, usually allowed their leaders to progress cautiously and to concentrate their efforts sequentially. This approach is demonstrated clearly in Britain, which, from the moment of the Roman invasion in 43, saw Roman generals focusing on a single front at a time, taking the time to pacify newly gained areas— probably being guided to do so by specific policies formulated in Rome.41 In its immediate manifestation in the field, such an approach to thorough conquest may be represented by Vespasian’s campaign in 43–47 as legion commander, confronting the Durotriges and the Dumnonii in the southwestern part of the island. Archaeological evidence suggests that Vespasian was bound at first to control each subsidiary center separately, arguably on account of the decentralized nature of the society in these areas. The meticulous process involved numerous battles and dense garrisoning.42 Garrisoned hill-forts in the territory of the Durotriges persisted well into the Neronian period. As mentioned above, when expansion continued westward, into the territory of the Dumnonii, Legio II Augusta settled in Exeter, in a fortress built in 55, and other forts across the land of the Dumnonii probably remained occupied until the time of Vespasian.43 FOCUSED SUBJUGATION In most cases known to us, severe measures such as the burning of settlements and the enslavement of extensive parts of the population are not testified to have occurred frequently during revolt subjugation. As a result, shortly after peace returned to the region, the routine coexistence of rulers and subjects reemerged, and few extra measures of security appear to have been called for. Such a policy normally persisted in the aftermath of revolt,

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and severe punitive measures do not appear to have been frequently applied. There should be little doubt that, when it was the future relationship of Rome with well-established residents of the empire that was at stake, the tendency of the Roman administration was often to avoid unnecessarily brutal acts. Pannonia and Dalmatia, which gave Rome a cause for great alarm in their uprising between the years 6 and 9, appear to have been treated leniently after the subjugation of the revolt. No brutal acts of violence are reported in the aftermath of the Roman victory; leaders of the revolt as well as their followers were spared; and the population as a whole does not appear to have been made to pay a price, as no mass enslavement occurred, and settlements that did not serve as strongholds in the revolt were not burned.44 As the previous section suggested, the Tacfarinian conflict was approached as a significant threat by the Roman government throughout its duration— similarly to other cases of provincial revolts. Prompt and efficient action was considered desirable; official appointments were made with care; no efforts were spared—neither logistical nor operational; and a great amount of flexibility and adaptation were employed. Acknowledging that Roman endeavors were as extensive, we are in no position to underestimate the enemy against which this campaign was turned.45 At least, it must be accepted that the Roman government approached Tacfarinas as though he were a great threat to stability in the region. This background must be recognized and acknowledged as we tackle the task of deciphering Tacfarinas’ character on the one hand and Tacitus’ biases in this story on the other. When approached from this perspective, it becomes clear that, in the eyes of Roman officials, Tacfarinas was considered much more as a rebel than a negligible bandit. And, while we may ascribe some motifs in Tacitus’ narrative to the historian’s possible agenda, we cannot write off such known facts as the movement and deployment of legions, or the prosopographies of the individuals who commanded them. As we try to qualify the importance of Tacfarinas by observing the amount of attention he was awarded by the Roman administration, we should be cautious not to let the pendulum swing too high on the other end. A particular trend in the historiography of Roman Africa, generally postcolonial in nature, has toiled to produce for Tacfarinas the image of a freedom warrior—one of noble birth at that—to match the characters of such provincial leaders as Viriathus, Arminius, or Caratacus, to name just a few famous examples from wars conducted in Lusitania, Germany, and Britain respectively.46 In the year 17 the African opposition movement included at least representatives from among the Musulamii, Maures, and Cinithii. It was a considerable enough coalition to encourage the African governor, Camillus, to assemble most of the forces available to him, and commit himself to a set battle, which ended with a decisive defeat to the locals. For his victory, the unassuming Camillus won the ornamenta triumphalia, and it would

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have been most interesting to read the dedication on the monument that was erected in Rome, in order to learn how the Roman government identified the enemy defeated in this battle.47 It will be remembered that a war designated Gaetulian—bellum Gaetulicum—had been fought in the region a decade earlier. Was the war of the year 17 referred to as Numidian on Camillus’ monument? Or was it approached as a war with Tacfarinas? The issue remains relevant throughout this section, and will surface again ahead. From Dio and Velleius we learn, for example, that the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt in 6–9 was approached as the war of the Batones—after the name Bato, shared by the two chieftains who led the local opposition.48 The question must be asked of whether the Romans recognized already in 17 Tacfarinas as the head of the opposition and as the reason for its persistence, or whether they explained the eruption of violence in other ways. Untypically, Tacitus does not suggest an explanation for the indigenous opposition that broke out at that particular moment and in those particular areas. Instead, he ascribes all of the responsibility for the revolt to Tacfarinas, whom he regards as bandit from the beginning of the narrative to its end. When Tacitus first mentions him in his account of the war that broke out in Africa in 17 CE, he tells us that Tacfarinas was Numidian, a deserter from the Roman auxilia, and a leader of a band of robbers, who are later also described as deserters.49 Each of the items in this description calls for elaboration. It is noteworthy that Tacitus chooses to identify Tacfarinas generally as Numidian, while he shows himself knowledgeable about the major tribes that are active between the Aures and the Syrtes. As he mentions further down this same passage that Tacfarinas was regarded chief of the Musulamii, most scholars are content with accepting Tacfarinas as Musulamian.50 Yet, it is Tacitus’ own choice of words that must interest us here: throughout the passages that deal with the war of Tacfarinas, the eastern members of the coalition that fought against the Romans—the Musulamii, the Cinithii, and the Garamantes—are consistently described by him as ‘the Numidians.’ The western Maures are mostly named separately, though Tacitus might include even them as Numidians, when the context is clear and brevity is called for.51 When the need for specification arises, Tacitus would name and qualify knowingly each of the specific groups that make up ‘the Numidians.’ Tacfarinas himself, however, is designated solely as ‘the Numidian,’ and there is nothing here to suggest that he is a member of a group more specific than ‘the Numidians.’ Thus, for example, in his account of the final year of the war,52 Tacitus first refers to the Numidian Tacfarinas, then characterizes ‘the Numidians’ (including, in this case, the Garamantes and the Maures) as ones who cannot stand against the charge of infantry, and finally reports the execution by Dolabella of some chiefs of the Musulamii. If anything, Tacitus’ choice of characterizing Tacfarinas through the general while he is fully aware of the particular should rather lead us to consider the possibility that Tacfarinas was not Musulamian, at least as

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far as the historian could tell, or he would have named him specifically as such. Speculations about Tacfarinas’ possible ethnicity would not take us too far. The Garamantes and the Cinithii would be an unlikely option for exactly the same reason—they are part of Tacitus’ broader group of Numidians. The fact that throughout his account of Africa Tacitus does not mention the Gaetuli even once may indicate that he does not differentiate between Gaetuli and Numidians; there is, of course, the plausible possibility that Tacfarinas was Numidian in the narrow sense of the name, despite Tacitus’ generalizations, or that he was of mixed ethnicity.53 What of Tacfarinas as chief of the Musulamii? Once again, Tacitus’ exact words may help in keeping this notion in proportion. After describing Tacfarinas as Numidian, deserter from the Roman auxilia, and leader of a band of robbers, Tacitus adds, ‘After a while, he marshaled [these robbers] like regular soldiers, under standards and in troops, till at last he was regarded as the leader, not of an undisciplined rabble, but of the Musulamian people.’54 Bénabou, reading this obscure sentence, noticed the importance that the Romans would later assign to the capture of Tacfarinas’ brother and son.55 From here he reaches the conclusion that the man must have been Musulamian nobility, who probably ended up in the Roman army as a hostage, possibly as a result of the events of 6 CE, and who deserted with the specific plan in mind of uniting his people under his own leadership, and of liberating them from Roman domination.56 Of course, if, as was suggested earlier, Tacfarinas was indeed not Musulamian, the whole theory collapses. Furthermore, Tacitus’ account is far from allowing us a portrait of such a Tacfarinas as Bénabou’s. The fact that he was only regarded as the leader of the Musulamii tells us all but that he was actually appointed or chosen as such.57 Furthermore, it has been suggested that the Musulamii, as other seminomadic societies, were broken into multiple clans, and had no single leader recognized as their king.58 More plausibly, Tacitus’ statement may merely indicate the position that was unofficially ascribed to Tacfarinas by outside observers, possibly the inhabitants of the Roman provinces and, more likely, the Roman authorities themselves. That is, his organizational activity with those Musulamii who joined him would have made him responsible, in the eyes of the Romans, for their participation in the war. Several factors may help in corroborating such a supposition. The war is nowhere related to as the war of the Musulamii, in the way that the war of 6 CE is referred to as the bellum Gaetulicum. While other African groups join the fighting on occasion, the Musulamii would have been seen as the most stable element within the African coalition if they had indeed fought as a nation under Tacfarinas’ leadership, for the latter was involved in the war from beginning to end. Instead, the war comes down to us through the sources as the war of Tacfarinas; it is for defeating him that Roman generals are honored and commemorated in inscriptions; when Tacfarinas negotiates with the Romans, it is only for himself and for his men that he demands

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land; and it is not until his individual death that the war is over.59 Moreover, Tacitus reports in his account of the last year of the war on the presence of several chiefs of the Musulamii on the Roman side.60 We may therefore assume that no lasting union had been achieved through the war, and that when Tacitus mentions the Musulamii as fighting under Tacfarinas he may be understood to be relating only to one part of that ethnic group, perhaps in a way similar to his ‘Numidian’ generalizations mentioned earlier. That those Cinithii and Maures who joined the revolt in 17 did not continue to be a part of the opposition after the defeat is suggested by Tacitus’ arrangement of the narrative, as well as by the numbers and pattern of action of those rebels who remained active after 17. Tacitus’ report of the conflict is divided into three parts: the first deals with the year 17; the second one surveys the hostilities that took place between 18 and 23, when the opposition continued in small numbers; and the third is the year of the rebels’ defeat, 24, when Tacfarinas was joined by the Garamantes as well as by the Maures again, now said to be disaffected with king Ptolemaeus. Since this king ascended to the Mauritanian throne in 23, it is clear that we are dealing here with a group with different motivations from those that prompted the Maures of 17 to side with Tacfarinas. Above all, it is the activity of Tacfarinas’ band between 18 and 23—and the nature of the Roman retaliation—that should convince that during this period the rebellion continued as it had started, even if it now consisted in smaller-scope activity. The account contains reports of raids on villages and on the territories of larger towns, such as Leptis Magna, as well as surprise attacks on Roman forces.61 Scholars may have exaggerated the scale of the war, among other reasons in reaction to opposing portrayals of Tacfarinas, representing him as a mere bandit.62 Tripolitanian inscriptions relating to the scope of hostilities suffered by the region corroborate the narrative of Tacitus, which underscores the great efforts made by the Roman army to eliminate the threat during these years.63 The historian’s report on the exceptional measure taken by Tiberius of mobilizing to Africa the ninth legion from Europe is corroborated by his sources for the story of Cn. Calpurnius Piso’s alleged involvement in the death of Germanicus, and may be dated by this event to the year 20.64 The year 24, then, saw the ranks of the opposition joined by additional allies, in what appears as an upturned continuation of the period directly preceding it. Tacfarinas now felt strong enough to lay a siege on an important town, named by Tacitus Thubuscum—possibly mistakenly, as we cannot identify it. Mommsen supported reading Tupusuctu, an Augustan colony of veterans of the seventh legion in Mauretania;65 Syme preferred to read Thubursicu (Numidarum), pointing out that a guerilla force would not attack a fortified colony, and that Tacfarinas’ activity in previous years, when traceable, circled more often than not around the territory of the Musulamii.66 Syme’s argumentation has made Thubursicu the option accepted by most modern scholars. Yet, the fact that Tacfarinas now had Garamantian and

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Mauritanian contingents in his ranks may imply that his army was at this point larger than assumed. Furthermore, Syme seems to ignore a key aspect in Tacfarinas’ activity—namely, the location of his final battle and death. If the fortress of Auzea (or Auzia) may indeed be identified with Algerian Aumale, this location is significantly closer to Tupusuctu (c. 100 km) than it is to Thubursicu Numidarum (c. 400 km). The report indicates a rapid chain of events: the siege is raised; news of the Tacfarinas’ location arrive nec multo post; Dolabella opts to take with him only light infantry and cavalry; and he hastens to attack at dawn. This may well indicate that the entire activity, including the siege, took place in Mauretania rather than in the province. It was during this attack that Dolabella—who just had to give up on the ninth legion, and was still using the small-units tactics described in the previous section—managed to locate and destroy the rebel forces, and, more importantly, to kill the man whose survival alone was recognized by the Roman administration as lying at the foundation of persistent local opposition. The examination presented here thus produces an unmistakable picture: the Roman government appears to be approaching the conflict, from its beginning to its end, as seriously as though a formidable enemy were to be eliminated, even when this enemy demonstrates reduced levels of activity. It is probably this dissonance in the narrative produced by the sources that has allowed scholars to create an ambivalent representation of Tacfarinas, categorizing him under different, often conflicting titles—from bandit to freedom warrior. One significant aspect, most relevant to this section, is worth emphasizing—namely, the focus placed by the Roman administration on active rebel groups, and the apparent absence of civilian population from the narrative of subjugation and punishment. It is noteworthy that all Roman actions presented here and in the previous section include only moves taken against rebel forces that were specifically identified as hostile to Roman rule—mostly ones that attacked Roman troops or local settlements first. It should also be stated that we do not have documentation—written or material—for actions taken against population centers not directly involved in the rebellion. At least Tacitus’ narrative, in its detailed enumeration of Roman actions, suggests that, had a Roman commander burned a settlement or enslaved its population, the historian would have reported on the event. In fact, the tactics of the Roman forces, centered around fast movement in small units, suggest a strong focus on the riding bands themselves, and not on punitive measures aimed at suspect local populations. It should, furthermore, be reiterated that leaders of the Musulamii were trusted by the Roman governors up until 24. That is, not even the Musulamii themselves were all considered as accomplices of Tacfarinas on account of their possible joined ethnic background with him. Perhaps most revealing is the discourse apparently prevailing in the cities, and possibly also

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in the countryside, regarding the nature of the war and the identity of the enemy. The streets of Leptis Magna are abundant with testimony for the cooperative dialogue conducted between local officials, running the city’s civic routine, and the highest Roman authorities in the province. An example may be found in an inscription from the year 35–36, dedicating an arch to Tiberius. This monument is particularly relevant as it may be linked to the war with Tacfarinas. In the inscription we read that the African governor, Rubellius Blandus, restored land to the people of Leptis, and that income from this land was used to renovate and beautify the streets of the city:67 Ti(berio) Caesari diui Aug(usti) f(ilio) Augusto diui Iuli n(epoti) pont (ifici) max(imo) co(n)[s(uli) V] imp(eratori) VIII trib(unicia) potest(ate) XXXVII C(aius) Rubellius Blandus q(uaestor) diui Aug(usti) tr(ibunus) pl(ebis) pr(aetor) co(n)s(ul) proco(n)s(ul) pont(ifex) patr[onus] ex reditibus agrorum quos Le[pc]itanis resti[tui]t ui[a]s om[nis] ciuitatis Lepcitanae ster[nend]as silic[e] curauit] M(arcus) Etr[i]liu[s L]upercus leg(atus) pro [p]r(aetore) patronus sub h[asta f(aciendum) l(ocauit)] To Tiberius Caesar Augustus, son of the deified Augustus, grandson of deified Iulius, chief priest, consul [for the fifth time], acclaimed victor for the eighth, holding tribunician power for the thirty-seventh; Caius Rubellius Blandus, quaestor of deified Augustus, tribune of the people, praetor, consul, proconsul, priest, patron, using the income from land which he restored to the people of Leptis, [saw to it] that all the streets of the city of Leptis were paved with silex. Marcus Etrilius Lupercus, his legate and civic patron [let the contracts for the work]. The region of Tripolitania no doubt suffered gravely during this war, as it did during previous conflicts. Roman forces were given the specific task of stopping forays made on Leptis Magna, which were followed by quick retreats to Garamantian territory.68 It has been suggested that the land mentioned in Blandus’ inscription was freed or made secure as a result of the defeat of Tacfarinas. Obviously, Leptis’ best interests lay in peaceful routine, and the city could look only to the Roman administration for securing this routine. Most telling is the way in which the local discourse refers to the restoration of peace in two different events of unrest. Early in the first decade of the common era we know of a war fought against the Gaetuli, a term generally taken by the Romans to represent the southerners—including, it is important to add, the Musulamii. One general received the ornamenta triumphalia in the year 3 CE, and another—Cossus Cornelius Lentulus— brought the war to an end in 6. The inscription dedicated to the latter by

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the Lepcitani celebrates the return of peace and the conclusion of a Bellum Gaetulicum:69 Marti Augusto sacrum auspiciis Imp(eratoris) Caesaris Aug(usti) pontificis maxumi patris patriae ductu Cossi Lentuli co(n)s(ulis) XVuiri sacris faciundis proco(n)s(ulis) prouincia Africa bello Gaetulico liberata ciuitas Lepcitana Sacred to Mars Augustus. Under the auspices of the emperor Caesar Augustus, chief priest, father of the country, and the leadership of Cossus Lentulus, consul, member of the committee of the fifteen for religious ceremonies (at Rome), proconsul, the province of Africa was freed from the war with the Gaetuli. The city of Leptis (set this up). As already discussed in the previous chapter, the title of Bellum Gaetulicum is also familiar from coins and written reports.70 In 24, on the other hand, grateful again for the cessation of hostilities in their territory, the people of Leptis have another monument erected in the name of the proconsul Dolabella, only this time it commemorates specifically the death of no other than Tacfarinas himself:71 Victoriae Augustae P(ublius) Cornelius Dolabella co(n)su(l) VIIvir ep[ul(onum)] so da[lis Ti]t[iens(is)] pro co(n)su(l) occiso T[acfa] rinate po[suit] To Augustan Victory. Publius Cornelius Dolabella, consul, member of the committee of seven concerned with public feasts, sodalis Titiensis, proconsul, Tacfarinas having been killed, set this up. We know of a similar inscription in the neighboring Oea (Tripoli).72 There is every reason to believe that, across the province, the end of the war was celebrated after a similar fashion—namely, by commemorating not the defeat of the Musulamii/Gaetuli/Maures and so forth but rather the death of the rebel leader who had inspired the war from early on. One more important step, taken by Tiberius himself, should be noted, which may emphasize the Roman focus put on the rebel leader himself on

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the one hand and the leniency demonstrated towards rebelling groups on the other hand. In 22 Tacfarinas felt he was in a position to send an embassy to Rome and present the emperor with demands towards concluding the war.73 Tiberius’ reaction was as follows: He entrusted the affair to Blaesus, who was to hold out to the other rebels the prospect of laying down their arms without hurt to themselves, while he was by any means to secure the person of the chief. Many surrendered themselves on the strength of this amnesty. Seen in this light, the Roman government clearly appears guided by a pacifying policy, one that aimed at preserving persisting alliances—even with groups directly implicated in the revolt. Furthermore, even allies that had crossed the lines and joined forces with the rebels were not treated vindictively upon repentance, but rather were approached with an appeasing attitude. To be sure, such negotiations towards peace and the routine that would follow it are common in the narrative of various provincial revolts in their advanced stages.74 An elaborate example may be found in the Boudican revolt. Hostilities petered out only gradually with the rebel army defeated and its leader, Boudica, dead. Now it was the Roman side that held the initiative. Reprisals and pacification projects did not cease before the imperial court itself interfered in a most direct way in the administration of the province. One should pay careful attention to the events that followed the revolt itself, starting immediately after the decisive battle had taken place and the backbone of the local opposition had been broken by defeat. To be sure, none of these events have escaped the attention of the many modern-day historians who have examined the Boudican episode. However, it is the intention here to place the entire emphasis on official Roman action, and to point out aspects of consistency in the response of the imperial administration to the hostile circumstances. The examination of this perspective is essential not only because it has found little representation in modern scholarship, but also because the simplistic premise that the ‘Romans were bad’ has come to underlie more than a few aspects of recent research.75 Tacitus’ biases regarding the topic of Britain are, again, many, though largely obvious.76 The Roman governors of Britain, from the invasion of the island to the time of Agricola, are divided by him into effective and ineffective, in accordance with the extent of expansion achieved during their time in office. Regardless of the many considerations that could have affected the Roman administration’s choices regarding further expansion, Tacitus allows himself to be critical in the most superficial way on this account. His criticism becomes understandable, of course, as soon as we remind ourselves that it comes in anticipation of the expansion feats that were to be witnessed during the governorship of his father-in-law, Agricola. Suetonius Paullinus’ ambition easily won the historian’s esteem, who

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ascribes to him a motivation to equal Corbulo’s success in Armenia.77 In the interval of two years Britain’s governor is said to have subdued several tribes, strengthened military posts, and made the achievement of conquering the resistant island of Mona (Anglesey).78 The narrative of the Annals moves uninterrupted from the decisive battle between Paullinus’ troops and the British rebels to the reprisals that followed. When detectable, Tacitus’ criticism of the governor’s acts should be regarded on the whole as instructive, exactly because of the fact that the historian does not hide his admiration for the governor. When the narrative returns to the description of his actions, Tacitus says that ‘whatever tribes still wavered or were hostile were ravaged with fire and sword.’79 This report, planted within the account of the revolt, should be read, of course, as relating only to those inhabitants of the province or client kingdoms who took part in the opposition. To be sure, when it is made, the historian’s statement regarding ‘fire and sword’ appears to formulate Tacitus’ approval of the severe response to persisting opposition. Later developments, however, reveal that neither the lower levels in the local administration nor the central government in Rome approved of the postrevolt policy of Paullinus. Tacitus himself proves to be judgmental of it in more than one place. ‘Fire and sword,’ as it turned out, were not sufficient to achieve pacification, and even an ensuing famine did not break the spirit of resistance. At this point, Tacitus introduces Britain’s new procurator: However, the fierce tribes turned more slowly towards peace because Iulius Classicianus, who had been sent to succeed Catus and was at variance with Suetonius, interfered with the public welfare by his private animosities, and had spread a rumor that a new legate should be awaited, who would treat those who surrendered mildly, lacking the wrath of an enemy and the arrogance of a victor.80 Tacitus concentrates here on the agency of Iulius Classicianus, but it should be noted that his report does not try to contradict or to refute the implied allegations against Paullinus, of setting too dear a price for the surrender of previous participants in the revolt. Generally speaking, Tacitus would be the first to admit that ‘little is gained by conquest if followed by unlawful acts.’81 To the actions performed for the benefit of the local population by his father-in-law, Agricola, he refers in a passage already discussed exactly as an attempt to ‘root out the causes of war.’82 His general view on the Britons in the Agricola is that they ‘readily accept the conscription, the taxes, and the other duties dictated by the empire, as long as there is no injustice—of this they are impatient; they are reduced to subjection, not as yet to slavery.’83 And it is also in the Agricola, where he does not yet appear to be bound by his admiration to Paullinus, that he goes so far as to state that after the Boudican revolt many of the rebels clung to their arms out of fear

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that ‘excellent as [Paullinus] was in other respects, he would act arrogantly towards the conquered, and would treat them more severely, as one who was avenging private wrongs.’84 It may be argued, then, that Tacitus himself believed—even as he was writing the Annals—that resistance in Britain continued after the decisive battle because of Paullinus’ oppressive conduct. But still more remarkable is Tacitus’ conviction that both the new procurator, Classicianus, and the imperial court took Paullinus’ actions to have been at the root of the problem. The historian says that Classicianus ‘stated in a dispatch to Rome that no cessation of fighting must be expected unless Suetonius were superseded, attributing that general’s calamities to depravity and his successes to good luck.’85 Thus, Classicianus may be seen to have acted in the interests of the indigenous population when he recommended patience in awaiting Paullinus’ replacement and anticipated relief for local suffering at that time.86 Based on the report of Classicianus, Nero’s decision was to interrupt the governor’s provocative activity. Such an intervention on the part of the imperial court is hardly unprecedented in the first century of the Principate. The emperor Gaius is believed to have interrupted unexpectedly the term in office of Egypt’s prefect Vitrasius Pollio when the latter failed to preserve the tense status quo in Alexandria, and was blamed by the Jewish party for siding with the city’s Greek population in their persecution of Jews. And Claudius is known to have ordered Corbulo back to the left bank of the Rhine when his activity among the Chauci was widely regarded as ‘sowing the seeds of revolt.’87 It is noteworthy that Nero sent to Britain one of his freedmen as his direct representative in order to achieve a similar purpose. Paullinus was replaced soon thereafter, either because his summons back to Rome was imminent regardless, just needing some excuse or reason, or because he was perceived to have remained resistant to the imperial dictates delivered by Polyclitus. It is evident, then, that the local population’s breach of trust prompted no punitive response from the emperor. Furthermore, it appears that Nero himself was determined to end the conflict in Britain. In fact, the intervention of the central imperial government in the affairs of Britain far exceeded the mere removal from the province of all disruptive elements, and continued for long years after the revolt, at the very least by means of carefully calculated official appointments to the province.88 REVOLT’S AFTERMATH In Judea of the year 4 BCE, various events disrupted Archelaus’ potentially peaceful accession, and made the ratification of Herod’s will at Rome far more than a mere formality.89 The last version of this will named Archelaus as king of Judea, with his brothers, Antipas and Philip, as tetrarchs of Galilee and Trachonitis respectively. Members of the family and of the

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Herodian court, however, objected to some or all aspects of this will, and contested Archelaus’ right to the throne. Above all, Antipas, who was named sole heir in an earlier version of the will, claimed that Herod was no longer in his right mind when naming Archelaus as king of Judea. And, speciously in support of Antipas, other family members, among them probably also the dominant Salome, the beneficiaries’ aunt, hoped for the Roman option—the incorporation of Judea, under its ‘own laws,’ into the provincial system.90 To add to the challenge of his first days in power, as soon as the mourning period for Herod was over, Archelaus, already acting as king, received from the population in Judea requests for some reforms in taxation, and for the release of prisoners. His acquiescence was followed by still more demands from the Jews, who demanded that ‘they be avenged by Archelaus through the punishment of those men who had been honored by Herod and choose another man who would serve as high priest more in accordance with the law and ritual purity.’91 It is possible that one of the basic motivations of those making the requests on behalf of the local population was to obtain as many benefits as possible from a young and inexperienced king, and that the initial consent encouraged the presentation of still more demands, and was Archelaus’ original mistake.92 However, the specific nature of the demands clearly indicates that a differentiation between the previous rule and the forthcoming one was sought. By asking for the heads of Herod’s supporters, and by trying to bring to annulment his official appointments, Herod’s former subjects were looking, perhaps above all other things, for an unequivocal statement on the part of Archelaus that his regime would not identify with that of his father. Archelaus should have realized as much immediately. He could not have been a stranger to the harshness of his father’s rule, nor to popular dissatisfaction with it. If he did not want to resort to the use of force, it would perhaps have been less of a mistake to appear generous at first, and to allow for a clear distinction to emerge and solidify between his own conduct as ruler and that of his father. Instead, he sent his general out to the restless crowd, gathered in Jerusalem for the Passover, to convey his frustration with their latest demands, and with their loud mourning of two seditious figures, Judas and Matthias, who were executed during Herod’s last days. The confrontation that followed soon demanded the use of military force, and by the end of the day, according to Josephus’ account, three thousand pilgrims lay dead.93 Such an event could not have gone unnoticed by Roman officials, such as the Syrian governor, and, consequently, by the imperial court in Rome. Even if it was not reported promptly, various embassies soon arrived in Rome to plead their cases regarding the fate of Judea, and the story of the Passover massacre served those opposing Archelaus in discrediting him before Augustus. The importance of official embassies from Judea to Rome should not be understated in the attempt to appraise the amount and nature of information

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that would have been available to decision-makers in Rome. These are not only delegations of the sort mentioned in Chapter One, of client kings seeking Rome’s recognition and support, but also, starting in the year 6, when the region was provincialized, embassies in search of solutions to the mundane problems of the province’s routine. The frequency of such visits to Rome throughout the decades that lead to the outbreak of the revolt proves the extent to which routine life in Judea relied on the resolution of local problems in the Roman center itself. It also emphasizes the dependability of the emperor and his court on the information coming from the province when the need for imperial intervention arose. In most of the cases surveyed here, the emperor is seen to have acted in response to a provincial appeal, and not to have initiated unsolicited intervention. It should be emphasized that Judea’s case is indeed exceptional, both in the thoroughness of its documentation by Josephus and in the relative attention that the region drew to itself during the first century. But the practice of sending official embassies to the emperor should by no means be considered as representative of Judea alone. There is evidence in abundance for the employment of this effective tool by communities across the Roman world—and not only in times of crisis.94 To be sure, in the immediate neighborhood of Judea, the Samaritans can be seen to have made similar use of official embassies to promote their interests in the region. The presence of a man such as Nicolaus of Damascus in the embassy that came to represent Archelaus’ cause in Rome should be noted. He had been Herod’s advisor for long years, and served him on diplomatic missions on various occasions, most notably to Augustus in 8–7 BCE, when the king had incurred the princeps’ anger because of his unauthorized campaign in Arabia. What are we to make of Nicolaus’ condemnation of the Jewish character as ‘impatient of all authority and insubordinate towards the sovereigns’?95 In imparting to Augustus—after the latter had listened to an appeal of the Jews to annex Judea to the province of Syria—how difficult this group was to rule, Nicolaus could have been perceived as conveying worthy advice, based on experience. And, to be sure, his being a Syrian would have added to the ‘knowledgeable’ position that he presumed to adopt—the Syrians having had a long history of involvement with their Jewish neighbors. No doubt, Rome depended also on such individual agents of information, and their reliability could have been key to the initial adoption of views and policies. Nevertheless, Nicolaus’ biased standpoint—representing the case of the new king against the pleas of that king’s subjects—could not have been overlooked. It can be imagined that his warning was taken with a pinch of salt. Herodian rule was notorious for its iron hand. Among other examples, Josephus reports on the prohibition of meetings, secret police, strict punishments, incarceration in Hyrcania, and executions.96 And Herod certainly did not act in vacuum. It can be assumed that watchful Roman officials— especially those who worked in the vicinity, such as the governors and

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procurators of the province of Syria—would have noticed the displeasure of the king’s subjects. Augustus himself, when visiting Herod in the region, witnessed at Gadara a fierce popular demonstration against the king’s tyrannical methods.97 There would thus have been enough information available to Augustus and his council to balance such a pessimistic evaluation of the Jews as Nicolaus’, or at least to explain it in practical terms, without resorting to suspicions of ‘ingrained rebelliousness.’ To be sure, the rapid pace of events in Judea would have made its own contribution to the Roman evaluations; it certainly demanded prompt action. Whatever had been the initial Roman view of the political stability in Judea and of the unrest that the death of Herod might stir up, after the immediate eruption of violence there would have been at the very least room for doubt regarding the advisable status of the region. Varus’ first action upon Archelaus’ departure for Rome was to go to Jerusalem, ‘as it was evident that the people would not remain quiet,’ and to install there a legion that he brought with him from Syria for this purpose.98 He was not apprehensive without reason, since there soon followed unrest on an ominous scale. Furthermore, while there appears to have been no intention on the Roman side to incorporate the kingdom into the empire upon Herod’s death, by the time the various delegations from Judea made it to Rome to plead their case in front of Augustus, the possibility of annexation was already being contemplated by various groups and individuals. It was mentioned earlier that some members of the Herodian family preferred Roman rule; it appears that they backed Antipas only out of their hatred for Archelaus, in case their primary wish should not be fulfilled. Josephus mentions two other groups that were in favor of such a solution: the Jews of Judea, represented by fifty ambassadors at Rome, and the Jewish community of Rome, whose members offered their brethren from Judea a warm welcome and fierce support of their cause.99 This is, of course, an early example of a provincial population demonstrating interest in annexation. Contemporary and later appeals for a Roman invasion of Britain, made by local notables, appear to have worked in the same vein. By the early second century the phenomenon appears to have been widespread.100 Thus, though prior to Herod’s death there appears to have been an intention in the Augustan court to honor and ratify the king’s will, soon thereafter the reality of instability in the region encouraged a shift towards annexation. Syria’s governor found himself ever more involved in the affairs of the kingdom and felt obliged to garrison Jerusalem with a whole legion, while both members of the Herodian family and representatives of the local population of Judea vied for the end of the monarchy, and for direct Roman rule. Augustus’ decision could not have been an easy one, especially since he seems to have taken the issue very seriously, giving audience to all embassies that came to see him, and convening the Senate for the hearing of the cases of Herod’s sons, and of the Jewish delegation. His ultimate choice may

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suggest that he was inclined from the beginning to adhere to Herod’s will. But his dawdling over the decision gives away his doubts.101 To make Augustus’ decision still more difficult, soon after hearing the pleas of Archelaus and Antipas, and even before giving audience to the embassy of the Jews, he received from Varus the news of a major revolt in Judea. It is difficult to appraise how detailed the initial reports were, or even how complete Varus’ own picture of the opposition could have been, since the initial outbreak of hostilities in Jerusalem provoked a spontaneous response in multiple centers across the Herodian kingdom, not necessarily all related in cause. The lingering effect of Herod’s death must have played a background part; Archelaus’ prolonged absence could not have contributed to stability. The presence of a Roman legion in Jerusalem, while it could have had a deterrent effect on potential rebels and rioters, could equally have been taken by the Jews as a provocation, especially in light of the recent events of the previous Passover. The multiple uprisings that occurred at this point can be divided into two groups of distinct nature.102 First, there was resistance whose aim was complete independence, and the elimination of all forms of foreign rule.103 In the Galilee, Judah son of Hezekiah broke into the royal arsenals of Sepphoris and armed a group of supporters. In return, Sepphoris was burned by a detachment of Varus’ advancing army, and its inhabitants were enslaved. In Perea, Simon, a former slave of Herod, proclaimed himself king and burned the royal palace in Jericho. He was defeated subsequently by royal troops. And another self-proclaimed king, Athronges the shepherd, attacked and destroyed at Emmaus a Roman foraging company and its centurion. He was defeated by Archelaus’ generals in the hills of Judea, and Emmaus was burnt by Varus as he was approaching Jerusalem. It should be emphasized that these cases were regionally diverse, and are therefore less significant than they are often taken to be. This form of opposition may have followed in most cases the news of unrest in Jerusalem, but it differed from it significantly both in its aims and in the way in which it was conducted. The uprising in Jerusalem was far more serious, and its shock waves must have reached Rome soon after its outbreak. It started during the festival of Shavuot, when, once again, thousands of Jewish pilgrims were gathered in the city. In the Antiquities, Josephus ascribes most of the blame to Sabinus, the procurator of Syria, who was present and active in Judea at the time.104 However, other than stating generally that he ‘oppressed’ the Jews, the particular action that the procurator is reported to have taken seems to have been directed solely at the royal estate and its agents: ‘for he used force in seizing the citadels, and zealously pressed on in the search after the king’s money, in order to seize upon it by force, on account of his love of gain and his extraordinary covetousness.’ We do not know anything about Sabinus from sources other than Josephus, but his action at this time appears to have been dictated by the duties of his office under the given circumstances. The

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death of a client king could certainly entail the transference of at least some of the royal assets to the hands of the emperor.105 And Josephus does represent Sabinus as acting on behalf of Augustus.106 To be sure, Josephus’ vague allegations against Sabinus should serve as an early warning regarding the historian’s latter tendency to ascribe—in a way that could be suspect of being programmatic—most of the blame for tension in Judea to the Roman procurators. An alternative explanation could be found in the pilgrims’ own mind-set when approaching Jerusalem. Josephus describes them as set upon fighting, and as putting up their camps in key locations, in order to besiege the Roman legion within the city.107 Doubtless, the fresh memory of the Passover massacre and the presence of the legion helped in creating tension, but the fact that the troops were now Roman and not royal did not necessarily have a special significance. For creating tension within a restless crowd the identity of a massive restraining force need not necessarily have mattered, so long as it was seen to represent and defend the monarchical authority. Under such circumstances, Sabinus’ panic was probably all that it took to trigger violence. The procurator was the one who ordered the Roman legionaries to charge into the crowd. It is noteworthy that, even after some fierce fighting and the looting by Sabinus and his soldiers of the Temple’s sacred treasury, the Roman legion and the procurator were offered by the Jews a safe passage out of the city—an offer that was turned down. Meanwhile Varus was nearing Jerusalem, taking time to stop only for reprisals, and it was his threatening approach that made the Jews give up their positions, and leave Jerusalem without further fighting. Shortly thereafter, another opposition movement in Idumea, started by Idumean veterans and reinforced by Jews from Judea, dissolved through the negotiations of Herod’s cousin, Achiab. Varus sent the leaders of the rebelling Idumeans to Rome, to be punished by Augustus for taking up arms against their own kinsmen. Josephus writes somewhat enthusiastically about this revolt of the Jews, especially when describing the fighting that took place in Jerusalem. But, patriotism aside, it is hard to see what exact blame he relates to Sabinus, or on what evidence he bases his proclamation that the Jews felt that they now had ‘the opportunity to recover their country’s liberty.’108 This uprising could not have been intended as an organized anti-Roman rebellion. It does demonstrate the great tension that characterized this period of hope for change, especially whenever crowds of Jews gathered in Jerusalem for their holy feasts. The hostilities, at any rate, appear to have started spontaneously, as a result of the tension. One also ought to remember that at the same time fifty representatives of this very rebelling population were at Rome, lobbying for the integration of Judea into the Roman empire. Finally, it is revealing that, upon his return from Rome, Archelaus ascribed responsibility for the uprising to Jewish dignitaries whose pro-Roman propensities were beyond doubt.109 It may be stretching the evidence too much to

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claim on this basis that the whole revolt was planned as a pro-Roman act.110 The fighting was fierce and real, and the slaying of Roman legionaries was hardly the way to deliver a welcoming message to Rome. More sensibly, the revolt may be seen as yet another representation of the general fear in Judea of the continuation of Herodian terror. Sabinus and the Roman legion were thus not targeted as the representatives of the Roman rule, but as the keepers of order on Archelaus’ account. Throughout these events, it is hard to ignore the dedication of the Roman administration to the maintenance of calm in the region. While at Rome Augustus was making himself and the Senate available to hear the pleas of all sides involved, and to deliberate lengthily on the future status of Herod’s kingdom, Varus made every effort to anticipate unrest in the region, and to check it as soon as it started. While Herod himself appears to have been quite capable of keeping order in his realm by means of his own troops— recruited mostly, but not solely, from within the Idumeans and the Jews— the governor of Syria does not seem to have relied too heavily on the royal army and its generals. Having left in Jerusalem one out of his three legions after Archelaus’ departure to Rome, Varus found himself obliged to return to the region from Antioch soon thereafter, not only with the two remaining legions but also with auxiliary forces from Arabia, Berytus, and other kingdoms in the region.111 His precaution and his conduct should convince us above all that it was peace he was after, and not the ‘manufacturing of great wars.’112 That is not to say, of course, that his methods once he was on the move were delicate. His brutality, while it was exacted discriminately, proved highly effective. Sepphoris and Emmaus were burnt for serving as playground for puny local rebel figures, but also as an urgent message to the rioters in Jerusalem. The message was well received, and by the time Varus made it to Jerusalem there was no enemy left from whom to rescue Sabinus. The consequent crucifixion of two thousand of the rebels must have played a major part in keeping Judea quiet until the return of Archelaus, and, quite likely, well into his decade in reign. It yet remains to analyze the princeps’ ultimate decision with regard to Herod’s kingdom. Most of the articles of Herod’s will were eventually accepted by Augustus without change, though Archelaus had to be satisfied with the title of ethnarch—the leader of a people—and with the promise of being made king sometime in the future.113 This solution has been regarded in modern scholarship as weak, unwise, and even simply wrong—mostly, it would appear, because of Archelaus’ subsequent incompetence as a ruler, and his ultimate removal by Augustus a decade later, in 6 CE.114 It ought to be noted, however, that Archelaus is seen to have failed miserably mostly when compared to Antipas, who survived as tetrarch of Galilee until his deposition in 39 CE, and to Philip, who ruled Gaulanitis, Auranitis, and Trachonitis until his death in 34 CE. When evaluating Augustus’ decision, therefore, we should focus our attention rather on the information that he

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had, and on the various considerations that would have driven him to adopt the solution that he did. The information available to him may be deduced from the events that were laid out earlier. It would have been clear to any magistrate in Rome who followed the reports from Judea that there arose a popular opposition to the continuation of the Herodian monarchy, and that the Roman magistrates and legions from Syria already found themselves deeply involved in the maintenance of order in the region. However, if Archelaus should prove to be made of his father’s mettle, surely this situation could have been regarded in Rome as reversible, especially once the young ruler had acquired some experience on the throne. Political stability must have been one of Augustus’ main considerations in deciding on the kingdom’s status, but there was no guarantee that a physical Roman presence and direct rule would have done better work than royal troops and Herodian strictness. At least as far as active opposition is concerned, it should be emphasized that we hear of no revolt in Judea during Archelaus’ reign.115 After the initial turbulence that prevailed in Judea following his accession, almost a decade of stability and no recourse to physical Roman intervention can be seen as a failure only when compared to the longer reigns of Antipas and Philip.116 The deposition happened, according to Josephus, in response to official complaints by the Jews and Samaritans regarding Archelaus’ conduct, on account of which he was summoned to Rome for trial, and banished by Augustus to Vienna. The process could not have been as abrupt as Josephus’ conciseness makes it appear. Only what has been aptly compared to modern-day ‘intense lobbying’ on the part of the plaintiffs could have driven Augustus to such an extreme measure.117 In the Antiquities, Augustus is depicted as furious at Archelaus’ breaking of his command to rule moderately. It may very well have been rather the fear that the tyrannical behavior of the young ruler might result in more unrest that prompted him finally to act as he did. Roman motivation to maintain the previous status of rebelling provinces may be found also in the early days of conquered Britain. We do not know much about Ostorius Scapula’s career before he was appointed Britain’s governor in 47.118 By that time, the province of Britain and the client kingdoms surrounding it were well established within the Roman provincial system as a result of Aulus Plautius’ successes, but the situation on the frontiers was far from stable, and Caratacus, the persistent leader of the local opposition to Roman presence in Britain, had not yet been captured. Scapula’s term could not have been one of consolidation of previous achievements, as would have been made clear to Claudius by Plautius’ reports and his unfruitful chase of Caratacus. The early implementation of a policy of consolidation would have endangered the province itself, seeing that powerful enemies on its frontiers would have been left with the initiative to attack.119 Claudius had to appoint an able expansionist, and it may very well be that

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the elderly Didius Gallus, who was possibly interested in the position, was rejected for this reason.120 It may not have come as a surprise, either to Scapula or to Claudius, that during the term in office of Britain’s second governor cracks were already beginning to show in Rome’s initial alliances with local groups. Relentless expansion usually came with a price, and Scapula found himself obliged to look over his shoulder even as he was pressing forward. The governor seems to have had a solid order of priorities to guide his action. Tacitus tells us that ‘it was his fixed purpose not to undertake any new projects before he had consolidated his previous ones.’121 What we know about Scapula’s moves between 47 and 51 is indeed consonant with this pattern. Upon arriving in the province, and after repelling an enemy invasion into allied territories, his first step was to disarm ‘all whom he suspected’—meaning, we have to assume, ally client kingdoms.122 Among those suspected were the Iceni, whose absence from the sources up to this point suggests that they had not demonstrated hostility towards the invading Roman forces, and that their leader was most likely among the kings said to have capitulated to Claudius in 43.123 Scapula must have known that a move of disarmament might meet with opposition; the Iceni and their neighbors indeed chose to fight for their right to carry weapons, and lost the battle. Tacitus’ following words are a succinct representation of the success of Scapula’s tactic: ‘the defeat of the Iceni quieted those who were hesitating between war and peace; then the army was marched against the Cangi (in northern Wales).’124 Archaeological evidence suggests that garrisoning the Icenian territory was thought unnecessary.125 Scapula left behind an auxiliary detachment at Saham Toney, but his subsequent intense campaigning across northern Wales must indicate that he did not fear an uprising in the east—even the colony at Camulodunum (modern day Colchester) had not yet been founded.126 To this observation should be added the fact that the status of the Iceni as a client kingdom was not terminated by the Roman governor after their resort to armed opposition. Annexation was to await the natural death of their king, Prasutagus, in 60.127 Indeed, it may well have been Prasutagus himself, Boudica’s husband, who was sitting on the throne at the time of the disarmament conflict. A deliberate policy of pacification was evidently adopted by Britain’s governor, and Scapula was clearly satisfied with having achieved his goal before setting out for the west. The same approach persisted during the campaign against the Cangi, when the client kingdom of the Brigantes became restless. Scapula interrupted his activity in Wales, and returned to punish some and pardon the rest. When quiet was restored, he began his assault on the powerful Silures. The client status of the Brigantes likewise remained untouched after this disruption.128 Even the sources for the Boudican revolt produce a similar picture. After a breach of Roman trust of such an order of magnitude, modern scholars frequently appear to expect a tighter military control over the region that rebelled. It ought to be remembered, though, that, as in the case of

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recent conquests, the regarrisoning of a formerly trusted territory would be only one way to regain pacification. For a Roman rule that still entertained thoughts of expansion, regaining the goodwill of indigenous groups would have been a far more efficient means of making troops available for foreign campaigns. Arguably, a peaceful routine based on the willing cooperation of the local population would have given the Roman administration a more solid sense of security than a superficial calm, enforced by military presence. We should scarcely be surprised to discover that, once the dust of Paullinus’ fury settled, the territories of the former rebels witnessed little intensification in military presence. While there seem to be a handful of forts that were newly built or reoccupied in the period around the year 60, it is not easy to find a direct relation between those forts and the events of the revolt. The main reason for this is the location of the forts, many of which were placed as far to the west as in the West Midlands. Mancetter in Warwickshire, the Lunt near Coventry, Wall in Staffordshire, and Metchley in Birmingham all seem to have been regarrisoned. But for what purpose? If the Boudican revolt is insisted on, then only the conjecture that the decisive battle took place near Mancetter may constitute a link to the revolt. Even if we accept this possibility as plausible, such activity may hardly be interpreted as relevant to the enforcement of peace in the focal points of the revolt, far to the east. Of course, if dated only a year or two earlier, the activity at these sites can be taken to be a part of Suetonius Paullinus’ Welsh campaigns prior to the revolt.129 Few other sites show revived military presence in the early 60s that might bear direct relevance to the Boudican revolt. The Romano-British settlement at Grandford, in the heart of the Fens of eastern England, was possibly established, like many other similar settlements, on the site of a vacated fort.130 The assumption has been recently reinforced by aerial photographs, and it is possible that the fort was built immediately after the Boudican revolt.131 It appears to have been suitable for five hundred auxiliary soldiers. Assuming that the date is correct, this could be an indication of the deployment of troops to a location that would make them immediately available for dealing with threats on the part of the Iceni for a few years after the revolt.132 Otherwise, there seems to be little military activity that can be positively ascribed to this brief period of the 60s CE.133 The line of argumentation that may carefully be outlined ex silentio becomes forceful enough once we pay closer attention to those sources that do speak. Fortresses that had been vacated prior to the revolt and must have been still readily available for the stationing of troops nevertheless show no revived activity.134 And military sites that are known to have been occupied during or immediately after the revolt are evacuated shortly thereafter. The settlement at Grandford was established around the year 65, and thus any earlier fort on the site had ceased to exist as such by this time.135 In Suffolk, the only fort that may have been built immediately after the Boudican revolt also served for military

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purposes only for a short duration.136 More significantly, Longthorpe was abandoned soon after peace had returned to the region.137 This was in all likelihood the base from which a detachment of the ninth legion embarked to the aid of the colony at Camulodunum during the Boudican revolt. It is significant that troops stationed within operational distance of the Iceni were pulled out soon after a revolt that found a beginning and a leader on Icenian territory. But it is perhaps more important for the understanding of Roman policy in post-Boudican Britain to note that a whole legion was withdrawn from the island itself not five years after the end of the war that had nearly led to the loss of the province. Even if the revolt was still a few steps from turning into a ‘clades Variana’—as some historians refer to it—Nero’s decision in 66 to withdraw the fourteenth legion from the island must serve as an indication of the administration’s great confidence in the stability of the region.138 The three legions that remained were rearranged to be stationed at Lincoln (IX Hispana), Wroxeter (XX Valeria), and Gloucester (II Augusta), significantly with an outward-looking orientation towards the west and north.139 In the event, Nero’s move was not miscalculated, since stability was to be maintained in southern Britain from the subjugation of the Boudican revolt onwards. While Nero’s eastern campaign never came to fruition, the fourteenth legion Gemina was caught in Europe in the events that followed the emperor’s death, and did not return to Britain until 69. There is no indication that its absence from Britain during this period encouraged restlessness of any sort in the region, and, while expansion projects in following years still made use of the force of four legions, under Domitian the number was finally fixed at three.140 Modern scholarship often likes to imagine, when faced with postrevolt demilitarization, a subjugation campaign so fierce as to make the stationing of military forces redundant at the end of the process—little need to garrison that desert the Romans have created and are now calling ‘peace.’141 But the picture that emerges from the examples discussed here is one of far deeper Roman motivation to reestablish routine as it had been known to the local population prior to unrest and revolt. The important place occupied in revolt narratives by the resumption of the province’s previous status is noteworthy. The mere fact that the Roman authorities emphasized it in their propaganda conflicts with conjectures of brutality and vengefulness—as does the evidence itself—and should encourage us to leave room in our appraisals for more positive Roman efforts to secure provincial cooperation. Examples additional to the ones presented earlier are ubiquitous, even if not all enjoy similarly elaborate sources and retraceable narratives.142 Augustus’ claims about Armenia not only are representative but also may well have served as an example for later generations. Following the assassination of Artaxias, the princeps says in his Res Gestae, he could have made Armenia a province, as he did with Egypt; he refrained to do so on

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account of ‘the precedent of our forefathers’ (maiorum nostrorum exemplo), and maintained instead its previous status as a client kingdom.143 Even later, when direct allegations are made by him regarding an Armenian rebellion (desciscentem et rebellantem), Augustus emphasizes, side by side with mentioning the fact of ultimate subjugation, the confirmation of the client kingdom status.144 Status, of course, did not apply solely to the indigenous group’s mode of connection to the central imperial administration—be it as a province, a directly controlled client kingdom, or an ally within the larger sphere of Roman hegemony. Status could also relate to a variety of ad hoc rights and particular understandings reached between the administration and the respective groups it came to control, be it on the economic, religious, political, or any other relevant sphere. The Batavians, for example, are known to have been exempt from taxes since the time of their incorporation into the empire. Their revolt in 69–70, under the leadership of Civilis, did nothing to threaten this significant privilege, which is attested also after the end of the rebellion:145 They still retain this honor, together with a proof for their ancient alliance; for they are neither humiliated by taxes, nor worn out by farmers of the revenue. They are exempt from fiscal burdens and other contributions, and kept apart for military use alone, reserved, like missiles and armor, for the purposes of war. Given the availability of such a description for the year 98, when de origine et situ Germanorum was narrated, it is difficult to imagine that after the revolt trust in the Batavians was regained by means of brutality and decimation. In the decades and centuries that followed their revolt, we find their cavalry and troops playing an important part in Rome’s military efforts in Britain and along the Danube.146

NOTES 1. Philo Leg. 249; Joseph. BJ 2.200; Joseph. AJ 18.272. 2. See, for example, the aftermath of the Boudican revolt (Tac. Ann. 14.38): ‘But nothing discouraged the enemy more than famine, negligent as they were about sowing crops, and having sent people of every age to the war while counting on our provisions as their own.’ 3. Joseph. BJ 2.345–401; Tac. Ann. 4.24. 4. Regarding the chronology and duration of the Boudican revolt, see Carroll (1979), 200–201. On the evolvement of Tacfarinas’ campaign, see Tac. Ann. 4.23. On the arrival of the Idumeans to Jerusalem, see Joseph. BJ 4.224–352. 5. Goldsworthy (1996), 79–95. 6. Joseph. AJ 17.286: . . . ὁπόσα τε ἐπικουρικὰ καὶ ὁι βασιλεῖς οἵ τινες τετράρχαι τότε παρεῖχον. For the deployment of legions in Syria during this period, see Millar (1993), 32; 41–42.

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17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

24.

25.

26.

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CIL III, 14147 (lines 2–5 for the Latin; lines 11–14 for the Greek). See the section ahead for an elaborate discussion. Tac. Ann. 2.52. For a discussion on the military background of governors, see Chapter Three (this volume). Suet. Nero 39; Dio 62.1; Tac. Ann. 14.29–33. With doubts nevertheless remaining about Verulamium; see Hingley and Unwin (2005), 70–96. De la Bédoyère (2003), 66. Henig (2002), 46. Tac. Ann. 14.32. Tac. Agr. 14. Tacitus, supportive of expansion as he is, indeed does not seem to criticize Paullinus’ decision, but to point out a simple truth. Holland’s words (2000, 123) are an example of the typical modern criticism of the governor’s ‘strategic’ mistake: ‘He had made the elementary mistake of leaving south-east Britain virtually undefended while he went off to harry the Welsh.’ For example, Tacitus’ (Ann. 14.33) dramatization of Paullinus’ realization that Londinium could not be saved: ‘. . . he resolved to save the province at the cost of a single town.’ For a modern adoption of such an extreme approach, see Henig (2002), 46: ‘All Boudica needed to do was to sweep westwards and destroy the second ‘collaborationist’ oppidum of Calleva and then the major armies of Britain would be bottled up in the middle of Britain without hope of succour. There was another clades Variana in the making.’ Frere and St. Joseph (1974), 38–39. Mattingly (2006), 110. On Londinium’s development and importance by the time of the revolt, see Hingley and Unwin (2005), 83–89. Soon after the Boudican revolt it became the capital of the province (Millett 1990, 89–91). Tac. Ann. 14.33. Ibid. Londinium may have been the place where the procurator was situated, and, if so, attractive to the rebels on both accounts; Verulamium is titled by Tacitus a municipium, though some scholars (Hingley and Unwin 2005, 90) dismiss it as the historian’s attempt to make the rebellion look graver, by relating to the town a status it will be awarded probably much later. On the force available for the battle see Tac. Ann. 14.34; on the unexplained inertia of the camp prefect of Legio II, Poenius Postumus, evidently the acting commander at the time, see Tac. Ann. 14.37; the two thousand legionaries that were sent by Nero from Germany (Tac. Ann. 14.38) when the rebellion was subjugated were probably enough to top up the dwindled lines of Legio II. See also Mattingly (2006), 10. Most modern accounts agree that the location chosen by Paullinus would have been somewhere along Watling Street. Paullinus’ troops, as Paullinus before them, would have moved south and east along this route from Mona towards Londinium; Legio II would have been expected to arrive from the south on the Fosse Way, which met Watling Street at Venonae (High Cross). Regarding the numbers in the battle see Tac. Ann. 14.34. In addition, Dio (62.2) claims that Boudica first had at her disposal 120,000 men, which number grows by the time of the final battle to 230,000 (62.8). Tacitus reports that the ten thousand Roman troops consisted of all of Legio XIV, the veterans of Legio XX, and auxiliaries from the neighborhood. It has to be assumed that the rest of Legio XX stayed behind to secure accomplishments in the west.

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Handling Revolt 27. Tac. Ann. 14.29: ‘In the consulship of Caesonius Paetus and Petronius Turpilianus etc.’ 28. For a survey of the history of the controversy, see Carroll (1979), 197–198. Carroll’s attempt in this article to promote the less popular possibility that the revolt broke out in 61 seems not to have been persuasive, though most later references to the year 60 as the date of the outbreak of hostilities rely on the prevailing view, and do not try to confront his challenge. 29. Carroll (1979), 197. 30. For example, Sealey (1997), 12–13: ‘Most people now take the view that Prasutagus died—and that the revolt broke out—in AD 60 and that the war lasted until the following year’; Hingley and Unwin (2005), 46: ‘As the action apparently occurred over two years, the rebellion may well have taken place in AD 61 to 62.’ 31. See Carroll (1979, 200–201) for the shorter estimation; see Dudley and Webster (1962, 73) for the longer estimation. 32. He could have been involved, for example, in nominating Tigranes—who lived in Rome and was his acquaintance—to replace Tiridates on the Armenian throne upon the latter’s escape from Corbulo’s attack in 58; see Malitz (2005), 57–63. For an elaborate account and analysis of the celebrations of 65–66, see Champlin (2003), 221–229. 33. An extreme example may be found in Velleius Paterculus’ (2.111) account of the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt, and the preparations made by Augustus in Rome in addition to the deposition of the war in the hands of Tiberius. 34. Suet. Nero 18. 35. Tac. Ann. 3.32. 36. On the allotment of an additional legion to Africa, see Tac. Ann. 3.9. Tacitus (Tac. Ann. 4.23) criticizes later the withdrawal of Legio IX, ‘as if not an enemy remained in Africa.’ 37. Tac. Ann. 3.74: tunc tripertitum exercitum pluris in manus dispergit praeponitque centuriones virtutis expertae [[Blaesus] then further divided his tripartite army into several detachments and placed them under the command of centurions of proven valor]. See also Tac. Ann. 4.24. 38. Tiberius, for example, acted similarly in the Pannonian revolt in 6–7. See Dio 55.32.4: ‘The Romans next divided into detachments, in order to assail many parts of the country at once.’ See also Vell. Pat. 2.111.4: ‘We avoided their united forces and routed them with our separate detachments, enjoying such great opportunities through the prudence of our general.’ See also the campaign of Terentius Varro against the Salassi (Dio 53.25.3). 39. Tac. Ann. 3.20. 40. Tac. Ann. 3.74: nec, ut mos fuerat, acta aestate retrahit copias aut in hibernaculis veteris provinciae componit. 41. Gambash (forthcoming—2014). 42. See Millett (1990), 47–49. Cf. Suet. Vesp. 4: inde in Britanniam translatus tricies cum hoste conflixit. duas ualidissimas gentes superque uiginti oppida et insulam Vectem Britanniae proximam in dicionem redegit [Having been moved from there into Britain, he fought with the enemy thirty battles. He reduced to subjection two most powerful tribes, and more than twenty towns, as well as the Island of Wight, which lies close to the coast of Britain]. 43. Millett (1990), 50. 44. Dio 55.34.6; Dio, 56.13–16; Suet. Tib. 20. See Džino (2005), 155. 45. Tacitus’ narrative (e.g., Tac. Ann. 2.52), despite all the details it supplies to the contrary, tends to approach Tacfarinas’ activity as mostly related to banditry (latrocinium). On the representation of various disturbers of Roman order as latrones, see Grünewald (1999). 46. For example, starting with Bénabou (1977); Sirago (1987); Gonzales (1998).

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47. Tac. Ann. 2.52: ‘Tiberius celebrated willingly his achievements in the Senate, and the senators decreed that he should receive the ornaments of triumph, an honor which entailed no harm for Camillus, because of his unambitious life.’ 48. For example, Vell. Pat. 2.110; Dio 55.32. For current-day interpretations of this revolt, see Džino (2009). 49. Tac. Ann. 2.52: is natione Numida, in castris Romanis auxiliaria stipendia meritus, mox desertor, vagos primum et latrociniis suetos ad praedam et raptus congregare. Tac. Ann. 3.20: inconditis aut desertoribus. 50. Musulamiorum dux haberi. See, for example, Goodyear (1981), 348. 51. In Tac. Ann. 2.52, for example, the enemies of the Romans are described as a multitude of Numidians and Maures, but the routed enemy is merely called ‘the Numidians.’ 52. Tac. Ann. 4.23–4. 53. Cf. Apuleius’ self-representation as ‘half-Numidian half-Gaetulian’ (Ap. Apologia 24.1–3). For discussion on the significance of these definitions in African culture, see Todd Lee, Finkelpearl, and Graverini (2014), 5. 54. Tac. Ann. 2.52: Dein more militiae per vexilla et turmas componere, postremo non inconditae turbae sed Musulamiorum dux haberi. 55. Tac. Ann. 3.74 and 4.25 respectively. 56. Bénabou (1977), 298–302. 57. Bénabou (1977, 301–302) understands dux as a superior authority at the head of a Musulamian confederation. 58. Against the idea of a Musulamian confederation, see Whittaker (1978). 59. Tac. Ann. 3.73; 4.25. 60. Tac. Ann. 4.24. Dolabella executes these Musulamian leaders, suspecting they may join the rebellion. 61. Tac. Ann. 3.20–21; 3.73–74. 62. Shaw’s opinion (1980, 42); Shaw may have updated his opinion since, seeing in Tacfarinas a possible example for a local threat that is labeled by the Romans as brigand, and then brutally suppressed (1993, 338). 63. Relevant inscriptions are presented ahead. 64. On the presence of the Ninth in Africa see Tac. Ann. 4.23. On Piso overtaking the legion as it was marching towards Rome and then Africa, see Tac. Ann. 3.9. 65. CIL 8, p. 489 and p. 754. 66. Syme (1951), 113–117. 67. IRT 330. 68. Tac. Ann. 3.73. 69. AE 1940, 68 = IRT 301. 70. Mazard (1955) nos. 194–198; Dio 55.28.3–4. 71. AE 1961, 107. See Bartoccini (1958). 72. AE 1961, 108. 73. Tac. Ann. 3.73. 74. Dio’s narrative of the Pannonian revolt of 6–9 CE is abundant with similar considerations of coming to terms (e.g., Dio 55.33–4; 56.12–13). 75. The premise abounds in postcolonial historiography, from Bénabou (1976) on Africa to Mattingly (2006) on Britain. See Beard (2006) on Mattingly (2006). 76. Woolf (2011). 77. Tac. Ann. 14.29: Sed tum Paullinus Suetonius obtinebat Britannos, scientia militiae et rumore populi, qui neminem sine aemulo sinit, Corbulonis concertator, receptaeque Armeniae decus aequare domitis perduellibus cupiens. 78. Tac. Agr. 14.

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Handling Revolt 79. Tac. Ann. 14.38: Quodque nationum ambiguum aut adversum fuerat, igni atque ferro vastatum. 80. Tac. Ann. 14.38: Gentesque praeferoces tardius ad pacem inclinabant, quia Iulius Classicianus, successor Cato missus et Suetonio discors, bonum publicum privatis simultatibus impediebat disperseratque novum legatum opperiendum esse, sine hostili ira et superbia victoris clementer deditis consulturum. As the preceding comments on devastation and famine created the impression that the British tribes would prefer peace, it is widely accepted that the que that is attached to the first word of this sentence should be read with the adversative force of a tamen, or an attamen (after Furneaux 1891). 81. Tac. Agr. 19: . . . parum profici armis, si iniuriae sequerentur [Little is gained by conquest if followed by oppression]. 82. Tac. Agr. 19. 83. Tac. Agr. 13: Ipsi Britanni dilectum ac tributa et iniuncta imperii munera impigre obeunt, si iniuriae absint: has aegre tolerant, iam domiti ut pareant, nondum ut serviant. 84. Tac. Agr. 16: . . . tenentibus arma plerisque, quos conscientia defectionis et proprius ex legato timor agitabat, ne quamquam egregius cetera adroganter in deditos et ut suae cuiusque iniuriae ultor durius consuleret. 85. Tac. Ann. 14.38: [Classicianus] in urbem mandabat, nullum proeliorum finem exspectarent, nisi succederetur Suetonio, cuius adversa pravitati ipsius, prospera ad fortunam referebat. 86. In the next chapter (this volume), this sympathetic approach will be linked to Classicianus’ ethnic background. 87. Tac. Ann. 11.19–20. See Chapter Three (this volume), for a full treatment of these cases. 88. See the next chapter (this volume) on official appointments. 89. See Van Henten (2011) on the various narrative threads in Josephus’ account of the following episodes. 90. Joseph. BJ 2.22: ‘At Rome, all the relations, who detested Archelaus, transferred their support to [Antipas]; the object that was uppermost in the minds of every one of these was autonomy under the administration of a Roman governor, but, in default of that, they preferred to have Antipas for king.’ This is a typical place where Josephus could be borrowing from Nicolaus’ work. 91. Joseph. AJ 17.207. See also BJ 2.4–7. 92. Richardson (1996), 21. 93. Joseph. BJ 2.13; AJ 17.213–218. 94. See Millar (1977, 375–385) for an elaborate survey of provincial embassies and their functions. 95. Joseph. BJ 2.92. 96. Joseph. AJ 15.366. 97. Joseph. AJ 15.354–364. 98. Joseph. BJ 2.40. 99. Joseph. AJ 17.300. Regarding the social background of the members of the Judean delegation, see Paltiel (1981), 107–136. These delegates, it is worth noting, were granted permission to present their case in front of Augustus by Varus, the governor of Syria, who was probably either in favor of the idea of having his province expanded, or at least not disapproving of such a solution, should it be adopted by the emperor (Joseph. BJ 2.80). 100. App. Praef. 7. See also Millar (1982), 12–13; Braund (1984), 189. 101. Richardson (1996), 25–29. 102. Paltiel (1981).

Handling Revolt 103. 104. 105. 106.

107.

108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115.

116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127.

128. 129.

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For what follows see Joseph. AJ 17.271–298. Joseph. AJ 17.252–3. See also BJ 2.41. As in the case of King Prasutagus of the Iceni; see the section ahead. Joseph. AJ 17.213: ‘And Sabinus, out of regard to Varus, did neither seize upon any of the castles that were among the Jews, nor did he seal up the treasures in them, but permitted Archelaus to have them, until Caesar should declare his resolution about them.’ It is highly possible, however, that this ‘siege’ formation was purely fortuitous, especially if we consider that pilgrims arrived in Jerusalem from Galilee, Idumea, Jericho, Perea, and Judea itself, and possibly pitched their camps in accordance with the direction from which they approached the city. Of course, once fighting began, the location of the camps served the Jews well in holding back the encircled legion. See Richardson (1996), 23; Paltiel (1981), 125. Joseph. AJ 17.267. Among them the high priest Joazar (Joseph. AJ 17.339). See Paltiel (1981), 122–124. Paltiel (1981). Joseph. AJ. 17.286–287. As has been suggested by Paltiel (1981), 125–126. Joseph. BJ. 2.93. Richardson (1996), 25–29. Very little is said by Josephus about this period in general, probably because he simply had no sources discussing it ( Joseph. BJ 2.111): ‘Archelaus, on taking possession of his ethnarchy, did not forget old feuds, but treated not only the Jews but even the Samaritans with great brutality. Both parties sent deputies to Caesar to denounce him, and in the ninth year of his rule he was banished to Vienna, a town in Gaul, and his property confiscated to the imperial treasury.’ See also AJ 17.342–344. Reigns that were not necessarily all peaceful from beginning to end. Antipas’ Galilee, for example, saw the revolt of Judas in 6 CE (on Judas the Galilean see the next section). Paltiel (1981), 133. Birley (2005), 25–31. For more on the policy of consolidation and periods when it was practiced, see Gambash (2013). The possibility arises from Quint. 6.3.38; see Birley (2005), 35. Tac. Ann. 12.32. Tac. Ann. 12.31. On the Iceni see Cunliffe (2005), 178–200. For more on the Iceni’s revolt in 47, see Braund (1996), 133. Tac. Ann. 12.32. The Cangi were located in northern Wales. Potter and Robinson (2000), 31–32. Coins show that the fort at Saham Toney was abandoned by 58, if not earlier; see Brown (1986), 10. The legends on Prasutagus’ coins—carrying a Romanized image of the king on the obverse—present the most elaborate Latin that local coins had known to that date; see Mossop (1979), 258–259: on the obverse, SUBRIPRASTO may be read as ‘under king Prasutagus.’ On the reverse, ESICO FECIT may refer to the producing moneyer. For doubts regarding this issue of coins as representing Prasutagus, see de la Bédoyère (2003), 50; Williams (2000), 276–281. Tac. Ann. 12.32. Booth (1996), 30.

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Handling Revolt 130. Potter (1981), 85–88. 131. Potter and Robinson (2000). 132. King Prasutagus left in his will part of his territory to Nero—a fact that, in and of itself, would not have prevented the stationing of army units in the region until stability was gained (see Frere 1978, 266–268). Such was the case, for example, in Judaea, after King Herod’s death (see Joseph. AJ 17.213, 252–3; BJ 2.41; Gambash 2009, 244–251). 133. The historical atlas of Norfolk indicates a mere handful of possibly relevant temporary or marching camps, in Swanton Morley and Horstead with Stanninghall (Ashwin and Davison 2005, 28). A more recent survey allows for slightly greater military presence in the region in the mid-first century CE (Davies 2009, 148–151); speculations here are based mostly on aerial photography, which cannot always differentiate between pre- and postBoudican activity, or between functions of regular garrisoning and those of support and supply, possibly required in the region on account of naval activity along the local coast. 134. The fort at Saham Toney, for example, established in 47 and abandoned around 58, remained unoccupied (Brown 1986, 10–11). 135. Potter (1981), 85–88; Potter and Robinson (2000). 136. Moore, Plouviez, and West (1988), 25. 137. Frere and St. Joseph (1974), 38–39. 138. Legio XIV is styled ‘conqueror of Britain’ by Cerialis before the battle with Civilis (Tac. His. 5.16). For Nero’s preparations to campaign against the Albani at the Caspian passes, see Suet. Nero 19; Tac. His. 1.6. 139. Farnum (2005), 52–59. 140. Ibid. 141. In paraphrase on the all too influential words put by Tacitus (Tac. Agr. 30) in the mouth of Calgacus before the battle of Mons Graupius: ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant (they make a desert and call it peace). 142. The retreat of Roman forces from Judea and Africa, for example, has been discussed earlier in this chapter. 143. RG 27. See more on this event and its commemoration on Roman coinage in Chapter Four (this volume). 144. Ibid. 145. Tac. Ger. 29. 146. One should be wary, though, not to fall into the trap of sixteenth–seventeenthcentury representations of the Batavi, aiming to find in them worthy foundations for Dutch heritage, and going as far as to fabricate an inscription dubbing them ‘amici et fratres populi Romani.’ See, for example, Considine (2008), 151.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Ashwin, T. and Davison A. (eds.) (2005), An Historical Atlas of Norfolk (Cambridge). Bartoccini, R. (1958), ‘Dolabella e Tacfarinas in una iscrizione di Leptis Magna,’ Epigraphica 20: 3–13. Beard, M. (2006), ‘How People Lived in Roman Britain,’ Times Literary Supplement (6 October), 5–6. Bédoyère, G. de la (2003), Defying Rome: The Rebels of Roman Britain (Stroud). Bénabou, M. (1976), La résistance africaine à la romanisation (Paris). ———. (1977), ‘Tacfarinas,’ Les Africains 7: 293–313. Birley, A. R. (2005), The Roman Government of Britain (Oxford).

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Booth, P. (1996), ‘Warwickshire in the Roman Period: A Review of Recent Work,’ Transactions of the Birmingham and Warwickshire Archaeological Society 100: 25–57. Braund, D. (1984), Rome and the Friendly King: The Character of the Client Kingship (London). ———. (1996), Ruling Roman Britain: Kings, Queens, Governors and Emperors from Julius Caesar to Agricola (New York). Brown, R. A. (1986), ‘The Iron Age and Romano-British Settlement at Woodcock Hall, Saham Toney,’ Britannia 17: 1–58. Carroll, K. K. (1979), ‘The Date of Boudicca’s Revolt,’ Britannia 10: 197–202. Champlin, E. (2003), Nero (Cambridge, MA). Considine, J. (2008), Dictionaries in Early Modern Europe: Lexicography and the Making of Heritage (Cambridge). Cunliffe, B. W. (2005), Iron Age Communities in Britain (London). Davies, J. A. (2009), The Land of Boudica: Prehistoric and Roman Norfolk (Oxford). Dudley, D. R. and Webster, G. (1962), The Rebellion of Boudicca (London). Džino, D. (2005), Illyrian Policy of Rome in the Late Republic and Early Principate (Doctoral Thesis, Adelaide). ———. (2009), ‘The Bellum Batonianum in Contemporary Historiographical Narratives,’ Arheol. Rad. Raspr. 16: 29–45. Farnum, J. H. (2005), The Positioning of the Roman Imperial Legions (Oxford). Frere, S. S. (1978), Britannia: A History of Roman Britain (London). Frere, S. S. and St. Joseph, J. K. (1974), ‘The Roman Fortress at Longthorpe,’ Britannia 5: 1–129. Furneaux, H. (1891), The Annals of Tacitus (Oxford). Gambash, G. (2009), ‘Official Roman Responses to Indigenous Resistance Movements: Aspects of Commemoration,’ in H. M. Cotton, J. Geiger, and G. Stiebel (eds.), Israel in Its Land: Collected Papers (Tel Aviv): 53–76. ———. (2013), ‘Foreign Enemies of the Empire: The Great Jewish Revolt and the Roman Perception of the Jews,’ SCI 32: 173–194. ———. (forthcoming—2014), ‘Flavian Britain,’ in A. Zissos (ed.), A Companion to the Flavian Age of Imperial Rome (Malden, MA). Goldsworthy, A. K. (1996), The Roman Army at War (Oxford). Gonzales, A. (1998), ‘La révolte comme acte de brigandage: Tacite et la révolte de Tacfarinas,’ AfrRom 12: 937–958. Goodyear, F. R. D. (1981), The Annals of Tacitus, vol. 2 (Annals 1.55–81 and Annals 2). (Cambridge). Grünewald, T. (1999), Räuber, Rebellen, Rivalen, Rächer (Stuttgart). Henig, M. (2002), The Heirs of King Verica: Culture & Politics in Roman Britain (Stroud). Hingley, R. and Unwin, C. (2005), Boudica: Iron Age Warrior Queen (London). Holland, R. (2000), Nero: The Man behind the Myth (Thrupp). Malitz, J. (2005), Nero (trans. A. Brown) (Malden, MA). Mattingly, D. J. (2006), An Imperial Possession: Britain in the Roman Empire, 54 BC–AD 409 (London). Mazard, J. (1955), Corpus Nummorum Numidiae Mauritaniaeque (Paris). Millar, F. (1977), The Emperor in the Roman World, 31 BC–AD 337 (Ithaca, NY). ———. (1982), ‘Emperors, Frontiers and Foreign Relations, 31 BC–AD 378,’ Britannia 13 (1982), 1–23. ———. (1993), The Roman Near East, 31 BC–AD 337 (Cambridge, MA). Millett, M. (1990), The Romanization of Britain: An Essay in Archaeological Interpretation (Cambridge). Moore, I. E., Plouviez, J. and West, S. (1988), An Archaeology of Roman Suffolk (Bury St. Edmunds).

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Mossop, H. R. (1979), ‘An Elusive Icenian Legend,’ Britannia 10: 258–259. Paltiel, E. (1981), ‘War in Judaea—After Herod’s Death,’ RBPh 59: 107–36. Potter, T. W. (1981), ‘The Roman Occupation of the Central Fenland,’ Britannia 12: 79–133. Potter, T. W. and Robinson B. (2000), ‘New Roman and Prehistoric Aerial Discoveries at Grandford, Cambridgeshire,’ Antiquity 74: 31–32. Ramsay, G. G. (1909), The Annals of Tacitus (London). Richardson, P. (1996), Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans (Columbia, SC). Sealey, P. R. (1997), Boudican Revolt against Rome (Buckinghamshire). Shaw, B. D. (1980), ‘Archaeology and Knowledge: The History of the African Provinces of the Roman Empire,’ Florilegium 2: 28–60. ———. (1993), ‘The Bandit,’ in A. Giardina (ed.), The Romans (trans. L. G. Cochrane) (Chicago): 371–420. Sirago, V. A. (1987), ‘Tacfarinas,’ AfrRom 5: 199–204. Syme, R. (1951), ‘Tacfarinas, the Musulamii and Thubursicu,’ in P. R. Coleman-Norton (ed.), Studies in Roman Economic and Social History (Princeton): 113–130. Todd Lee, B., Finkelpearl, E. and Graverini, L. (eds.) (2014), Apuleius and Africa (New York). Van Henten, J. W. (2011), ‘Rebellion under Herod the Great and Archelaus: Prominent Motifs and Narrative Function,’ in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome (Leiden): 241–270. Whittaker, C. R. (1978), ‘Land and Labor in North Africa,’ Klio 60: 331–362. Williams, J. (2000), ‘The Silver Coins from East Anglia Attributed to King Prasutagus of the Iceni: A New Reading of the Obverse Inscription,’ Numismatic Chronicle 160: 276–281. Woolf, G. (2011), ‘Provincial Revolts in the early Roman Empire,’ in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome (Leiden/Boston): 27–44.

3

Official Appointments

The examination conducted in this chapter is instructed by evidence of the impact of local realities in the Roman provinces on relevant official appointments made by the central government. Such influence, it is claimed, existed on various levels of the interaction between indigenous populations and the Roman administration, certainly when severe tension called for abatement, but also at earlier stages, when emerging local agitation could be stopped short by a decisive appropriate action. Rather than risking circularity in evaluating an appointment by its consequent success, the chapter examines the information available to decision-makers upon nomination, and identifies considerable awareness of local needs. GENERAL EXPERIENCE The efforts of Britain’s second governor, P. Ostorius Scapula, did not sufficiently stabilize the conquered parts of Britain, even once Caratacus, the leader of the local opposition, was finally captured. The governor died in office, ‘exhausted by the burden of his anxieties.’1 Most alarmingly, the loyalty of the Brigantes was called into question again, when pro-Roman elements—led by the Queen Cartimandua—came under attack by Venutius, the queen’s estranged husband.2 It was at this point that Claudius decided to appoint Didius Gallus as Britain’s governor. Gallus was now sixty years old, significantly older than the average age for the office, which was usually manned by ex-consuls in their mid-forties. Despite some evidence of military experience in the Balkan and the Crimea in the 40s, it was probably his administrative skills that recommended him to the appointment in Britain. His first proconsulship was in all likelihood in peaceful Asia, and he held the position of curator aquarum for more than a decade, also during the time of construction of the Aqua Claudia. In addition to this telling fact, Claudius’ appreciation for him may be gleaned from the fact that Gallus held membership among the XVviri during the Secular Games of 47.3

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Read in this light, Gallus’ term in Britain should not surprise in its relative lack of action on the foreign front. In the Agricola, Tacitus reports, ‘Didius Gallus consolidated the conquests of his predecessors, and advanced a very few positions into parts more remote, to gain the credit of having enlarged the sphere of government.’4 In the Annals, the historian is even less appreciative of the governor’s achievements, maintaining that throughout his term in office, Gallus was content merely with holding back the enemy.5 Yet, after the death in office of Ostorius Scapula at a much troubled time for the province, the choice of a little-ambitious individual, one of advanced age and proven loyalty to the emperor and his behest, appears as a deliberate attempt on the part of Claudius to pacify the region, and convert efforts in Britain towards the consolidation of the province. Gallus having served as Britain’s governor for two years until Claudius’ death in 54, it is remarkable that Nero found it advisable to leave him in office for three more years, thus bringing his term to an exceptionally long five-year stint. Keen as he was to accumulate imperatorial titles during his first years as emperor, Nero would have known that none were to be expected from Britain so long as Gallus remained governor.6 The replacement of Gallus with a self-avowed expansionist—Quintus Veranius—must be interpreted as the outcome of a sober evaluation, probably supplied by Gallus himself, that the province was calm enough to see troops and the local government’s focus move towards the realization of further conquests. In considering the nature of official appointments to troubled provinces, examining the issue of the military experience of potential governors is essential. It is noteworthy that the profile of the governorship of Britain should neither necessarily corroborate the existence of an oligarchy of viri militares as conjectured by Syme, nor agree with Campbell’s extreme opposite notion of the governors of consular provinces as ‘all-round amateurs.’7 Arguments have been persuasively made by the latter in support of the claim that there was no group of specialist military men with a distinctive career and special promotion. But the recognition of such a reality should not detract from the crucial part that military experience, when obtained, played in itself in the specialization of men who were otherwise little or arbitrarily trained towards the profession of war. To be sure, changing circumstances in most provinces sooner or later imposed on the central government engaged with official nominations a set of considerations that need not have included military experience. As in the case of Didius Gallus, the presence of governors with little or no military experience occurs in places that may surprise at first glance. Furius Camillus was the governor when hostilities erupted in Africa in 17 CE.8 We do not know much about him other than that he was consul in the year 8 CE, and that he was descended from the famous line of his namesake—the deliverer of the city of Rome in the fourth century BCE. It would appear that this obscurity should add significant reliability to what little Tacitus does tell us

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about the man’s achievement in bringing to a temporary halt the opposition movement led by Tacfarinas:9 . . . and the man of whom I am now speaking was regarded as an inexperienced soldier. All the more willingly did Tiberius commemorate his achievements in the Senate, and the Senators voted him the ornaments of triumph, an honour which Camillus, because of his unambitious life, enjoyed without harm. Of interest here is not Camillus’ conduct when revolt broke out but the fact that, at this particular point in time, Africa was governed by a man who was distinctly not a vir militaris. The immediate background of the region testifies to intense campaigning, at least until a decade prior to Camillus’ nomination. The fasti triumphales report a quick succession of triumphs won in Africa early in the reign of Octavian-Augustus: L. Statilius Taurus in 34 BCE; L. Cornificius in 33; L. Autronius Paetus in 28; L. Sempronius Atratinus in 21; and L. Cornelius Balbus in 19.10 In 3 CE the proconsul L. Passienus Rufus received triumphal ornaments for action in Africa.11 And in 6 CE, we learn from coins issued by Juba II and from an account by Dio, a bellum Gaetulicum was fought, and another Roman general, Cossus Cornelius Lentulus, emerged triumphant.12 A shift towards a policy of consolidation—one that would have allowed the appointment of a governor little experienced in the battlefield—may be indicated by the fact that Legio III Augusta moved sometime after the Gaetulian war into the city of Ammaedara (Haidra) in the southeast of the territory of the Musulamii. In 14 CE this legion was employed, under the proconsul L. Nonius Asprenas, in the building of a road that led southeast from the legion’s camp, via Capsa (Gafsa), to the port of Tacapae (Gabes) on the western shore of the Lesser Syrtis.13 In prosopographical surveys of official nominations in the provinces, it should be asked what qualities would have rendered an individual suitable for the particular tasks that were envisaged for him. While periods of expansion would have necessitated the presence of ‘viri militares’ in the strictest sense of the word—namely, people with military experience, obtained through training and proven success—it should be emphasized that specific circumstances such as local tension and the need for the consolidation of loosely held imperial assets would have called for different, if not additional, qualifications. Among other factors, an emphasis would have been put on the age, administrative experience, general disposition, and perceived loyalty of the individual in question—a loyalty that would have guaranteed the acceptance of a policy dictating more of the mundane administration and less of the glorious campaigning. More nuances in the process may be witnessed in well-documented Judea. L. Vitellius, the governor of Syria in 35–39, found himself required to deal

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with ongoing tension between Judea’s prefect at the time, Pontius Pilate, and local groups. In addition to the eventual removal from the province of Pilate, in an episode to which we will return, the governor’s visit to Jerusalem would have made clear to the Jews the sympathy of a generally friendly Roman administration:14 Vitellius, on reaching Judea, went up to Jerusalem where the Jews were celebrating their traditional feast called the Passover. Having been received in magnificent fashion, Vitellius remitted to the inhabitants of the city all taxes on the sale of agricultural produce and agreed that the vestments of the high priest and all his ornaments should be kept in the Temple in custody of the priests, as had been their privilege before. This was not the only occasion on which Vitellius demonstrated attentiveness towards the Jews’ special needs. When marching against Aretas IV of Nabatea, he diverted the course of the army in accordance with their request, in order to avoid the presentation of image-bearing standards in Judea.15 Shortly thereafter he is said to have offered sacrifice to the God of the Jews.16 Given the unrest witnessed in Judea throughout Pilate’s decade in office, and observing Vitellius’ subsequent consideration of the Jews, it would be only prudent to examine the possibility that the appointment of Syria’s next governor was influenced to one degree or another by the experience acquired by the local and central administration so far. Publius Petronius was proconsul of Asia for six years under Tiberius before his nomination to Syria in 39. He was named by Seneca, an old friend of Claudius.17 Read against the background of events in Judea prior to Petronius’ arrival, Philo’s appreciation of the governor is telling, and may be ascribed reinforced credibility, given the Jewish philosopher’s involvement in the crisis that soon unfolded. Petronius, says Philo in a statement that suggests tangible familiarity, was ‘kindly and gentle by nature.’18 More remarkably, Philo can report that Petronius studied Jewish philosophy, possibly in preparation for ruling a region containing large Jewish communities.19 It may be this background that should explain Petronius’ nomination, and that should be seen as serving in the background of his conduct during his years in office. Soon after his arrival in his new province he had to face a most difficult choice between disobeying the direct command of his sender, the emperor Gaius—to locate a colossal statue of the emperor within the Holy of Holies at the Temple in Jerusalem—and provoking the Jews of Judea, Galilee, and quite likely the Diaspora to revolt against Roman rule. Petronius opted for the former option, possibly at the risk of his own ruin. The events are described by both Philo and Josephus, and the accounts do not always agree on the details, especially insofar as the chronology of the conflict is concerned.20 Philo is generally preferred as a source, being a contemporary who was also involved in the events as the leader of the embassy

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of the Alexandrian Jews to Rome. Despite the differences in the versions, those features of the conflict that are of interest to the questions pursued here are similar, and should be mentioned briefly. On receiving Gaius’ orders in 39–40, Petronius first obeyed, and left with two legions for Ptolemais, knowing, as the emperor himself must have done, that some opposition to such a move was bound to arise. However, the large demonstrations that awaited Petronius in Ptolemais and in Tiberias persuaded him that the Jews were set to revolt across the region if Gaius’ instructions were to be implemented. Petronius refused the request of the Jews to send an embassy of their own to Rome, probably assuming that such a move would further antagonize Gaius. Instead, he took it upon himself to write to the emperor and try to persuade him to annul the decree. One of his main reasons for concern at this stage is telling. Though in disagreement regarding the exact chronology, all accounts of the crisis report that the Jews were neglecting their agricultural duties as a result of the tension.21 Petronius’ fear of a resulting famine is mentioned as one of the factors that encouraged him to resolve the situation as efficiently as possible, and, though considerations of loss of revenue were surely involved, his farsightedness and thoughtfulness regarding the welfare of the province are not to be dismissed as irrelevant. All sources report on the emperor’s wrath upon receipt of Petronius’ letter, and it is hard to imagine that the governor had not anticipated such a reaction, especially from the Gaius of the year 40, already convinced of his own divinity, and probably notorious for it and for his general conduct outside Rome and Italy, within circles of Roman aristocrats and officials in the provinces. Petronius’ action is therefore remarkable, since it required the courage to confront an unpredictable and reckless emperor. It may be imagined that the same governor—and others of similar disposition—would have acted much in the same way when faced with central policies that evidenced no grasp of relevant provincial realities. Agrippa’s timely intervention is reported to have put an end to the dangerous developments. He managed to obtain Gaius’ consent to abandon his plan either by means of a carefully worded letter or as a reward for a splendid banquet given in Rome to the emperor. Be that as it may, it appears that an end to tension was reached when Petronius was ordered to abandon the project, and consequently withdrew his army to Antioch. At bottom, the emperor adopted a line of action that positioned Rome on a direct collision path with a relatively peaceful and contented provincial population; a governor, who took care to learn the nature of his subjects and the effect of the imperial policy on their routine, recommended to the emperor in return a withdrawal from the idea. Rationality seldom serves as the guiding line in surveys of Gaius’ conduct as emperor. The appointment of Petronius has nevertheless been declared ‘excellent.’22 It may be suggested that it was made with Syria’s—or, more specifically, Judea’s—particular background and problems in mind. Ironically enough, it was in the face

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of his own nominator that Petronius was required to realize his imagined potential. The story that Gaius’ rage was later reignited, and that his orders for Petronius to commit suicide reached the governor shortly after the news of the emperor’s death in 41, should be treated as a later addition, conceived to match the universal reputation of Gaius’ insanity as well as the emerging Jewish tradition of the glorification of Petronius.23 Is it impossible to claim that Gaius was acting rationally throughout the entire crisis? His initial intention may be seen to have originated in a wish to teach a lesson to a community that showed intolerance to other religions. It would be impossible to say that Gaius did not expect resistance, or that his decision stemmed from a lack of knowledge of Jewish religious sensitivities. But it may be argued that, when he planned this act, he perhaps underestimated the Jewish opposition to his move, and was therefore surprised by the force of the reaction. He consequently decided, rationally again, to withdraw from his intentions. On a smaller scale, that was the ‘initiation’ process to Jewish devoutness undergone by Pontius Pilate, when he tried to present image-bearing standards in Jerusalem early in his term in office. DEPOSITION UPON FAILURE Pontius Pilate’s decade as the prefect of Judea may in fact serve in highlighting the flip side of deliberate official appointments—that of depositions.24 In an incident that may be described as conscious provocation, Pilate presented image-bearing standards in Jerusalem against prevailing agreements between the Jews and the Roman authorities.25 Other confrontations occurred, noticeably when Pilate tried to finance the building of an aqueduct to Jerusalem with Temple funds.26 It is generally accepted that the events that occurred during the decade from 26 to 36 constitute a case for regarding Pontius Pilate’s term as ‘stormy,’ and the man himself as an incompetent ruler.27 Still, Tacitus’ appraisal of Tiberius’ reign as quiet need not be deemed wrong or even imprecise on account of such trivial clashes.28 The Jews appear to have been satisfied with negotiating contentious issues with the immediately available local authority, and the fact that Pilate remained in Judea for a decade implies that both the Roman government and the indigenous population of the region were for the most part satisfied with his governance.29 As they had demonstrated to the Roman administration on multiple occasions, it was not like the Jews to refrain from complaining to higher-ranking Roman magistrates when dissatisfied with their direct rulers, and such complaints had been proven effective—not least in the case of the banishment of Archelaus in 6 CE. What it is most valuable to learn here from Pilate’s case is that it was indeed the complaint of an indigenous group that brought about the end of his term. The appeal was made by the Samaritans, who felt that the

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procurator had used unnecessary force against them during a gathering— apparently religious in nature—on Mount Gerizim.30 Their specific pleading to Vitellius, the governor of Syria, that they did not gather in that location for the sake of revolt may hint at the reason for Pilate’s suspicion and ultimate attack. As soon as Vitellius was notified of the incident he sent a friend to pacify the region, and ordered Pilate to go to Rome, to defend himself before the emperor against the accusations of the Samaritans.31 We do not know the result of the trial, and it need not necessarily have been unfavorable to Pilate; after a decade in office and with the accession in 37 of a new emperor it may have been time for him to accept a new commission regardless.32 But the process that brought about the interruption of his term is telling of an administration generally mindful of local grievances. A deposition of similar nature may have occurred in Egypt some time later. Soon after his accession, the emperor Gaius was required to address strife in Alexandria, where long-standing tensions regarding citizen rights existed between the Greek and Jewish communities.33 The local Jewish population had held a semiautonomous status since their support of the growing Roman dominance in Egypt during the first century BCE; the Greek population, on the other hand, nurtured frustration on account of their city’s fall in status at that time.34 Such feelings added to an already complex coexistence, which had produced in the course of the three centuries that preceded the event a Greek discourse of hatred towards the Jews, often plainly described by modern scholars as anti-Semitism.35 The tension was brought to a breaking point when Agrippa, who was making his way to his kingdom, stopped in Alexandria and paraded through the streets with his bodyguard. A rapid escalation produced pogroms and religious humiliations of Jews. It is noteworthy that the prefect, Avilius Flaccus, had worked since his appointment in 32 to neutralize possible causes for conflict, most significantly by forcing the extreme nationalist Isidorus out of the city. However, Tiberius’ death and Gaius’ accession undermined his position, perhaps because he supported Gemellus for the succession of Tiberius, and played a role in the banishment of Gaius’ mother, Agrippina.36 After Philo, it is widely believed that it was this weaker position that had obliged him to support the Greek side in the conflict, and to take active part in the persecution of the Jews.37 Philo’s account is of course one-sided, and it is likely that the Jews contributed to the tension much more than is revealed by the In Flaccum and the Legatio ad Gaium—for example, in the way they used Agrippa’s presence to flaunt their association with the emperor’s friend. It is also quite likely that Flaccus himself took some of the alleged anti-Jews measures while genuinely believing that they might work towards returning order to the city.38 Philo ascribes his ultimate arrest in 38 to his treatment of the Jews.39 This claim is often dismissed outright on account of Philo’s wellknown biases and wish to interpret Flaccus’ downfall as the result of divine justice. Alternative accusations suggested for the prefect’s trial usually center around his alleged involvement in acting against Agrippina and Gaius

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prior to the latter’s accession.40 But Philo’s interpretation need not be so far from the truth, and may simply require balance. Seeing that among Flaccus’ accusers in Rome were found also members of the Greek community of Alexandria, it is possible that he was tried for his failure to keep the peace in the city.41 As in other cases examined here, the nature of the next appointment of Egypt’s governor may tell us more about the central government’s considerations in replacing Flaccus. C. Vitrasius Pollio appears to have been by all accounts more diplomatic than his predecessor. We may not know much about his career prior to taking office in Egypt, but his conduct on assuming the governorship implies that he not only was moderate but also took active measures towards a more thorough solution of local tensions. Early in his term the general turmoil subsided, and the Jews were allowed to return to their old quarters. It has been noted that, as early as September 39, the Jewish community had recovered enough to contribute to the sacrifice of a hecatomb for Gaius’ success in Germany. This act may indicate that no blame was directed by the Jews at the emperor himself for the events of 38. Furthermore, in 40 the Greek and Jewish parties in Alexandria were allowed to send delegates to Rome, to bring before the emperor the issue of their status in the city. The chronology of the working of these embassies is greatly confused, though Gaius’ treatment is usually read as ungracious, and the outcome of the visit is generally believed to have been unfavorable to the Jews.42 It should be noted, though, that events on this front coincided with the beginning of a far greater crisis in Judea; Gaius’ dawdling in dealing with the problems of Alexandria thus may have been related to his rising anger at Judea’s Jews. But in so far as concerns Pollio’s attitude, it is a telling fact regarding its general helpfulness that the prefect was not replaced by Claudius, who acted instantaneously upon his accession to secure the privileges of the Alexandrian Jewish community.43 Most modern accounts of this incident conclude that a real solution to tension in Alexandria had to await Claudius. It should at least be acknowledged that in Gaius’ appointment of Pollio, and in his giving audience to the Alexandrian embassies, there had been the beginning of real work towards the elimination of causes for dispute in Alexandria. Pollio’s own better judgment upon arriving in his province could have played an important part in the process. Nevertheless, the possibility that general guidelines were generated by the central government, whether merely through the nature of the prefect’s appointment, or by means of a more specific dictate to pacify the region, cannot be dismissed outright even for Gaius’ reign. The later events in Judea affect the judgment of many historians, starting with Josephus. In fact, it should be asked how the Jewish community in Alexandria would have been treated had Gaius not been enraged by the removal by Jews of an altar dedicated to him in Jamnia. The governorship of Ventidius Cumanus in Judea (48–c. 52) demonstrates to the extreme how effectively the process of appeals to Roman authorities

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worked during periods of relative peace. The event is mentioned in both of Josephus’ accounts, and, despite a few discrepancies between the two versions, the basic story is similar, and it circles around a conflict between the Galilean Jews and the Samaritans. The former, crossing Samaritan territory on their habitual way to celebrate the festival of Tabernacles at Jerusalem, are said by Josephus to have been attacked by the locals, and to have had a man of their number slain in the event.44 Their appeal to Cumanus did not result in the hoped-for punishment for the Samaritans, and some Jews— depicted by Josephus as the members of an underworld society—decided to take vengeance independently.45 It is easy to imagine that the Samaritans had quite a few grievances of their own to report in the event. Despite Cumanus’ action in protecting them from the Jewish attackers, they decided to appeal to the governor of Syria, Ummidius Quadratus, and accordingly sent their notables to Tyre, as did the Jews, who wished to complain about Cumanus’ siding with the Samaritans. The procurator is blamed by Tacitus for taking sides in the matter, and for being led throughout the conflict by his greed.46 On the other hand, the measures taken by Quadratus to restore the peace, though brutal, appear to have been completely impartial, and they win no criticism from Josephus. The governor came to the region, had all the prisoners who were captured by Cumanus in Samaria crucified, and beheaded eighteen Jews, named by the Samaritans themselves. He then sent to Rome, to be heard by Claudius, a formidable delegation of eminent figures from both sides—including the Judean high priest. In addition, he ordered to Rome also Cumanus and one of his tribunes, Celer—apparently also accused by the Jews for his part in the conflict. It is significant that during this activity, no local opposition was registered, despite Quadratus’ apparent harshness towards the Jews. Quadratus continued to Jerusalem to make sure that all was quiet, and, ‘finding the multitude celebrating their feast of unleavened bread without any tumult, he returned to Antioch.’47 This tame behavior of the Jews at the time of the Passover festival, when in Lydda and Caesarea the Jewish attackers of Samaria were crucified and beheaded, suggests that little sympathy was felt for the movement’s cause by the general population. In Rome, Claudius finally shifted the scale in favor of the Jews. To be sure, his constant policy regarding the Jews stood in the background, and, just as Quadratus refrained from inflicting punishment on the Jewish population as a whole, so it may be assumed that Claudius too would have preferred not to endanger the peace in which he had invested so much. As further gratification for the Jews, Cumanus was banished for not taking action against the Samaritans in the first place, and, most extraordinarily, Celer was sent to Jerusalem, ‘to be delivered over to the Jews to be tormented; that he should be drawn round the city, and then beheaded.’48 From the story of Cumanus’ term, then, there again emerges a picture of an imperial system all in all dedicated to the peacefulness of its subjects,

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and one that is eventually able to rid itself of elements within it that disrupt the fulfillment of this end. It is impossible to know whether Claudius’ ultimate preference for the side of the Jews was justified—Josephus attests that various elements in Rome tried to influence the emperor’s judgment in both directions.49 But it is highly likely that Claudius’ ruling was also affected by the potential for trouble in the province itself. No unrest was triggered in Judea by Quadratus’ execution of Jewish extremists and bandits; but the punishment in Rome of notables of the distinction of the high priest and his son could give rise to chaos in the province. As it was, Jonathan, the high priest, requested and obtained the appointment to Judea’s governorship of one of Claudius’ favorite freedmen, Antonius Felix, brother of the prominent Pallas.50 This episode allows us to proceed from the discussion of the ability of provincials to bring to termination the appointment of officials who were not suitable for them, to the issue of the influence they occasionally exerted on the actual identity of appointees. PROVINCIAL INFLUENCE It is hardly surprising that the appointment of Felix has won scholarly attention mostly for serving as yet another example of the influence allegedly exercised in the Claudian administration by freedmen of the imperial house. Schürer, and the mainstream of the twentieth-century scholarship that followed him, ascribed endemic incompetence to the Roman administration of Judea prior to the revolt. Much after Tacitus’ general disdain for freedmen, Schürer placed most of his focus on the machinations of Felix, ignoring in the process the Jewish lobbying for the freedman’s nomination, and referring to his term in office as a decisive turning point towards an armed Jewish-Roman conflict.51 To be sure, we no longer approach the six decades that preceded the Judean revolt by means of such broad generalizations. Felix’s own period in Judea, for one, has been seen to have suffered above all from banditry and internal strife, but not necessarily from antiRoman tension.52 Given the specific background of the Claudian administration in its placatory approach towards the Jews, we may not discard offhand the possibility that the appointment of Felix was meant as a token of the willingness of the Roman government to address the immediate requirements of Judea, even when the latter aimed to influence the ever-sensitive issue of official appointments. Another interesting detail regarding Felix has also won little relevant attention. The procurator’s marriage in 53 or 54 to Drusilla—the daughter of Agrippa I and the sister of Agrippa II—has been criticized on a moral basis.53 This union, however, could have had political significance that has escaped modern scrutiny—for example, in bringing Felix still closer to certain circles in Judea, or in pacifying others. Such a hypothesis gains credence from the circumstances surrounding the rule over Judea of Drusilla’s father,

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who, only a decade earlier, had devised the unlikely return of the province to the status of client kingdom. Gaius’ conflict with the Jews of Judea has been mentioned earlier. It may have been the restlessness that was created during this period that motivated Claudius to act shortly after his accession in an unequivocal way in favor of the Jews. His appointment of Agrippa as the ruler of Judea—in effect reversing the provincialization of the Herodian client kingdom—may be regarded as an attempt of the system to contain and repair the damage done by Gaius to the relationship between Rome and the Jews. True enough, the new emperor owed much to Agrippa for the dynamic role the latter played in his accession. But Agrippa was also Gaius’ friend, and this friendship was at best good for obtaining the reversal of an imperial decree most obnoxious to the Jews. Claudius’ decision to enlarge the territory of Agrippa by adding to it Judea—an organized and stable part of the Roman provincial system for thirty-five years by that time—should be appraised not only as a personal token of friendship and appreciation but also as a diplomatic move, aiming at further pacification of the region after the turmoil caused by Gaius’ threats, and calculated to rebuild the trust between the Roman government and the local population.54 Rome’s considerations in determining the status of provinces and client kingdoms usually emanated from a motivation to serve the empire’s best interests.55 Just as the decision to annex a kingdom could stem from reasons of security, also the reverse process of returning a province to the status of a client kingdom could derive from a similar motivation. Quite likely, Claudius’ new organization of the region was meant to last, and only Agrippa’s sudden death in 44, and the young age of his son at the time, necessitated the return of Roman officials, and the re-annexation of Judea. By all accounts, Agrippa’s brief reign was a stable and prosperous period for the Judean population, in accordance with the emperor’s probable aims.56 When imagined as beneficial for the restoration of calm, the ethnic background of local officials—or, for that matter, that of their spouses— remained relevant even in more extreme circumstances, when violent conflict was still present. In the wake of the Boudican revolt—during reprisals and pacification projects conducted by the governor, Suetonius Paullinus—a new procurator was sent to Britain: C. Iulius Alpinus Classicianus. Shortly upon his arrival, Classicianus advocated patience to local groups still resisting the governor, suggesting that Roman hostilities turned against them should come to conclusion with the appointment of a new governor, devoid of vindictiveness.57 The incoming procurator is also said to have sent a dispatch to Rome, suggesting that ‘no cessation of fighting must be expected, unless Suetonius were superseded.’58 Going by the little we know of Classicianus, it should come as no surprise that such was the spirit of his report to the emperor. Two large stones from his tomb in London were reused in later years in the Roman city wall, and the inscription on them not only

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corroborates Tacitus’ record of the office held by him but also supplies interesting information on his family.59 It mentions his wife, Iulia Indi Filia Pacata, and it is generally accepted that the Indus referred to here is no other than Iulius Indus, chief of the Gallic Treveri, who participated in the subjugation of the rebellion of Florus against Tiberius in 21 CE.60 This does not mean that Classicianus must necessarily have been a Trever himself, though the usage of the names Alpinus and Classicus among the Treveri makes the possibility likely.61 But to be sure, even if he was merely married into Celtic nobility, he might have been regarded as a sympathetic figure by a British population deriving mostly from Celtic origin. RELEVANT EXPERIENCE On another level, for a central Roman administration examining the background of potential candidates for sensitive positions in the provinces, specifically relevant experience would have been considered beneficial. Particular added value appears to have been ascribed to prior official contacts with particular provincial groups, and, more broadly, to previous experience in dealing with provincial conflicts. The profile of Petilius Cerialis suits that of a pacifier, a fact emphasized by his mediocre success in purely military endeavors. During his service in Britain as the commander of Legio IX in 60–61 the Boudican revolt broke out. Cerialis did not make it on time to save the Roman colony at Camulodunum from the rebels, yet his subsequent attack resulted in a defeat that saw the legate’s infantry wiped out and his cavalry put to flight. Later, during the events of 69, Cerialis was defeated near Rome by the Vitellians, failing to extend timely help to the Flavians besieged in the city, and conducting yet another rash attack on a superior enemy.62 On the other hand, early in the year 70, Cerialis was entrusted by Vespasian with the formidable mission of subjugating the revolt of the Batavi, which erupted in 69, and which was headed by the charismatic Civilis.63 Tacitus, who hints in more than one place at the general’s incompetence in the battlefield, stresses the negotiations carried out by him as key for the solution of the crisis in Lower Germany.64 His next mission awaited in Britain, where the client kingdom of the Brigantes had also exploited the turmoil of the civil war of 69 to break away from Roman rule. At hand was a case of local unrest, and Venutius’ coup and the banishment of the proRoman queen Cartimandua would have been considered by Rome as a provincial rebellion.65 The appointment, it must be assumed, would have taken into consideration Cerialis’ advantages for a mission of local pacification. He was closely related to the Flavian family, which would have guaranteed loyalty in realizing the emperor’s policy.66 Most importantly, his combined experience had made him by this point familiar both with the particular problems of Britain and with the intricacies of dealing with a local population in revolt.

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It is noteworthy that he was the first governor of Britain to have seen active service on the island prior to his nomination. Despite his previous military failures—including in Britain itself—the importance of Cerialis’ background for a province still recovering from the fierce Boudican revolt would have been considerable. It is highly likely that his senders preferred to overlook the fact that, as legion commander, he had lost soldiers to the rebels in his defeat, and ascribed instead importance to his familiarity with the region and its inhabitants. This familiarity was gained not only through his regular service as legion commander but also from the specific nature of the activity that was dictated by the outbreak of the Boudican revolt and its subjugation. Cerialis would have witnessed, and quite likely also participated actively in, the tense negotiations with local groups that followed the final decisive battle.67 Later, when these negotiations failed, he saw the vindictive governor Paullinus recalled to Rome and the positions of procurator and governor manned with individuals who showed clear sympathy to the local cause.68 This experience could have proved invaluable for a governor whose mission it was to reclaim a seceding powerful former ally. Another individual who had gained considerable local experience prior to his nomination to Britain was Iulius Agricola. Judging by the achievements of his predecessor Frontinus, and by his own activity upon arriving in his province in 77, it is arguable that central ambition for further expansion had not played in the background of his appointment.69 Several indicators suggest that it was rather internal provincial issues that stood in the focus of his landing in Britain. At this point, the local Roman administration would have had Wales and its peoples to organize. And, perhaps as a result of Frontinus’ intense campaigning abroad, the province itself became restless.70 Agricola’s previous experience in Britain, both as military tribune and as legionary legate, is unparalleled among known provincial governors. Keeping in mind that Petilius Cerialis, Vespasian’s first appointment to the island, was the first of the governors of the province to have served there previously as legion commander, we may point out the possibility that the emperor ascribed importance to previous local experience whenever circumstances in the province called for a period of consolidation. In analyzing the possible motivation behind such appointments, aspects of internal provincial affairs should receive precedence. Familiarity and past contacts of the governor with local populations, and certainly a favorable local opinion of an incoming official, could prove far more beneficial in dealing with internal problems than in conducting foreign campaigns. To an attentive central government, the mission of ensuring the return of stability would have loomed larger than the conquest of the island of Mona (modern-day Anglesey)—Agricola’s initial foreign achievement. Seen in this light, Tacitus’ extraordinary elaboration on administrative concerns in Agricola’s governorship appears appropriate to the governor’s main task. Indeed, it offers us a rare glimpse into the routine of those governors who put greater emphasis on the consolidation of their province.

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Immediately after securing the peace in Wales, he is reported to have turned his attention to internal issues, aiming above all to guarantee the goodwill of the local population. Among other problems, he reorganized corn exactions, reducing the burden of the tribute on individuals.71 Just and sensible governance stands out as the single most essential element in his conciliatory approach. And the key to achieving this purpose appears to have rested in his selective appointment of public officials—the microlevel parallel to Rome’s nomination of provincial governors. Such a philosophy of governing need not be considered temporary, and may be regarded as representative of Agricola’s entire term in office. The next campaigning season certainly did not distract the governor from working on these and other issues to improve the relationship with the local population. Other than the mention of ‘sudden raids’ (subitis excursibus), no reports of military campaigns are available for the year 78. Instead, diplomacy appears to have taken precedence, and we hear at this point of Agricola promoting the benefits of peace, and of numerous independent states, possibly already in southern Scotland, giving hostages in return for his leniency. Internal provincial issues continue to dominate the narrative of Agricola’s second year in Britain, and we hear of the promotion of public and private building, and of the adoption by locals of several Roman attributes, among them the toga and the Latin language.72 Possible indication of the promotion of such civic matters has been recognized in an inscription from Verulamium, mentioning the governor by name, and suggesting that a public building was decorated during his term in office.73 The fact that Agricola engaged in intense campaigning in Scotland in the later years of his long term in office—primarily under Domitian—should indicate a central policy shift, from consolidation to expansion. A particularly innovative action of the governor may inform us still further about the strong emphasis put by his administration on provincial affairs. As mentioned above, the official function of the iuridicus appears in Britain around this time. The main duties of the iuridicus are thought to have focused on civilian matters, and he probably served as deputy to the governor, when the latter was on campaign.74 Two iuridici are known for Flavian Britain: the first, C. Salvius Liberalis, served under Agricola; the second, L. Javolenus Priscus, served around the mid-80s, under one of Agricola’s successors.75 This administrative innovation would have allowed the resources of the local governor to be stretched to the northern ends of the island without risk to stability in the south. General experience in dealing with provincial revolts appears to have been considered beneficial also in appointments made in Africa during the war with Tacfarinas. Several of the governors who followed Camillus after his initial success in the year 17 were either veterans of the PannonianDalmatian revolt, or familiar with reality in the Western Balkans immediately in its aftermath. Lucius Apronius, consul in 8 CE, had participated in the subjugation of the rebellion in the year 9, and in other operations in

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Germany, as a legate of Germanicus, for which service he received in the year 15 the ornamenta triumphalia.76 His success against Tacfarinas saw him accept this honor for the second time, and that at a period when no devaluation of the decoration may be suspected. It was probably this success that convinced the Roman government to leave him in office for three years, despite the fact that Africa was a senatorial province, which was normally appointed a new governor every year. After Apronius, in 21, Tacitus reports the following sequence of events:77 Not much later, Tiberius sent a letter to the Senate, informing the senators that Africa was once again disturbed by an attack of Tacfarinas, and that they must show their better judgment in nominating a proconsul experienced in military affairs and able-bodied, who would meet the needs of the war. As the Senate was not willing to take the responsibility for such a crucial appointment, Tiberius returned with two names: Marcus Lepidus and Iunius Blaesus. Lepidus was another of the highly esteemed generals of the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt, who was also honored with the ornamenta triumphalia for his service there under Tiberius.78 He may very well have been Pannonia’s first governor after the revolt, and was later sent to Spain, where he managed to keep in control the three legions under his command when Augustus died in 14. He may have been the same M. Lepidus mentioned by Augustus on his deathbed as capax imperii. Blaesus, who was the one ultimately appointed for the governorship, is not known to have had experience in the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt, yet he was appointed Pannonia’s governor in 14.79 He managed, with great difficulties, to quell the mutiny of the three legions under his command when Augustus died, and was highly esteemed by Velleius Paterculus, both as a soldier and while wearing the toga. His success against Tacfarinas won him the ornamenta triumphalia, as well as the right to be acclaimed imperator by his troops, a rare honor at the time, and the last recorded case, according to Tacitus. Finally, P. Cornelius Dolabella, like Blaesus, is also not known to have served in the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt, yet he too was in command of legions—two of them, in Illyricum—at the time of Augustus’ death.80 He kept the legions and his province peaceful during this turbulent period, and is warmly spoken of by Velleius Paterculus, though not directly in relation to military affairs.81 It must be assumed that he too was considered capable of dealing with the war in Africa, even if somewhat reduced in scale after Blaesus’ recent success. Tacitus is full of praise for his tactics and success in Africa, and obviously deems him worthy too of the triumphal ornaments, which, he reports, the ultimate victor of the war was denied in order to keep intact the prestige of Blaesus—the uncle of the influential Sejanus.

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THE CASE OF POST-BOUDICAN BRITAIN Classicianus’ involvement in events in Britain in the early 60s, touched on earlier, should be recalled as we turn to examine events in Britain in the aftermath of the Boudican revolt. The procurator’s case was by no means the only representation of a deliberate appointment related to this conflict. The governor at the time of the revolt was Suetonius Paullinus, who had arrived in Britain to pursue expansion operations in Wales, and whose profile up to this point had been written to answer such a task.82 The revolt of the Iceni, led by Boudica, wife of the recently deceased Prasutagus, broke out when Paullinus was in the middle of an effort to conquer the island of Mona. It is reported to have started as a result of a failed annexation operation, conducted by the corrupt procurator Catus Decianus, the same person who would soon be replaced by Classicianus. Tension between colonists in Camulodunum and the local Trinovantes pushed the latter to join the opposition movement. Paullinus’ immediate reaction to the outbreak of hostilities proves him to have been a gifted man of action, yet one little versed in the intricacies of diplomatic relations with alienated subjects. His prompt, decisive victory on the battlefield may have broken the backbone of the opposition, what with Boudica dead and her main force destroyed, but some groups remained unconvinced, and others outright hostile.83 Paullinus’ decision to approach these by the most aggressive means turned out to be a mistake, not only because opposition nevertheless persisted. The central government in Rome, well-informed by the newly appointed Classicianus, proved impatient of Paullinus’ methods, and supportive of a placatory line, advocated by the procurator. Tacitus is ambivalent in his treatment of Paullinus, admiring the governor on the one hand for his military prowess, yet finding himself bound to criticize him for his vindictiveness and aggressiveness.84 Essentially, he analyzes, the persistent local opposition stemmed from the fear that ‘excellent as [Paullinus] was in other respects, his policy to the conquered would be arrogant, and exhibit the cruelty of one who was avenging private wrongs.’85 Tacitus’ account may lack in focus, and his biases lead him to play down Paullinus’ responsibility, yet his report of the main events of the episode exposes usually unseen strings in this delicate process of manning key positions under the pressure of local resistance. Classicianus’ dispatch to Rome was answered by Nero with a deputation to Britain, headed by the imperial freedman Polyclitus. Tacitus’ excessive attention to the profligacy of the embassy leaves the actual result of the visit relatively untouched. In an obscure statement the historian concludes: cuncta tamen id imperatorem in mollius relata; detentusque rebus gerundis Suetonius.86 Furneaux and, after him, most others read the second part of the sentence as using the dative to indicate that Paullinus was kept at his post for the conduct of affairs. Madvig and Ramsay read instead ‘Suetonius was debarred from

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active operations,’ preferring the other possible meaning of detineo with an ablative, and explaining the absence of a as typical to Tacitus’ loose use of the ablative.87 The appointment of an external formal deputation for the survey of a restless province and the examination of local complaints against governors is familiar from Judea. Vitellius had used such a tool in the process that led eventually to the deposition of Pilate. And, not long after the Boudican revolt, in the year 66, the Syrian governor Cestius Gallus would act similarly in an attempt to allay tension between the Jews and their procurator.88 The governor of Britain answering directly to Rome, it was the emperor himself who was required to become involved in a most direct way in order to bring the tension to conclusion. The fact that Paullinus was recalled to Rome soon after the departure of Polyclitus suggests that he had not been left much room to maneuver in his province. According to Tacitus, ‘since he subsequently lost a few vessels on the shore with the crews, he was ordered, as though the war continued, to hand over his army to Petronius Turpilianus, who had just resigned his consulship.’89 Ramsay, in line with his translation of the previous passage, reads, ‘. . . this was held to be an act of war, and he was ordered to hand over his army to Petronius Turpilianus.’ Paullinus’ return to Rome was not accompanied with celebrations and commemoration projects to match his foreign achievements in Britain, overshadowed as these were by the recent events of the Boudican revolt and its aftermath. Such a policy suited the general Roman approach towards the place of provincial revolts in the collective memory of the empire.90 While on the symbolic sphere Britain ceased—once again, one ought to remember—to be considered as a battlefield fit for generating further military glory and imperial assets, it simultaneously ceased to function as one on the practical level. The removal of Paullinus was only half of the solution, awaiting completion by an appointment to match the new circumstances. The great majority of Britain’s governors, of whose careers there remains a record, governed at least one other province prior to their appointment to Britain; only two are known to have received the office in Britain immediately after their consulate. The first of these was Paullinus’ replacement, Petronius Turpilianus.91 It seems reasonable to assume that there lay a practical reason behind such a breach of the prevailing practice. Certainly, Tacitus describes a direct connection between the situation in Britain and the appointment: ‘Petronius Turpilianus was sent out as less obdurate [i.e., than Suetonius Paullinus]; a stranger to the crimes of the enemy and so more accessible to their penitence, he put an end to old troubles.’92 What little is known of the man may indeed suggest that the solution for tension was found in the very nature of the nomination. Turpilianus’ age—much like Didius Gallus’ before him—appears to have been significantly higher than that of the average British governor. At the time of his death in 68, five years after returning from his two-year mission

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to Britain, he is described by Plutarch as an old man.93 Moreover, in addition to his being appointed governor of Britain immediately after his consulate, his term in office—roughly two years, from 61 to 63—was shorter than the average for Britain. In 63 he was already serving as curator aquarum in Rome.94 More revealing light may be supplied by his ancestry. His father was Publius Petronius, proconsul of Asia under Tiberius and governor of Syria between 39 and 42, as discussed earlier. Petronius the elder married one Plautia, apparently the sister of Britain’s first governor, Aulus Plautius. Nero may have estimated that the appointment of the kinsman of Plautius would have a stabilizing effect over Britain’s restless indigenous populations.95 Furthermore, P. Petronius, we may recall, was characterized by Philo as being ‘kindly and gentle by nature’; Tacitus’ representation of the man’s son hints at the possession of similar qualities, which doubtless would have served Turpilianus well in the pacification of an indigenous population stirred up by the severity of Roman administration.96 The outline of this case, then, seems clearly to indicate that Turpilianus was sent to Britain for the particular purpose of bringing to an end the crisis instigated by the outbreak of the Boudican revolt, and that, even if he had had military background, it was probably not military ability and experience that distinguished him as the appropriate candidate for the task. Accordingly, it follows that in Britain he ‘neither challenged the enemy nor was himself provoked, and veiled this tame inaction under the honorable name of peace’; or, in words other than Tacitus’, he successfully implemented an appeasing policy that may well have originated with his nominator, the emperor Nero.97 Turpilianus left Britain amicable enough to allow, a mere two years after the Boudican revolt, the appointment of a governor who may have had no military experience. Trebellius Maximus’ long years in office—between 63 and 69—focused primarily on the maintenance of peace in the region. No foreign campaigns are known for the period, while within the province and the allied territories tranquility persisted as a result of popular measures taken by the governor: ‘Trebellius, who was somewhat idle, and had no military experience, controlled the province by a certain courtesy in his administration.’98 Not much is known about Trebellius and his record before being appointed as Britain’s governor. If he is the same M. Trebellius who served as legionary legate under the Syrian governor Vitellius in 35–37, then Tacitus’ claim regarding his lack of military experience is either incorrect or misinterpreted.99 To be sure, in such a case he would have been an old man by the time of his nomination for Britain, a characteristic in trend with two earlier similar appointments—Didius Gallus and Petronius Turpilianus. The case of the appointment of the inexperienced Camillus to Africa a few years after the Gaetulian war, however, lends credulity to the possibility that this Trebellius was in fact a different person, and indeed lacked

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military experience. During his term in office Legio XIV was moved from Britain to the mainland as part of Nero’s preparations for an eastern campaign that was never actually launched.100 This fact, along with Tacitus’ account of disobedient troops and resistant legionary legates, is in line with a lack of military ambition. Both the Agricola and the Histories present a picture of widespread mutinous behavior among the troops, which Tacitus ascribes to excess idleness, as well as to Trebellius’ lax command.101 The conflict between Trebellius and Roscius Caelius, commander of Legio XX, ultimately led the former to flee the island in 69, yet the province remained tranquil.102 During the civil war more troops were withdrawn from the island, but the sole disruption of peace was caused by the persistent Venutius, who seized upon the opportunity to overthrow the pro-Roman queen of the Brigantes, Cartimandua.103 For nearly a decade after the Boudican revolt, Britain had been governed not only justly but also quite possibly even with particular care for local interests. The nature of these appointments suggests that Nero expected as much from them, and his policy appears to have outlived him. Vettius Bolanus was the man chosen by Vitellius to replace Trebellius as governor of Britain. Vitellius was still on the move when Britain’s governor fled to him, and Bolanus is said to have been chosen to replace him e praesentibus.104 He certainly had some recent military experience, rendering him perhaps more suited to the task of reforming Britain’s mutinous troops. Tacitus tells us that in 62 he had been sent to Armenia by Corbulo as a legionary legate.105 In a poem dedicated to Bolanus’ son, Statius makes the father second in command to Corbulo in this campaign.106 The eulogizing context in which the statement is made calls for caution; it is nevertheless plausible that, having been born probably in the 20s, he was Corbulo’s senior legionary legate, at least in age.107 Bolanus retained the peaceful tone of foreign policy in the province, which, for the year 69, was a suitable line of action. Although he returned with Legio XIV, troops from Britain were required to fight for Vitellius in his confrontation with the Flavians in October.108 And, in the camp, insolence persisted.109 This was definitely not the time for renewing expansion projects in Britain. Having rescued Cartimandua from her now-hostile kingdom in a way that invoked Statius’ praise, it is apparent that Bolanus chose to adopt his predecessors’ policy as soon as calm returned to the region and, finally, to the empire.110 Tacitus complains again of ‘that same inaction regarding the enemy.’111 Earlier in the Agricola, he accuses Vettius Bolanus of ‘governing more mildly than suited so turbulent a province.’112 Bolanus kept up this policy for two more years. It is noteworthy that what little Tacitus imparts regarding his governance may have been reported by Agricola himself, who took over command of Legio XX in 70, and would have been familiar with the governor’s preferred policy. It is remarkable that, despite Bolanus’ unplanned appointment as Britain’s governor, and the adverse circumstances that welcomed his arrival, his line of action remained consistent with the one adopted on the island during the years that preceded his

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term in office. Once the dust of 69 had settled, he did not even embark on a campaign against the rebellious Brigantes; this mission clearly awaited Petilius Cerialis’ nomination in 71. NOTES 1. Tac. Ann. 12.39. 2. The Brigantes are generally thought to have come to terms with Claudius himself; see Hartley and Fitts (1988). They were probably mentioned on Claudius’ triumphal arch: CIL VI. 920 = ILS 216; Barrett (1991), 1–19. 3. Birley (2005), 31–37. 4. Tac. Agr. 14. 5. Tac. Ann. 12.40. 6. By 59 Nero had accepted seven salutations, mostly through achievements won in the East. For a complete list see Griffin (1984), 230–234. 7. For the essence of the debate and a select bibliography, see Campbell (1975), 11–31. 8. PIR 576. 9. Tac. Ann. 2.52. 10. Fasti Triumphales: CIL 1.50; 76. 11. Vell. Pat. 2.116. 12. Mazard (1955), nos. 194–8; Dio 55.28.3–4; see also Lentulus’ inscription from Leptis Magna, AE 1940: 68. 13. See CIL 8.10018; 10023; Bénabou (1976), 65. 14. Joseph. AJ 18.90. 15. Joseph. AJ 18.121. 16. News of the death of Tiberius reached him in Jerusalem at that time (ibid.). 17. Sen. Apoc. 14.2. 18. Philo, Leg. 243. 19. Philo, Leg. 245: ἀλλ’ εἶχέ τινα καὶ αὐτος, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐναύσματα τῆς Ἰουδαικῆς φιλοσοφίας ἅμα καὶ εὐσεβείας, εἴτε καὶ πάλαι προμαθὼν ἕνεκα τῆς περὶ παιδείαν σπουδῆς εἴτε καὶ ἀφ’ οὗ τῶν χώρων ἐπετρόπευσεν, ἐν οἷς Ἰουδαῖοι καθ’ ἑκάστην πόλιν εἰσὶ παμπληθεῖς, Ἀσίας τε καὶ Συρίας [He himself held some sparks of the Jewish philosophy and reverence, whether because he had long ago learned it on account of his enthusiasm for learning, or since he had come as governor of the lands of Asia and Syria, in which there are great numbers of Jews in every city]. See Smallwood (1961), 279–280. 20. Joseph. AJ 18.261–309; BJ. 2.184–7, 192–203. Philo, Leg. 188, 198–348. The episode is also mentioned by Tacitus (Tac. His. 5.9). 21. Philo (Philo, Leg. 249) talks about harvest time (May–June), whereas Josephus (Joseph. BJ 2.200, AJ 18.272) refers to the time of sowing (October). 22. Barrett (1989), 240. 23. Ibid., 190; Bilde (1978), 67–93. 24. For a general overview see Bond (1998). 25. Joseph. BJ 2.169–174; AJ 18.56: καὶ διὰ τοῦτο οἱ πρότερον ἡγεμόνες ταῖς μὴ μετὰ τοιῶνδε κόσμων σημαίαις ἐποιοῦντο εἴσοδον τῇ πόλει; πρῶτοςποιοῦντο εἴσοδον τῇ πόλε πόλει. in tion of an unexperienced sodier millus δὲ Πιλᾶτος ἀγνοίᾳ τῶν ἀνθρώπων διὰ τὸ νύκτωρ γενέσθαι τὴν εἴσοδον ἱδρύεται τὰς εἰκόνας φέρων εἰς τὰ Ἱεροσόλυμα [For this reason the previous governors used to enter the city with standards that did not have such ornamentation; and Pilate was the first to carry these images into Jerusalem and set them up there without the knowledge of the people, as it was done in the nighttime].

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26. 27.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

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See Chapter One (this volume) for a discussion of the incident. On Pilate’s promotion of the imperial cult, see Taylor (2006). Joseph. AJ 18.62. Price (1992), 6. The crucifixion of Jesus and the movement of Bar Abbas— the latter not mentioned by Josephus, probably because of its negligible scale—add to the turbulence of the period. For the sources and an analysis of these events, see Smallwood (1981), 144–180. Tac., His. 5.9.2. Though the issue is contentious, the sources allow an interpretation of Pilate as an able provincial officer, as has been observed by various scholars since Müller (1888) and Peter (1907); see McGing (1991). Purvis (1989), 591–613. For Josephus’ treatment of the Samaritans, see Coggins (1987), 257–273. On the importance of Mount Gerizim to the Samaritan religion, see Mor (1989), 19–24. Joseph. AJ 18.85–9. About the problem of chronology in Josephus, see Schwartz (1982). Lémonon (1981), 238. The sources for the events of 38 in Alexandria are: Philo, Leg. 120, Flacc.; Joseph. BJ 2.184–203, AJ 18.257–309. For a recent examination of the events and their background, see Gambetti (2009). For the Greeks’ requests to restore the abolished Alexandrian Senate, for example, see Bowman and Rathbone (1992), 118–119. For example, Barrett (1989), 182–191. Philo, Flacc. 9. Horst (2003), 34–37. Barrett (1989, 186) goes as far as to suggest that Alexandrian Greeks may have blackmailed the prefect. Cf. Gambetti (2009), 77–85. For example, his decision to limit Jewish residence to a single city-zone. See Barrett (1989), 187. Philo, Flacc. 116; 173. See Horst (2003), 220–221, for a survey of the scholarship on the matter. Gruen (2002), 61, prefers such a scenario. Schürer (1973), 391–394. Ibid., 392. Pliny (Plin. NH 36.11/57) secures the overlap of Pollio’s term in office with Claudius’ reign. See also Stein (1950), 28–29. On Galilee and its inhabitants during this period, see Horsley (1995), 62–88; 256–275. On the Samaritans see Hall (1989), 36–43. The ‘robbers’ were led by Eleazar Ben Dinai, a character described as archbrigand by Josephus (Joseph. BJ 2.252), and one familiar to rabbinic tradition for his anti-Roman activity (Sot 9.8; Ket 27a; Kel 5.10). Tac. Ann. 12.54. For a full account see Joseph. BJ 2.232–244; AJ 20.129. Joseph. BJ 2.246. Joseph. AJ 20.134–136. Joseph. AJ 20.162. Schürer (1973), 459–466. For example, by Goodman (2007), 406–409. Schürer (1973), 462. Tacitus (Tac. Ann. 12.54) is also aware of the Jews’ restlessness at the time: ‘once they had heard of the assassination of Gaius, there was no hearty submission, as a fear still lingered that any of the emperors might impose the same orders.’ See Smallwood (1981), 193. Braund (1984), 89. Joseph. AJ 19.292–353.

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57. Tac. Ann. 14.38: Gentesque praeferoces tardius ad pacem inclinabant, quia Iulius Classicianus, successor Cato missus et Suetonio discors, bonum publicum privatis simultatibus impediebat disperseratque novum legatum opperiendum esse, sine hostili ira et superbia victoris clementer deditis consulturum [However, the fierce tribes turned more slowly towards peace because Iulius Classicianus, who had been sent to succeed Catus and was at variance with Suetonius, interfered with the public welfare by his private animosities, and had spread a rumor that a new legate should be awaited, who would treat those who surrendered mildly, lacking the wrath of an enemy and the arrogance of a victor]. 58. Tac. Ann. 14.38. 59. RIB 12 (London): Dis | [M]anibus | [G(ai) Iul(i) G(ai) f(ili) F]ab(ia tribu) Alpini Classiciani | . . . | . . . | proc(uratoris) provinc(iae) Brita[nniae] | Iulia Indi filia Pacata I[ndiana (?)] | uxor [f(ecit)] [To the spirits of the departed (and) of Gaius Iulius Alpinus Classicianus, son of Gaius, of the Fabian voting tribe, . . . procurator of the province of Britain; Iulia Pacata I[ndiana], daughter of Indus, his wife, had this built]. 60. Tac. Ann. 3.42. 61. Burn (1969), no. 15. 62. Tac. Ann. 14.32. Tac. His. 3.69–75; 79. 63. Tac. His. 4.68; 5.22–6; Joseph. BJ 7.82. 64. Tac. His. 4.68; 5.22–6; Joseph. BJ 7.82. 65. See Gambash (forthcoming—2015). 66. He was probably married to Vespasian’s daughter, Domitilla, and possibly fathered a daughter with her; see Birley (2005), 65–66. 67. After describing the battle and the Roman victory, Tacitus (Tac. Ann. 14.38) states that ‘the whole army was then brought together and kept under canvas to finish the remainder of the war.’ 68. For the procurator, Classicianus, see earlier. For more on Suetonius Paullinus and his successors, see ahead, and Gambash (2012). 69. Gambash (forthcoming—2015). The debate over Agricola’s dates in Britain has shifted sides since Syme’s preference of the years 78–85 to the earlier possibility of 77–84, which is favored here. See Syme (1958), 22; Birley (2005), 76–77. 70. Tac. Agr. 18.1 71. Tac. Agr. 19: nihil per libertos servosque publicae rei, non studiis privatis nec ex commendatione aut precibus centurionem militesve adscire, sed optimum quemque fidissimum putare; [. . .] officiis et administrationibus potius non peccaturos praeponere, quam damnare cum peccassent [He avoided using the agency of freedmen or slaves in public affairs; no private inclinations, no recommendations or requests of friends, affected him in the selection of centurions and soldiers, but he thought most reliable the best man; [. . .] He preferred to give office and power to men who would not commit offenses, rather than have to condemn an offender]. 72. Tac. Agr. 21.1–2. 73. JRS 46 (1956), 146 = AE 1957.169. 74. Mattingly (2006), 275. 75. Birley (2005), Iurid. 1–2. 76. PIR 971. 77. Tac. Ann. 3.32. 78. PIR 369. 79. PIR 738. 80. PIR 1348. 81. Vell. Pat. 2.125.

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82. Birley (2005), 43–51. 83. Tac. Ann. 14.38. 84. Tacitus admits that ‘little is gained by conquest if followed by oppression’; he refers to actions performed by Agricola to the benefit of the local population as an attempt to ‘root out the causes of war’ (Tac. Agr. 19). His general view on the Britons in the Agricola is that they ‘bear cheerfully the conscription, the taxes, and the other burdens imposed on them by the Empire, if there be no oppression—of this they are impatient; they are reduced to subjection, not as yet to slavery’ (Tac. Agr. 13). 85. Tac. Agr. 16. 86. The full passage reads (Tac. Ann. 14.39, after Furneaux 1891), ‘One of the imperial freedmen, Polyclitus, was sent to survey the state of Britain, Nero having great hopes that his influence would be able not only to establish a good understanding between the governor and the procurator, but also to pacify the rebellious spirit of the barbarians. And Polyclitus, who with his enormous suite had been a burden to Italy and Gaul, failed not, as soon as he had crossed the ocean, to make his progresses a terror even to our soldiers. But to the enemy he was a laughing-stock, for they still retained some of the fire of liberty, knowing nothing yet of the power of freedmen, and so they marveled to see a general and an army who had finished such a war cringing to slaves. Everything, however, was softened down for the emperor’s ears, and Suetonius was retained in the government.’ 87. Furneaux (1891); Ramsay (1909). 88. Gallus first visited Jerusalem himself during the Passover festival (Joseph. BJ 2.281). Later, when tension increased, he sent a deputation, headed by his tribune Neopolitanus (Joseph., BJ 2.334). 89. Tac., Ann. 14.39: Quod paucas navis in litore remigiumque in iis amiserat, tamquam durante bello tradere exercitum Petronio Turpiliano, qui iam consulatu abierat, iubetur. 90. Gambash (2009), 53–76. 91. The other governor was Agricola; see Birley (1981), 388–390. 92. Tac. Agr. 16. 93. Plut. Galba 15.2. Griffin (1976), 454, explains Turpilianus’ late obtainment of the consulate through possible hostility on the part of Burrus and Seneca. 94. Frontin. De Aquis 102.10–11. 95. Birley (2005), 51–2. 96. Philo, Leg. 243; Tac. Agr. 16.3. 97. Tac. Ann. 14.39. 98. Tac. Agr. 16. 99. Birley (2005, 55) notes that, alongside the accepted translation of the phrase, as appears in the quote earlier, nullis castrorum experimentis could also mean ‘he neglected to make trial of the army.’ 100. For Nero’s preparations to campaign against the Albani at the Caspian passes, see Suet. Nero 19; Tac. His. 1.6. 101. Tac. Agr. 16; His. 1.60. 102. Tac. His. 1.60. 103. Troops from Britain are reported by Tacitus to have joined Vitellius (Tac. His. 1.59–61). For Venutius see Tac. His. 3.45. 104. Tac. His. 2.65. 105. Tac. Ann. 15.3. 106. Stat. Silv. 5.2.31–41. 107. Birley (2005), 60. 108. For example, Tac. Hist. 2.57—eight thousand troops. 109. Tac. Agr. 16.

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110. Stat. Silv. 5.2.140–149. 111. Tac. Agr. 16. 112. Tac. Agr. 8.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Barrett, A. A. (1989), Caligula: The Corruption of Power (London). ———. (1991), ‘Claudius’ British Victory Arch in Rome,’ Britannia 22: 1–19. Bénabou, M. (1976), La résistance africaine à la romanisation (Paris). Bilde, P. (1978), ‘The Roman Emperor Gaius (Caligula)’s Attempt to Erect His Statue in the Temple of Jerusalem,’ Studia Theologica 32: 67–93. Birley, A. R. (1981), The Fasti of Roman Britain (Oxford). ———. (2005), The Roman Government of Britain (Oxford). Bond, H. K. (1998), Pontius Pilate in History and Interpretation (Cambridge). Bowman, A. K. and Rathbone, D. (1992), ‘Cities and Administration in Roman Egypt,’ JRS 82: 107–127. Braund, D. (1984), Rome and the Friendly King: The Character of the Client Kingship (London). Burn, A. R. (1969), The Romans in Britain: An Anthology of Inscriptions (Columbia, SC). Campbell, B. (1975), ‘Who Were the “Viri Militares”?,’ JRS 65: 11–31. Coggins, R. J. (1987), ‘The Samaritans in Josephus,’ in L. H. Feldman and G. Hata (eds.), Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity (Leiden): 257–273. Furneaux, H. (1891), The Annals of Tacitus (Oxford). Gambash, G. (2009), ‘Official Roman Responses to Indigenous Resistance Movements: Aspects of Commemoration,’ in H. M. Cotton, J. Geiger, and G. Stiebel (eds.), Israel in Its Land: Collected Papers (Tel Aviv): 53–76. ———. (2012), ‘To Rule a Ferocious Province: Roman Policy and the Boudican Revolt,’ Britannia 43: 1–15. ———. (forthcoming—2015), ‘Flavian Britain,’ in A. Zissos (ed.), A Companion to the Flavian Age of Imperial Rome (Malden, MA). Gambetti, S. (2009), The Alexandrian Riots of 38 C.E. and the Persecution of the Jews: A Historical Reconstruction. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 135 (Leiden). Goodman, M. (2007), Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations (London). Griffin, M. T. (1976), ‘Nero’s Recall of Suetonius Paulinus,’ SCI 3: 138–152. ———. (1984), Nero: The End of a Dynasty (London). Gruen, E. S. (2002), Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, MA). Hall, B. (1989), ‘Samaritan History: From John Hyrcanus to Baba Rabba,’ in A. D. Crown (ed.), The Samaritans (Tübingen): 32–54. Hartley, B. and Fitts, L. (1988), The Brigantes (Gloucester). Horsley, R. A. (1995), Galilee: History, Politics, People (Valley Forge, PA). Horst, P. W. van der (2003), Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (Leiden). Lémonon, J-P. (1981), Pilate et le gouvernement de la Judée: Textes et monuments (Paris). Mattingly, D. J. (2006), An Imperial Possession: Britain in the Roman Empire, 54 BC–AD 409 (London). Mazard, J. (1955), Corpus Nummorum Numidiae Mauritaniaeque (Paris). McGing, B. C. (1991), ‘Pontius Pilate and the Sources,’ Catholic Biblical Quarterly 53.3: 416–438.

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Mor, M. (1989), ‘The Samaritans and the Bar Kokhbah Revolt,’ in A. D. Crown (ed.), The Samaritans (Tübingen): 19–31. Müller, G. A. (1888), Pontius Pilatus der fünfte Prokurator von Judäa und Richter Jesu von Nazareth (Stuttgart). Peter, H. (1907), ‘Pontius Pilatus, der römische Landpfleger in Judäa,’ Neue Jahrbücher für das klassische Altertum 19: 1–40. Price, J. J. (1992), Jerusalem under Siege: The Collapse of the Jewish State 66–70 CE (Leiden). Purvis, J. D. (1989), ‘The Samaritans,’ in W. D. Davies and L. Finkelstein (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism (Cambridge): 591–613. Ramsay, G. G. (1909), The Annals of Tacitus (London). Schürer, E. (1973–87), The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. 1–3 (London). Schwartz, D. (1982), ‘Pontius Pilate’s Suspension from Office: Chronology and Sources,’ Tarbitz 3: 383–398 (Heb.). Smallwood, E. M. (1961), Philonis Alexandrini Legatio ad Gaium (Leiden). ———. (1981), The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian: A Study in Political Relations (Leiden). Stein, A. (1950), Die Präfekten von Ägypten in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Bern). Syme, R. (1958), Tacitus (Oxford). Taylor, E. J. (2006), ‘Pontius Pilate and the Imperial Cult in Roman Judaea,’ New Testament Studies 52.4: 555–582.

4

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The main aim of this chapter is to call attention to a Roman practice, consistent and enduring throughout the Principate, whereby victories over rebellious provincials were commemorated on a moderate scale, restricted to the decoration of individuals, and, on occasion, to the dedication of monuments within the pacified province. This practice presents a contrast to the custom of commemoration on a grand scale that normally followed foreign achievements, whether victories on the battlefield or diplomatic accomplishments. As the evidence shows, the Roman government chose not to make universally public the news of provincial victories; instead, the occurrence of provincial revolts was excluded from the collective memory of the inhabitants of the empire. FOREIGN VICTORIES Claudius’ celebration of his successful invasion of Britain is an exhaustive example of the gamut of possibilities that Roman propaganda mechanisms employed in commemorating foreign victories. Besides other measures taken to mark the event, Claudius was granted a series of the most distinguished honors by the Senate: These [i.e., members of the Senate] on learning of his achievement gave him the title of Britannicus and granted him permission to celebrate a triumph. They voted also that there should be an annual festival to commemorate the event and that two triumphal arches should be erected, one in the city and the other in Gaul, because it was from that country that he had set sail when he crossed over to Britain.1 The triumph was celebrated, maximo apparatu, in 44, with governors from the provinces invited to attend, and with Claudius ascending the Capitol on his knees.2 The only relevant arch in Rome for which we have evidence, however, was dedicated eight years after the event. The inscription that was attached to its main attic now survives only in fragmentary and much debated form, but Claudius’ titles on it clearly indicate the date 51 or early 52.3

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While the common view used to be that Claudius was perhaps awaiting the capture of Caratacus, it is highly unlikely that the emperor would have waited for the action of one of his generals in order to achieve the completion of his own success. More plausibly, he allowed the delay in order to have the arch incorporated into the Aqua Virgo, which was apparently undergoing thorough renovation at the time. If true, this would have made the entire aqueduct a part of the commemoration of his conquest of Britain.4 Alternatively, there may have been not one but two arches, of which the later one would have been ordained after the disgrace and death of Messalina in 48, in order to incorporate into the ongoing propaganda of the conquest of Britain the new wife of the emperor, Agrippina, and her son, Nero, now officially adopted as Claudius’ son.5 Be that as it may, the arch or arches in Rome, and probably also the one in Boulogne, were well known across the empire. In Cyzicus, the local population and the resident Roman citizens dedicated a monument in celebration of Claudius’ victory that in all likelihood replicated on a smaller scale the arches decreed by the Senate.6 The festivities held in honor of the victory, in Cyzicus as elsewhere, must have been spectacular.7 It is also noteworthy that Claudius seems to have used every opportunity to relive and recelebrate his triumphant moments, significantly on the occasion of the return of Plautius in 47, and the eventual capture and delivery to Rome of Caratacus in 51. The ovation that Claudius awarded Plautius is, in fact, the last that we have on record. In addition, Claudius’ son was so flaunted as Britannicus that the title became the name by which he was known; in 46 coins were issued with an image of the triumphal arch and the legend ‘de Britannis’ on them; and in 49 the pomerium of the city of Rome was extended on the grounds of Claudius’ conquests ‘beyond Ocean.’8 Certainly, not all foreign achievements were celebrated by the imperial court in like fashion, and no one commemoration scheme replicated another. But some of the main characteristics of Claudius’ projects were shared by other celebrations of parallel events.9 These characteristics are, above all, the great scope of the celebration, its long duration, and the wide publicity given to it across the empire. Trajan’s actions in the aftermath of his foreign accomplishments provide another instructive example. The ultimate Roman victory over the Dacians was celebrated on an unprecedented scale. In the city, extravagant displays and games lasted for four months, from Trajan’s triumphal return in June 107 to his inauguration of the naumachia in November.10 Dacia Capta coins in numerous designs were issued promptly after the victory.11 In 107–108 the Tropaeum Traiani—a monument broadly imitating Augustus’ mausoleum—was consecrated south of the Danube, in Moesia Inferior, next to a major trade route.12 Trajan’s forum, the largest of the imperial fora, was dedicated in 112; it was paid for by Dacian spoils, and featured numerous statues of Dacian captives.13 In 113 the famous column of Trajan was added to the forum, depicting along 200 meters of bas relief scenes from the two Dacian wars.14

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Provincial populations joined in the celebrations in various ways, as indicated by representations on Campanian vases and Gaulish terra sigillata.15 The victory was publicized so widely and efficiently that, upon Trajan’s return to Rome, there awaited him congratulatory embassies from places beyond the boundaries of the empire—including India.16 The commemoration of the annexation of Arabia in 106, though more modest in scope, complies with the same line of action.17 A. Cornelius Palma, the governor of Syria, received for his part in leading the operation the triumphal ornamenta, a statue in the forum of Augustus in Rome, and a second consulate in 109.18 Celebrations of the new addition to the empire started, however, only in 111, with the inauguration of the Via Nova.19 Milestones throughout the length of the province declared that Arabia was ‘redacta in formam provinciae.’20 The incorporation of the road’s inauguration into the celebrations is reminiscent of Claudius’ triumphal arch in Rome, whose dedication may have awaited the completion of the Aqua Virgo’s renovation. To be sure, such a road, connecting the province of Syria with the gulf of Aqaba, would have had an impact far beyond the borders of the newly established province; the publicity accorded to the annexation of Arabia would have grown accordingly. To add to this publicity, also starting in 111, coins were issued with the legend Arabia adquisita, and with a camel representing the new province. On a more local scale, in 114 an arch was dedicated to the emperor in Petra, which won in turn the title of metropolis of the province.21 The erection of a great arch in Dura Europos in 115 by the third legion of Cyrenaica—formerly Arabia’s legion—may well have been a part of the celebrations of the annexation.22 PROVINCIAL VICTORIES Let us turn now to the case of victories won over established provincial populations, starting with the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt of 6–9 CE.23 The campaign was long and difficult, and the Augustan administration invested in it efforts equal in scale to those put into the two great revolts of the Jews in Judea in 66–70 and in 132–136.24 The location of the revolt caused the Roman government to fear an invasion of Italy itself.25 Dio’s narrative portrays Tiberius, the general in command, as having been frequently at a loss over his next step.26 When he finally secured the submission of the rebels, Augustus curbed the enthusiasm of the Senate, and agreed to accept but a few of the many honors bestowed on him and on the victorious generals:27 Germanicus also announced the victory then; for which reason Augustus and Tiberius were permitted to take the title of Imperator and to celebrate a triumph. And they received other honors, besides, notably two triumphal arches in Pannonia—for these were the only distinctions of the many voted to them that Augustus would accept. Germanicus

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received the ornamenta triumphalia, a distinction which fell likewise to the other commanders, and also the rank of a praetor, as well as the privilege of giving his vote immediately after the ex-consuls and of holding the consulship earlier than custom allowed. Thus, the tributes that were finally approved were limited to individual decorations, and to the erection of public monuments only in the pacified province itself. It was such an approach towards provincial unrest that would have guaranteed that a local revolt would not have been collectively remembered outside the region where it occurred. The empire’s residents would not have had the means whereby to reproduce the history of Rome’s internal disturbances.28 We can learn about the successful effect of this policy by examining such a local monument as the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias.29 This elaborate temple complex was constructed by two Aphrodisian families under Tiberius. It was then restored and further developed under Claudius, and well into Nero’s reign, as securely indicated by inscriptions from the monument and imperial scenes on some of the reliefs. Around eighty relief panels survive, representing mythological scenes, as well as scenes and themes that were drawn directly from the political ideology of the early Principate. Among the latter, most notable are the ethne reliefs—a group of personified peoples either merely defeated by Augustus, or defeated by him and then added to the Roman empire.30 This group is thought to have been a reproduction of an Augustan monument in Rome, and its design and execution to have been based on available Roman models. It is therefore considered a telling illustration of both transmission mechanisms of imperial art and a Greek city’s identification with the Roman government’s view of its empire.31 It is exactly in witnessing such a tangible contact point between the Roman representation of victory and the provincial absorption of the information and the message deriving from it that the subjugation of the provincial revolt should stand out in its absence. For Augustus’ reign, a case in point would be the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt that occurred between the years 6 and 9. The inscribed bases on which the personifications of the ethne once stood contain a group relating to the greater region of Illyricum, identified as the Iapodes in Illyricum, and the Andizetes and Pirustae in Pannonia. Going by the hypothesis presented earlier, the assumption should be that these appear here because of Augustus’ earlier exploits in the region—between 12 and 9 BCE. The Aphrodisian planners of the monument, it may be claimed, would not have been exposed to any public tokens of commemoration of the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt itself, and therefore would have been neither able nor inclined to produce a representation of tribes subdued during that event. That is to say, if the Daesidiates, for example, who were among the leaders of the revolt of 6 to 9, did not participate in the region’s war against the Tiberian armies in 12 to 9 BCE, they would not be represented

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in the Aphrodisian monument. The finds from the Sebasteion, of course, supply no conclusive corroboration for such a claim. It is true that Appian presents the Iapodes as the main opposition to the Roman forces headed by Tiberius in the campaign of 12 to 9 BCE. But the Pirustae are known from Velleius Paterculus to have taken active part in the revolt of 6 to 9; the Breuci fought in both campaigns and no representation of them has been recovered in Aphrodisias. Augustus’ own representation of his Principate may nevertheless be useful in persuading us that the foregoing hypothesis is plausible. The accessibility to provincials of the information delivered by Augustus’ Res Gestae is not in question. Fragments of copies of the document were recovered from Apollonia, Antioch near Pisidia, and, of course, Ancyra—the capital and religious center of Galatia. And in Rome the princeps’ claims would have been presented publicly at the entrance of his mausoleum in the Campus Martius. It is noteworthy that Augustus’ claims regarding Dalmatia and Pannonia refer only to earlier conflicts, and do not mention the great revolt that was brought to an end only five years before the princeps’ death. Regarding Dalmatia the Res Gestae states, ‘From Spain, Gaul, and the Dalmatians, I recovered, after conquering the enemy, many military standards which had been lost by other generals.’32 This claim refers to standards lost by Gabinius in 48–47 BCE, when the latter was leading a force round the Adriatic to join Caesar in Epirus; Octavian recovered the standards in his campaign in the region in 35–33 BCE.33 And in relation to Pannonia the Res Gestae maintains, ‘By means of Tiberius Nero, who was then my stepson and my legate, I conquered the tribes of the Pannonians and subjected them to the empire of the Roman people, whereas before my principate an army of the Roman people had never reached them; and I extended the frontiers of Illyricum to the bank of the river Danube.’34 This statement refers, of course, solely to Tiberius’ four campaigns in the region between 12 and 9 BCE.35 The Res Gestae Divi Augusti, then—partly in itself a public monument of the commemoration of Roman victories under the reign of OctavianAugustus—omitted to mention the occurrence of the fierce PannonianDalmatian revolt, in accordance, perhaps, with Augustus’ choice immediately after the war to reduce the publication of the victory to a minimum.36 Monuments across the empire that sought to identify with and represent Augustan ideology would have relied on the information transmitted by such a document as the Res Gestae.37 Even when better informed, the planners of such monuments would have kept in line with the principles that shaped and defined it, easily discernible from the source itself, or models based on it. Also illuminating is what we know of the commemoration of the Roman victory in the Tacfarinian conflict. Between the years 17 and 24, the prolonged conflict with the African rebel produced a sequence of three generals decorated with the ornamenta triumphalia. The decoration entailed, we are

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told by Tacitus, the erection in Rome of corresponding laurelled statues.38 The last of the three, Q. Iunius Blaesus, who is said by the historian to have owed the honor to the influence of his powerful nephew, Sejanus, was also granted permission by Tiberius to be hailed imperator by his troops.39 P. Cornelius Dolabella, on the other hand, who was the Roman general who replaced Blaesus, and actually put an end to the war by capturing Tacfarinas, was denied the ornamenta, in an alleged attempt by Tiberius not to diminish the honor granted to Blaesus.40 If Dolabella was indeed robbed of his due honors in Rome, it would appear that, at least in Africa, justice was served. An inscription from Leptis Magna commemorates the victory of the proconsul, mentioning the rebel leader himself by name.41 Chapter Two, on ‘Handling Revolt,’ discussed the issue of the Roman focus of efforts on rebelling groups, and, particularly, on the leaders of revolts. Here, the inscription of Dolabella, found also in the city of Oea, may serve to demonstrate the modest local dimensions of the commemoration, which would have emphasized, above all, the relief brought to those indigenous populations who did not partake in the opposition movement.42 The region of Tripolitania suffered gravely during the revolt of Tacfarinas, as it did during previous local conflicts. The cities’ best interests lay in peaceful routine, and they could look only to the Roman administration for securing this routine. Tacitus specifically mentions a detachment given the task of stopping forays made on the city, which were followed by quick retreats to Garamantian territory.43 Another inscription from Leptis Magna, dating to 35–36, has also been linked to the revolt.44 In it, the African governor, Rubellius Blandus, is said to have restored land to the people of the city, which may have been lost during the conflict. Income from this land, we read, was used to renovate and beautify the streets of the city, which are abundant with testimony for the cooperative dialogue conducted between local officials, running the city’s civic routine, and the highest Roman authorities in the province. Official Roman action in the aftermath of the Boudican revolt in 60–61 stands in stark contrast to the commemoration of foreign accomplishments. The achievement of C. Suetonius Paullinus, the governor of Britain at the time of the revolt, was by no means a negligible one. Having completed the conquest of the island of Mona (modern Anglesey), off the northwestern shores of Wales, he received word of the outbreak of hostilities in and around the province.45 The client kingdom of the Iceni, with Boudica, the wife of the recently deceased king, at its head, rose in response to an abusive act of annexation, conducted by the imperial procurator. The Trinovantes, officially subjects of the Roman province since their defeat during the early days of the invasion, joined the resistance movement, probably mostly because of the encroachment on their property of the Roman colony of veterans at Camulodunum.46 The narrative of the initial success of the widening opposition movement is as succinct as it is violent. Suetonius mentions two major cities that

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were sacked, as well as a great number of citizens and allies killed in the events. Dio also knows of two sacked cities and eighty thousand dead among the Romans and their allies. Tacitus’ more elaborate account in the Annales narrates the fall of Camulodunum, Londinium, and Verulamium, the defeat and annihilation of the infantry of a division of Legio IX, and the killing all in all of about seventy thousand of the Romans and their allies.47 As mentioned above, Boudican archaeological layers from the three sites mentioned by Tacitus have produced enough evidence to corroborate the occurrence of intense intentional destruction.48 In at least one other site, that of Chelmsford, there appears to have been the same kind of destruction, and on a similar scale.49 To be sure, as Tacitus, Suetonius, and Dio agree, the revolt was a disaster for Rome, and Paullinus proved himself equal to the situation in his prompt return from the west of Britain, his correct judgment in choosing the timing and location for the confrontation, and his bold victory over a multitudinous rebel ‘army,’ with only ten thousand troops under his command. Nevertheless, there is no evidence whatsoever, written or material, of official commemoration of any sort, in Rome or in the provinces, of Paullinus’ victory. Neither grand-scale monumentalization nor coin issues, nor even personal decorations, such as the ornamenta triumphalia, seem to have been ordained by Nero’s administration. This apparent choice of the Roman government not to commemorate the subjugation of the Boudican revolt does not conform to the spirit of the time. Quite to the contrary, Neronian Rome was excessively fond of triumphs and triumphal propaganda, despite the fact that its ruler had little taste for military affairs. The prolonged crisis with Parthia over the investiture of a new king in Armenia supplied Nero with multiple occasions to celebrate and commemorate victory. The impressive list of symbolic acts voted in Rome to mark the high points of the negotiations and the fighting in 54, 58, and, finally, in 66 demonstrates the willingness of the Neronian court to match and even surpass the standards set by Claudius’ commemoration of his invasion of Britain.50 The only way to claim that the subjugation of the Boudican revolt was noted at all is by linking it to the few celebrations we know took place upon Paullinus’ return to Rome. Having perhaps carried too far his reprisals against the local population, Paullinus was recalled soon after the backbone of the resistance had been broken. Though he was most successful in Britain in 58–60, and then in containing the revolt, if we read only Tacitus, we would indeed be led to believe that ‘no honors awaited Suetonius in Rome.’51 We next hear of him only after Nero’s death and the outbreak of the civil war.52 But there is some slight evidence to indicate that he was not altogether ignored after he was relieved of his duty in Britain. Tacitus’ account of his final days in Britain may be read as indicating that, despite the imperial court’s disagreement with his harsh methods, there was an effort to save him the loss of face that an early recall would have entailed.53

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What of actual honors? Inscriptions show that between July 61 and late 62 Nero’s count of the title of imperator had risen by two to IMP IX. The eighth occasion is usually related to Paullinus’ victories in Britain, and this is where the Boudican revolt may be brought back into the picture.54 The exact timing and duration of the revolt are still a much debated issue.55 But it is possible, under one set of premises, to suggest that Nero took the title after the revolt, thus celebrating not only Paullinus’ foreign victories in the years 58–60 but also his subjugation of the revolt.56 To this has been added one final piece of evidence, possibly directly related to Paullinus himself. A lead tessera that has ‘NERO CAESAR’ on the obverse and ‘PAULLINI,’ along with traditional symbols of victory, on the reverse has been interpreted as commemorating a congiarium given to the people by Nero in honor of Paullinus’ victories in Britain. Again, if true, a plausible inference would be that Nero waited for Paullinus’ return from Britain before he conferred the donative, and that also the subjugation of the Boudican revolt may have been referred to by the symbols of victory on the medal. However, it is noteworthy that we have no examples of congiaria that followed campaigns that had not been accompanied by the emperor in person, a fact that casts serious doubt on the hypothesis.57 As it appears, for a general who wished to outshine Corbulo himself, and who had set off right foot forward with his expansion campaigns, there indeed awaited in Rome a frustratingly small reward.58 It would not be too far-fetched to assume that, had the Iceni not revolted, his earlier achievements in the west of Britain would have won greater acclaim and, quite likely, there would have been more accomplishments to follow them. But we are less interested here in the individual himself, and more in the actual nature and significance of the commemoration. Unlike Claudius’ conquest of Britain, or the achievements of Corbulo in the east, there would have been very few people across the empire, and even in Rome, who would have known that a disaster had occurred in Britain, and that a rebellion seriously threatened, albeit for a brief time, Rome’s possession of this province.59 For those who were actually able to distinguish between Nero’s numerous titles, the IMP VIII would have stood for further conquests in Britain. So was the Boudican revolt hushed up? As far as empire-wide imperial propaganda is concerned, this seems to have been the case. Not only was the subjugation of the revolt never officially celebrated, but also it seems to have clouded Paullinus’ previous achievements in Britain. This fact should hardly surprise us. Put in a wider context, the handling of the Boudican revolt may be seen as an extreme example of the practice according to which Roman victories over indigenous insurgencies were generally not commemorated on a grand scale, as were foreign victories. That is not to say that all victories over provincial resistance movements were completely overlooked. For one, great military achievements were expected to be noticed and rewarded, at the very least by the Roman soldiers and generals involved in them. But available evidence does suggest that the celebration of the suppression of revolts was normally limited to individual decorations, and, occasionally, to

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commemoration projects in the province that had revolted. Other, greater tokens of commemoration, such as grand-scale monumentalization in Rome or across the empire, festival days, or special coin issues in honor of the victory, were regularly avoided. We may return at this point to the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias. Alongside the ethne sculptures described earlier were found reliefs depicting imperial scenes. In one of these representations, Claudius is seen as standing over the defeated figure of Britannia, pulling her head back for the death blow.60 An inscribed base identifies the subject of the relief. The invasion of Britain and the military success that followed it were, of course, Claudius’ prime pride, and the extent of the publicity given to the event has been shown earlier. It is therefore hardly surprising that in planning a monument such as the Sebasteion the choice in the provinces would have been to characterize Claudius’ reign through this achievement. Nero’s place was also not absent from the group of imperial scenes at Aphrodisias. In the relief he is represented as supporting a collapsing figure of Armenia, who may be identified both by an inscribed base and by the eastern iconography used for her depiction.61 As in the case of Claudius, it clearly would have been Nero’s choice to employ the Armenian achievement to represent the military and diplomatic aspects of his reign. But the alternative must be kept in mind, and is clearly formulated in Tacitus’ observation that Suetonius Paullinus wished to equal and surpass Corbulo’s achievements in Armenia in his British campaigns. Up to the point of the revolt, Paullinus was arguably on the right track, and it is possible that, had Wales and then the Midlands been annexed to the Roman province of Britain during the early 60s, as planned, Nero would have chosen to identify his reign with these conquests, rather than with the diplomatic obtainment of the right over the investiture in Armenia. It was in all likelihood the Boudican revolt and the necessity of returning to a policy of consolidation in Britain that dictated the limitation to a minimum of the commemoration of Paullinus’ achievements. As a result, the provincial realm was barely informed of these events, or, more importantly, of the way they were perceived in Rome. Therefore, no commemoration of them would have been sought. There would have been no communal remembering of provincial revolts in the provinces. COINAGE The explanation for the consistent Roman practice of limiting the publicity given to internal victories need not be a complex one. Tacfarinas is said by Tacitus to have spread rumors that ‘elsewhere also nations were rending the empire of Rome, and that therefore her soldiers were gradually retiring from Africa.’62 More than a testimony to the empire-wide intelligence capacities of a Numidian brigand, this statement should be seen as indicative of the

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sensitivity of Tacitus—himself an ex-proconsul of the province of Asia—to the inflammatory potential of provincial instability, and to the danger of its spreading from one focal point to others. Literary evidence of provincial awareness of problems elsewhere in the empire is available, though it should always be suspected as having been supplied by the author in hindsight.63 But, to be sure, regional channels of communication must have allowed interested neighbors to join ongoing opposition movements. The Trinovantes joined Boudica’s revolt within weeks after it broke out; Tacfarinas was already assisted by the Maures and the Cinithii in his first battle against the Romans in 17.64 Such disturbances as those caused by the Jews of the Diaspora between 115 and 117 may demonstrate how unrest could spread gradually even beyond regional boundaries. It would appear, then, that, while there was no way of preventing information from circulating while revolts were underway, especially if their scale and duration necessitated such Roman efforts as the mobilization of forces across the empire, there existed little Roman motivation to commemorate the subjugation of revolts on an imperial scale. Celebrations that could convey knowledge of past revolts—such as grand-scale monuments in Rome and in the provinces, official festivals, or local initiatives in the form of dedications in honor of the Roman victory—were for the most part avoided. Outside the relevant local sphere, a revolt would not have been remembered, and the inhabitants of the empire would have found it impossible to reproduce and circulate a detailed picture of the empire’s past internal disturbances. One of the most distinct representations of the phenomenon comes from numismatic evidence. The coinage that may be broadly referred to as the capta type appeared in several designs, all of which representing through a variety of symbols and tokens a defeated enemy, and a victorious Rome.65 The type could include, other than the specific legend of capta, legends similar in nature and significance, such as Antony’s Armenia devicta or Drusus the elder’s De Germanis.66 When including the characteristic imagery, it could also appear solely with the name of the province at issue, or even with no legend at all.67 Popular during the late Republic and in the Augustan period, the capta type all but disappeared under the later Julio-Claudians. Numismatists have recognized as the origin of the type a long line of late Republican capta coinage, which does not have capta on the reverse, but is consistent in representing a conquered enemy, usually kneeling, mourning, and with hands bound.68 Moreover, the imagery also differentiates the capta type from other types, which represent the evolving relationship between Rome and its dominions—that is, from conquest, to a plea for Roman favor, to the raising of the province from the ground by a Roman official, and, finally, to the recognition of its loyalty. This process is documented numismatically in the following types: capta, supplicatio, provincia restituta, and, finally, provincia fidelis.69

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With the accession of the Flavians the capta type was returned to production with great vigor. In the 80s, a man’s purse in Rome, or elsewhere in the empire, could have held at once coins commemorating victories won in Judea, Britain, and Germany. The extensive issuance of Iudaea capta coins under all three Flavian emperors will be discussed presently, but this special case should not mislead us into thinking that capta types were produced regularly for victories won within the boundaries of the empire. Significantly, other than in the case of the first Jewish revolt, the capta type is attested solely in cases of foreign achievements, and none of its many known designs appears when the war fought involved insurgent subjects, or even rebellious client kingdoms. To be sure, the capta type, taking its name as it does from the verb capere, would not have offered the most accurate representation of the restoration of control over rebellious provinces. Additionally, the official usage of the verb normally denoted fierceness and brutality, measures often accentuated in the propaganda that followed foreign campaigns, but hardly characteristic of the subjugation of provincial revolts. The violent undertones of the term capta are conveyed clearly enough in such statements as the one supplied by Tacitus in his report of the annexation of the client kingdom of the Iceni, which, instead of proceeding peacefully, was conducted brutally, thus precipitating the eruption of the Boudican revolt: quod contra vertit, adeo ut regnum per centuriones, domus per servos velut capta vastarentur [But the opposite thing transpired, to the extent that the kingdom was plundered by centurions and the royal house by slaves, as though conquered by war].70 Commemorative coinage, then, would have been altogether redundant in the case of Roman victories won over provincial populations, for the sheer discretion adopted by the Roman authorities in such cases. And, more specifically, the capta type would have been inappropriate for marking such victories, even if wide publicity had been deemed desirable. It is against this backdrop that we should consider the legend of recepta, and, by analyzing the circumstances of its occurrences, differentiate it from the capta type. Until the Iudaea recepta coin discussed in the next section surfaced in 2013, relevant coins carrying the legend of recepta on their reverse had been known only for the time of Octavian/Augustus. The first known representation carries the legend of Asia recepta, dating to the years 29–27 BCE, and probably also later in the 20s.71 The province of Asia was bequeathed to Rome by Attalus III of Pergamum in 133 BCE, and found itself backing the losing side in most local conflicts and Roman civil wars that occurred during the first century BCE, including that of Antony and Cleopatra in Actium in 31 BCE. It is for this reason that Octavian found it necessary to reorganize the affairs of the province and its reintegration into the provincial system soon after the defeat of his enemies, on his way either to Egypt or back from there.

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The mention of Egypt here is timely, since the conquest and annexation of the Ptolemaic kingdom encouraged Octavian to produce a series of Aegupto capta coins, with which the contemporary Asia recepta coinage may be compared.72 There is little need to emphasize the significance ascribed by Octavian to his victory over Cleopatra. When back in Rome, in 29 BCE, he celebrated his famous triple triumph, marking his victory in Actium, the annexation of Egypt, and victories won in Illyricum. The issuance of Aegupto capta coinage was appropriate for his needs, in that it propagated foreign conquest on a large, imperial scale. The status of Asia—a regular Roman province for a whole century by that time—was altogether different. While Octavian obviously wished to make public the knowledge of his arrangements there, the capta type would not have answered his requirements. To be sure, Asia was a veteran province that did not have to be retaken by force, and that could be approached, like many other provinces and client kingdoms in the East, as having erred in backing Antony, and thus as deserving the forgiveness of the Roman people and the future princeps. The issuance of capta coinage in this case would not only have missed the mark: it would have devaluated the greatness of the achievement in Egypt, and it would have represented Asia in a humiliating light, as a foreign, barbarian enemy recently conquered. Instead, from this point onwards, the province demonstrated its renewed loyalty in organizing the ruler-cult of Augustus both at provincial and civic level. This background may explain the choice of the term recepta for the coins that were eventually issued for Asia—a term either newly invented for the event or, if earlier representations of it existed, readily available for the commemoration of the regaining of control over a former imperial asset. The next known appearance of a coined recepta legend occurred after Augustus’ Armenian settlement in 20 BCE. Following the eastern campaigns of Lucullus and then Pompey, Rome conducted a long and fluctuating struggle with Parthia over the right to consider Armenia a protectorate. In the year 20 BCE, Rome responded to popular demand in Armenia by replacing King Artaxias II with his brother, Tigranes III, who had been held and educated in Rome as hostage at least since 30 BCE. The reigning king was assassinated in the process, and his successor was sent to his native land accompanied by an army commanded by Tiberius. The operation of Tigranes’ installment on the throne proceeded bloodlessly, and, though the new king came to include a variety of Parthian attributes in the routine of his long rule—such as the titles on his coins—he vowed to keep his allegiance to Rome, thus allowing Augustus to claim the achievement of returning Armenia into Roman hegemony.73 Two types of coinage are known to have been issued in commemoration of the ostensible achievement: the one reading Armenia recepta, the other Armenia capta.74 Along with these legends, there appear on the obverse Augustus’ familiar portrait and the name Augustus beneath it. Given the distinct differentiation pointed out earlier between Aegupto capta coins

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on the one hand and Asia recepta coins on the other, the question must be asked as to why the successful investiture of Tigranes won these two clashing representations on Augustan coinage. Considering the political circumstances described earlier, it would appear that the title of recepta would have been the one most appropriate to describe the status of a client kingdom that slipped away from the grasp of the Roman provincial system and had to be reclaimed by a move that may best be described as diplomatic in nature. Notably, 20 BCE was also the year of the return of standards lost to Parthia by Crassus and Antony. This achievement was celebrated, starting in the year 19 BCE, by the issuance of signis receptis coins, signifying the regaining of Roman possession over an imperial symbol that had been lost for a period. It may have been the case, as this latter event suggests, that Augustus was looking to reinforce his military clout at this stage, a decade and more after Actium and the triple triumph that followed it. In that case, Augustus may have moved—sometime in the process of commemorating his Armenian achievement as Armenia recepta—to ‘upgrade’ the status of the event into that of a foreign conquest, commemorable by the legend Armenia capta. We have no way of knowing for certain that such was the evolution of the Armenian coinage. To be sure, the simultaneous production of the two types makes little sense. Much can be said, however, about the potential diplomatic damage that could be caused by dubbing as capta an important and hard to control client kingdom, whose allegiance had recently been secured with difficulty by means of diplomacy. Seen from such a perspective, it may well have been the case that Augustus, putting at first too much emphasis on the military nature of his achievement, found it eventually advisable, if not necessary, to ‘downgrade’ the status of the event from a forceful capture to a more peaceful restatement of Roman hegemony. Be that as it may, the term recepta in the imperial-provincial context should be approached as one designed to represent a status essentially different from that conveyed by the term capta, emphasizing, rather than conquest by force, a return to the embrace of the provincial system. In effect, this is exactly the legend we would have expected to find on coins commemorating the subjugation of provincial revolts, had it been the Roman practice to give wide publicity to such events. The recently discovered Iudaea recepta coin is a case in point. IUDAEA RECEPTA The coin discussed here is of unique nature and select importance.75 Its uniqueness lies in the combination of words appearing on the obverse— Iudaea recepta—never before witnessed on coins or elsewhere in the sphere of official Roman propaganda. Its importance stems from the fact that it introduces an antithetical element into an otherwise uniform corpus of

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evidence—that of the Great Jewish Revolt. That is not to say, of course, that unanimity surrounds this topic—far from it. But the many elaborate theories, which for more than a century have been fueling heated debates concerning the occurrence and aftermath of the revolt, have more or less seen eye to eye on one crucial factor: the consistency of Roman policy. Various interpretations, often clashing, have been offered for the nature of this policy. To name a few examples, it has been seen as a policy dictated by a Flavian need for legitimacy; or as one formulated naturally against a persistently rebellious group; or as one merely stemming from the presence in the background of a dangerous civil war. But these and other theories regularly based themselves on a corpus of evidence that so far supplied a coherent continuum of official actions, usually perceived as hostile towards the Jews. On occasion, in the face of such a collection of mutually illuminating documents, a single piece of evidence could turn up that would have a disproportionate importance.76 The emergence of a single Iudaea recepta coin allows us to turn to the form of reasoning labeled ‘double negative,’ showing as it does that it is not the case that such a coin did not exist, and thus forcing us to accommodate it with the abundant contemporary presence of capta coinage. It is the tension between these two coin types that this section aims to highlight, ultimately suggesting that, if anything, it is our inclination to imagine an aggressive line of action adopted against the Jews that should be adjusted to include prospects of Roman motivation for the rehabilitation of Judea. Soon after the fall of Jerusalem, the subjugation of the great Jewish revolt was celebrated in Rome as a victory over a barbarian foreign enemy. This, among other issues related to the Roman policy towards the Jews in the aftermath of the revolt, will be discussed in the next chapter. It must be emphasized, though, as this chapter has demonstrated earlier, that such a hostile approach towards a well-established provincial population had little precedence in the long and varied history of the central Roman government’s relationship with its dominions. A series of official measures worked to create a commemoration campaign similar in scope and spirit to that following the conquest of foreign territories. Scholars have noted that the triumph celebrated by Vespasian in 71 was an anomaly, having been the only one ever to be held in celebration of a victory over a provincial population.77 In fact, this anomaly pervaded the entire plan of commemoration that accompanied and followed the triumph. Such monuments and building projects as the Flavian amphitheater, the Templum Pacis, and the triumphal arches erected in Rome all emphasized the motif of war spoils, which is highly atypical of available representations of victories over provincial resistance movements.78 Most relevant to our case, the production and wide circulation of Iudaea capta coins were concordant with this line of commemoration— capta coins having been issued up to that point in celebration of foreign achievements.79

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The evidence we possessed so far suggested that the actions of Vespasian and Titus with regard to the Jewish revolt proceeded uninterrupted from conducting the campaign for the conquest of Judea to commemorating it appropriately, in grand manner. Such a run of events does not contradict any of the theories suggested so far for the Flavian conduct after the conclusion of the war, be it imagined to have been guided by private dynastic requirements; by the needs of a state torn until recently by civil war; or, finally, by routine protocol in the aftermath of great foreign campaigns. The Iudaea recepta coin works to undermine this previously conceived flow of events, presenting us with a brief moment of different Flavian policy, when a line of commemoration completely opposed to the one eventually adopted was considered and even initiated. The connotation of recepta, established by the Augustan precedents, would have supplied a representation of Judea not as a recently conquered foreign enemy but as a former province—or part thereof—that had been lost to the empire and was now integrated again into the provincial system. That such a representation would have aimed to align itself with reality in the province is a valid option. The moment of transition from rebellion to the day that followed defeat was a crucial point, which determined to a great degree the nature of the future relationship of the local population with the Roman administration. Notably, in most provincial rebellions known to us, the preference of Rome was to return as quickly and as efficiently as possible to the same local routine that had prevailed prior to revolt. The process included not only avoidance of sweeping retributive measures but often also a rapid demilitarization of the disturbed areas, and a prompt resumption of the province’s original status.80 Such an approach, it appeared so far, was never considered in the year 70 for the defeated Jews, and the appearance of the Iudaea recepta coin begs us to reevaluate the development of events in the aftermath of the revolt. It cannot be stressed enough that recepta coinage, and everything that it represented, could not exist sensibly in a ceremonious triumphalist routine that saw arches dedicated to Titus for his victory over the Jews, and temples and public buildings built in Rome from the spoils of the war, even if this routine only served as a guise for celebrating the far greater achievement of bringing the civil war to an end. We must therefore ask how the issuance of such coinage transpired, as it may spill revealing light, if not on the actual dire aftermath of the revolt, then at least on stages in its evolvement. Two main reasons, not mutually exclusive, could have stood behind the decision to issue Iudaea recepta coinage. Firstly, a sharp line could be drawn between universal commemoration and the actual reality in the province—as in the example of postconquest Britain, where Claudius continued to celebrate in Rome his conquest of Britain long after the province itself moved into a path of peaceful integration into the empire. By approaching the commemoration of the Jewish revolt from a perspective that removes from consideration the physical steps taken against the Jews in 70, we allow ourselves to focus on empire-wide propaganda needs.

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A possible explanation emanating from such an approach would center around the Flavian wish to present universally the achievement of regaining control over Judea, just as Augustus had done in the past with Asia and Armenia. The fact must be underscored that this could be done even as lingering Roman suspicion necessitated the enforcement of tighter control over the Jews. Secondly, it could have been the prospects of the rehabilitation of the province itself that stood at the focus of the decision. The very adoption of the term recepta would have transmitted knowledge of a local past already assimilated within Roman hegemony. The Jews, in other words, would have seen themselves represented in the coin as past and future residents of the empire, while the humiliating symbolism encapsulated in the capta notion would have been saved from them. Of course, if that was the original meaning of the coin issuer, probably Vespasian himself, then we must also assume that the action was meant to be accompanied by a corresponding policy vis-à-vis the Jews—namely, one leading, sooner or later, towards the resumption of Judea’s prerevolt status. Recepta coinage would have answered both needs, giving empire-wide publication to the fact that a province that had been lost was returned to the empire, and, additionally, averting the universal humiliation of the residents of that province in downgrading their status to that of newly subjugated barbarians. The solution, ingenious and traditional at the same time, must have been employed very soon after the Roman victory had been accomplished, possibly even before a decision was made to station a legion in Judea. What is certain is that recepta coinage cannot have remained relevant for long, since its significance was soon made void by the wholehearted Flavian adoption of the commemoration undertaking as that of a proper foreign war. Probably no later than the point at which the celebration of a triumph was decided on, the recepta coinage had to make way for the capta type. For a brief moment after its subjugation, Judea could perhaps nurture hope for rehabilitation—for a return to the routine that characterized the six decades that elapsed from the time of its provincialization to the outbreak of the revolt in 66. The recepta coinage, at least, would have given its audience this impression. NOTES 1. Dio 60.22. 2. For a complete account of the measures taken to commemorate the event, see Suet. Claud. 17; Dio 60.23. 3. CIL 6.40416 (= 920) = ILS 216 (Rome). 4. Barrett (1991), 17. 5. Flower (2006), 187. 6. CIL 3.7061 = ILS 217 (Cyzicus). See Barrett (1991), 12f. 7. See Braund (1996, 106) for more examples. 8. About Britannicus see Suet. Claud. 27; Dio 60.22. About ‘de Britannis’ coins see BMC 29, figure 1; Barrett (1991), 1–2. For the extension of the pomerium

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9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37.

38. 39. 40. 41.

Commemoration see Tac. Ann. 12.23–4; ILS 213 (Rome); cf. also the triumphal ornaments for Cn. Sentius Saturninus, cos. 41, in Geiger (2008), 171–172. See Dillon and Welch (2006) for general discussion. Smallwood (1966), no. 22, lines 15–16. BMC 381; 439. Florescu (1965); MacKendrick (1975), 71ff. Packer (1997). For an extensive analysis of the column and its context, see Lepper and Frere (1988); Coarelli (2000). Schäfer (1989); Labrousse (1981). Dio 68.15.1. We know little of the actual circumstances: Bowersock (1983), 79–80; Millar (1993), 92–93. ILS 1023 (Rome). Bowersock (1983, 83–84) explains the belated beginning of celebrations by Trajan’s wish to confront the Near East with a fait accompli, as part of his preparations for the Parthian campaign. Smallwood (1966), no. 420. The milestones can be dated to 111 or later. Bowersock (1982), 197–198. Bowersock (1983), 85. This discussion was initiated in Gambash (2009). For the PannonianDalmatian revolt, see Džino (2009). Velleius Paterculus (2.113) reports an initial mobilization of ten legions, though part of the force was eventually sent back. Dio 55.30: ‘Now when Tiberius learned of this, fearing that they might invade Italy, he returned from Germany, sending Messallinus ahead and following himself with most of his army.’ Dio 56.13. Dio 56.17. For further examples see Gambash (2009). For the monument see Reynolds (1981); Smith (1987; 1988; 2013); Rose (1997). On the element of victory and subjugation by Augustus as a criterion explaining the choice of ethne represented in the monument, see Reynolds (1981). Smith (1988), 58–59. RG 29. App. Ill. 12; 25; 28. RG 30. Vell. 2.96; Dio 54.31, 34; 55.2; Suet. Tib. 9. The collocation of the clause ascribes to Tiberius also the extension of Illyricum to the Danube, a fact that precludes a more general reading of this statement. Dio 56.17. Examples other than the Aphrodisian monument include the altar of Augustus at Lugdunum, representing sixty ethne (Strabo 4.192), and the Alpine monument of Augustus, presenting a list of forty-five gentes devictae (Plin. NH 3.134–137). Tac. Ann. 4.23: iamque tres laureatae in urbe statuae et adhuc raptabat Africam Tacfarinas. Tac. Ann. 3.74. Tac. Ann. 4.26: Dolabellae petenti abnuit triumphalia Tiberius, Seiano tribuens, ne Blaesi avunculi eius laus obsolesceret. AE 1961, no. 107 (Leptis Magna): Victoriae [A]u[gu]stae P Cornelius Dolabella cos VII vir ep[ul] soda[li]s [ti]t[iens] pro cos occiso T[acfa]rinate po[suit].

Commemoration

42. 43.

44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50.

51. 52. 53.

54. 55.

56. 57. 58.

59. 60. 61. 62.

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[To Augustan Victory. Publius Cornelius Dolabella, consul, member of the committee of seven concerned with public feasts, sodalis Titiensis, proconsul, Tacfarinas having been killed, set this up.] AE 1961, no. 108 (Oea). Tac. Ann. 3.74: Ex quis Cornelius Scipio legatus praefuit qua praedatio in Leptitanos et suffugia Garamantum [One of the three (detachments) under the command of Cornelius Scipio, Blaesus’s lieutenant, was to stop the enemy’s forays on the Leptitani and his retreat to the Garamantes]. IRT 330. Tac. Ann. 14.29–31. Ibid. Suet. Nero 39; Dio 62.1; Tac. Ann. 14.29–33. With doubts nevertheless remaining about Verulamium; see Hingley and Unwin (2005), 70–96. De la Bédoyère (2003), 66. For example, Tac. Ann. 13.7–9; 13.41: For all this Nero was unanimously saluted Imperator, and by the Senate’s decree a thanksgiving was held; statues also, arches and successive consulships were voted to him, and among the holy days were to be included the day on which the victory was won, that on which it was announced, and that on which the motion was brought forward. As Henderson (1903, 217) phrased it. He is probably not the same Suetonius Paullinus who was consul ordinarius in 66, despite Degrassi’s suspicion (FC 12): (C.) Suetonius Paul(l)inus PIR2 S 957. Tac. Ann. 14.39: Cuncta tamen id imperatorem in mollius relata; detentusque rebus gerundis Suetonius, quod paucas naves in litore remigiumque in iis amiserat, tamquam durante bello tradere exercitu Pertronio Turpiliano, qui iam consulatu abierat, iubetur. [Everything, however, was softened down for the emperor’s ears, and Suetonius was retained in the government; but as he subsequently lost a few vessels on the shore with the crews, he was ordered, as though the war continued, to hand over his army to Petronius Turpilianus, who had just resigned his consulship.] Griffin (1976), 138–147. For a survey of the history of the controversy, see Carroll (1979), 197–198. Carroll’s attempt in this article to promote the less popular possibility that the revolt broke out in 61 seems not to have been persuasive; most later references to the year 60 as the date of the outbreak of hostilities rely on the prevailing view, and do not try to confront his challenge. Griffin (1976), 138–147. I am grateful to Professor Werner Eck for this insight. Tac. Ann. 14.29: ‘Britain was in the hands of Suetonius Paullinus, who in military knowledge and in popular favor, which allows no one to be without a rival, vied with Corbulo, and aspired to equal the glory of the recovery of Armenia by the subjugation of Rome’s enemies.’ I do not accept Griffin’s opinion (1976, 145–148) that Paullinus was in fact more honored than Corbulo, thanks to the congiarium that was given by Nero in his name. See ahead. Suetonius reports (Nero 18), probably in relation to the events of the revolt, that Nero considered abandoning the province altogether. Smith (1988), 115–117. Ibid., 117–120. Tac. Ann. 4.24: Igitur Tacfarinas disperso rumore rem Romanam aliis quoque ab nationibus lacerari eoque paulatim Africa decedere . . .

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63. Josephus’ King Agrippa, for example, seems to be in possession of such knowledge in his reported attempt to dissuade the Jews from revolting (Joseph. BJ 2.16), but one should take this with a grain of salt. 64. Regarding the chronology and duration of the Boudican revolt, see Carroll (1979), 200–201. 65. Methy (1992). 66. For Antony’s Armenia devicta see RRC: 539, No. 543/1; for Drusus the Elder’s De Germanis see RIC I (rev.): 132, No. 126. 67. For example, RIC II/1 [rev.]: 84, Nos. 368–369; 178, No. 1562. 68. The earliest example of the full scene is Marius’ celebration of his achievements in Gaul—namely, his victories over the Cimbri and Teutones (RRC: 328, No. 326.2, dated 101 BCE). A kneeling captive with hands tied behind her back appears on a denarius that alludes to victories in Bithynia and Pontus of C. Memmius L. (RRC: 451, No. 427.1, 56 BCE). Other examples include Caesarian coins relating to Gaul (RRC: 467, No. 452.4–5, 48–47 BCE; RRC: 479, No. 468.1–2, 46–45 BCE; see Rose 2005, 33–34). The issues of 46–45 BCE are the earliest examples showing a seated female captive with her head resting on her arm in a posture very similar to the one found one hundred years later on the Iudaea capta issues and in the coin discussed here; see ahead the discussion on Iudaea recepta. Also relevant are representations of shaggy-haired barbarian captives—from conquests in Spain in the early first century BCE (RRC: 389, No. 372.2, 81 BCE) down to Caesar’s war in Gaul (RRC: 463–464, No. 448.2–3, 48 BCE). 69. Cody (2003). 70. Tac. Ann. 14.31. 71. RIC I [rev.]: 61, No. 276; BNCMER I: 143, Nos. 899–904. 72. RIC I [rev.]: 38, 85–86, Nos. 544–546. 73. See RG 27. 74. For Armenia capta see RIC I [rev.]: 83, Nos. 515–516, 520, and BNCMER I: 154–155, Nos. 995–999. For Armenia recepta see RIC I [rev.]: 83, No. 517, and BNCMER I -*- on p. 154. Both examples carry on their reverse the representations, identically arranged, of an Armenian tiara, quiver, and bowcase. The Armenia Capta series includes also aurei with Victory kneeling on the back of a bull and a seated Sphinx (RIC I [rev.]: 82–83, Nos. 513–514). 75. A comprehensive examination of the aureus and its significance may be found in Gambash, Gitler, and Cotton (2013), where the coin has been firstly published. 76. Millar (2002), 48. 77. For example, Millar (2005), 102. 78. Gambash (2009), 67–69. 79. For the typology of Iudaea capta coins, see Ciecielag (2006). 80. Gambash (2012).

BIBLIOGRAPHY Barrett, A. A. (1991), ‘Claudius’ British Victory Arch in Rome,’ Britannia 22: 1–19. Bédoyère, G. de la (2003), Defying Rome: The Rebels of Roman Britain (Stroud). Bowersock, G. W. (1982), Review of The Coins of the Decapolis and Provincia Arabia by A. Spijkerman and M. Piccirillo, JRS 72: 197–198. ———. (1983), Roman Arabia (Cambridge, MA). Braund, D. (1996), Ruling Roman Britain: Kings, Queens, Governors and Emperors from Julius Caesar to Agricola (New York). Carroll, K. K. (1979), ‘The Date of Boudicca’s Revolt,’ Britannia 10: 197–202.

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Ciecielag, J. (2006), ‘Anti-Jewish Policy of the Roman Empire from Vespasian until Hadrian, in the Light of Numismatic Sources—Fact or Myth?’ INR 1: 101–110. Coarelli, F. (2000), The Column of Trajan (trans. C. Rockwell) (Rome). Cody, J. M. (2003), ‘Conquerors and Conquered on Flavian Coins,’ in A. J. Boyle and W. A. Dominik (eds.), Flavian Rome: Culture, Image, Text (Leiden): 103–123. Dillon, S. and Welch, K. E. (eds.) (2006), Representations of War in Ancient Rome (Cambridge). Džino, D. (2009), ‘The Bellum Batonianum in Contemporary Historiographical Narratives,’ Arheol. Rad. Raspr. 16: 29–45. Florescu, F. B. (1965), Das Siegesdenkmal von Adamklissi: Tropaeum Traiani (Bonn). Flower, H. (2006), The Art of Forgetting: Disgrace and Oblivion in Roman Political Culture (Chapel Hill, NC). Gambash, G. (2009), ‘Official Roman Responses to Indigenous Resistance Movements: Aspects of Commemoration,’ in H. M. Cotton, J. Geiger, and G. Stiebel (eds.), Israel in Its Land: Collected Papers (Tel Aviv): 53–76. ———. (2012), ‘To Rule a Ferocious Province: Roman Policy and the Boudican Revolt,’ Britannia 43: 1–15. Gambash, G., Gitler, H., and Cotton, H. M. (2013), ‘Iudaea Recepta,’ Israel Numismatic Research 8: 89–104. Geiger, J. (2008), The First Hall of Fame: A Study of the Statues in the Forum Augustum (Leiden). Griffin, M. T. (1976), ‘Nero’s Recall of Suetonius Paulinus,’ SCI 3: 138–152. Henderson, B. W. (1903), The Life and Principate of the Emperor Nero (London). Hingley, R. and Unwin, C. (2005), Boudica: Iron Age Warrior Queen (London). Labrousse, M. (1981), ‘Les potiers de la Graufessenque et la gloire de Trajan,’ Apulum 19: 57–63. Lepper, F. and Frere, S. (1988), Trajan’s Column (Gloucester). MacKendrick, P. L. (1975), The Dacian Stones Speak (Chapel Hill, NC). Methy, N. (1992) ‘La representation des provinces dans le monnayage romain de l’epoque imperiale (70–235 après J.C.),’ Quaderni Ticinesi, Numismatica e Antichità Classiche 21: 267–289. Millar, F. (1993), The Roman Near East, 31 BC—AD 337 (Cambridge, MA). ———. (2002), Rome, the Greek World, and the East (Chapel Hill, NC). ———. (2005), ‘Last Year in Jerusalem: Monuments of the Jewish War in Rome,’ in J. Edmondson, S. Mason, and J. B. Rives (eds.), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome (Oxford): 101–128. Packer, J. E. (1997), The Forum of Trajan in Rome: A Study of the Monuments (Berkeley). Reynolds, J. M. (1981), ‘New Evidence for the Imperial Cult in Julio-Claudian Aphrodisias,’ ZPE 43: 317–327. Rose, C. B. (1997), Dynastic Commemoration and Imperial Portraiture in the JulioClaudian Period (Cambridge). ———. (2005), ‘The Parthians in Augustan Rome,’ American Journal of Archaeology 109: 21–75. Schäfer, T. (1989), ‘Die Dakerkriege Trajans auf einer Bronzekanne (eine Auftragsarbeit für den Praetorianerpraefekt Ti. Claudius Livianus),’ JDAI 104: 283–317. Smallwood, E. M. (1966), Documents Illustrating the Principates of Nerva, Trajan, and Hadrian (Cambridge). Smith, R. R. R. (1987), ‘The Imperial Reliefs from the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias,’ JRS 77: 88–138. ———. (1988), ‘Simulacra Gentium: The Ethne from the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias,’ JRS 78: 50–77. ———. (2013), The Marble Reliefs from the Julio-Claudian Sebasteion (Mainz).

5

The Jewish Revolts

This chapter sets the uncharacteristically aggressive Roman treatment of the Jews against the background of the regular conciliatory approach towards restless local populations, thus highlighting the exception that proves the rule. The examination aims to point out both the particular moment when the Roman administration parted ways with its habitual creeds and the nature of—and possible reasons for—this anomalous conduct. With the repulse by the Jewish rebels of Cestius Gallus’ army in 66, and with the independent status effectively won by Judea as a result of that event, the Roman government is seen to have altered dramatically its view of the Jews as erring residents of the empire, deserving pardon and an opportunity to be reincorporated into the provincial routine. Instead, they were treated from this point onwards—both practically and symbolically—as foreign enemies of the empire. When this reality of tension and suspicion endured, trust proved difficult to restore. RECONQUEST The perspective of the provincial rebellion allows us to locate the Great Jewish Revolt within a relatively large corpus of comparanda, a fact acknowledged in King Agrippa’s speech, yet one often overlooked by modern research.1 We are drawing only half the picture, for example, when we refer to Iudaea Capta coins as part of a wider corpus of capta-type coinage, while neglecting to notice that no other Roman victory in a provincial conflict was ever followed by such a commemorative measure.2 A likely reason for this phenomenon is the scant attention usually paid by scholars to the provincial rebellion as a distinct type of war—one not necessarily corresponding to characteristics recognized in foreign wars, fought beyond the borders of the empire. Given Judea’s established place within the Roman provincial system at the time of the outbreak of hostilities in 66, attempting to define its revolt in relation to other provincial rebellions may contribute to our efforts to understand the Roman perception of the Jews during the conflict and, perhaps even more importantly, in its immediate aftermath. Generalizations

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may be formulated with regard to various aspects of the Roman approach to provincial revolts, such as the employment of force; retributive measures; official appointments; commemoration; and the fortification and garrisoning of pacified areas. It is not until the Jewish revolt is juxtaposed with such generalizations that prevailing notions regarding the Roman treatment of the Jews may be read against a reliable background. The initial expectations of the central government in Rome would not have been different from those applicable in similar circumstances of provincial unrest. To be sure, earlier local restlessness had been dissolved much according to similar lines since the time of Judea’s provincialization in 6 CE, and even earlier, upon Herod’s death in 4 BCE. Hypotheses regarding Roman notions of an exceptional Jewish rebelliousness appear largely exaggerated for the years preceding the great revolt, certainly when examined against the backdrop of local unrest in other provinces.3 And the idea, originating with Schürer, of general administrative incompetence has proven to be far too crude a generalization.4 By all accounts, during the six decades preceding the year 66, Judea had come to be a regular part of the Roman provincial system, and had been treated as such while peaceful routine reigned, as well as when tension arose. Cestius Gallus’ costly failure in 66 confronted the Roman empire with a loss seldom experienced before.5 The task facing Vespasian in 67 was, in practical terms, the reconquest of the rebelling region, roughly similar in size to that which constituted the kingdom of Herod the Great. Some previous revolts, such as that led by Boudica in Britain in 60–61, had experienced brief local success; others persisted for several years, though usually at a safe distance from provincial centers of power—the case of the rebellion run by Tacfarinas in Africa during Tiberius’ reign comes to mind. Even among ungarrisoned client kingdoms, it took the chaos of the year 69, for example, and a betrayal within the local royal house, to allow the temporary secession of the Brigantes from the Roman provincial system. For Roman decision-makers observing events in Judea in 66, the most notable precedent would have been the annihilation, in the year 9 CE, of Varus’ three legions by Arminius’ coalition of German tribes.6 Judea, though previously part of the provincial system, now had to be approached by force, in practical measures, as would any other hostile foreign power. The task, in any event, was deemed to necessitate the use of a massive force. An appraisal of the size of the army put in the hands of Vespasian is therefore in place. At sixty thousand troops, this task force was twice as large as that under Gallus just a year earlier. It assembled in Ptolemais and was ready for action early in 67. Three legions constituted the core of the force, only one of which, the X Fretensis, was taken from Syria’s regular garrison.7 This meant that three legions remained in Syria under the charge of Syria’s recently appointed legate, Mucianus. Vespasian’s legionary forces were supplemented by twenty-three auxiliary cohortes and six alae of cavalry. In addition, some eighteen thousand troops were sent by four client

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kings—Antiochus IV of Commagene, Agrippa II, Sohaemus of Emesa, and Malchus II of Nabatea.8 In attempting to realize the full significance of the dimensions of such a force, it is important to be reminded once again of those smaller forces mentioned earlier. In most provincial operations—even those not hastily arranged—we witness the employment of one or two legions and the auxiliary forces attached to them—that is, normally between ten thousand and fifteen thousand troops. Gallus’ larger force of approximately thirty thousand clearly created the expectation—evident from Josephus’ account— that Jerusalem should not hold up under siege. Why was the subjugation of the same revolt a year later considered to require a force twice as large, when at least some of the blame for Jerusalem’s endurance in 66 was ascribed to the incompetence of the Syrian governor? The answer should be sought not solely in the increasing intensity of the revolt but also in the Roman perception of the conflict. With Gallus’ defeat by the Jews, cases of provincial campaigns should cease to apply as basis for comparison with events in Judea. Vespasian’s army was similar in scale to forces put together for the purpose of foreign campaigns. It was an army similar in scope to that which invaded Britain in 43.9 Much as such a fact informs us of the perceived seriousness of the Jewish revolt itself, it must also reflect on the official Roman approach towards this conflict, since the revolt of Galilee and Jerusalem cannot account for the mobilization of an army fit for the invasion and occupation of vast foreign regions. It has been suggested that the campaign was allocated such a strong force because of the fear that unemployed troops, available in the region after the conclusion of Corbulo’s eastern campaigns, would lose morale and go soft.10 But in the general routine of garrisoning the empire legions frequently found themselves not participating in warlike activities for long durations. The risk of slackness among the troops was always present, and was often treated by commanders in other ways than forced participation in unnecessary campaigns.11 Besides, various sources report Nero’s intention of launching an eastern campaign of his own in 66: mobilization of troops to that end had already started when he left for Greece.12 The presence in the east of a great number of ‘unemployed’ troops would have allowed Nero to pursue his plan even as the subjugation of a provincial revolt was being carried out by the standard means of a small force, taken from Syria’s regular garrison of four legions. In point of fact, Vespasian’s mission was to conquer a region generally perceived as inimical, and the central government allocated troops to the general in accordance with this circumstance. The fact that in the past this same enemy had been trusted under the rule of low-rank officials with but small auxiliary forces at their command would have made no difference in the consideration of the force required for the conquest of the region. To be sure, the nature of this task force would have been determined by the

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size and intentions of the enemy. Additionally, perceiving the rebellious population of the region as a dedicated enemy would have had implications on the imagined process of the establishment of future peace in the region. Nero’s decision must have taken into consideration the likelihood that cities and districts within the region, once pacified, would have had to be strictly secured, and possibly to remain heavily garrisoned for at least a few years. It is not the size of Vespasian’s army alone but also various aspects of the way in which it was employed that create a noticeable difference between the Judean campaign and other Roman operations aimed against provincial populations. Despite its size, the army operated for the most part as a single unit, without breaking into divisions that could treat several foci of opposition simultaneously. This caution practiced by Vespasian dictated not only sequentiality in attacks made on different regions, such as Galilee and Jerusalem, but also the concentration of force in simple, seemingly less demanding operations. In Galilee and Gaulanitis, most of the army moved from one stronghold to the next, starting with Jotapata, which was indeed strong enough to withstand a six-week siege; continuing with Tiberias, which opened its gates when faced with the Roman army; and ending with Gamla, which was conquered some four months after the fall of Jotapata.13 Only weak and insignificant strongholds, located in the immediate neighborhood of the main force, such as Gischala and Itabyrion (Mount Tabor), were assigned detachments of the army under the command of Vespasian’s legates. These smaller forces usually did not take more than a few days to complete their mission of conquest and subjugation.14 The same pattern persisted in 68, when Vespasian marched through Perea, western Judea, Idumea, and Samaria.15 Most of the troops available to the general commander appear to have been involved in these operations, and smaller detachments were used only occasionally, when opposition was slight or already partially pacified.16 On the other hand, it is significant that, throughout the various stages of the campaign, up to the laying of a siege on Jerusalem, substantial forces were frequently allocated to the garrisoning of recently pacified areas, or ones that were still considered to be at risk of falling into the hands of the rebels. Even before the first encounter with rebels in Galilee, Sepphoris was garrisoned with a detachment of six thousand soldiers—a unit outnumbering a whole legion in size. Some three thousand infantry and five hundred cavalry were left in Perea when Vespasian left the region with the bulk of the army. And the entire fifth legion remained in Emmaus when the rest of the army campaigned in Idumea and Samaria.17 We rarely hear of the duration of the absence of such troops from the main operative force. While it is perhaps unlikely that such great numbers, as witnessed, for example, in Sepphoris, were still necessary once Galilee as a whole had been taken, substantial Roman presence must be imagined in most initially garrisoned places, at least up to the point of the fall of Jerusalem in 70.18 By the conclusion of

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the war, Judea’s status before the rebellion had been fundamentally altered: a legion, the X Fretensis, was stationed on the site of the destroyed city of Jerusalem, and a legate of senatorial rank took over the governorship of the province. Such cautious conduct on the part of a conquering army is hardly unfamiliar to us. It is highly reminiscent of the advancement of Roman forces in foreign, recently invaded territories, especially insofar as regards the initial concentration of effort, and the garrisoning of problematic areas.19 Furthermore, time, it will be recalled, would have been a critical factor in determining the nature of the official Roman reaction to the outbreak of local opposition. And time appears to have been Vespasian’s least important consideration once he embarked upon his campaign to regain control over the rebelling Jews. The mere decision to allocate disproportionate numbers of troops to each offensive operation, and to avoid simultaneous attacks on insignificant strongholds, probably considerably prolonged the campaign in and of itself. And extensive usage of troops for the purpose of garrisoning pacified areas would have slowed down the pace still further. To these delaying elements should be added more specific indications of Vespasian’s seemingly unhurried conduct. After the conclusion of the prolonged siege on Jotapata, the contented general marched with all of his force—minus any troops left to garrison those areas of Galilee already pacified, one imagines—back to Ptolemais, and from there all the way to the friendly Caesarea Maritima.20 While part of the army was left there, and another part was sent to Scythopolis, Vespasian joined King Agrippa in Caesarea Philippi for three weeks of festivities. This long rest for the commander and all of his troops is said by Josephus to have been interrupted only when Vespasian was informed that Tiberias had joined the rebellion.21 Even if the Roman commander had planned in advance to resume activity at this point, it may be appreciated that this pause in active operations came very early in the campaign, with parts of Galilee and Gaulanitis still not subjugated, and with the army having achieved only one significant victory in conquering Jotapata. If, on the other hand, Vespasian was indeed awaiting developments in the region in the aftermath of his primary victory, it becomes clear that he had no plans to achieve much more than the pacification of Galilee throughout the first campaigning season of his term in office. In either case, such lack of urgency is sharply opposed to the rapid campaigns of Varus and even Gallus, who marched without any significant breaks through Galilee, the coastal plain, and the low lands, and continued without a pause into Judea, to confront still within the same campaigning season the core of the opposition in Jerusalem. In his activity against Tacfarinas, Q. Iunius Blaesus, governor of Africa in 22, went so far as to break the Roman habit of moving the army into winter quarters, and to maintain through the winter the widespread pressure that had been achieved in the summer.22

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As far as Vespasian was concerned, the attack on Jerusalem could wait, not only in 67, when operations continued in Galilee, but also in 68, and even when internal struggles in the city led some of his commanders to appraise the circumstances as favorable for attack.23 The Zealots in Jerusalem, strengthened by the arrival of John of Gischala, continued to advocate fierce struggle against the Romans, and found themselves at odds with the more moderate leadership of the rebel government. Their appeal to the Idumeans and the arrival of the latter in Jerusalem shortly thereafter resulted in fierce fighting within the walls. This situation appears to have convinced the Roman higher command that Jerusalem was now more vulnerable to attack, and that action must take place promptly, before unity should return to the ranks of the Jews and their allies. Vespasian, however, refused to be hurried, believing that such circumstances played into his hands in exhausting the energy and resources of the rebels inside the city. Yet this line of reasoning, while valid in itself, ignored the realistic possibility that the city would eventually fall into the hands of the most extreme elements among the Jews. Such a development, as later events in Jerusalem and Masada indeed proved, would hardly have made the work of the Roman army easier or the campaign shorter. The examination of Vespasian’s campaigning during 68 reveals hardly any evidence of great military efforts on the part of the Roman side, other than the mere investment of time. Quite to the contrary, Vespasian’s incessant meandering from north to south and from west to east suggests that no one area demanded the attention of his great force for too long. While it is plausible that the entire region was better controlled after activity of such nature, involving the stationing of garrisons in key locations, it is impossible to ignore the impression, apparently shared by Vespasian’s leading commanders, that Jerusalem could have been put under siege early in 68. Josephus does ascribe added urgency to the Roman general’s activity once news from Gaul informed him of the revolt of Vindex.24 News of Nero’s death— arriving some time after the event took place on June 9—found Vespasian in Caesarea, engulfed in early preparations for laying a siege on Jerusalem.25 If not interrupted by this news, the siege itself probably would have been laid later that summer. Vespasian’s conduct during the twelve-odd months that followed the news of Nero’s death may also be used to demonstrate his view of the campaign as an operation that was nothing like the pressing subjugation of provincial insurgency. During this period both Josephus and Tacitus report that he put on hold all operations, and awaited developments in Rome and other key provinces.26 It is noteworthy that this cessation of activity had started long before Vespasian began actively to advance his own interests in Rome. Is it possible to imagine—even for the years 68–69—such an approach adopted in the case of a provincial rebellion, putting at risk one of Rome’s established imperial assets? In Judea, Vespasian effectively brought to a temporary halt an operation that for two years by that point

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had been approached and treated by the Roman administration as the conquest of a new territory. Foreign campaigns frequently came second in the Roman order of priorities to trouble at home or in the provinces, even if this entailed the hurried conclusion of operations that had already begun. Such an order of priorities is well attested by Tiberius, who in the year 6 hastily abandoned his German campaign as soon as he was notified of the outbreak of the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt. Likewise, Suetonius Paullinus quickly returned from Mona when the Boudican revolt broke out, a move that resulted in the loss of the recently conquered island, and in the need to reconquer it two decades later by Agricola.27 The important issue to emphasize, then, is that Vespasian had never adopted urgency from the onset of his Judean campaign, and he may very well have been supported in the issue by Nero. To a large extent, once an immense task force was put together for the subjugation of the revolt, and once a general with imperium maius was put at its head, the Jews were given up on as a provincial population with potential for immediate reassimilation in the provincial system. Vespasian would treat their insubordination just as thoroughly and as suspiciously as he had approached—as the commander of Legio II Augusta—the Durotriges and Dumnonii in Britain in the years following the Claudian invasion of 43. A complementary attribute of this approach is the harshness demonstrated by the Roman authorities towards the local population. Josephus’ account of Roman actions in the years 67–70 abounds with reports of severe acts carried out against the Jewish population. Vespasian’s treatment of Gabara is a case in point:28 Vespasian went to Gabara and conquered it upon the first attack, finding the place empty of warriors. Entering the city, he had all the men killed, the Romans pitying no age on account of their hatred towards the Jews, and remembering their crime against Cestius. He also burned not only the city, but also the towns and villages around it, some of which he found empty, the others he reduced to slavery. The abundance of such reports is striking, when compared to other provincial campaigns.29 The elaboration of the fate of the Jews in each particular case adds to the credibility of Josephus’ account; so does the fact that parts of the Roman elite, as well as members of the Flavian family itself, must be imagined as its potential audience.30 To be sure, Vespasian and his sons after him were intent on monumentalizing even the brutality shown towards the Jews during their campaign—much in the way that Briton gladiators crowded Claudian arenas after 43, and the images of Dacian slaves flooded Rome after Trajan’s conquest of the region.31 On the foregoing evidence, it becomes clear that, once six thousand troops of Cestius Gallus’ retreating army had been killed by the rebels and Judea had shaken itself free of Roman control, the Jews effectively ceased

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to be considered as normal subjects of the empire. They were attacked and treated as though they were a barbarian population on or beyond the frontiers of the Roman world, arguably with the added brutality owed to the Roman administration’s unchecked vindictiveness. It is interesting that shades of this reality appear to have found their way into the discourse of the ancient historians reporting on the revolt, where the Jews are referred to as ‘foreigners,’ constituting an ‘external’ problem. Thus, Josephus ascribes to Vespasian and Titus the insight that after Nero’s death an attack upon foreigners would be untimely; after the civil war of 69 had been brought to an end, Tacitus says specifically regarding the unsolved problem in Judea that ‘foreign affairs were once more remembered.’32 AS THOUGH RECENTLY CONQUERED The unique nature of the Roman approach to Judea in the final stage of the revolt and after its conclusion needs next to be emphasized. The Roman attitude towards Judea and the Jews, which has been identified earlier with the general Roman attitude towards foreign enemies, appears to have persisted and even intensified after victory had been achieved and the Jews were pacified. The burning of the Temple in 70 is said by Josephus to have been an accidental occurrence, unplanned and unwished for by Titus.33 Josephus has managed to convince some modern scholars of the plausibility of this claim, and to leave others doubtful.34 But it is an undisputed fact that the destruction and looting of Jerusalem were deliberately and elaborately presented as a glorious achievement in the celebrations that followed the Roman victory over the Jews. Titus may have been appreciative of a literary representation of his actions in 70 as having been guided by a wish to save the Temple. It is possible that he would not have objected to being represented in this way within the circles of Josephus’ readers.35 But, at the same time, Titus consciously supported a universal representation of himself as the intentional destroyer of the Temple, and it is this preference—to commemorate the event on a grand scale in Rome and to publicize it across the empire—that should absorb our attention here. The Flavians could no doubt imagine their public image as benefitting from an association with the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple.36 It is therefore perhaps more advisable, for the purpose of understanding the Roman way of thought and action at the conclusion of the campaign, to present a slightly modified question: would Titus, or any other Roman general, for that matter, have deemed it at all imaginable to burn a central religious precinct such as the Jewish Temple? We are used to thinking that the Roman approach towards local cults was one of tolerance, and, as a broad generalization, this observation is usually accurate enough.37 But treating this practice as a constant surely creates a serious problem in explaining the intense Flavian employment of the event of the destruction of

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the Temple in the crucial propaganda of the new dynasty’s ascent to power. The Flavians, it would be agreed, sought endorsement through adoption of the traditional—a fact that would have made them reluctant to publicize the event of the destruction of the Temple had they believed that such an act went against common Roman practice.38 In fact, the intentional destruction of religious sites was not a practice entirely unfamiliar to the Roman army, and, by implication, to the Roman public as a whole. When campaigns entailed the taking of cities by storm, and when punitive measures included the burning of whole settlements, sacred precincts would have been at real risk of destruction.39 In the year 60, Suetonius Paullinus, the governor of Britain, arrived at the northwestern shores of Wales, from which point he launched his attack on the island of Mona (modern Anglesey). The island was home to a powerful population, and served as a refuge for fugitives from other parts of Britain, already under Roman control. In addition, Mona hosted groves sacred to the Celtic religion, and was therefore also populated by Druids—members of the highly organized priestly class that was responsible for the preservation of oral knowledge and for mediating between Celtic society and its gods. The Druids were present at the battle scene, and took active part in the opposition to the approach of the Roman army, ‘pouring out terrible curses, their hands raised to the sky.’40 This would have been by no means a role unfamiliar to the Celtic priests, who are thought to have led resistance to Roman advancement into their sphere of influence both in Gaul and in Britain.41 The confrontation ended with Roman victory. Tacitus tersely reports that Suetonius Paullinus proceeded to burn the sacred groves.42 The historian indeed mentions the ‘inhuman superstitions’ that were practiced in those groves, but it would be a mistake automatically to ascribe Paullinus’ action to religion. Roman attitudes to human sacrifice in the first century CE are seen to have been far too ambivalent to result in such a direct and aggressive act against the Celtic religion and Druidism.43 The burying alive of foreigners under the supervision of the XVviri sacris faciundis continued in Rome in the first century CE, and Pliny’s report might well be ascribed to Britons buried by order of Claudius.44 The severity of Suetonius Paullinus is more easily understood if interpreted on a political level. Given the recalcitrant position taken by the Druids and, more generally, given the local employment of Celtic religion in the war, the cult and its priests were necessarily perceived by Rome as direct, active enemies of the empire. Seen from this perspective, the explanation for the burning of the sacred groves would lie in the wish of the Roman general to act against a center of fierce local opposition, whether as part of the punitive measures taken against the indigenous population or as an attempt to eliminate elements potentially disruptive to incoming Roman rule. In this respect, Titus faced in Jerusalem a situation similar to that experienced by Suetonius Paullinus on Mona. The Jewish Temple and its priests

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were inseparable from the revolt from the very onset of hostilities in 66.45 If anything, at certain crucial points it was figures strongly attached to the Jewish sacrificial cult who dictated the pace and direction of anti-Roman opposition. Indeed, it is arguable that the first public act of rebellion was instigated by Eleazar, the captain of the Temple and son of the high priest Ananias. He persuaded the Temple priests to cease to accept sacrifices from foreigners, thus rejecting the daily sacrifices made on behalf of the Roman emperor himself.46 Having murdered the pro-Roman high priest, the rebels in Jerusalem appointed to the office a person who was sure to be sympathetic to their cause.47 And the final stand of the rebels took place within the very walls of the sacred precinct. It is noteworthy that Josephus himself, though anxious to portray the burning of the Temple as unwished for by Titus, inserts into his account a report on the deliberations that the Roman general had with his captains regarding the fate of the holy place. In the discussion, some of the commanders represent the opinion that the Temple should be destroyed, ‘in accordance with the rules of war.’48 Since control over the Temple would have been a primary military objective, and the building had to be occupied by violent means, the fact that it ended up in ashes could hardly have surprised anyone on the Roman side.49 There should be no doubt that the destruction of the Temple was later publicized as intentional because it was perceived as legitimate to target a sacred precinct that had been an integral part of the opposition movement, from its emergence to its subjugation by the Romans. The similarities in Roman action in Mona and in Jerusalem should be underscored, not least because of the parallel lines that may be drawn between the transregional nature of the two correspondent religious systems.50 To be sure, Suetonius Paullinus’ achievement in Mona in all likelihood would have been celebrated grandly if not for the Boudican revolt that immediately followed it. Indeed, most of the evidence we possess for provincial revolts points towards far more subdued commemoration actions, limited for the most part to individuals who played a dominant part in the Roman victory, and to the locality of the disturbance. The burning of the Temple of the Jews characterized the brutality that often followed long and hard foreign campaigns. Subsequently, the entire victory over the Jews was commemorated universally and on a grand scale as a foreign achievement.51 Not only that: other than the momentary circulation of Iudaea recepta aurei, the subjugation of the great Jewish revolt was celebrated as a victory over a barbarian foreign enemy, completely opposed to the picture presented in Chapter Four (this volume) discussing the standard commemoration of provincial revolts. Such a hostile approach towards a well-established provincial population had little precedent in the long and varied history of the central Roman government’s relationship with its dominions. A series of official measures worked to create a commemoration campaign similar in scope and spirit to that following the conquest of foreign territories.

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Fergus Millar has noted that the triumph celebrated by Vespasian in 71 was an anomaly, being the only one ever held in celebration of a victory over a provincial population.52 In fact, the anomaly pervades the entire plan of commemoration that accompanied and followed the triumph.53 Compared to the examples cited earlier, the Flavian memorialization of the suppression of the first Jewish revolt can be put on a par only with Claudius’ and Nero’s celebrations of their respective achievements in Britain and Armenia. As the following survey of the evidence will show, the first Jewish revolt was commemorated for all practical purposes as a victory over a foreign foe. To an audience, Roman as well as provincial, which was to be exposed to the numerous articles of propaganda related to the revolt, the message would have been that the success was as noteworthy as if it were the actual conquest of new territory. Significantly, to those viewers who knew little about the history of Roman Judea, and especially as time elapsed, the impression would indeed have been that a new conquest had been made. Millar’s important work on monuments and buildings in Rome that may be associated with the first Jewish revolt illuminates most aspects of the elaborate Flavian scheme of commemoration.54 There is no need to repeat the interpretations and the evidence he presents, but several nuances that concern this chapter may be highlighted, and the evidence of the coins should be added to the discussion. First to be emphasized is the motif of war spoils that characterizes the commemoration of the Jewish revolt, and is highly atypical of available representations of victories over provincial resistance movements.55 From Josephus we learn that Vespasian deposited in his palace the Law and the purple hangings that were brought from Jerusalem. However, we are told that he soon constructed the Templum Pacis, where masterpieces from all over the world were publicly presented. This is where he ‘laid up the vessels of gold from the Temple of the Jews, on which he prided himself.’56 These would not have been put in the temple merely as part of the exhibition of international splendors that it hosted, as Josephus would have us believe. Having been removed from the Temple of the Jews, and displayed in a Roman temple by the triumphator himself, the gold vessels would have been recognized as a traditional presentation of ‘items commemorating the glorious exploits of the individual.’57 Still more conspicuous would have been the ascription of the construction of the Flavian amphitheater to the spoils of the Jewish war. An inscription reconstructed and published by Alföldy in 1995 suggests that the amphitheater was dedicated by Vespasian (and then again by Titus) ex manubi(i)s— from the spoils of war.58 A direct reference to the Jewish revolt does not appear to have existed; it is telling, though, that no other Flavian war was fought on a scale that would have yielded such a dedication, and no other triumph had been celebrated since 71.59 The practice of financing dedications with the triumphant general’s manubiae characterized foreign victories won under the Republic.60 With triumphs no longer available for senators

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after 19 BCE, and with all war booty becoming in any case the possession of the emperor, the habit of dedications ex manubiis probably went out of use. The construction and dedication of any building—let alone the Flavian Amphitheater—from spoils of war obtained from a provincial population would have been just as great an anomaly as were the celebration of a triumph, the issue of capta coins, and the erection of triumphal arches in Rome in honor of the Roman victory over the Jews. But there is no representation that shows the motif of booty more vividly than the relief on the arch, still surviving on the Velia, dedicated by the Senate and the people of Rome to Titus after his death. The inscription makes no reference to the Jewish war or to Titus’ victory, but the pictorial representation of the triumphal procession and the vessels of the Temple leaves no room for speculation, and the arch is recognized as a triumphal monument.61 The connection of the Flavian Amphitheater to the Jewish revolt may have been lost with the years, its inscription assuming as it does a contemporary or historical knowledge of Flavian military exploits. But the vessels of the Temple of the Jews—while they were present in Rome—and their representation on the arch of Titus would have signified the Roman victory over the Jews to all viewers who could recognize the Jewish menorah. Undoubtedly, the scale of the commemoration and the motif of war spoils incorporated in it would have made it difficult for an uninformed viewer of the monuments to suspect that the first Jewish war was in fact the revolt of a long-established province. To make the ‘deception’ complete, there stood in the Circus Maximus another arch, dedicated early in 81 to Titus by the Senate and the people of Rome. We do not know what was represented in the reliefs on the arch, but the inscription stated in so many words that Titus subdued the race of the Jews, and was the first ever to conduct a successful attack on the city of Jerusalem: . . . gentem Iudaeorum domuit et urbem Hierusolymam omnibus ante se ducibus, regibus, gentibus aut frustra petitam aut omnino intemptatam delevit.62 Now, it is true that the verb domare may be read as conveying not only the meaning of original conquest but also that of the subjugation of revolt. But the explicit novelty that is ascribed to the act of the conquest of Jerusalem leaves no room for doubt regarding the spirit of the proclamation as a whole. It was formulated as a representation of a foreign achievement, reducing to a minimum all notions of internal instability and provincial revolt. The speciousness of the claim for Titus’ originality should be noted. Scholars have been puzzled all too often by the blatant falseness of the statement, bearing in mind that Jerusalem had fallen numerous times before the first Jewish war, at least two of which ought to have been familiar to Titus and his contemporaries.63 But this is not the major difficulty that should concern us here. In claiming false originality, the arch of Titus merely complied with traditional norms—common throughout the Greek and Roman world long before the mid-first century CE—of the representation of the

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victorious general as the πρῶτος εὑρετής.64 If anything should baffle us, it is the fact that the arch in the Circus Maximus represented Titus as the first subduer of a territory and a people already officially annexed to the empire. The multiple series of Iudaea capta coins issued under all three of the Flavian emperors comply with this line of commemoration.65 As was noted earlier, capta coins were normally issued in commemoration of foreign achievements, and Augustus had been the last to produce the type before it was revived by the Flavians. The scale and long duration of the production of Iudaea capta coins are significant enough to demonstrate the wide publicity that the Flavians intended to obtain for their exploits in Judea through this particular medium. Multiple designs of the same coin type would have caused the victory over the Jews to reverberate far and wide, unrivalled at first, then alongside similar representations of later foreign victories, won by Agricola in Britain, and Domitian in Germany. In the 80s, it has been suggested above, people across the empire would have held at once coins commemorating victories won in all three of these places. It is also noteworthy that the representation of the Judean Jews on the capta coins portrays them as barbarians. In their semi-naked dress, their pose, and their place in the general arrangement of the scene, they are presented in a manner characteristic of peoples beyond the borders of the Roman world, and not as the long-established affiliates of Greco-Roman civilization that they were.66 This fact surprises numismatists, who expect to find in the representation of first-century Jews signs of the incorporation of Judea into the Roman empire in 6 CE.67 To be sure, one way to solve the idiosyncrasy would be to emphasize the otherness of Judean Jews—in their rejection of the ‘hallmarks of Roman civilization,’ in their difficulty in embracing the imperial cult, and, ultimately, in their rebellion.68 In all these respects, they may indeed have been grasped as outsiders, if not as barbarians, by the Greco-Roman world that surrounded them. But it ought to be kept in mind that the emphasis could just as plausibly be shifted to the act of commemoration itself, and to conscious choices that were made on its account. That is to say, regardless of the Jews and their particular problems, the Flavian emperors could have chosen, for their own reasons, to depict Jews as barbarians on their coinage. Another factor that sheds light on the problem is that of the measures taken by the Roman administration to secure the province of Judea. As shown earlier, in the course of the campaign, Vespasian made abundant use of his massive force for garrisoning settlements and areas either recently pacified or that were at risk of falling into the hands of the rebels. This course of action may be seen to have postponed the end of the war, since it must have significantly decreased the size of the force available for active operations. On the other hand, it must have been an efficient measure in asserting close control over a large region that could not be trusted. After the war a new scheme was devised for the deployment of forces, which

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represented a radical change in the way Rome approached the region. It was a strategic revision of the province’s status, which involved the repositioning of vast numbers of troops—including legions—and an overhaul of the administrative structure of the province. Prior to the war, for nearly sixty years from the time of the formal annexation of Judea to the imperial system, the province was perceived as one suitable to be governed by nonsenatorial procurators. After the brief interruption of Agrippa’s rule between 41 and 44, no reevaluation of this status appears to have taken place, and the region was again administered as it had been from the time of the establishment of the province in the year 6.69 The prefects and procurators who governed the province were in command of several units of auxiliary troops, which mostly consisted of indigenous recruits.70 Small garrisons were stationed in several key locations, such as Jericho and Machaerus, and the main force that stood at the disposal of the governor was regularly quartered at Caesarea.71 It was not for the reason that it had recently rebelled that Judea of the year 70 could not retain its previous status, and remain as mildly garrisoned as before. Legio IX Hispana, it will be remembered, had been sent from Africa back to Pannonia in 24, as soon as local opposition subsided, and even before Tacfarinas himself was captured. Ostorius Scapula, Britain’s governor in the years 47–52, was faced upon his arrival in the province with a local rebellion in the region of Norfolk, led by the Iceni. The rebels were soon defeated in the battlefield, yet archaeological evidence suggests that garrisoning the Icenian territory in response to the revolt was deemed unnecessary by the governor.72 Scapula left behind only an auxiliary detachment at Saham Toney, and his subsequent intense campaigning across northern Wales indicates that he did not fear an uprising in the east—even the colony at Camulodunum (modern-day Colchester) had not yet been founded. To this observation should be added the fact that the client kingdom status of the Iceni was not terminated by the Roman governor after their rebellion and defeat in the battlefield. Annexation was to await the natural death of King Prasutagus in 60. Even the fierce Boudican revolt—where the stakes at the decisive battle have been compared by modern scholars to those at the battle of Hastings—did not lead to the heightened presence of troops in the subjugated territories. Instead, it was answered by the central Roman administration with a whole decade of considerate official appointments to the province, of individuals who demonstrated sympathy towards local needs and focused on the assimilation of the indigenous population into the provincial system.73 A significant difference between the Jewish and other cases is that the campaign against the Jews was conducted in a way certain to produce strong indigenous alienation from Roman rule, and that additional Roman measures in the aftermath of the revolt were not designed with appeasement in mind, and in fact worked to reinforce and prolong this alienation. Such Roman actions as the enslavement of large parts of the population and the

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burning of the Temple could not but create frustration and antagonism detached from the original fuel of the revolt, and in effect made it impossible to resume the routine that had prevailed in the decades prior to the revolt. Vespasian and Titus must have known that, by the very way in which they ran their campaign and engineered its conclusion, postwar Judea would be as embittered as a recently conquered people. It was their conscious choice to punish the Jews still further after the destruction of Jerusalem, and to publicize their victory in a way most humiliating for Jews across the empire. Such a policy came with well-known consequences, and it is hardly surprising that Judea was garrisoned at this stage according to entirely new standards. Legio X Fretensis was stationed on the site of the destroyed city of Jerusalem. Additional auxiliary units were posted in the province, comprising troops originating in foreign regions.74 Those auxiliary units that had garrisoned the region formerly and consisted of troops of local origin were transferred to other provinces.75 Accordingly, the province was given a governor of propraetorian rank. Most noticeably, a special tax is reported to have been imposed on the Jews by Vespasian. Josephus tells us that this tribute applied to Jews throughout the Roman sphere of influence, and that it replaced the regular annual payment of two drachmae given by Jews to the Temple at Jerusalem.76 Dio adds that the tax was levied from Jews who still observed their ancestral customs.77 Much scholarly attention has been given to the nature of the group that was in effect liable to pay the Didrachmon, but the question of the tax’s possible origin and significance remains debatable.78 It is most likely that the Jews who were initially targeted by it were meant to be solely those practicing Judaism devoutly and openly.79 Jews who gave up on the public practice of Jewish religion were thus probably not originally subjected to the tax.80 What might have been Vespasian’s reason for designating only observing Jews as liable for the Didrachmon tax, and where did his inspiration for such a measure lie? The point made earlier regarding the part played by religion in the active opposition should be our starting point in trying to answer such a question, and a hint to the solution probably lies in the Roman perception of the Jewish religion and its cult center as a major participant in, if not a leader of, the opposition movement. The Temple was specifically identified with the Jewish rebellion itself in the Roman propaganda that followed the fall of Jerusalem. The words put in Titus’ mouth by Josephus capture the circumstances as they probably were perceived by the Roman administration:81 But above all, we entrusted it to your hands to collect tribute and votive offerings for your God, and we neither rebuked nor stopped those carrying out these tasks, until you became richer than ourselves, and, with our own money, prepared to go to war against us.

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Seen from such a perspective, it is plausible that Jews across the empire who openly supported and funded the Temple—and thus, by implication, the revolt itself—would have been liable to be subjected to the Didrachmon tax. There would have been no simpler common denominator that could have grouped together all people both punishable for the revolt and suspect for potentially reigniting tension in the future.82 While such a solution may explain why the particular group of practicing Jews had been assigned to pay the tax, it still leaves in obscurity the source of inspiration for the punishment itself. It should be remembered that Vespasian recruited traditionalism to almost every symbolic move he had taken in the aftermath of the Jewish revolt. It is for this reason that relevant precedents must be sought that might have influenced the creation of the Jewish tax. It appears that the most appropriate context for a tax such as the Jewish Didrachmon would be that of war indemnity.83 Under the republic, it was frequently the case that Rome imposed on defeated foreign enemies a payment that would have allegedly covered the cost of war. The concept of ‘indemnitas’—or recompense for damage or loss—is often misleading in this respect, since these payments often far exceeded the actual Roman expenses on the campaign. The sums involved could not always be provided at once, and were paid in annual installments over substantially long periods, in a process that has been regarded effectively as taxation.84 Defeated enemies who expressed a will to disburse the full amount of the war indemnity in one installment were rejected, and the semblance of a taxation system was insisted on.85 Carthage was subjected to such a ‘tax’ for fifty years after the second Punic war. A Carthaginian offer to pay the entire remaining sum a decade after the conclusion of the war was dismissed by the Senate.86 It is plausible that Vespasian, in his general approach towards the Jews as foreign enemies who had forced Rome into a long and difficult war, had in his mind such an act of punishment when he conceived the idea of the Jewish tax. Furthermore, the rechanneling of existing local taxes to the Roman aerarium as payment of war indemnity had been witnessed in the republican past: the Macedonians had to pay half the taxes previously paid to the monarchy after Perseus’ defeat in 168, and the former subjects of the Illyrian Genthius were punished similarly.87 In this regard, it is important to linger over the issue of the Jewish tax’s specific destination. Based on evidence provided by Dio, it has become conventional to assume that the tax was initially used for the rebuilding of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, which had burnt down during the events of the year 69.88 Once again, if that indeed had been the case, it can be regarded as a testimony of Vespasian’s adaptation of the exaction of war indemnity. The inspiration for such a measure could have derived from the practical need to find a source of funds for financing the building project; or it could have had symbolic background.89 However, the little that is revealed by the sources hardly allows us to assume

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with confidence that the Jewish tax was indeed used to finance the building of the new Capitoline shrine. The key passage from Dio reads, ‘From that time forth it was ordered that the Jews who continued to observe their ancestral customs should pay an annual tribute of two denarii to Jupiter Capitolinus.’90 Dio, however, unless he was referring here to Capitoline Jupiter as synecdochical for the Capitol hill as a whole, may very well have been inaccurate in his formulation, or in his interpretation of his sources. Josephus—reproachful of the Jewish revolt and its dire consequences as he was—would have had no reason to omit from his account the application of such symbolic retribution as the usage of Jewish Temple funds for the building of a shrine to Jupiter. Yet this is Josephus’ comment on the tax: ‘[Vespasian] also enforced a tribute on Jews everywhere, ordering that each of them should send to the Capitol two drachmae every year, just as they had paid previously to the Temple in Jerusalem.’91 Notably, this report is a part of an elaborate account of the calamities that befell the Jews, and it comes after the description of the triumph of Vespasian and Titus. Had the historian known that Jupiter was the addressee of the tax, it is hard to see a reason why he should not have propagated the information as yet another token of the humiliation of the Jews. It will be remembered that the mons Capitolinus hosted quite a few buildings in addition to the temple of Jupiter. Most notably, the aerarium, which was located at its foot, in the temple of Saturn, is thought to have had branches also on the Capitol hill itself. Livy reports that gold from the spoils of a war with the Gauls was dedicated and stored in Capitolio.92 Still more significant is the fact that in 62 BCE a deposit of gold was made by Lucius Valerius Flaccus to the aerarium. The source of the gold was confiscated funds, collected by Diaspora Jews to be sent to Jerusalem as part of the regular payment of the Temple tax.93 A plausible possibility, then, would be that Josephus (and Dio) refers to an institution on the Capitol other than the temple of Jupiter, quite likely one of the branches of the aerarium, which would have been the natural destination of the Jewish tax. This possibility is reinforced by the fact that careful attention appears to have been paid to the sources of funding for the rebuilding of the temple on the Capitol. Tacitus’ account reveals that deliberations over the project involved the issue of finances, and that it was moved that the temple should be restored at public expense, along with Vespasian’s aid.94 In a more specific passage, which describes the actual beginning of the project, Tacitus further specifies:95 The foundations were showered with gifts of gold and silver and untouched, first-yield ores, never before put in a furnace. For the soothsayers had ordered that the building should not be desecrated by a stone or gold that had been intended for any other purpose.

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These instructions, along with a long list of other measures that were taken to secure the auspiciousness of the building, should put in serious doubt a Roman willingness to use for the purpose Jewish funds, especially those originally assigned as a contribution for the Temple at Jerusalem, now in ruins. Combined with the observations made earlier, the Didrachmon tax too may demonstrate the extent to which the Jews, while they were treated exceptionally severely as rebels, did not elicit a unique reaction from the Roman administration. Most informed residents of the empire in the early 70s would have recognized in their fate that shared by other populations recently conquered and added to the provincial system. That the demotion of this particular provincial group remained in many respects permanent is a fascinating problem in our understanding of Roman imperialism. It is this problem above all that encompasses the idiosyncrasy in the Roman-Jewish relationship. AN UNREMITTING THREAT The question of why the Jews returned to rebel against Rome after their overwhelming defeat in 70 is one that often guides discussions on the Diaspora revolt under Trajan, and on the Bar Kokhba revolt under Hadrian. But any attempt to answer such a question must take into consideration the full significance of the special situation of the Jews after the conclusion of the first revolt.96 Is it not possible that it was the new—and, as far as could be seen, permanent—status of the Jews that served as the immediate background for the eruptions of 116 and 132? Approaching the problem of the later Jewish revolts from such a perspective has the benefit of offering an appropriate comparative platform for the examination of differences and similarities between the Jewish and other cases. It has been asked frequently why the Jews, of all peoples, resorted repeatedly to rebellion. But since the first revolt was subjugated and commemorated as a foreign campaign, and the Jews were presented throughout the process as foreign, barbarian enemies of the empire, it would perhaps be mistaken to refer to later unrest simply as a recurring phenomenon. It must be remembered that, in many respects, the situation of the Jews in the aftermath of the first revolt was comparable to that of Britons after the Roman conquest, and not so much to that of Britons after the Boudican revolt. The recent memory of a grand-scale, long-enduring, violent Roman campaign and the atrocities that it involved; the intense presence of troops in the region; the radically different daily routine that had to be coped with in the aftermath of hostilities—all those and other aspects that represented the new and sudden reality of coming under Roman rule would have been present to a great extent also in Judea of the late first century. Obviously, Roman rule would not have been new as such to the Jews, but the reality of oppression would have been unfamiliar. While, in other cases of local

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opposition, provincial routine as it was known from earlier times returned to the province soon after tension died away, the reality in Judea would have been novel and harsh to the local population. The aim of this section is not to look for the causes—deep or immediate— of the outbreak of further opposition and violence in Judea and Diaspora communities in the first decades of the second century. The topic, which suffers from an acute dearth of sources, has been thoroughly deliberated on recently in several comprehensive publications, and would at best benefit from several insights that will derive from the perspective adopted here.97 Rather, it is my intention to examine once again relevant Roman actions in the long-range aftermath of the first revolt, and to learn from them about the development of the Roman approach towards the Jews. The circumstances in Judea after 70, and their unique standing when compared to those in other pacified provinces that had previously revolted, have been pointed out. Initially, during the first few years after the conclusion of the revolt, the Jews would at least have been able to compare their situation to that of peoples that had been conquered and brought for the first time under Roman rule. Noticing, for example, the way that Gaul had gone from its brutal subjugation by Caesar to its highly developed Romanized state in the first century could have been a source for Jewish optimism that Judea too would be given the chance to integrate into the imperial routine despite its current oppression. But it soon became clear that the general Roman approach towards the Jews, epitomized in the measures taken against them after the revolt, was not to limit itself to the immediate aftermath of hostilities. Throughout the Flavian era the right to rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem does not appear to have been granted. Jews across the empire remained subjected to the Jewish tax. And the celebration of the victory of 70—and by implication, the universal humiliation of the Jews—continued on a scale rarely met with in other Roman victories: even Domitian saw it fit to produce coinage of the Iudaea capta type.98 The situation of the Jews remained everywhere precarious, both economically and socially. And the absence of the Temple and the sacrificial cult led not only to the need to redefine Judaism and the tenets of the Jewish faith but also to widespread messianism.99 That such Roman measures, and the intense garrisoning of Judea, should have survived for nearly three decades after the revolt was opposed to the habitual appeasing approach towards provincial populations, usually adopted soon after local revolts were pacified, and some time after new territories were conquered. The blatant idiosyncrasy of the Jewish case has naturally invited modern explanations, especially from among those holding the view also adopted here that before the revolt Judea was not fundamentally an exceptional province. The most elaborate and compelling theory that has been produced to solve the difficulty suggests that the falling out between Rome and the Jews was above all a result of the ascent to power of a new dynasty in Rome.

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Goodman has shown that the fate of the Jews after 70 cannot be explained simply by ascribing to the Jews an ingrained rebelliousness, emanating from a nationalist tradition, nor by attributing to the Romans an anti-Semitic standpoint, allegedly adopted from Greek literature.100 The deterioration in the status of the Jews between 70 and 135, which Goodman relates to as a ‘process of marginalization,’ is explained as deriving from the initial need of Vespasian and Titus to parade their Jewish victory in order to establish and reinforce their position, and from the interest of Domitian and then Trajan, while forming their own public image, in identifying with the original victors, and in reasserting their success. The move taken by Domitian and Trajan to reinforce their public image through the Jewish victory of 70 would have been supported by the prevailing image of the war itself, as well as by the reality of the current relationship between Rome and the Jews. An emperor who wished his image to benefit from identification with the Jewish victory would not so much have needed the actual presence of legions in Judea, nor the continuation of the physical oppression of the Jews—for example, through the preservation of the Jewish tax. Coinage, monuments of victory, titles, and official festival days would have reverberated across the empire much more efficiently than knowledge of the details of the Jews’ actual routine. Claudius’ elaborate celebrations of the conquest of Britain continued long after the region that had offered the initial opposition to the Roman invasion was pacified and incorporated into the provincial routine. And he himself was not considered any less a Britannicus for the mere fact that the Catuvellauni or the Trinovantes were not kept under tight control after they had been conquered.101 It therefore remains to explain in which specific image of the Jewish war and of the Jews in general consisted the shaping of the image of later individual emperors. The defeat by the Jewish rebels of Cestius Gallus in 66 has been identified earlier as the turning point in the Roman attitude towards Judea, from treating it as a common province with a negligible strategic importance to fighting it as a dangerous foe, whose successful opposition justified recourse to measures usually taken only in expansion campaigns. Nor should it surprise us that Gallus’ defeat is hardly mentioned by the sources—it would have been precisely the memory of the war as one that originated in a humiliating rebellion that Flavian propaganda would have been anxious to repress. Vespasian and Titus naturally capitalized on their ‘foreign’ achievement and harped on it for as long as their public image could benefit from it. And, to a large extent, it was the propaganda adopted by them that had caused the Jews to be perceived as a fierce enemy, and the victory over them as an achievement as great as the conquest of Britain. But it should not be forgotten that the actual nature of the Judean campaign, as suggested earlier, had been formed back in 66, when Nero was still alive and Vespasian was hardly guided by the prospects of winning the imperial throne.

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The Jewish war was not merely presented in hindsight as a great victory over a fierce enemy; it was approached and fought as such because of the unprecedented success of the rebels and the damage inflicted on the Roman army. Varus’ loss in Germany may have been greater than Gallus’, but it was not inflicted by an established province, trusted for six decades by that time to be left little-garrisoned, and with but nonsenatorial officials to govern it. It would have been, firstly, the memory of the great Jewish betrayal that encouraged all three Flavians to continue to approach the Jews as enemies, not only in their propaganda but also in reality. Of course, even after the fall of Jerusalem, there were still strongholds held by the rebels. The recollection of the defeat of Gallus and its consequences, combined with the necessity to conquer Herodium, Machaerus, and Masada, would have deprived the Roman government of all motivation to adopt an appeasing policy in Judea.102 Above all, in keeping the province heavily garrisoned, tight control was secured; by leaving the Temple in ruins, the Roman administration achieved the double objective of preventing frequent mass gatherings of the Jews, and of eliminating the central catalyst of insurrection. The effect of these measures would have been far more tangible in its contribution to the security of the region than to Flavian public image. Thus, while the Jewish victory served individual emperors for the purposes of propaganda, the memory of the Jewish war as a whole encouraged, on a practical governmental level, caution and apprehensiveness. Of course, the two attitudes, initially separate, were bound to intermingle eventually as they reflected on the image of both Judea and the Jews themselves. Propaganda campaigns that portrayed the subjugation of fierce foreign enemies were not meant to represent a reality of an ongoing threat on the part of those enemies once defeated. It was exactly the lack of such danger to Rome that allowed conquered peoples gradually to see themselves integrated into the provincial system. Britons or Dacians could be depicted as fierce warriors in the celebrations that followed their conquest by Rome; but, after initial pacification took place, they were not treated in reality as potential rebels. On the other side of the coin, provincial revolts were encountered and dealt with without universal publicity, a fact that, once again, allowed for the quick reincorporation of repenting rebels into provincial routine, once hostilities died out. It is mostly the combination of wide publicity and ongoing suspicion, I suggest, that was involved in producing those rare idiosyncrasies in the history of Rome’s approach to its enemies, where total extermination was conceived of and sometimes even pursued, to a greater or lesser degree. The celebration of the defeat of Carthage in 203 BCE was accompanied from the first moment by the fear of its resurgence. And Druids were persecuted and pushed towards extinction even as the societies in which they lived were famously subjugated. This is hardly the place to pursue such an attempt at generalizing on those few enemies of Rome with whom no room for reconciliation was left. In most cases, it would appear, the threatening image of these enemies far

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outgrew their actual potential to damage the empire. It is a moot question whether the Jews had the will and the means to renew opposition in the first few decades after the revolt. Evidence of unrest within Jewish communities during this period is slight.103 But it must be clear that their image remained threatening even after their defeat. It may be true that contemporary Roman authors did not give representation to this threatening image in their writings. But the image of the Jews did not exist exclusively in the writings of such authors as Seneca, Tacitus, or Juvenal.104 The notion of a threat may very well have been perceived mostly by more operational circles of officials and military men.105 The aforementioned official actions taken against Jews and the consistency of the postrevolt Jewish policy disclose the perspective adopted by Roman decision-makers. It would be hard to assess to what extent this suspicious attitude was based on the memory of the Jewish revolt, and what contribution was added by actual knowledge of occasions of unrest in Judea and other Jewish communities. It may be imagined that the incessant celebration of the victory—ironically enough—would have added significantly to the maintenance of the Jews’ threatening image. The revolt as such, even if represented in official commemoration projects as a foreign campaign, must have remained a vivid memory within the ranks of the Roman administration well into the 90s. Domitian is represented by the sources as being exceptionally hostile towards the Jews. Not only did he preserve all oppressive measures taken by his Flavian predecessors, but he is also reported to have enforced the Jewish tax particularly severely.106 He may have tried to extend the fiscal liability to whole new groups of people: proselytes, Judaizers, apostates, non-Jewish peregrini who happened to be circumcised, and Italian-based Jews who were Roman citizens.107 Other groups, suggested more recently, include gentile and Jewish Christians and Jewish tax evaders.108 It has also been suggested that during this period the charge of Judaizing was turned against enemies of the state.109 Of course, the reason for the expansion of circles liable to pay the Fiscus Iudaicus could have been strictly or mostly financial. To be sure, Domitian, especially early in his reign, could reinforce his position by attaching himself to the famous Jewish victory, celebrated so extensively by his father and brother. But can his general attitude and relevant moves be explained solely through his desire to create a favorable public image for himself? Less publicized acts, such as the garrisoning of Judea, the possible denial of the right of the Jews to rebuild the Temple, and the enforcement of the Jewish tax, would have contributed little to the emperor’s image within the wide circles at which conventional acts of imperial propaganda normally aimed. It should also be noted that Domitian reintroduced the coinage of the Iudaea capta type only in 85.110 By that time he had managed to join in person a battle against the Chatti in 82, and to assume the title of Germanicus in 83. And in 85 the region along the upper Rhine under Roman control was extended. Consequently, numerous capta types appeared between

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83 and 85 in commemoration of the German victories.111 We also must not forget that between 81 and 83 Agricola won glorious victories in Britain, an achievement for which Domitian would have taken credit, his alleged jealousy of Britain’s governor notwithstanding. Again, this is not to undermine the importance of the natural linkage to his family’s past achievements, which a young and insecure emperor would hardly have neglected.112 Nevertheless, the fact should be admitted and emphasized that Domitian’s image had significant other achievements to draw on early in his reign, and the evidence of his alleged hostility towards the Jews should therefore be considered accordingly. It may have been above all an ongoing, real suspicion of the Jews, inherited from Vespasian and Titus, that encouraged him to preserve—both on the symbolic and on the operative levels—the prevailing approach towards the Jews as Rome’s enemies. Nerva’s short reign may also be relevant to the general picture of Rome’s relationship with the Jews after the revolt. As soon as he ascended to power in 96, Nerva’s coins began to advertise the removal of an ‘abuse’ committed by the Fiscus Iudaicus: fisci iudaici calumnia sublata.113 It is debatable what the exact nature of the abuse was, and who suffered from it under Domitian. Some scholars prefer to see in Nerva’s act an eradication of false accusations made against non-Jewish members of the Roman elite on account of their closeness to Judaism.114 Or the act could come mostly in order to differentiate between Jews ‘who remained faithful to the customs of their forefathers’ on the one hand and apostate Jews and Christians on the other.115 Finally, and most relevant to our discussion, there is the interpretation put forward most strongly by Goodman, seeing in Nerva’s act a measure specifically taken on behalf of the Jews themselves, abolishing the Jewish tax completely.116 If Nerva’s act is indeed to be read as an attempt at achieving a rapprochement between Rome and the Jews, we must ask what might have led to such a move. It has been suggested that Nerva’s wish to distance himself from his predecessor could have involved a lack of interest in preserving the hostility previously held towards the Jews.117 Regarded from a more practical perspective, the option should be contemplated that Nerva in fact was acting to stabilize tensions by trying to appease the Jews—an approach claimed earlier to have been common enough both in the immediate aftermath of provincial revolts and in the stages that followed the conquest and thorough pacification of foreign peoples. Although there is little evidence of unrest among the Jews during this period, the assumption that there would have existed much displeasure under the Flavian oppression until that point seems plausible. And the fall from power of the hated dynasty naturally would have created anticipation among the Jews for a positive change. It should be imagined that Nerva’s act, if indeed aimed at bringing relief to the Jews, took into consideration also Rome’s tense relationship with this population, and the frustration of its members in light of their shaky position within the provincial system. A half century earlier, it was Claudius who, probably exactly

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for this reason, introduced a much needed positive approach towards the Jews—also widely publicized—after the hostility shown by his predecessor Gaius towards them brought Judea to the brink of revolt.118 It should thus be borne in mind that if Nerva indeed aimed to appease the Jews, this act would have been in line with the habitual Roman policy implemented in provinces that had revolted and been pacified before having inflicted an irrecoverable damage on Roman confidence and prestige. Nevertheless, Rome’s Jewish policy under Trajan denotes a continuation of the former oppressive Flavian approach, a fact that seriously undermines the assumption that Nerva had put an end to all Roman hostility towards the Jews, or at least suggests that his attempt was too short-lived to introduce a real change. During Trajan’s reign there is evidence that the Jewish tax was collected; no improvement in the situation in Judea is registered, especially insofar as regards the heavy garrisoning of the region and the preservation of the alleged ban on rebuilding the Temple.119 It has been suggested that the fact that Trajan’s father, M. Ulpius Traianus, had served as one of Vespasian’s legionary legates in the Judean campaign would have prompted the son to identify with the Jewish victory, and to adopt hostility towards the Jews.120 It must also be emphasized that this was the period leading to the Diaspora revolt that broke out in 116–117. Although we once again have little evidence for the occurrence of unrest among the Jews during the early years of the second century, the long-enduring Roman suspicion was soon to be justified. The likely possibility that it was this very suspicion and its physical symptoms that pushed Jews across the Roman world towards revolt need not have made the Roman administration perceive of its policy as mistaken, or regret it.121 The dearth of evidence prevents a thorough discussion of the Diaspora revolt, but enough is known to connect it in a congruous way to the idiosyncrasy in the condition of the Jews after the first revolt. It is accepted that the hostility shown by Rome towards the Jews following the great revolt must have played a part in ultimately pushing various Jewish communities to active opposition.122 As pointed out earlier, the persistent Roman oppressive measures probably themselves derived, among other things, from a lack of trust in the Jews. This starting point for the events of 116–117 is significant in the history of provincial unrest under Roman rule, since most of the provincial populations that are known to have rebelled do not seem to have been approached with suspicion prior to their uprising; rather, they were trusted up to the point of the outbreak of hostilities. Furthermore, it is difficult to come up with examples of provincial populations that rebelled more than once. Though most of the action in 116–117 is known to have taken place outside of Judea, the fact that Jews as a whole were made to pay for the first revolt does allow us to approach the Diaspora revolt as a part of a recurrent strand of rebellion.123 It is therefore hardly surprising that what little evidence there is available for the Diaspora revolt portrays a picture of fierce subjugation, and

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the continuation of the same mixture of hostility and suspicion towards the Jews that had prevailed from 70 until 116. Simultaneous eruptions of severe violence occurred in Cyrenaica, Egypt, Cyprus, and Mesopotamia, probably early in the summer of the year 116.124 In Mesopotamia, where the Jewish uprising may have been related to a broader local movement of opposition against incoming Roman rule, the mission to subjugate the revolt was entrusted by Trajan to Lusius Quietus, one of the most prominent commanders available to him on the Parthian front.125 By the summer of 117 at the latest, the latter had managed to reconquer and pacify Nisibis, Seleucia on the Tigris, and Edessa—the capital of the Osrhoene. His success saw him rise to the post of consul.126 Despite the fact that there is no direct evidence that Judea had joined the Diaspora communities in revolt against Rome, Quietus was appointed the province’s next governor, an act that at least demonstrates Trajan’s intention to anticipate potential trouble in the region. In the eastern Mediterranean, the revolt started, perhaps not inadvertently, at a time when most Roman resources were turned to Trajan’s Parthian campaign. There is substantial evidence to show that Trajan invested great efforts in reinforcing the troops stationed in the region, and in bringing the revolt to a quick and decisive end. Legio XXII Deiotariana had been stationed in Egypt since the time of Augustus, and would have been the one to face the full impact of the initial assault. Trajan, abandoning some time later the siege of Hatra, sent to the region two of his best generals: Q. Marcius Turbo to Egypt and perhaps also to Libya, and C. Valerius Rufus to Cyprus.127 Papyrological evidence suggests that at a certain point there were two legions fighting the Jews in Egypt, and it is most likely that it was Legio III Cyrenaica that was sent back from the Parthian front to join forces with Legio XXII under the command of Turbo.128 At the expense of further advancement in the east, and in order to end the unrest, Trajan allocated to the crisis a significant number of troops, as well as his best generals. Such a reaction does not necessarily fall in line with the habitual Roman treatment of provincial revolts, shown earlier to have allowed time for local commanders and forces to deal with unrest without immediate recourse to the mobilization of reinforcements.129 The reason could be, of course, the intensity of the opposition. But the fact that it was a recurring Jewish revolt, and quite likely the materialization of a long-feared scenario, must have contributed significantly to Trajan’s determination to meet the threat with greater forces, led by his most trusted generals. The aspect of reprisals and policy in the aftermath of the conflict is also congruous with the generally hostile approach towards the Jews prior to the revolt, but not with the habitual Roman policy after provincial unrest. There is extensive papyrological evidence of confiscation of Jewish property in Egypt after the conclusion of the revolt.130 Some of the papyri also suggest that the confiscation of property was ordained by the issue of an imperial decree, which condemned the Jews for having rebelled against Rome.131 In such places as Cyprus, consequences for the Jews were far more

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catastrophic. Dio reports that ‘no Jew can set foot on that island, and if one of them is driven to its shores by a storm, he is put to death.’132 But above all should be emphasized the change in Judea’s status, that must be seen to have taken place as a direct result of the revolt.133 As was mentioned earlier, it was Trajan’s esteemed commander, Lusius Quietus, who was sent to govern Judea after having subjugated the revolt in Mesopotamia. Dio tells us that he was made consul even before accepting his new province. Judea, it would be remembered, had been ruled up to that point, since the conclusion of the first revolt, by governors of propraetorian rank. It now became a consular province. As the prosopographical evidence of the appointments that followed Quietus suggests, this change of status was not temporary, but in all likelihood remained fixed under Hadrian.134 It also appears certain that Quietus brought with him an additional legion to the province—in all likelihood Legio II Traiana—which was stationed permanently in a commanding position near the Jezreel Valley.135 Given the elaborate background of suspicion described earlier, it is clear that, once the Jews rebelled again, there could be no room left for any but restrictive measures. Such must have been the perspective inherited by Hadrian soon thereafter. And it is therefore with this background in mind that we should finally approach events related to the Bar Kokhba revolt, an episode that all too frequently has been examined in isolation. Many of the relevant issues regarding this revolt have been thoroughly treated by scholars recently, and it is therefore the aim here mostly to draw direct lines between conclusions that have been reached so far and the questions pursued here. Starting with the possible causes of the revolt, it is essential to realize— while avoiding delving into ongoing controversies—that any oppressive action thought to have been taken against the Jews can hardly be considered as exceptional at this stage, given the climate created in the half century that preceded the revolt. The threatening image and reputation of the Jews, as well as the already long Roman tradition of considering them as enemies, would have allowed even for unusual official measures to take place. For this reason, in the consideration of the claim, made in the Historia Augusta, that the revolt broke out because of a ban on circumcision, it should matter little what religious policy usually prevailed in the Roman encounter with foreign religions.136 The claim of the Historia Augusta may be dismissed on a historiographical basis, because it comes from dubious sources, but not on account of it being preposterous.137 Dio’s ascription of the outbreak of hostilities to Hadrian’s intention of founding a Roman colony on the site of Jerusalem is a valid enough assertion, and may be adopted as the trigger that launched the region into another cycle of violence. The importance ascribed by the Roman administration to Jerusalem and the Temple in provoking Jewish antagonism to Roman rule cannot be stressed enough. By the same token, the Roman response to the outbreak of yet another Jewish revolt would have been decisive and fierce even if the scope of the

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revolt had not been as great as is imagined by some modern scholars. That is not to say that the revolt was a minor event. But it may be assumed that, had a revolt similar in scale to that of Bar Kokhba started in any province other than Judea, the Roman response would have been different and, in many respects, probably more moderate. Eck, for example, sees great significance in the fact that Hadrian appears to have sent his best generals to subjugate the revolt.138 This view, however, appears to discount the fact that Trajan had done exactly the same thing when informed of the Diaspora revolt— a revolt to which Eck ascribes lesser intensity, if not importance.139 And the same approach is taken with the number of Roman troops that were thrown into the battlefield.140 Neither the high quality of the commanders nor the great number of the troops necessarily suggests any ‘logical’ deductions regarding the actual scope of the conflict. Much as with Carthage in 146 BCE, Roman considerations in the allotment of force and its employment against the Jews would have been heavily influenced by a charged past and the prevailing image of the enemy, quite likely more threatening than that met with in reality. It will perhaps be agreed that the Roman administration approached both the Diaspora and the Bar Kokhba revolts as it would a more universal crisis, one such as a barbarian invasion, which would have had the potential to threaten the empire more generally, rather than to put at immediate risk the possession of a single province. In an important sense, however, the latter Roman-Jewish conflicts retrieved the more modest scale of the quintessential provincial revolt. They were not commemorated as grandly and as universally as the first revolt. Admittedly, Trajan died suddenly around the time of the final subjugation of the Diaspora revolt. It is significant, however, that we have no evidence of any celebration of victories achieved early in the campaign—for example, by Quietus in Mesopotamia. We do witness a few months earlier, however, immediately after the conquest of Ctesiphon, the emperor obtaining—apparently through the conferral of the Senate at Rome—the title of Parthicus.141 It is conceivable that, had Trajan planned to parade his subjugation of the Diaspora revolt, Hadrian would have acted to fulfill such intentions. As the state of the evidence stands, other than the erection of private funerary monuments that may have referred in their inscriptions to the campaign, it appears that news of the Roman victory over the Jewish communities was not circulated in a ceremonial fashion across the empire.142 As for the Bar Kokhba revolt, we do know of three generals who received the ornamenta triumphalia, and private monuments commemorating the honor may well have been dedicated in Rome—as they were, for example, during the war of Tacfarinas.143 Otherwise, it has been suggested, based on the discovery of fragments of a monumental inscription, that a triumphal arch was dedicated to Hadrian in Tel Shalem (12 km south of Scythopolis) in honor of his victory.144 While the existence of the arch and its significance remain controversial, it should be pointed out that the dedication of such a

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monument would have been within the limits of the habitual commemoration of victories over provincial populations.145 The apparent Roman desire to avoid the circulation across the empire of knowledge regarding provincial revolts has been pointed out earlier. Monuments erected in the locality of the subjugated revolt, even if as large as the arch imagined in Tel Shalem, would have served as a memento mostly within the boundaries of the rebelling province. This may very well have been the reason for Augustus’ insistence—despite the Senate’s enthusiasm—that the commemoration of the victory that concluded the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt should be limited to local monuments only.146 Most notably, Hadrian, who issued coins in commemoration of most of his significant achievements, chose not to follow this practice after Judea had been subjugated. As far as the people of the empire needed to know, all in Judea was quiet after the year 70.

NOTES 1. The king—in his reported attempt to dissuade the Jews from revolting— demonstrates significant knowledge regarding events of provincial rebellions throughout the Roman empire (Joseph. BJ 2.345–401). 2. Cody (2003); see ahead. 3. For example, an examination of the writings of Seneca, Martial, Tacitus, Juvenal, Suetonius, and others finds no overwhelming indication for a particular Roman apprehension regarding Jewish rebelliousness, not even after the first great revolt occurred (Gruen 2002). For comparanda from Britain, see Gambash (2013). 4. Schürer (1973), vol. 1, 459–466. We no longer approach the six decades that preceded the Judean revolt by means of such broad generalizations. The procuratorship of A. Felix, for example, has been seen to have suffered above all from banditry and internal strife, but not necessarily from anti-Roman tension (Goodman 2007, 406–409). 5. Bar Kochva (1976); Gichon (1981); Goldsworthy (1996), 87–90. 6. For general background on Arminius and the Cherusci, see, most recently, Wells (2003); Murdoch (2006); and, especially, Jahn (2012). On the Clades Variana as a disaster—both in Roman perception, and put in modern perspectives—see Wiegels and Woesler (1995); Toner (2013), 19; 183–184. 7. The other two legions were the XV Apollinaris, brought by Titus from Alexandria, and the V Macedonica, which participated in the Armenian campaign in 61–62. 8. Millar (1993), 72. 9. For the comparison see Millar (2005), 101. 10. Goodman (2007), 425. 11. Corbulo, for example, knew to keep his troops busy once ordered to cease from harassing the Chauci (Tac. Ann. 11.20): ‘To keep his soldiers from idleness, he dug a canal between the Rhine and the Meuse at a length of twentythree miles, in order to avoid the uncertainties of the ocean.’ 12. A significant number of troops reached Alexandria—apparently the assembly point of the task force—from Germany and Africa. By the end of 66, Legio XV Apollinaris was in Alexandria; a new legion—the I Italica—was

172

13.

14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32.

33.

The Jewish Revolts recruited in Italy late in 66; and in 67 Legio XIV Gemina was withdrawn from Britain and sent to the Balkan. See Griffin (1984), 228–230. On Jotapata (Joseph. BJ 3.145): αὐτὸς δὲ μετὰ μίαν ἡμέραν ἀναλαβῶν πᾶσαν τὴν δύναμιν εἵπετο καὶ μέχρι δείλης ὁδεύσας πρὸς τὴν Ἰωταπάταν ἀφικνεῖται [Having taken his whole army, [Vespasian] followed the next day, and arrived at Jotapata after marching until late in the day]. On the archaeology of Jotapata see Adan-Bayewitz and Aviam (1997). On Tiberias see Joseph. BJ 3.443–52. On Gamla see Joseph. BJ 4.11. On the historiography and archaeology of Gamla, see Gutman and Shanks (1979); Syon (1992); Syon (1992–1993); Gutman (1993); Gutman (1994). Placidus had six hundred horsemen when he took Mount Tabor (Joseph. BJ 4.54–61). Titus rode to Gischala with a thousand horsemen, and captured the place promptly (Joseph. BJ 4.84–112). For example, the march on Antipatris (Joseph. BJ 4.443): ‘At the beginning of the spring he led most of his army (τò πλέον τῆς δυνάμεως) from Caesarea to Antipatris, where for two days he looked after the affairs of that city, and then, on the third, he moved on, ravaging and burning that entire region.’ Thus, Vespasian marched to Perea with his army, but retreated when he had secured the cooperation of Gadara, leaving behind Placidus with a small division of the army to subjugate the rest of the region (Joseph. BJ 4.419). Other examples include the garrisoning of Jericho, Adida, and Gerasa (Joseph. BJ 4.486). Joseph. BJ 4.442. See Schürer (1973–1987), vol. 1, 366. For this and claims ahead regarding time considerations, see Chapter Two (this volume). Joseph. BJ 3.409. Joseph. BJ 3.443–452. Tac. Ann. 3.74. Joseph. BJ 4.353–388. Joseph. BJ 4.440. Joseph. BJ 4.491. Joseph. BJ 4.502; Tac. His. 5.10. Vell. Pat. 2.110; Dio 55.29. Joseph. BJ 3.132–134. Joseph. BJ 3.62–3; 3.304–5; 3.338–9. Much has been written on the topic—for example, Bilde (1988) and cf. Mason (2003); Cotton and Eck (2005); Mason (2005). Joseph. BJ 6.417–18: ‘[Fronto] executed all the rebels and robbers, who accused one another; but from the young he chose the tall and handsome and saved them for the triumph; out of the rest of the crowd he sent in bonds those over the age of seventeen to perform labors in Egypt. Additionally, Titus sent many as presents to the provinces, to find their death in the amphitheaters by the sword and by wild animals. But those below the age of seventeen were sold into slavery.’ Joseph. BJ 4.502: καὶ οἱ μέν μετέωροι περὶ τῶν ὅλων ὄντες ὡς ἄν σαλευομένης τῆς Ῥωμαίων ἡγεμονίας ὑπερεώρων τὴν ἐπὶ Ἰουδαίους στρατείαν, καὶ διὰ τὸν περὶ τῆς πατρίδος φόβον τὴν ἐπὶ τοὺς ἀλλοφύλους ὁρμὴν ἄωρον ἐνόμιζον [[Vespasian and Titus], uncertain as they were about public affairs as a result of the unstable condition of the Roman empire, put aside their campaign against the Jews; fearing for their own country, they judged it untimely to conduct an attack upon foreigners]. Tac. His. 5.10: pace per Italiam parta et externae curae rediere. Joseph. BJ 6. 220–270.

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34. Goodman (2004), 16. 35. Rives (2005), 145–154. 36. This is the orthodox interpretation of the Flavians’ actions; Goodman (2004) provides the theory in essence. 37. Rives (2005), 145–166. 38. Griffin (2000, 20) has noted Republican motifs in Vepasian’s building projects. See Gambash (2009) for other Republican and Augustan motifs adopted by the Flavians, such as the capta-type coinage, and the dedication of buildings from the spoils of war. 39. Rives (2005), 149. 40. Tac. Ann. 14.30.1. 41. Webster (1999), 1–20. 42. Tac. Ann. 14.30. 43. Webster (1999), 13; Rankin (1996), 286–287. For the practice of human sacrifice among various religious groups across the Roman empire, see Rives (2007), 73–79. 44. Pliny NH 28.12. For the latter argument, see Syme (1958), 456–459. 45. Östenberg (2009), 117–119. 46. Joseph. BJ 2.409–410. 47. Joseph. BJ 2.647–648. 48. Joseph. BJ 6.239: τοῖς μὲν οὖν ἐδόκει χρῆσθαι τῷ τοῦ πολέμου νόμῳ. μὴ γὰρ ἄν ποτε Ἰουδαίους παύσασθαι νεωτερίζοντας τοῦ ναοῦ μένοντος, ἐφ’ ὅν οἱ πανταχόθεν συλλέγονται [Now some of these thought it would be the best way to act according to the rules of war, [and demolish it,] because the Jews would never leave off rebelling while that house was standing; at which house it was that they used to get all together]. 49. Rives (2005), 148–149. 50. Rives (2005) refers to the civic cult of the Jews as a ‘shadow civitas’ on account of its empire-wide distribution. 51. Gambash (2009). 52. Millar (2005), 102. 53. For a general discussion of the Roman triumph, and a detailed examination of the one celebrated by Vespasian and Titus, see Beard (2007) and Östenberg (2009), who both depict the latter event as following the articles of a standard triumph. 54. Millar (2005), 101–128. 55. On spoils see Östenberg (2009), 19–127. 56. Josephus BJ 7.158–62. See Norena (2003). 57. Orlin (2002), 136–137: ‘By placing captured artwork in a newly constructed temple, a general might focus attention on his achievements; when Roman citizens and others viewed the contents of the temple, they would be reminded of the campaign and the individual who had brought those objects to Rome.’ Republican motifs in Vepasian’s building projects are well attested (Griffin 2000, 20). 58. CIL 6.40454a = AE 1995, 111b (Rome): I[mp(erator)] T(itus) Caes(ar) Vespasi[anus Aug(ustus)] amphitheatru[m novum ?] [ex] manubi(i)s (vac.) [fieri iussit ?]. See Alföldy (1995). 59. Millar (2005), 118. 60. For a discussion of the term and for a survey of examples, see Orlin (2002), 117–139. 61. CIL 6.945 = ILS 265 (Rome): Senatus Populusque Romanus Divo Tito Divi Vespasiani f(ilio) Vespasiano Augusto. See Millar (2005), 122–3. 62. CIL 6.944 = ILS 264 (Rome).

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63. Millar (2005), 120–122. Pompey had captured the city in 63, and Sosius again in 37 BCE. Note, for example, the words that Titus is said by Josephus (BJ 6.329) to have addressed to the Jews: ‘From the first, from the moment Pompey conquered you by force, you have never ceased from revolution.’ 64. A typical example: C. Cornelius Gallus’ trilingual inscription from Philae (CIL 3.14147 [Philae]) makes exactly the same claim regarding the prefect’s brief adventure in Nubia, despite the well-known fact that the pharaohs had frequented the region long before him. 65. See Cody (2003), 103–123. 66. Cody (2003), 109–110. 67. Ibid.: ‘One might well expect that after this date the portrayal of Judean Jews would adhere more closely to the types used for provincials of the civilized Greco-Roman world.’ 68. Cody’s solution (ibid.). 69. The attestation in the sources is to prefects (probably before 41) and procurators (probably after 44). See Cotton (1999). 70. Schürer (1973), vol. 1, 362–367. The Sebastenes (soldiers recruited in Samaria) appear to have constituted a considerable segment of the force; one cavalry ala and five cohorts of their number are attested from the end of Herod’s rule, down to their removal by Vespasian (Joseph. AJ 19.356–366). 71. Joseph. BJ 2.484–5. Cumanus led from Caesarea one ala and four cohorts against the Jews (Joseph. BJ 2.236; AJ 20.122). 72. For example, Potter and Robinson (2000). 73. Gambash (2012). 74. As indicated by a military diploma from the year 86 (CIL 16.33). 75. Joseph. AJ 19.366. 76. Joseph. BJ 7.218. 77. Dio 66.7.2. 78. Hadas-Lebel (1984); Mandell (1984); Goodman (1989; 2005). 79. Goodman (1989). 80. An example of such an apostate Jew would have been Tib. Iulius Alexander, the former prefect of Egypt. See Tac. Ann. 15.28; Joseph. AJ 20.100; Goodman (1989), 41. 81. Joseph. BJ 6.335. 82. In 62 BCE, Lucius Valerius Flaccus, governor of Asia, confiscated a large amount of gold collected to be sent to the Temple at Jerusalem by the Jewish communities of four Asian cities. Flaccus seized the gold and deposited it in the aerarium, in an act that may be considered as responsive to the Jewish opposition to Pompey’s approach a year earlier, and to the Roman wish to prevent Diaspora gold from financing further rebellion. See Marshall (1975), 149; Bellemore (1999); Rives (2005), 154–166. 83. Mandell (1984) discusses the parallels, taking for granted the treatment of the Jews as a foreign enemy. 84. Gruen (1984), 291–295; Harris (1979), 234. 85. Gruen (1984), 293. 86. Livy 36.4.5–9: de pecunia item responsum, nullam ante diem accepturos. 87. Livy 48.18.7, 45.26.14, 45.29.4; Diod. 31.18.3; Plut. Aem. Paull. 28.3. 88. Smallwood (1981), 375; Goodman (2004), 25. 89. It is interesting that, when the temple of Jupiter burned, Druids in Gaul portended the fall of the Roman empire, since it was believed that Rome had endured the past Gallic invasion of the city because the temple itself had survived it intact (Tac. His. 4.54). 90. Dio 66.7.2. 91. Joseph. BJ 7.218.

The Jewish Revolts 92. 93. 94. 95. 96.

97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103.

104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124.

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Livy 7.15. Cic. Flac. 67–69. Tac. His. 4.9. Tac. His. 4.53: passimque iniectae fundamentis argenti aurique stipes et metallorum primitiae, nullis fornacibus victae, sed ut gignuntur: praedixere haruspices ne temeraretur opus saxo aurove in aliud destinato. For example, Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 123–125. Pucci Ben Zeev is careful to include also the postrevolt circumstances in her layout of the background for the Diaspora revolt; but she soon turns to what she calls ‘local issues’ and seems to leave the emphasis there. The most recent relevant comprehensive researches are Pucci Ben Zeev (2005) and Schäfer (2003). RIC II, 189 (no. 280). Rajak (2002). Goodman (2004) provides the theory in essence, but Goodman’s entire research on this issue is centered around it; see the bibliography in this chapter. Gambash (2009). Schürer (1973), vol. 1, 511–513; Cotton and Price (1990); Roth (1995). See also Ben-Yehuda (1995) and Ben-Yehuda (2002) for the historiography of Masada. Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 128–142. What little we know circles mostly around the presence of messianic hopes within some Diaspora communities, possibly inspired by Sicarian elements that appeared in Egypt and Libya after the first revolt. See also Applebaum (1979), 242–260. See Gruen (2002), 27–42. Woolf (2011) emphasizes, more broadly, elite perspectives on provincial revolts, but these too are not necessarily always related to circles of policyand decision-makers. Suet., Domit. 12.2. See Jones (1992), 117–119. Williams (1990), 198. Heemstra (2010), 24–66. Goodman (2005). Mattingly and Sydenham (1926), 189 (no. 280). Cody (2003), 112–113. Goodman (2004), 17–18. BMCRE 3.15 no. 88; 17 no. 98; 19 nos. 105–106. Cotton and Eck (2005), 45–46. Heemstra (2010), 67–84. On abolition of the tax see Hadas-Lebel (1984) and Goodman (2005). On apostate Jews see Goodman (1989). See also Goodman (2004; 2007a). Goodman (2004), 18–21. See Chapter Three (this volume). A series of ostraca from Edfu records payments of the Jewish tax from the time of Vespasian to Trajan’s reign; see Tcherikover and Fuks (1957–1964), vol. 2, 119–136 (nos. 160–229). Goodman (2004), 22–24. The suggestion that it was the Roman refusal to allow the rebuilding of the Temple that caused the Diaspora revolt has been made by Goodman (1992), 27–38. Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 123–124; Goodman (1992). Judea may well have joined the Diaspora communities in their revolt. See AE 1929, 167; Pucci Ben Zeev (2000). Cf. Bruun (1992). For the chronology of the events see Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 143–156.

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125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135.

136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. 146.

PIR2 L 439. Dio 68.32.5. Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 144–146. CPJ II 438. Another, less likely possibility, is that it was Legio XV Apollinaris; see Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 178–186. Chapter Two (this volume). For example, P. Oxy. 500. See Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 186–190, 264. Mélèze-Modrzejewski (1985), 337–361. Dio 68.32.3. The contemporary Appian writes that Trajan exterminated the Jewish race in Egypt (App. B. Civ. 2.90). Arrian also writes about Trajan’s determination to destroy the nation entirely (Arr. Parth. fr. 85). Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 253–254. See, however, Schäfer (1990), 295–296; Schäfer ascribes the change in Judea’s status to a Roman attempt to secure borders in the east. Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 255. At Caparcotna. The arrival of a second legion in Judea with Quietus was already suspected by McElderry (1908, 111), and the possibility has been maintained since by a long list of scholars. For the corroboration of this assumption by epigraphic sources, see Cotton and Eck (2001, 219–223). SHA Hadr. 14.2. Isaac (2003), 37–54; Oppenheimer (2003), 55–70. Eck (1999), 78–79. Eck (2003), 163. Eck (1999), 79–81: ‘the forces mobilized by Hadrian were calculated to meet the enemy’s strength and its military potential . . .’ Dio 68.28.2. See Pucci Ben Zeev (2005), 212–217. AE 1929, 167. On decorations for Roman generals see Eck (1999). On decorations during the war against Tacfarinas, see Gambash (2009), notes 43–46. Eck (1999). Bowersock (2003) does not accept Eck’s reconstruction of the inscription. Dio 56.17.

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———. (2007), Religion in the Roman Empire (Oxford). Roth, J. (1995), ‘The Length of the Siege of Masada,’ SCI 14: 87–110. Schäfer, P. (1990), ‘Hadrian’s Policy in Judea and the Bar Kokhba Revolt: A Reassessment,’ in P. R. Davies and R. T. White (eds.), A Tribute to Geza Vermes (Sheffield): 281–303. ———. (ed.) (2003), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome (Tübingen). Schürer, E. (1973–1987), The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. 1–3 (London). Smallwood, E. M. (1981), The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian: A Study in Political Relations (Leiden). Syme, R. (1958), Tacitus (Oxford). Syon, D. (1992), ‘Gamla: Portrait of a Rebellion,’ Biblical Archaeology Review 18.1: 20–37. ———. (1992–1993), ‘The Coins from Gamla: An Interim Report,’ Israel Numismatic Journal 12: 34–55. Tcherikover, V. A. and Fuks, A. (eds.) (1957–1964), Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum (Cambridge, MA). Toner, J. (2013), Roman Disasters (Cambridge). Webster, J. (1999), ‘At the End of the World: Druidic and Other Revitalization Movements in Post-Conquest Gaul and Britain,’ Britannia 30: 1–20. Wells, P. S. (2003), The Battle That Stopped Rome: Emperor Augustus, Arminius, and the Slaughter of the Legions in the Teutoburg Forest (New York). Wiegels, R. and Woesler, W. (eds.) (1995), Arminius und die Varusschlacht: Geschichte, Mythos, Literatur (Paderborn). Williams, M. H. (1990), ‘Domitian, the Jews, and the ‘Judaizers’: A Simple Matter of Cupiditas and Maiestas?’ Historia 39.2: 196–211. Woolf, G. (2011), ‘Provincial Revolts in the Early Roman Empire,’ in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome (Leiden): 27–44.

Conclusion

Modern attempts to understand Roman imperialism from different perspectives have frequently made use of several assumptions that do not necessarily always agree with each other. One of the most fundamental aspects of Roman imperialism that is often approached from completely opposing points of view is that of the Roman interest in peace and peaceful routine in the provinces. The root of the conflict may be defined as follows: on the one hand, some scholarly work—usually that which addresses the ‘Roman empire’ more generally—tends to build its case on the premise that the Roman administration regularly preferred a peaceful provincial routine.1 On the other hand, other studies—frequently those more focused on single provinces—often base their case on the assumption that the Roman attitude in governing the provinces was belligerent and frequently involved acts of brutality.2 These two assumptions do not exactly represent two opposing approaches to a single problem, but it is easy to see how they produce a contradiction that may not be easily resolved. Roman oppression is regularly quoted as the leading cause for the creation of provincial unrest, and it is difficult to imagine a reality regularly based on such oppression that would be congruous with an official desire for peace. A policy of ‘make a desert, call it peace’ could hardly have been employed indiscriminately. One of the problems that encourage the simultaneous prevalence of both assumptions is that few generalizations have been produced that would allow for a better understanding of the Roman philosophy of governance. In essence, scholars who are obliged to premise their theory on a representation of Roman imperial rule often formulate their view selectively from a hodgepodge of anecdotal evidence and semirelevant modern hypotheses. Our sources are always willing to supply stories of corrupt governors as well as decent ones, and modern scholarship can emphasize at once Rome’s desire to create and maintain through war a deterring image, as well as its wish to prevent war from interrupting the flow of tribute to its treasury. It is noteworthy that several other problems within the broad field of Roman imperialism—presented in the introductory chapter of this book— have been studied in great depth. But the existence of generalizations regarding the Roman army, the Roman approach to war, or even the quality of life

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in the provinces does not inform us directly on the Roman attitude towards provincial populations, and the act of borrowing from such available statements requires great caution. The sharp dichotomy between the grand-scale commemoration of foreign victories and the suppression of local ones can alone demonstrate the danger that abounds in assuming too freely that the case of the foreign war may always inform us on the subjugation of provincial revolts. Drawing on the instances of Roman action examined in this book, the aim of this conclusion is to demonstrate that the general tendency of the Roman administration during the first two centuries CE was indeed to keep the provinces peaceful, and that such a policy was implemented through practical measures that, at root, consisted of the prompt establishment of trust in the local population, and the similarly purposeful reassertion of this trust when disturbances nevertheless occurred. The event of provincial revolt, which serves in this study as a prism through which to observe Roman ideas of peace in the provinces, will be examined in two steps: firstly, through the routine that preceded it and, to a large extent, aimed at anticipating and preventing it; and, secondly, through official reactions to it, once it erupted, and later, once order was restored. Exceptions to the rule will be pointed out and analyzed as well in the course of the examination, since they were common enough both to have affected on occasion the success of the Roman policy, and to have distorted some of the modern perceptions of Roman governance. ANTICIPATING POTENTIAL REVOLT It is important to open this section by admitting that the answers to the questions asked earlier do not necessarily corroborate the existence of a constant and intelligent reassessment of Rome’s ends and means insofar as regards the administration of the provinces.3 It is above all the tendency of the Roman government to rely on post-eventum information and to react to crises as they develop—extinguishing fires, as it were—that reduces significantly the likelihood that a grand strategic approach to the provinces was regularly adopted. But that is not to say that general intentions regarding the routine governance of the provinces were not formulated and, for the most part, followed with some degree of consistency. For this reason, it is legitimate to pose and attempt to answer the following crucial question: did the Roman administration function with the scenario of provincial revolt regularly in mind? Any answer must take into consideration the various aspects of the administration of a province, as they have been highlighted in the discussions presented in this book. A strong military presence in a given province did not necessarily signify, in and of itself, a Roman fear of revolt. The position of legions and other military units could be determined, for example, in accordance with the location

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of the empire’s frontiers and the circumstances on and beyond them. Such was probably the role of the four legions that were regularly stationed in Syria—hardly a restless province, yet one that bordered on the often-tense Parthian frontier. Nevertheless, abundant use was also made of garrisons in the provinces in the case of suspicion of local opposition, and it is the considerations behind decisions taken in this respect that should open our discussion. Prospects of local unrest probably stood behind the initial garrisoning of the southwestern part of Britain, or of Camulodunum, as a result of the opposition presented in those places to the Roman invasion of 43. The withdrawal of these forces for the purpose of expansion campaigns in the west and north of the island must imply that trust in the local population had reached a degree that allowed the Roman governor to leave such areas behind, barely guarded. The later occurrence of the Boudican revolt might suggest to some that the transference of troops had been precarious. It must be realized, however, that, for the empire to exist—let alone for it to expand its borders—the risk of leaving whole regions ungarrisoned, if indeed it was at all perceived as a risk, had to be taken. Under routine circumstances, provinces that wished to surprise the Roman government and rebel could have usually done so with relative ease, and I have emphasized the consequent initial success and brutality of those provincial revolts that started with little immediate Roman presence to check them or hinder their advance. The thinning of military presence had to occur at a certain point in areas that had no strategic value for the regular deployment of legions around the empire, and more so during periods of expansion and moving frontiers. Britain’s case should therefore not be regarded as exceptional. In Judea, we witness a similar process during the first decades of the incorporation of the region into the Roman sphere of control. Most notably, after the death of Herod, despite the initial tumult that accompanied Archelaus’ accession and the temporary increased military presence in the region, the large territory of the Herodian kingdom ultimately remained free of Roman troops. And, after the annexation of the region in 6 CE, the area was given a prefect and a small force of locally recruited auxiliaries—a status that could hardly symptomize a Roman apprehension of the disruption of peace in the region. That this situation persisted until the outbreak of the great revolt should emphasize the extent to which Roman reliance on the obedience of the Jews prevailed. It should also put into proportion Josephus’ reports on occasional tension. The use of military force, and especially the luxury of avoiding it, had to be backed up by activity on the diplomatic level, and it is perhaps the reality revealed in this sphere that can clarify still further the Roman willingness to take ‘risks’ in allowing vast regions to escape intense garrisoning. The fact that little relevant evidence survives for most of the provinces should not deter us from making deductions on the basis of what we do

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know—for example, through the Judean case. Josephus’ account may represent a unique reality in Judea alone in more than a few respects, but patterns of official Roman action cannot be seen to have been exclusive for Judea on that account. The glimpses allowed by the historian’s narrative into the routine of communication between the Roman administration and groups in the region—for example, the Samaritans—should convince us that what is known for Judea could just as validly apply elsewhere.4 The feature most notably distinguishable in the history of the relationship between the Roman administration and the Jews during the six decades that preceded the great revolt is what has been designated earlier as the Roman dedication to achieving and preserving peaceful routine in the province. The Roman commitment to such a policy is apparent on all relevant levels of the administration, starting with the local nonsenatorial governor, continuing with his superior in Syria, and ending with the emperor himself. The main means of achieving such an end may be recognized in the Roman willingness to heed and address local grievances on a regular basis—regardless of how petty these might have appeared to Roman eyes, or of how incongruous they were with routine Roman practices.5 Above all, various tenets of the Jewish religion turned out to be incompatible with some of the basic precepts of Roman presence and direct rule, and on most occurrences of such a conflict it is clear that the Roman administration preferred compromise to confrontation and coercion.6 Most noticeable is the Jewish abhorrence of the pictorial representation of images, on account of which image-bearing standards of the Roman army were excluded from Jerusalem; Roman units carrying such standards avoided marching through Judea; and coins minted in Caesarea were issued without the customary imperial portraits on their obverse. Moments of tension no doubt occurred. It would be naïve to imagine that a system as heavily based on traditions and common practices as the Roman administration should have made careful enquiries regarding local sensitivities before each move it took. Nor is it likely that powerful Roman officials would have shown flexibility without first testing the determination of the local community to win concessions. It is a fact, however, that in an overwhelming majority of the reported cases of a clash of interests with the Roman authorities, the Jews eventually had the upper hand— regardless of whether the process required a struggle. Cases in point are numerous, and include the withdrawal by Pontius Pilate of his intention to present image-bearing standards in Jerusalem; severe punishments inflicted on Roman soldiers who offended the Jewish religion; the recall to Rome and possible punishment of officials who were perceived to have treated the Jews unjustly; and the narrow escape from having the statue of a Roman emperor—Gaius Caligula—erected in the Temple. The system basically consisted of petitions made by the local population to Roman officials in the case of perceived grievances, and on gradual ascent up the chain of command, which frequently culminated in an appeal

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made directly to the emperor in Rome. In many respects this system would have worked to extinguish fires, rather than to prevent them; there were, to be sure, exceptional cases where the fire could get out of hand. The aim here is to emphasize the common case of the timely solution of local grievances, supplied, according to the specific circumstances, by Roman decisionmakers of all levels. There is no reason to think that the Jews, even if they resorted more frequently than others to such a solution, were unique in their constant appealing to the Roman authorities in matters, big and small, that involved their routine. The most common means to convey those petitions was through official embassies, and Fergus Millar has shown how examples of such embassies as they are described by Josephus may inform us on the Roman routine of governance as a whole.7 It is notable that the system appears to have been supplemented by an integral mechanism of checks and balances—admittedly one of a most basic form—which consisted of the critical assessment and ultimate correction of controversial policies that proved offensive to the local population. In most cases, the system would have operated through the provincial population’s seldom-denied right to appeal to a higher authority in order to override decisions taken by local officials. The implementation of the procedure is frequently attested by Josephus—for example, during the long and eventful term in office of Cumanus as Judea’s governor. Most telling are cases where junior members of the administration also saw fit to interfere with policies dictated from above for the specific purpose of maintaining—or regaining— the cooperation of the locals. The sympathetic response of Syria’s governor, Publius Petronius, to the pleas of the Jews probably saved the region from a full-scale rebellion when the emperor Gaius decided to have his statue placed in the Jerusalem Temple. And the interaction with Rome of Classicianus, Britain’s procurator, brought to a stop the brutal reprisals that were aimed at the local population after the Boudican revolt by Britain’s governor, Suetonius Paullinus. These last two examples bring to the fore the inevitable occurrence of tense moments in the relationship between the Roman administration and provincial populations. Having suggested that routine governance would have involved constant intentions to diminish causes for local tension, it remains to explain why friction nevertheless occurred on occasion, and how, in the most extreme circumstances, it could escalate to produce active opposition to Roman rule. The patterns of activity that will be exemplified ahead should be seen as exceptional since they do not represent the common Roman approach, nor are they attested by the sources too frequently. In comparison with the routine negotiations between Roman officials and local populations, which regularly saw most provincial needs answered prior to the emergence of dangerous levels of local discomfort, these cases stand out in their apparent lack of communication between the sides involved in the conflict, and in the uncharacteristic absence of Roman efforts to acknowledge and address local grievances.

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Corruption could have infected governors, procurators, and other officials or elements associated with the Roman government—such as the veterans who resided in the colony at Camulodunum. The reforms implemented in provincial administration by Augustus indeed improved the quality of governance and reduced the unrestrained exploitation of provincial populations that prevailed under the Republic.8 But the degree of independence and authority entrusted to the hands of high-ranking officials, and the loose supervision over their routine activity, could result in the occurrence of individuals stepping out of line and taking advantage of their position of power. Such must have been the case of Catus Decianus, Britain’s procurator in 60–61, whose mission to conduct the annexation of the Icenian kingdom ended in the outbreak of the Boudican revolt. But such cases cannot be seen as a ‘familiar story of oppression.’9 The system of checks and balances that was described here depended on the timely flow of information up and down the Roman chain of command, and on the willingness of officials of all ranks to interfere with the activity of their subordinates, colleagues, and even superiors. Of course, with the governor away on campaign, the damage that could be caused to Rome’s relationship with local groups by the corrupt conduct of the procurator could be overwhelming. Generally, however, the range of cases surveyed here suggests that no absolute correlation existed between official corruption and indigenous rebellion. The existence and enforcement of the repetundae legislation demonstrate on the one hand, indeed, the prevalence of corruption, but on the other, at the same time, the fact that solutions to the problem were supplied to indigenous groups from within the system, offering a legitimate channel of action alternative to revolt. Another important issue, more difficult to define and to contain under a single title, was what may be broadly described as the occasional attempt on the part of officials and emperors to change the ways of indigenous populations. Under this category may be witnessed the formulation of policies knowingly and deliberately obnoxious to the provincials, in most cases inflicted as a punishment on account of an earlier act that was perceived by the government as offensive to Roman rule. Gaius’ determination to place a statue of himself in the Jerusalem Temple came in retaliation for the removal by Jews of an altar dedicated to him in Jamnia. The event has been interpreted earlier as a rational attempt on the part of the emperor to punish a provincial population essentially intolerant of cults other than its own. By the same token, it was the attempt of Judea’s governor, Gessius Florus, to punish the Jewish authors of a joke on his account that may have sparked the physical hostilities that eventually evolved to become a full-scale revolt in 66. In the adoption of a punitive-disciplinary line, the Roman administration had little choice but to initiate moves that would antagonize the local population. It nevertheless remains debatable as to what extent there would have prevailed an apprehension of pushing local limits too far.

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It is difficult to accept the premise, prevalent in numerous modern accounts, that, when adopting harsh policies, the Roman administration would have consciously accepted the possibility of having to pay the ultimate price of sparking revolt in the region. If anything, the Roman complacency that is often seen to have preceded adverse actions taken against provincial populations should convince us that, in most cases, confidence probably prevailed among the relevant circles of officials that no tangible risk existed of seriously disrupting the prevailing peace, let alone of undermining Rome’s hold of the province. The last issue that should be considered in this section should therefore involve the aspect of knowledge available to Roman decision-makers insofar as regarded the potential of their actions to spark physical resistance to Roman rule. Ignorance of local sensitivities could have stood at the background of actions that were mistakenly perceived as innocuous by Roman officials. In other cases, it would have been an underestimation of the degree of readiness of local groups to break the status quo and declare open war on Roman rule that would have encouraged Roman officials to pursue a line of action knowingly unfavorable to the indigenous population. It is perhaps the less common case that the Roman administration would have been as ill informed as to allow complete surprise when local opposition emerged as a result of its actions. But frequent contact with little-known cultures at the edge of the Roman sphere of control would have made such a scenario possible. An example may be found in the case of the Roman expansion in Africa, where the building of a new road by Legio III Augusta in 14 CE has been suggested to have intercepted migratory routes of local nomadic societies—in particular the Musulamii. The opposition organized by Tacfarinas in the region between the years 17 and 24 may have been instigated by this disruption of local routine, and it is valid to argue that, if such was indeed the case, the Roman administration in Africa could not have anticipated such a development when it first planned the building of the new road. By far more common would have been cases of the mere underestimation of inevitable local resentment, when antagonizing moves were perceived as essential or desirable by the Roman administration or individuals therein. Certainly, there should be little doubt that some of the fundamental features of Roman rule would not have been modified or eliminated, even in the face of persistent local opposition. Such aspects of imperialism as the mere physical presence in areas assigned to come under direct rule, taxation, and probably also the recruitment of local auxiliary units would have been insisted upon, even at the price of lasting friction with local populations. A census and the imposition of taxes would have occurred in Judea after its annexation in 6 CE regardless of knowledge of possible local resentment. And Tiberius’ exasperated rejection of Tacfarinas’ demands in 22, some five years after the beginning of hostilities in the region, may demonstrate the implementation of such ‘red lines’ by the same emperor, who, as commander

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under Augustus, had shown considerable willingness to negotiate repeatedly with the leaders of the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt.10 On the other hand, available accounts of occurrences of tension in the provinces abound with reports on Roman willingness to come to terms with provincial populations on issues that were perceived as minor from a Roman perspective, yet that loomed large to local sensitivities. The numerous concessions on religious issues made on account of the Jews during the six decades that preceded the great revolt are a case in point. And Claudius’ restraining of Corbulo’s brutal approach towards the Chauci, and his order to the general to return with his army to the left bank of the Rhine, may demonstrate how even physical presence among client groups would have come second to securing their good will and cooperation.11 To a large extent, the categories of local tensions instigated by the action of corrupt officials and by the adoption by the Roman government of a punitive attitude must have also fallen frequently under the rubric of insufficient information regarding the levels of local antagonism. It is difficult to imagine that Catus Decianus would have pursued his brutal annexation of the Icenian kingdom had he known that the result would be an opposition movement on the scale of the Boudican revolt. This notion may perhaps be corroborated by the procurator’s flight from the island as soon as hostilities broke out.12 Arguably, Gaius Caligula likewise underestimated the willingness of the Jews to go to war over issues that regarded their Temple, and had to be warned and corrected by the local administration, which, after a certain point, had gained enough knowledge to form a more accurate picture of the reality in Judea and Galilee. Most likely, if the Roman administration ever considered the outbreak of full-scale provincial revolts in hindsight, it would have recognized numerous moments where it could have gone to greater lengths in order to avoid the heavy price ultimately paid. REACTING TO THE OCCURRENCE OF REVOLT Several assumptions that are frequently adopted in discussions of the Roman response to individual provincial revolts need to be treated with caution, based as they are on anomalous cases, or on a partial reading of a complex reality. Above all, we need to do away with the approach that ascribes intense brutality to the subjugation of local opposition movements, and the corresponding notion that such brutality would have served an alleged Roman desire to deter others from rebelling. The examination of the relevant cases presented in this book does not corroborate such premises. Even the famous story of Masada, once demythologized, can hardly be interpreted as the implementation of a ‘long-range security policy, based on deterrence.’13 In order to achieve the deterring effect imagined by Luttwak, the news of the fall of Masada should have been publicized across the

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empire, or at least around the region. It has been shown, however, that there is no evidence whatsoever for the commemoration of the Roman victory outside of Josephus’ work.14 We should therefore supply an alternative model that would characterize more accurately the general conduct of the Roman administration in the face of local opposition. In most cases the outbreak of local opposition came as a surprise to the Roman government, even once the initial antagonism of an aggrieved indigenous population had been expressed, and registered by Roman officials. The immediate Roman need, once opposition became open and active, was to check the movement and pacify the region as efficiently as possible. The nature of this efficiency consisted in the promptness of the reaction, and in the employment, at least initially, of troops immediately available in the area, without resorting to the mobilization of reinforcements from other regions. Peripheral brutality during the process of subjugation—for example, towards noninvolved civilian centers—is rarely attested by the written sources or by archaeological evidence. Most accounts focus on the initial response of Roman commanders in meeting as soon as possible with the threat—at this stage often still in the form of a local ‘army,’ seeking direct confrontation with the Roman forces. The need to check the initial momentum of the local opposition movement has been shown to have produced frequent encounters where the Roman forces were significantly inferior in number. Where opposition persisted after the initial impetus of the revolt was stopped, the Roman troops are seen to have focused on those strongholds that served the rebels in their ongoing resistance. Two aspects of this process should be underlined. Firstly, the promptness of the Roman reaction may easily be explained. I have suggested that such hurriedness stemmed from the wish of the administration to reestablish the stable routine that had previously prevailed in the disturbed region as quickly as possible. The advantages of the preservation of peace in the provinces are well known. From the Roman perspective, among other aspects, the flow of tribute to the treasury would have suffered in the event of regional instability, as would the secure traffic of merchandise along trade routes across the empire.15 The disruption of peace would have affected numerous factors in the local routine that would have complicated further the missions standing before the local government. A noteworthy example is the mention by the sources of the emergence of famine as a result of local unrest and the subsequent neglect of agricultural duties. The Boudican revolt is reported to have led to such a circumstance.16 And Petronius, Syria’s governor at the time of the crisis between Gaius and the Jews, is said to have feared a similar predicament when he worked to restore order and the cooperation of the local population as soon as possible.17 In addition, an emphasis must be placed on the potential of local unrest to spread, by attracting neighboring groups to join an ongoing opposition to Roman rule. Most available examples of continuing provincial unrest demonstrate a gradual growth of the recalcitrant

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core—a fact that could not have been overlooked by the Roman administration, and one that must have intensified the need for prompt reaction. The second noticeable aspect concerns the general Roman attitude assumed during the act of subjugation. The written and material sources depict a picture in which uninvolved civilian populations were usually kept out of the circle of violence, and uncalled-for brutality was not normally adopted by the Roman forces, not even in their contact with the opposing elements themselves. To be sure, the circumstance of intensive fighting could produce atrocities at any given moment. It is noteworthy, however, that occurrences of brutal acts against civilian populations were hardly frequent enough to represent the general case in the Roman world, especially when compared to the event of a full-scale war of conquest, when such populations were far more vulnerable, and whole communities could have been destroyed or enslaved. Available accounts on the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt abound with reports on the Roman efforts to dismantle the opposition of the rebels, by negotiations as well as by force. Rebel leaders as well as warriors who agreed to put down their weapons were spared, and the inhabitants of the disturbed areas appear to have suffered far less than they did several decades earlier, when Roman troops campaigned in the region in order to bring it under direct Roman rule.18 On the other hand, when a governor such as Suetonius Paullinus resorted to oppressive reprisals in the aftermath of the Boudican revolt, his conduct was identified as harmful and was condemned both by various elements in the Roman government and by later historians of the period. It is true that the identification of a lenient Roman approach towards ongoing local opposition is partly based on the absence of reports that would testify to the prevalence of the opposite case. But the portrayal by some of the sources of acts of brutality as uncharacteristic, as well as the reproachful reaction to such brutality as demonstrated by Suetonius Paullinus’ reprisals, should lend force to the notion. Additionally, it is essential that we notice the wider context of the relationship between the Roman administration and local populations in disturbed regions, in order to realize that a lenient Roman approach in fact fell into place in the greater scheme of events. If the provincial governor ruled at all by ‘terror mixed with honor,’ it was much less the former that he had to apply as a matter of routine, and even at times of tension.19 The Roman wish to end local conflicts swiftly has been pointed out and offered an explanation. It appears obvious that the government was interested in peace in the provinces, and an attitude that avoided unnecessary ferocity would have contributed significantly to the quick retrieval of the antequam routine. Classicianus was specific in his dispatch to Rome that ‘no cessation of fighting must be expected, unless Suetonius were superseded.’20 Furthermore, it is the conduct of the Roman administration in the aftermath of revolts that should convince us, perhaps above all, that the primary Roman objective was to reestablish peaceful routine, and that

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trust-building measures were perceived as preferable to close supervision and oppression. As we turn, then, to the postrevolt situation, we should firstly pay heed to the issue of the deployment of troops. The widely prevailing assumption that territories that had rebelled and were recently pacified would have been intensely garrisoned is hardly corroborated by the written and archaeological sources. An examination of military sites in eastern Britain reveals that few, if any, new troops were positioned in the neighborhood of the former foci of the Boudican revolt. Furthermore, soon after the subjugation of the revolt, the local Roman administration began to vacate strongholds in the area, and to transfer troops from the territories of the Iceni and the Trinovantes, probably mostly to the western and northern frontiers of the province. Also notable is the fact that a whole legion was transferred from Britain to mainland Europe in the mid-60s, for the purpose of a campaign in the east that Nero ultimately never came to undertake. Such an approach must signify that no apprehension from further local unrest lasted among the circles of Roman officials, and that, despite the serious disturbance of routine that had occurred in 60–61, trust in the acquiescence and goodwill of the local population was restored. Of particular importance is the aspect of the appointment of officials. Throughout this book, the role of powerful individuals has been accentuated in their ability either to create or to allay local tensions, in accordance with their conduct and agenda. The record for Britain is remarkable in demonstrating the apparent Roman awareness of this issue, both in the way it acted to remove disruptive elements, such as Suetonius Paullinus, from the system and in appointing individuals of particular profile and character when the aim was to win back the goodwill of the local population. The prosopographical survey conducted in Chapter Three strongly suggests that the officials sent to the island by Nero after the revolt were chosen particularly with the mission of appeasing the Britons in mind. Classicianus, who replaced the procurator whose corruption had started the revolt, adopted from the first moment the side of the locals, even when this stance positioned him at odds with Britain’s governor. And a long line of governors— well into the Flavian era—has been shown to have included mostly old and relatively unambitious individuals, who persisted in employing a placating policy towards the local population.21 Britain happens to be well documented in this respect, but it cannot have been the only province that saw such usage of the tool of official appointments. The appointment by Gaius Caligula of Vitrasius Pollio as Egypt’s prefect after the acute disorders in Alexandria in 38 has been interpreted as yet another example of a carefully made choice, or, at least, of a carefully formulated local policy. To a certain extent, Claudius’ decision to change the status of Judea to that of a client kingdom under the rule of Agrippa may similarly be seen to have worked along the same vein, in light of the local tensions that the emperor had inherited from his predecessor.

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It appears then that, in the majority of the cases, once provincial revolt broke out, the Roman administration made efforts to confront it in a straightforward way—promptly, efficiently, and without dragging uninvolved civilian populations to the circle of violence. Once opposition had been subjugated, the same administration preferred to formulate an appeasing policy for the pacified region, and was aware that its implementation could be guaranteed through the appointment of suitable officials. Why was such a line of action perceived to be called for? The answer identified in this work centers on the prospects of a peaceful relationship between the Roman government and the local population. Everything in the Roman treatment of provincial unrest suggests that what mostly dictated the nature of official actions in response to local opposition was the wish for a quick recovery of local cooperation and for the consequent reestablishment of trust in indigenous groups. The commemoration of victories won over provincial populations matches this general attitude. Just as the Roman approach towards war in the provinces differed significantly from that adopted in foreign campaigns, so were Roman victories over subjects of the empire and over foreign enemies celebrated in disparate manners. The available evidence produces an elaborate picture according to which local victories won far less publicity than foreign achievements. Going by all that we know of Roman imperial propaganda and the means by which it was circulated around the empire, it is safe to conclude that, for the most part, residents of the empire would not have been officially informed of provincial revolts, nor would the collective memory of the empire have included events of local unrest, even when those ended—as they regularly did—with a persuasive Roman victory.22 This Roman practice of avoiding grand-scale celebration and commemoration of episodes of provincial revolt, and, consequently, of limiting to a minimum the universal publicity awarded them, may be seen as corresponding to the wish of the Roman government to maintain stable local routine, and to prevent the dissemination of ideas of revolt beyond the boundaries of disturbed areas. In avoiding such commemorative measures as the erection of grand monuments in Rome, the issue of capta coins, or the declaration of official festivity days, to be celebrated across the empire, the Roman government would have obtained a twofold aim. Firstly, the recently pacified local population, shown earlier to have been at this stage rapidly reinvested with Roman trust, would not have found itself interminably humiliated across the empire by elaborate celebrations of its subjugation. Secondly, official Roman admission of the mere occurrence of revolt would have been avoided, as would, consequently, the public circulation of knowledge regarding the history of instability in the empire. The fact that Rome did not regularly publicize news of local unrest, along with its apparent adoption of an appeasing policy towards rebelling populations, should convince us that Roman action during the subjugation and aftermath of a provincial revolt could not have been guided by a wish to

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create a deterring self-image that would work to prevent similar occurrences elsewhere. A so-called policy of deterrence, often assumed to have affected, in addition to Rome’s approach to foreign war, its conduct in the face of provincial revolt, would have had to base itself both on brutal measures and on the wide circulation of information regarding the adoption of such measures. As has been demonstrated here, neither demand appears to have been fulfilled by the government’s actions during revolts and after their subjugation, and, if a general conclusion is to be drawn from the prevailing Roman approach, it is that rebelling populations were merely allowed to be reintegrated into the provincial system, and were not made into a symbol. Finally, it is essential to conclude the discussion of Roman reactions to revolt with a brief examination of exceptional Roman behavior and its possible reasons. The private motivations of individuals could, of course, clash with the best interests of the system. And it would be plausible to argue that vindictiveness would have been a common reaction experienced by local officials in whose shift indigenous populations rose in opposition against Roman rule. Prospects of prestige and promotion would have been on the line, as would the disappointment with the perceived betrayal of the locals in the trust previously invested in them by those same Roman officials. The adherence of Suetonius Paullinus to harsh punitive measures in the aftermath of the Boudican revolt—an approach blatantly in opposition to the central government’s preference—may very well have stemmed from such feelings. Under the rubric of individual initiatives would also fall some of the considerations that were made by emperors regarding the subjugation and commemoration of provincial revolts. Part of the reason for the harsh Flavian treatment of the Jews—and the grandiose commemoration plan that accompanied it—may have emanated from that dynasty’s immediate need to establish its position and legitimacy in replacing the fallen Julio-Claudian dynasty. Portraying the Jews as foreign enemies of the empire allowed the achievement of Vespasian and Titus in subjugating the revolt to be presented as a greater feat than the mere pacification of restless provincials—namely, as a foreign campaign of conquest and expansion. With the examination of the action of emperors, however, we enter the gray zone that lies between personal agenda and the best interests of the Roman state. It is not always easy to determine under which category belong some of the imperial policies that are identified here as exceptional. The issue of an emperor’s desire to write off the humiliation inflicted by military defeat in the provinces, for example, should be approached with caution. Private considerations of prestige could have guided Nero when he assigned a mammoth force to the operation of subjugating the first Jewish revolt. However, the prestige of an individual emperor may not have been easily separable from that of the Roman state as a whole, and it is plausible that on certain occasions—especially when the humiliation was too great to be overlooked—a punitive approach was adopted for the purpose

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of restoring a certain image of the empire that was perceived to have been damaged. The debacle of Cestius Gallus in Judea in 66 has been pointed out as such a moment—comparable in many respects to the clades Variana of the year 9 CE and to the reactions it elicited from the Roman government. What is certain is that it would be impossible to explain all exceptional actions taken by the Roman administration in the face of provincial revolt merely by means of ascribing them to the private whims and interests of emperors. The attitude adopted by the Roman government in its negotiations with Jewish communities across the empire after the first Jewish revolt has been highlighted as anomalous. In addition to the particular Flavian needs, this anomaly must be explained also through the combination of apprehension and lack of trust that must have prevailed within the relevant circles of Roman decision-makers with regard to the Jews and their willingness to be reintegrated into the provincial system. The implications of this attitude may be recognized in the Roman insistence on garrisoning Judea intensely and indefinitely after the revolt, as well as in a possible Roman refusal to allow the rebuilding of the Jerusalem Temple. How can such Roman apprehension and mistrust be accounted for? One of the reasons for such an approach could have been, at least initially, the memory of the momentous defeat inflicted by the Jewish rebels on Cestius Gallus’ army—a humiliation rarely suffered by Roman troops in their encounters with provincial subjects. The outbreak of renewed Jewish opposition in 116 (in the Diaspora) and in 132 (in Judea again) would have convinced the Roman government that a suspecting approach had been justified all along, and must have played a significant part in perpetuating the repression of the Jews. NOTES 1. See Hardwick (2000) on pax Augusta and pax Romana. 2. For example, Mattingly (2006). 3. The general definition for grand strategy, supplied by Kennedy (1991, 6), and employed in the introduction to this book. 4. Regarding the Samaritans see, in passim, Chapter Three (this volume). 5. For more on Roman perspectives, see Gruen (2002). 6. For Jewish routine in the decades leading to the revolt, see Berlin (2005). 7. Millar (1977, 375–385); see Chapter Two (this volume). 8. Brunt (1990). 9. Brunt (1990, 53) refers here to the late republic, but suggests that the situation improved only mildly during the early Principate. 10. On Tacfarinas see Tac. Ann. 3.73. On negotiations with the leaders of the Pannonian-Dalmatian revolt, see Dio 55.33.1; 55.34.7; 56.13.2; 56.14.7; 56.15.1. See also Džino (2009). 11. Tac. Ann. 11.19. 12. Tac. Ann. 14.32. 13. Luttwak (1976), 3: ‘This was a vast and seemingly irrational commitment of scarce military manpower—or was it? The entire three-year operation, and

194

14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21. 22.

Conclusion the very insignificance of its objective, must have made an ominous impression on all those in the East who might otherwise have been tempted to contemplate revolt.’ Cf. Roth (1995). Cotton (2007), 402. There is no mention of the event even in inscriptions that recount the entire career of the Roman general who conquered the site, L. Flavius Silva; see Fenati (1995). See, for example, Young (2001) for a discussion of Roman policy vis-à-vis eastern trade routes and tax income. See Shaw (1981) for another example from Africa. Tac. Ann. 14.38. Philo Leg. 249; Joseph. BJ 2.200, AJ 18.272. Dio 55.34.6; Dio, 56.13–16; Suet. Tib. 20. See also Wilkes (1969), 139–140. Lendon (1997), 235–236. Lendon does focus in his book on what he perceives as a Roman aristocratic culture of honor, which translates in the provincial administration into an effective means for imperial rule. He suggests, however, far greater room than the ideas presented in this book would allow for a ‘despotism rooted in force and fear.’ Tac. Ann. 14.38: ‘Classicianus stated in a dispatch to Rome that no cessation of fighting must be expected, unless Suetonius were superseded, attributing that general’s disasters to immorality and his successes to good luck.’ See Chapter Four (this volume). See Dillon and Welch (2006) for various aspects of the Roman representation of war.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Berlin, A. M. (2005), ‘Jewish Life before the Revolt,’ JSJ 36.4: 417–470. Brunt, P. A. (1990), ‘Charges of Provincial Maladministration under the Early Principate,’ in Roman Imperial Themes (Oxford): 53–95. Cotton, H. M. (2007), ‘The Impact of the Roman Army (200 BC–AD 476): Economic, Social, Political, Religious, and Cultural Aspects,’ in L. de Blois and E. L. Cascio (eds.), Proceedings of the Sixth Workshop of the International Network: Impact of Empire (Capri): 393–407. Dillon, S. and Welch, K. E. (eds.) (2006), Representations of War in Ancient Rome (Cambridge). Džino, D. (2009), ‘The Bellum Batonianum in Contemporary Historiographical Narratives,’ Arheol. Rad. Raspr. 16: 29–45. Fenati, M. F. (1995), Lucio Flavio Silva Nonio Basso e la Città di Urbisaglia (Macerata). Gruen, E. S. (2002), ‘Roman Perspectives on the Jews in the Age of the Great Revolt,’ in A. M. Berlin and J. A. Overman (eds.), The First Jewish Revolt (London): 27–42. Hardwick, L. (2000), ‘Concepts of Peace,’ in J. Huskinson (ed.), Experiencing Rome (London): 335–368. Kennedy, P. (ed.) (1991), Grand Strategy in War and Peace (Yale). Lendon, J. E. (1997), Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World (Oxford). Luttwak, E. N. (1976), The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire from the First Century A.D. to the Third (Baltimore). Mattingly, D. J. (2006), An Imperial Possession: Britain in the Roman Empire, 54 BC–AD 409 (New York). Millar, F. (1977), The Emperor in the Roman World, 31 BC–AD 337 (Ithaca, NY).

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Roth, J. (1995), ‘The Length of the Siege of Masada,’ Scripta Classica Israelica 14: 87–110. Shaw, B. D. (1981), ‘Rural Markets in North Africa and the Political Economy of the Roman Empire,’ AntAfr 17: 37–83. Wilkes, J. J. (1969) Dalmatia (London). Young, G. K. (2001), Rome’s Eastern Trade: International Commerce and Imperial Policy, 31 BC–AD 305 (London).

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Name Index

Achiab (cousin of Herod) 84 L. Aelius Seianus (Sejanus, prefect of Praetorian guard) 113, 129 S. Afranius Burrus (prefect of Praetorian guard) 121 Agricola (governor of Britain) 35–6, 48–9, 51, 57–9, 77–8, 97, 111–12, 117, 120–1, 142, 150, 156, 166. Agrippina (wife of Claudius) 105, 125 Ananias (high priest in Jerusalem) 153 L. Annaeus Seneca (statesman under Nero) 17, 121 Antiochus IV of Commagene 146 Antipas (tetrarch of Galilee, son of Herod) 79–80, 82–3, 85–6, 94 M. Antonius (the triumvir) 133–6, 142 M. Antonius Felix (governor of Judea) 108, 171 L. Apronius (governor of Africa) 69, 112–13 Archelaus (ethnarch of Judea, son of Herod) 32, 79–86, 94–5, 98, 104, 182 Aretas IV (king of Nabatea) 33, 102 Arminius (Cherusci leader) 2, 10, 12–13, 15–17, 70, 145, 171, 178–9 Artaxias II (king of Armenia) 89, 135 Athronges (rebel in Judea) 83 Attalus III (king of Pergamum) 134 Augustus (emperor) 2, 6, 8–9, 14, 24, 28–9, 32, 43–6, 56, 75–6, 80–6, 89–94, 101, 113, 125–8, 134–6, 139–40, 156, 168, 171, 179, 185, 187 L. Autronius Paetus 43, 101 A. Avilius Flaccus (governor of Egypt) 105–6, 122

Bar Abbas (rebel in Judea) 119 Bar Kokhba (rebel leader in Judea) 9–10, 18, 123, 161, 169–70, 176–9 Bato (leader of the Breuci in Illyria) 17, 71 Bato (leader of the Daesitiates in Illyria) 14, 17, 51, 71, 97, 143, 194 Ben Dinai, Eleazar (brigand/rebel in Judea) 119 Boudica 1–2, 5, 10, 14, 16–17, 19, 21–2, 27, 35–6, 38–9, 42, 48, 50–1, 53, 58, 60, 63–8, 77–8, 87–91, 96–8, 109–11, 114–17, 122, 129–34, 142–3, 145, 150, 153, 157, 161, 177, 182, 184–5, 187–92. Britannicus (son of Claudius) 125, 139 Caesonius Paetus (consul) 92 Caius Valerius (general of Trajan) 168 Calgacus (leader of the Caledonian confederacy) 96 Cn. Calpurnius Piso (governor of Syria) 73, 93 Caratacus (leader of the Catuvellauni) 21, 24, 26, 53, 70, 86, 99, 125 Cartimandua (queen of the Brigantes) 53, 99, 110, 117 Cassius Longinus (governor of Syria) 34 Catus Decianus (procurator of Britain) 78, 114, 120, 185, 187 Celer (tribune in Judea) 107 C. Cestius Gallus (governor of Syria) 63–4, 115, 121, 144–6, 148, 150, 163–4, 176–7, 193 Claudius (emperor) 25–7, 33–4, 36–7, 39, 41, 48–9, 52–3, 56–8, 67–8, 79, 86–7, 99–100, 102, 106–9,

198

Name Index

118–19, 122, 124–7, 130–2, 138, 142–3, 152, 154, 163, 166, 187, 190 Tib. Claudius Cogidubnus (client king in Britain) 25, 27, 50, 52, 58–9 Cleopatra (queen of Egypt) 134–5 Commodus (emperor) 6, 19, 54, 60 L. Cornelius Balbus (governor of Africa) 23, 43, 56, 101 P. Cornelius Dolabella (governor of Africa) 47, 69, 71, 74, 76, 93, 96, 113, 129, 140–1 C. Cornelius Gallus (governor of Egypt) 23, 53, 56, 64, 174 A. Cornelius Palma (governor of Syria) 126 Cornelius Scipio (Roman commander in Africa) 141 L. Cornificius (governor of Africa) 43, 101 Cossus Cornelius Lentulus (governor of Africa) 44, 47, 56, 75–6, 118 Cunobelinus (king of the Catuvelauni) 22–4, 26, 52 Cuspius Fadus (governor of Judea) 34, 54

A. Gabinius (Roman general) 128 Gaius (emperor) 11, 33, 62, 79, 102–6, 109, 119, 122, 167, 183–5, 187–8, 190 Genthius (Illyrian leader) 159 Germanicus (Roman general) 73, 113, 126 Gessius Florus (governor of Judea) 34, 185 Hadrian (emperor) 9–10, 37, 143, 161, 169–71, 176–9 Herod (king of Judea) 21, 28–32, 53, 60, 79–86, 96, 98, 109, 145, 174, 182 Herod Agrippa I (king of Judea) 33–4, 103, 105, 108–9, 157, 190 Herod Agrippa II (king of Chalcis) 63, 108, 142, 144, 146, 148

Eleazar (son of Ananias, high priest in Jerusalem) 153 Eppillus (king of the Atrebates) 24 M. Etrilius Lupercus (Roman commander in Africa) 75

Isidorus (faction leader in Alexandria) 105 Iulia Pacata (wife of C. Iulius Classicianus) 110, 120 Tib. Iulius Alexander (governor of Judea) 34, 54, 170 C. Iulius Caesar 23, 31, 44, 56, 58, 97, 128, 162 C. Iulius Civilis (Batavian leader) 39, 90, 96, 110 C. Iulius Classicianus (procurator of Britain) 78–9, 94, 109–10, 114, 120, 189–90, 194 Iulius Florus (leader of the Treveri) 110 Iulius Frontinus (governor of Britain) 36, 111 Iulius Indus (leader of the Treveri) 110, 120 C. Iulius Vindex (governor of Gallia Lugdunensis) 149 Q. Iunius Blaesus (governor of Africa) 69, 77, 92, 113, 129, 141, 148

Flavians (emperors) 17, 50–1, 56, 110, 117, 134, 151–2, 156, 164, 173, 177 L. Flavius Silva (Roman commander in Judea) 194 Flavus (brother of Arminius) 13 Furius Camillus (governor of Africa) 64, 69–71, 93 100–1, 112, 116

L. Javolenus Priscus (iuridicus in Britain) 51, 112 John of Gischala (Jewish rebel leader) 149 Jonathan (high priest in Jerusalem) 108 Juba I (king of Numidia) 44 Juba II (king of Mauretania) 43–5, 101 Judas the Galilean (Jewish rebel leader) 21, 34, 54, 95

Didius Gallus (governor of Britain) 87, 99–100, 116 Domitian (emperor) 57, 89, 112, 156, 162–3, 165–6, 178–9 Cn. Domitius Corbulo (Roman general) 47, 57, 78–9, 92–3, 117, 131–2, 141, 146, 171, 187 Drusilla (daughter of Herod Agrippa I) 108 Drusus the Elder (Roman general) 142

Name Index M. Lepidus (Roman general) 113 M. Licinius Crassus (Roman general) 136 L. Licinius Lucullus (Roman general) 135 Lusius Quietus (Roman general) 168–70, 176 Malchus II (king of Nabatea), 146 Q. Marcius Turbo (Roman general) 168 C. Marius (Roman general) 142 Messalina (wife of Claudius) 125 Neopolitanus (tribune of Cestius Gallus) 121 Nero (emperor) 25, 50, 67–9, 79, 89, 91–2, 96–7, 100, 114–18, 121–2, 125–32, 141, 143, 146–51, 154, 163, 189, 190, 192 Nerva (emperor) 143, 166–7, 177 Nicolaus of Damascus (statesman of Herod and Archelaus) 81–2 L. Nonius Asprenas (governor of Africa) 45, 101 P. Ostorius Scapula (governor of Britain) 5, 10, 17, 37–8, 49–50, 86–7, 99–100, 157 L. Passienus Rufus (governor of Africa) 43, 101 Perseus (king of Macedon) 159 Q. Petilius Cerialis (legate of Legio IX and governor of Britain) 55, 66, 96, 110–11, 118 P. Petronius (governor of Syria) 11, 33, 62, 102–4, 116, 184, 200 Petronius Turpilianus (governor of Britain) 36, 67, 115–16, 121, 141 Philip (tetrarch of Trachonitis, son of Herod) 79, 85–6 Placidus (Roman commander in Judea) 172 A. Plautius 26–7, 47–8, 52, 59, 86, 116, 125 Polyclitus (freedman of Nero) 79, 114–15, 121 Cn. Pompeius Magnus (Pompey) 29, 31, 123, 135, 174, 176, 179 Pontius Pilatus (Pilate, governor of Judea) 32–3, 102, 104–5, 115, 118–19, 122–3, 183

199

Prasutagus (king of the Iceni) 1, 26, 87, 92, 95–6, 114, 157 Ptolemaeus (king of Mauretania), 73 P. Quinctilius Varus (governor of Syria, Germania) 15, 32, 63–4, 82–5 Quintus Veranius (governor of Britain) 100 Roscius Caelius (legate of Legio XX) 36, 117 C. Rubellius Blandus (governor of Africa) 75, 129 Sabinus (procurator of Syria) 83–5, 95 Salome Alexandra (queen of Judea) 31 Salome I (Herod’s sister) 80 C. Salvius Liberalis (iuridicus in Britain) 51, 112 L. Sempronius Atratinus (governor of Africa) 43, 101 Cn. Sentius Saturninus (Roman consul) 140 Simon (rebel in Perea) 83 Sohaemus (king of Emesa) 146 C. Sosius (governor of Syria) 174 L. Statilius Taurus (Roman general) 43, 101 Suetonius Paullinus (governor of Britain) 5, 10, 14–15, 17, 23, 36, 42, 50, 56, 65–8, 77–9, 88, 91, 93, 109, 111, 114–15, 120, 129–32, 141, 150, 152–3, 184, 189–90, 192 Tacfarinas (African rebel) 5, 18, 45, 47, 58–60, 63–4, 68–77, 90, 92–3, 96–8, 101, 112–13, 132–3, 140–1, 145, 148, 157, 170, 176, 186, 193 A. Terentius Varro Murena (Roman general) 92 Theudas (rebel in Judea) 34 Tiberius (emperor) 15, 24, 33, 51, 54, 68, 73, 75–7, 92–3, 101–2, 104–5, 110, 113, 116, 118, 126–9, 135, 140, 145, 150, 186 Tiberius Gemellus (grandson of Tiberius) 105 Tigranes III (king of Armenia) 92, 135–6 Tincommius (king of the Atrebates) 24 Tiridates (king of Armenia) 92

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Name Index

Titus (emperor) 29, 138, 151–6, 158, 160, 163, 166, 171–4, 192 Togodumnus (leader of the Catuvellauni) 24, 26 Trajan (emperor) 37, 125–6, 140, 143, 150, 161, 163, 167–70, 175–7 Trebellius Maximus (governor of Britain) 36, 116–17 M. Ulpius Traianus (father of Trajan) 167 Ummidius Quadratus (governor of Syria) 107–8 L. Valerius Flaccus (governor of Asia) 160, 174, 178 M. Valerius Messalla Messallinus (Roman general) 140

Ventidius Cumanus (governor of Judea) 106–7, 174, 184 Venutius (leader of the Brigantes) 110, 121 Vercingetorix (leader of the Arverni) 16–17 Verica (king of the Atrebates) 24–5, 52, 97 Vespasian 17, 24–5, 27–8, 50, 69, 111, 120, 137–9, 143, 145–51, 154–60, 163, 166, 172–5, 178, 192 Vettius Bolanus (governor of Britain) 35–6, 54, 117 Viriathus (Lusitanian leader) 70 Vitellius (emperor) 117, 121 L. Vitellius (governor of Syria) 33, 101–2, 105, 115–16 C. Vitrasius Pollio (governor of Egypt) 79, 106, 119, 190

Places and Ethnic Groups Index

Adida 172 Africa consularis 45, 57 Albani 96, 121 Alexandria 33, 54, 59, 79, 103, 105–6, 119, 122, 171, 190 Ammaedara 45–7, 59, 101 Ancaster 51, 60 Ancyra 128 Andizetes 127 Antioch 85, 103, 107 Antioch near Pisidia 128 Antipatris 172 Aphrodisias 127–8, 132, 140, 143 Apollonia 128 Arabia 81, 85, 126, 142 Armenia 67, 78, 89–90, 93, 117, 130, 132–3, 135–6, 139, 141–2, 154, 171 Asia 99, 102, 116, 118, 133–6, 139, 174, 178 Atlas Mountains 23, 44, 56, 96 Atrebates 24, 52 Aumale 74 Auranitis 85 Aures Mountains 44, 71 Auzea/Auzia 74 Balkan 99, 112, 172 Batavians 16–17, 90 Beja 57 Berkshire 23 Berytus 85 Birmingham 88, 97 Bithynia 142 Breuci 128 Brigantes 27, 51, 53, 56, 59, 87, 99, 110, 117–18, 122, 145 Boulogne 125

Caesarea Maritima 34, 107, 148–9, 157, 172, 174, 177, 183 Caesarea Philippi 148 Calleva 91 Cambridgeshire 66, 98, 178 Campus Martius 26 Camulodunum 22–3, 26–7, 36–43, 49–50, 52, 55, 65–7, 87, 89, 110, 114, 129–30, 157, 182, 185 Cangi 87, 95 Cantii 23 Caparcotna 176 Capitol Hill 124, 159–60 Cappadocia 44 Capsa 45, 101 Carthage 8, 159, 164, 170 Caspian Passes 96, 121 Catuvellauni 22–7, 49, 52, 58, 163 Chatti 165 Chauci 47, 79, 171, 187 Chelmsford 65 Chemtou 57 Cherusci 10, 171 Chichester 25, 27, 52, 58 Cimbri 148 Cinithii 64, 70–3, 133 Cirta 45 Colchester 41, 55, 59, 87, 157 Cologne 39 Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium 39, 55 Colonia Domitiana Lindensium 39 Colonia Nervia Glevensium 39 Commagene 146 Corieltauvi 49–51, 58 Cornovii 50–1, 58, 60 Coventry 88 Crimea, the 99

202

Places and Ethnic Groups Index

Ctesiphon 170 Cyprus 168 Cyrenaica 126, 168 Cyzicus 26, 53, 125, 139 Dacia 125, 143 Dacians 125, 150, 164 Daesidiates 127 Dalmatia 16–17, 40, 51, 55, 60, 70–1, 92, 112–13, 126–8, 140, 150, 171, 187, 189, 193, 195 Danube 56, 90, 125, 128, 140 Dobunni 22, 26–7, 52–3 Dora 33 Dumnonii 25, 27, 50, 69, 150 Dura Europos 126 Durotriges 22, 25, 27–8, 50, 53, 69, 150 East Anglia 65, 98 Eburacum 55 Edessa 168 Edfu 175 Emesa 146 Emmaus 83, 85, 147 Epirus 128 Exeter 50, 69 Fens, the 88 Fishbourne 27, 52, 58 Fosse Way 91 Gabara 150 Gabes 45, 101 Gadara 82, 172 Gaetuli 43–7, 57, 71–2, 75–6, 93, 101, 116 Gafsa 45, 101 Galatia 128 Galilee 64, 79, 83, 85, 95, 102, 119, 122, 146–7, 148–9, 187 Gamla 147, 172, 177, 179 Garamantes 23, 46, 56, 63, 71–3, 141 Gaul 22, 26, 42, 57, 60–1, 85, 95, 121, 124, 126, 128, 142, 147–9, 152, 160, 162, 174, 179 Gaulanitis 85, 147–8 Gerasa 172 Germany 9, 47–8, 70, 91, 106, 110, 113, 134, 140, 156, 164, 171 Gischala 147, 149, 172 Gloucester 39, 89 Gosbecks 55 Grandford 88, 98, 178

Haidra 45, 101 Hampshire 23–4 Hatra 168 Herodium 164 High Cross 91 Horstead 96 Hyrcania 81 Iapodes 127–8 Iceni 1, 22–3, 26–7, 38, 41, 49, 53, 87–9, 95, 98, 114, 129, 131, 134, 157, 185, 187, 190 Idumea 84, 95, 147 Idumeans 63, 84–5, 90 Illyricum 113, 127–8, 135, 140 India 126 Itabyrion 147 Jamnia 106, 185 Jericho 83, 95, 157, 192 Jerusalem 11, 18–19, 31–4, 54, 59–60, 63–4, 80–5, 90, 95, 102, 104, 107, 118, 121–3, 137, 143, 146–55, 158–64, 169, 174–8, 183–5, 193 Jezreel Valley 169 Jotapata 147–8, 172, 176 Kent 23–5 Kinvaston 51 Leicester 51, 59 Leptis Magna 56, 73, 75–6, 96, 118, 129, 140 Lesser Syrtis 45, 101 Libya 168, 175 Lincoln 39, 51 Lincolnshire 66 Londinium 55, 65–7, 91, 130 London 109, 120 Longthorpe 66, 89, 97 Lugdunum 140 Lunt, the 88 Lusitania 8, 70 Lydda 107 Macedonia 159 Machaerus 157, 164 Mancetter 88 Masada 149, 164, 175–7, 179, 187, 195 Maures 63–4, 70–1, 73, 76, 93, 133 Mauretania 44–5, 73–4

Places and Ethnic Groups Index Mesopotamia 168, 170 Metchley 88 Meuse 171 Moesia 125 Mona 10, 42, 65–6, 78, 82, 84, 86, 91, 111, 114, 129, 150, 152–3 Mons Graupius 96 Mount Gerizim 105, 119 Musulamii 5, 45–7, 57, 60, 64, 70–6, 93, 98, 101, 186 Nabatea 33, 102, 146 Nile 46, 64 Nisibis 168 Nottinghamshire 66 Nubia 23, 56, 174 Numidia 60, 71, 97, 122, 132 Numidians 46, 57, 72–3, 93 Oea 76, 129, 141 Ordovices 36 Pannonia 9, 14–17, 31, 51, 70–1, 92–3, 112–13, 126–8, 140, 150, 157, 171, 187, 189, 193 Parthia 31, 67, 130, 135–6, 140, 143, 168, 182 Perea 83, 95, 147, 172 Pergamum 134 Peterborough 66 Petra 126 Philae 53, 64, 174 Pirustae 127–8 Pontus 142 Ptolemais 103, 145, 148 Rhine 48, 79, 165, 171, 187 Saham Toney 87, 95–7, 157 Salassi 92 Samaria 107, 147, 174 Samaritans 81, 86, 95, 104–5, 107, 119, 122–3, 183, 193 Scotland 35, 51, 61, 112 Scythopolis 148, 170 Seleucia on the Tigris 168 Sepphoris 83, 85, 147 Severn 26, 50

203

Sicca Veneria 46, 57 Silchester 27, 52 Silures 26, 36–7, 40, 49, 51, 66, 87 Simitthu 57 Spain 31, 40, 55, 113, 128, 142 Staffordshire 88 Stanninghall 96 Suffolk 88, 98 Sussex 24 Swanton Morley 96 Syria 32–4, 62–4, 80–6, 90, 94, 101–7, 115–16, 118, 126, 145–6, 177, 182–4, 188 Tacapae 45, 101 Tel Shalem 170–1, 176 Teutones 142 Thames 23–5 Thebaid 53, 64 Thubursicu Numidarum 45, 60, 73–4, 98 Thubuscum 73 Tiberias 103, 147–8, 172 Trachonitis 79, 85 Treveri 110 Trinovantes 22–3, 27, 36, 39–43, 49, 53, 63, 114, 163, 190 Tripoli 76 Tripolitania 46, 57, 59, 73, 75, 129 Tupusuctu 73–4 Tyre 107 Ubii 39, 55 Vaga 57 Venonae 91 Verulamium 49, 59, 65–6, 91, 112, 130, 141 Wales 36, 49, 54, 58, 65–6, 87, 95, 111–12, 114, 129, 132, 152, 157 Wall 51, 88 Warwickshire 88, 97 Watling Street 91 Wroxeter 89 York 51, 55

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General Index

aerarium 172, 186 Actium, battle 54, 134–6 agri captivi 37–41, 55 annexation of client kingdoms 2, 21, 28, 31–2, 41, 43, 53, 82, 87, 109, 114, 126, 129, 134, 182, 185–7 Augustus’ consilium 8 Augustus’ Res Gestae 2, 28, 89, 128 banditry 1, 5, 16, 64, 70–1, 73–4, 98, 108, 171 bellum Gaetulicum 43, 45–7, 71–2, 76, 101, 116 brigandage see banditry Capta coinage 17, 125, 132–9, 142, 144, 155–6, 162, 165, 173, 191 Clades Variana 15, 89, 91, 145, 164, 171, 179, 193 Claudius’ Jewish edicts 33, 54 colonies 5, 20, 36–41, 44–6, 55 commemoration: foreign campaigns 124–6; provincial revolts 126–32 congiarium 131, 141 consolidation policy 4, 8, 48, 86, 95, 100–1, 111–12, 132 corruption 35–6, 54, 78, 112, 114, 117, 185, 190 deterrence 2, 13–15, 83, 180, 187, 192 Diaspora Jews 59, 63, 102, 122, 133, 160, 162, 167–8, 170, 175, 177–8, 193 Didrachmon see Jewish tax diplomacy 5–6, 12, 67–8, 112, 136 Druids 5, 10, 17, 42, 56, 59–60, 152, 174, 179

enslavement 28, 37, 55, 69–70, 74, 83, 121, 150, 157, 172, 189 expansion policy 3–6, 28, 37–9, 43–5, 48–50, 57, 60, 65, 69, 77, 86–9, 100, 112, 114, 117, 163, 182, 186, 192 Famine during revolt 62–3, 78, 90, 94, 103, 188 Fasti Triumphales 43, 56, 101, 118 Fiscus Iudaicus see Jewish tax Flavian Amphitheater 137, 154–5, 173 fourth philosophy (in Josephus) 21 grand strategy 4–8, 18, 181, 193, 206 imperator 100, 113, 126, 129, 131, 141 imperium maius 68, 150 indemnity 159–61 ingrained rebelliousness 29–31, 53, 82, 137, 145, 163, 171 iuridicus 51, 112 Jewish tax 158–67, 175, 177–8 Legio I Italica 171 Legio II Augusta 28, 50, 66, 69, 89, 150 Legio II Traiana 169 Legio III Augusta 5, 44–7, 59, 68, 101, 186 Legio III Cyrenaica 126 Legio V Macedonica 171 Legio IX Hispana 51, 65–6, 68, 89, 157 Legio X Fretensis 145, 148, 158 Legio XII Fulminata 44, 46, 64 Legio XIV Gemina 66–7, 89, 172 Legio XV Apollinaris 171

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Legio XX Valeria Victrix 27, 37, 40, 49, 66–7 Legio XXII Deiotariana 168 legionary territoria 39–41 memory, collective 14–15, 115, 124, 127, 176, 191 military standards 32, 34, 54, 72, 102, 104, 118, 128, 136, 183 naming wars 70–1; 75–7 nomads 44, 46, 56, 60, 64, 72, 186 ornamenta triumphalia 44, 70, 75, 113, 126–7, 129–30, 170 ovation 125 pacifying tension 12, 24, 27, 31, 48, 50, 54, 65, 68–9, 77–8, 87–8, 100, 105–6, 108–10, 114, 116, 121, 148, 164, 166–7, 188, 190, 192 provincial population: anti-Roman sentiments 21–2, 31, 36–43, 66, 84, 108, 119, 153, 171; centralized and decentralized 22, 27–8, 49–50, 65, 69; pro-Roman groups 13, 43, 84–5, 99, 110, 117, 153 provincial embassies 28–9, 34, 77, 80–3, 94, 102–3, 106, 126, 184 provincial governors: age 99–100, 115–16, 190; ethnic background 108–10; military experience 64, 100–1; specific experience 110–13 provincial revolt, definitions 1–3 provincial status 26, 79–87; 89–90, 105–6, 108–9, 135–9, 144, 148, 157, 161–3, 169, 182, 190 punitive measures 13, 27, 48, 62, 70, 74, 79, 152, 185, 187, 192 recepta coinage 134–9, 142–3, 153 religious sites 38, 40, 152–3 revitalization movements 7, 60, 179 Roman army 5–6, 43–51; demilitarization 43–51, 87–9; focus on rebels

64, 74–7, 129; size of forces 63–7, 74; tactics for urgency 68–9, 74 Roman imperialism, state of the field 2–6, 9–10, 17–18, 22, 60, 161, 178, 180, 186–7 Romanization 7, 13, 17–18, 23, 55, 58, 60, 98 Roman officials 2, 8, 11–14, 28–9, 31–2, 35–6, 44–5, 62, 70, 80–2, 156, 164, 183–8, 190–2; imperial intervention 47–8, 57, 78–81, 114–15, 121 Roman policy 3, 5–8, 11, 13, 18, 28, 33, 37–40, 46, 48, 69–70, 77–8, 86–9, 95, 97, 101, 112, 115–17, 122, 127, 132, 137–9, 143, 158, 167–9, 177–83, 187, 190–2, 194–5 Roman Senate 6, 22, 68, 82, 85, 93, 101, 113, 124–6, 141, 155, 159, 171 Sebasteion at Aphrodisias 127–8, 132 slave revolt 1, 16, 18–19 spoils of war 125, 137–8, 154–5, 160, 173, 178 Temple (Camulodunum) 36, 41–2, 56 Temple (Jerusalem) 11, 29, 33, 84, 102, 104, 122, 151–5, 158–62, 164–5, 167, 169, 174–5, 177–8, 183–5, 187, 193 Temple (Jupiter Capitolinus) 159–60, 174 triumphal arches 26–7, 52–3, 58, 75, 118, 122, 124–6, 137–8, 141–2, 155–6, 170–1, 176 triumphs 17, 23, 44, 124, 130, 135–9, 154–5, 160, 172–3, 176, 178 trust 20, 28, 48–50, 65, 74, 79, 87–90, 109, 144, 146, 156, 164, 167–8, 181–2, 190–3 viri militares 100–1, 122 zealots 63, 149