Soldiers and Silver: Mobilizing Resources in the Age of Roman Conquest 9781477321690

Citation preview

Soldiers and Silver

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A sh l e y a n d Pet e r L a r k i n Se r i e s i n Gr e e k a n d Rom a n Cu lt u r e

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Soldiers and Silver Mobi l i z i ng R e s ou r c e s i n t h e Ag e of R om a n C onqu e s t

Michael J. Taylor

University of Texas Press

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Austin

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Copyright © 2020 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First edition, 2020 Parts of chapter 3 previously appeared as “State Finance in the Middle Roman Republic: A Reevaluation,” American Journal of Philology 138, no. 1 (Spring 2017): 43–180. Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to: Permissions University of Texas Press P.O. Box 7819 Austin, TX 78713–7819 utpress.utexas.edu/rp-form The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48–1992 (R1997) (Permanence of Paper). L i br a ry of Congr e ss C ata l ogi ng -i n-Pu bl ic at ion Data Names: Taylor, Michael J. (Military historian), author. Title: Soldiers and silver : mobilizing resources in the age of Roman conquest / Michael J. Taylor. Description: First edition. | Austin : University of Texas Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020010953 ISBN 978-1-4773-2168-3 (cloth) ISBN 978-1-4773-2170-6 (ebook) ISBN 978-1-4773-2169-0 (library ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Finance, Public—Rome. | Rome—History, Military. Classification: LCC DG89 .T39 2021 | DDC 937/.05—dc23 LC record available at htt ps://lccn.loc.gov/2020010953 doi:10.7560/321683

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Contents

Acknowledgments vii

I n t roduct ion

1

Part I. M a n pow er Ch a p t er 1. Roman Manpower Ch a p t er 2. Rival Manpower

25 59

Part II. Fi na nce Ch a p t er 3. Roman Finance Ch a p t er 4. Rival Finance Conclusions

111 139

169

Appendix: A Note on Ancient Demography Notes

189

191

Bibliography 224 Index

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Acknowledgments

T

h is book beg a n li fe at t h e U n i v er sit y of Ca l ifornia, Berkeley, as a dissertation directed by Carlos Noreña and with a committee of Erich Gruen, Todd Hickey, and Nathan Rosenstein, all of whom helped nurture the project to its successful completion and left an impact on the resulting book. In addition, I have benefited enormously from the generous feedback of many scholars who helped to refi ne the ideas presented here, whether in spirited conversations or in formal critiques: Jeremy Armstrong, Lisa Eberle, Arthur Eckstein, Michael Fronda, François Gauthier, Marian Helm, Roel Konijnendijk, Adam Litt lestone-Luria, Toni Ñaco del Hoyo, Laura Pfuntner, Nathan Pilkington, Jonathan Prag, Dominic Rathbone, John Rich, Andrew Riggsby, Saskia Roselaar, James Tan, and many others. Jim Burr and his professional team at the University of Texas Press transformed my manuscript into the fi nished product before you. Like many in my generation, I owe a debt to my parents, who after my initial failures on the academic job market allowed me to move back home with a family in tow. Substantial revisions to this project were accomplished in my childhood bedroom while my mother watched my toddler son downstairs. Finally, I owe a special gratitude to my wife, Kelsey, who carried our family the entire time while also managing her own career as a scholar and a teacher. And much love to our litt le Caroline and Elliot, who distracted me greatly from the task at hand.

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Soldiers and Silver

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The Hellenistic Mediterranean. Generated via www.stepmap.com.

Introduction

I

n t h is book, I e x pl or e how w e l l r e sou rce s, specifically military manpower and fiscal revenues, explicate the outcomes of interstate warfare in the third and second centuries BCE and ultimately the startling success of Roman imperialism during this period. The notion that resource superiority, especially military manpower, explains the rise of Rome is neither controversial nor particularly novel, going back to the Greek historian Polybius, writing in the second century BCE.1 Researching his history of Rome, Polybius was impressed by the events of 225. In that year, the Roman state undertook frantic preparations against a serious Gallic invasion, including an emergency assay of available manpower. Roman muster rolls listed a total of 770,000 men available for service, a combination of Roman citizens, Latin colonists, and Italian allies. Polybius was amazed by the magnitude of this figure, and he concluded that Hannibal had no chance of victory in 218, when he stumbled out of the Alps with a mere 20,000 frostbitten infantrymen.2 Ancient thinkers continued to view state power through the simple lens of money and manpower.3 The admonition of Cicero for Roman senators “to know the state” (“nosse rem publicam”) involved a tally of men, money, and allies: “quid habeat militum, quid valeat aerario, quos socios res publica habeat, quos amicos, quos stipendiarios, qua quisque sit lege, condicione, foedere.”4 In theory, premodern empires were fundamentally military-tributary complexes, in which military forces occupied tributary territory, which was then exploited for taxes and materials to fund and supply those selfsame military forces.5 Th is model presents premodern empires as self-perpetuating cycles of control and extraction, and it assumes a close positive correlation between the size of military forces, the level of fiscal revenues, and patterns of military success. Certainly, such a model fits well with the evidence from es-

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tablished and stable empires, with the Roman Empire during the Principate (ca. 31 BCE–235 CE) being the exemplar. However, the empires of the Hellenistic Mediterranean were neither long established nor stable. They had all effectively formed during the fourth century, and throughout the third and second centuries they engaged in frequent hegemonic wars in an extremely perilous and precarious international environment, a geopolitical situation that Arthur Eckstein has memorably described as Mediterranean anarchy.6 Th is instability contributed to a startling disconnect between manpower, money, and victory, with significant implications for our understanding of the phenomenon of Roman imperialism during the Middle Republic and the geopolitical dynamics of the Hellenistic Mediterranean more broadly. A comparative approach is central to this study. Too often, research on Roman imperialism focuses myopically on Rome itself.7 In most instances, this is a necessary and forgivable evil intended to narrow the scope of scholarly inquiry. But the hazard of focusing solely on Rome lies in how such a perspective tends to create the false sense that Rome was the only power in the Mediterranean with agency, surrounded by neighbors who were litt le more than helpless, luckless, and doomed. In order to fully appreciate the arc of Roman imperialism, we must keep the imperial trajectories of Rome’s peer rivals fully in our field of vision. There were in fact five great powers in the Mediterranean in the third and second centuries BCE. To the west were two imperial republics: Rome and Carthage. To the east were the three great Successor dynasties that emerged following the death of Alexander the Great: the Antigonids, in Macedonia; the Ptolemies, centered on Egypt; and the Seleucids, who ruled a vast if volatile Near Eastern domain that stretched from Anatolia to the Hindu Kush. Money and manpower were not the only manifestations of state power. Michael Mann’s useful if inevitably simplified taxonomy parses social power into military, economic, ideological, and political aspects, and even the ancients, as obsessed as they were with raw figures for troops and coins, were not ignorant of other, softer forms of power and how they might supplement raw military might.8 Polybius believed, for example, that a legionary fighting for his country might enjoy a moral advantage over a Carthaginian mercenary fighting for pay alone, so that issues of political connection and ideological legitimacy might be potent force multipliers on the batt lefield.9 But for the purposes of comparison, men and money can be quantified, whereas political fealty and ideological resonance cannot. My goal is not quantification for its own sake—it is meaningless on its face to say that Rome had x ships, or Carthage y. But quantification is essential for making comparisons—it may be quite relevant to our understanding of the Hellenistic Mediterranean if Rome had 4x ships and 3y heavy infantry while Carthage had only x and y.

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Introduction

Beyond the five great powers, other states in the Mediterranean proved themselves important players in the grand game of Mediterranean geopolitics. These included medium-sized kingdoms such as Numidia and Attalid Pergamon, Greek federal leagues (koina), particularly Achaea and Aetolia, and ambitious city-states such as Syracuse, Sparta, Athens, and Rhodes.10 Yet none of these middling or minor powers posed an existential threat to any of the five great ones. Not even in the most fevered counterfactual history would we imagine the Achaean League overthrowing the Seleucid Empire, or third-century BCE Syracuse sacking Rome. But the five great powers posed existential threats to the lesser ones: Rome sacked Syracuse in 212 and defeated and disbanded the Achaean League in 146, razing Corinth to the ground and leaving the site desolate for the next century. Macedonia terminated the Athenian democracy after the Lamian War, in 323; occupied Piraeus, by Athens, until 229; and deposed King Cleomenes III of Sparta in 222 after the Batt le of Sellasia. Seleucid field armies easily penned Attalid kings inside their citadel at Pergamon.11 The great powers likewise posed existential threats to one another, as can be seen in the ultimate outcome: Rome destroyed and eventually annexed all of its peer rivals. But Rome was not the only great power to menace its peers. Seleucus I nearly annexed Macedonia in 281 BCE, before his untimely murder; Ptolemy III occupied the Seleucid heartland in Syria and Mesopotamia in the 240s; Antiochus IV was briefly crowned king of Egypt in Memphis in 169 or 168, suggesting that he aimed for the annexation of Egypt.12 In the next section I provide a brief overview of the five great powers, their basic political configurations, their geographic extent, and their strategic horizons.

T h e Gr e at Pow er s The Ptolemaic Kingdom Ptolemy son of Lagus, one of Alexander’s lieutenants, had established himself early on as the satrap of Egypt following Alexander’s death, crowning himself king around 306 BCE. The Ptolemaic kings, or Ptolemies, controlled not only the Nile Valley but also Cyrene, Cyprus, and scattered territorial holdings around the Aegean, including much of coastal Asia Minor and Th race. Until about 200, Koilē (“Hollow”) Syria, extending between the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon mountains down to the rift valley of the Jordan River, was a Ptolemaic province, of key importance not only for its agricultural and timber resources but also for controlling the main invasion route into Egypt.13 The Ptolemies’ capital city and dynastic seat was Alexandria, founded by Alexander himself and home to the conqueror’s tomb,

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where his mummified corpse formed the centerpiece around which the Ptolemaic kings’ mummies were subsequently arranged. The Ptolemaic kings’ strategic priority was maintaining control of the extraordinary agricultural productivity of the Nile Valley, an intention that manifested in a conservative and largely antiexpansionary foreign policy. Ptolemaic kings were committed to holding the line in Koilē Syria, but with the exception of Ptolemy III’s invasion of Syria in the Th ird Syrian War, they did not aggressively seek territorial concessions from their Seleucid neighbors. The Ptolemies had traditions of hostility not only with the Seleucid dynasty but also with the Antigonid kings, with whom they engaged in at least one open war, the so-called Chremonidean War, during the 260s BCE, as well as numerous indirect hostilities through proxies such as Epirus, Athens, Sparta, and the Achaean League. In the face of persistent hostility with the other two Successor dynasties, Ptolemaic kings maintained friendly relationships with the two western republics, and indeed the diplomatic investment in a strong relationship with Rome proved the primary reason why the Ptolemaic dynasty was the longest-lived of any of the Hellenistic kingdoms.

The Seleucid Kingdom The Seleucid kingdom was highly unusual in that it was diasporic in nature, severed from the Macedonian homeland from which it had been colonized.14 The core of this empire was in many ways not any geographical region so much as the king himself and his peripatetic court. Seleucid kings asserted their control over their far-flung realm by continuing and intensifying a process of city foundation that had already started under Alexander and other Successors. These colonies, sett led with discharged Macedonian veterans as well as Aegean mercenaries and immigrants, were key elements of the Seleucid imperial project, serving as garrisons over conquered territory besides providing a pool of manpower from which the Seleucid field army was recruited.15 Notably, these colonies were not evenly distributed, but the foundations clustered in Syria, Asia Minor, and Mesopotamia. The most important foundation was the Syrian tetrapolis, comprising Antioch, Laodicea-ad-Mare, Apamea, and Seleucia Pieria (this last the site of the dynasty’s necropolis). Together these served as the closest thing the empire had to a capital. Still, the unusual political fluidity of the empire’s geography cannot be overstated. Seleucia Pieria, for example, which housed the tomb of Seleucus I, was captured and occupied by the Ptolemies for a generation, from 241 to 219 BCE, without causing obvious dynastic distress beyond mild embarrassment. Other centers in the polycephalic kingdom proved important, including Seleucia on the Tigris, in Mesopotamia, and Ephesus and Sardis, in Asia Mi-

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Introduction

nor. Seleucid control of territory past the Zagros Mountains was weak and intermittent. Like the Achaemenids, the Seleucids relied on provincial governors to remotely rule distant provinces; these were still colloquially called “satraps” after the Persian official, even if their formal title was either “general” (stratēgos) or “governor” (eparchos). Seleucid kings generally maintained three major areas of strategic focus, with an ideology that emphasized the restoration of the retreating boundaries of empire rather than imperium sine fine. Indeed, as Paul Kosmin has recently shown, royal propaganda effectively placed large parts of the known and unknown world off-limits, as kings following the death of Seleucus I eschewed claims to India, Central Asia, and even Macedonia.16 The fi rst area of focus held long-standing dynastic ambitions to conquer Koilē Syria from the Ptolemies, the root cause of six wars between 275 and 167 BCE, the so-called Syrian Wars. Although Seleucus had never controlled Koilē Syria, he had claimed the region prior to the Batt le of Ipsus, which saw the defeat of the Successor Antigonus the One-Eyed in 301, and was angered when his former ally Ptolemy I occupied it instead. Second, Seleucid kings took periodic actions to reassert control of their eastern territories. Th is was most spectacularly realized by the so-called anabasis of Antiochus III the Great, between 209 and 205 BCE. Other eastern campaigns were less successful. Seleucus II attempted to regain eastern possessions in the 240s but was badly defeated (and possibly even captured) by the Parthians. A second eastern expedition by Antiochus III, in 187, ended when he was killed sacking a temple in Elam. A similarly doomed campaign by his son Antiochus IV also ended with the king’s death in 164. Finally, Seleucid kings demonstrated a keen strategic interest in western Asia Minor, which Seleucus I captured from the Successor Lysimachus following the Batt le of Corupedium, in 281 BCE.17 Seleucid hegemony over the region was reduced by the migration of Gallic peoples into central Anatolia in the 270s, the breakaway of the Attalid kingdom (de facto in the 260s and officially in the 240s), and by the rebellions of the pretenders Antiochus Hierax (230s) and Achaeus (220–214). Antiochus the Great from 214 onward engaged in a series of campaigns in Anatolia, some under his royal supervision and some under his energetic viceroy, Zeuxis. These efforts successfully reasserted control over the region until it was irrevocably lost after the Roman victory at Magnesia, in 190, when the subsequent Treaty of Apamea set the northern boundary of the Seleucid realm at the Taurus Mountains.

Antigonid Macedonia In 272 BCE, Antigonus Gonatas, son of the erratic warlord Demetrius Poliorcetes, fi nally succeeded in establishing himself as the king of

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Macedonia, a position that his father had briefly held roughly two decades earlier, before Macedonia descended into a generation of violent chaos. Antigonid kings ruled as sovereigns over ethnic Macedonians (Makedones) while also exerting direct control over much of Thessaly and parts of Th race.18 Macedonian kings largely devoted themselves to two strategic goals: exerting hegemonic control over the cities of Greece and defending their lengthy northern frontier against various barbarian peoples who lived along the Danube. The pressures of these twin imperatives are illustrated by the fi nal days of Antigonus Doson, who after defeating Cleomenes of Sparta at Sellasia, in 222, was forced to rush north to deal with an incursion of Illyrian raiders, ultimately dying of natural causes on the campaign.19 Macedonian control over central Greece was exercised through large garrisons, especially at the so-called Fetters (Pedai) of Greece, Demetrias, Chalcis, and the Acrocorinth; another garrison, in Piraeus, by Athens, was withdrawn in 229 BCE.20 Macedonia faced regional opposition from the Aetolian and Achaean leagues, which contested Macedonian influence in central Greece and the northern Peloponnese, respectively. The combined opposition of both leagues represented a significant challenge to Macedonian hegemony in Greece, especially when the two were allied in the 230s. The apogee of Antigonid power, from the Batt le of Sellasia to the opening phase of the Second Macedonian War, came after the cities of the Achaean League had been co-opted as subordinate allies. The broader Aegean proved a tertiary but merely occasional concern to these Macedonian kings. Dynastic rivalry with the Ptolemies prompted intermittent Antigonid naval activities, culminating in Philip V’s campaigns in Caria and the Hellespont between 203 and 200.

The Roman Republic Rome, a large city in central Italy, had been an important but not particularly expansionary power until the middle of the fourth century BCE. Th is was in part because the city, a republic since 509, was riven by chronic social strife between the patricians (a closed aristocracy) and the plebeians (commoners), with rich plebeians seeking access to magisterial office and priesthoods while poor plebeians agitated for land distribution, debt relief, and limitations on the arbitrary power of magistrates.21 A series of halting reforms followed over the course of the fi ft h and fourth centuries, broadening plebeian access to office and ameliorating the conditions of the poorest plebs. Such incremental reforms nonetheless were key to transforming Rome into a military powerhouse. Plebeians entering the consulship, after 367, had reason to make a name for themselves through successful military operations, and patricians now had to keep pace in terms of military achievement.22

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Ferocious aristocratic competition proved a major driving force behind expansion. Meanwhile, improved economic and legal circumstances for common Romans, coupled with the introduction of military pay (stipendium) and the distribution of territory captured from the neighboring citystate of Veii in 396 BCE, allowed more Romans to serve in the legions. The development of Roman constitutional structures is obscure, but it is clear that by the mid-fourth century the basic elements were in place: annually elected magistrates; a senate of ex-magistrates exerting de facto control over fi nances, diplomacy, and grand strategy; and citizen assemblies that voted to elect magistrates, pass laws, and judge trials.23 Likewise, by the late fourth century the Roman army had adopted new infantry equipment (largely derived from the Celtic panoply) and tactics, chiefly those of the so-called manipular legion.24 Following a brief but decisive war with a league of Latin city-states between 340 and 338 BCE, the Romans annexed most of the Latin rebels as well as the neighboring Hernici directly into the citizen body (initially a punishment, given that this annexation dissolved local political communities); Capua was also annexed, along with the Campanian towns of Cumae and Suessula and the Volscian communities of Formiae and Fundi, with their people becoming Roman citizens without the vote (cives sine suff ragio). A few Latin and Hernician communities retained their independence and the residual communal rights of the now-defunct Latin League. Between 343 and 290 BCE, the Romans fought a series of wars against both a Samnite confederation to the south and Etruscan city-states to the north, culminating in the Th ird Samnite War, in which an Etruscan-Samnite coalition was smashed at Sentinum, in 295. Subsequent campaigns in Etruria and southern Italy in the 290s and 280s hardened Roman control over both regions; annexations of Sabine and Picentine territory bisected the Italian Peninsula with ager Romanus. Polybius reports a shift in hegemonic selfawareness: in response to the invasion of Pyrrhus, in 280, and the defection to him of many Italian peoples, the Romans “for the fi rst time attacked the rest of Italy not as if it were a foreign country but as if it rightfully belonged to them.”25 Roman control of Italy rested not only on physical infrastructure (especially roads and colonies) but also on a legal framework that mediated the relationship of conquered populations to the metropole. Many conquered peoples in central Italy were granted either full Roman citizenship or citizenship without the vote (civitas sine suff ragio), which imposed obligations (namely military service and the requirement to pay a war tax, the tributum) but also included valuable privileges, including commercium, the right to make and enforce contracts under Roman law, and conubium, the right to

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contract a Roman marriage.26 The right to vote (suff ragium) and run for office (ius honorum) in Rome were available only to full citizens (cives optimo iure), but notably communities sine suff ragio were often promoted to full citizenship after several generations. The Sabines, for example, were annexed sine suff ragio in 290 BCE and promoted to optimo iure status in 268.27 The last confi rmed enfranchisement, of a set of Volscian communities including Cicero’s hometown of Arpinum, took place in 188.28 Communities sine suff ragio retained their own political life, electing their own magistrates (including Oscan meddices at Capua) and controlling their own internal affairs. Meanwhile, the Romans granted a different variant of partial citizenship to settlers dispatched to Latin colonies, the Latin right (ius Latinum). Roman emigrants who joined Latin colonies surrendered their Roman citizenship to move abroad but retained a package of privileges, including conubium, commercium, and even the right to vote in Rome if present in the city during an election.29 Latin colonies did not pay tributum, but they were required to pay the soldiers whom they dispatched to the Roman army. Most Italian communities remained foreigners (peregrini), their relations with Rome defi ned by treaties and sett lements imposed by Rome. These Italian socii (euphemistically “allies”) paid no direct taxes or tribute to Rome, but almost all were required to supply soldiers to the Roman army (socii navales provided ships and crews) and to pay their own contingents. Rome’s newly established hegemony over the peninsula was challenged in 280 BCE by the invasion of Pyrrhus of Epirus, who infl icted two severe military defeats upon the Romans, at Heraclea and Asculum, but lost interest when the Romans declined to come to terms. Pyrrhus drifted to Sicily to fight the Carthaginians but, after alienating his allies there, returned to Italy, where he was defeated by the Romans at Beneventum, in 275.30 The errant king subsequently died in Argos fighting Antigonus Gonatas, in 272. Pyrrhus enjoyed close diplomatic links with the Ptolemaic dynasty, and Ptolemy II provided material support, including troops and money, to aid his Italian expedition.31 Yet Ptolemy II also established diplomatic relations with Rome in 273, after its impressive showing in the confl ict.32 The war also saw Carthage and Rome, with a long tradition of peace dating back to a treaty of 509, coordinate against Pyrrhus as a mutual enemy, an arrangement ratified through a treaty in 279.33 One effect of the Pyrrhic War was the linking of the Mediterranean into an increasingly integrated and intervisible international system. Yet even as Rome gained Mediterranean horizons and aspirations, the primary focus of Roman imperialism during the third and second centuries BCE remained the Italian Peninsula, especially expansion into the Po River Valley. (Th is was Gallia Cisalpina, “Cisalpine Gaul,” to the Romans.)

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Roman armies operated in the Po River Valley in the 230s and 220s, prompting a Gallic counterinvasion in 225 that was defeated in Etruria at the Batt le of Telamon. Roman campaigns in Gaul approached genocide in their ambitions and saw major colonization of the region, including homestead (viritim) allotments in 232 (passed as a popular law by the tribune Gaius Flaminius) and the creation of two colonies, at Cremona and Placentia, in 218.34 Hannibal’s daring invasion across the Alps in that same year was predicated on the prospect of recruiting troops from Gallic tribes hostile to Rome after years of Roman aggression and ethnic cleansing. Roman operations in Cisalpine Gaul continued into the 160s, and assaults against Ligurian peoples endured to the end of the second century. The Italian revolts during the Second Punic War also saw Rome stationing significant numbers of troops in Italy proper to secure parts of Etruria and southern Italy that had defected or wavered during Hannibal’s invasion, and these deployments continued into the 180s BCE. Rome devoted far less military or administrative attention to Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica after the First Punic War. No praetor in Sicily is attested prior to 227, when two new annual praetors were created for Sardinia and Sicily, and the legions returned to that island only in 225.35 Two provinces were created in Spain in 197 BCE, hardening control over a region that had initially been occupied on account of the strategic necessity of denying it to Carthage, with these provinces subsequently receiving the vast majority of troops deployed outside Italy during the second century. Despite the scholarly attention paid to Roman activities in the East, prompted by Polybius’s own keen interest in the matter, the eastern Mediterranean was a tertiary concern, with brief interventions in Illyria in 229 and 219 BCE, and the short if intensive wars against the Antigonids and Seleucids. No Roman troops were permanently deployed in the East until 148, with the annexation of Macedonia.36 Rome enjoyed a long tradition of peace with Carthage for much of its history, with treaties attested in 509, 348, and 279 BCE, a friendship that briefly looked as if it might reemerge following Carthaginian participation in the war against Antiochus III but was dashed by paranoia and hard-line ideology on the Roman side in the 150s. Warm relations with the Ptolemaic dynasty proved more enduring, from the 270s down to the war of Octavian against Antony and Cleopatra (33–30).37 Diplomatic relations with the Seleucid Empire can be attested from the 220s BCE, possibly initiated in response to Seleucid campaigns around the city of Troy.38 Disputes with the Seleucids began to erupt only in 196, after the Roman victory in the Second Macedonian War, as the only other ma-

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jor power now left in the Mediterranean was Antiochus III, whose territorial ambitions extended into Rome’s newly established sphere of influence.

Carthage Carthage, its name meaning “New City” in Punic, was by the fourth century BCE the most prominent and powerful community to emerge from the Phoenician diaspora of the early Iron Age. Carthage, like Rome, was a republic, governed by two elected magistrates (šufet.s, “shofets”: “judges”), a senate, a separate council of 104 responsible for governmental oversight, and citizens voting in a popular assembly, a form of mixed government that earned warm approval from Aristotle two centuries before Polybius praised the mixed constitution of the Romans.39 Carthaginian expansionism, often in concert with other Phoenician communities, initially focused on Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica. Carthage’s activities in Sicily intensified after the Athenian invasion of 415–413 BCE, and Carthage directly occupied portions of western Sicily after the Batt le of Himera, in 409, and until the evacuation of Lilybaeum, in 241.40 Carthage never achieved full control over the island, although Carthaginian aggression did on occasion prompt Syracuse to summon foreign champions to ward off the Punic threat, including Timoleon of Corinth in the 340s and Pyrrhus in the 270s. Carthage focused significant albeit poorly documented military efforts upon its extensive western frontier, with campaigns against the Numidian groups who lived along what is today the Tunisian-Algerian border. Indeed, Carthage’s western frontier was strategically its most critical, given the proximity to Carthage itself and the Libyan allies under direct Car thagin ian control. Ironically, Carthage seems to have enjoyed significant successes in Africa during the First Punic War, a fact that may have distracted the Carthaginians from their war with Rome. In the early 240s BCE, the general Hanno the Great successfully captured the Libyan city of Hecatompylus (Roman Theveste), on the modern-day Tunisian-Algerian border, which seems to have represented the western extent of direct Carthaginian power.41 The loss of Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica after the First Punic War, and a mercenary revolt that nearly overwhelmed the city in 240 BCE, prompted a new imperial policy, spearheaded by Hamilcar Barca, who starting in 237 set about carving out a new domain in the Iberian Peninsula. The project was inherited fi rst by his son-in-law Hasdrubal, who commanded in Spain from 228 to 221, and then by his son Hannibal, who was elevated to command by the soldiers in 221. Th is empire in Iberia, providing both silver and recruits,

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Introduction

would prove the material basis of Carthage’s near victory in the Second Punic War. A well-established border between Ptolemaic Cyrene and Carthage helped to maintain a state of peace and friendship between Carthage and the Ptolemaic dynasty, good relations perhaps aided by the fact that Ptolemaic kings controlled Carthage’s mother-city, Tyre, until the Fift h Syrian War.42 Carthage and Macedonia signed a peace treaty in 215 BCE, at a moment when Hannibal’s victory over Rome seemed all but assured.43 The Seleucid capture of Tyre, around 200, may have prompted Carthage to seek closer relations with that dynasty, ultimately allowing Hannibal in exile to enter the Seleucid court of Antiochus III via Tyre. Carthage, however, was compelled in defeat to support Rome in the war against Antiochus III, providing grain and ships to the war effort.

T h e T i m e Fr a m e In these pages, I examine the international system that existed from roughly 280 to 168 BCE, although much of the literary evidence from Polybius and Livy is concentrated in the narrower temporal band of 220–168. The 280s saw the fi rst successful dynastic transitions in the Ptolemaic and Seleucid kingdoms, as Ptolemy II succeeded his father, Ptolemy I, in 283, and Antiochus I came to power after Seleucus I’s death, in 281. Meanwhile, the tumultuous 270s fi nally saw the restoration of a strong dynasty in Macedonia, as Antigonus Gonatas (whose father, Demetrius Poliorcetes, had briefly ruled Macedonia in the 290s) reclaimed his father’s throne after defeating marauding Celtic war bands in 277. Briefly deposed by Pyrrhus in 274, he clung to a handful of strongholds and reasserted himself permanently after Pyrrhus’s death, ruling until 239 and succeeded by his son Demetrius II. Meanwhile, the failure of Pyrrhus’s expedition represented a major triumph for both Rome in Italy and Carthage in Sicily. The rough terminus for this study will be 168 BCE, although occasionally I examine relevant data that fall outside this marker. That year’s Roman victory at Pydna signaled a new, unipolar order in the Mediterranean.44 Carthage had fallen as a great power after the defeat in the Second Punic War, in 201, and now the Antigonid dynasty was overthrown, with Macedonia being divided into four independent republics. Again in 168, the Roman ambassador Gaius Popillius Laenas single-handedly turned back the Seleucid king Antiochus IV from his invasion of Egypt by drawing a circle around the king in the sand and ordering him not to step out of it until he had decided

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to withdraw his army.45 The image of a Roman legate humiliating a Seleucid dynast to preserve an enfeebled Ptolemaic king, in the immediate aftermath of the decisive carnage at Pydna, heralded a new era of unchallenged Roman hegemony.

K now n M i lita ry Ou tcom e s The five great powers were frequently at war, providing a welldocumented pattern of military outcomes. It is significant for this comparative study that these wars tended to be iterative: three Punic Wars, four Macedonian, and six Syrian. Although the outcome of any single war may have been determined by the vagaries of military leadership, the fortuitous outcome of a strategy, the training and discipline of a particular army, or even dumb luck, the outcome of a series of wars is more likely to reflect fundamental disparities of state power between the combatants. Therefore the known outcomes of iterative wars give us the best sense of the several states’ relative strengths, which can be correlated with the two metrics of state power queried in this project. A brief narrative survey of the military details of the various wars is therefore worthwhile.

The Punic Wars: 264–146 BCE Rome fought three wars against Carthage, collectively known as the Punic Wars (264–241, 218–201, and 149–146 BCE). The opening phase of the First Punic War saw Roman armies quickly achieve significant victories in eastern Sicily, followed by naval triumphs at Mylae and Ecnomus by freshly constructed Roman fleets against more experienced Carthaginian armadas.46 However, the Carthaginians annihilated the Roman expeditionary force that invaded Africa in 255 BCE, and the Romans subsequently suffered heavy naval losses in storms. In 249, the Carthaginians savaged another Roman fleet off Drepana, and the Romans did not construct another fleet for seven years, even as their legions kept the Carthaginian garrison in Sicily cooped up on the western tip of the island, around the main Carthaginian base at Lilybaeum. In 241, a new fleet was built—fi nanced through subscriptions from wealthy senators rather than war taxes (tributum)—and subsequently deployed to sever Carthage’s seaborne supply lines to western Sicily. Th is new fleet intercepted and destroyed a Carthaginian relief force near the Egadi Islands, compelling Carthage to surrender. In the aftermath of the war, Carthage found itself unable to conjure sufficient funds to pay dis-

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charged mercenaries, sparking a mutiny that escalated into a wider Libyan revolt, which for a time existentially threatened Carthage itself.47 The overall military narrative of the First Punic War is one of two powers roughly equal in resources at the outset, with the length of the war and the heavy losses on both sides straining those resources to the breaking point. At the outbreak of the Second Punic War, while the Romans were contemplating twin invasions of Spain, where Carthage had developed a new empire, and North Africa, Hannibal completely surprised them with his daring invasion of Italy over the Alps.48 Reinforced by Gallic recruits, Hannibal proceeded to infl ict a series of monumental defeats on Roman field armies, shattering two consular armies at Trebia in 218 BCE and ambushing and annihilating a consular army on the march at Lake Trasimene in 217. In perhaps the most ingenious tactical masterpiece in military history, he enveloped and massacred two reinforced consular armies at Cannae in 216.49 Well over a hundred thousand Roman and Italian soldiers were killed between 218 and 216 BCE. Following the catastrophe at Cannae, Rome suffered a series of defections, including by the Capuans (not simply allies but cives sine suff ragio) and numerous socii in southern Italy (among them Samnites, Lucanians, and Brutt ians) as well as Syracuse, a Roman ally since 263. The Romans undertook a series of extraordinary measures, including arming slaves, conscripting boys, and debasing the value of their bronze coinage to claw back from the brink of ruin. By 212, the Romans had introduced a new silver coin, the denarius, and managed to recapture Syracuse, even as they suffered new reverses with the destruction of two proconsular armies in Spain and a fresh defeat by Hannibal at Herdonia. But the tide had turned. In 210, a new commander was dispatched to Spain, Publius Cornelius Scipio, the future Africanus, who subsequently captured the Carthaginian base at New Carthage (209), and then defeated Carthaginian armies in the Baetis Valley at Baecula (208) and Ilipa (206).50 After Baecula, Hannibal’s brother Hasdrubal attempted to take an army to reinforce Italy, only to be intercepted and killed at the Metaurus River (207). Scipio, elected consul in 205, invaded Africa the next year. The Carthaginians managed to forge an alliance with a rising Numidian king, Syphax. Scipio in turn sponsored the dubious royal claims of Masinissa, a second-string prince of the Massylii Numidians. Still not strong enough to confront the combined armies of Carthage and Numidia directly in set-piece batt le, Scipio instead launched a nighttime ambush against their poorly secured camps, sett ing them aflame and massacring those who fled the blaze. He subsequently defeated a hastily cobbledtogether Carthaginian-Numidian army at the Great Plains in 204, a victory that forced Carthage to sue for peace. The redeployment of Hannibal’s army from Italy to Africa gave Carthage

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the confidence to restart hostilities, but Scipio won a decisive victory over Hannibal at Zama in 202 BCE, ending the war.51 The peace treaty after Zama stripped Carthage of its overseas possessions and drastically curtailed its military forces, ending its status as a great power. The basic military narrative of the Second Punic War presents a brutal confrontation between two quite evenly matched powers, each undertaking mass mobilizations of men, money, and ships, and both capable of suffering and infl icting enormous losses. The Th ird Punic War, from 149 to 146 BCE, was one of the most cynical confl icts in Mediterranean history, when Rome for largely ideological reasons initiated a war against a much-reduced Carthage after it dared protect itself from incursions by Masinissa, whom Scipio had established as the king of Numidia. Although the city fought with a determination that frustrated poorly led Roman armies seeking to besiege it, it fell nonetheless in 146. Polybius watched Roman troops raze the city to the ground while the Roman commander, Scipio Aemilianus, quoted Homer and shed philosophical tears.52

The Macedonian Wars: 215–148 BCE Rome fought four wars with Macedonia between 215 and 148 BCE. The First Macedonian War was a response to Philip V’s decision to make a treaty with Hannibal following Cannae, exposed when the document was intercepted by the Romans. Rome initially sought to fight the war primarily by using the cities of the Aetolian League as proxies, although it eventually committed modest forces to the theater.53 In 206, the Aetolians made a separate peace with Philip, and the Romans ended the desultory war the next year in what was effectively a draw. In 200 BCE, the Romans, after some hesitation by the war-weary voters in the comitia centuriata, again declared war on Macedonia, largely in response to Philip V’s aggressive Aegean campaigns and following rumors that Philip and Antiochus III planned to divide the weakened Ptolemaic realm between them after the death of Ptolemy IV.54 Aided by the Aetolian and Achaean federal leagues (the latter fl ipped to Rome in 198), the proconsul Titus Flamininus fi nally encountered and destroyed Philip’s field army in Thessaly, at Cynoscephalae, in 197. Despite Roman frustrations early in the war and the strong performance of the Macedonian pike phalanx in the opening maneuvers at Cynoscephalae, this Second Macedonian War was handily won by Rome after a single set-piece batt le.55 Philip V in defeat proved a reliable Roman ally and accordingly was allowed to engage in a modest expansionary program in the 180s BCE. His

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Introduction

son Perseus continued to redevelop Macedonia’s internal resources while also expanding his boundaries, and Roman alarm over his rising power prompted the Th ird Macedonian War against Perseus, as well as his Illyrian ally, Genthius, in 171.56 The Romans again struggled to achieve a decision in the fi rst years of the war, even suffering a sharp setback in a cavalry skirmish at Callinicus, in Thessaly, in 171. A new Roman consul, Lucius Aemilius Paullus, took command and gingerly maneuvered into Macedonia itself. After some hesitation, a batt le fi nally erupted outside Pydna in 168 (supposedly sparked by pickets fighting over an escaped horse or mule) in which the Romans successfully routed and destroyed the Macedonian army.57 Perseus surrendered shortly afterward and died a captive in Italy. Like the Second Macedonian War, the Th ird Macedonian War was decided by a single decisive engagement, although with similar early Roman frustrations and another strong but insufficient performance by Macedonian pikemen in the fi nal confrontation. After Pydna, the Romans abolished the Antigonid monarchy and divided Macedonian territory into four separate republics. The Fourth Macedonian War (150–148 BCE) saw a pretender, Andriscus (sometimes referred to by the ancient sources as Pseudo-Philip), claim to be the son of Perseus and rouse the Macedonians to revolt. Although a praetorian force hastily mustered to deal with the revolt was overwhelmed, the Romans subsequently crushed the rebels and annexed Macedonia as a province.

The Romano-Seleucid (“Syrian”) War: 191–188 BCE Rome fought only a single war against the Seleucid Empire, soundly defeating Antiochus III on land and sea and forcing him make substantial territorial concessions.58 Although this victory represents only a single data point, the course of the war on the whole suggests that Rome handily outmatched the Seleucid kingdom in terms of military capacity. After Antiochus the Great invaded Greece with a small expeditionary force, a Roman consular army rapidly deployed to the Greek mainland and annihilated Antiochus’s army at Thermopylae, turning the pass just as Xerxes had done in 480 BCE. A combined Roman-Rhodian armada subsequently smashed the Seleucid fleet at Myonessus, allowing a consular army commanded by Lucius Scipio to cross the Hellespont, where it subsequently won a decisive victory at Magnesia-ad-Sipylum (190) thanks to a well-timed cavalry charge led by King Eumenes II of Pergamon.59 Antiochus sued for peace, accepting the loss of his holdings across the Taurus Mountains, which he had spent much of his life campaigning to control. No Seleucid king would dare to challenge the Romans again, as the sub-

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sequent interaction between Popillius Laenas and Antiochus IV at Eleusis made clear.

The Syrian Wars: 275–168 BCE The Ptolemies and the Seleucids fought six major wars between 275 and 168 BCE.60 The First Syrian War (ca. 275–271) seems to have resulted in a draw, although Ptolemy I benefited from the status quo in retaining Koilē Syria. The Second Syrian War (260–253) may have been a modest Ptolemaic victory, as its peace was sealed by having Antiochus II marry Berenice, the daughter of Ptolemy II, which raised the possibility of a Ptolemy’s grandson inheriting the Seleucid throne. Indeed, the death of Antiochus II spawned a succession crisis that sparked the Th ird Syrian (or Laodicean) War (246– 241), with Ptolemy III supporting his infant nephew against Antiochus II’s elder son, Seleucus II. The war was a smashing tactical victory for Ptolemy, who captured Seleucia Pieria and Antioch, and marched his phalanx as far as Babylon.61 However, Berenice and her child were murdered, nullifying Ptolemy’s principal war aim. He withdrew his forces to respond to disturbances in Egypt, although the Ptolemies retained control of Seleucia Pieria.62 The Fourth Syrian War (220–217 BCE) was launched by Antiochus III, an ambitious young king seeking to restore the troubled fortunes of his dynasty. Aided by the defection of the Ptolemaic mercenary commander in Koilē Syria, Antiochus occupied the province, successfully recapturing Seleucia Pieria. In 217, he marched toward Egypt and was confronted by a hastily mustered Ptolemaic army at Raphia in one of the largest land batt les of the Hellenistic period.63 The Ptolemaic phalanx, enlarged with the emergency recruitment of native Egyptians, drove back its Seleucid counterpart with heavy losses, forcing Antiochus to sue for peace. In 204/203 BCE, the sudden death of Ptolemy IV, who was succeeded by his five-year old son Ptolemy V, prompted the so-called Pact between the Kings, in which Antiochus III and Philip V agreed to divide up the Ptolemaic holdings in the Aegean and the Levant. Antiochus again invaded Koilē Syria, initiating the Fift h Syrian War (ca. 201–196), and after scoring a major victory in Syria at Paneion (date uncertain; between 201 and 199), achieved his dynasty’s long-held ambition of the valley’s annexation. Antiochus subsequently targeted other Ptolemaic holdings in southern Asia Minor with an expanded fleet, a campaign that caught the attention of Roman commissioners as they sett led affairs in the East after the Second Macedonian War. Antiochus III concluded the successful war by marrying his daughter Cleopatra Syra to Ptolemy V. The Sixth Syrian War saw Antiochus IV invade Egypt in both 169 and

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Introduction

168  BCE, exploiting dynastic squabbles in Egypt between Ptolemy VI and the future Ptolemy VIII. By 168, after the failure of his initial sett lement recognizing Ptolemy VI as king, Antiochus seemed ready to annex Egypt into his realm, but withdrew upon the order of Popillius Laenas. Overall, the seesawing military events of the six Syrian Wars suggest two evenly matched opponents, with decision in any one war owing more to dynastic than to military factors (the Seleucid succession crisis in 246 or the botched Ptolemaic regency in 204/203).

Antigonid–Ptolemaic Hostilities Macedonia saw two periods of hostility with the Ptolemaic dynasty. The fi rst was the so-called Chremonidean War (ca. 268–258 BCE), in which Ptolemy II supported a revolt by Athens, going so far as to land sailors in Attica. Antigonus Gonatas scored a major naval victory over the Ptolemaic fleet at Cos in either 261 or 258, which probably represented the fi nal batt le of this poorly documented confl ict. At some other point, perhaps in the mid-240s, Antigonus also defeated a Ptolemaic fleet at Andros.64 Philip V’s campaigns in Caria and the Aegean from 203 to 201 were primarily directed against Ptolemaic holdings and should be classed as a Macedonian-Ptolemaic confl ict. Philip made some modest territorial gains but also suffered sharp reverses, especially a naval batt le in 201 at Chios, where his fleet was battered by the fleets of Rhodes and Pergamon, traditional Ptolemaic allies and proxies. It is difficult to draw conclusions about the relative strength of the two powers based on these limited confrontations, although Macedonia was certainly the beneficiary as Ptolemaic naval hegemony in the Aegean waned. Rome did not fight a war with the Ptolemaic dynasty during the period under consideration. Indeed, the Ptolemaic kingdom managed to endure in part because Ptolemaic kings successfully cultivated diplomatic ties with the Roman aristocracy; a Ptolemy went so far as to request the hand of Cornelia, the daughter of Scipio Africanus and mother of the brothers Gracchi; the matron pointedly declined.65 Cleopatra VII’s successive romantic relationships with Julius Caesar and Mark Antony in the 40s and 30s BCE can be seen as the sexualized intensification of a long-standing dynastic practice of friendship with Rome.

M et hods a n d Sou rce s Th is study is possible because literary sources frequently refer to the size of military forces as well as occasionally to state revenue and collec-

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tion. The most important historian of this period was Polybius, an Achaean statesman who wrote in the mid-second century BCE in Rome, where he had been taken as a hostage following the Th ird Macedonian War.66 Polybius’s father, Lycortas, had served as the Achaean League’s annually elected general (stratēgos), and Polybius himself was elected as the league’s cavalry commander (hipparchos) before his deportation cut short his rising political career. Polybius’s background as a military commander and civic politician pointedly informs his work, which is particularly valuable for us because of his connections to high-level decision makers. He was a friend of Scipio Aemilianus, who introduced him to other members of the Roman senatorial elite: Polybius interacted with Gaius Laelius, a top lieutenant of Scipio Africanus and consul of 190, Cato the Elder, and Aemilius Paullus, the victor at Pydna; in addition, he conversed with Masinissa, the king of Numidia.67 Polybius was also a personal friend of the Seleucid prince Demetrius, a fellow hostage who, having escaped with Polybius’s aid, subsequently assumed the Seleucid throne in 161.68 Polybius’s contacts made it possible for him to enjoy an easy and largely unrestricted exile and to engage in archival research in Rome.69 He also had immediate access to other Hellenistic histories now lost, including the Roman history of Fabius Pictor, the Carthaginian history of Sosylus, the narratives of Timaeus and Phylarchus, which focused on the western Mediterranean, and the work of Zeno of Rhodes.70 Writing in the Augustan era, and generally considered somewhat inferior to Polybius as a critical historian, Livy (Titus Livius) is in fact more valuable to this project than Polybius, particularly with respect to reconstructing Roman military deployments and fiscal outlays.71 Livy wrote in the annalistic tradition, structuring his narrative by the ebbs and flows of the consular years, and for the opening of each year often provided invaluable information about the yearly state of legionary deployments. In describing triumphs, Livy routinely enumerated the loot that was carried, thus offering insight into not only the cash flows of the aerarium but also the wealth of defeated parties. The ultimate sources of this information were likely public documents available to Livy or his sources. John Rich has argued that the oftenmaligned Valerius Antias may have provided Livy with much of the archival material in his history.72 The quantification reflected in Livy was also part of a broader Roman aristocratic culture of quantified (but also verifiable) accomplishments. In one of the earliest Roman victory monuments, the naval column of Gaius Duilius, we see enumerations of the ships he sank or captured and the sums of gold and silver paid into the treasury.73 Such quantifications, whether preserved in archival documents or blazoned on public monuments, routinely informed Livy’s history. In general, ancient states kept close and copious records of military man-

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Introduction

power and fiscal flows. In a few instances, scraps of such records have survived, most notably from papyrus dumps in Egypt. Such records are important for this project less for their actual content, as they provide only random snippets of information, but more as samples of a robust bureaucratic infrastructure that allowed a state to know basic facts about its military and fiscal resources. We know, for example, that Egyptian authorities had a rough sense of how much land was under cultivation, information closely correlated with anticipated tax yields.74 The inscribed royal letters from Seleucid western Asia Minor also attest royal records of estates and dependents, and they reference muster rolls of military sett lers maintained by various communities.75 In Rome, the census produced a massive record of all Roman citizens liable for taxation and military service. State agents also kept careful accounts of both armies and expenditures. When Scipio Africanus was accused of graft in 187 BCE, he supposedly tore up the record books and told his accusers to fi nd their evidence amid the tattered accounts.76 When the Numantines defeated a Roman army in 138 and sent it home following a humiliating treaty, one lonely Roman dared to approach the walls of the city. It was the army’s young quaestor Tiberius Gracchus, pleading for the return of his account books, for which he needed to account upon his return to Rome.77 Both vignettes assume that Roman officials in the second century were required to keep careful records for which they could be held publicly accountable. Because ancient authors routinely provide explicit information about the magnitude of military deployments, my discussion of military manpower is methodologically straightforward: compile literary references to military deployments, discuss the ample historiographical tradition surrounding them, and produce critical evidence-based conclusions. Our sources are not, however, routinely explicit about state-level fi nances. Only one source, St. Jerome, reports the annual revenue of any great power during this period, for Egypt. Reconstructing the fi nances of ancient states is therefore rather like modern-day forensic accounting. If a modern businessman is accused of embezzlement, for example, a forensic accountant may prove the case by showing that his expenditures (a fancy car, a luxury mansion, a boat) exceed his stated salary. Forensic accounting for ancient states involves integrating known factors (especially reports of loot and indemnities) with reasoned estimates for unknown aspects. Given that the major state expenditure was for military forces, it is possible to produce reasonable estimates of military spending by factoring the size of military forces discussed in the fi rst part of the project with attested pay rates. Such forensic accounting will not produce an estimate that is accurate down to the denarius, drachma, or shekel, but it will produce a general magnitude that can be useful in a comparative framework.

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Th is project has many layers of error. The fi rst begins with the ancient recordkeepers themselves, whose official figures must have been marred by some degree of incompetence or even corruption. The next layer of error comes from the ancient historians and how much their figures may be tainted by sloppy research, exaggeration for patriotic or dramatic purposes, or blatant falsification. Another layer of error arises in the manuscript tradition, where it was easy for a bleary-eyed scribe to corrupt a number. Finally, my own interpretations, estimates, and analyses, while reasoned, are hardly infallible. What is the margin of error for this project? I hope that the estimates of manpower mobilizations and state revenues are off by no more than 10 percent. I suspect that the margin of error for better-attested military manpower deployments is much lower than for my reconstructions of state finances, which involve more historical judgment calls. But in truth I do not know what the margin of error is. Here the comparative framework is critical. Within a comparative framework, the reader can see what margin of error would render untenable the comparative analysis that I make. For example, if I suggest that Rome possessed a military advantage because it had 100x compared with Carthage’s 50x, then it is possible to assess how great an error must negate my statement—if I (say) overestimated Rome by 100 percent or underestimated Carthage by 50 percent, or if I overestimated Rome by 33 percent and simultaneously underestimated Carthage by the same, and so forth. Large differentials within a comparative framework are therefore far more likely to be analytically useful, whereas small differentials are more likely to be the product of various layers of error.

Ou t li n e of t h e Book Part I of this book comprises a reconstruction of manpower resources. In chapter 1, I examine the manpower deployments of the Roman Republic, and I discuss the manpower mobilization by the other four powers in chapter 2. Part II concerns the state revenues of each power. In chapter 3, I reconstruct the fi nances of the Roman Republic, focusing on the years from 200 to 157 BCE and reevaluating Tenney Frank’s earlier assessment of Republican fi nances. In chapter 4 I then reconstruct the revenues of the other four powers. In the conclusion, I discuss how revenues and fi nances relate to the geopolitical trajectory of each power and ultimately the rise of Rome as Mediterranean hegemon. The Romans enjoyed a substantial advantage over any Hellenistic power’s maximum mobilization rate, with a peak deployment of about 185,000 sol-

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diers in 212 BCE. By comparison, the maximum Seleucid and Ptolemaic mobilizations stood at around 80,000, and Macedonian mobilization peaked at about 50,000. Although this advantage in military manpower is important in explaining why Rome defeated the Seleucid and Macedonian kingdoms, it is noteworthy that Rome deployed only a fraction of its manpower against these kingdoms and frequently fought outnumbered in the decisive batt les of the period. Moreover, Rome lacked significant manpower superiority over Carthage during much of the Second Punic War. In fact, during the opening decade of that war, Carthage deployed more soldiers than Rome did. Here the varying manpower strategies of the two states proved decisive. Carthage managed to detach some of Rome’s Italian allies, but an enormous core of citizen manpower remained to Rome’s advantage. Even if Carthage’s military deployment rivaled Rome’s in size, with approximately 165,000 troops deployed in 215 BCE, most of these were only tenuously linked to the city through diplomatic bonds or coercive ties. The absence of a large core of citizen troops at Carthage, as Polybius himself noted, was a serious disadvantage. On the side of state fi nance, there is a surprising lack of connection between state revenues and military success. The wealthiest state, the Ptolemaic dynasty, extracted enormous revenues from the agricultural regions of Egypt and its broader empire in the Aegean (roughly 90 million Ptolemaic drachmas), but after the middle of the third century BCE the geopolitical fortunes of the dynasty declined markedly. Meanwhile, the Romans had perhaps the smallest revenues during the third century (ca. 4 million denarii, rising to around 13 million in the second century), and their lack of fiscal sophistication was embodied numismatically by a clumsy system of cast-bronze coinage that was abandoned only during the Second Punic War. Revenues did rise over the course of Rome’s successful imperial activity in the second century but remained modest even during the period of unquestioned military dominance. The three Hellenistic powers displayed far more correlation between their revenues, military mobilizations, and overall military success. Macedonia was underresourced both in manpower and in revenues but fought better than might have been expected because of its effective, well-organized army, based on a heavily militarized citizenry. The Ptolemies and Seleucids both enjoyed high revenues and large mobilizations, even if never approaching the scope of Roman and Carthaginian musters. Yet dynastic difficulties in both states and a tripartite balance of power in the East prevented either power from gaining permanent control there. Ultimately, Carthage was the only serious challenger to Rome. Like Rome, Carthage was centrally located, a geographic advantage that could

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have allowed extending domination over the whole Mediterranean Basin. During the Second Punic War, Carthage’s revenues and manpower mobilization equaled and at times exceeded Rome’s. It is not difficult to imagine an alternative history in which Carthage achieved hegemony in the Mediterranean. Ultimately, however, Rome’s republican system of government, its expansive system of citizenship, maintenance of a militarized citizenry, and exploitation of Italian subjects for military service rather than tributary extraction, allowed the Roman state to raise unusually large, effective military forces despite a limited fiscal base.

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Part I

M a n p ow e r

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C h a p t e r On e

Roman Manpower

Pow er Effect i v e Thanks largely to the annual notices in Livy of legionary deployments, Roman manpower deployments are well attested from 218 to 167 BCE. Livy, however, does not always list precise legionary strengths in his deployment notices, and he is not above sloppiness in his enumeration. I follow Peter Brunt on the number of legions, although in some instances I will deviate from his estimate of total deployed strength. In a few instances I have rounded his figures to the nearest five thousand in light of the uncertainty about the actual strength of any given legion. For my estimate of the allies, I assume at the start of the Second Punic War a 2:3 ratio of Roman to Italian troops, based on the initial mobilization in 218, when Livy reports 26,800 Roman infantry and 44,400 Italians, just over 2:3.1 For 218–217, I assume that the average legion size was 4,500 (4,200 infantry, 300 cavalry).2 In 216, the Romans deployed eight legions of 5,000 infantry and 300 cavalry at Cannae, and I assume the remaining seven legions contained 4,200 infantry and 300 cavalry.3 After Cannae, the heavy casualties of the iterated disasters, combined with the defection of so many Italian communities, would have significantly strained the availability of Italian manpower. Polybius reports that in 210 BCE, Publius Scipio had some 28,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry.4 Livy, in his annalistic summary of legions, indicates that this represented four legions and their allied wings.5 Scipio’s legions and wings therefore had on average 3,500 infantry, making them modestly understrength, even for this critical offensive campaign. For legions from 215 to 206 I assume this understrength figure of 3,500 infantry and 200 cavalry per legion. The Latin colonies remained loyal but were overburdened by Rome’s in-

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Part I. Manpower

creasingly onerous demands for troops. In 209 BCE, twelve colonies refused to send further detachments.6 Therefore, for the period from 215 to 201, I assume a 1:1 ratio of Romans to allies.7 For the period from 205 to 193 BCE, I assume the legions maintained a paper strength of 4,200 infantry and 300 cavalry, and that the actual strength was kept close to the paper strength through a program of annual reinforcements (supplementa). Scipio’s legions in the African campaign seem to have been at this strength.8 Flamininus’s legions at Cynoscephalae, a major campaign by any account, contained only 16,000 Roman and Italian infantry, implying equal legions and alae roughly 4,200 strong; one maneuver unit at the Batt le of the Aoös Pass was 4,000 strong, likely representing a detached legion.9 After a decade of demographic recovery following the end of the Hannibalic War, the figure of 5,200 men per legion again became standard. Acilius Glabrio’s army in 191 BCE consisted of 22,000 infantry, implying two legions 5,200 strong and perhaps two allied wings 6,000 strong (with more Italian cohorts deployed into the theater as garrison troops).10 L. Scipio deployed 5,400 infantry legions at Magnesia in 190, slightly overstrength given the importance of the campaign.11 Although it is unclear exactly when the Romans transitioned to legions with 5,200 infantry as the standard strength, for the purposes of my calculation I will tabulate all legions from 191 BCE onward at this strength. It is quite likely that smaller legions were still occasionally used in some of the less militarily active provinces, in which case my numbers would slightly overstate the deployed figure. In 169 and 168 the two legions deployed to Macedonia were strengthened to 6,000 infantry and 300 cavalry.12 The routinely attested supplementa reported by Livy suggest a consistent policy of keeping legions at or near paper strength. Livy’s fourth decade also provides a number of data points about the number of Italians mobilized alongside the legions, which is laid out in table 1.1. The ratio of Romans to allies fluctuated, standing roughly at 2:3 overall but varying between 1:1 and 1:2. The ratio dipped toward 1:1 around 177 BCE. Th is may owe to demographic problems in Italian communities, especially those affl icted by land confiscations in the south, although the demographic recovery of the Roman citizen body may also have facilitated greater parity. For the period 200–179 BCE, I simply take the number of legions and multiply by 8,000 to produce the number of allies, which implies an assumption of 7,500 infantry and 500 cavalry raised per legion. For the period 178–168, I take the number of legions and multiply by 5,500. In table 1.2, Roman and allied troop strengths are rounded to the nearest thousand; the total, to the nearest five thousand. As a result, the numbers in a total will not always add up precisely. My summation deviates slightly from Brunt’s, although the basic magnitude of Roman deployments is the same.

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Ta bl e 1.1. A l l i e d t roops prov i de d pe r f r e sh ly r a ise d Rom a n l egion, 195–169 BCE Year

Infantry

Cavalry

195 193 192 192 191 190 190 188 182 181 180 180 179 177 177 177 176 174 173 171 171 171 169 169

7,500 7,500 7,500 10,000 10,000 10,000 7,500 7,500 7,500 7,500 7,500 6,000 7,500 5,000 6,000 5,000 5,000 5,000 5,000 8,000 6,000 3,750 5,000 4,000

400 250 250 400 400 400 300 600 400 400 400 300 400 300 300 250 300 300 300 400 300 300 300 250

Source Livy 33.42.3 Livy 34.56.6 Livy 35.20.5, 20 Livy 35.20.4 Livy 35.41.7 Livy 37.2.6 Livy 37.2.6 Livy 38.35.9 Livy 40.1.5 Livy 40.18.5 Livy 40.36.6 Livy 40.36.11 Livy 40.44.3 Livy 41.14.10 Livy 41.9.2 Livy 41.9.4 Livy 41.14.10 Livy 41.21.4 Livy 41.22.5 Livy 42.31.4 Livy 42.31.4 Livy 42.35.5 Livy 42.12.6 Livy 43.12.7

From 214 to 203 BCE, despite massive casualties, the Romans managed to maintain over 150,000 active soldiers. The largest mobilization overall came in 212–211, when the Romans fielded roughly 185,000 soldiers in twentyfive legions. The largest deployment of the second century came in 190, during the Romano-Seleucid War, when the Romans fielded thirteen legions, roughly 175,000 men.

M a n pow er St r at egi e s Our most complete listing of Italian manpower is provided by Polybius, describing the Roman preparations for an anticipated Gallic

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Ta bl e 1.2. E st i m at e d Rom a n t roop depl oy m e n ts, 218–168 BCE

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Year

Legions

Romans

Allies

Total

218 217 216 215 214 213 212 211 210 209 208 207 206 205 204 203 202 201 200 199 198 197 196 195 194 193 192 191 190 189 188 187 186 185 184 183 182 181 180 179

6 11 15 15 20 22 25 25 21 21 21 23 20 18 19 20 16 14 8 6 8 6 10 10 8 8 10 12 13 12 12 8 10 8 8 8 10 8 8 8

27,000 50,000 74,000 56,000 74,000 81,000 93,000 93,000 78,000 78,000 78,000 85,000 74,000 81,000 86,000 90,000 72,000 63,000 36,000 27,000 36,000 27,000 45,000 45,000 36,000 36,000 55,000 66,000 72,000 66,000 66,000 44,000 55,000 44,000 44,000 44,000 55,000 44,000 44,000 44,000

44,000 75,000 92,000 56,000 74,000 81,000 93,000 93,000 78,000 78,000 78,000 85,000 74,000 81,000 86,000 90,000 72,000 63,000 64,000 48,000 64,000 48,000 80,000 80,000 64,000 64,000 80,000 96,000 104,000 96,000 96,000 64,000 80,000 64,000 64,000 64,000 80,000 64,000 64,000 64,000

70,000 125,000 165,000 110,000 150,000 160,000 185,000 185,000 155,000 155,000 155,000 170,000 150,000 160,000 170,000 180,000 145,000 125,000 100,000 75,000 100,000 75,000 125,000 125,000 100,000 100,000 135,000 160,000 175,000 160,000 160,000 110,000 135,000 110,000 110,000 110,000 135,000 110,000 110,000 110,000

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Ta bl e 1.2. (con t i n u e d) Year

Legions

Romans

Allies

Total

178 177 176 175 174 173 172 171 170 169 168

7 7 10 7 7 7 6 10 10 8 10

39,000 39,000 55,000 39,000 39,000 39,000 33,000 55,000 55,000 45,000 56,000

39,000 39,000 55,000 39,000 39,000 39,000 33,000 55,000 55,000 45,000 56,000

80,000 80,000 110,000 80,000 80,000 80,000 65,000 110,000 110,000 90,000 110,000

invasion in 225 BCE, which involved a careful survey of available military manpower:13 [1] ἵνα δὲ συμφανὲς ἐπ᾽ αὐτῶν γένηται τῶν ἔργων ἡλίκοις Ἀννίβας ἐτόλμησε πράγμασιν ἐπιθέσθαι [μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα] καὶ πρὸς ἡλίκην δυναστείαν παραβόλως ἀντοφθαλμήσας ἐπὶ τοσοῦτο καθίκετο τῆς προθέσεως ὥστε τοῖς μεγίστοις συμπτώμασι περιβάλλ ειν Ῥωμαίους, [2] ῥητέον ἂν εἴη τὴν παρασκευὴν καὶ τὸ πλῆθος τῆς ὑπαρχούσης αὐτοῖς τότε δυνάμεως. [3] μετὰ μὲν δὴ τῶν ὑπάτων ἐξεληλύθει τέτταρα στρατόπεδα Ῥωμαϊκά, πεντάκις μὲν χιλίους καὶ διακοσίους πεζούς, ἱππεῖς δὲ τριακοσίους ἔχον ἕκαστον. [4] σύμμαχοι δὲ μεθ᾽ ἑκατέρων ἦσαν οἱ συνάμφω πεζοὶ μὲν τρισμύριοι, δισχίλιοι δ᾽ ἱππεῖς. [5] τῶν δ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ καιροῦ προσβοηθησάντων εἰς τὴν Ῥώμην Σαβίνων καὶ Τυρρηνῶν ἱππεῖς μὲν ἦσαν εἰς τετρακισχιλίους, πεζοὶ δὲ πλείους τῶν πεντακισμυρίων. [6] τούτους μὲν ἁθροίσαντες ὡς ἐπὶ Τυρρηνίας προεκάθισαν, ἑξαπέλεκυν αὐτοῖς ἡγεμόνα συστήσαντες. [7] οἱ δὲ τὸν Ἀπεννῖνον κατοικοῦντες Ὄμβροι καὶ Σαρσινάτοι συνήχθησαν εἰς δισμυρίους, μετὰ δὲ τούτων Οὐένετοι καὶ Γονομάνοι δισμύριοι. τούτους δ᾽ ἔταξαν ἐπὶ τῶν ὅρων τῆς Γαλατίας, [8] ἵν᾽ ἐμβαλόντες εἰς τὴν τῶν Βοίων χώραν ἀντιπερισπῶσι τοὺς ἐξεληλυθότας. τὰ μὲν οὖν προκαθήμενα στρατόπεδα τῆς χώρας ταῦτ᾽ ἦν. [9] ἐν δὲ τῇ Ῥώμῃ διέτριβον ἡτοιμασμένοι χάριν τῶν συμβαινόντων ἐν τοῖς πολέμοις, ἐφεδρείας ἔχοντες τάξιν, Ῥωμαίων μὲν αὐτῶν πεζοὶ δισμύριοι, μετὰ δὲ τούτων ἱππεῖς χίλιοι καὶ πεντακόσιοι, τῶν δὲ συμμάχων πεζοὶ μὲν τρισμύριοι, δισχίλιοι δ᾽ ἱππεῖς.

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[10] καταγραφαὶ δ᾽ ἀνηνέχθησαν Λατίνων μὲν ὀκτακισμύριοι πεζοί, πεντακισχίλιοι δ᾽ ἱππεῖς, Σαυνιτῶν δὲ πεζοὶ μὲν ἑπτακισμύριοι, μετὰ δὲ τούτων ἱππεῖς ἑπτακισχίλιοι, [11] καὶ μὴν Ἰαπύγων καὶ Μεσσαπίων συνάμφω πεζῶν μὲν πέντε μυριάδες, ἱππεῖς δὲ μύριοι σὺν ἑξακισχιλίοις, [12] Λευκανῶν δὲ πεζοὶ μὲν τρισμύριοι, τρισχίλιοι δ᾽ ἱππεῖς, Μαρσῶν δὲ καὶ Μαρρουκίνων καὶ Φερεντάνων, ἔτι δ᾽ Οὐεστίνων πεζοὶ μὲν δισμύριοι, τετρακισχίλιοι δ᾽ ἱππεῖς. [13] ἔτι γε μὴν καὶ ἐν Σικελίᾳ καὶ Τάραντι στρατόπεδα δύο παρεφήδρευεν, ὧν ἑκάτερον ἦν ἀνὰ τετρακισχιλίους καὶ διακοσίους πεζούς, ἱππεῖς δὲ διακοσίους. [14] Ῥωμαίων δὲ καὶ Καμπανῶν ἡ πληθὺς πεζῶν μὲν εἰς εἴκοσι καὶ πέντε κατελέχθησαν μυριάδες, ἱππέων δ᾽ ἐπὶ ταῖς δύο μυριάσιν ἐπῆσαν ἔτι τρεῖς χιλιάδες. [15] ὥστ᾽ εἶναι τὸ [κεφάλαιον τῶν μὲν προκαθημένων τῆς Ῥώμης δυνάμεων πεζοὶ μὲν ὑπὲρ πεντεκαίδεκα μυριάδες, [16] ἱππεῖς δὲ πρὸς ἑξακισχιλίους, τὸ δὲ] σύμπαν πλῆθος τῶν δυναμένων ὅπλα βαστάζειν, αὐτῶν τε Ῥωμαίων καὶ τῶν συμμάχων, πεζῶν ὑπὲρ τὰς ἑβδομήκοντα μυριάδας, ἱππέων δ᾽ εἰς ἑπτὰ μυριάδας. [17] ἐφ᾽ οὓς Ἀννίβας ἐλάττους ἔχων δισμυρίων ἐπέβαλεν εἰς τὴν Ἰταλίαν. περὶ μὲν οὖν τούτων ἐν τοῖς ἑξῆς σαφέστερον ἐκποιήσει κατανοεῖν. [1] But, that it may appear from actual facts what a great power it was that Hannibal ventured to attack and how mighty was that empire boldly confronting which he came so near his purpose as to bring great disasters on Rome, [2] I must state what were their resources and the actual number of their forces at this time. [3] The two consuls commanded four legions of Roman citizens, each consisting of 5,200 foot and 300 horse. [4] The allied forces in each consular army numbered 30,000 foot and 2,000 horse. [5] The cavalry of the Sabines and Etruscans, who had come to the temporary assistance of Rome, were 4,000 strong, their infantry above 50,000. [6] The Romans massed these forces and posted them on the frontier of Etruria under the command of a praetor. [7] The levy of the Umbrians and Sarsinates inhabiting the Apennines amounted to about 20,000, and with these were 20,000 Veneti and Cenomani. [8] These they stationed on the frontier of Gaul to invade the territory of the Boii and divert them back from their expedition. [9] These were the armies protecting the Roman territory. In Rome itself there was a reserve force, ready for any war contingency, consisting of 20,000 foot and 1,500 horse, all Roman citizens, and 30,000 foot and 2,000 horse furnished by the allies. [10] The lists of men able to bear arms that had been returned were as follows: Latins, 80,000 foot and 5,000 horse; Samnites, 70,000 foot and 7,000 horse; [11] Iapygians and Messapians, 50,000 foot and

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Ta bl e 1.3. Rom a n mobi l i z at ion a n d r e se rv e s, 225 BCE Group Romans Mobilized On the rolls Mobilized allies Etruscansa Umbrians Veneti and Cenomani Latins Samnites Apulian Lucanians Abruzzib Total

Infantry

Cavalry

Total

299,200 49,200 250,000 60,000 50,000 20,000 20,000 80,000 70,000 50,000 30,000 20,000 699,200

26,100 3,100 23,000 4,000 4,000

325,300 52,300 273,000 64,000 54,000 20,000 20,000 85,000 77,000 66,000 33,000 24,000 ca. 770,000

5,000 7,000 16,000 3,000 4,000 69,100

a The union of Sabines and Etruscans must be a mistake, as the Sabines were Roman citizens and would have been included in the Roman figures. It is likely that Polybius or his source confused the Etruscan muster roll with an actual mobilization, perhaps because so much of the fighting ultimately took place in Etruria. b Marsi, Marrucini, Frentani, and Vestini, using a nonclassical descriptor for the region.

16,000 horse in all; [12] Lucanians, 30,000 foot and 3,000 horse; Marsi, Marrucini, Frentani, and Vestini, 20,000 foot and 4,000 horse. [13] In Sicily and Tarentum were two reserve legions, each consisting of about 4,200 foot and 200 horse. [14] Of Romans and Campanians there were on the roll 250,000 foot and 23,000 horse; [15 (interpolation)] [16] so that the total number of Romans and allies able to bear arms was more than 700,000 foot and 70,000 horse, [17] whereas Hannibal invaded Italy with an army of fewer than 20,000 men. On this matter I shall be able to give my readers more explicit information in the course of this work.

The figures that Polybius reports are summarized in table 1.3, with the following common assumption, in that I assume that Polybius has made a minor error in reporting the army of 54,000 Etruscan and Sabines. It is likely that the praetor was operating on the upper Tiber Valley overseeing a tumultus Gallicus, which would have involved organizing both Sabine communities (who were Roman citizens) and Etruscan communities (mostly noncitizens). But it is widely accepted that Polybius has actually interposed the

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roster of noncitizen Etruscans as if they were a mobilized army, and thus the 50,000 Etruscan infantry and 4,000 cavalry should actually be grouped among the men “on the rolls.” Polybius, or his source Fabius Pictor, adds up all the forces, both those on the rolls and those who are mobilized. Starting with Beloch (and endorsed by Brunt), there has been the urge to subtract out mobilized soldiers, on the notion that Polybius or Pictor committed a colossal double count by adding together roster totals with the mobilized soldiers, whose names were already on the roster. Correcting for this would revise the raw figure for available manpower down to 632,000.14 One of the primary justifications for accusing Polybius of such a gross error is that the last reported Roman census, that of 234 BCE, returned 270,212, much closer to the “corrected” assumption of 273,000 (“on the rolls” in table 1.3) than Polybius’s report of 325,300.15 Brunt believed that the Roman figure for men “on the rolls” reflected the last census, that of 229 BCE, and therefore included all adult male citizens. Brunt, however, believed that the returns for the Italian allies included only iuniores (men 17–45), as Polybius (2.23.9) reports that the senate demanded a count of men ἐν ταῖς ἡλικίαις. The phrase can mean “in the prime of life,” or simply “of age.” Table 1.4 shows a modified version of Brunt’s reading of the passage. My modifications to his analysis are twofold. First, whereas Brunt assumed that iuniores made up 75 percent of the adult male population, I assume throughout instead that they constituted 70 percent. Second, I do not follow some of Brunt’s corrections to Polybius’s figures, which reduced the number of Apulians from 66,000 to 56,000 and slightly increased the number of Abruzzi and Umbrians.16 Like Brunt, I do not count the Veneti and Cenomani, who were temporary allies during the Gallic invasions, not permanent socii within Rome’s Italian confederacy. However, to accuse Polybius or Fabius Pictor of double-counting mobilized forces with those on the rolls is to suggest that either man was capable of either appalling stupidity or else shocking deception. The uncorrected figures have recently found a more vocal defense from Luuk DeLigt, who argues quite cogently that there is no reason to radically emend the figures downward.17 We can envision a procedure in which allied communities mobilized troops and then conducted a census of those soldiers left behind, thereby indicating to Rome the exact number of men who could still be mustered. Th is would allow for the Roman government to enroll additional levies, if necessary, although it might also let the senate know when certain communities had no men left over to defend their own territories. Thus, we could imagine a Latin colony with a population of 3,500 adult males dispatching a cohort 400 strong along with paperwork indicating there were another 3,100 males

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Ta bl e 1.4. Modi f i e d v e r sion of Bru n t ’s r e a di ng of Poly bi us 2.2 4 Group Romans Latins Samnites Apuliansb Abruzzi Etruscans Umbrians Lucanians Total

Iuniores

Adult malesa

191,000 85,000 77,000 66,000 24,000 54,000 20,000 33,000 550,000

273,000 121,000 110,000 94,000 34,000 77,000 29,000 47,000 785,000

Source: After Brunt 1971: 54. a Rounded figures, assuming that iuniores make up 70 percent of all adult males. b Brunt believed that Polybius’s report of 16,000 cavalry was in error and corrected it to 6,000.

capable of military service left behind; these lists may have been based on traditional local censuses, updated for purposes of the emergency. The consuls at Rome could then add up these notices to produce the overall roll preserved by Pictor or Polybius. A similar procedure may have been employed in Rome. DeLigt is quite likely correct when he asserts that an extraordinary count of citizens was conducted in 225 BCE in response to the looming Gallic threat; this may have been taken in conjunction with the levy of that year. A list of men not enrolled in the legions would have been particularly desirable in the crisis, as the consuls might need to enroll new legions on short notice or even proclaim a levée en masse authorized by declaring a tumultus Gallicus.18 DeLigt astutely notes that the procedure in 225 BCE may have mirrored that in 169, when Livy reports that intensive efforts were made to register men for the census. In this instance, citizen iuniores were required to swear an oath that they were not soldiers on furlough and that they would report to the levy in Rome:19 The censors, to further the business, made the following proclamation before a meeting; that they were going to lay down a rule for taking the census that, besides the general oath for all citizens, they would require assent on oath to the following: “Are you less than forty-six years

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of age, and have you, in accordance with the proclamation of Gaius Claudius and Tiberius Sempronius, the censors, come forward for the levy; and as often as there shall be a levy, as long as these censors shall hold office, if you have not entered the army, will you come forward for the levy?”

In 225 BCE we may imagine a procedure in which fi rst 52,900 citizens were drafted into the legions during the levy. Realizing that additional troops might be needed, the consuls might have made an additional count of the people, perhaps requiring them, as the censors did in 169, to swear an oath that they would report for any future levies. These numbers might then have been preserved on a second record, not the standard censors’ roll (as the lustrum for the census of 229 was completed by 227) but upon a special roll perhaps maintained by the consuls and subsequently publicized. DeLigt notes that a major group counted in this special assay may well have been proletarii, ordinarily severely undercounted in the census but who might in emergencies be armed to serve as garrison troops.20 In this instance, Polybius reports not the census of 229 but rather the new count of undeployed citizens taken in 225. As such, the summary of roughly 700,000 infantry and 70,000 horse is still to be preferred to the emended versions. If DeLigt is correct, then we also get a sense of the census undercount: if the census of 234 BCE returned 270,212, it captured only 85 percent of the men counted in 225. There is litt le doubt that more thorough counting in 225 still produced an undercount; DeLigt postulates that it still missed roughly 10 percent of the total male citizen population, putt ing the total male citizen body at around 340,000. Still, while demographers concerned with the overall population of Italy have reasons to be concerned with census undercounts, these are less important for our survey of military manpower. A man who refused to register for the census was unlikely to report for a levy, and therefore the numbers registered likely correlated to the men who were potential recruits. Would the Romans decline to count the seniores (men over 45) of the allies, as Brunt believed? DeLigt posits that Polybius may be using the term ἐν ταῖς ἡλικίαις to translate Latin togati, which would imply all men over the age of seventeen, essentially all adult males.21 DeLigt notes that Polybius elsewhere uses the phrase to describe men as old as sixty and that during a tumultus all males could prove military assets, even seniores, who might perform garrison duty.22 There is, therefore, no reason to think that the returns from Italian communities are any different from the returns of the Roman census, listing all adult males, on the assumption that the vast majority, save the most elderly and disabled, were capable of some form of military service in a moment of crisis.

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Ta bl e 1.5 . Modi f i e d v e r sion of De L igt ’s r e a di ng of Poly bi us 2.2 4 Group Romans Latins Samnites Apulians Abruzzi Etruscans Umbrians Lucanians Total

All adult males

Iuniores

325,300 101,000  92,000  78,000  29,000  64,000  24,000  39,000 ca. 750,000a

228,000 71,000 64,000 54,000 20,000 45,000 17,000 27,000 526,000

Source: After DeLigt 2012, with modifications. a Because of rounding, these numbers will not add up precisely.

Table 1.5 shows a modified version of DeLigt’s reading of Polybius 2.24, which assumes, fi rst, no double count of mobilized troops and nonmobilized population; second, that the numbers report all adult males; and third, that the total number of allies can be reconstructed by assuming that men on active service represented the same proportion of those serving as men on the rolls. For example, if there were 85,000 Latins in reserve, out of 339,000 Italians, then Latins represented 25 percent of the Italians in reserves; 25 percent of those 64,000 allies serving would be 16,000, which would put the total Latin population, mobilized and reserved, at 101,000. The chart also breaks out the number of iuniores and specifically those between the ages of 17 and 35. I have omitted some of DeLigt’s own corrections, which include assuming a 20 percent undercount, as well as factoring in Greeks and Brutt ians, ethnic groups from southern Italy who are curiously missing from Polybius’s summation. These are plausible corrections, but here my goal is to apply different assumptions directly to Polybius’s unadulterated numbers. It is interesting that both divergent readings of Polybius 2.24, a modified Brunt and a modified DeLigt, produce a similar magnitude for “registered” adult males, 785,000 and 750,000, respectively. A modified DeLigt reading produces a modestly lower number of Italian iuniores, 526,000, versus 550,000 under modified Brunt. The basic magnitude, however, is essentially the same: over half a million registered iuniores and a registered adult male population around three-quarters of a million. When one factors in all the supposed corrections that Brunt and DeLigt made to these figures, including accounting for a 20 percent undercount and estimating a population of Greeks and Brutt ians, the end result remains quite

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similar. Brunt unmodified suggests 875,600 free adult males, whereas DeLigt unmodified posits 883,000.23 The total free Italian population, in both readings, would be slightly less than three million.

The High Count Although the readings of Polybius 2.24 previously examined imply potent military manpower, both nonetheless reflect what is conventionally called a Low Count. Yet some ancient demographers argue that the Roman and Italian population was even more robust: they argue for a “High Count” of the Italian population. The linchpin of the dispute rests not on Polybius 2.24 but rather on how to interpret the Augustan figures in the Res Gestae, which lists over four million persons, and the census of 70 BCE, the only Republican census to count all Italians, which returned 910,000.24 The Doktorvater of the Low Count is Julius Beloch, who argued that the discrepancy can be explained by the fact that the Augustan census counted not just adult men but also women and children, whereas the Republican census counted only adult men. In reply, Tenney Frank argued that the Augustan figures still counted just adult men, as did the Republican census figures, suggesting that the former reflected significant population growth.25 Brunt closely followed Beloch for his Italian Manpower, and the Low Count remains the dominant view today, recapitulated with some modification by DeLigt, who has proposed what may be called a revised or optimistic Low Count, allowing for modest growth of the free rural population of Italy during the second century BCE, whereas Brunt posited a decline in the free rural population over the same period. The work of Elio Lo Cascio, however, has successfully revived Frank’s High Count hypothesis.26 Applying his own demographic models of population growth, Lo Cascio argued that the Italian population, rather than remaining stagnant, was actually growing dramatically throughout the Roman Republic. Over four million adult males in 28 BCE would perhaps imply a total population of twelve to fi fteen million with women, children, and slaves factored in. To account for this seemingly enormous population growth, Lo Cascio and other proponents of the High Count have been forced to argue that previous census figures either severely undercounted (e.g., the census of 70 BCE was deeply flawed, despite reports that it was carefully conducted) or that the census did not count all adult men. For example, Lo Cascio believes that the figures given by Polybius for 225 represent only men of military age (iuniores). If this were the case, the reconstruction of Polybius 2.24 would be different from the two Low Count scenarios previously discussed. (See table 1.6.)

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Ta bl e 1.6. Poly bi us 2.2 4 a s r e a d by L o C a scio Group Romans Etruscans Latins Samnites Apulians Abruzzi Umbrians Lucanians Total

Iuniores

Adult malesa

325,300 64,000 101,000 92,000 78,000 29,000 24,000 39,000 752,000

465,000 91,000 144,000 131,000 111,000 41,000 34,000 56,000 1,073,000

Source: Lo Cascio 2000:169, with modifications. a Assumes that iuniores make up 70 percent of all adult males.

The High Count therefore assumes much more robust manpower at the start of the Second Punic War. Although this should not necessarily be seen as an impossible upper limit for the Italian population, the High Count reading of Polybius suffers from two flaws. First, it assumes that the census of 234 BCE, which returned 270,212 citizens, counted only men sui iuris rather than all adult males, which explains how there might be 325,000 iuniores listed in 225, implying close to 450,000 adult male citizens, when only 270,000 men had registered for the census a decade earlier. A better explanation is that both figures reflect adult male citizens, with the difference between the two based both on a modest population increase between 234 and 225 and on an unusually thorough count during the Gallic invasion. Finally, there are strong reasons to believe that all adult men registered for the census, even if the paterfamilias registered his adult male children. After all, the census was used to determine not only the payment of tributum (which only men sui iuris were liable for) but also military service and voting.27 There is no reason why men alieni iuris would be excluded from the census returns, even as they engaged in these basic acts of citizenship. Second, it becomes difficult to see why Rome had problems at all recruiting manpower even in the darkest days of the Second Punic War, or why Rome felt compelled to stop fighting pitched batt les after Cannae, when the High Count suggests there were roughly 350,000 iuniores at the start of the war (assuming population growth between 225 and 218 BCE), and around 300,000 left alive in 215 (assuming 50,000 citizen casualties in the batt les of the Ticinus River and Cannae combined—a low estimate of the carnage). If such robust manpower still existed, it is unclear why the Romans had desperate recourse to inducting slaves, debtors, and adolescent boys.28 The Low

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Count thus fits better with the ample evidence of Rome scraping the bottom of the barrel for military manpower after Cannae. The divergence between the Low Count and the High Count has significant implications for the demographic and agrarian history of the late second century BCE and the issues undergirding the Gracchan crisis, issues beyond the scope of this study. For the comparative purposes of this project, I follow the revised Low Count advocated by DeLigt as a baseline of Roman military manpower. DeLigt’s is in fact the lowest reading of Polybian military manpower (526,000 iuniores), and for this comparative project it is worth taking the lower assumption. As we will see in the next chapter, the Romans enjoyed a decisive advantage in their recruitment pool over their peer rivals even if we use this low baseline. If the High Count is accepted, then Roman military dominance was even more staggering.

Census Returns The census should therefore be seen as a good metric of the military manpower that Rome might hope to draw upon. My reading of the census returns rests on a Low Count assumptions that all adult male citizens were counted in the census, including those alieni iuris as well as cives sine suff ragio. Although the census returns probably significantly undercount the actual population of the ager Romanus, they do more accurately reflect the latent pool of conscripts, as conscription was a factor of population combined with the administrative capacity of the state to extract military recruits. If the Roman state could register a man for the census, it was in a stronger position to conscript him; conversely, the man who declined to register for a census was far less likely to bother reporting for a levy. Perhaps the only relevant undercount in the census, from the point of view of conscription, was of men on active service. Livy reports that for the census of 204/203 BCE, special pains were taken to register men in the armies. Some of these soldiers would have been registered by fathers who were still living. It is likely that roughly 50 percent of men aged 17–35 still had their fathers living, which would dramatically reduce any undercount among serving soldiers. Before the Second Punic War, when most Roman military deployments were modest, only four to six legions were usually deployed in Italy. Indeed, the fact that the census registration took eighteen months may have been designed to ensure that Roman soldiers mobilized for year-long campaigns would still be able to register. The casualties and long deployments of the Second Punic War clearly broke this system, and it is notable that no plausible census figure survives for the confl ict earlier than 204/203 BCE. The special care taken for this census seems to have been designed to reboot the institution. Brunt believed that an assay of the soldiers was unique,

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Ta bl e 1.7. Rom a n ce nsus f igu r e s, 2 80 –168 BCE Year

Count

Source

280/279 276/275 265/264 252/251 247/246 241/240 234/233 209/208 204/203 194/193 189/188 179/178 174/173 169/168

287,222 271,224 292,234 297,797 241,712 260,000 270,713 137,108 (237,108?) 214,000 143,704 (243,704?) 258,794 258,794 269,015 312,805

Livy, Per. 13 Livy, Per. 14 Eutropius 2.18 Livy, Per. 18 Livy, Per. 19 Hieronym. Ol. 134.1 Livy, Per. 18 Livy, 27.36 Livy 29.37 Livy 35.9 Livy 38.36 Livy, Per. 41 Livy 42.10 Livy, Per. 45

Source: After Brunt 1971:12.

but it is more probable that this was a new procedure designed to account for the expanded military deployments, especially those that endured for years rather than months. Besides, active soldiers were in fact the easiest citizens to register, since they were already under state administrative control; a functionary of the censors dispatched to an army camp could no doubt quite quickly take the declarations of all men sui iuris. The census returns available for the period 280–167 BCE are laid out in table 1.7. The returns from 209 and 194 BCE are so incongruous that they must either be corrected (parentheses in table 1.7) or simply discarded altogether. Nonetheless, I am inclined to see the returns, even those from the third century, as reasonably accurate. Note that the returns see a boost in moments of particularly intense warfare. Thus in 280, with the Pyrrhic invasion, the count spikes to 287,222 from the previously reported census returns (probably for 289/288) of 272,000. Similarly, for 265/264, in a lustrum completed after the declaration of war with Carthage, the count returned 292,000, well over the previous recorded return, 271,224. The count is even higher in 252/251, at 296,797, which may seem odd given the significant losses that the Romans suffered in 255 and 253; it could also reflect more intensive attempts to register proletarii, needed more than ever as rowers in the fleet. The stark decline between 252/251 and 247/246 BCE may reflect both

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Ta bl e 1.8. De mogr a ph ic br e a k dow n of Rom a n ce nsus r et u r ns, 2 80 –168 BCE

Year 280/279 276/275 265/264 252/251 247/246 241/240 234/233 225 (special)a 204/203 189/188 179/178 174/173 169/168 a

Registered adult males

Registered iuniores

Registered 17–35

287,222 271,224 292,234 297,797 241,712 260,000 270,713 325,300 214,000 258,318 258,794 269,015 312,805

201,000 190,000 205,000 208,000 169,000 182,000 189,000 228,000 150,000 181,000 181,000 188,000 219,000

129,000 122,000 132,000 134,000 109,000 117,000 122,000 146,000 96,000 116,000 117,000 121,000 141,000

Polyb. 2.24.

the heavy losses at Drepana and a sharply reduced registration of proletarii now that Rome had temporarily ceased deploying war fleets. We have already seen how in 225 an unusually high count of Roman citizens was taken, 325,300, well over the last recorded survey, 270,713. The wartime spikes were not the result of population growth but rather were owing to an increase in administrative urgency on the part of Roman state agents (and possibly also an increase in registration owing to patriotic sentiment and hope of loot). Again, we see a significant spike during the only census conducted during the Th ird Macedonian War, when Livy reports special measures to ensure a particularly thorough census because of wartime concerns. In table 1.8 let us quickly estimate how many men in the census returns would have been eligible for conscription (iuniores) and furthermore how many were truly in their prime, aged 17–35. I have inserted figures from Polybius 2.24 into the returns, on the assumption that they represent a special, off-cycle count. Overall, the census returns suggest a relatively stable range, even accounting for massive casualties, extraordinary deployments, the defection of the Capuans, and extensive colonization schemes, all of which would have caused significant fluctuations in both the overall population and the

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number willing and able to register. The range holds between 214,000 and roughly 325,000 citizens, including 150,000 to 228,000 iuniores and 96,000 to 146,000 men aged 17 to 35. Th is was, by the standard of peer rival, a very large manpower pool. But note how it becomes more fragile as we cull fi rst seniores and then men over 35. Assuming that men 17–35 shouldered most of the burden of military service, the pressure of fielding between 18,000 and 80,000 soldiers made a substantial impact on these age classes.

Assidui and Proletarii How many men were actually assidui, men with the requisite property qualifications for service in the legions? The property requirement itself shifted, falling as necessary to widen the pool of potential conscripts. It was most likely 1,100 light-libral asses (each worth 10 unciae of bronze, as by the Second Punic War the as had slipped from the 12 unciae libral standard) prior to the introduction of the denarius. In Polybius’s day (probably since the introduction of the denarius), it had fallen to 4,000 sextantal (weighing 2 unciae) asses, or 400 denarii, equal in bronze weight to 800 light-libral asses, a modest drop. By the dramatic date of Cicero’s Republic, in 129 BCE, it had dropped again to 375 sestertii, or 93 3/4 denarii, where it remained into the Imperial period.29 The amount of property necessary to qualify as an assiduus was always modest and would have diminished radically as the requirement fell. The minimum attested colonial allotment after the Second Punic War was five iugera, which must have been sufficient to qualify the holders as assidui, given that military service was expected of them, even if these represented quite modest farmsteads.30 Livy reports that Spurius Ligustinus, who enjoyed a long military career and was certainly an assiduus, claimed only a single iugerum of land, although if this is correct, there may have been other, unreported assets (slaves, cash, etc.).31 Despite a low property qualification, Brunt believed that roughly half the Roman adult male population consisted of proletarii. Brunt calculated that the total number of men who had ever served in the legions was 108,000 by the end of 215 BCE, assuming 58,000 citizens in the legions (excluding the slave volones) and another 50,000 killed in action.32 At the levy for the next year it was found that only 2,000 assidui had failed to either serve or obtain an exemption.33 Brunt concluded that 110,000 men, including those killed in action, men in the legions, and shirkers, would account for all Roman assidui at the start of the war. Assuming 210,000 non-Campanian iuniores (the Campanians then being in revolt), this would imply that assidui accounted for only a litt le over 50 percent of the Roman population. Brunt’s 110,000 assidui is far too low and has come under recent criticism

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from Nathan Rosenstein, who notes that Brunt’s number of assidui cannot explain attested difficulties in naval recruitment during the Second Punic War if there were well over 100,000 proletarii available to man the fleets.34 Brunt himself estimated only 20,000 Roman citizens serving in the fleets; but Rome was obliged to impress slaves and freedmen into the navy in order to meet this manpower requirement, suggesting a very modest pool of poor men available for naval service.35 Rosenstein further raises the question why the senate and magistrates would set the property requirement so high in the fi rst place if they excluded so many able-bodied men. Rather, he suggests that proletarii accounted for roughly only 10 percent of Rome’s citizen body.36 According to Nathan Rosenstein, Brunt was correct in calculating that only 108,000 men had ever served by 214 BCE. But he notes that excluded from the number were men who had been granted a vacatio iusta militiae. Brunt believed that vacationes were issued in limited numbers and only for narrow reasons, mostly to men who had met their sixteen-year service requirement or who were physically incapacitated. Rosenstein, on the other hand, postulates that vacationes were routinely granted to older iuniores around the age of 30 who had young families to care for.37 Given that most Roman men married late (usually in their mid-30s), few men aged 17–30 would have had young dependent families, whereas most men in their midthirties would be burdened by young children who could not yet earn their keep on the farm. The age-based legionary structure of velites (17–20), hastati (20–25), principes (25–30), and triarii (30-plus) required fewer men over the age of 30, as triarii made up only about 15 percent of the infantry in a standard legion (600 of 4,200 infantry) or 11.5 percent of the infantry in an augmented legion, with 5,200 infantrymen.38 Thus vacationes to older men could be freely given. Indeed, one wonders if most consuls simply issued blanket exemptions for many categories of recruits in most years. In 105 BCE, the consul Rutilius Rufus forbade men under the age of 35 to depart Italy by boat, for fear lest they might dodge service in the grim war against the Cimbri.39 Augustus would later also punish men under age 35 for avoiding military service after the Teutoberg disaster far more harshly than men over that age.40 It may be that most years, consuls simply exempted men over 35 from service through their edict. However, it should be noted that even Brunt’s figure of 108,000 “ever served” need not be taken as gospel. Brunt based the figure on his own controversial assumption that the casualties at Cannae were less than catastrophic, believing that only 15,000 Roman citizens died at Cannae. Polybius reports 70,000 killed in action and 10,000 prisoners, or 40,000 Roman citizens lost, assuming they represented half the casualties.41 Livy in contrast

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tallies 48,000 killed and another 10,000 captured in the Roman camp, which would suggest total citizen losses of less than 30,000.42 Polybius here seems to exaggerate Hannibal’s success, or at least the misfortunes of the Romans. Livy is more likely correct: the Romans marched to Cannae with eight legions (44,000 citizens) and were able to cobble together only two legions out of the survivors (11,000 citizens even at full strength). Th is would imply losses of at least 30,000 citizens killed, captured, or missing, in keeping with Livy’s casualty figures. On this assumption, total Roman casualties in 218–216 BCE would have been closer to 65,000, which when added to those serving would bring the total of men who served to around 125,000. Following Rosenstein, the 108,000 to 125,000 men in 214 BCE would mostly represent the exhausted pool of men aged 17–35. Rosenstein further argues that the burst in legionary recruitment in 214 was caused by recruiting from the large pool of men in their 30s and early 40s who had previously been granted a vacatio for family care or simply because they were beyond the optimal age for legionary service but who were now summoned to active duty. Rome did not yet have a large urban population in 218 BCE; we cannot imagine hordes of urban proletarii, which is the only way to account for the hundred thousand–odd proletarii provided by Brunt’s model unless we envision a countryside overwhelmed by dire poverty in an era when there are few hints of major agrarian unrest. The 230s and 220s had seen significant colonization and major viritim (homestead) distributions of agrarian land, which had likely raised a number of men to the status of assidui. It is virtually impossible to believe, therefore, that proletarii represented half the total population.43 Furthermore, if there were only 110,000 registered assidui of military age in Rome in 218 BCE, the ratio of cavalry to infantry becomes problematic.44 There were 26,000 cavalry registered in 225. Th is figure must have included the 1,800 men cum equo publico (the equites of the 18 equestrian centuries) as well as many wealthier men in the prima classis eligible to serve cum equo suo. Cavalry therefore would have formed 24 percent of the Roman assidui of military age if we take Brunt’s postulate of a mere 110,000 assidui iuniores. Yet Roman cavalry represented only 5 to 6 percent of a standard Roman legion (300 horse to 4,200 to 5,200 infantry).45 If we assume that 90 percent of the 325,300 citizens counted in 225 were assidui, this would give us 293,000 assidui, of which the cavalry would represent 9 percent of the total, much closer to the actual ratio. Indeed, one would imagine that the Roman class system was roughly pyramidal, with the prima classis comprising more personnel than the equites; the secunda classis more than the prima; and so on. Even if every member of the prima classis was counted among the equites cum equo suo, under Brunt’s

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model of 110,000 assidui iuniores, it would mean that the secunda, tertia, quarta, and quinta classis would each have to be approximately the same size as the prima. Allowing roughly 260,000 to 290,000 assidui of all ages (assuming they were 80 to 90 percent of ca. 325,000 adult male citizens total) would facilitate a roughly pyramidal social structure without the odd prospect that every class might have an equal strength, which is what Brunt’s model would mathematically require. Under this model, the only nonpyramidal class would be the proletarii, but only because the arbitrary census defi nition excluded all but a small percentage of individuals at the bottom. Furthermore, a high proportion of assidui also makes the census rolls presented by Polybius a sensible testament to Rome’s military power. Thus Rosenstein: “If instead more than half of Rome’s iuniores were proletarii, and so exempt from bearing arms in the legions, we would have to convict Fabius [as Polybius’s source] of either deliberate mendacity or unbelievable foolishness.”46 The maximum extent of Roman proletarii may be seen from the fact that in the First Punic War, the Romans could equip a fleet of 330 warships; Polybius reports that these were quinqueremes, requiring a crew of 420 rowers and marines, and he reckons the total manpower requirement of such a fleet at 140,000, perhaps roughly half of them citizen proletarii.47 The recent discovery, however, of a series of Roman rams from the Egadi Islands suggests that Polybius has overstated the size of Roman ships for much of the war. The rams discovered are quite small, indicating that the Roman fleet during much of the war consisted of small ships, probably triremes.48 Th ree hundred thirty small triremes might need no more than 56,000 rowers to crew them (assuming 170 rowers per trireme). If Roman citizens provided a third to half of these crews, the total number of proletarii needed would be only around 18,000 to 28,000. Th is might imply 50,000 to 75,000 proletarii all together (perhaps not all of them registered for the census). The census of 252/251 BCE returned 297,000 citizens. Assuming that high rates of registered proletarii were pressed into the fleets (say 65 percent of registered iuniores), the fleet mobilization would suggest between 40,000 and 60,000 registered proletarii during the First Punic War, representing 15 to 20 percent of all men registered. The number of proletarii seems to have declined sharply between the First Punic War and the early second century BCE. Polybius reports that the Romans were unable to launch fleets in his day as large as those manned during the First Punic War. Although Polybius never follows up on his promise to explain why, DeLigt is surely correct when he asserts that the most likely explanation is a reduction in the number of proletarii through land allotments, including viritim allotments in the ager Gallicus in the 230s, distributions to

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Scipionic veterans in the 190s, and an aggressive colonization program from 200 to 177.49 The number of proletarii would have dropped somewhat when the property requirement was lowered during the Second Punic War, likely from 1,100  light-libral asses (equal in bronze weight to 5,500 sextantal asses) to 4,000 sextantal asses, a deduction of about 27 percent but one that would have brought a number of marginal farmers, perhaps farming around five iugera, into the quinta classis.50 Aggressive land distribution and colonization following the war would have further transformed proletarii into assidui, and returning soldiers would have been able to use accumulated pay, booty, and donatives to purchase additional land. By the 170s BCE, freedmen were required to man 50 quinqueremes with a two-thirds citizen complement, which would have required 10,000 citizen rowers.51 Therefore, it is likely that from the 220s to the 160s, the number of proletarii was no more than 10 percent of the total population, as Rosenstein suggests.

Citizen-Soldiers In Polybius’s mind, Roman citizen-soldiers were not simply more numerous; rather they enjoyed a moral advantage: “For the Romans, fighting as they are for their country and their children, never can abate their fury but continue to throw their whole hearts into the struggle until they get the better of their enemies.”52 Yet what connections did common citizens have to their states, especially when fighting not in the defense of Italy but rather abroad on foreign batt lefields? Certainly, pecuniary rewards mattered a great deal: pay, loot, land distributions.53 But if these were their primary motivators, they would make citizens litt le different from Carthage’s mercenaries (who often fought quite well). It may be worthwhile to briefly consider the ideological and political ties that Roman citizens had to the state apparatus that extracted such a heavy burden of military service (as well as the taxation to fund it, tributum, which I will discuss later). The optimistic vision of citizen participation advocated by the late Fergus Millar has since given way to a far more grim assessment of Roman electoral politics.54 Particularly devastating for any forlorn hope of Roman democracy is the number of voters whom the electoral spaces could accommodate. Henrik Mouritsen has estimated that perhaps only 4,000 voters could fit into the comitium, 10,000 in the Forum, 12,000 on the Capitoline, and 20,000 on the Campus Martius.55 Th is suggests that voter turnout for a major election was far fewer than the 35,000 to 70,000 citizens routinely deployed during the early second century BCE. Walter Scheidel has noted that in most years

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of the Middle Republic, far more Roman citizens served in the legions than voted in the assemblies.56 Harriet Flower has recently suggested a different way of looking at participatory politics, one less interested in issues of representation and focusing instead on how Roman elections generated the social consensus that undergirded Roman collective action.57 In contrast to trends in Germanic scholarship that see consensus, and concurrent Konsensrituale, as mere window dressing for oligarchic rule, Flower takes consensus seriously. Her model of a consensus-generating event is the Quaker meeting, where individuals express their views and come to agree on how to proceed in action, even if the collective action agreed upon is not everyone’s fi rst choice. The Roman state, of course, was not a small Quaker meeting; but the fact that citizens could express their preferences on the leadership and direction of the Roman state was relevant to their role in the Roman army. The consuls and praetors who commanded the Roman armies were elected by the Roman people in assemblies that included future soldiers as well as relatives of soldiers currently serving.58 Likewise, the military tribunes who officered Rome’s armies, six per legion, were elected in the comitia tributa by the Roman people at large.59 Finally, Roman centurions in freshly levied legions elected their own centurions, with their rank as centurions determined by their order of election. Just as the fi rst-elected consul was the consul prior, the senior centurion in each maniple was the prior, and the senior centurion for the entire legion, the prior centurion of the fi rst maniple of the triarii (using the archaic term pilani), was the primus pilus, “the fi rst elected,” in the entire legion.60 The participatory reflex of Roman soldiers endured on campaign. In 211  BCE, when the survivors of the military disaster in Spain elected their own commander, taking special care to ensure that every soldier on guard duty had his chance to rotate out his post to vote.61 It was also on display in 167, when Aemilius Paullus’s soldiers, brought to Rome for his triumph but disgruntled about his stinginess with distributing booty, flooded the Capitoline in an attempt to vote against his triumph.62 Even if only a small percentage of Romans voted in any given year, military participation seems to have had a strong effect on electoral participation, so that a general’s veterans were a critical political asset. To ensure that they would return to support him and his family in elections, a Roman general had to display competence and courage and, on a material level, ensure a fair distribution of booty and preferably a generous donative. Plutarch describes Aemilius as unlike many other Roman commanders in not “playing the populist [δημαγωγῶν]  .  .  .  , keeping a second command in mind during the fi rst by courting favors and maintaining a mild disposition with those in the ranks,” and he implies that the

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stern (and unpopular) Aemilius Paullus was very much the exception.63 Free speech by common soldiers, often critical of their superiors, was the norm in Roman armies.64 The democratic mechanisms within Rome’s mixed constitution, which served to mediate between mass and elite, therefore extended well into the military sphere. By facilitating communication and negotiation among aristocratic commanders, centurions, and common soldiers, such democratic features contributed to the efficacy and lethality of the citizen army.

Cives Sine Suff ragio The precise nature of civitas sine suff ragio remains contested. Mouritsen has suggested that rather than being a halfway status, a steppingstone to full citizenship, civitas sine suff ragio should be seen as a sort of alliance, its holders more socii than citizens. Mouritsen problematizes an often tooschematic view of Rome’s sett lement of Italy while also noting how the nationalist aspirations of late nineteenth-century Germanic scholars shaped that schema.65 Yet the traditional view of civitas sine suff ragio should perhaps not be so quickly discarded, although the status was probably unwanted in the fourth century BCE for imposing the burdens of citizenship, especially tributum, even if retaining internal political structures in municipia may have been welcome. But by the early second century, however, the triumphalist notion that cives sine suff ragio were very much a part of the citizen body can be found in Ennius: “cives Romani tunc facti sunt Campani.”66 Th is must refer to the grant sine suff ragio after the Latin War, and presented as something to be celebrated. The military use of cives sine suff ragio likely varied over the period. Until the late third century BCE, some communities sine suff ragio fielded coherent ethnic units rather than simply sending recruits to be scattered across the legions. The Capuan legion that mutinied and occupied Rhegion is the best attested example of this practice. It may be that this very revolt brought an end to fielding entire legions of cives sine suff ragio.67 Still, Livy reports a detachment of a thousand Campanian cavalrymen at Sentinum as an independent unit.68 At Asculum, Dionysius of Halicarnassus has battalions of Campa nians, Sabines, and Volscians (all cives sine suff ragio) fighting in the wings with other socii, not integrated into the legions, although he is likely using an annalistic account of dubious reliability.69 Still, it is not implausible that after enfranchisement sine suff ragio, communities simply kept sending contingents to serve alongside the other socii. In the Second Punic War, a group of Campanian cavalrymen was still serv-

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ing as a unit, and these remained loyal to Rome even as Capua defected.70 For the second century BCE, we have no more references to contingents of cives sine suff ragio, despite references to other Italian units (e.g., the Paelignians at Pydna). Many sine suff ragio (e.g., Caerites, Sabines, Volscians) had been enfranchised optimo iure by the 180s, and it is possible that the rest simply sent individual recruits who were mixed into the legions, perhaps temporarily assigned to tribes by lot for the levy, as Latins were for voting purposes. Festus explicitly lists military service required of various municipia in the Roman legions: “. . . ut fuerunt Cumani, Acerrani, Atellani, qui et cives Romani erant, et in legione merebant, sed dignitates not capiebant.”71 Festus’s reference to service in legione may suggest that at some point, probably by the second century, the old system of recruiting cohorts and squadrons from various municipia had given way to simply integrating recruits sine suffragio directly into the legions. How many cives sine suff ragio were there? Livy reports that the Capuans, undoubtedly the largest single group of cives sine suff ragio, numbered 30,000 infantry and 4,000 cavalry in 214 BCE.72 The figure, though not above suspicion, may be correct. In 204/203, an especially thorough census returned only 214,000 adult male citizens. Th is figure was low in part because of war casualties but also because the Capuan population had become disenfranchised as cives sine suff ragio. The census of 189, the fi rst to include the Capuans reenfranchised, counted 258,000, an increase of 44,000. Some of this increase must have been due to a recovery of the Roman population, but the figure does seem to suggest that tens of thousands of Capuans were being counted again. Of 325,300 registered citizens in 225 BCE, perhaps 25,000 to 40,000 were Capuan, and perhaps another 10,000 or so belonged to Campanian communities that later remained loyal to Rome. Lo Cascio estimates that another 10,000 Volsci were full citizens, and perhaps 20,000 Etruscans.73 Lo Cascio thus posits roughly 50,000 to 75,000 adult male cives sine suff ragio in 225, or 15 to 25 percent of registered adult males. It is unclear when the status of sine suff ragio was phased out with the fi nal promotion to ius optimum. In 188 BCE three Volscian communities, Formiae, Fundi, and Arpinum, were promoted through a tribunician law.74 In 180, the municipium of Cumae petitioned the senate to conduct official business in Latin rather than Oscan, a move possibly connected with pending promotion to full citizenship.75 Many such promotions may have been granted to small towns in acts too small to catch the Livy’s attention (or occurring after the loss of his narrative). Some individual cives sine suff ragio may have obtained full citizenship by enrolling in a Roman colony or at the censors’ behest. The fact that Po-

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lybius, writing in the 150s, does not mention how cives sine suff ragio were assigned to the legions may be an indication that by his time virtually all cives sine suff ragio had been promoted and assigned to tribes.76

L at i ns By 180 BCE there were forty Latin communities, as is shown in table 1.9. These included three Latin towns in Latium that retained their independence after the Latin War, seven Latin colonies that were founded by the Latin League before 338 and retained their Latin status after the Latin War, three Hernician cities rewarded with the status for loyalty to Rome, two Volscian cities granted similar privileges as a reward for collaboration,77 twenty-three colonies with the Latin Right founded between 338 and 218, and four Latin colonies founded after the Second Punic War.78 The cohort, the unit of recruitment that Rome imposed on its allies, consisted of between 400 and 600 men (even if these fought as maniples on the batt lefield). Th is mobilization would be of reasonable size for a colony with an adult male population of between 2,500 and 6,000. Th is was no coincidence, since Latin colonies were artificial communities designed by Rome as both garrisons and recruiting pools: a Latin colony was already sized to provide a cohort. Latin cohorts were commanded by hometown officers. A cohort from Praeneste, for example, fought valiantly against Hannibal at Casilinum in 217 BCE under the command of one Marcus Anicius, the local praetor, who subsequently erected a statue of himself in the town forum wearing both a cuirass and a toga, celebrating his leadership as both civic official and military commander.79 In the third century, praitores from Cora dedicated a statue aere Martio emeru, as local magistrates taking personal credit for loot obtained in the course of military operations that must have been conducted as units attached to a Roman army.80 The fact that the common soldiers in Latin contingents fought under their own elected magistrates gave them a voice in their chain of command, even if most of the military operations they participated in were determined by Rome. A set of reliefs from Fregellae, likely from a private house, provide some insight to how Latins celebrated their service in the Roman army. Dating to the early second century BCE, these show soldiers in Roman-style Montefortino helmets and mail shirts confronting Macedonian-style phalangites. Representations of ship wreckage and elephants strongly suggest that the reliefs depict the campaign against Antiochus III (thus the naval victory at Myonessus and the elephants at Magnesia), in which a squadron of cavalry

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Ta bl e 1.9. Com m u n it i e s w it h t h e L at i n R ight, ci rc a 500 –190 BCE Latium Praeneste Tibur Cora

Latin League Latin League Latin League

Livy 8.14 Livy 8.14 Livy 8.14

Hernici and Volsci Ferentinum Aletrium Verulae Fabrateria Luca

Hernician Hernician Hernician Volscian Volscian

Livy 9.43, 34.42.5 Livy 9.43 Livy 9.43 Livy 8.19 Livy 8.19

Colonies founded before 338 BCEa Signia Norba Ardea Circeii Setia Sutrium Nepete

Regal 492 442 393 382(?) 383(?) 383(?)

Livy 2.21 Livy 2.34 Livy 4.11.3 Livy 5.24 Livy 6.30 Vell. Pat. 1.14. Livy 6.21.4

Latin colonies founded 338–218 BCE Cales Fregellae Luceria Suessa Pontia Saticula Interamna Alba Fucens Sora Carseoli Narnia Venusia Hadria Cosa Paestum

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334 328 314 313 313 313 312 303 303 302/298 299 291 283 273 273

2,500 2,500

4,000 6,000 4,000 4,000 20,000(?)b

Livy 8.16 Livy 8.22 Livy 9.26 Livy 9.28 Livy 9.28 Fest. 458 Livy 9.28 Livy 10.1.102 Livy 10.1.1–2 Livy 10.3/13.1 Livy 10.9.5 Dion. Hal. 16.17 Livy Per. 11.7 Livy Per. 14.8 Livy Per. 14.8

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Ta bl e 1.9. (con t i n u e d) Latin colonies founded 338–218 BCE (continued) Ariminum Beneventum Firmum Aesernia Brundisium Spolentum Placentia Cremona

Livy Per. 15.5 Livy Per. 19.5 Vel. Pat. 1.14.8 Livy Per. 16.7 Livy Per. 19.5 Livy Per. 20.2 Livy Per. 20.18 Livy Per. 20.18

268 268 264 263 244 238 218 218

Latin colonies founded after 201 BCE Copia Vibo Valentina Bononia Aquileia

193 192 189 181

3,000 inf.; 300 cav. 3,700 inf.; 300 cav. 3,000 3,000+

Livy 35.9 Livy 35.40 Livy 37. 57 Livy 40.33 c

Note: inf., infantry; cav., cavalry. a Th is list excludes some Latin colonies, such as Satricum, that were destroyed prior to the Middle Republic or that were subsequently superseded by citizen colonies, such as Antium. b Th is figure is generally dismissed, but Venusia was probably an exceptionally large colony. c It remains controversial whether a Latin colony was founded at Luna in 180 BCE, per Vell. Pat. 1.15.2. See Salmon 1933; Briscoe 2008:520.

from Fregellae took part. Like the reliefs on Aemilius Paullus’s Pydna monument, these from Fregellae indicate a Latin elite proud of its contribution to Rome’s overseas conquest.81 For elite Latins like Marcus Anicius, the praitores of Cora, and the equestrians at Fregellae, service with the Roman army was a way at once to profit from Rome’s imperial expansion while also magnifying themselves in their own communities. Latin status seems to have been held in high esteem in the fourth and third centuries BCE. For the three Hernician communities aiding Rome against the Samnites in 307, exchanging the Roman franchise sine suff ragio for the Latin Right proved a welcome reward. When Marcus Anicius and his Praenestine cohort were offered Roman citizenship for their service, they declined the offer to keep their Latin status.82 Meanwhile, tens of thousands of Roman citizens willingly gave up their status to join Latin colonies. A shift is detectable after the Hannibalic War. Th is period saw a decline in Latin colonies as opposed to large citizen colonies, indicating that it may have become harder to convince Roman citizens to give up their status in

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order to migrate. Economic opportunities in the thriving city of Rome attracted increasingly large numbers of migrants from Latin colonies, so many that the senate forced thousands to return so that these colonies could continue to meet their manpower quotas.83 The suspension of tributum in 167  BCE eliminated a major burden of citizenship, although Latins and other Italians still had to fund the contingents that they dispatched to Rome. There is also scattered evidence of Roman consuls treating Latin colonies severely in the second century, including the exorbitant demands for hospitality that the consul Postumius Albinus made on Praeneste in 173 and the flogging of a magistrate of Ferentium at an unspecified date.84 Furthermore, the economic integration of Italy in the second century and the diaspora of Romans and Italians into the Mediterranean in pursuit of imperial opportunities surely increased the economic value of Roman citizenship.85 The stillmysterious revolt of Fregellae in 123, although it happened amid the troubles of the Gracchan era, nonetheless suggests that by the late second century Latin communities harbored a real dissatisfaction with their status. Nonetheless, every Latin community save Venusia remained loyal to Rome during the mass revolt of the Social War (91–88), suggesting that in language, culture, and political status, Latin communities still felt their connection to Rome more strongly than did other Italian socii.

Socii Although other Italian socii did not have the same civic rights as Latins, the Roman alliance structure was surprisingly robust, even if one takes into account the many defections of the Second Punic War. One factor, highlighted by Michael Fronda, is that many Italian communities preferred the distant hegemony of Rome to the potential menace of closer neighbors with hegemonic pretensions, in particular cities like Capua and Tarentum, which did indeed defect to Hannibal.86 Meanwhile, Rome’s military leadership against threats to Italy, especially against the Gauls in northern Italy, may have been seen as a genuine and enduring benefit; it is notable that most depictions of Celtomachies in the third and second centuries BCE come from either Etruria or southern Italy, suggesting that cultural antipathy against Gauls was an Italy-wide phenomenon.87 Italian communities paid no direct taxes to Rome. Italian communities did have to bear the cost of their cohorts, although this was lessened because Rome provided rations. The stipendium of a socius could be much lower than a legionary’s, by perhaps a third or even a half, and still equal the legionary’s take-home pay after deductions for food and clothing. With rare exceptions the Italian contingents generally received equitable shares of loot, donatives, and lands distributed; and those rare exceptions provoked no-

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table anger among Italian contingents: for example, the allied troops who marched in surly silence behind the triumphal chariot of Gaius Claudius in 170 BCE, furious that they had been given only half the donative awarded to citizen troops.88 Yet Roman commanders more often than not were generous with their Italian contingents in the distribution of cash, loot, and even moral credit. L. Mummius distributed looted artwork throughout Italy, and an Oscan inscription on a statue base from Pompeii acknowledges the gift of l. mummis l. kusul (i.e., L. Mummius L. [f.] consul).89 The Pydna monument of Aemilius Paullus features two distinct types of Roman troops bearing the oval shield (scutum), with some in muscle cuirasses and some in mail shirts. The two types must reflect a basic division between citizens and socii (the mail most likely representing citizen troops, given the enduring popularity of muscle cuirasses in Etruria and southern Italy), honoring the significant contribution of allied contingents at the batt le.90 The federative details of the Roman sett lement of Italy, which granted allied communities substantial local autonomy, translated to the military sphere as allied cohorts represented local levies commanded by allied officers (praefecti cohortium), probably, as with Latin cities, local elected officials.91 These commanded ethnic cohorts, even if the allied wings, ten cohorts each drawn from disparate communities across Italy, were overseen by six staff officers, the praefecti sociorum, Roman citizens appointed by the consul who served in a role analogous to a citizen legion’s six military tribunes.92 On several occasions allied commanders acted with notable distinction and bravery: the Frentanian hēgemōn Volsinius Oblacus led a personal assault against Pyrrhus at the Batt le of Heraclea; the Paelignian prefect Vibius Accaus helped storm a Carthaginian camp during the Second Punic War, and another Paelignian hēgemōn, Salvius, spearheaded the defense against the Macedonian charge at Pydna.93 These leaders were local politicians performing before a hometown audience. The dynamics of aristocratic competition, which unquestionably drove aggressive warfare in Rome, were similar for allied communities, which is likely why Italian elites enthusiastically embraced the substantial overseas deployments demanded from their communities during the late third and early second centuries BCE. Finally, Rome had an advantage over the Hellenistic powers and Carthage in terms of how Italian manpower tactically integrated with the legions. For other powers, most subject troops fought using native tactics and equipment, and therefore did not necessarily integrate with the tactics and equipment of the core troops (e.g., the Hellenistic phalanx). Th is potentially offered some tactical advantages, as the specializations of subject populations provided tactical diversity: for example, Balearic slingers fighting for Carthage or Mysian archers in Seleucid armies. But diverse native tactics and equipment also required a gifted commander to integrate them into the over-

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all batt le plan, a talent that could not be guaranteed at Rome, where the consular armies were led by two annually elected magistrates. The armies of the Italian Peninsula used largely homogeneous equipment (especially the scutum, an oval shield roughly four feet long and two feet wide, and the Montefortino helmet) and manipular tactics.94 Rome was no merely passive beneficiary of this trend, since quite probably the Roman army in bringing together contingents of socii from across Italy accelerated the homogenization of military equipment and tactics in the late fourth and early third centuries BCE.95 A Roman general accordingly commanded an army fi lled with ethnically diverse but fundamentally identical troops. A Roman general therefore did not have to ponder how best to deploy the specific capacities of individual contingents or create a grand and complex tactical plan. Instead, he knew that his Italian troops would integrate predictably and effortlessly alongside his legions in both the master plan of the Roman camp and the legionary triplex acies. Such a broad homogenization made feasible the annual integration of dozens of Italian cohorts from across the peninsula into a single, coherent force. The solution of organizing conquered territory through various political statuses was not unique to the Mediterranean world, but the Romans were unusually flexible for the mobility that they offered not simply for communities but also for individuals to move across legal categories. By the second century BCE, Italian socii might be enrolled in Latin or Roman colonies, acquiring new land and legal status in the process.96 People across the Italian Peninsula were integrated into a system that provided them with mobility in terms of both status and geography, although that system depended on Rome’s ongoing military dominance. That mobility was celebrated by the poet Ennius, an Italian who embodied it. Born in the Oscan community of Rudiae, he reputedly served as an allied soldier during the Second Punic War.97 His skills and the connections that he forged overseas with Roman aristocrats took him to a profitable career at Rome composing superpatriotic poetry celebrating his adoptive city. Ennius was proudest of his own transition from socius to civis. In 184 BCE he was enrolled as a member of the citizen colony at Pisaurum.98 His boast “nos sumus Romani qui fuimus ante Rudini” reflects the satisfaction of one Italian, at least, with the fluid spectrum of status in Roman Italy.99

Auxilia Externa Looking beyond the issue of Italian manpower, Jonathan Prag has emphasized the importance of extra-Italian manpower to the Roman impe-

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rial project, in terms of both technically independent allies, such as the Aetolian and Achaean leagues and the Attalid kings, and subject peoples, especially in Spain and Sicily.100 On at least five occasions between 207 and 171 BCE, the senate authorized magistrates to levy troops extra Italiam.101 In some instances, we have a sense of the assistance that external manpower provided Roman commanders, especially in set-piece batt les where contingents are listed in the sources, as shown in table 1.10. There were also unattested forces maintained in times of relative peace as garrison troops or even as levies raised to deal with emergencies in unmilitarized provinces such as Sicily. Even attested auxilia were often recruited and demobilized as needed, and so their standing strengths were often transient. Although the low visibility of auxilia externa means that their exact strength is difficult to judge, I suspect that in many years we should add 10,000 or 20,000 local auxiliaries to the Italian manpower discussed above. For the comparative purposes of this project, factoring in the often-invisible contribution of auxilia externa makes Rome’s dominance in military manpower even greater. Given that dominance, why mobilize foreign auxiliaries at all? At times, their loyalty might be suspect. In 212 BCE, Celtiberian auxiliaries with the Scipio brothers betrayed them, switched sides, directly contributing to the deaths of both commanders and the defeat of their armies.102 The quality of auxilia externa was mixed. Scipio’s complex tactics at Ilipa relegated his Iberian auxiliaries to a fi xing function, and his tactical guile assumed that the Carthaginian commander likewise held a low opinion of these troops.103 Polybius emphasized the poor quality of the Aetolian infantry at Cynoscephalae, although he grudgingly admitted the high quality of their cavalry.104 Other contingents distinguished themselves. At Magnesia, Macedonian and Th racian auxiliaries played a key role in defending the ramparts of the Roman camp and Eumenes II’s well-timed cavalry charge broke the Seleucid left flank.105 Auxilia externa also provided specific capacities to Roman armies abroad. They were particularly valuable as a source of local knowledge, especially concerning local and regional geography. Flamininus thus recruited Athamanians and Epirots into his army specifically to serve as guides as he campaigned into Thessaly.106 Other auxiliaries (many of whom were for all intents and purposes mercenaries) offered special martial skills lacking among the Romans and Italians, as archers, slingers, light cavalry, or mahouts. One problem with Italian manpower was the simple fact that it was based in Italy. Roman and Italian soldiers needed to be loaded onto troop transports and shipped to provincial theaters. While Roman military logistics were comparatively robust, each soldier still represented an incremental fi-

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Ta bl e 1.10. Au x i l i a e x t e r na i n se l ect e d bat t l e s a n d c a m pa igns, 217–168 BCE Battle (Date BCE)

Auxilia

Strength

Source

Raphia (217) Ilipa (206) Metaurus campaign (207)

1,000 light ca. 17,000a 3,000 8,000 1,800 cavalry

Livy 22.37.8–9 Polyb. 15.20.8

Zama (202)

Syracusans Iberians Sicilians Iberians/Gauls Numidians/ Iberians Numidians

Cynoscephalae (197)

Aetolians

Polyb. 15.5.2 App. Pun. 41 Plut. Flam. 7.2

Magnesia (190)

Athamanians Cretans/ Apollonians Att alid/Achaean

4,600 cavalry 6,000 infantry 6,000 infantry 400 cavalry 1,200 infantry 800 infantry

Th ird Macedonian War (171–168)

Cretans Tralleians Macedonians/ Th racians Att alid

Achaeans Thessalians Apollonians Aetolians Ligurians Cretans Numidians Epirots Parthini Spain (181)

Iberians

Livy 27.38.11–12

Livy 33.3

3,000 infantry 800 cavalry 500 cavalry 500 cavalry 2,000 infantry

Livy 37.39.9–12

6,000 infantry

Livy 42.55

1,000 cavalry 1,500 infantry 300 cavalry 100 infantry 300 cavalry One squadron 2,000 unknown 1,000 infantry 1,000 cavalry 8,000 light infantry 2,000 infantry 200 cavalry 6,000 (detachment)

Livy 42.35 Livy 42.62.1 Livy 43.9 Livy 44.30. Livy 40.31.1–2.

Source: Data come in part from Gauthier 2019. a Scipio had 45,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry all together; Polybius earlier (10.6.7–9.5) puts the strength of his Roman and Italian infantry at 28,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry.

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nancial and administrative burden. One consequence, to be discussed in greater detail in the concluding section, was that the Romans preferred to keep their expeditionary deployments modest, usually no more than a twolegion consular army, even for intensive Eastern campaigns. Auxiliary forces, present when the expeditionary force hit the ground, represented an important supplement when these modest cadres disembarked. Particularly important from the logistical perspective was cavalry. Taking the ratio from the World Wars’ famous “forty-eight” military rolling stock, designed to transport forty men or eight horses, five men might take up as much space on a troop transport as a single cavalry horse. Furthermore, the triple grain ration assigned to Roman cavalrymen suggests that each brought two grooms with him.107 (Allied cavalry, who received only a double ration, seem to have been allowed only one.) Th is means that to bring one Roman cavalryman from Italy required eight times as much space in a troop transport as an infantryman. And this is even before considering the food and fodder requirements of the horse! Having auxiliary cavalry already waiting in theater was therefore most welcome from a logistical perspective. It is notable that although the Romans could increase the size of the infantry component of a legion to 5,200 or even 6,000, the size of the cavalry contingent remained constant at 300, supplemented by foreign riders. Indeed, local auxiliaries also allowed Rome to keep some provinces demilitarized altogether, especially Sicily and Sardinia, which in most years during the second century BCE were governed by praetors without legions (although revolts or slave wars might require a military deployment). The paramilitary forces that governors needed to maintain order were therefore supplied by local levies, in Sicily raised through networks of Hellenistic gymnasia.108 Occasionally, Roman generals paid auxiliaries directly, although usually in the context of trying to force groups to switch sides: hence the payment that the Scipio brothers offered the Celtiberians to desert the Carthaginians in 212 BCE, a tactic that failed when Carthage made a successful counteroffer.109 Cato the Elder as consul in Spain tried unsuccessfully to hire away Celtiberian mercenaries in the employ of the rebel Turdetani, but his offer of double pay failed to prove effective.110 Yet most auxiliaries, like Italian socii, from the Roman state’s viewpoint were often free. Troops provided by foreign allies were paid and often supplied by their home governments, although in some instances they received a portion of the spoils.111 Before 167 BCE, when Roman citizens still fi nanced wars in part through the regular payment of tributum, the mobilization of additional auxilia increased Rome’s available manpower without adding an additional fiscal burden.

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Conclusion My conclusions here are hardly controversial. Rome managed comparatively large military deployments, peaking in 212 BCE at roughly 185,000 Romans and Italians (and perhaps in excess of 200,000 if auxilia externa are factored in). The Romans managed this deployment thanks to an unusually large citizen body (perhaps 350,000 adult males in 218), a network of Latin colonies, and a confederacy of subordinated Italian allies. In the next chapter, I will show that Roman maximum mobilization was almost twice the size of the maximum mobilization of the Seleucids and Ptolemies (roughly 80,000 men each). Even the minimum Roman mobilization between 218 and 167 BCE, six legions and wings or 65,000 men in 172, approached the Seleucid and Ptolemaic maximums and was far superior to the maximum mobilization of Macedonia, roughly 50,000 troops. Only Carthage during the Second Punic War rivaled the magnitude of Rome’s manpower mobilizations, although these mobilizations proved unsustainable for Carthage’s less robust imperial apparatus. More important, Rome was able to maintain a sizable strategic deployment on essentially a permanent basis.

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C h a p t e r T wo

Rival Manpower

Ca rt h agi n i a n M a npow er Before Roman legions crossed the Strait of Messina, Carthage had been the preeminent power in the western Mediterranean. During the First and Second Punic Wars, the city presented a far more serious challenge to Rome than any of the Hellenistic kingdoms. Carthage nearly won the First Punic War in 255 BCE and came close to winning the Second in 216. It is not implausible, given its centralized location, to imagine an alternative history in which Carthage, rather than Rome, established a pan-Mediterranean empire. Certainly, when an Aetolian statesman in 217 warned of the νέφος ἀπὸ τῆς ἑσπέρας, “cloud in the West,” he must have been speaking of Carthage, as the war then was going very much in Hannibal’s favor.1 Unlike Rome’s comparatively quick and decisive wars with Hellenistic powers, none of which lasted longer than four years, Rome’s confrontations with Carthage were grinding wars of att rition. Polybius has two basic explanations for Rome’s victory, and both hinge on manpower. The fi rst is quantitative. Polybius noted that Hannibal arrived in Italy with only 26,000 men, whereas the Romans had some 770,000 men on their rolls.2 The patent fallacy of Polybius’s logic is easily discernible, as he compared the size of a single field army (one that had just suffered enormous losses in the Alps) with a list of unmobilized reservists. Second, Polybius made the qualitative argument that Rome’s citizen-soldiers were superior in patriotism and dedication to Carthage’s feckless mercenaries.3 As we will see, Carthage was in fact able to muster large numbers of high-quality troops, and this was one of the main reasons the city proved such a ferocious competitor to Rome.

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Power Effective During the third and second centuries BCE, Carthage routinely deployed large field armies, a testimony to the administrative, fiscal, and logistical sophistication of the Carthaginian state. Table 2.1 produces a sample of field armies from 264 to 202. In addition to making these tactical deployments, Carthage could also field multiple field armies in separate theaters, a capability best documented during the Second Punic War. In 218 BCE, in the fi rst year of the Second Punic War, Polybius reports that Hannibal crossed the Pyrenees with 50,000 infantry and 9,000 cavalry.4 In addition, he had deployed two armies in Spain, 10,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry on the Ebro under Hanno and 15,000 in southern Spain commanded by his brother Hasdrubal.5 Nineteen thousand soldiers garrisoned North Africa.6 Carthage had over 100,000 men under arms in 218. In that same year, Rome mobilized a mere six legions, approximately 70,000 troops, giving Carthage a distinct advantage in deployed manpower. In 215 BCE, Hannibal commanded approximately 50,000 soldiers in Italy; he had the year before commanded 50,000 at Cannae, where he suffered 5,700 killed, but he was also reinforced by an additional 4,000 from Carthage.7 Meanwhile, in Brutt ium, Hanno commanded an army of 18,200, mostly Brutt ian rebels with a small African cadre.8 In Carthaginian Iberia, there were some 60,000 soldiers operating under three commanders, as Carthaginian commanders raised new forces to counter the Scipio brothers.9 Nineteen thousand men were deployed in Sardinia, a combination of local levies and a cadre of African troops.10 Presumably, most of the 19,000 troops Hannibal sent to garrison Africa in 218 remained there as a bulwark against both Roman invasion and Numidian unrest. In all, Carthage had roughly 165,000 soldiers deployed in 215, although it should be noted that this strength was highly volatile: Carthaginian forces in Spain suffered reverses at the hands of the Scipio brothers; Hanno’s army in Brutt ium was also handily defeated. The strength of Carthaginian armies in Spain could rise and fall with casualties and recruitment, and Hannibal’s own force dwindled from its peak strength at Cannae, especially once he found himself confi ned to southern Italy, separated from his most enthusiastic recruits, the Cisalpine Gauls. Still, in 215 the Romans were able to field only fi fteen legions (admittedly after enormous losses), perhaps 110,000 Roman and Italian foot soldiers, again giving Carthage an ongoing numerical advantage in deployed strength. In 206 BCE, despite losses at Baecula (208) and the Metaurus River (207), the Carthaginians were still concentrated in a large army (74,000 according to Polybius, or 54,000 according to Livy) on the Baetis River.11 The higher fig-

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Ta bl e 2.1. C a rt h agi n i a n f i e l d a r m i e s, 2 64–2 02 BCE Year

Location

Source

264 255 241 228 218 218 218 216 206 202

Sicily Tunis Libya Spain Pyrenees Cisalpine Gaul Trebia a Cannae Ilipab Zama c

Diod. 23.4.1 Polyb. 1.32.9 Polyb. 1.75.2 Diod. 25.12.1 Polyb. 3.35.7 Polyb. 3.56.4 Polyb. 3.71.9–72.8 Polyb. 3.114.5 Polyb. 11.20.2 App. Pun. 40–41

Infantry

Cavalry

50,000 12,000 10,000 50,000 50,000 20,000 29,000 40,000 70,000 50,000

6,000 4,000 — 6,000 9,000 6,000 11,000 10,000 4,000 4,000

a Hannibal deployed some 8,000 pikemen and slingers ahead of his main line (Polyb. 3.72.7), which consisted of 20,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry (3.72.10). In addition, he had prepositioned a picked force of 1,000 cavalry and 1,000 infantry in the riverbed (3.79.9). b Livy 28.12 puts Carthaginian strength at Ilipa at 50,000 infantry and 4,000 cavalry. Lazenby (1978:145) argues for the higher number, arguing that Scipio’s batt le tactics would not have been necessary if his infantry equaled that of his opponent, and Polybius is therefore to be preferred. c Appian reports 50,000 soldiers all together (Pun. 40), with 4,000 cavalry (Pun. 41). The latter report occurs as Appian sets up his dubious duel between Scipio and Hannibal, but the cavalry figure is plausible. Hannibal had 2,000 Numidian cavalry under Tychauus, and another 1,000 under Mazatullus. The Carthaginian cavalry likely numbered around 1,000–2,000. See M. Taylor 2019:317–319 for a discussion.

ure from Polybius is to be preferred, as Scipio’s tactics in the Batt le of Ilipa seem designed to counter a larger force. We can assume that Hannibal retained control of roughly 20,000 men (a guess, to be sure; perhaps conservative) and that a 19,000-strong garrison remained in Africa. Despite some uncertainty, the Carthaginian land mobilization for 206 seems to have been around 100,000 men. In 204 BCE, Hannibal’s brother Mago operated in Cisalpine Gaul with between 15,000 and 20,000 troops.12 Hannibal retained a much-reduced army of (again a guess) 20,000 men. Meanwhile, an enormous defense force was mustered to defend North Africa; according to Polybius some 33,000 Carthaginians under Hasdrubal Gesco and 60,000 Numidians under Syphax. The former figure is plausible enough, but the latter figure is suspect. Only about 15,000 Numidians fought at the Batt le of Zama on both sides in 202. Furthermore, it is unclear how Carthage could have resisted Syphax when he was hostile to the city before the diplomatic volte-face of 205 if he had such a large force at his disposal. If we accept Polybius’s report on the size of Syphax’s army, then Carthage managed to deploy roughly 125,000 soldiers in 204. I suspect that the Numidian army was much smaller,

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Ta bl e 2.2. Rom a n a n d C a rt h agi n i a n mobi l i z at ion, 218–2 02 BCE

Year

Carthage

Rome (legions and allies)

218 215 206 204 203 202

104,000 165,000 100,000 100,000 70,000 50,000

70,000 110,000 150,000 170,000 180,000 145,000

perhaps half the reported size. Even so, Carthage would still have mustered roughly 100,000 soldiers that year. In 203 BCE, Carthage still maintained Hannibal’s army in southern Italy, perhaps 20,000 strong, as well as Mago’s similarly sized force in northern Italy. In Africa, reeling from Scipio’s midnight incendiary raid on his camps, Hasdrubal Gesco was able to scrape together a force roughly 30,000 strong, including Numidians, freshly hired Celtiberian mercenaries, and African levies.13 Thus prior to the Carthaginian defeat at Campus Magnus, Carthage was able to muster approximately 70,000 men. In 202, with the recall of Hannibal, Carthage deployed one fi nal field army for the defense of Africa, 50,000 men under Hannibal, only to suffer defeat at Zama.14 Table 2.2 enumerates Carthaginian mobilization figures synoptically with Rome’s mobilizations between 218 and 202 BCE. It is evident there that in the early years of the war Carthage, not Rome, enjoyed the advantage in mobilized manpower. The shift toward Roman dominance in all likelihood occurred around 214 or 212 BCE, when Rome pushed its mobilization to twenty and then twenty-five legions, with the tide of war not coincidentally shift ing by 210.

Casualties Rome’s ability to absorb casualties is often cited as a leading factor for the unusual success of Roman imperialism, and it was certainly a critical component of Roman victory in both the First and the Second Punic War. The ability to recover from seemingly crippling losses, however, was not unique to Rome. As illustrated in table 2.3, the Carthaginians, too, suffered appalling casualties yet continued to fight. Admittedly, many of these figures, especially those derived from Roman reports, are exaggerated, some no doubt wildly so. To partially compensate

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for Roman exaggeration, I have listed in table 2.3 the lowest reported figure for any engagement. Yet even accounting for exaggeration and annalistic fabrication, it is fair to say that Carthaginian casualties during the Second Punic War were on the same order of magnitude as those suffered by Roman and Italian troops. Even if we seriously question the accuracy of these casualty figures, it is Ta bl e 2.3. C a rt h agi n i a n c a sua lt i e s i n t h e Secon d Pu n ic Wa r Battle/campaign

Year Source

Casualties

Crossing the Alps Cissa Lake Trasimene Cannae Cumae Grumentum Sardinia Dertosa Beneventum Salapia New Carthage Baecula Metaurus River Ilipa Croton Burning of the camps Great Plains Insubria Zama

218 218 217 216 215 215 215 215 214 214 210 208 207 206 204 204 203 203 202

33,000 KIA/MIA a 6,000 KIA, 2,000 POW 2,500 KIA 5,700 KIA b 1,300 KIA 2,000 KIA 12,000 KIA, 3,700 POW 13,000 KIA 16,000 KIA c 3,000 KIA 1,000 POW 12,000 POWd 10,000 KIA e Heavy 4,000 KIA, 300 POW 40,000 KIA, 5,000 POWf 4,000 KIA g 5,000 KIA 20,000 KIA, 20,000 POW

Polyb. 3.35, 3.56 Livy 21.60.7 Livy 22.7.3 Polyb. 3.117.6–7 Livy 23.37.6 Livy 23.37.11 Livy 23.40.12 Livy 23.49.13 Livy 24.16.4 Livy 27.1.2 Polyb. 10.8.4, 10.15.7 Polyb. 10.40.1 Polyb. 11.3.3 n/a Livy 29.36.9 Livy 30.6.7 Polyb. 14.7.5–8.12 Livy 30.18.13 Polyb. 15.14.9

Note: KIA, killed in action; MIA, missing in action; POW, taken prisoner of war. a Hannibal started his journey from Spain with 59,000 and ended with 26,000. b Livy 22.52.6 puts Hannibal’s losses at 8,000. c Livy reports that there were only 2,000 survivors from an army of 18,200. The totality of the Carthaginian defeat is probably exaggerated. d Cf. Livy 27.19. e Livy 27.49 cites losses at 56,000, but this is preposterously high. f Polybius implies the Carthaginians and Numidians had some 90,000 soldiers in the two camps, and he claims only 2,500 escaped. Appian (Lib. 23) reports only 2,400 prisoners. All these figures are undoubtedly exaggerated (Lazenby 1978:208). Nonetheless, we should accept that both a Carthaginian and a Numidian army were fi nished as fighting forces after Scipio’s raid. g Polybius records the near-total annihilation of 4,000 Celtiberian mercenaries. (Cf. Livy 30.8.9.) Actual casualties may have been higher.

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clear that Carthage endured devastating tactical losses during the last years of war. Consider the series of defeats that failed to dampen Carthage’s determination: in 209 BCE Scipio recaptured New Carthage; the next year he defeated Hasdrubal at Baecula; in 207 Hasdrubal had brushed off this setback, invaded Italy, and perished in hard fighting at the Metaurus River, a dispiriting defeat and a personal tragedy for Hannibal; by 206 Scipio had destroyed the last Carthaginian army, at Ilipa. Invading Africa, in 204 he ambushed and massacred combined Carthaginian and Numidian forces in their camps, supposedly annihilating both armies. To this devastating setback, imperiling the city itself, the Carthaginians responded by raising another army, which Scipio in turn crushed at the Campus Magnus. The Carthaginians temporarily sued for peace, but they immediately restarted hostilities upon the return of Hannibal and his veteran army to Africa, soon reinforced by local recruits and mercenary hires. After seven years of almost continuous military disaster, fi rst in Spain and then in Africa, the Carthaginians were still willing to risk everything in one last great batt le, Zama. Th is pattern of resilience matches the Roman ability to bounce back from the pattern of defeat and disaster at the Ticinus River, Trebia, Lake Trasimene, and Cannae; one reason for this resilience must be that Carthaginian policy makers, like their Roman counterparts, felt confident in their ability to replenish their human resources and fight on. The Carthaginian response to the crisis of 204–202 BCE so resembled Rome’s tenacity that even Livy admitted Carthaginian resilience “was Roman in its steadfastness in the face of adversity.”15 Even after the catastrophe at Zama, 6,000 infantry and 500 cavalry rallied, and Carthaginian politicians resolved to continue the war.16 It took some extraparliamentary persuasion from Hannibal himself before the Carthaginian senate agreed to a conditional surrender.17

Manpower Strategies: Africa Like Roman Italy, Carthaginian North Africa seems to have been integrated to the metropole by a flexible set of legal statuses, best illustrated by the treaty between Carthage and Macedonia that Polybius quotes, probably from the original document, which ended up in Roman hands. The treaty lists those in Africa whom Philip V and his Macedonians are now obliged to treat as friends and allies:18 . . . κυρίους Καρχηδονίους καὶ Ἀννίβαν τὸν στρατηγὸν καὶ τοὺς μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ τοὺς Καρχηδονίων ὑπάρχους, ὅσοι τοῖς αὐτοῖς νόμοις χρῶνται, καὶ Ἰτυκαίους, καὶ ὅσαι πόλεις καὶ ἔθνη Καρχηδονίων ὑπήκοα, καὶ τοὺς στρατιώτας καὶ τοὺς συμμάχους.

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. . . the Carthaginians, the supreme lords, and Hannibal their general, and those with him, and all under the dominion of Carthage who live under the same laws; likewise the people of Utica and all cities and peoples that are subject to Carthage, and their soldiers and allies.

Κυρίους may refer to either all Carthaginian citizens or perhaps just those elites in governing institutions (shofets, senate, judges, etc.). The former is more likely, given that in the thorough legalese it would make sense to subsequently refer to the Carthaginian dēmos in the following clause if κυρίους were meant to refer only to the Carthaginian governing elite. Regardless, the word makes explicit Carthage’s imperial position as the master city in Africa. Similarly, when Polybius reports that Carthage had resumed control over Libya following the mercenary role, he uses the verb κυριεῦσαι.19 Th is is notably a much stronger ideological claim than Rome ever made over its Italian socii. It has often been suggested that “all under the dominion of Carthage who live under the same laws” may describe the group known elsewhere as Libyophoenicians, apparently Punic speakers within Libya.20 Th is analogy has recently been challenged by Sandrine Crouzet, who argues that “those with the same laws” may simply be Libyan subjects living in territory directly administered by Carthage.21 The specific mention of Utica may imply that it enjoyed some special status while still subject to Carthaginian suzerainty; it was also specially listed on a commercial treaty of 348 BCE.22 The remaining cities and peoples were subjects lacking any special status to warrant special mention. The allies mentioned in the clause may refer to Numidian and Mauritanian peoples who lived beyond the zone of direct Carthaginian control. Carthage was notable for making limited use of citizen manpower. Indeed, it is unlikely that Carthage ever mobilized more than 10,000 citizen troops, and usually no more than a few thousand. Ten thousand Carthaginian citizens supposedly deployed against Timoleon of Corinth in 340 BCE.23 The core of this force, the Carthaginian Sacred Band, consisted of 2,500 soldiers and was likely modeled on Greek professional citizen units active during the fourth century.24 The Sacred Band is last attested in 310, in the war against Agathocles of Syracuse, and is conspicuously absent from the narratives of the Punic Wars.25 Carthage struggled to mobilize a few thousand citizen troops during emergencies in the third century BCE. Polybius’s accounts of Carthaginian army strength tend to blur citizen, Libyan, and mercenary elements, so citizens are usually only a subset of the contingent he refers to as Carthaginian. Half the heavy infantry at the Batt le of Tunis, in 255, was made up of what he refers to as the Carthaginian phalanx (τὴν* . . . φάλαγγα τῶν Καρχηδονίων),

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with a strength of roughly 5,000 men.26 Th is was, however, not a strictly citizen body but rather a mix of citizens, Libyophoenicians, and Libyans, and they may have been the same 5,000 infantry Hamilcar brought from Heraclea, predominantly noncitizen troops, most likely Libyan.27 Citizens were by necessity mobilized during the Truceless War, but again not in great numbers. Polybius reports that the Carthaginians armed citizens of military age and trained civic cavalry.28 Hamilcar assumed command of a force of 10,000 infantry and cavalry, which included citizens along with deserters from the enemy and fresh mercenaries. Polybius does not give a breakdown of this figure, but the implication was that the citizen phalanx and cavalry together consisted of only a few thousand men.29 Some Carthaginian citizens served in Hannibal’s second line at Zama, which consisted of a mix of Libyans and Carthaginians according to Polybius.30 The exact strength of this line is not known but was probably 10,000 to 15,000 men, roughly equivalent to the fi rst line of 12,000 mercenaries.31 Still, factoring in Libyans and Libyophoenicians, citizen infantry would have numbered only several thousand. At Zama, Carthaginian cavalry did play an important role, with perhaps 2,000 Carthaginian horse (although again this unit probably also included Libyans) posted on Hannibal’s right wing.32 Citizens seem to have enjoyed special political status within Carthaginian armies. In the treaty with Macedonia, when it came time to swear the oath, those who swore for Carthage included Hannibal himself, his senior officers, the Carthaginian senators (γερουσιασταί) in his entourage, and “all Carthaginians serving under him” (πάντες Καρχηδόνιοι στρατευόμενοι μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ). Presumably the citizen cadre of a Carthaginian army took the lead in other collective political acts, such as the execution of commanders for incompetence and the acclamation of new generals.33 Strabo reports that the population of Carthage in the 150s BCE stood at 700,000 “in their city,”34 although it is unclear what this number represents. It is inconceivable that the male adult citizen population was 700,000, as this would imply a total citizen population of over two million (well over twice that of Rome). Dexter Hoyos has suggested that the 700,000 should refer to men, women, and children, which would posit an adult male citizen population of between perhaps 160,000 and 180,000, roughly half the male citizen population of Rome, but still larger than any Greek polis.35 Strabo may have confused the total population of the Libyan hinterland for the city’s population, although he explicitly differentiates between the population of the city and the three hundred cities of Libya. Strabo’s source remains unclear, and the high number suggests wild invention rather than a figure derived from official records. Unmoored from any reliable ancient source, estimates of Carthage’s citizen population differ widely. (See table 2.4.)

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Ta bl e 2.4. Mode r n e st i m at e s of tota l C a rt h agi n i a n cit i z e n popu l at ion Source Beloch 1886:467 Kahrstedt 1913:23–24 Warmington 1960:150 Huss 1985:51 Ameling 1993:205–56 Hoyos 2003:226 Pilkington 2019:169

Estimate 200,000–300,000 125,000–130,000 400,000 700,000 90,000–225,000 700,000–800,000 75,000–280,000

Plutarch reports that the death of 3,000 Carthaginian citizens at the Battle of the Crimessus River, in 340 BCE, was “a grave misfortune for the city” (μέγα τῇ πόλει πένθος), a misfortune that must have been demographic rather than simply emotional. Plutarch’s statement makes more sense if the citizen population of Carthage was significantly smaller, toward the lower end of the estimates. All estimates of Carthage’s urban and periurban population are uncertain. The overlay of the Roman city means that we are poorly informed about the ancient city, beyond its basic dimensions; and the variables of projected urban density and the extent of extramural habitation explain much of the range in our population estimates. Furthermore, we do not know the civil status of those living within and around Carthage, which no doubt included slaves and foreigners, perhaps in sizable numbers. I propose another way of thinking about the problem, by considering the nature of Carthaginian citizen military mobilization in contrast to imperial citizen bodies for which we are better informed. Did Carthage more closely resemble classical Athens or Middle Republican Rome? Classical Athens had a citizen population that fluctuated between roughly 100,000 and 150,000 citizens (of which 30,000 to 50,000 were adult males), with a citizen hoplite levy of about 8,000 to 13,000 in addition to a large fleet of 100-plus triremes that would have required 20,000 or more rowers.36 Rome, as I have discussed, had a population of over one million citizens in 218 BCE, or 350,000 adult males, with citizen deployments of between 20,000 and 90,000 in four to twentyfive legions (excluding socii) in addition to a large fleet. Carthage almost certainly more closely resembled Athens in terms of the modest size of its citizen infantry muster, maintained alongside substantial naval deployments. The Carthaginian citizen mobilization was only several thousand hoplites and cavalry. Carthage was able to man a large fleet of over a hundred war-

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ships into the Second Punic War, although we do not know the extent of the citizen component of the fleet. Gaius Duilius bragged of capturing “Cartaciniensis incenuos” (freeborn Carthaginians) on his naval column.37 Livy makes several references to subjects and what he dubs socii navales manning Carthaginian fleets.38 As with Rome, the composition of the fleets was likely a mix of citizen and subject sailors, marines, and rowers. Ultimately, it is likely that Carthage placed limited emphasis on citizen soldiers simply because it never had a large citizen body to begin with. I crudely estimate that Carthage’s citizen population was roughly 25,000 to 50,000 adult males, perhaps 75,000 to 150,000 men, women, and children all together. Th is would be a very large city-state by the standards of the ancient Mediterranean but still only a fraction of Rome’s citizen body. With citizens in short supply, most of Carthage’s African manpower was drawn from subject Libyan communities in the city’s hinterland. In 218 BCE, there were approximately 50,000 African soldiers mobilized in Carthaginian armies. These included 4,000 Metagonian troops deployed in Carthage and 12,300 Libyan and Libyophoenician forces in Spain.39 With Hannibal, some 12,000 African foot soldiers out of 20,000 infantrymen survived the march over the Alps. If the original army consisted of 50,000 infantry and the losses among Africans were proportional, then perhaps 30,000 Africans had initially marched forth across the Pyrenees. Nathan Pilkington has recently estimated that combining the metropole and the Libyan hinterland there was probably a total African population of between 750,000 and 900,000, with a military-aged (ca. 17–45) male population of roughly 150,000–170,000.40 Fift y thousand probably represented the maximum mobilization that was sustainable from this pool.

Gauls and Italians Carthaginian expeditionary forces during the time of the First Punic War made substantial use of Gallic and Italian mercenaries.41 Polybius reports that when it became clear that Rome and Carthage had decided on a protracted confl ict in Sicily after the defection of Syracuse in 263 to Rome, Carthage enlisted Ligurian, Celtic, and Iberian mercenaries in a coordinated recruitment campaign.42 How large these contingents were is unknown, although Polybius reports 2,000 Gauls among the mercenaries who revolted.43 The Romans perhaps created ideal conditions for Carthage to recruit Italian and Gallic mercenaries in the third century BCE: disruptive conquests in both northern and southern Italy and the limits that Roman hegemony placed on local warfare likely drove many southern Italian and Gallic warriors from defeated communities into Carthaginian service. The mercenary

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captain Spendius, an escaped Roman slave and a general in the mercenary revolt in 241, represented at least one Italian mercenary pursuing Carthaginian service to escape the Roman order.44 The trend continued into the Second Punic War. In 218 BCE, Hannibal sent 300 Ligurians to garrison Carthage, indicating that Liguria remained a source of mercenary recruits, although here in very modest numbers.45 Indeed, in some ways Hannibal’s strategy in the Second Punic War can be seen as asserting Carthaginian hegemony over regions that had previously been prime sources for mercenary recruitment. The treaty with Philip V explicitly mentions “cities and peoples in Italy, Gaul, and Liguria, with whom we are in alliance or with whomsoever in this country we may hereafter enter into alliance,” indicating that by 215 the Car thaginians considered these peoples fi rmly within the Carthaginian sphere of influence.46 The main point of Hannibal’s daring march across the Alps was not simply to catch the Romans by surprise but to situate Hannibal’s expeditionary force in a landscape upended by Rome’s violent imperialism in the 230s and 220s BCE, full of men ready to serve, in Polybius’s words, as “cooperators and confederates in his enterprise.”47 By the Batt le of Cannae, he may have had as many as 20,000 Gallic soldiers in his army, although his batt le tactics routinely exposed his Celtic contingents to the heaviest losses.48 But Hannibal’s strategy was ultimately the victim of his success: as he advanced into Italy, he cut himself off from his northern recruiting ground, even though he continued to draw on southern Italian troops until the end of the war.

Iberia The defeat in the First Punic War, coupled with the near catastrophe of the Truceless War, led Hamilcar Barca to seek a new territorial power base in Spain, a source of both silver and, more importantly, competent and militarized young men.49 The Carthaginians had recruited Iberian mercenaries in the First Punic War, and this zone of interaction hardened into an empire from the 230s BCE onward. The importance of Iberia to the Barcid project can be found in both Hasdrubal the Fair’s marriage to an Iberian princess and Hannibal’s marriage to Imilce, a woman from Castulo, on the upper Baetis River.50 Although these nuptial arrangements suggest that Carthaginian hegemony in Iberia rested largely on the pretense of mutual alliance, coercion was never absent. Its most basic mechanism was the collection of hostages, both male and female. These hostages, and the loyalty they mandated from home communities, made them a fortuitous acquisition of Scipio’s daring raid on New Carthage in 209. The studied courtesy that he displayed after the hostages fell under his politically astute control was part of a larger strategy to dismantle Carthage’s manpower network in Spain.51

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Spanish manpower was the linchpin of Carthage’s efforts in the Second Punic War. Before 206 BCE, there were routinely 50,000 or more Iberian soldiers serving under Carthaginian commanders in Spain. Some 19,000 Iberian troops provided the garrison for Carthage, and Hannibal had approximately 8,000 Iberians with him in Italy in 216, although their numbers subsequently declined through casualties and wastage.52 The numbers of deployed Iberians fluctuated, because Carthaginian commanders in Spain mustered, furloughed, and discharged Iberian warriors and had also a chronic problem of desertion. Still, the peak mobilization of Iberian warriors was probably between 50,000 and 75,000 men. Before 206, therefore, Iberians probably made up roughly half of all soldiers serving in Carthaginian armies and proved far more significant for Carthage’s military manpower than the people of its African domains.53 However, even after the last Carthaginian armies evacuated the Iberian Peninsula, the region remained a mercenary recruiting ground, essentially reverting to an older, less formal relationship with the imperial city. In 203 BCE, the Carthaginian general Hasdrubal Gesco, who commanded in Iberia before losing to Scipio at Ilipa, recruited some 4,000 Celtiberian mercenaries to reinforce his armies. Despite Polybius’s schematic critiques of the patriotism and moral spirit of Carthaginian mercenaries, he himself informs us that these Celtiberians subsequently fought to the death at the Batt le of Campus Magnus.54

Numidia Carthage exerted intermittent control over the Numidian tribes on its western frontier. Occasional shows of force might temporarily subjugate Numidian groups living closest to the frontier, but most Numidian chiefs seem to have been semiautonomous and always more so when Carthage was distracted by major wars elsewhere.55 Their service alongside Carthaginian armies might at times have been due to applied compulsion, but more often it resulted from mutually advantageous personal connections with Carthaginian grandees. Take, for example, the Numidian chieftain Naravas, who provided a much-needed brigade of 2,000 cavalry during the Truceless War. Naravas’s motive, according to Polybius, was that “he had always possessed an ancestral attachment to the Carthaginians customary in his house, which was strengthened through his admiration of the general Hamilcar.”56 Naravas was rewarded for his timely aid with a marriage to one of Hamilcar’s daughters. (The anonymous bride was later fictionalized by Flaubert as the titular Salammbô.) If Naravas was indeed the brother of Gala, the prince of the Massylii Numidians, then it is possible that the powerful connection between the

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city-state and the family may have hardened Carthaginian control over the Massylii and contributed to the increasing bifurcation of Numidian society into the twin tribal confederacies of Massylii (eastern) and Masaesyli (western). We hear of this bifurcation only during the Second Punic War, and the coalescence of Numidian groups into two oppositional factions was probably driven by Carthage’s imperial power. The revival of Carthaginian power in the 230s BCE and the campaigns of Hannibal the Fair against hostile Numidian tribes no doubt simultaneously strengthened the pro-Carthaginian Massylii coalition while forcing chiefs and factions outside to coalesce into (or around) the Masaesyli, who by 214 were led by King Syphax. Although the bifurcation was useful to Carthage in making its western frontier both stable and legible, it had one immediate disadvantage in that it guaranteed that roughly half the Numidian population was hostile to Carthage at any given time. Between the 230s BCE and Syphax’s revolt in 214, it seems that the alliance of Carthage and the Massylii was sufficient to keep the Masaesyli docile. However, the Second Punic War proved a significant distraction, siphoning away not only Carthage’s Libyan troops but also Massylian auxiliaries. The timing of Syphax’s revolt in 214 no doubt was influenced by Carthage’s military overcommitment as well as the increasingly plausible estimate that Rome was going to survive the disaster of Cannae. But the dynamics of Numidian power politics were always fluid. The collapse of Carthaginian power in Spain prompted Masinissa, who had served Carthage loyally and energetically as an auxiliary cavalryman, to make an overture to Scipio even before his father’s death sparked a succession crisis that reduced him to litt le more than a glorified bandit. Meanwhile, Syphax’s gains at the expense of the riven Massylii in 206 cooled his interest in a Roman alliance and ultimately led to his marriage to Sophonisba, the operatically doomed daughter of Hasdrubal Gesco. Masinissa, who had been chased out of his father’s realm by Syphax (his actual claim to rule as a cadet son was always weak), found collaboration with Scipio the most plausible way to rebuild his kingdom. The Batt le of Zama, in 202 BCE, can be viewed provocatively as the last batt le of the Numidian civil war, aided by Roman and Carthaginian auxiliaries. After Scipio’s victory at the Campus Magnus and the initial cease-fi re with Carthage, Masinissa had taken his army, including 4,000 cavalry, back to Numidia, where he aspired to rule over a unified pan-Numidian state. He was supplemented by detachments of cavalry and infantry from Scipio’s army, although these seem to have returned to Scipio’s camp after the capture of Syphax.57 The new king promptly began hunting down his remaining rivals. When hostilities reerupted in early 202 BCE, Scipio judged his own forces, two legions with allied wings, insufficient to guarantee victory over

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Hannibal, and so he retreated through western Libya toward Numidia, sacking various cities along the way while fi ring off urgent messages to Masinissa begging for his assistance.58 Masinissa, however, proved unwilling to immediately drop his own state-building operations. Bringing his army to Scipio might give his rivals the breathing space to reconstitute against him. He knew how swift ly dynastic fortunes could change in Numidia, having himself spent time on the run with the soldiers of his rival Syphax in hot pursuit.59 Masinissa therefore took his time, running out nearly the whole of the campaigning season of 202 on his own operations, leaving Scipio in the lurch. The Batt le of Zama was probably not fought until October of 202, roughly eight or nine months after the violation of the cease-fi re.60 What fi nally prompted Masinissa to join with Scipio? I suspect that he did so because his various rivals, Mazaetullus, Tychaeus, and Vermina, had all fi nally thrown in their lot militarily with Hannibal. Mazaetullus, perhaps his weakest opponent, seems to have been the fi rst to ride to join Hannibal at Hadrumentum, with 1,000 cavalry.61 Like Masinissa, Mazaetullus was of the Massylii Numidians, but he had opposed Masinissa as a usurper.62 Representing the other major Numidian tribal grouping, the Masaesyli, was Tychaeus, a relative of the recently deposed Syphax, who also joined Hannibal, with 2,000 cavalry.63 Vermina, Syphax’s son, was also en route with a large body of troops before Zama, although he failed to link up with Hannibal in time and was defeated by the Romans after the batt le, in early November.64 All three chieftains had reason to hold what territory they could while they were able to stand individually against Masinissa. But as Masinissa gained the upper hand, each separately abandoned Numidia and fled toward Hannibal. For all three men, a Carthaginian victory ultimately would have proved their last hope to defeat Masinissa. As might be expected with warlords, the three men did not cooperate closely. (All set off toward Hannibal separately and at different moments.) Indeed, Hannibal represented their only lodestone for an effective combined resistance against Masinissa. Once Mazaetullus and Tychaeus joined Hannibal’s army, with Vermina moving to join them, Masinissa’s best chance to ensure his rivals’ collective destruction lay in joining up with Scipio’s legions. Hannibal, meanwhile, had ignored political pressure from Carthage to confront Scipio as soon as possible, building his army and elephant corps for eight months. Ultimately, the friendly Numidian auxiliaries arriving into his camp represented a spur to action, and not merely because their strength would have provided him with the confidence to risk a general engagement. Rather, the arrival of Tychaeus in Hadrumentum, combined with the news that Vermina was on the way, meant that there were now no forces fi xing Masinissa and his army in Numidia. Although Hannibal probably hoped to intercept Scipio before Masinissa could join him, he now

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needed to fight him no matter what, before Scipio, so reinforced, would be able to fi nally go on the offensive against Carthage. The internal dynamics of Numidian confl ict determined the timing of the decisive fi nal batt le. These dynamics are a reminder that reliance on foreign troops was not unique to Carthage: Scipio needed Numidian help as much as Hannibal did. But Scipio needed their assistance not because of a shortage of Italian manpower but rather to forestall the unwelcome prospect that a successor might arrive with reinforcements, to share in the glory.65 Carthage’s limited internal manpower meant that it was far more vulnerable to the volatilities and vagaries of Numidian tribal politics.

Conclusion Carthage was able to mobilize military manpower on a massive scale during the Second Punic War. But the center was ultimately hollow. Carthage does not seem to have had a particularly large citizen body and therefore was reliant on troops drawn from a series of peripheries: fi rst from the Libyan hinterland, then from the more unstable peripheries of Iberia and Numidia. Many Iberian and Numidian warlords were often something between allies and subjects, depending on the relative strength of Carthage and its capacity to enforce demands for military cooperation. Carthage supplemented its forces with mercenary troops, mostly drawn from the western Mediterranean. The mass deployment of peripheral manpower allowed Carthage to prove Rome’s most dangerous enemy, but it also meant that the city’s manpower base was far more fragile and ephemeral than Roman Italy.

M ace don i a n M a n pow er Power Effective We get our fi rst significant information about Macedonian military strength during the Antigonid dynasty in Polybius’s report of the Batt le of Sellasia, in 222 BCE.66 (See table 2.5.) Antigonus Doson’s army in the Peloponnese was an expeditionary force. The future of the Macedonian state was not in jeopardy at Sellasia, and so we do not see a maximum mobilization of Macedonian manpower for this batt le. The campaign made use of a number of recently forged alliances, deployed troops drawn from Greek communities frightened by the resurgence of Cleomenes’ Sparta, especially the Achaeans, who up until now had been traditional enemies. A similar expeditionary force sallied forth less than two years later, during the Social War against Aetolia, under the command of the new king, Philip V,

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Ta bl e 2.5 . T h e M ace don i a n A r m y at Se l l a si a , 222 BCE Group Macedonians Gauls Agrianians Greek mercenaries Achaeans Megalopolitans Epirots Acarnanians Boeotians Illyrians Total

Infantry 13,000 1,000 1,000 3,000 3,000 1,000 1,000 1,000 2,000 1,600 27,600

Cavalry 300

300 300 50 50 200 1,200

Source: Polyb. 2.65.2–6.

who marched to the Peloponnese with 10,000 heavy infantry, 5,000 peltasts, and 800 cavalry.67 With the addition of the Epirot levy (probably similar to the 1,000 infantry and 50 cavalry employed at Sellasia), 300 Achaean slingers, and 500 Cretan archers, Philip commanded a force of roughly 20,000 soldiers, somewhat smaller than Antigonus Doson’s army at Sellasia but still a substantial force, comparable in size with a Roman consular army.68 In addition, an independent allied Achaean army of 5,000 infantry and 500 cavalry brought the total forces mobilized against the Aetolians in 220 BCE to over 25,000.69 Philip’s second expeditionary force, in 218 BCE, was significantly smaller. Now Philip brought a mere 3,000 heavy phalangites, 2,000 peltasts, 400 cavalry, and 300 Cretan mercenaries, relying on his allies to provide the remaining manpower.70 Th is diminished mobilization may have reflected a lull in the cycle of Macedonian militia mobilization, as the soldiers called up the year before were rested.71 In 217, we know that Philip mobilized three districts: Upper Macedonia, Bott ia, and Amphaxitis, although we do not know the size of these mobilizations; perhaps each could be expected to provide 3,000 to 4,000 men.72 Repelling direct threats to Macedonian territory, such as in the Roman invasions of 200 and 171 BCE, required a near-complete utilization of Macedon’s internal resources. In 200, to meet the initial Roman invasion, Philip mustered a force of 20,000 infantry and 2,000 cavalry, stripping down the garrisons that guarded the passes with Illyria.73 For the fi nal showdown, at Cynoscephalae in 197, Philip put together an even larger army,

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although this required him to recruit boys as young as sixteen years of age and old men besides.74 (See table 2.6.) In addition, Philip was obliged to maintain multiple powerful garrisons, which severely detracted from the strength of his field force. (See table 2.7.) Livy provides details of two of these garrisons during the Second Macedonian War. Ta bl e 2.6. T h e M ace don i a n a r m y at C y nosce ph a l a e , 19 7 BCE Group

Size

Macedonian phalanx Macedonian peltasts Cavalry (Macedonian and Thessalian) Th racian peltasts Illyrian peltasts Mercenaries Total

16,000  2,000  2,000  2,000  2,000  1,500 23,500 infantry,  2,000 cavalry

Source: Livy 33.4.3–6.

Ta bl e 2.7. M ace don i a n g a r r isons, 19 7 BCE Location and Group Asia Minor Macedonians Troops drawn from garrisons Corinth Macedonians Illyrians Th racians and Cretans Various nationalities Boeotians, Acarnanians, Thessalians Corinthians Total

Size 3,100a 500b ca. 2,600 6,000c 1,500 1,200 800 800 1,000 700 9,100

a Livy 33.18.13. Livy lists only the 500 Macedonians but notes that the total strength was roughly 3,000 infantry and 100 cavalry. b Livy 33.18.9. c Livy 33.14.1–6.

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Looking beyond the 9,100 soldiers in garrisons where troop strength is attested, Nicholas Hammond and Frank Walbank estimate the garrison of the other Fetters of Greece, Chalcis and Demetrias, at roughly 5,000 apiece, similar to the attested garrison at the Acrocorinth.75 Macedonia’s total garrison during the Second Macedonian War probably numbered around 20,000 men, almost the size of the field army at Cynoscephalae. Thus in 197 BCE, Philip was able to muster approximately 45,000 troops, with roughly half stuck in garrison duty. Roughly 20,000 of these troops, in both the field army and garrisons, were explicitly identified as Macedonians, and this figure was no doubt higher, given that the 2,000 cavalry at Cynoscephalae were mostly Macedonian (Livy reports a mix of Macedonians and Thessalians), while some Macedonians were no doubt posted in other garrisons such as Chalcis and Demetrias. In all, Philip likely deployed roughly 25,000 ethnic Macedonians during the war. In comparison, the Romans were able to send only a two-legion consular army to Macedonia, and each of these legions seems to have been only 4,200 strong, given that Roman manpower was still exhausted by the losses and deployments of the Second Punic War.76 It is doubtful that Roman forces, counting Greek allies and garrisons, exceeded 35,000 men. Philip therefore enjoyed a theater-level advantage in manpower during much of the confl ict. Philip’s losses at Cynoscephalae were heavy. Some 8,000 Macedonians perished, and another 5,000 were captured.77 Th is was well over 50 percent of his main field army and perhaps a third of his mobilized manpower. At around the same time, the Achaeans defeated the garrison at Corinth, reportedly infl icting losses of 1,500 killed and 300 prisoners,78 while the Rhodians and Achaeans badly thrashed the Macedonian garrison in Asia Minor.79 Despite heavy losses, Philip was still able to disengage himself and turn north to successfully repel a Dardanian invasion in command of a small force of 6,000 infantry and 500 cavalry.80 An entire generation passed between the disaster of Cynoscephalae and the end of the Macedonian monarchy. Both Philip V and his successor, Perseus, worked hard to regenerate and reorganize Macedonia’s internal resources, including by encouraging immigration.81 Table 2.8 shows the force that, according to Livy, Perseus raised to meet the Roman invasion in 171 BCE.82 Livy reports a total of 39,000 infantry and 4,000 cavalry, claiming that it was the largest Macedonian army ever assembled since the time of Alexander.83 The increase in the size of the field army between the Second and Th ird Macedonian Wars owed mostly to the reduced need for garrisons following the sett lement that ended the Second Macedonian War. Note the increased number of mercenaries in the army: Philip V had only 5,500 mercenaries in his field army at Cynoscephalae (assuming the Th racian and Illyrian peltasts

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Ta bl e 2.8. T h e M ace don i a n A r m y, 171 BCE Group Macedonians Phalangites Peltasts Cavalry Paeonians and Agrianians Gauls Aetolians and Boeotians Mixed Greek Cretans Free Th racians Odrysian Th racians

Size 29,000 21,000a  5,000  3,000  3,000  2,000    500    500b  3,000  3,000  2,000c

Source: Livy 42.51.3–11. a Livy does not specify the strength of this unit but specifies only that it represented nearly half the total strength. Th is likely represents each phalanx (White and Bronze) divided into ten chiliarchies of 1,024 men, or 20,480. My figure in the chart is what is required to reach Livy’s stated end strength of 39,000 infantry, minus other listed contingents. b Livy does not specify the strength of this contingent, but 500 would make the total subcontingent of non-Macedonian troops, minus the Odrysian Th racians, add up to 12,000. c Half infantry and half cavalry.

were hired troops, in addition to the 1,500 Greek mercenaries), although he probably had thousands of mercenaries employed in his garrisons. Perseus deployed 9,000 mercenaries in his field army (assuming the Greeks, Cretans, and Th racians should be classified as mercenaries, whereas the Paeonians, Agrianians, and perhaps also the Gauls were subjects within the Macedonian kingdom), most likely because of his reduced garrison requirements.84 The loss of the Fetters at the Acrocorinth and Chalcis alone would have freed approximately 6,000 to 10,000 men in time of war, and perhaps 1,500 to 2,000 full-time soldiers in times of peace. (Philip V had been allowed to regarrison Demetrias after the war with Antiochus III.)85 The reduction of Macedonian imperial holdings by Roman fiat following the Second Macedonian War freed both mercenaries and Macedonians for homeland defense, allowing Perseus to muster a field army larger than any of his predecessors’. The number of ethnic Macedonians in Perseus’s field army also increased substantially over his father’s showing at Cynoscephalae. Livy reports significant population increases in the generation between Cynoscephalae and

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Pydna, although this may simply reflect paranoid Roman propaganda about the dangerous state of Perseus’s kingdom.86 Some modest population growth does seem plausible: Philip was able to field only about 25,000 Macedonian infantry and cavalry (including listed garrisons) through the recruitment of boys and old men into his forces, whereas Perseus mustered nearly 30,000 in his phalanx alone without (attested) recourse to similar desperate measures. Again, most of this increase probably resulted from reduced garrison requirements, but some of it may indeed reflect improved Macedonian demographics. In all, Perseus had 43,000 in his field army, but he still needed to garrison some strategic points. In many instances, these garrisons were detachments from his field army, which might be dispersed and reconsolidated as the tactical situation shifted.87 Still, some garrisons remained outside the main army; there were still 2,000 Th racians at Amphipolis who were not present with the field army at Pydna in 168.88 Therefore, rounding up our estimates of the maximum mobilization up somewhat to account for garrisons, we should assume Perseus had roughly 50,000 soldiers under arms during the Th ird Macedonian War. A particularly important supplement for Perseus’s own forces came through an alliance forged with Genthius, the king of the Ardean Illyrians, a pact sealed with a promised payment of 300 talents. Genthius was able to field a force of 15,000 Illyrians, sufficient to occupy a two-legion praetorian army in Illyria at a time when the Romans were pinched for manpower.89 Perseus also sought to hire mercenaries from Clondicus, a chieftain of the Danubian Bastarnae. Supposedly Clondicus offered the support of 10,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry.90 Whatever the size of the horde, Perseus balked at the price demanded and proved leery of admitt ing such a force of barbarians into his kingdom.91 Ancient sources tended to turn this incident into a parable condemning Perseus’s supposed stinginess, although his policy here was probably more nuanced.92 The admission of so many warriors into the kingdom (even if the numbers are inflated) amounted to a small-scale Völkerwanderung. Both Philip and Perseus had proven open to seeding underpopulated regions with immigrants. Nonetheless, admitt ing a large, armed group while the Macedonian army occupied itself sparring with the Romans would hardly have amounted to prudent policy. The fi nal defeat at the Batt le of Pydna infl icted terrible carnage upon the Macedonians, who suffered as many as 20,000 killed and a further 11,000 captured.93 Even if these numbers are exaggerated, given the late-annalistic tint that Paul Erdkamp detects in the narrative (one of its hallmarks being an unrealistically high casualty figure), there is every reason to believe that the massacre at Pydna was a demographic catastrophe, resulting in the death

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or capture of a significant number of Macedonian males.94 Macedonia could not recover from the losses, and Perseus surrendered shortly afterward, ending the Antigonid dynasty. The disasters of Cynoscephalae and Pydna reveal that Antigonid Macedonia was essentially one batt le away from defeat. The Antigonid kings, particularly Philip V and Perseus, were well aware of their weaknesses in manpower even before their disastrous confrontations with the Romans. In a set of letters to the Thessalian city of Larissa, in 215 BCE, Philip V exhorted the city to expand its citizen body by promoting resident Greeks and Thessalians to full citizenship, explicitly citing the example of Rome.95 Although his knowledge of Roman institutions was imperfect, he was aware that slaves in Rome could obtain citizenship (although he wrongly believed they might hold office) and he admiringly cited Roman colonization policy (although he incorrectly numbered Roman colonies at seventy, roughly double the probable figure). The letter nonetheless attests that Philip was capable of thinking about the impact of demography on the military power of his kingdom, with an eye to his peer rivals. Philip matched his words with deeds. Perhaps in emulation of Roman colonial enterprises, he sett led a large number of Th racians in Macedon, some of whom were present in Perseus’s army.96

The Macedonian Population The military mobilizations discussed in the preceding pages represent our best evidence of the population of Macedonia. Even under Alexander the Great, there were never more than 30,000 Macedonians on active service, whereas we have seen how under the Antigonids roughly 30,000 seems to have been the maximum mobilization under emergency conditions.97 These maximums suggest a small total population of Macedonian citizens, perhaps no more than 200,000 to 300,000 citizen men, women, and children (assuming a high mobilization rate), and certainly less than half a million. Richard Billows has suggested a higher figure, arguing for a population from one to one and a half million in the late fourth century BCE, with some undetermined drop following the Gallic invasions. Th is figure is based on his rough estimate of Macedonia’s carrying capacity (or, more accurately, on his application of Brunt’s estimate of the carrying capacity of Italy in comparison with the surface area of Macedonia).98 There are, however, reasons to believe that Macedonia’s carrying capacity was in fact significantly lower than Italy’s, in part because of heavy forestation and lower rates of agricultural reclamation.99 To account for the small size of Macedonian military mobilizations, Billows postulates the presence of an enormous number of slaves and serfs, who were incapable of military service, like the penestai of Thessaly and

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the helots at Sparta.100 We should be cautious in conjuring an enormous class of subjected peoples from thin air, especially given that our literary and epigraphical evidence about classical and Hellenistic Macedonia is reasonably good. Furthermore, Philip’s recommendations to the city of Larissa, amid his admiring the Roman habit of giving citizenship to freed slaves, would have been ludicrous had there been a sizable disenfranchised Macedonian underclass under his direct control who were unable to serve in the army. There were certainly slaves in Macedonia, but most of the population of the region seems to have been free citizens, the Makedones. The great problem for the Antigonid dynasty was that there were simply not enough of them.

Makedones The core of the Macedonian army was the citizen phalanx. These were amateur soldiers who served part-time stints. In many instances, they might not even serve an entire year under arms but might be furloughed for the winter, saving the king the cost of pay and provisions and allowing the men to tend to their holdings.101 Polybius is keen to note that Macedonian citizen-soldiers were among the best soldiers in the Mediterranean: “They are not only most intrepid in regular batt les on land, but very ready to undertake temporary service at sea, and also industrious in digging trenches, just as Hesiod represents the sons of Achaeus to be ‘joying in war as if it were a feast.’”102 As Arthur Eckstein notes, “Polybius never says anything like this concerning Roman soldiers.”103 One thinks of Flamininus raising the siege of Atrax after sarissaarmed Macedonians drove his legionaries out of a breach in the town wall, because the consul “minime aequo animo comparationem militum generisque armorum fieri patiebatur.”104 One likewise thinks of Aemilius Paullus’s claim that μηδὲ ἑωρακέναι φοβερώτερον καὶ δεινότερον φάλαγγος Μακεδονικῆς, καίτοι γε πολλ οὺς οὐ μόνον θεασάμενος ἀλλ ὰ καὶ χειρισάμενος ἀγῶνας, εἰ καί τις ἄλλ ος.105 The excellence of the Macedonian citizen phalanx owed to frequent deployments, producing a militarized citizen body that readily adapted to military service. The militia muster was territorially based, and there is good evidence that units were drawn directly from Macedonian communities. In a letter to Philip V discussing the formation of a religious association of soldiers, servicemen list themselves as Euiestai, hailing from the same geographic region, Euia.106 Livy describes a muster after the batt le of Cynoscephalae conducted per urbes.107 The organization of citizen-soldiers along geographic lines does not surprise. If the Euia inscription is any indication, citizen units retained their identity in peacetime, so that it was possible to quickly mobilize them

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without the trouble of organizing units afresh as the Roman did. Some junior officers in these civic units were drawn from their home communities, which may have had some role in their selection.108 The Conscription (or Mobilization) Diagramma, surviving in two fragmentary copies, one from Th race and one from Cassandreia, provides insights into both the traditional practices through which Macedonian citizensoldiers were recruited and the emergency measures put in place to bolster the Macedonian army during the crisis of Roman invasion during the Second Macedonian War.109 The basic unit of recruitment for the Macedonian state was the household (oikos; pl. oikoi). Each oikos was required to provide an able-bodied recruit, although Macedonian conscription policy took pains to ensure that every household retained an able-bodied adult male to maintain the family farm. The diagramma therefore established a matrix of ages determining which male within the household should be recruited, based on the various possible permutations of age composition between father and son. In the face of Roman invasion, the diagramma lowered the minimum age and increased the maximum, so that boys as young as fi fteen and men as old as fi ft y-five might now be required to serve in either an active or a reserve capacity. Livy was aware of this policy, reporting that Philip V recruited both boys in their sixteenth year (i.e., fi fteen-year-olds) and veterans “for whom some stamina remained.”110 Yet it is important to note that Philip’s mobilization policy was not a dragnet of all boys and old men into the phalanx, as Livy suggests. Rather, youths under the age of twenty and old men over the age of fi ft y were taken only if the household had no other able-bodied men eligible for conscription. Strong preference therefore remained for men of traditional military age, between roughly twenty and fi ft y years old. If, for example, a household included a son older than twenty, then the son would serve even if his father was younger than fi ft y and otherwise physically fit for service. If the son was younger than twenty years and the father was younger than fi ft y and physically fit, then the father would serve. Only when the father of the household was over fi ft y could an adolescent between the ages of fi fteen and twenty years be drafted. Care was taken to prevent the conscription of the only adult male in the household. A father could not be drafted if all his sons were all under the age of fi fteen, unless someone was available to oversee his farm during his military service. A soldier could also be released from active service to care for his parents if they were no longer able to manage affairs. Men between the ages of fi fteen and fi ft y-five who were not conscripted for active service nonetheless were still considered members of a reserve boēthoi (sg. boēthos). Th is may have simply meant that they were still registered for potential emergency conscription if the need arose. Such a system

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of registered reservists may, for example, explain why Philip V was able to quickly raise a force of 6,000 infantry and 500 cavalry to counter a Dardanian invasion after his field army was effectively destroyed at Cynoscephalae. The boēthoi also had home-guard functions, providing local garrisons for their communities, a task that could be balanced with caring for their own oikoi. During the Th ird Macedonian War, Livy reports that the “town youth” (iuventus oppidanorum) helped man the walls of Cassandreia; these may have been youths aged 15–20 who remained behind as boēthoi while their fathers or older brothers served in the field army.111

Macedonian Units Macedonians were basically organized into three units: the main phalanx, consisting of sarissa-armed pikemen; a brigade of peltasts, who fought as somewhat lighter pikemen, with smaller versions of the Macedonian bowl shield; and the cavalry, divided into various regiments.112 The peltasts had a set strength of 5,000, of which 2,000 consisted of the elite agēma.113 The Conscription Diagramma provides information concerning the social status of those serving in the agēma, which Livy describes as men chosen “on account of their strength and the vigor of their youth.”114 The Conscription Diagramma suggests that Livy is not exactly correct. The maximum age for service in the elite agēma was in fact forty-five before the war and was raised to fi ft y on account of the crisis. It was the other peltasts who had a far lower maximum age limit, which was set at thirty-five and remained unchanged even during the war. The diagramma blatantly negates that strength and vigor were the only criteria for membership in the elite regiments: it says that wealthy men (euporōteroi) were to be accepted into the agēma and peltasts, whereas poorer men (elachistoi), were relegated to serve as common infantry. The diagramma does not specify a property cutoff for service in the peltasts or agēma. One reason why the agēma had such a high maximum age limit may be that it was in fact a repository for wealthy and well-connected individuals who were otherwise too old to serve as peltasts but were spared the indignity of serving in the phalanx. Indeed, the Conscription Diagramma should alter our view of the relative military effectiveness of the agēma and other peltasts, as it was in fact the other peltasts who were the youngest and most physically fit fighters, whereas the agēma was a gentleman’s club. Th is may explain why it was the 3,000 peltasts who made the fi nal stand at Pydna, not the more prestigious agēma.115 The main phalanx itself was divided into two divisions, the Bronze Shields (chalkaspides) and White Shields (leukaspides). The Bronze Shields are more frequently attested in the sources and may have been the more elite unit (al-

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though not so elite as the agēma and peltasts). Nonetheless, both units are recorded deploying both in an expeditionary capacity (Sellasia) and for home defense (Pydna).116 It is unclear how Macedonian citizens were allotted between these two main divisions; perhaps it was on the basis of geography. Whereas the agēma and peltasts had a set strength, the size of the phalanxes fluctuated with military requirements. The Macedonian cavalry was divided into several regiments, which may have been standing units. These including a cavalry agēma, several sacred squadrons (sacrae alae, per Livy), and royal horse (ἱππεῖς περὶ τὴν αὐλὴν, regii equites in Livy).117

Subjects Non-Macedonian peoples lived within the territorial boundaries of Macedonia, particularly in the upland areas. These populations fell under the direct rule of Macedonian kings and were administered by royal officials. Some had been incorporated through conquest and were ruled directly through royal appointees. Didas the Paeonian, a member of the Macedonian court (trusted enough to be given the delicate task of murdering the royal prince Demetrius) was also described as the praetor regius in Paeonia and commanded the Paeonian contingents in Perseus’s army.118 Other subjects had immigrated under royal auspices. After the Second Macedonian War, Philip sett led some Th racians within Macedonian borders, perhaps in emulation of the Roman colonial program that he referenced in his letters to Larissa.119 The Gallic brigade at Pydna was commanded by a frontier aristocrat, Asclepiodotus of Heraclea Sintica, and its soldiers are possibly identical with the Gallic sett lers whom Livy refers to as “enthusiastic farmers.”120 In the fourth century BCE, one of the most important subject populations had been the Thessalians, who although not incorporated into Macedonia proper were without question subjects of the Macedonian king, who held the concurrent and hereditary position as the tagos of Thessaly.121 Famous as horse country, and with a staggeringly unequal society divided between aristocrats and serfl ike penestai, Thessaly provided cavalry as its main military resource. Thessaly sent 2,000 cavalrymen to serve with Alexander the Great in 332.122 Thessalian cavalry do not seem to have played the same role in Antigonid armies as they had in the glorified forces of Alexander the Great. A small number of Thessalian infantry turn up among the mercenaries staffi ng the Acrocorinth.123 Thessalian horse served under Philip V at Cynoscephalae, although the size of the contingent is not specified.124 Flamininus’s sett lement severed Philip’s control of Thessaly, and even though the Romans acquiesced to the return of Macedonian influence over Thessaly after the war with Antiochus the Great, the region sided with Rome during the Th ird Macedo-

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nian War.125 Thessalian cavalry joined the Romans as auxiliaries and notably helped to cover the Roman retreat at Callinicus.126 Roland Oetjen has argued that Philip V sett led discharged Macedonian veterans in Thessaly and has suggested that his letters to Larissa may in fact concern Macedonian cleruchs who had not been enfranchised by their host cities.127 Th is reconstruction is quite plausible, although the question remains why more Thessalian units are not found in the Macedonian army. Perhaps, given the strategic importance of Thessaly, these cleruchs were primarily used as garrison troops. Conversely, it is possible that if Macedonian cleruchs sett led in Thessaly, they fulfi lled their military obligations by reintegrating as part of the main phalanx.

Mercenaries Foreign mercenaries formed a modest part of Antigonid field armies. At Sellasia, mercenaries (5,000 infantry and 300 cavalry, counting the 2,000 Gauls and Agrianians as mercenaries along with the contingent of Greek mercenaries; the rest seem to be allied contingents) accounted for roughly 20 percent of the total force. In 218 BCE, Philip V’s 1,200 mercenaries accounted for roughly 16 percent of his total army of 7,200. Some 9,000 mercenaries in Perseus’s field army during the Th ird Macedonian War (counting the Greeks, Cretans, and both Free and Odrysian Th racians as mercenaries) constituted around 21 percent of the total force. In Macedonian field armies, therefore, we fi nd mercenaries mostly supplementing the citizen troops, and generally providing 15 to 20 percent of the total strength of the field army. Mercenaries, however, were central to Macedon’s hegemonic project as garrison soldiers. Livy’s description of Macedonian garrisons in 197 BCE lists 9,100 garrison troops in Corinth and Asia Minor. Two thousand of these were Macedonian. Another 700 were local levies of Corinthians impressed to defend the local stronghold. The remaining 6,400 were Greeks, Cretans, Th racians, Carians, Gauls, Illyrians, and other unspecified nationalities, and these were presumably mercenaries. The sizable presence of Macedonian soldiers at the Acrocorinth and in Asia Minor was likely a wartime measure designed to augment strategic garrisons with heavy infantry. It is doubtful that these Macedonians were a substantial presence during times of peace. When Aratus captured the Acrocorinth in 245 BCE, he captured only 400 Syrian mercenaries (who themselves may have been Seleucid refugees from the chaos of the Th ird Syrian War).128 Th is number was increased by the time of the Second Macedonian War, perhaps in response to the Achaean capture, when Livy indicates that prior to wartime augmentation the garrison was 500 Macedonians and 800 mercenaries.129

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From the point of view of a Macedonian king, mercenaries were ideal for garrison service, but there were diminishing returns to adding more mercenaries to a field army. As garrison troops, mercenaries were professionals open to continuous active duty. But most mercenaries seem to have been equipped as light troops, ideal for garrison and police duties, whereas Macedonian kings needed only so many light infantrymen in their field armies. Even in the face of Roman invasions, when Macedonian kings had no shortage of cash, mercenaries never made up much more than a fi ft h of Macedonian field armies.

Conclusion Antigonid Macedonia was able to fight more effectively than might have been predicted, playing a prominent role in Mediterranean geopolitics despite its modest manpower resources, because of a military organization that was at once broadly based and deeply rooted in the Macedonian citizen body. However, the Antigonids never managed to regenerate the expeditionary capabilities of Alexander the Great. Even modest campaigns into the Peloponnese in the 220s BCE strained Macedonian manpower. Philip  V’s Aegean campaigns in the 200s laid bare a deficiency in seaborne logistical capacity, as Philip V was famously forced to trade a captured city for a supply of figs.130 On the defensive, however, Macedonia was a potent and dangerous adversary, as kings were able to mobilize and concentrate their citizen-soldiers into disciplined and lethal field forces, which Roman commanders hesitated to engage head-on. Even the catastrophes at Cynoscephalae and Pydna were close wins for the Romans. In both instances, the Macedonian army enjoyed initial successes until the Romans managed to rebound through a combination of the tactical flexibility of manipular organization, the initiative of subordinate officers, and a great deal of luck. Nonetheless, Macedonian resources, even concentrated for homeland defense, were sufficiently modest that a single setback with heavy casualties might end a war. The relative weakness of Macedonian manpower was the primary reason why the Antigonid dynasty was the fi rst of the five great powers to be eliminated.

P tol e m a ic M a n pow e r Power Effective The most detailed portrait of a Ptolemaic army comes from Polybius’s description of the tactical array at Raphia.131 In all, the Ptolemaic army

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totaled some 70,000 infantry and 5,000 cavalry. Fift y-six thousand were heavily armed troops, fighting with Macedonian-style equipment and tactics: 8,000 mercenaries armed with pikes, 25,000 cleruchs in the main phalanx, 20,000 Egyptian phalangites, and 3,000 Libyans armed in the Macedonian fashion. The Ptolemaic numerical superiority in heavy infantry, and even the modest overall superiority in total forces, has been called into question by textual critics, including J. P. Mahaff y, G. T. Griffith, and Frank Walbank, who argue that the Ptolemaic figures for Raphia represent a colossal double count.132 They suggest that rather than two phalanxes totaling 45,000 (one phalanx of 25,000 cleruchs and another of 20,000 native Egyptians), there was a single unit of 25,000 men, composed of both cleruchs and Egyptians. Polybius’s text itself does not support the conclusion; even though the two unmixed phalanxes did deploy side by side, Polybius clearly states that the two were separate units: the cleruch phalanx, commanded jointly by Andromachus and Ptolemy, and the Egyptian phalanx, personally commanded by Sosibius, the king’s epi tōn pragmatōn (“prime minister”). When referring to the tactical operation of these troops, Polybius refers to a single phalanx commanded by both Andromachus and Sosibius, but this construction no doubt simply reflects the deployment of the two phalanxes side by side: 45,000 when taken together. Furthermore, a combined phalanx of only 25,000 would make Ptolemy IV’s victory at Raphia all the more exceptional in the face of 35,000 Seleucid heavy infantry. As Bezalel Bar Kochva has emphasized, the outcome of the batt le suggests a significant Ptolemaic advantage in infantry, since it was the advance of the Ptolemaic phalanx that made quick work (βραχύν τινα χρόνον) of the Seleucid batt le line.133 The easiest tactical explanation for this victory is numerical superiority in troops, which gave the formation greater depth and momentum in the fi nal infantry assault. Furthermore, if the hypothesis of one combined phalanx is adopted, it is inconceivable that the Ptolemies could have quashed the later revolt in the Thebaid region (supposedly centered on the 20,000 Egyptian phalangites) if only 5,000 cleruch heavy infantry were available.134 Indeed, if there were four Egyptians phalangites for every Greco-Macedonian cleruch, it is difficult to see how the rebels would not have annihilated the dynasty altogether.135 Ptolemy had 5,000 cavalry all told at Raphia.136 Seven hundred were organized into the Household Cavalry (περὶ τὴν αὐλήν).137 Nicholas Sekunda has plausibly argued that these may have been organized based on the old Macedonian institution of the seven Sōmatophylakes (“Bodyguards”), with each now commanding 100 horse, seemingly a dynastic innovation.138 At Raphia, the Household Cavalry fought in a brigade of 3,000 cavalry all told, with the

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remaining 2,300 cavalry drawn from Libya or Egypt, presumably cleruchs (τοὺς ἀπὸ Λιβύης, ἔτι δὲ καὶ τοὺς ἐγχωρίους).139 Polybius also refers to mercenary cavalry, who by process of subtraction must number around 2,000. Christelle Fischer-Bovet has argued that these were most likely also cleruchs, not recently hired foreign mercenaries. Polybius distinguishes between “the cavalry from Greece” (τούς γε μὴν ἀπὸ τῆς Ἑλλ άδος) and “the mass of mercenary cavalry” (τὸ τῶν μισθοφόρων ἱππέων πλῆθος). It is possible that Polybius was not entirely familiar with Ptolemaic military classifications. The phrase misthophoroi hippeis, “mercenary cavalry,” appears in third-century BCE papyrus records to describe land-grant holders in Egypt, describing ex-mercenaries who sett led as cleruchs.140 Polybius’s use of the terminology may reflect his use of a Ptolemaic source for the Batt le of Raphia, likely a history produced in the Ptolemaic court.141 There were five attested hipparchies of ethnic hippeis: the Thessalians and Greeks, Persians, Macedonians, Th racians, and Mysians.142 With a paper strength of 400, these hipparchies amounted to 2,000, notably the strength of Polybius’s misthophoroi hippeis at Raphia. Prior to Raphia, the dynasty recalled mercenaries serving in its garrisons and sought to hire new ones for the Raphia campaign, but it operated in a labor market saturated by demand. The Second Punic War then raging in the western Mediterranean and the Social War absorbed the bulk of mercenary labor in Greece and the Aegean.143 Many of the Aetolian mercenaries who often fi lled out Ptolemaic ranks would have instead been drafted in the Aetolian federal levy. Ptolemy’s rival Antiochus III was also a fierce competitor for mercenary labor. Ptolemy did indeed dispatch recruiters (xenologoi) abroad into this demand-saturated market. In total, Ptolemy IV deployed 8,000 Greek mercenaries, 2,000 Gauls and Th racians, and 1,000 Neo-Cretans (the Cretans may have been sett lers; hence the distinction), or 11,000 foreign troops all together. In all, mercenaries represented roughly 15 percent of the total force.144 Adding in a few thousand soldiers left as skeleton crews in garrisons, the maximum mobilization of the Ptolemaic dynasty was roughly around 80,000. (See table 2.9.) With the exception of the Batt le of Raphia, other reports of Ptolemaic military strength disappoint when subjected to source criticism, primarily for concerns of reliability. One of the earliest descriptions of a Ptolemaic army after the Wars of the Successors comes from Athenaeus, who compiled his “table talk” in the fourth century CE, drawing on a description written by Callixenus of Rhodes in the second century CE. Callixenus described the Dionysian procession of Ptolemy II in Alexandria, which took place at

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Ta bl e 2.9. P tol e m a ic f i e l d a r m y at R a ph i a , 217 BCE Group Cleruchs Agēma Peltasts Household cavalry Th racian and Gaul sett lers Cretans(?) Phalangites Libyan and Egyptian cavalry “Mercenary cavalry” Subjects Egyptian phalangites Libyan infantry Mercenaries Th racians and Gauls Mercenaries (from garrisons) Neo-Cretans Total

Size ca. 41,000  3,000  2,000    700  4,000  2,000 25,000  2,300  2,000 23,000 20,000  3,000 11,000  2,000  8,000  1,000 70,000 infantry,  5,000 cavalry

Source: Polyb. 5.65.1–10.

some point in the 270s BCE and reportedly included 57,600 infantry and 23,200  cavalry.145 The 23,200 cavalry listed by Callixenus are far removed from the 5,000 cavalrymen mustered at Raphia. If accurate, this is nearly twice the muster of Antiochus III at Magnesia (12,000).146 Th is count must surely be exaggerated. Similarly, the 57,000 infantry is almost twice the nonEgyptian infantry present at Raphia. We do not know the source of the numbers, although Callixenus likely drew on some sort of official report of the procession, and so the numbers may have their origin in Ptolemaic royal propaganda. What with the propagandistic boasts of Ptolemy II, the distorted recapitulation of Callixenus, and Athenaeus’s own propensity for the grandiose, these accounts are either gross exaggerations or blatant fabrications. We must also discount the numbers that Appian cites at the beginning of his history, retailing a gargantuan Ptolemaic mobilization of 200,000 infantry and 40,000 cavalry.147 If this were the case, the Ptolemaic mobilization would have been larger than the maximum Roman mobilization of the Second Punic War and would have rivaled the twenty-five legions that Tiberius inherited in 14 CE, an army of 300,000 legionaries and auxiliaries.148 It is

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doubtful that any Ptolemaic king commanded an army approaching such a size. We must also dismiss Jerome’s reports that Ptolemy IV commanded an army of 200,000 infantry and 20,000 cavalry at Raphia (although in this case Jerome may have relied directly or indirectly on Appian).149 Ultimately, Polybius’s report of the Raphia mobilization is not only the most accurate report of Ptolemaic strength but probably in fact records the dynasty’s maximum mobilization, although presumably the mobilizations for other Syrian wars approached this magnitude.

Manpower Strategies The core of the Ptolemaic army consisted of military sett lers (cleruchs/katoikoi) who owed military service to the state in exchange for agricultural land. The cleruchy system offered numerous advantages for the Ptolemaic state: it reduced military costs by keeping soldiers as sett led reservists, without the expense of maintaining a large, politically unpredictable standing army. In the face of fierce competition for mercenary hires, settling discharged mercenaries onto plots of land effectively locked them into Ptolemaic service, preventing them from drift ing into Antigonid or Seleucid ranks.150 Cleruchs often were granted deserted or reclaimed land and, if successful as estate owners, contributed to the tax base of the state in times of peace. Finally, once scattered on their plots, they served as dispersed agents of coercion and control over the native Egyptian population. Christelle Fischer-Bovet has noted some disadvantages to the cleruchy system.151 The diff usion of cleruchs throughout the Egyptian countryside slowed mobilization, although it was still faster to mobilize cleruchs than to send recruiting agents abroad for mercenaries, and Egypt represented a relatively compact catchment area for assembling recruits. The mobilization of citizen reservists was a problem that rival dynasties also faced, as did Rome. Perhaps a more serious problem, demobilizing full-time soldiers into estate holders risked reducing their military readiness. The Roman and Macedonian examples illustrate that frequent mobilization of citizen-soldiers could maintain a high state of readiness, but the Ptolemies mobilized their cleruchs only occasionally. It is possible that the cleruch population went largely unmobilized between the end of the Th ird Syrian War, in 241 BCE, and the Battle of Raphia in 217. An entire generation of young men came of age on their klēroi without significant combat experience, even if many cleruchs may have served stints of garrison duty. However, this disadvantage was not insurmountable: it took only three months of training and organization to produce the fighting force that triumphed at Raphia.152 Here, the inexperienced Ptolemaic infantry prevailed over Seleucid forces that were by all ac-

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counts batt le-hardened, given the recent fighting in Mesopotamia against the usurper Molon. How many cleruchs were there? The forces at Raphia deployed 25,000 in the main phalanx, 5,000 peltasts, and 5,000 cleruch cavalry, assuming that the “mercenary cavalry” were in fact sett led ex-mercenaries. In addition, there were 4,000 Gauls and Th racians who were sett lers and their descendants (ἐκ μὲν τῶν κατοίκων καὶ τῶν ἐπιγόνων), whom Polybius contrasts to the 2,000 Th racians and Gauls freshly hired as mercenaries (οἱ δὲ προσφάτως ἐπισυναχθέντες). Finally, while the distinction between Polybius’s Cretans and Neo-Cretans is not entirely clear, I will follow Fischer-Bovet’s cautious suggestion that the Cretans were sett lers who still mustered in ethnic contingents whereas the Neo-Cretans were recently hired mercenaries.153 Altogether, Ptolemy IV would have mustered some 40,000 cleruchs at Raphia. If we assume that Ptolemy IV managed a 90 percent mobilization rate of adult male cleruchs under the age of forty-five during the crisis of 217 BCE, this estimate implies a total of roughly 65,000 adult male cleruchs, or roughly 200,000 factoring in women and children. Dominic Rathbone, relying on a Roman-era document suggesting 6,500 katoikoi in the Arsinoite nome, calculates approximately 130,000 adult male sett lers in all Egypt, reckoning that the nome comprised one-twentieth of the land in Egypt and was representative in terms of the number of cleruchs.154 But if there were 130,000 adult male cleruchs, and perhaps 85,000 under the age of forty-five, why did the Ptolemies struggle to field 40,000 cleruchs at Raphia? We cannot rule out the possibility that the Ptolemaic dynasty suffered low mobilization rates for cleruchs, but this would be odd for a state apparatus with such an intensive administrative infrastructure. Fischer-Bovet has criticized Rathbone’s estimate as too high, suggesting that he ignores the unusual density of cleruchs in the reclaimed lands of the Fayum. She notes that land records of the Edfu nome indicate a much lower density of sett lement, perhaps no more than 40 adult Greek males, or 0.2 percent of the total population. Assuming a diff usion curve between the two nomes, Fischer-Bovet estimates an average Greek population percentage of 4.6 percent. Placing the total Egyptian population at four million, she argues that there were 63,500 adult Greek males, for a total of 184,000 Greek settlers in Egypt.155 Th is estimate accords well with the attested mobilization at Raphia.

Native Egyptians In addition to drawing on the small pool of Greek sett lers, the Ptolemies could also recruit from the entire population of Egypt. But how large

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was this source? Diodorus Siculus provides a report of the population of Roman Egypt: τοῦ δὲ σύμπαντος λαοῦ τὸ μὲν παλαιόν φασι γεγονέναι περὶ ἑπτακοσίας μυριάδας, καὶ καθ’ ἡμᾶς δὲ οὐκ ἐλάττους εἶναι τριακοσίων.156 Almost every manuscript of Diodorus reports the current (Late Hellenistic) population at three million, with the seven million referring to some hazy moment “back in the day” (τὸ παλαιόν). Yet the manuscript tradition has often emended τούτων for τριακοσίων, implying that seven million was the correct figure for both pre-Roman times and Diodorus’s own.157 Dominic Rathbone has suggested that three million ought to be retained as the basic order of magnitude for Egyptian population in the late Ptolemaic period but that it might have been as high as four million as economic conditions proved more favorable during the third century BCE.158 Walter Scheidel estimates Egypt’s ancient population at five to seven million before the Antonine plague, basing that on late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century census records from Egypt (in a time when the country was beginning to feel the effects of modernization), but he falls back on an estimate of four million for the Ptolemaic and early Roman periods.159 Anywhere between three million and five million in total is plausible, suggesting a million or more men of military age. Polybius is under the impression that the mobilization of 20,000 Egyptians as heavy phalangites was a novelty, and a foolhardy one at that, as he links their victory at Raphia to the subsequent revolt in the Thebaid.160 Polybius, however, negates his own schematic analysis by admitt ing that the revolt in the Thebaid did not break out until late in the reign of Ptolemy IV (who died around 205 BCE), and Egyptian documents (including the building chronology inscribed on the Temple of Edfu) date the revolt to 207/206 a decade after Raphia, making the link between the victorious native phalanx and the native revolt tenuous at best.161 Fischer-Bovet, however, has argued that this mobilization was not unique, as armed Egyptians had served the Ptolemies since the dynasty’s inception.162 Egyptian manpower supplemented Ptolemy Soter’s armies during the Wars of the Successors, and native Egyptians are attested serving at the Batt le of Gaza, in 312.163 Egyptians also served in the fleet: Ptolemy II landed Egyptian nautai (marines or armed sailors) in Att ica during the Chremonidean War.164 Egyptian militiamen (machimoi) also performed various paramilitary tasks in Egypt, including manning garrisons and conducting police patrols. Egyptian machimoi also manned some foreign garrisons, including the Aegean garrison at Thera.165 Indeed, it is quite likely that some Egyptians in the Raphia phalanx were not mere peasants given hasty training but rather existing naval, police, and paramilitary forces already in Ptolemaic service and simply retooled as Macedonian-style heavy infantry.

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Mercenaries Mercenaries provided two basic strategic functions for Ptolemaic kings: they manned internal and external garrisons, and they provided supplementary forces during wartime. Mercenaries in garrisons were more heavily concentrated in the overseas holdings, in part because cleruchs served stints of garrison duty in Egypt proper.166 Polybius reports that before the Batt le of Raphia the Ptolemaic government assembled in Alexandria all the mercenaries currently in their employ, and that these totaled 8,000. Th is figure does not include garrisons that had capitulated (or defected) to Antiochus III, perhaps another 10,000 or so; and presumably several thousand mercenaries were overseas as skeleton crews, with others left to secure Alexandria. Polybius implies that many thousands of mercenaries were stationed in Alexandria.167 In 221 BCE, their numbers included 3,000 Peloponnesians and 1,000 Cretans, along with an undisclosed number of subject levies, Carians, and Syrians (presumably from Koilē Syria). The former Spartan king Cleomenes, now a Ptolemaic mercenary captain and would-be usurper, implied that the Peloponnesians and Cretans were sufficient to overtake the Carians and Syrians.168 His remark implies a total garrison in Alexandria of around 8,000, although this figure may reflect a temporary surge in garrison strength due to the ongoing dynastic transition: the prime minster Sosibius was said to be especially afraid of τοὺς ξένους καὶ μισθοφόρους.169 Far fewer mercenaries were likely to be deployed in more stable moments. During another turbulent dynastic transition, in 203 BCE Ptolemy V’s regent Agathocles dispatched the mercenary general Scopas to his native Aetolia to recruit fresh mercenaries in a failed attempt to replace the “Macedonians,” presumably cleruchs, currently on duty in Alexandria. The passage suggests that many of the palace troops were foreign mercenaries, as Agathocles hoped to place many of the Aetolians in τὴν θεραπείαν καὶ τὰ περὶ τὴν αὐλὴν φυλακεῖα, “the staff and the palace guard.” The regent also planned to send foreign hires to τὰ κατὰ τὴν χώραν φρούρια καὶ τὰς κατοικίας, “the forts and sett lements of the chōra,” a phrase suggesting that foreign mercenaries (in addition to cleruchs on active duty) helped man rural garrisons.170

Conclusion A paradox emerges when considering the strength of the Ptolemaic mobilization at Raphia and the long-term failure of the Ptolemaic state as a hegemonic power. The manpower potential of the Ptolemaic army was substantial, as the 70,000 infantry and 5,000 cavalry of the field army at Raphia

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attests. Th is field army is on the same order of magnitude as the Seleucid army of 72,000 at Magnesia, the Carthaginian force of 74,000 at Ilipa, and the 86,000 Romans and Italians at Cannae. The Ptolemaic army was highly successful in the field. The Ptolemies prevailed in four of the fi rst five Syrian Wars: the First Syrian War was a victory in the sense that Seleucid aspirations for Koilē Syria were frustrated. The Second Syrian War ended in a triumph sufficient to enforce an advantageous dynastic sett lement that set up Ptolemy II’s grandson as the next Seleucid king. The Th ird Syrian War showcased the stellar expeditionary capacity of the army, landing in Seleucia and not only marching to Antioch (perhaps on the invitation of the government, then controlled by Berenice) but advancing even as far as Babylon.171 The scale and speed of conquest evoked the specter of Alexander the Great. At Raphia, the cleruch muster, reinforced by hastily trained Egyptians and newly hired mercenaries, triumphed in the largest land batt le of Hellenistic times. Yet Ptolemaic kings used this large and effective army primarily for defensive purposes. The sole exception was the Th ird Syrian War, and here it should be noted that on account of unrest in Egypt the army was hastily withdrawn after its spectacular campaign. The reason behind its quick retreat lies at the heart of what limited the expansionary potential of the Ptolemies’ otherwise impressive manpower pool.172 In many ways, the Ptolemies suffered from what one may call a “Spartan problem.” The classical Spartan military system depended on the subjugation of the Messenian helots, but the constant need to keep watch over their own subjects constrained Spartan expansionary aspirations. A similar dynamic prevailed in Ptolemaic Egypt. A small class of military sett lers (although much larger than the small and ever-shrinking pool of Spartan homoioi) dominated the demilitarized but economically productive Egyptian peasants. Even though the cleruchs could be mustered into a powerful field army, the need to maintain them as a constant guard over the subjugated population precluded their deployment abroad in any substantial numbers. Ptolemaic kings were therefore hesitant to become entangled in major expeditionary operations. Although willing to expend their ample wealth to subsidize allies and proxies, nonetheless Ptolemaic kings seldom committed ground troops. The Th ird Syrian war proved the exception. The rewards of this foreign adventure were exceptional, as it promised to permanently alter the dynastic balance between the Ptolemies and Seleucids. Nor should we discount the emotional urgency, given the lethal court dynamics that menaced the king’s sister and nephew and ultimately claimed their lives. The risks of deploying the army outside Egypt, however, quickly materialized in the form of some sort of native revolt. Although Ptolemy III could have stayed and tried to in-

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corporate parts of Syria and Mesopotamia into his realm, he hastened his forces back to Egypt. The same dynamic must explain why Ptolemy IV did not realize Antiochus III’s greatest fear after the Batt le of Raphia: an invasion of Syria before Seleucid defenses could be properly organized.173 Both Polybius and Justin present a neat, moralized tale of Ptolemy IV’s sloth and indolence preventing him from following up on the victory.174 Ptolemy himself, through his official pronouncement on the Raphia stele, blamed some vague treachery as forcing him to conclude peace with Antiochus.175 The cleruchs may have objected to a prolonged campaign. But it is also likely that the unrest that Polybius describes in 217 BCE, even if far less serious than the major revolt ten years later, frightened Ptolemy into returning home. Th is structural dynamic meant that the Ptolemaic dynasty could never seriously contend for Mediterranean hegemony, even if this had been the explicit goal of such aggressive Ptolemaic kings as Ptolemy II, III, and VI. Ptolemy IV seems to have had a more realistic grasp of his own strategic limitations, although plausibly he could also have been a lazy alcoholic, as Polybius suggests.176 The slender base of cleruchs, replenished at intervals through the sett lement of discharged mercenaries, was sufficient to maintain control over the tributary resources in Egypt and the immediate environs of the Aegean. It was not, however, suitable for an expansionary program.

Se l euci d M a n pow er Power Effective Our understanding of Seleucid manpower largely rests upon three literary descriptions of the Seleucid army in full array, two from Polybius and a third from Livy (which is clearly based on Polybian materials). Before Polybius, who used the Seleucid prince Demetrius I as an informant, our knowledge of Seleucid forces is extremely limited, although there is no reason to think that Seleucid armies before the age of Antiochus III were substantially different in either their basic magnitude or their composition. The fi rst detailed breakdown of a Seleucid army is Polybius’s description of Antiochus the Great’s army deployed at the Batt le of Raphia, an enormous force levied from across the empire, so that Polybius’s description has echoes, perhaps self-conscious, of Xerxes’ multiethnic horde in Herodotus.177 (See table 2.10.) These contingents add up to 62,000 infantry and 6,000 cavalry. The 30,000 phalangites in the citizen phalanx and the elite Silver Shields (argyraspides), combined with the 5,000 subject troops rearmed to fight as Macedonian heavy infantry provided a total of 35,000 heavily armed infantry,

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Ta bl e 2.10: Se l euci d or de r of bat t l e at R a ph i a , 217 BCE Group Macedonians Silver Shield phalanx Royal cavalry (probable) Main phalanx Cavalry Subjects Medes, Cissians, Cardusians, Carmanians Persians and Agrianians Th racians Kardakes Lydians Dahae, Camerians, Cilicians Cretans (sett lers?) Mercenaries Greek mercenaries Cretans and Neo-Cretans (?) Allies Arab cavalry

Size

10,000 2,000a 20,000 4,000 5,000 2,000 2,000b 1,000 500 5,000c 1,500 5,000 1,000 10,000

Source: Polyb. 5.79.3–12. a Polybius lumps the entire cavalry force into a single brigade of 6,000 horse; I am assuming that the two regiments, the Royal Companions and the agēma, each 1,000 strong, were also present at Raphia, just as they are attested at Magnesia. b Bar Kochva (1976:50) suggests that the Th racians represent military sett lers in Persia, which explains why they are commanded by the same Iranian officer as the Persians and Agrianians, although Aperghis (2004:190n3) does not accept this theory. c These are curiously referred to as light troops in Polyb. 5.79.3 (εἰς τὸν τῶν εὐζώνων τρόπον καθωπλισμένοι), but then described three chapters later (5.82.10) as “armed in the Macedonian manner” (εἰς τὸν Μακεδονικὸν τρόπον καθωπλισμένων). It is possible that Polybius (or his source) has simply made an error, but it may also be that Antiochus fi nally got wind of the enormous phalanx Ptolemy was fielding and decided to arm some of his own subjects in the Macedonian manner to compensate.

which constituted more than 50 percent of the total force. Th is figure is all the more impressive when one considers that some 6,000 soldiers from Cyrrhus were unavailable following a mutiny and that the army of Achaeus (at least another 6,500 soldiers and possibly more) was in a state of open rebellion.178 The 68,000 soldiers at Raphia therefore did not represent the maximum potential mobilization of the kingdom at its greatest extent. The defeat at Raphia cost the Seleucids 10,000 infantry and 300 cavalry killed and another 4,000 soldiers captured.179 Despite the losses, Antiochus  III soon embarked on a successful career to reestablish failing Seleu-

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cid control over both Asia Minor and the East.180 As a result, the Seleucid kingdom by 190 reached perhaps its largest territorial extent since the reign of Seleucus I Nicator. Antiochus’s reign also represents the apogee of Seleucid military power; the field army at Magnesia, certainly represents the largest reliably attested Seleucid force. (See table 2.11.) The breakdown survives in Livy, here probably using a lost section of Polybius.181 Livy reports the total strength at 60,000 infantry and 12,000 cavalry.182 The excessive number of cavalry, and the ratio of 1:5 horse to foot is potentially suspicious but not necessarily damning, especially given the traditional link between the Iranian Plateau and mounted warfare. Livy’s figures, which almost certainly derive from Polybius, should be accepted.183 Some 26,000 are heavy phalangite infantry, the citizen phalanx and the (presumed) 10,000 in the Silver Shields. Th is is inferior to the 35,000 heavy infantry Antiochus had fielded at Raphia nearly thirty years earlier, and may reflect recent losses at Thermopylae. (Nearly 10,000 infantry were caught in the Roman trap.)184 Still, his heavy infantry far outnumbered the Roman heavy infantry (hastati, principes, and triarii), which in a two-legion consular army probably numbered around 15,000.185 Notable at Magnesia is the reliance on troops locally recruited from Anatolia. The Pisidians, Pamphylians, Lydians, Carians, Cicilians, Galatians, Cappadocians, and Mysians, some 15,500 troops, represent both local subject levies and mercenary hires, besides troops dispatched by the vassal king of Cappadocia. In the years leading up to the RomanoSeleucid War, Antiochus had sought to improve his position in Asia Minor through the acquisition of a regional ally by means of a marriage alliance. His fi rst choice had been Eumenes II of Pergamon, but Eumenes declined, correctly judging that taking a daughter from the great king was an act of submission, and Antiochus obtained a less important alliance with the king of Cappadocia instead.186 The Attalid dynasty, seated in Pergamon, occupied a more nearly central geostrategic position than did the Cappadocians, but the manpower contribution that each power could offer was much the same: Ariarathes of Cappadocia sent Antiochus 2,000 infantry; Eumenes II contributed several thousand infantry and 800 cavalry to the Roman side.187 Our fi nal vignette of Seleucid manpower is Polybius’s depiction of Antiochus IV Epiphanes’ procession at Daphne in 166 BCE. The procession was clearly intended to blazon Seleucid power and prestige, especially coming off the famous snub that Antiochus IV had received from Gaius Popillius Laenas at Eleusis.188 Polybius himself believed that the games were designed to rival the games given by Aemilius Paullus in Macedonia.189 Antiochus may have planned the parade also as the start of a grand expedition to the East; the king subsequently died in Elam in 164.190 The procession suggests vigorous Seleucid manpower resources continuing into the second century.

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Ta bl e 2.1 1: Se l euci d or de r of bat t l e at M agn e si a , 190 BCE Group Macedonians Silver Shields Royal cavalry (Syrians, Phrygians, Lydians) Agēma cavalry Main phalanx Subject levies Cataphract cavalry Pisidians, Pamphylians, Lydians Mysian bowmen Crytian and Elymean slingers Miscellaneous force (mixti) Mercenaries Gallo-Greek (Galatian) infantry Galatian cavalry Dahae archers Cretans and Th alles Carians and Cilicians Tarentines Allies Arab camel riders Cappadocians

Size 28,000 {10,000}a 1,000 1,000 16,000 >15,200 6,000 4,000 2,500 unknown 2,700 14,200(?) 3,000 2,500 1,200 5,500 1,500 500(?)b >2,000 unknown 2,000

Source: Livy 37.40.1–13. a Livy does not provide total figures for the phalanx of the Argyraspides, but this seems to be a standard royal unit with a set strength of 10,000. Th is was explicitly reached at Raphia (above), and the Silver Shields are likely the 10,000 peltasts who fight beside the king in Bactria (Polyb. 10.49.3). The addition of 10,000 infantry would go a long way toward making Livy’s figures add up to c. 60,000 infantry. (Bar Kochva 1976:168). b Tarentine cavalry figures are not provided by Livy, but this deduction by Bar Kochva 1976:169), based on stated numbers of cavalry (12,200) minus actual cavalry contingents listed (11,700), is sound.

The text is at times vague, although whether it is corrupt is unclear; it has been unfortunately emended (including the insertion of a regiment of Gold Shields nowhere attested in any manuscript). The passage in full reads as follows:191 It was headed by 5,000 men in the prime of life armed after the Roman fashion and wearing mail shirts. Next came 5,000 Mysians, and immediately behind them 3,000 Cilicians armed in the man-

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ner of light infantry, wearing gold crowns. Next came 3,000 Th racians and 5,000 Gauls. They were followed by 20,000 Macedonians, 5,000 Bronze Shields, and the same number of Silver Shields. Next marched 250 pairs of gladiators, and behind them 1,000 horsemen from Nisa and 3,000 citizen cavalry, most of whom had crowns and trappings of gold and the rest trappings of silver. Next to these came the so-called Companion Cavalry, numbering about 1,000, all with gold trappings, and next the regiment of Royal Friends of equal number and similarly dressed; next 1,000 picked horse followed by the so-called agēma, supposed to be the crack cavalry corps, numbering about 1,000. Last of all marched the cataphracts or mailed horse, the horses and men being armed in complete armor, as the name indicates.

The 5,000 Ῥωμαϊκὸν ἔχοντες καθοπλισμόν at Daphne represent a Mediterraneanwide trend, following Rome’s demonstrated superiority on the batt lefield to mimic Roman tactics, organization, and equipment.192 There is evidence that the Ptolemies as well as the Hasmonean Jewish kingdom also adopted significant military reforms inspired by the Romans in the second century.193 The recent fi nd of a Roman-style gladius Hispaniensis near Jericho, used by either Seleucid or Hasmonean forces, adds further confi rmation that armies in the eastern Mediterranean sought to copy Rome’s formula for military success.194 Even so, the quasi Romans constituted only a small portion of Epiphanes’ army. The bulk of the heavy infantry was still armed in the traditional Macedonian manner. It is not entirely clear whether we should read 20,000 Macedonians in addition to 5,000 Bronze Shields and another 5,000 Silver Shields, or 20,000 Macedonians including these two subsets. The higher figure, 30,000 in all, would suggest a recovery since the debacle at Magnesia; the lower, 20,000, would indicate modest regression. The continued representation of Galatian, Mysian, and Th racian mercenary contingents from Asia Minor after the Seleucid Empire had renounced control of Asia Minor west of the Taurus suggests that the Seleucids maintained old networks of mercenary recruitment despite the loss of suzerainty over these regions. (See table 2.12.) It is a reminder that mercenary loyalties were far from transient; traditions of service to a reliable state employer could endure for generations. The recruitment violated the Treaty of Apamea, which forbade the recruitment of mercenaries from the Roman sphere of influence.195 Antiochus paraded some 58,500 soldiers (or 48,500) through Daphne, 51,000 (or 41,000) infantry and 7,500 cavalry. Th is is certainly in keeping with the magnitude of deployments at Raphia and Magnesia. We see a differ-

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Ta bl e 2.1 2. A n t ioch us I V ’s pa r a de at Da ph n e , 166 BCE Group Armed in Roman fashion Silver Shields Agēma cavalry Companion cavalry Cataphracts Nysine cavalry Macedonian phalanx Bronze Shields Citizen cavalry Mysians Th racians Cilicians Galatians

Size  5,000  5,000  1,000  1,000  1,500  1,000 20,000(?)  5,000  3,000  5,000  3,000  3,000  5,000

Source: Polyb. 30.25.3–10.

ent configuration in the organization of the Seleucid infantry. There are only 5,000 Silver Shields instead of the traditional 10,000. Bar Kochva is quite likely correct in his assertion that the 5,000 quasi Romans represent half the Silver Shields rearmed to fight as Roman-style thyreophoroi.196 Rolf Strootman notes that this retooling may be due less to Antiochus’s admiration of the Romans than to his hopes of someday defeating them.197 The existence of the Bronze Shields is more puzzling. A Bronze Shield corps is not previously attested in Seleucid service, but Bronze Shields had been a central element of Antigonid armies. The sudden appearance of Bronze Shields in the Seleucid army, shortly after the destruction of the Antigonid monarchy, may not be a coincidence. Sekunda has raised the possibility that Seleucid kings decided to transfer the lineage of the unit by raising one of their own.198 It is also possible that following the destruction of the Macedonian monarchy, Macedonian refugees and mercenaries sought service in the Seleucid army in a newly formed regiment, just as Antigonus Gonatas had hired Syrian mercenaries during a moment of Seleucid dynastic chaos in the 240s BCE. The Polybian descriptions of Raphia, Magnesia (via Livy), and Daphne all suggest that the Seleucids were routinely capable of mobilizing large field armies and indeed give credence to certain figures reported by other sources: Josephus’s report of 55,000 at the Batt le of Beith-Zacharia in 162 BCE and

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Justin’s 80,000-strong force led out by Alexander VII against the Parthians in 129.199 Indeed, even the 100,000 infantry and 20,000 cavalry reported by Justin as accompanying Antiochus III on his anabasis (212–205) seem only a moderate exaggeration.200 It is quite likely that for this great campaign Antiochus III took an army of the same order of magnitude as those he deployed at Raphia and Magnesia.

Ga r r isons G. G. Aperghis estimates the number of garrison soldiers, both settlers and mercenaries, at roughly 20,000 to 30,000, assuming that Seleucid peacetime garrisons were smaller than the 36,000 soldiers Alexander reportedly needed to garrison his recently conquered realm.201 As with many estimates for peacetime garrison requirements, this is too high. Teos, a nominally free city in the early third century BCE, maintained a garrison of only 20 men at the fortress of Kyrbissos.202 Larger cities, such Apamea, Susa, and Babylon, likely had more substantial garrisons, but even these were probably modest. (Recall that the peacetime Antigonid garrison at the Acrocorinth was a mere 400 to 1,300 men.)203 If we assume 500 soldiers in the ten largest cities of the empire and generously postulate several hundred small garrisons the size of that of Teos, only around 10,000 men would be required for garrison service throughout the empire.204 Many Seleucid communities were designed to be self-garrisoning in that the sett lers were required to man the fortifications themselves, negating the need to hire mercenaries. At Stratonicea-in-Caria, for example, the inhabitants of particular city blocks (amphoda) were grouped into units with their own emblems (e.g., Heracles’ club or an elephant) and assigned to towers for watch duty along the city wall.205 The one problem with this manpower strategy is that the mobilization of sett lers from a community for service in the field army would have reduced the number of sett lers able to serve in a garrison capacity, although the most likely solution would have been to mobilize younger men for active fighting during periods of intense warfare and leave the garrison functions to older sett lers. Th is is the approach of the Antigonid Conscription Diagramma, which mobilized younger men in the household and then left older men to serve as reservists in their communities; it would not be surprising if the Seleucid dynasty employed a similar policy. Yet even with sett lers keeping watch on their own walls, some external garrisons would also have been necessary, especially for strategic points unsuitable for agricultural sett lement. OGIS 229, for example, a synoikism (city merger) of circa 241 BCE,

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mentions katoikoi and other civic troops of Magnesia but also reports (lines 104–105) a garrison of Persians commanded by Omanes (presumably a native officer, given his Iranian name) situated at the nearby fortress at Paleomagnesia. In addition, detachments from the field army could be used to garrison key points during wartime. OGIS 229 (lines 103–104) also alludes to a phalanx detachment present in Magnesia, presumably in the aftermath of the Th ird Syrian War. The maximum mobilization for the Seleucids in the late 190s BCE involved 72,000 in field armies. Assuming skeleton crews were left in garrisons, the total mobilization may have approached 80,000 soldiers.206 The total population of the Seleucid Empire can be only crudely guessed. Aphergis postulated some 14 million or 18 million people at the empire’s two greatest territorial extents, under Seleucus I and Antiochus III, falling to something closer to 10 million in times of dynastic crisis and territorial contraction; his estimates, however, rest on crude guesses of population density.207 Peter Green has suggested a population as high as 30 million, although he provides no basis for this figure.208 The total Seleucid population must remain highly speculative; nonetheless it is reasonable to say that the Seleucid Empire at its height had a total population far larger than any other great power in the Mediterranean. It therefore had the lowest mobilization rates. Even if we assume a maximum mobilization of 80,000 against a conservative guess for total population of 10 million, this would mean that the Seleucids were able to mobilize less than a mere 1 percent of their population even during moments of intensive warfare.

Settlers and Citizens The ranks of the Seleucid infantry phalanx and some cavalry units were recruited from the citizens of the various Seleucid cities, descendants of Macedonian and Greek sett lers from the era of the Successors and usually referred to by the increasingly pseudo-ethnic term “Macedonian.”209 Units seem to have been community-based: for example, we hear of 6,000 soldiers serving as a single brigade from the large northern Syrian city of Cyrrhus.210 Polybius refers to a regiment of 3,000 cavalry at the Daphne procession as πολιτικοί, either the hometown muster of Antioch or, judging from the large size of the unit, an amalgamation of civic regiments from various large cities within the empire.211 The tragic report of mass grieving in Antioch following the massacre of Antiochus VII Sidetes and his army in 129 BCE suggests the loss of a large citizen contingent recruited from the city.212 The poleis and sett lements (katoikiai) from which Seleucid kings recruited their “Macedonians” had been founded by Seleucid kings though the

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distribution of land grants (klēroi) given to sett lers (klērouchoi/katoikoi).213 The exact military obligation tied to these plots is unclear. The idea that a klēros carried with it an explicit military obligation is widely accepted but has been challenged by Getzel Cohen, who correctly notes that there is very litt le evidence for military obligations being imposed with Seleucid land grants, as well as by Aphergis, who argues from litt le evidence that the Seleucid army was composed of professional volunteers.214 There is very litt le reason to think that Seleucid kings commanded professional, standing armies, in stark contrast to their counterparts in Macedonia and Egypt. It is true that during long campaigns (e.g., Antiochus the Great’s anabasis) soldiers might be mobilized for extended periods of time. And the Seleucids certainly maintained forces on active duty, including a large concentration at Apamea, the garrison city on the frontier with the Ptolemies.215 There is no reason, however, to think that the Seleucids differed greatly from their counterparts in Pella and Alexandria, draft ing and demobilizing their Macedonian-style units as part-time militias, and not standing units. Indeed, Antiochus III, as he contemplated a fresh invasion of Ptolemaic Koilē Syria, notably sent his troops home for the winter, an act that recalled Philip V’s furloughing his militiamen back to Macedonia.216 Similarly, during a lull in the Maccabean Revolt, “when King Demetrius saw that the land was quiet before him and that there was no opposition to him, he dismissed all his troops, all of them to their own homes, except for the foreign troops that he had recruited from the islands of the nations.”217 Such a demobilization suggests a difference between part-time civic troops and professional mercenaries, even if subsequent passages suggest that the demobilized troops were dissatisfied with the decision.218 Seleucid sett lements, katoikiai, certainly had a martial flavor, if for no other reason than that many were sett led with demobilized veterans. At Thyateira, a κατοικία Μακεδόνων according to Strabo, we have a dedication to Seleucus I by “the officers and soldiers of the Macedonians in Thyateira” (τῶν ἐν Θυατείροις Μακεδόνων οἱ ἡγεμόνες καὶ οἱ στρατιῶται), presumably freshly sett led veterans, with the community still organized under a military hierarchy of officers and men.219 The earliest explicit attestation of Seleucid military sett lers, katoikoi, OGIS 229, inscribed at the end of the Th ird Syrian War, describes “cavalry and infantry katoikoi” (κατοίκων ἱππέων καὶ πε[ζῶν]) within the polis of Magnesia-ad-Sipylum. The inscription later refers to a “cavalryman’s plot” (lines 103–104, κλῆρο[ν] ἱππικόν), presumably larger than the standard klēros for an infantryman. In a letter preserved by Josephus and purportedly by Antiochus III describing the dispatch of two thousand Babylonian Jews to sett le in recently pacified parts of Asia Minor the garrison function of the sett lement is explicit:220

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πυνθανόμενος τοὺς ἐν Λυδίᾳ καὶ Φρυγίᾳ νεωτερίζοντας μεγάλης ἐπιστροφῆς ἡγησάμην τοῦτό μοι δεῖσθαι, καὶ βουλευσαμένῳ μοι μετὰ τῶν φίλων, τί δεῖ ποιεῖν, ἔδοξεν εἰς τὰ φρούρια καὶ τοὺς ἀναγκαιοτάτους τόπους τῶν ἀπὸ τῆς Μεσοποταμίας καὶ Βαβυλωνίας Ἰουδαίων οἴκους δισχιλίους σὺν ἐπισκευῇ μεταγαγεῖν. πέπεισμαι γὰρ εὔνους αὐτοὺς ἔσεσθαι τῶν ἡμετέρων φύλακας. Having been informed that a sedition is arisen in Lydia and Phrygia, I thought that matter required great care; and upon advising with my friends what was fit to be done, it hath been thought proper to remove two thousand families of Jews, with their effects, out of Mesopotamia and Babylon, unto the castles and strategic spots; for I am persuaded that they will be well-disposed guardians of our possessions.

Subsequently the Jews are not specifically listed in the roll call of Antiochus the Great’s army at Magnesia, although it is possible that some of these Jewish cleruchs were present, possibly listed as Lydians or Phrygians or simply rolled into the divisions of the main phalanx. Again, in order to establish a garrison around Paleomagnesia Seleucus II ordered that plots be granted to a detachment of the phalanx under an officer named Timon (τοῖς ἀποταχθεῖσιν ἀπὸ τῆς φάλαγγο[ς]), evidently soldiers being demobilized from the field army as sett lers in addition to the Persians under Omanes and another unit commanded by an officer named Menecles.221 But to what extent were katoikoi and other klēros holders required to serve in the Seleucid field army? Although it is nowhere explicitly stated, I suspect that able-bodied males with such plots were expected to serve when necessary. Billows hypothesizes that in the event that a klēros was owned by a woman or a male too old or too young for military service, then the owner was required to hire a replacement.222 Nonetheless, Seleucid recruitment may have gone beyond those with land grants. Let us return to OGIS 229, which describes the synoikism of Magnesia and Smyrna in the chaotic aftermath of the Th ird Syrian War. Magnesia, which had sided with Ptolemy III, was returned to the Seleucid fold by a merger with Smyrna, which had remained loyal. Still, the terms of the synoikism were advantageous for Magnesia, as various groups within the city were to be made full citizens of Smyrna. Th is included the “katoikoi of Magnesia, the cavalry and infantry of the city, and those in the camp.”223 Th is may simply be good legalese, covering katoikoi not mobilized (or too old to serve), those on duty in the city (κατὰ πόλιν), and those stationed in the nearby camp (ὑπαίθροι). But the wording could also suggest that the katoikoi were also not the only troops drawn from the city, if the other cavalry and infantry κατὰ πόλιν and ὑπαίθροι represented citizen-soldiers mustered by the city who did not possess klēroi but

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still served in the civic regiment as either volunteers or conscripts. The inscription certainly suggests that there were many inhabitants of Magnesia who though neither katoikoi nor soldiers would receive citizenship in the synoikism so long as they were “free and Greek,” ἐλεύθεροί τε καὶ Ἕλλ ηνες. Such a population would no doubt be a tempting target for royal recruiters or for communities needing to meet their mobilization quotas. It would be surprising if such men were not taken into the army, even if they had no obligation by a royal klēros. It is therefore likely that all cleruchs/katoikoi had some military obligation (and even represented the core of Seleucid military power) but that not all “Macedonian” troops possessed klēroi. Livy provides the only breakdown of those serving in any Macedonianstyle regiments. It is interesting that the cavalry agēma, the most Macedonian of mounted units, was drawn from native peoples in the empire: “Medi erant, lecti uiri, et eiusdem regionis mixti multarum gentium equites.”224 Meanwhile, Livy describes the royal squadron (regia ala, presumably the hippeis basilikoi) as “Syri . . . Phrygibus et Lydis immixti,” “Syrians . . . with many Phrygians and Lydians mixed in.” Bar Kochva argues that all these nationalities were military sett lers, although he suggests that the Medes in the agēma may have been ethnic Iranians who had been given plots, like Omanes and his Persians at Smyrna.225 Some caution is necessary, since Roman authors preferred to paint the Seleucids using imprecise oriental ethnicities and the stereotypes associated with them (although Livy is certainly using Polybius here).226 The Syrians are most likely civic cavalry from the tetrapolis, perhaps the same group as the politikoi cavalry whom Polybius describes at Daphne. It is not impossible that the Lydians and Phrygians included Josephus’s Jewish sett lers. But it is also quite likely that even soldiers fighting “in the Macedonian fashion” reflected the diversity of the vast multiethnic kingdom.

Subjects Like their Achaemenid predecessors, the Seleucids mobilized forces from subject populations across their vast and diverse empire.227 Such recruitment was the result in part of the geographical dimensions of the Seleucid kingdom and the fact that Seleucids had a comparatively larger net population of subject peoples. The Seleucids therefore mustered tens of thousands of subjects into their field armies. The 14,500 subjects at Raphia and the 15,200 (or more, since Livy does not enumerate ethnic strengths of the entire force) at Magnesia each represented over 20 percent of the total force, a substantial supplement to Macedonian-style formations in the Seleucid army. Native subjects were also useful as garrison troops, especially if they were positioned outside their homeland, where their primary loyalty would be to the Seleucid king and not to any local nodes of power and patronage. We

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have already seen Omanes and the Persians at Paleomagnesia; in 214 BCE the pretender Achaeus’s garrison at Sardis’s citadel was commanded by Aribazus (likewise an Iranian name).228 Indeed, for most subjects east of Mesopotamia, service in Seleucid armies was perhaps how they primarily interfaced with the Seleucid state. Paul Kosmin has recently produced two provocative maps in his stimulating study of Seleucid territoriality: the fi rst of them maps royal journeys; the second produces a dot map of royal colonies.229 On these two metrics, the bulk of royal efforts, in terms both of regal peregrination and of colonization, were directed along an Asia Minor–Syria-Mesopotamia-Media axis. Seleucid kings, with the exception of Antiochus III, seldom ventured beyond the Zagros Mountains. Regions that seldom saw a king and were virtually devoid of colonists, still made significant military contributions: Elamites, Crytians, Medes, Persians, Dahae. It may well be that for the inhabitants of these regions, their primary interaction with the Seleucid state was through military service. Military collaboration could take place even with subjects who were not fi rmly enmeshed in imperial structures, perhaps in part because marginal subjects were willing to serve as in effect quasi mercenaries. For example, the Elamites contributed troops to Seleucid armies at Magnesia, yet Antiochus III subsequently perished while looting an Elamite temple. Seleucid kings had the ability to muster men from this highland region but were unable to exert closer forms of administrative control and fiscal exploitation.230 One set of subjects mysteriously missing from our lists are the Babylonians, apart from the Babylonian Jews sett led in Asia Minor. Th is is a curious absence, given the centrality of Mesopotamia to the kingdom as well as the documented previous use of Babylonian troops by the Achaemenids. Two possibilities have been suggested by David Engels: fi rst, that the Seleucids did not mobilize Babylonian troops in any significant numbers; or alternatively, that they were mustered directly into the main phalanx.231 Such deployment is not impossible, given the evidence discussed above of Medes and Phrygians in Macedonian-style cavalry regiments. A third possibility perhaps exists, of Babylonians deployed as garrison troops in regions about which our documentation is poor. Multiethnic empires have a motive to deploy subaltern troops away from their home regions, a precaution against rebellions spearheaded by native troops. Thus it is entirely possible that the garrisons of (say) Aria or Hyrcania, regions for which we are poorly informed, were staffed by Babylonian troops.

Mercenaries The Seleucids like the other Hellenistic powers used mercenaries to supplement their field armies, but these were never a mainstay. Mercenar-

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ies made up only 12 percent of Antiochus’s army at Raphia, and just under 20 percent of his force at Magnesia. Th irty percent of Antiochus IV’s force at Daphne was mercenary, although the increase owes much to the fact that the Seleucids no longer controlled territories in Asia Minor where they continued to maintain recruiting networks. Galatians consistently provided the Seleucids with sizable contingents, even as early Seleucid propaganda celebrated Antiochus I’s victory over the Gauls in the so-called Elephant Batt le of 275 BCE.232 Fift y-five hundred Galatians fought at Magnesia, and five thousand marched at Daphne. The lack of a Galatian contingent at Raphia may be due in part to the fact that Achaeus’s rebellion interfered with Seleucid recruitment efforts, although it is also possible that Antiochus was hesitant to hire Galatian contingents that had so recently been employed by the rebel Molon.233 Other nations turn up often in the eastern Mediterranean military labor pool, especially mainland Greeks, Th racians, and Cretans.

Allies In addition to utilizing subjects, Antiochus deployed the manpower of allies, all of whom existed in a state of subordinated independence. In his campaigns, Antiochus the Great was keen to develop contacts with the Arab chieftains flanking Koilē Syria; some 10,000 Arab cavalrymen joined his army at Raphia. Arab camel riders in unknown numbers also joined his army at Magnesia. Seeking to fi rm up his position in Asia Minor before the Roman war, Antiochus also married a daughter to Ariarathes of Cappadocia, who subsequently contributed 2,000 troops to Antiochus’s force at Magnesia.234 Nonetheless the Seleucids with their extensive subject manpower were not excessively dependent on allies to bulk up their forces. Indeed, given the various concentric penumbras of Seleucid power, the distinction between an ally and a subject was often vague. The readiness of such allies as Arab chieftains or pett y kings to commit troops to royal adventures waned and waxed along with Seleucid power.

Conclusion Seleucid kings were consistently able to mount 50,000 to 72,000 men in their field armies, with a maximum mobilization of roughly 80,000. These numbers were achieved through a diversified manpower portfolio, a combination of sett lers and citizens mustered from Greco-Macedonian communities, subjects and allies fighting in native units in keeping with their own martial traditions, and hired mercenaries. The size of the mobilization allowed Seleucid kings considerable strategic flexibility, in particular in si-

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multaneously maintaining multiple theaters of operation. For example, in 220/219 BCE the young Antiochus III campaigned against Ptolemy IV in Koilē Syria while his general Xenoitas led an army against the rebel Molon and under his cousin Achaeus a second army fought in Asia Minor against Attalus. Th is triple front collapsed when Xenoitas was defeated and Achaeus rebelled, but the very fact that three simultaneous operations were possible in the fi rst place attested the scope of Seleucid resources. When Antiochus III marched out on his eastern anabasis with his large army, in 212 BCE, he was able to leave a substantial force under the command of his viceroy Zeuxis in Asia Minor to mop up in the aftermath of Achaeus’s revolt. The size of the Seleucid manpower pool also allowed the Seleucids to deal with substantial setbacks. For example, Antiochus mustered 68,000 soldiers at Raphia even though Achaeus and his army were in revolt, another 6,000 soldiers from Cyrrhus were still in open mutiny, and the survivors of Molon’s revolt had been discharged rather than retained for renewed war against Ptolemy IV.235 What is curious is the Seleucid kings’ inability to recover from even moderate casualties. Antiochus III’s loss of 10,300 dead and another 4,000 captured at Raphia caused him, admittedly still young but already hardened in the ways of war and murder, to race back to Antioch and sue for peace.236 Antiochus later sued for peace with Rome after his defeats at Thermopylae, where another 10,000 died, and Magnesia, where 53,000 casualties were reported (although the figure is probably inflated).237 These proved severe defeats by any measure, but both Rome and Carthage endured far greater carnage despite controlling far smaller overall populations. One weakness of the Seleucids’ manpower situation was the fact that their sett lers and citizens were not very numerous, and accordingly heavy losses among this group risked weakening the dynasty’s overall military position.

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Part II

F i n a nc e

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Chapter Thr ee

Roman Finance

T

h e pu blic fi na nce s of t h e M i ddl e Rom a n R epublic have already been analyzed by Tenney Frank, fi rst in his article “The Public Finances of Rome: 200–157 BC” and then, with some minor revisions, in his contribution to the Economic Survey of Ancient Rome.1 In this chapter, I chiefly reevaluate his conclusions, focusing (unless specified otherwise) on 200–157 BCE, the same period that Frank considered. In 200, the Roman treasury was essentially bare thanks to the immense cost of the Second Punic War. In that year, an attempt was made to pay back loans that publicani had made to the state during the confl ict (having in essence supplied the army on credit), only to fail when sufficient cash could not be found.2 The end date of 157 is logical because in that year the senate ordered an intensive inventory of the treasury vaults, the results of which Pliny the Elder reports.3 We therefore know how much cash had been accumulated, making it possible to deduce total revenues by estimating overall expenditures and then adding the attested surplus. There is one problem with taking the study up to 157, namely the loss of Livy’s detailed account for the years after 167 along with the important economic information that he provided. Pliny’s report, however, offers a rare window into the holdings of the Roman aerarium that is simply too valuable to pass up. After establishing expenditures through a forensic accounting, it becomes possible to map revenues onto them. Many revenues are well attested: indemnities from defeated powers, loot displayed in triumphal processions, and the annual tribute that the four Macedonian republics paid after the Th ird Macedonian War. Estimating citizen tributum is more difficult, but I will argue that Livy preserves information on the total assessed property (for 187 BCE) and the tax rate (for 184), allowing an estimation of this important and significantly undervalued source of revenue. One critical step in this project will be converting lump sums of silver and

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gold bullion entering the treasury into denarii. The denarius as introduced between 214 and 211 BCE initially weighed 1/72 of a Roman pound (4.5 g).4 However, by 200 BCE or so, the weight had declined to 1/84 of a Roman pound (3.9 g), where it remained until the Early Empire. For example, in 187 Manlius Vulso gave each soldier a donative of 42 denarii, exactly half a pound of silver (in this case probably uncoined bullion).5 Rome’s treaty with Aetolia in 189 BCE assessed an indemnity in silver but allowed partial payment in gold at a rate of 1:10.6 I will use this rate to convert gold into silver: one Roman pound of gold will be calculated at 840 denarii.7 The “talent of account” is generally rendered as 6,000 denarii, but it is important to note that an Att ic/Euboic talent would have minted 6,720 denarii on the 1/84 standard.8 Th roughout, I round estimates to the nearest five million denarii in order to avoid giving any impression of exactness. The broad outlines of Roman public fi nance can indeed be reconstructed via critical use of information in literary sources, but certainly not down to the nearest sestertius or as.

E x pen dit u r e s The Legions According to Polybius, a Roman legionary was paid two obols a day.9 The exact conversion of Polybius’s (presumably Att ic) obols into asses is a long-unresolved technical problem, which Michael Crawford has described as “fundamentally boring.”10 Boring it may be, but for my purposes, it is essential that a correct rate of military pay be determined, as any error in the matter will be multiplied by the hundreds of thousands of Roman soldiers who received annual stipendia. It is often argued that just as two obols represent one-third of a drachma, Polybius’s pay rate should translate into onethird of a denarius, or 3 1/3 asses a day, putt ing the legionary’s annual pay at 120 denarii a year. However, Plautus, writing at the turn of the century, references military pay as tres nummi, implying an even three asses a day.11 Polybius’s two Greek obols are therefore Plautus’s three Roman asses, making pay for a Roman legionary 108 denarii a year, assuming a pay year of 360 days.12 Centurions were paid double; and cavalry, triple.13 It seems no coincidence that when the denarius was introduced, it was minted on a 1/72-pound weight standard, so that 108 denarii were equal to exactly 1.5 pounds of silver.14 Nor is it a coincidence that 108 denarii was worth 2,160 unciae of bronze on the sextantal standard, suggesting that the old Roman pay rate in the heavy bronze system had been an even 180 libral asses a year (i.e., one Roman pound of bronze, 12 unciae), or half a libral as a day.15

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The pay rate needs to be multiplied by the number of troops. Polybius implies that legions with 4,200 infantry were standard, and that legions of 5,000 infantry were raised only in times of exceptional danger. The standard cavalry contingent consisted of 300 horsemen.16 However, Polybius himself seems to be using an anachronistic source, according to Rawson probably a dated handbook for military tribunes reflecting the practice of the Second Punic War.17 There is some evidence that the legions for the Second Macedonian War (200–196 BCE) contained only 4,200 infantry, but by the late 190s Livy’s troop strengths imply that legions were consistently 5,000-plus men.18 Later in the period, some legions approached 6,000 strong: for example, the legions serving under Aemilius Paullus in Macedonia.19 For my estimate, I will assume that the average paper strength of the legion was 5,200 infantry and 300 cavalry throughout, with the cost of overstrength legions later in the period balancing out understrength legions earlier on. Many legions were likely somewhat understrength despite efforts to keep them fully manned with annual supplementa. But given the many hidden costs of war, it seems better to err on the high side. Thus, the annual stipendia for each legion will be considered to cost 665,280 denarii. I will follow the conclusions of Brunt (see table 1.2) for the number of legions deployed in any given year between 200 and 168, and will then assume 6 legions per year between 167 and 158, rolling up a total of 348 legion-years of service during our period.20 Legions did not necessarily serve in perfect annual intervals: there was often overlap between new legions being raised and time-expired troops being discharged. Holger Müller, for example, has attempted to calculate the costs for the Th ird Macedonian War down to the month.21 Such precision for the overall period, however, cannot be achieved, nor is it necessary. It is safe to assume that the overlap between new legions being raised and old ones being discharged would have roughly balanced out over the period of forty-three years and that army costs can be estimated with reasonable accuracy based on the number of active legions per year. Doing the basic arithmetic puts the cost of legionary stipendia at roughly 230 million denarii for the period 200– 157 BCE.

The Allies Allied soldiers received no pay from the Roman state. They needed to be fed, however, and received their rations from Rome free of charge.22 Rome itself obtained a great deal of grain taxed in kind: in particular the tithes (or in a few instances of heavy military deployment, double tithes) from Sardinia and Sicily.23 Our only secure reference to the Sicilian grain supply comes from the time of Cicero, where the quantity of the tithe was

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set at 3 million modii.24 However, there is reason to believe the tithe was significantly lower in the early second century BCE. In 189, the grain from Sardinia and Sicily, a double tithe from both islands, was split between the forces in Aetolia and Asia, amounting to four legions and alae and a fleet of 75 quinqueremes. Th is force represented approximately 75,000 men, requiring about 3.6 million modii of wheat a year.25 The single tithe from the two islands can therefore be estimated as 1.8 million modii a year (a high estimate). Given that the Roman army needed close to 5 million modii a year for an average annual deployment of eight or nine legions and wings, it seems that the “free” grain from Sicily and Sardinia accounted for roughly one-third of the Roman military grain supply. Some inestimable amount of grain was also obtained by foraging, although foraging carried with it significant tactical risks as dispersed groups of soldiers were especially vulnerable to enemy attack.26 Furthermore it was time-consuming, disadvantageous given the window of the campaign season. Thus, living off the land was never the logistical strategy of fi rst resort but was rather used to supplement food obtained by other means. A great deal of grain still had to be purchased at market or near-market prices, often involving a form of military requisition known as fr umentum emptum.27 When the Romans assessed a second tithe in Sicily and Sardinia, they at least paid less than market rates for the grain: for the second tithe from Sicily in 70 BCE the senate instructed the praetor Verres to pay three sesterces a modius.28 The Romans also at times paid allied states for (theoretically) voluntary contributions of grain, although probably not at full market price.29 The Romans furthermore dispatched purchasing agents to buy grain at market rates: for example, sending six legati to Africa and Numidia during the Syrian War.30 A similar buying mission staffed by senators was dispatched to southern Italy to purchase grain on the eve of the Th ird Macedonian War.31 In addition, the army procured grain and other supplies through publicani at contract rates.32 Thus the food that the allies ate was not free for the Roman state. But it is safe to say that the Romans obtained their grain at well below the market rate, which in the mid-Republican period seems to have been around 7.5–11 asses a modius.33 Th is was in part because Rome received large quantities of grain from collection in kind. Indeed, if the Roman army received 35 percent of its grain from Sicily and Sardinia (“free”), 15 percent from foraging (“free”), and 50 percent by purchase at market or near-market rates (7.5– 11 asses), we may expect the averaged cost of a modius of grain to the Roman army to be somewhere between 3.25 and 5.5 asses. There is reason to believe that the official cost of rations, at least for purposes of military bookkeeping, was 4 asses a modius. Th is, for example, was

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Ta bl e 3.1. Cost of a Rom a n r at ion pack age i n t h e e a r ly secon d ce n t u ry BCE

Ration 48 modii wheat 12 sextarii olive oil a 7 amphorae winec Total e

Cost per unit  4 asses  2 assesb 10 assesd ca. 30 denarii

Total cost for commodity 19.2 denarii  2.4 denarii   7 denarii

a

Ration based on slave ration in Cato, Agr. 58.1.5. Price based on Cato, Agr. 22.3, who notes 50 pounds of olive oil cost 25 sesterces. A sextarius of olive oil (546 ml) would weigh about 1.5 Roman pounds. c Based on Cato, Agr. 57.1.9, for slave rations. Provision of wine to Roman forces: Livy 37.27.2. d Pliny (NH 18.17) reports a glut price of wine at 8 asses per amphora, and in 89 BCE an artificially low price of 8 asses per amphora was imposed on imported Greek wine (NH 14.95). These are unusually low prices for decent wine but may reflect a rule-of-thumb price for very cheap wine. I will assume that a cheap amphora of wine/vinegar in the Middle Republic cost about a denarius. Polybius (34.8.8) puts an unusually cheap metrētēs of wine (about 1.5 amphorae) in Lusitania at one drachma (about 8 asses an amphora), although he elsewhere (2.15.1) claims wholesale prices in Cisalpine Gaul are a bargain at two obols a metrētēs. But we must allow for some markup by the publicani. e Rounded up to account for small amounts of meat, salt, etc. b

the rate at which the aediles sold surplus military grain in 204 and 201 BCE.34 More tellingly, Gaius Gracchus set the price of his grain rations at roughly 4/10 of a denarius (or 6 1/3 asses under the new retariffed system of 16 asses to a denarius).35 Averaged for accounting purposes, this perhaps represents the general cost of buying grain at both market and submarket rates, factoring in substantial quantities of grain obtained “free” through tithes, foraging, donation, and pillage. The cost of grain to the Roman state would have been deducted from the stipendia of Roman soldiers but for allied soldiers would have represented an unreclaimed expense.36 However, the army did not eat grain alone. Sour wine, olive oil, salt, and meat supplemented the Roman military ration.37 Presumably these were also provided to the allies free of charge. Let us assume a ration as shown in table 3.1. As noted in chapter 1, I am assuming that from 200 to 179, there were 7,500 allied infantry and 500 allied cavalry per legion (for 199 legions over the period). After 179, I am assuming 5,200 infantry and 300 allied cavalry per legion (for 149 legions over the period) in my calculations of allied ration requirements. I do not factor in rations for auxilia externa, since we know neither the number of auxilia externa deployed nor the extent of Roman lo-

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gistical support for these contingents (many were probably supplied by their home communities). For those supplied by Rome, I assume that foodstuffs collected in kind were sufficient to feed these forces without impacting the aerarium.38 Each allied cavalryman received a double food ration, presumably to feed an attendant. Assuming the total cost was 30 denarii per ration, this would cost roughly 75 million denarii. In addition, each cavalry man needed 30 modii of barley a month for his animals (probably a horse and a mule).39 Assuming a cheap average price of two asses per modius, barley for the horses would cost roughly 10 million denarii over forty-three years.40 In all, rations for allied soldiers would cost around 85 million denarii for the entire period. Thus the running total for legionary stipendia plus allied rations is roughly 315 million denarii.

Other Costs The Romans required substantial transport capacity to move soldiers, cavalry horses, equipment, rations, and other supplies. During the First Punic War, some eight hundred transports supported the consular legions and fleet off Sicily.41 Scipio Africanus’s expeditionary force, with two legions and alae, required four hundred transports to bring the army into Africa, and at least three hundred transports to support it afterward.42 In addition, we must account for the pack animals of the army, the cost of both the animals themselves and their fodder. We must also factor in rations for noncombatants, termed alternatively calones, ministratores, and lixae in the ancient sources.43 Each Roman cavalryman was issued a triple wheat ration, and as he could hardly eat this himself, this already implies two attendants per horseman.44 However other men, either slaves, freedmen, or impoverished free men (accensi), must have been necessary to support the rest of the army as mule drivers and baggage handlers.45 No fi rm evidence exists for their numbers, although they seem to have been numerous, perhaps several thousand in a consular army. They do not seem to have been paid, but it is quite likely that they received rations. Finally, war requires any number of miscellaneous articles: nails, tools, carts, wagons, wheels, rope, and so forth. Some of these were surely supplied by the soldiers themselves (entrenching tools, e.g.), whereas others might be requisitioned or looted. The costs of expensive siege machines should also be factored in. Unfortunately, all such items are virtually impossible to accurately quantify based on the surviving sources. So far, a legion and an allied wing cost an average of ca. 900,000 denarii per year, adding pay for the legion with food and fodder for the allies. The best way to account for the known but unquantifiable costs is simply to

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round the total cost of keeping one legion and one allied wing in the field to an even 1 million denarii. There is one important notice that suggests that the Republican Romans did indeed consider 1 million denarii per legion a budgetary rule of thumb. In 51 BCE, the senate voted Pompey 1,000 talents to maintain his legions.46 Presumably this figure covered all associated military expenditures that Pompey might be anticipated to undertake as a provincial governor, including the costs of pay, shipping, transports, rations, and so on. One thousand talents is a neat, round number, but when we consider that Pompey had six legions at the time, the neat, round number actually used in the senate’s budget projection was 6 million denarii (converted by Plutarch into talents of account) or 1 million denarii per legion per year.47 Of course, there were substantial differences between the army of the early second century BCE and the one that Pompey commanded in 51. But from a budgetary point of view these may well have roughly balanced each other out: in Pompey’s day there were no more allied contingents that needed to be provided with grain, but thanks to a law of Gaius Gracchus, Roman soldiers now had their clothing provided free of charge.48 Military pay was unchanged, still 108 denarii a year. At 1 million denarii a year to maintain a legion and an ala, the combined cost of 348 legion- and ala-years between 200 and 157 BCE would be (rounding up again) about 350 million denarii.

The Fleet A Roman quinquereme had a crew of 300 rowers and perhaps 60 marines.49 The exact ratio of Roman citizens to allies fluctuated, but by the second century BCE successful land distribution seems to have severely limited the number of impoverished proletarii liable for service in the fleet.50 For my estimates, I will assume that the ratio of Romans to allies is 1:2. Accordingly, a 360-man crew would contain 120 Roman citizens. There is every reason to believe that soldiers and sailors received identical pay, especially given the ease with which sailors were converted into legionaries.51 A hundred twenty Romans would therefore have annual pay of 108 denarii, totaling 12,960 denarii; this figure would also cover their rations, clothing, weapons, and equipment.52 Rations for the remaining sailors would cost 7,200 denarii based on the estimate for allied rations discussed above. Total annual crew costs for a single quinquereme would therefore have been around 20,000 denarii.53 I will follow Johannes Th iel for Roman naval deployments between 200 and 167 BCE.54 (See table 3.2.) Th is suggests a total of 1,435 ship-years, with a crew cost of about 29 million denarii during that period.

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Ta bl e 3.2. Rom a n nava l de pl oy m e n ts, 2 00 –16 7 BCE Period BCE

Ships

200–194 191–188 181–178 177 171–167

75 115 20 30 68

Source: After Th iel 1946:263–429.

In addition, the Romans spent money on refitt ing old ships and constructing new ones, perhaps a hundred and fi ft y of them according to Frank’s estimates.55 Athenian trierarchs compensated the state at 5,000 drachmas for a new trireme hull (even if actual shipbuilding costs no doubt fluctuated); a hundred and fi ft y ships at this rate would have cost 750,000 denarii, but better to round up to 1 million, given that Roman quinqueremes were larger.56 Routine maintenance costs and the expenses of maintaining ships in dry dock (although socii navales assumed some expenditures for both ships and equipment) justify rounding the total cost of fleets upward to 35 million denarii.

Donatives to the Soldiers In appendix 1 to this chapter, I summarize the attested donatives that triumphant commanders gave to their returning soldiers. Allies were paid equal donatives, with one notable exception in 173 BCE.57 It is difficult to estimate the number of soldiers paid a donative. Based on the paper strength (minus casualties), a fair-enough calculation can be made when the entire army returned, but in many instances in the second century, commanders returned with discharged troops only, their legions on active service being assumed by the next commander rotating in. The size of legionary supplementa give some sense of how many soldiers may have been discharged back to Italy, as supplementa not only replaced casualties, but more critically allowed time-expired veterans to return home with the triumphing commander; the size of the supplementa, often 5,000 Romans and 7,500 allied infantry to two-legion consular armies, suggest that roughly half the troops may have been demobilized. For returning armies, I will assume that the donative was largely paid to field armies, where the ratio of Romans to Italians

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was near parity. On these assumptions, triumphal donatives listed in appendix 1 to this chapter would have required roughly 15 million denarii. The second stipendia paid to legionaries on four occasions (in 190, 189, 187, and 180) would have required just under 5 million denarii. Some distributions of loot to soldiers took place in the provinces as a mechanism for maintaining morale and also rewarding soldiers who would not redeploy for the triumph and its donative. Th is would include the exceptionally generous payout of roughly 5.5 million denarii derived from the sale of the slaves and given directly to Aemilius Paullus’s legions in 168 BCE.58 Other distributions were probably much smaller. After all, triumphs represented the most splendid and profitable victories, and so triumphal donatives probably represented most of the loot, distributed to the soldiers. I will nonetheless estimate that roughly 5 million denarii were distributed to soldiers in theater, not counting Paullus’s exceptional distribution after Epirus. Overall, I will put donatives and other cash distributions to the soldiers at approximately 30 million denarii.

Public Works Every five years, the censors let a wide array of contracts for the repair and maintenance of city infrastructure as well as new projects. In the second century BCE, the scope and ambition of Roman public building increased markedly.59 The censors of 199 seem to have engaged in virtually no public works, because the treasury was depleted following the Second Punic War.60 The censors of 194 repaired two major public buildings, for which I estimate a cost of 1 million denarii. The censors of 189 had only two modest projects: the building of a substructure and the paving of a road. I will again estimate the cost of these at 1 million denarii. However, the influx of silver from the Seleucid indemnity saw a spike in massive public works. In 184 BCE, Marcus Cato and Valerius Flaccus engaged in an ambitious public-works program.61 From Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who quotes the second-century historian Gaius Acilius, we learn the cost of a single project undertaken by the censors, a major renovation of the sewer system that undergirded the otherwise marshy city: 1,000 talents.62 Th is round figure corresponds to a major line item of Rome’s revenues for that year, the Seleucid indemnity payment of 1,000 Att ic talents, equivalent to roughly 6.7 million denarii. Given that other items are listed in the lustrum beyond the sewer renovation, Cato and Flaccus must have spent considerably more than 6.7 million denarii in 184. I will estimate the total cost of their censorship at 8 million denarii. In the lustrum of 179 BCE, the entire vectigalia (miscellaneous taxes, usu-

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ally indirect) for that year were assigned to the discretion of the censors.63 Frank believed that these vectigalia were merely a handful of specific categories: the receipts from the portoria and scriptura, rents from the ager publicus, and so on. (I discuss this later.) But Livy indicates that the Carthaginian and Seleucid indemnities could be considered vectigalia as well.64 Th is means that at a minimum, the censors for 179 spent the 1,000 Att ic talents of the Seleucid indemnity and the 200 Att ic talents of the Carthaginian indemnity, over 8 million denarii, plus the other vectigalia derived from Italian sources. I will estimate their total expenditure at 10 million denarii.65 The censors of 174 BCE were probably the last to benefit from the Seleucid indemnity. (Antiochus IV made the last payment, in arrears, in 173.)66 The censors of that year also embarked on an ambitious series of projects that matched the scope and scale of projects undertaken by the censors of 184 and 179.67 Indeed, Ernst Badian assumes that the censors of 174 were again granted an entire year’s worth of vectigalia, suggesting public-works expenditures very similar to those of the censors of 179. I will therefore estimate the cost at another 10 million denarii.68 The senate appropriated only half the vectigalia to the censors of 169, no doubt because of the fiscal pinch caused by the Th ird Macedonian War. By now the Seleucid indemnity had ended. I will assign to this lustrum a muchreduced estimate of 2 million denarii. The loss of Livy dramatically reduces our knowledge of the lustra of 164 and 159. The only projects known from 164 are the erection of a statue of Concordia and the construction of a horologium in the comitia.69 For 159, we learn of another horologium installed in the Basilica Aemilia and the construction of a portico on the Capitol.70 These surely were not the only projects, however. Given that the treasury was overflowing with loot from Macedonia, I will assign to these censors expenditures of 4 million per lustrum; this is admittedly a guess. I estimate 40 million denarii for public works contracted by the censors between 200 and 157 BCE; this is double Frank’s estimate of 20 million. It is nonetheless in keeping with sources implying that enormous expenditures on public works during this period consumed a substantial portion of the state’s budget. Polybius describes the censorial spending in lustral years as “the item of expenditure . . . far heavier and more important than any other.”71 In addition to quinquennial spending by the censors, the aediles and consuls sponsored building projects of their own. The public works of the consuls fell into two basic categories: roads and so-called manubial projects (mostly small temples). The exact number of manubial temples is unclear, but at least ten were completed and dedicated during our period.72 Likewise, only two roads are well attested, both built in 187 BCE: the Via Flaminia Minor and the Via Aemilia, with a combined length of approximately

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175 miles.73 In addition, ambitious aediles on occasion undertook building projects. The aediles for 193 and 192 between them constructed three porticoes and a wharf, and installed besides a number of gilded decorations in the Temple of Jupiter.74 Although it is impossible to effectively estimate the cost of any single project, it seems reasonable to posit that the sum of consular and aedilician building between 200 and 157 BCE was roughly equivalent to a moderately ambitious censorial lustrum costing around 5 million denarii. Overall, I will estimate 45 million denarii for public works spending from 200 to 157. Public works represent the largest expenditure undertaken by the Roman state apart from the army.

Cost of Ludi and Festivals Roman public festivals were expensive events, involving sacrifices, public feasts, gladiatorial games, and theatrical productions. We have one indication for the cost of a major festival: in 218 BCE, the Ludi Maximi cost 200,000 light-libral asses (ten unciae of bronze per as).75 Th is equates to a bronze value of 100,000 denarii, or about 20,000 denarii a day, given that the festival probably lasted around five days. After the reform of the denarius, the sum of 20,000 denarii was spent for games on two occasions: in 186, the senate authorized 20,000 denarii to pay for Fulvius Nobilior’s triumphal games,76 and in 179 the same figure was set as the limit of expenditures for future triumphal games.77 It is a reasonable hypothesis that this figure was based on the average cost of of games per day, so that the senate was limiting Nobilior and future triumphant generals to a single day of public funding, even if multiday extravaganzas were sometimes fi nanced through private means. Let us assume that for the second century BCE the Ludi Romani lasted ten days.78 The lengths of the other festivals in the Middle Republic are uncertain and could vary from year to year. For my estimate I will assign three days apiece to the Ludi Megalenses (established 191), Florales (established 173), and Cerei, Apollinares, and Plebeii (all established earlier than our period).79 Th is assignment yields about 937 days of public games between 200 and 157. The total should be rounded up somewhat to account for expiatory and manubial games, presumably not all of which are attested. Let us assume 1,000 total days of state-sponsored festivities (disregarding funerary games put on by aristocrats or additional days added on to public games through private funding). Estimating an average price of 20,000 denarii per day, the total cost of ludi would be 20 million denarii, an average of roughly 465,000 denarii a year.80 In 51, the Roman state spent 435,000 denarii on just three fes-

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tivals, the Ludi Romani, Apollinares, and Plebeii, although the number of days in these festivals seems to have been significantly higher in the Late Republic.81 For comparison’s sake, David Pritchard puts the annual cost of Athenian festivals at around 600,000 drachmas a year.82 The basic magnitude of my estimate for festival costs therefore seems to be correct.

Miscellany In addition, I will assume that the Roman state spent several hundred thousand denarii a year on miscellaneous expenses that are almost impossible to rigorously quantify: for example, the periodic rewards paid to informers, gifts to foreign embassies, dedications of public statues, start-up costs associated with colonization, pay for apparitores and other magisterial staff, the maintenance of public slaves, and so forth. A modicum of corruption also surely drained state resources, despite Polybius’s insistence that the Romans were unusually honest in matters pertaining to public money.83 I estimate 25 million denarii in miscellaneous expenditures during the period 200–157 BCE, although this figure could easily be twice or half as much.

The Reimbursement of 187 BCE In 187 BCE, Manlius Vulso triumphed in splendid fashion, bringing home enormous amounts of loot from Asia Minor, including several lumpsum installments of the Seleucid indemnity payment. He paraded coins, crowns, and bullion worth approximately 24.1 million denarii.84 (See appendix 2 to this chapter.) After a second stipendium to the soldiers (ca. 1.3 million) the leftover funds, somewhat less than 23 million denarii, were distributed through a senatus consultum:85 ex pecunia, quae in triumpho translata esset, stipendium conlatum a populo in publicum, quod eius solutum antea non esset, solveretur. vicenos quinos et semisses in milia aeris quaestores urbani cum cura et fide solverunt. From the money that was displayed in triumph, the stipendium collected from the people for public use [i.e., tributum] would be reimbursed insofar as it had not been reimbursed before. The urban quaestors carefully and faithfully paid out 25 1/2 asses per thousand.

The passage represents a rare refund of tributum. The official formulation “quod eius solutum antea non esset” was superfluous legalese: tributum had

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Ta bl e 3.3. Tota l Rom a n e x pe n dit u r e s, 2 00 –157 BCE

a

Expense source

Expenditurea

Legions and allies Navy Public works Ludi and festivals Miscellany Donatives, distributions Reimbursement, 187 BCE Total

350  35  45  20  25  30  23 ca. 530 million

In millions of denarii.

indeed been occasionally reimbursed in the early third century BCE, but it is highly doubtful that any had been refunded since the start of the Second Punic War.86 Still, Vulso’s reimbursement proved a substantial benefit, as the urban quaestors essentially gave all Roman taxpayers a large tax credit, dividing up roughly 23 million by refunding all assidui 25.5 asses for every 1,000 in assessed property. (Thus a taxpayer worth 10,000 denarii would receive 255 denarii.) It is doubtful that the money was physically distributed to the taxpayers severally. A more likely scenario is that citizens were given a credit on paper that could then be drawn down against future tax liabilities, with the result that most citizens would have owed no tributum for the next several years, foreshadowing the eventual suspension of tributum some twenty years later.

Total Expenditures: In all, state expenditures are estimated at about 530 million denarii from 200 to 157 BCE. (See table 3.3.)

R e v en u e s In 157 BCE, a treasury inventory revealed 17,410 pounds of gold, 22,070 pounds of silver, and 6,135,400 denarii; in all, the bullion and coin was worth 22.5 million denarii.87 When this surplus is added to the estimate of roughly 530 million in expenditures, it follows that the total revenues of the

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Roman state were on the order of 555 million denarii, roughly thirteen million a year. Below I discuss the different sources for various Roman revenues and provide estimates for each when possible.

Indemnities Between 200 and 167 BCE Rome imposed massive war indemnities on defeated enemies totaling 26,030 Att ic talents in silver, with a cash value of some 175 million denarii. (See appendix 3 to this chapter.)

Loot Livy provides detailed accounts of booty brought into the public treasury during triumphal processions; presumably these are derived by Livy or his sources from official documents chronicling deposited loot.88 Despite some skepticism about the accuracy of these reports, they should be considered accurate.89 Polybius was impressed by how methodically the Romans inventoried their collected loot, which Cicero implies was recorded when deposited into the treasury.90 The account books that Scipio Africanus shredded before the senate, along with the quaestorial tablets that Tiberius Gracchus boldly reentered Numantia to obtain, provide additional evidence that detailed records underlie the numbers preserved in the annalistic tradition.91 Some corruption during transmission is inevitable, but the aggregated sums are probably accurate overall, since minor to modest errors in individual figures balance out over the period that we are considering. The raw data for all triumphs are presented in appendix 3 to this chapter. Loot displayed from Eastern conquests totaled 96,402,732 denarii. However, Frank is correct when he notes that some of this supposed loot was in fact indemnity payments paraded as praeda.92 (See table 3.4.) On this reckoning, some 26.8 million denarii of the bullion carried in triumph was indemnity payment. Since we have already counted such above, we should reduce Eastern loot carried into the treasury to around 70 million. Furthermore, Livy reports that triumphs for Cisalpine Gaul, Liguria, and Istria brought in 247 pounds of gold, 2,340 pounds of silver, and 1,076,250 in denarii, amounting to 1,480,290 denarii. Triumphs from Spain produced 5,917 pounds of gold, 326,352 pounds of silver, and 1,630,666 denarii, totaling 34 million denarii.93 In all, triumphal records record roughly 105 million denarii paraded into the Roman treasury. In addition, we know of three Ligurian triumphs between 167 and 157, but because Livy’s complete narrative is lost, we do not know how much loot was carried in these triumphs.94 They were small, and

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Ta bl e 3.4. Port ions of i n de m n it i e s l i k e ly c a r r i e d i n Rom a n t r i u m phs, 194–187 BCE Indemnity paid before triumph (talents)

Triumphator

Year

Payor

Flamininus

194

Philip V

500 down payment + two annual payments, 600 total

Flamininus

194

Nabis

100 down payment

Scipio Asiaticus

189

Antiochus III

500 down paymenta

Fulvius Nobilior

187

Aetolians

200 down payment

Manlius Vulso

187

Antiochus III

2,500 down payment

Manlius Vulso

187

Ariarathes

300 lump sum

a Minus a stipendium (duplex for 190) for two legions = 1.36 million denarii. The charges against Scipio Africanus related to his use of the Seleucid indemnity to pay his army (Polyb. 23.14.7, πρὸ τῶν συνθηκῶν εἰς τὴν τοῦ στρατοπέδου μισθοδοσίαν). I presume that this refers specifically to the second stipendium paid in 190, after the Batt le of Magnesia (Livy 37.59.6), whereas the regular pay for the army was otherwise provided by Rome.

so rounding up to 110 million takes them into account and factors in also the small amount of loot from other marginal campaigns ultimately found unworthy of a triumph. Yet not all loot was deposited into the treasury: some was given to the soldiers either on campaign or prior to the triumph. Triumphal donatives ex praeda were paid out before the triumph and therefore were not counted in sums deposited in aerario: during the fi rst triumph of Aemilius Paullus, in 181 BCE, the soldiers received donatives of 300 asses apiece; but no gold or silver was available for display in the triumph, presumably having all gone to the troops.95 Shortly afterward, Fulvius Flaccus triumphed over the Ligurians also without any money in his procession, but was able to pay his soldiers a base donative of 300 asses, presumably by dividing up all the loot between them.96 The occasional second stipendium paid out to victorious armies seems to have been accounted differently: whereas the donatives were paid to the soldiers outside the city before the loot was paraded in triumpho and then into the open doors of the aerarium, second stipendia were paid post triumphum after the loot had been accounted by the treasury.97 Nonetheless, we should add roughly 25 million denarii in distributions for triumphal donatives and my estimate of distributions in theater as discussed above, bringing the total loot to around 135 million denarii.

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Tributum Tributum, the war tax paid by Roman citizens, was crushing during the Second Punic War. In 215 BCE, following the disaster at Cannae, the senate levied a duplex tributum (that is, doubling the rate of the year before), half of which was to pay seven legions in the field that had not disgraced themselves at Cannae (thus the two in Spain, the two in Sicily, the two urban legions in Rome, and one legion in Sardinia). We can conclude that the simplex tributum had been set equivalent to the pay of seven legions, which depending on the strength of the legions was worth roughly 3 to 4 million denarii in post-211 pay rates. Frank believed that tributum was collected at a set rate, a mill tax of 0.1 percent of all assessed property.98 It should be noted that in 204 BCE the senate punished Latin communities that had failed to provide additional recruits with substantial new levies, requiring them besides to pay a tax of 1/1,000.99 At fi rst glance it may seem that the punitive tax rate assessed upon recalcitrant Latin communities could not have been lower than what was assessed at Rome. However, it must be remembered that the requirement to send large detachments of troops was itself a significant fi nancial burden on Italian communities, which provided pay for their own contingents. Indeed, the 1/1,000 surtax was probably designed to make up for the fact that the Romans would be supplying these additional contingents with rations; part of the punishment was their having to pay for what otherwise would have been given free of charge. Th is surtax ensured that these chastised communities paid the entire cost of their own contingents, but it need not reflect the going tax rate at Rome itself. To get a more accurate sense of the magnitude of tributum levied, we need to know both the rate of assessment and the total amount of property assessed. The facts are buried in Livy’s narrative. The triumph of Manlius Vulso in 187 BCE provides an unusual chance to estimate the assessed property on the Roman tax rolls. As discussed above, roughly 24.1 million denarii in bullion was paraded in the triumph. A second stipendium of about 1.3 million was paid out to Vulso’s legions, leaving around 22.8 million (the exact figure must be uncertain) to refund the Roman taxpayers at the rate of 25.5 asses per 1,000. From the refund, we get a sense of the total assessed property, given that the urban quaestors must have taken the total sum and divided it by the total assessed property to determine what the rate of refund would be. We simply need to invert the calculation, dividing 22.8 million by 25.5/1,000, so that the total value of assessed property in 187 BCE (presumably assessed during the census of 189) was approximately 900 million denarii.100 The rate would

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have fluctuated somewhat from census to census, although if we were to postulate a general trend of property values moderately increasing between 200 and 167, the year 187 would put us close to the median value for total assessed property during the period.101 Now that we have established the total property assessed, we must search for the rate (or rates) of assessment. In 184 BCE, Livy reports that the censors Marcus Cato and Valerius Flaccus assessed a number of luxury items, including young slaves and women’s jewelry, by artificially inflating their assessed value, in some instances by a factor of ten.102 Livy then reports that “his rebus omnibus terni in milia aeris att ribuerentur.”103 The senate, not the censors, set the rate of tributum. Indeed, if Cato could set the tax rate, he would have simply declared it to be 30/1,000 for expensive slaves and feminine accessories. That he had to inflate the assessment valuation in the fi rst place is due to the fact that he did not establish the initial rate. Livy, perhaps unknowingly, provides the going rate of tributum for that year: 3/1,000. A rate of 3/1,000 would produce a theoretical income of some 2.7 million denarii. The year 184 BCE saw a low military deployment, eight legions and no attested naval activity. Tributum was not a fi xed tax, however, but rose during significant military mobilization.104 The 3/1,000 rate of 184 was therefore probably a baseline rate for years of relative peace. (It is indicative of the intensive mobilizations of the early second century that some 50,000 troops under arms should be considered relative peace.) Based on the assessment of 184, I assume a standard tributum of 2.7 million denarii but estimate a higher collection for 200 through 194, 191 through 188, and 171 through 168. These sixteen years saw between 8 and 13 legions mobilized and large fleets deployed. The rate probably increased proportionately with rising military expenses, perhaps to around 5/1,000, bringing in roughly 4.5 million denarii. With 2.7 million for seventeen “peace” years and 4.5 million for sixteen “war” years approximately 120 million denarii would have been raised in tributum between 200 and 167. A basic test of my estimate for tributum would be to see whether war expenditures and war revenues balance out, since after indemnities and loot, tributum was the primary funding source for military operations.105 (See table 3.5.) These do not equate perfectly, and there are elements of uncertainty in all my estimates, which could be massaged to push the two totals closer together or farther apart. The Romans often spent war loot and indemnities on civilian projects, and other revenue could be used to cover part of the cost of military outlay. Nonetheless, the data in table 3.5 suggest that the basic magnitude of my estimate for tributum is correct. Although not the largest source of fiscal support for military operations, tributum had the merit of being reli-

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Ta bl e 3.5 . Wa r f u n di ng a n d e x pe n dit u r e s, 2 00 –157 BCE

Expense source Legions/allies Fleets Donatives Total

Expenses 350 million 35 million 30 million ca. 415 million

Revenue source Indemnities Loot Tributum

Revenues 175 million 135 million 120 million ca. 430 million

able and flexible, as its rate could within limits increase according to the fluctuating costs of military operations. Unlike loot or indemnities, tributum could also be raised before the enemy was actually defeated, thereby providing a fiscal stimulus to military operations. Assuming Rome’s citizen population was roughly one million free inhabitants, the per-capita contribution necessary to raise roughly 2.7 million denarii was only about 2.7 denarii, equivalent to the cost of about three modii of wheat. Perhaps a comparison to classical Athens is appropriate. In 428 BCE, after severe casualties in the plague, the Athenians collectively contributed an eisphora of 200 talents (1.2 million drachmas).106 Assuming there were some 120,000 to 150,000 free Athenians, this implies a per-capita contribution of 8–10 drachmas. In 352, when the total assessed value of property liable for the tax was roughly 5,700 talents, the eisphora took in 60 talents, a rate of just over 10/1,000.107 The rate of 3/1,000 in 184 was an order of magnitude lower than the tributum reinstated by the triumvirs in 43, which was assessed at a rate of 40/1,000.108 It is also significantly lower than the 10/1,000 tax rate attested in Syria during the Early Empire.109

Other Revenues So far, I have accounted for roughly 435 million denarii in revenues from 200 to 157 BCE between indemnities, loot, tributum, and the Macedonian tribute. The remaining roughly 115 million must have come from two sources: Spain, in particular from the Spanish mines; and vectigalia. Polybius reports that in his day the silver mines in the vicinity of New Carthage provided the Roman people 25,000 denarii a day, or some 9 million denarii a year.110 Th is figure certainly cannot be correct for the entire fi rst half of the second century. If it were, then Spanish mines would have provided 387 million denarii to the Roman people from 200 to 157. According to my estimates (and Frank’s as well), this sum would have allowed all Roman expenditures

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to be more than covered by a combination of mines, loot, and indemnities. There would have been no reason to collect vectigalia or tributum at all. As already mentioned, the Romans reduced the weight of the denarius around the turn of the century despite coming into possession of Carthaginian mining regions by 206 BCE. Bronze coinage continued to predominate in the output of Roman mints.111 When the silver in the vaults was inventoried thoroughly in 157, the overall paucity of silver is notable: 22,070 pounds of silver bullion as compared with 17,200 pounds of gold; in terms of value, silver bullion accounted for only 10 percent of total Roman reserves. The aerarium was certainly not overflowing with silver bullion from the Spanish mines. Archaeological evidence suggests that the Spanish mines did not undergo major expansion until the latter half of the second century, perhaps starting around 125 BCE.112 Perhaps most damning against the notion of a silver boom early in the second century is an isotopic analysis of the silver in Roman denarii.113 Mined silver can be traced to its specific geographical origin through spectrographic analysis of the lead isotope that it contains. Recent studies analyzing various early second-century denarii found no link with the isotope signatures of various Spanish mining regions; this despite more defi nitive links with silver from Asia Minor, presumably made from bullion from Eastern war loot and Seleucid indemnity payments. It is only in late second-century issues that Roman silver begins to match the signatures of Spanish mining regions.114 The lack of a defi nitive link between early secondcentury Roman silver issues and Spanish mining regions suggests that Spanish silver was at best supplementary to bullion derived from other sources, in particular loot and indemnity payments. Is Polybius just plain wrong? Perhaps; he is a good source but hardly infallible. Nonetheless I hesitate to dismiss him outright. I wonder if he was describing not an established operation but rather a momentary silver boom of the sort common in the nineteenth-century western United States: a rich vein of silver producing a boomtown of forty thousand miners overnight, as Polybius saw when he visited Spain, probably in 150 BCE.115 The fiscal impact of such a midcentury silver boom may be seen in an item of expenditure just outside the timeline of this study, namely the construction of the Aqua Marcia in 144, costing an incredible 45 million denarii.116 The loot from Carthage after the Th ird Punic War was supposedly modest (a mere 4,370 pounds of silver according to Pliny, worth 367,080 denarii), and although the haul from the Achaean War may have partly covered the cost, the main source for this project’s funding may have been a temporary spike in revenues with an ephemeral silver boom in Spain.117 Such a windfall may have led to the increased exploitation of Spanish mining regions that becomes archaeologically visible in the later second century.

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But for our period, which ends before the high times that Polybius observed, revenues from Spanish mines must have been far more modest. The Romans extracted other revenues from Spain, both cash and in kind, but these again are impossible to adequately quantify.

Vectigalia Finally, the Romans had various revenues usually lumped under the category vectigalia, including (a) revenues from public land, to include rents, grazing fees (scriptura/pascua), fi nes upon graziers who violated regulations, and proceeds from sale of public land;118 (b) harbor duties and tolls (portoria);119 (c) rents collected from tenants of state-owed shops, especially in the Roman Forum;120 (d) revenues derived from salt works;121 (e) a 5 percent tax on the manumission of slaves;122 and (f) additional taxes beyond the tithe collected from the non-Iberian provinces, especially Sicily and Sardinia. These revenues were generally farmed out by the censors and collected by publicani. Polybius describes them as “many things that are farmed, such as navigable rivers, harbors, gardens, mines, lands, in fact everything that forms part of the Roman dominion.”123 The revenues from Italian vectigalia would have increased dramatically after the Second Punic War, as the Romans mulcted vast tracts from Italian peoples that had defected during the Hannibalic War. In 199 BCE, the censors let contracts to collect portoria from Capua and Puteoli, former civitates sine suff ragio that had come under direct Roman administration following their revolt during the Second Punic War.124 Additional portoria and vectigalia were established by the censors of 179, presumably further exploiting the expanded ager Romanus.125 Badian noted that the increase in vectigalia after 179 may have been one factor contributing to the permanent abolition of tributum in 167.126 It is impossible to quantify the particulars of Italian vectigalia. We have no fi rm idea as to the extent of the ager publicus, nor even the rates at which it was taxed.127 The exact rate of Republican portoria is unknown, nor do we have any accurate idea of the volume and value of goods processed through Roman ports. There is no good evidence for the number of slaves manumitted in any given year; four thousand pounds of gold derived from manumissions and removed from the sacred treasury in 209 BCE offer no clue, since we do not know when this reserve had last been tapped. And so on. On top of vectigalia collected from the Italian Peninsula, the Romans collected some revenues from provincial holdings. According to Appian, the Romans began collecting phoros from western Sicily immediately after the First Punic War, and Livy suggests that Rome was collecting vectigalia from both Sicily and Sardinia before the start of the Second.128 As a crude esti-

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Ta bl e 3.6. Rom a n R e v e n u e s, 2 00 –157 BCE Source Indemnities Loot Macedonian tribute Tributum Other Total a

Revenuea 175 135   6.7 120 120 ca. 555

In millions of denarii.

mate, perhaps vectigalia from all sources brought in a million or so denarii a year at the start of the century, perhaps exceeding 2 million by the end of the period. Overall, we can posit that vectigalia from Italy, Sardinia, and Corsica, together with taxation from Spain and the receipts of Spanish mines, brought in the roughly 120 million denarii (ca. 2.8 million a year) needed to round out revenues with the expenditures posited in the foregoing. (See table 3.6 for summation of estimated revenues.)

Conclusion: Wa r , Fi na nce , a n d E m pir e Between 200 and 157, Rome annually took in about 13 million denarii on average. Revenues, however, would have fluctuated widely. In a low year, assuming only estimated revenues from Italian vectigalia, Spanish mines, citizen tributum, and the Carthaginian indemnity, Rome’s annual revenue would have come in at around 6 or 7 million denarii. Total revenues for 167 BCE, thanks to Macedonian loot (35 million), likely exceeded 45 million denarii. A heavy reliance on booty and indemnity payments contributed to the wild volatility of Roman state fi nance during the early second century. Loot brought in substantial revenue but was inherently unpredictable. Emptying the treasury of a Hellenistic king might bring tens of millions, but bashing around a Ligurian tribe might bring next to nothing. Indemnities, although predictable, had an expiration date. The Seleucid indemnity allowed for a great burst of public works in the 180s and early 170s but had run its course by the time Rome faced the fiscal requirements of the Th ird Macedonian War. In 191, the Romans notably rejected the Carthaginian offer to repay their indemnity in one lump sum.129 Th is is usually and correctly seen as a way of maintaining Carthage’s status as a subordinate and

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tributary power for as long as possible.130 However, from a fiscal standpoint the refusal of the lump sum may have also been designed to keep Rome’s revenue flow more stable and predictable. An element of aristocratic rivalry may have also played a role, as thousands of talents of silver in a lump-sum payment would have been tempting for the upcoming censors of 189 to spend on their own aggrandizing projects.131 By my estimates, about 75 percent of Roman revenues were spent on military expenditures: not surprising, given the martial orientation of the Roman state. War, however, was overall neither a fiscally self-perpetuating nor a profitable endeavor to the Roman state during the period in question. True, individual campaigns might be profitable to the state, a few astronomically so.132 But warfare as a whole was not, as Philip Kay has recently suggested, self-perpetuating in the sense that plunder and indemnities could fully compensate for military expenditures.133 Most Roman operations were grinding campaigns that cost far more in pay and supplies than they recouped in loot. The immediate proceeds of warfare, the roughly 310 million denarii derived from indemnities and booty, fell far short of the approximately 415 million denarii that the Roman state spent on overall military costs (legions, allies, fleet, donatives). The Roman state lost money on military operations between 200 and 157. The result was that Roman citizens had to pay significant amounts of tributum to subsidize the remaining costs of war.134 Here two caveats are important. First, Rome’s dominion in Italy was itself the product of conquest in the fourth and third centuries, and so Rome reaped long-term benefits of this previous investment through the collection of vectigalia from expanded ager publicus and tributum from a citizen body enlarged by previous annexations.135 Second, even though the Roman state did not profit from military operations in the fi rst half of the second century, this is not to say that significant profits did not accrue to individuals: senators who grew wealthy thanks to the proceeds of overseas conquests, equestrian publicani who made substantial profits supplying Rome’s forces, and even common soldiers, who benefited from regular pay, a share of loot, redistributed land, and triumphal donatives.136 Nonetheless, my fi ndings militate against the notion that the Roman state embarked on imperial adventures merely for short-term state fi nancial gain. Admittedly, the forty-three year purview offers only an intermediateterm vision of the fiscal apparatus of the nascent Roman Empire. Eventually, Rome’s imperial holdings did provide a long-term “profit.” Plutarch reports that by the 60s BCE the Roman state enjoyed annual revenues of 85 million denarii, almost all from provincial revenues and far in excess of military expenditures. But the fact remains that from 200 to 157 two generations of Roman statesmen, accountable to Roman voters in the comitia and the courts,

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pursued imperial policies that lost money, requiring annual subsidy from the taxpayers.137 Rome’s revenues and expenditures before the Second Punic War can only be guessed. Assuming the bronze weight of legionary stipendia remained constant between the libral and sextantal standards (that is 2,160 unciae of bronze, equal to either 180 libral asses or 1,080 sextantal asses), the cost of a legion would stand at 928,000 libral asses, so that the total cost of two standard consular armies (four legions) would be 3.7 million libral asses (or light-libral asses as the standard slipped). Total military costs, counting grain for the allies, miscellaneous supplies, and small naval deployments (seldom more than twenty ships), probably did not exceed 5 million heavy asses; it is doubtful that total expenditures much exceeded 6 or 7 million heavy asses, on the assumption that military spending constituted the vast majority of the budget. Th is would be the bronze equivalent of roughly 4 million denarii. On average, therefore, the Roman state took in perhaps three times as much revenue around 175 as it had around 225. Roman revenues during the early second century were fundamentally modest. Frank quipped that the annual revenue of the Roman Republic was not much more than the budget of a small Midwestern university, and this before the era of billion-dollar football programs.138 Work on the fiscal evolution of early modern states, particularly by Charles Tilly, has emphasized the complementary development of a complex fiscal apparatus and increasingly powerful military forces.139 It is worth noting how Rome’s fiscal apparatus routinely lagged far behind its advanced war-making capabilities. The Romans were able to conquer Italy and defeat Carthage during the First Punic War while paying their troops with an archaic medley of bronze bars, cast bronze coins, and sporadic uncoordinated issues of silver. The fiscal constraints of the Second Punic War fi nally saw the introduction of a comprehensive system of interlocking silver and bronze coinage over a century after such monetary systems had become the mainstay of Hellenistic kingdoms. Even by the middle of the second century, Roman revenues remained low, at least by international standards, even as the legions established hegemony over the whole of the Mediterranean. It is worthwhile, in closing, to lay out my own conclusions about Roman fi nance synoptically with Tenney Frank’s. A line-item comparison can be found in appendix 4 to this chapter. We differ most concerning revenues from tributum, which Frank valued at 60 million denarii and I value at 120 million, twice as much, and expenditures for public works, which Frank posited at 25 million denarii (combining his estimates for censorial and manubial projects) and I estimate at 45 million. Yet my overall results confi rm that Frank was ultimately correct about the general magnitude of Roman revenues: I

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place them at 555 million denarii from 200 to 157, or around 13 million a year; Frank suggested between 597 and 610 denarii, or around 14 million a year. Frank himself deprecated the accuracy of his conclusions, suggesting that they could easily be half or twice as much as he proposed. My reevaluation suggests that he was more accurate than he himself dared to claim.

A ppen di x 3.1 Donatives to the Soldiers, 200–167 BCE Source

Year

Infantry donative

Estimated recipients

Livy 31.20.7 Livy 33.23.7 Livy 33.23.9 Livy 34.46.3 Livy 34.52.11 Livy 36.40.13 Livy 37.59.6 Livy 39.7.2 Livy 40.34.8 Livy 40.43.7 Livy 40.59 Livy 41.7.3 Livy 41.7.3 Livy 41.13.7 Livy 45.40.5 Livy 45.42.2 Livy 45.43

200 197 196 194 194 191 189 187 181 180 179 178 178 177 167 167 167

120 asses 70 asses 80 asses 270 asses 250 asses 125 asses 25 denarii + 2nd stipendiuma 42 denarii + 2nd stipendium 300 asses 50 denarii + 2nd stipendium 300 asses 25 denarii 25 denarii 15 denarii (7.5 for socii) 100 denarii 75 denariib 45 denariic

 4,000 inf., 450 cav. 16,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 16,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 16,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 16,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 16,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 10,000 inf., 500 cav. 22,000 inf., 2,200 cav. 20,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 10,000 inf., 500 cav. 20,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 10,000 inf., 500 cav. 10,000 inf., 500 cav. 20,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 24,000 inf., 2,000 cav. 18,300 sailors and marines 17,200 soldiers and sailors

Note: inf., infantry; cav., cavalry. a In addition, L. Scipio paid his troops a second stipendium while they were still in Asia after the Batt le of Magnesia, in 190 (Livy 37.59.6), presumably to provide a benefit to the majority of the soldiers, who did not return to Rome with him for the triumph but rather stayed on under his successor Manlius Vulso. b For this naval triumph, each sailor was given 75 denarii, with each pilot twice and each captain four times that amount. Following Th iel, I will assume that Octavius had 50 quinqueremes and that the crew was roughly equivalent to the consular armies receiving donatives. c In addition to the legionaries and allies, Ancius gave 45 denarii to his crews. I follow Th iel in assuming he had 18 quinqueremes, with crews of 400.

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A ppen di x 3.2 The Value of Loot Carried in Manlius Vulso’s Triumph, 187 BCE Valuea

Item 200 gold crownsb 220,000 lb. silver 2,103 lb. gold 127,000 Att ic tetradrachmas 16,320 gold Philippics 250,000 Att alid coins Total

 2,016,000  8,480,000  1,766,520    508,000    391,680  1,000,000c 24,162,200 denarii

a

In denarii. Each crown weighed 12 pounds. c Th is figure assumes drachmas, not cistophoroi as Livy states. b

A ppen di x 3.3 Evidence for Loot and Indemnities, 200–167 BCE Rom a n Wa r I n de m n it i e s

Year

Enemy

200 Carthage 197 Macedonia 196 Macedonia 196 Boeotia 194 Sparta 190 Antiochus III 189 Ambracia 189 Aetolians 189 Ariarathes Total Denarii conversion

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Down payment (paid in 201)   200   500    30   100 3,000   150   200   300

Total Talents p.a. · years (talents) 200 · 43 years n/a 50 · 5 yearsb n/a 50 · 8 years 1,000 · 12 years n/a 50 · 6 years n/a

8,600 200a 750 30 500 15,000 150 500 300 26,030 175 million

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L oot f rom E a st e r n Wa r s

Year

Source

194 Livy 34.52 190 Livy 37.46 189 Livy 37.58 189 Livy 37.59 187 Livy 39.5.13 187 Livy 39.7.1 167 Diod. Sic. 31.8.10 167 Livy 45.43 Total Denarii conversion (millions)

Gold (lb.)

Silver (lb.)

Denarii c

3,828 45 49 4,757 665 2,723 19,200 27 31,294 26.3

43,270d 3,000 x 138,843 83,000 220,000 176,000  19,000f 683,113 57.4

626,280 1,199,000 534,000 1,860,000 472,000 1,250,000  6,720,000e 73,000 12,734,280 12.7

Enemy Philip Antiochus Antiochus Antiochus Aetolia Galatians Perseus Illyria

T r i u m phs f rom Cisa lpi n e G au l , L igu r i a , a n d Ist r i a Year

Source

200 Livy 31.49.2 197 Livy 33.23.4–9 196 Livy 33.37.11 191 Livy 36.40.12 177 Livy 41.13.7 Total Denarii conversion

Gold (lb.)

Silver (lb.)

Denarii

102,500 102,750 234,000 247 371,000g 247 207,480

2,340

266,000

2,340 196,560

1,076,250 1,076,250

Gold (lb.)

Silver (lb.)

Denarii

2,340 30 1,515 50,000 732 34,800 1,200 127 182 83 83 142

43,000 1,200 20,000

T r i u m phs f rom Spa i n Year

Source

200 199 196 196 195 195 194 191 185 184 184 182

Livy 31.20.7 Livy 32.7.4 Livy 33.27.2 Livy 33.27.3 Livy 34.10.4 Livy 34.10.7 Livy 34.46.2 Livy 36.21.11 Livy 39.29.6–7 Livy 39.42.3 Livy 39.42.4 Livy 40.16.11

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28,966 351,000 25,000 12,000 16,300 12,000 12,000 9,320

34,500

663,000 130,000

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T r i u m phs f rom Spa i n (con t i n u e d) Year

Source

180 Livy 40.43.6 178 Livy 41.7.2 178 Livy 41.7.2 174 Livy 41.28.6 168 Livy 45.4.1 Total Denarii conversion (millions)

Denarii

Gold (lb.)

Silver (lb.)

155 20,000 40,000 50 10 5,917 5.0

20,000

173,200

10,000 250,000 326,352 27.4

1,630,666 1.6

Note: p.a., per annum. a Philip V was forced to pay 200 talents in order to obtain an armistice after Cynoscephalae (Livy 33.13.14). There is no evidence that this counted toward the 1,000-talent indemnity that would later be demanded of him in the peace treaty. b The senate forgave Philip V the remainder of his indemnity payment after his cooperation with Rome against Antiochus III (Livy 37.25.12). c For this column, I consider a drachma equivalent to a denarius, a tetradrachma worth 4 denarii, a cistophoros worth 3 denarii, and a Philippic worth 20 denarii. I follow Frank and estimate each gold crown at 1 pound unless otherwise specified d The manuscript tradition of Livy reads 18,270. The widely accepted emendation to 43,270 matches the sum reported by Plutarch, Flam. 14.1, on the cogent hypothesis that XVIII was a scribal error for XLIII. Briscoe (1981:129) notes that the correction could go either way. The difference between the two options, 2 million denarii, is not small change, but it does not dramatically corrupt my overall estimate. e There are multiple reports of the loot from Macedonia, most of which agree on the basic order of magnitude: Polybius 18.35.4 suggests over 6,000 talents; Livy 45.40.1, some 5,000 talents (120 million sesterces); whereas Plutarch, Aem. 32–33, reports 2,250 talents of silver and 240 of gold (in all, the equivalent of 4,600 silver talents). For my estimate, I use the figures of Diodorus, who seems to have used the same triumphal announcement as Plutarch but reported it more completely, so that his figures (230 talents gold, 2,200 talents silver, and 1,000 talents coined money, enough to mint nearly 37 million denarii) align with the general magnitudes reported by Polybius and Livy. f The text reads “argenti decem et novem pondo.” It is highly implausible that a self-respecting commander would display 19 pounds of silver at a triumph. Given that the commander offered a donative of 45 denarii to his two-legion army along with the sailors in his fleet, an act of generosity that would have cost over 1 million denarii, a plausible if not certain correction would be that it should read 19,000, although Briscoe (2012:758) has his doubts. I use the correction here in my estimate because it must be closer to the actual amount than 19 pounds. If the true value were half or twice as much, it would not notably corrupt the overall estimate for loot. g The amount listed is 307,000 denarii plus 85,702 victoriati with a value of 0.75 denarius.

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A ppen di x 3.4 Assessing Tenney Frank’s Conclusions

Total revenues Total expenditures Revenues p.a. Expenditures p.a. Legions Navy Rations for allies Transport/logistics Public buildings General Reimbursed/in the vaults Donatives to the soldiers Tributum Vectigalia Provincial tithes Macedonian tribute Loot Indemnities Spanish mines

Frank 1932

Frank 1933

M. Taylor

597 550  13.9  12.8 300  33.5  64  30  27b 100.5  47.6  18  60 150 130 xg 100 152.1h xi

610.6 555  14.2  12.9 300  58.5  64  50  25  40  48  18  60 109 130 x 109.5 152.1  50

555 530  12.9  12.3 230  35  85  35a  45  45c  46.5  30d 120 120e xf  6.7 135 175 x

Note: In millions of denarii; p.a., per annum. a By rounding up the cost of each legion and allied wing to 1 million, I assume about 20 million was spent on logistics over the period. b Frank parsed public buildings by the censors, which he estimated at 22 million (reevaluated in 1933 to 20 million), and manubial buildings, to which he assigned 5 million. c Here I combine my 25 million in “miscellany” with my 20 million estimate for festivals and ludi in order to match my categories with Frank’s. d Frank curiously did not consider donatives expenditures, although he estimated donatives at around 18 million denarii, an estimate lower than my own but still of the same general magnitude. e Th is figure includes the vectigalia from Spain. f I assume that the benefit of the grain tithes is factored into military expenditures, so that the cost of feeding allies was lower thanks to tithe grain. As such, I calculate the cost of allied grain at four asses, rather than 7.5–12 asses, assuming that a significant amount of grain (about half) was obtained by the Roman state “free” either from provincial tithes or from foraging. g Frank factored the Macedonian tribute into his estimate of indemnities. h Frank and I track the same amount of bullion entering the treasury through indemnities, but Frank used a different conversion, in particular the “talent of account” of 6,000 denarii for bullion rather than my 6,720 denarii. i Frank 1932 assumed that all Spanish mining receipts were subsumed into triumphal receipts. Frank 1933 reconsidered this stance and suggested 1 million denarii a year for returns after 178 BCE. Frank’s 1933 solution was strongly opposed by Badian 1972:125; Richardson 1976:141; and Kay 2014:50–51.

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C h a p t e r Fou r

Rival Finance

Ca rt h agi n i a n Fina nce No basic data survive about Carthaginian state expenditures. We do not know the pay rates for the Carthaginian army, for example, despite being well informed about Carthaginian military deployments during the Second Punic War.1 The extraordinary levels of mobilization during both the First and the Second Punic War certainly strained Carthaginian fi nances: there is significant evidence for monetary debasement of Carthaginian coinage, especially by the end of the Hannibalic War.2 We are provided with the basic sources of Carthaginian income: Polybius emphasizes that at the time of the First Punic War, the taxes levied on tributary Libyan territories were Carthage’s most important source of income, revenues that were sorely missed during the Libyan revolt of the Truceless War (240–238).3 Various subordinate Numidian peoples paid tribute during the course of Carthaginian history, although these revenues were likely both minor and sporadic.4 Recent geochemical sampling of sediment cores has produced evidence for silver mining in Tunisia near Utica during the third and second centuries BCE, and the authors suggest that silver mining in Tunisia may have been an important factor behind Carthage’s economic resilience during the third and second centuries.5 Between 237 and 206, precious metals from Spain was critical for bankrolling Barcid imperialism.6 In 191 BCE, Carthage offered to pay Rome the remainder of its Second Punic War indemnity in a single lump sum of eight thousand talents, as proof of its allegiance during the war with Antiochus the Great.7 Carthage was eager to pay the indemnity in full, but Rome ultimately declined the offer. It would have been dangerous and foolish for the Carthaginians to offer to pay without having the money in the treasury, and there was nothing to be gained by making such the offer unsolicited as a diplomatic bluff.8

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In 199 BCE, Carthage was so impoverished that it attempted to pay the fi rst installment of its Roman indemnity in debased coins, and the quaestors rejected the payment.9 Given the expenses of the Second Punic War and the economic destruction wrought by Scipio’s North African campaign of 204– 202, it is not surprising that Carthage’s fi nancial reserves stood at close to zero.10 If Carthage was bankrupt in 199, the accumulation of 8,000 talents (48 million drachmas) by 191 suggests that the state was at a minimum running an average surplus of 1,000 talents (6 million drachmas) a year.11 Th is is the best evidence that we have for the scale of Carthaginian revenues in the early second century. With this figure it is possible to produce at least an estimated order of magnitude for annual Carthaginian revenues in the 190s. Paradoxically, the cash reserves in the Carthaginian treasury in 191 BCE resulted from the harsh Roman peace sett lement, which had the unintended consequence of imposing substantial fiscal discipline on the Carthaginian state. Military expenditures in particular were sharply curtailed. War elephants were banned. The peace treaty that ended the Second Punic War permitted Carthage to maintain ten ships.12 Even if we assume a high rate of naval pay (say one drachma a day) and crews of 200 maintained year-round, annual naval costs would have been only around 750,000 drachmas. In fact the cost of this coast guard was probably much less, given that the ships may not have been fully crewed (or crewed at all) or maintained yearround.13 Five million drachmas is therefore a generous estimate for naval expenditures over the period 199–191 BCE. Carthage was not allowed to wage defensive war without Rome’s permission, a prohibition that was de facto a ban on maintaining any standing military force beyond a few border patrols. It is doubtful whether other civic administrative costs would have dramatically exceeded (say) a million drachmas a year, even if the Carthaginian state spent lavishly on domestic projects. The Roman indemnity of 1.2 million drachmas a year would have totaled 10.8 million, probably the largest state expenditure of the period. Table 4.1 shows a reconstructed broad-brush budget for Carthage from 199 to 191. According to this estimate, average Carthaginian annual revenues between 199 and 191 BCE were roughly 8 million drachmas. The annual revenues were probably lower before Hannibal’s reforms of 196; during his tenure as shofet Hannibal reportedly curbed corruption, improved collection of taxes from the agrarian hinterland, and increased harbor dues.14 Revenues may have declined somewhat following his expulsion from Carthage, although this conjecture is based only on poor literary evidence suggesting the reappearance of widespread corruption after Hannibal’s exile.15 We have only one reference to a specific revenue flow from Carthage’s African territory: Livy reports that in the early second century BCE the city of

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Ta bl e 4.1. C a rt h agi n i a n E x pe n dit u r e s, 199 –191 BCE Expense source Indemnity to Rome Navy Civic administration Surplus Total Average annual revenue a

Expenditurea 10.8 million 5 million 9 million 48 million ca. 72 million ca. 8 million

In drachmas.

Lepcis paid a talent a day into the Carthaginian treasury, or roughly 2 million drachmas a year.16 Livy is probably referring to Leptis Minor; in any case he must be referring to a town that was the collection center of a larger administrative district.17 In 162, Masinissa annexed Syrtis Minor/Emporia from Carthage after a year-long dispute, and the Romans subsequently forced Carthage to pay Masinissa 500 talents as reimbursement for the revenues lost during the year.18 These two districts likely overlapped substantially, but for our purposes it can simply be noted that if a single assize district paid 2 or 3 million drachmas a year, it is easy to see how Carthage might draw in roughly 8 million from its entire African domain. At 8 million drachmas a year, the annual revenues of a defeated Carthage during the 190s were not substantially lower than those of victorious Rome from 200 to 157.

Carthaginian Revenues in the Third Century BCE If Carthaginian revenues in the 190s BCE were around 8 million drachmas, then probably they were substantially higher for 237–206, when Carthage controlled a tributary empire in Spain, and before the First Punic War, when Carthage controlled Sardinia, Corsica, and western Sicily. Resources derived from Spain were substantial although difficult to quantify. The Carthaginian exploitation of Spain depended on two basic extractive modalities: mining and taxes in both cash and kind collected from various Iberian groups. Pliny the Elder reports that Hannibal derived 300 pounds of silver a day (3.75 talents), or around 8 million drachmas a year from a single mine in Spain.19 There is, however, good reason to be suspicious of this statistic. The number 3 appears commonly in antiquity, and it is possible that Pliny’s 300 pounds is merely standing in for a very large daily yield. It is

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doubtful the figure can be used as a meaningful macroeconomic data point.20 Even if accurate, rather than being a reliable figure it may refer to a temporary yield of a particularly rich vein of silver that was quickly exhausted. Litt le Spanish silver seems to have circulated back to the Carthaginian mainland, perhaps because it was consumed by Hannibal’s immense military expenditures.21 Rather silver was collected in the military administrative hub of New Carthage and then circulated back to pay armies and navies operating in Spain; the treasury in New Carthage contained more than 600 talents (3.6 million drachmas) when Scipio captured the city in 209 BCE.22 Dexter Hoyos, largely on the basis of Pliny’s mining returns (300 pounds of silver a day), estimates that Carthage received roughly 1,500 talents (9 million drachmas) of silver from Spain, on the casual hypothesis that these may represent total Spanish revenues.23 I have already suggested that the mineral wealth extracted by Rome from the Iberian Peninsula was modest before the late second century BCE. It is notable that even after the Romans had secured the mining regions from Carthage, they were still short of money to pay the legions, and after the mutiny at Sucro in 206 BCE money was found not in the mines but rather though forced extraction from local communities.24 An isotopic study of Rome’s early denarii has confi rmed a surprising paucity of Iberian silver in denarii issued during the Second Punic War, including those minted after the acquisition of Spain.25 The massive mobilizations of the Second Punic War severely strained Carthaginian fi nances. The Carthaginian state was notorious for debasing its currency, so much so that by the end of the Hannibalic War the silver content of Carthaginian coins had fallen to 18 percent.26 Coinage in gold and electrum was minted at only 30 percent purity by the conclusion of the Second Punic War.27 The most drastic debasement was probably the result of the loss of gold and silver resources in Spain after Scipio’s campaigns from 209 to 206 BCE. The great problem with debasement, from the point of view of a minting government, is that, according to Gresham’s law, “bad coin drives out good.” Although the debasing government benefits in the short term from the output of debased coins to meet its obligations (primarily military pay in the ancient world), people quickly hoard old, good coins and use debased coins to meet their tax obligations to the state, saddling the state with its own debased coinage after a single cycle of expenditure and collection. To a degree, wartime Carthage was less beholden to this cycle: most of its tax revenues came from Libya, where it had only modest outlay: pay for the fleet and the African garrison, which was of modest size (ca. 20,000 men) before the Roman invasion of 204 BCE. Given the dynamics of Carthaginian military mobilization, the majority of Carthaginian expenditures went to pay the foreign peoples

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serving in Carthage’s armies abroad. Payments to Numidian or Iberian soldiers in debased coins did not therefore automatically circulate back into the city of Carthage itself. Indeed, most of Carthage’s silver bullion came from Spain and was then used to pay Iberian troops (after being minted into increasingly debased coins), so that bronze coinage predominated in North Africa. Thus, whereas the debasement of the Roman as during the Second Punic War proved a miserable failure for the Roman Republic, in part because pay to citizen-soldiers was recycled back into citizen tributum, Carthage was better able to debase its coins during the Second Punic War precisely because it predominantly used foreign soldiers.28 The costs of the Second Punic War can be estimated only in the broadest strokes, given that we do not know the rate of Carthaginian military pay. Some Carthaginian armies, most notably Hannibal’s in Italy, did successfully manage to fund and supply themselves largely through loot. Hannibal received only a single infusion of cash from Carthage itself during his time in Italy; the exact amount is lost to a lacuna in the text of Livy.29 A second infusion, of 1,000 talents (6 million drachmas), was readied in 215 BCE but was diverted to other operations.30 Let us postulate that in most years prior to 206 BCE Carthage regularly paid about 100,000 soldiers: some 50,000 to 75,000 in Spain, about 20,000 in North Africa, plus some additional forces with fluctuating strength in Sicily, Sardinia, and southern Italy. We do not know Carthaginian rates of pay, but a low estimate assumes that it was similar to Roman rates (two obols a day, say, or 120 drachmas a year, including rations) rather than being closer to the Hellenistic standard rate of a drachma a day plus rations. Such an army would on a low estimate cost roughly 12 million drachmas a year. The strength of the Carthaginian fleet fluctuated, with 130 warships being the maximum attested effort.31 Let us assume an average naval deployment of roughly 100 manned warships, perhaps half quinqueremes and half triremes, with crews of approximately 30,000 sailors and marines, costing another 3 million drachmas, assuming a similar rate of pay. In all, pay and rations alone could on a conservative estimate cost Carthage approximately 15 million drachmas a year during much of the Second Punic War. On this basis, I suggest that peak Carthaginian revenues in the third century BCE were probably around 15 to 20 million drachmas.

Other Estimates Ulrich Kahrstedt also noted that Carthage was running 1,000-talent surpluses in the 190s BCE, but then with litt le fi rm reason he extrapolated this to estimate postwar revenues of 3,000 talents (18 million drachmas). His

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Ta bl e 4.2. Mode r n e st i m at e s of C a rt h agi n i a n r e v e n u e Source Kahrstedt 1913 Hoyos 2003 M. Taylor

218 BCE

190s BCE

36 million 18 million 15–20 million

18 million 8.4–9 million 8 million

Note: Revenues in drachmas.

method, which included vague references to Athens, was without analytic rigor. He noted, for example, that the Carthaginian state in the 190s had virtually nothing to spend on (no schools or public health programs, which consume the revenues of a modern state in peacetime), but he then proposed substantial peacetime expenditures of at least 2,000 talents (12 million drachmas) a year. With the additional revenues of fi rst Sicily and then Spain, Kahrstedt estimated peak revenues of 36 million drachmas for the third century.32 His estimate for revenues in the 190s is far too high, although as noted above his peak estimates for the Second Punic War period are within the upper realm of plausibility given the magnitude of Carthaginian military operations. As shown in table 4.2, my own estimates are overall much closer to those of Dexter Hoyos, who largely derives his estimates from literary references.

M ace don i a n Fi na nce The expense of the Second Macedonian War virtually bankrupted Philip V. The 500-talent (3 million drachma) indemnity payment imposed on him in 196 BCE probably wiped out his remaining cash reserves.33 The annual payment of 50 talents (300,000 drachmas) imposed by Flamininus was minuscule compared with other indemnities imposed by Rome: Carthage paid 200 talents a year (1.2 million drachmas); and the Seleucid Empire, an unprecedented 1,000 talents (6 million drachmas).34 Indeed, tiny Sparta, an impoverished city-state, was also required to pay 50 talents a year after the war with Nabis, in 194, the same annual payment as Macedonia (although the total amount of Sparta’s indemnity, 500 talents, was only half Macedonia’s).35 Twenty-nine years later, in 168 BCE, the Romans appropriated the Macedonian treasury, and the contents, approximately 35 million drachmas, were displayed in the triumph of Aemilius Paullus. A basic reconstruction of Antigonid revenues would therefore involve a combination of this attested surplus with a reasoned estimate for total state expenditures during the period.

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Macedonian Expenditures, 196–168 BCE A r m y In 218 BCE, Philip V moved into the Peloponnesus at the request of the Achaean League. The federal assembly voted him 50 talents for his previous campaign and 17 talents per month for every month he campaigned in the Peloponnese as an ally of the league.36 The 17 talents probably represent an even 100,000 drachmas (strictly, 16 2/3 talents). But how many soldiers could this sum fund? During his previous campaign in the Peloponnese, Philip fielded 5,000 infantry, 300 Cretan mercenaries, and 400 cavalry.37 Several months after the assembly’s vote, he mustered 6,000 Macedonian infantry and 1,200 mercenaries.38 A hundred thousand drachmas likely represented a rough estimate for the pay needed for x number of troops, although Philip may not have yet known how many soldiers he planned to bring with him in the coming campaign season. We get a strong hint of how many soldiers the 100,000 drachmas was designed to pay from the fact that the Achaeans offered Philip 10,000 medimnoi of wheat in addition to the fi rst three months of pay. Assuming a monthly ration of 2/3 of a medimnos for an infantryman (akin to Romany infantry), 10,000 medimnoi would provide three months’ rations for 5,000 men, although it was not enough to feed the 7,200 soldiers whom Philip eventually mustered for the same period. Assuming that 100,000 was intended to cover the pay of 5,000 infantrymen for a period of three months (the projected estimate for Philip’s force), this suggests that Macedonian infantry pay was four obols a day. Th is particular reading of Polybius matches evidence for infantry pay in the time of Alexander the Great and his Successors. For example, in the late fourth century BCE the comic poet Menander has a braggart soldier boast that he is paid four drachmas as a high-ranking officer, rather than four obols, the pay of a common soldier.39 A late fourth-century BCE receipt from Egypt reports men being paid four obols a day, perhaps referencing common soldiers on a guard detail.40 The Romans limited Philip V to a 5,000-man army after the Second Macedonian War.41 Therefore, for 196–171 BCE I assume that he maintained the maximum allowable force under the treaty and that these were infantry. Five thousand infantry would cost roughly 1.2 million drachmas a year to pay, or 30 million drachmas over the course of these twenty-five years. However, when Philip V sided with Rome in the war against Antiochus the Great, he proved himself a well-positioned and cooperative ally. There is evidence that he was allowed to expand his army during the course of the confl ict: in 190 BCE, for example, he was permitted to accept 1,000 volunteers from captured Seleucid garrisons. Previously he had been given control of 4,000 Athamanian and Seleucid prisoners: many of the Athamani-

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ans were released, but some of these prisoners were enrolled into Philip’s army.42 During an Aetolian counterattack in 189 BCE, Philip deployed a field army of 6,000 men, leaving additional troops to garrison Athamania.43 Over the next two decades, Philip and Perseus launched modest campaigns in Th race and Dolopia while garrisoning a number of points, including the old Fetter of Demetrias.44 We do not know the exact fluctuations of strength over the 5,000 men permitted by treaty, but it seems that adding another 15 million or so drachmas will account for these additional forces as well as additional pay for officers and horsemen. Thus 45 million drachmas should be an adequate estimate for Macedonian army costs between 196 and 171. In 171 BCE, however, Perseus paraded an army of 41,000 men: 26,000 Macedonians heavy infantry, 12,000 mercenaries and auxiliaries, and 3,000 cavalry.45 Th is does not include the 1,000 Th racian cavalry and 1,000 Th racian infantry who served under Cotys and were paid separately by a grant of 200 talents. Th is army was maintained at steady strength until its destruction at the Batt le of Pydna, in 168. Assuming triple pay for cavalrymen, this force cost somewhat over 11 million a year, or roughly 35 million from spring 171 to midsummer 168. In total, I estimate that Philip and Perseus spent approximately 80 million drachmas on military pay from 196 to 168. Macedonian kings collected grain and other staples in kind, including proceeds from royal estates, and much of this likely went to feed their armies. Perseus developed substantial grain stockpiles prior to the Th ird Macedonian War yet still needed to purchase grain during the confl ict. Macedonian armies during the Th ird Macedonian War alone would have eaten at least a million medimnoi of grain during the course of the war, with a market value of around 6 million drachmas. To account for rations and other miscellaneous expenditures the total cost of the army should be rounded up to around 90 million drachmas from 196 to 168.

Nav y By his treaty with Rome Philip V was allowed to maintain five ships, the same five pristeis (“cutters”) deployed by Perseus during the Th ird Macedonian War. Let us assume these were bireme- or triremestyle vessels. With a crew of 200 men maintained year-round, these five ships cost approximately 7 million drachmas in pay (assuming 4 obols a day), and rounding up to 10 million would account for rations, maintenance, and equipment. So far, we have estimated Macedonian military costs at 90 million for the army and 10 million for the navy. Despite plenty of uncertainty, 100 million is a reasonable general magnitude for Macedonian military costs from 196 to 168 BCE.

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Pay m ents to E xter na l Pow er s Between 196 and 191 BCE, Philip V made six indemnity payments to Rome that totaled 300 talents, or 1.8 million drachmas.46 During the Th ird Macedonian War, Perseus paid the Th racian prince Cotys 200 talents (1.2 million drachmas) for military assistance.47 Perseus offered a sizable gift of 1,500 talents to Eumenes to mediate an end to the war, although Eumenes declined this diplomatic fl irtation.48 Perseus also promised to pay the Illyrian king Genthius 300 talents, although these funds were never transmitted to Illyria.49 In all, attested payments to external powers totaled about 3 million drachmas. T h e Cou rt There is no suitable way to estimate courtly costs. Philip V and Perseus maintained a lavish lifestyle by any standard, even while on campaign. For example, Philip faced fi nancial embarrassment in 218 BCE when negligent (or treacherous) courtiers failed to forward him money and he was forced to sell golden tableware to support himself.50 Since the Achaeans were providing pay and rations for his army at this time, presumably the plate was sold to cover the costs of maintaining the court (though how much plate he sold is unknown). According to Athenaeus, Menander estimated the expansive human and material paraphernalia of royal feasting—wine, flute girls, harp girls, eels, honey, and so forth—at roughly a talent a night.51 Any figure from Athenaeus fails to inspire immediate confidence, but it is notable that Menander had associations with Demetrius Poliorcetes and therefore knew what a good royal party looked like and was in a position to gossip about the expense involved. His report is actually at the low end for fantastic banquet costs that Athenaeus cites: the Persian king might burn through 2.4 million drachmas (400 talents) in one sitt ing, and Alexander the Great and his Friends could spend 10,000 drachmas a day feasting.52 In table 4.3 I simply guess a court expense of 3 million drachmas a year between 196 and 168 BCE, including the Ta bl e 4.3. M ace don i a n e x pe n dit u r e s, 196 –168 BCE

a

Taylor_7280-final.indb 147

Expense source

Amounta

Army and navy External payments Court expenses Total

100   3  85(?) ca. 190

In millions of drachmas

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costs of the king’s lifestyle, gifts and grants to philoi, euergetistic activities, and cultural patronage. Th is is a guesstimate, pure and simple, which puts court costs at roughly equal to military expenditure. If correct, total expenditures between 196 and 168 would come in at around 190 million drachmas.

Surplus Perseus began the Th ird Macedonian War in excellent fiscal shape: when various cities and communities in Macedonia made offerings of cash and grain to support the royal war effort, he declined their offers even as he was mustering the largest army in the history of the Macedonian kingdom.53 Eumenes II reported to the Roman senate that Perseus had sufficient cash on hand in 171 BCE to pay his own soldiers (which he personally estimated at 30,000 infantry and 5,000 cavalry) plus an additional 10,000 mercenaries for ten years. It is unclear how Eumenes arrived at this estimate, but the public result of the Th ird Macedonian War confi rms that Perseus did indeed possess substantial cash reserves.54 In 168 BCE, Aemilius Paullus displayed the vast contents of the Macedonian treasury in his triumph. Ancient accounts, although derived from a common source (perhaps the official register of Aemilius’s triumph), preserve slightly different information, shown here in table 4.4. Polybius, who was chronologically close to the event and personally close to the Aemillii, reports that the treasury contained over 6,000 talents, or more than 36 million drachmas. Livy, relying on the annalist Valerius Antias, reports the display of 120 million sesterces (30 million denarii, probably assuming 1 d. = 1 dr.) but notes that the vessels also paraded would increase the amount.55 Plutarch reports that 750 vessels were paraded with 3 talents of silver each (2,250 total) and that another 77 were paraded with 3 talents of gold each (231 total); when a 10-talent golden kratēr is added to the mix, this represents approximately 28 million drachmas. Diodorus (who is probably using the same source as Plutarch, reporting figures only moderately divergent) suggests 1,000 talents in (presumably silver) coins, 2,200 talents of silver bullion, talents of gold in 220 carriers (a mistake for 220 talents?), 10 additional talents of gold, and a 10-talent golden kratēr. In all, Diodorus reports approximately 33.6 million drachmas of bullion and specie.56 The figures do not match perfectly, but they all point to a basic range of roughly 30–35 million drachmas. For my estimate I assume 35 million drachmas in Perseus’s treasury. A curious puzzle arises when one considers the cash that Perseus still had on hand, since signs of fiscal stress abound during the Th ird Macedonian War. Perseus debased his late tetradrachmas by 10 percent.57 During the war

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Ta bl e 4.4. R eports of bu l l ion c a r r i e d i n A e m i l i us Pau l lus’s t r i u m ph, 168 BCE Source

Drachmas

Amount reported

Polyb. 18.35.3 Plut. Aem. 33.2–24 Diod. Sic. 33.8.11–12

> 36 million 28 million 33.6 million

> 6,000 talents 2,250 talents AG, 241 talents AU 2,200 talents AG, 240 talents AU 1,000 talents coin 120 million HS

Livy 45.40.1

30 million

Note: AG, silver; AU, gold; HS, sesterces.

itself, he refused to hire Danubian mercenaries on account of the high cost. Polybius, along with the historians who followed him, portrayed Perseus as a cheapskate, unwilling to undertake the necessary expenses of preserving his kingdom and kingship.58 The enormous surplus suggests that these events may be explained by reasons other than poverty. Hammond and Walbank may be correct in arguing that the devaluation was a fiscal response to a series of coins minted on the lighter, Rhodian standard. It is also possible that the standard was lightened to prevent Macedonian coins from seeping into Asia, where Roman indemnity payments had caused a significant shortage of silver.59 Nevertheless, the devaluation was likely a result of precautionary belttightening at the start of the war. Part of the reason for Perseus’s thrift was the fact that more than a third of his reserves was in gold, not the preferred metal for paying troops directly, as the high value per coin made it difficult for soldiers to spend. The 19 million drachmas in silver coin and bullion displayed in Paullus’s triumph (following Diodorus’s 2,200 talents of silver bullion and 1,000 talents of coined silver) is an impressive sum but enough to pay his 43,000-man army for less than two years. In almost four years of war, Perseus had spent the rough equivalent of the remaining surplus in 168 BCE.60 He did not know that he would lose the Batt le of Pydna, on July 22, along with his kingdom. Probably he attempted to manage his silver stockpiles in order to maintain the high level of military spending for as long as possible. Perseus’s putative stinginess was actually long-term fiscal prudence.

Revenues Adding the surplus of 35 million drachmas to expenditures of roughly 190 million drachmas suggests a total revenue of approximately

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225  million drachmas between 196 and 168 BCE, or an average of around 8 million drachmas a year. I should reiterate that Macedonian court costs are highly uncertain, but the general magnitude of the overall estimate (between 5 and 10 million drachmas) is plausible and likely correct. The regular revenues of the Macedonian kings came from two basic sources. The fi rst was taxes (both direct and indirect) on the Macedonian population. The second was the exploitation of royal properties, including agricultural estates, forests, and mines. Livy reports that Macedonians paid a tributum to the king, less than half of which was paid to Rome after 168.61 Plutarch states that the payment to Rome was set at 100 talents, which suggests that the king’s portion from such a tax somewhat exceeded 200 talents a year. Livy’s use of the term tributum implies that Macedonians paid a type of direct tax, likely a form of property tax.62 If we assume that 200-plus talents was about a million and a half drachmas a year, this tax would bring in roughly 40 million drachmas from 196 to 168. Pseudo-Aristotle reports revenues from Macedonian customs fees at 40 talents a year in the late fourth or early third century BCE.63 Assuming a modest rise to 60 talents a year by the early second century, customs duties would contribute approximately 10 million drachmas to the Macedonian treasury from 196 to 168. Philip V and Perseus would have required another 175 million drachmas of income from other resources. Diodorus reports that Philip II received 1,000 talents (6 million drachmas) from his mines.64 The authenticity and authority of Diodorus’s figure are not above dispute but do suggest that Macedonian kings relied heavily on income from mining. The revenues of Thessaly are nowhere quantified but were substantial, perhaps rivaling revenues from Macedonia. Other revenues from forests, royal estates, tribute from outside Macedonia, and loot would be enough to plausibly bring Macedonian revenues up to roughly 8 million drachmas a year. (See table 4.5.) If Philip V and Perseus averaged approximately 8 million drachmas per year in revenues during the period 196–168 BCE, what can we say about Macedonian revenue prior to the Second Macedonian War? It may have been higher on account of tribute collected from imperial holdings, although paradoxically easy access to imperial wealth led internal revenues to stagnate, so that Livy suggests that Philip V had to work hard to revive internal revenues (especially from agriculture and mines) following the Second Macedonian War.65 Diogenes Laertius reports that the philosopher Menedemus appealed to Demetrius Poliorcetes and managed to lower Chalcis’s 200-talent annual tribute by 50 talents.66 The reduced amount, 900,000 drachmas annually, is plausible, particularly if collected from the entire island of Euboea. Th is

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Ta bl e 4.5 . M ace don i a n r e v e n u e s, 196 –168 BCE Source Direct taxation Customs fees Mines, timber, Thessaly, royal estates Total a

Incomea 40 10 ca. 175 225

In millions of drachmas.

would have been sufficient to pay the annual salaries of roughly 3,500 soldiers at four obols a day. If an equal amount were extracted to support garrisons at the Acrocorinth and Demetrias (and perhaps Att ica also before 229 BCE, when the Antigonid garrison withdrew from Piraeus), then the Macedonian state might have collected an additional 3 to 4 million drachmas per year. Yet much of this revenue would have been absorbed back into expenditures related to garrisoning these territories. Maintaining a peacetime presence of approximately 1,500 soldiers at Chalcis, Demetrias, Acrocorinth, and Piraeus would have cost nearly 1.5 million drachmas a year.67 Finally, prior to the Second Macedonian War, Antigonid kings maintained large fleets capable of challenging the Ptolemaic navy. The 53 decked ships and 150 lemboi deployed by Philip V at Chios in 203 BCE could easily cost 6 million drachmas per year in crew alone, assuming 350 men per decked ship and 50 per lembos and a pay rate of 4 obols a day, though this represents a spike in naval activity for a major war and not an ongoing commitment.68 Even if third-century revenues approached a general magnitude of 12 million drachmas (and probably no more than 15 million), the expenses of Macedonia’s territorial empire would likely have consumed almost the entirety of the kingdom’s extra-Macedonian revenues. Paradoxically, as with Carthage in the 190s, the Macedonian budget surpluses of the second century resulted not from victory but from defeat.

P tol e m a ic Fi na nce When the court poet Theocritus wished to flatter his royal patron, he swooned, “Ptolemy is the best paymaster indeed for a free man.”69 Exceptional wealth, and the capacity it provided to make state payments, was therefore a cornerstone of dynastic self-defi nition. Up to this point, no ancient source has provided an estimate of the total annual revenues for any of

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the major Mediterranean powers under examination. It is therefore an embarrassment of riches that two such references survive for the Ptolemaic dynasty, which controlled the fabled wealth of Egypt. The fi rst total comes from Jerome’s commentary on the Book of Daniel; the saint reports that the revenues of Egypt in the reign of Ptolemy II were 14,800 talents (88.8 million drachmas) and an additional 1.5 million artabai (1.125 million medimnoi) of grain collected in kind.70 We cannot ascertain the quality of St. Jerome’s source (or his source’s source). It is entirely possible that the information was rooted at some point in an official Ptolemaic pronouncement, although probably having to pass through several layers of intermediation before it reached Jerome. However, elsewhere in the text Jerome patently demonstrates that he is not particularly selective in his sources. In the same passage, for example, he estimates the strength of Ptolemy’s army at 200,000 infantry and 20,000 cavalry, numbers that can be quickly dismissed when compared with the more reliable troop strengths reported in Polybius. (See chapter 2.) Jerome himself seemed to know his Hellenistic history largely through Greek writers cited by Porphyry, but we cannot tell whether the unsourced factoid comes from Hieronymus of Cardia (a contemporary of Ptolemy II) or from some obscure historian, such as Andronicus Alipius.71 Standing on its own, Jerome’s report does not inspire confidence. Yet a second reference to Ptolemaic revenues strongly supports the basic validity of Jerome’s fi nancial estimates, suggesting that the saint may have indeed lifted the figure from a more reliable source during his research. A fragment of Cicero preserved by Strabo puts annual Ptolemaic revenues under Ptolemy XII Auletes at 12,500 talents (75 million drachmas).72 Strabo is likely paraphrasing Cicero here, who may have stated the figure as 300 million sesterces, a round number starting with 3 (so popular with the ancients).73 Yet even if Cicero rounded to 300 million sesterces, as a high-level Roman politician he was in a position to know the general magnitude of Ptolemaic finances. Th is general magnitude is in keeping with the report that Auletes could promise a 10,000-talent (60-million–drachma) bribe to the Roman legate Aulus Gabinius.74 We must consider, however, Diodorus’s report that the Egyptian kings had an income of a mere 6,000 talents κατ’ Αἴγυπτον, based on information he received while visiting the country around 60 BCE.75 While also derived from the later part of the intermittent reign of Ptolemy XII Auletes, this number is a departure from the estimates reported by Jerome and Cicero. Georges Le Rider and François De Callataÿ note that the difference may result from the dynastic crisis of the Ptolemaic state, including the loss of Cyprus in 58, as well as from the difficulties of controlling parts of the Egyptian

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countryside.76 Ulrich Wilcken posited that the estimate of 6,000 talents may apply only to tax derived from Alexandria and its immediate chōra, not to Egypt at large.77 Claire Préaux argued precisely the opposite: Diodorus’s figure applies to the countryside of Egypt and excludes revenues from Alexandria and its hinterland.78 Mikhail Rostovtzeff suggested that Cicero’s talents may be debased Ptolemaic coins and that Diodorus’s figures are Att ic talents, a solution that narrows but does not bridge the gap.79 It is also possible that Diodorus reports an estimate from a bad agricultural year in Egypt, whereas Cicero’s quote, like Jerome’s, reflects revenues under optimal conditions, although ultimately no solution reconciles the two reports. If both Jerome and Cicero are correct, in years of political stability and agricultural prosperity we can estimate peak Ptolemaic revenues at between 75 and 90 million drachmas. It is important to note that the Ptolemies intentionally minted on a lighter standard: the Ptolemaic drachma weighed about 3.6 grams, compared with the 4.3 grams of the Att ic standard.80 Accordingly, 75 and 90 million Ptolemaic drachmas represent respectively an income of 63 million and 75 million drachmas minted on the Att ic standard. For the remainder of this section I refer to monetary units on the Ptolemaic standard. Is the range of 75 to 90 million drachmas plausible for the income of the Ptolemaic state? The magnitude of these reports can be confi rmed using a radically simplified model of the Ptolemaic agrarian economy. Let us assume that Egypt enjoyed approximately 8.5 million arourai of agricultural land (roughly 20,000 km2).81 Suppose that it was all planted in wheat, which by royal decree had an official price of 2 drachmas per artaba (1 artaba = about 67 lb, or 4 1/2 Roman modii).82 The main form of revenue was a harvest tax, effectively a rent on crown lands, which for grainland was some 4 to 8 artabai per aroura, presumably based on the fertility of the plot. Th is rate has traditionally been held to apply only to tenants of royal land (and not to cleruchs or holders of private plots),83 but Andrew Monson argues that the harvest tax was collected on virtually all lands at a rate of around 5 artabai per aroura.84 On this basic model, 8.5 million arourai of grainland each paying 5 artabai yields 42.5 million artabai of wheat, worth 85 million drachmas in silver. Th is very rough estimate (assuming a uniform taxation rate, universally healthy yields, and all agricultural land in wheat) does at least seem to suggest that Jerome and Cicero were basically correct in the general magnitude of their report. The actual result of the harvest tax would have been lower. Some cleruchic land was exempt: for example, infantrymen with 25-aroura plots could withhold the proceeds of 5 arourai.85 Unproductive or uninundated land was either exempt or else assessed at a lower rate. While some land was planted with higher-value crops (e.g., vineyards, orchards), other land was devoted to

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lower-revenue crops such as barley and emmer wheat (olyra).86 Total harvesttax revenues were therefore lower than the maximal estimate above. However, the harvest tax was not the only source of Ptolemaic income. Customs duties also provided substantial revenue. If Rhodes brought in a million drachmas per year in the early second century through customs fees, one can probably assume that Egypt brought in at least as much, or even several times more.87 Egyptian customs duties were notoriously high, with wine, the commodity most heavily excised, taxed at more than 50 percent of assessed value. The Zenon Archive records two ships paying 3,712 drachmas in fees: that is, more than half a talent.88 A host of other taxes, excises, and levies, added to the sale of monopolies on oil and beer production, all make the seemingly astronomical revenue levels reported by Jerome and Cicero quite plausible.89 Jerome’s estimate applies to revenues de Aegypto, and the Ptolemies controlled substantial territory in the Aegean outside Egypt proper. But Jerome is not a precise author and routinely refers to the Ptolemaic king as the rex Aegypti, narrowing the entire realm to Egypt.90 If his estimate is to be used, it must surely apply to the entirety of Ptolemaic holdings. It is possible that the territorial losses suffered by the Ptolemies, in Koilē Syria especially, explain part of the difference between Jerome’s and Cicero’s estimates, for the reigns of Ptolemy II and Ptolemy VIII respectively. Josephus estimated revenues from Koilē Syria alone at 8,000 talents under Ptolemy I, but this is impossibly high.91 Judea, a substantial subsection of Koilē Syria, probably paid around 450 talents of silver per year to the Ptolemaic kings.92 The Aegean islands paid approximately 2,000 talents to fund the Ptolemaieia every four years.93 Fischer-Bovet estimates revenues of between 3,600 and 7,000 talents (21–42 million drachmas) from external Ptolemaic holdings, assuming these had a population of 3 to 3.5 million people paying a tax rate of 1.22 talents per 1,000.94 The upper boundary of this range is too high: it is doubtful that scattered Ptolemaic holdings in the eastern Mediterranean brought in 42 million drachmas, almost as much as the 35 million that Pompey’s far more extensive conquests brought to Rome in the fi rst century BCE. The lower end of her estimate, about 20 million drachmas, is quite plausible. If this figure is correct, Ptolemaic holdings outside Egypt accounted for approximately a quarter of total state revenues.

Silver, Grain, and Gold One of Préaux’s great objections to Jerome’s estimate concerns the grain revenues associated with it: 1.5 million artabai, enough to provide standard military rations to about 150,000 adult males. The amount is much

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smaller than the grain reportedly obtained from Egypt during the Roman Empire: the 6 million artabai supposedly collected from Egypt in the time of Augustus, not to mention the 8 million artabai that Justinian required in 539 CE.95 Préaux’s critique is widely accepted but not necessarily valid.96 Great structural differences existed between the needs of a Ptolemaic king and the requirements of the Roman emperor. The Ptolemaic king derived most of his resources from Egypt. He needed a modicum of grain to provide rations for his military forces (about 100,000 soldiers and sailors in wartime and less than half that number in times of peace) and for his court and bureaucracy. But with army, navy, and court comfortably fed, he preferred his remaining extractions to be liquid cash, which he needed to pay his soldiers and sailors, distribute to his courtiers, and fi nance his extravagant royal lifestyle. The explicit exchange rate between commodities and cash, with an artaba of wheat valued at 2 drachmas, allowed the king’s agents to quickly dispose of collections in kind, mostly grain, converting them through the regulated market into the cash required for the king’s other purposes. With the Roman Empire the situation was different. Roman emperors had many sources of revenue, including gold and silver bullion from Spain and the Balkans, but needed enormous quantities of grain to feed the armies as well as the Roman plebs. The commitment to provide free grain to more than 320,000 members of the plebs urbana was exceptional in a premodern imperial monarchy, one that stemmed from Rome’s Republican roots, when citizens were able to demand broader distribution of state resources. The Roman army, meanwhile, at perhaps 300,000 troops in the Early Empire, was substantially larger than the Ptolemaic army, and therefore had far more extensive ration requirements. One artaba was equivalent to 4.5 Roman modii: 300,000 soldiers receiving 48 modii each a year consumed roughly 3.2 million artabai of wheat (some of which was locally supplied); 320,000 Roman plebs, issued 60 modii a year, ate another 4.3 million artabai.97 The emperors used additional grain supplies to stabilize and subsidize the urban grain market. The Roman emperor therefore needed the 6 million artabai of grain from Egypt and then some. Certainly, Roman emperors also collected cash from the province, although Monson has argued that Roman taxes were substantially lower than under the Ptolemaic regime, with Tiberius instructing his prefect that “good shepherds shear their sheep, not skin them.”98 If so, the luxury that the Romans had in fleecing but not skinning the Egyptian sheep came from the fact that emperors enjoyed revenues from throughout the Mediterranean, whereas the Ptolemies, despite extracting some revenues from the broader Aegean, were desperately dependent on the wealth of their Egyptian fief. Successive Ptolemaic kings encouraged the monetization of the Ptole-

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maic economy as they grappled with their lack of silver mines.99 Th is created a significant problem: at every harvest, the Ptolemies acquired enormous amounts of grain, far more than their army, bureaucracy, and court could possibly eat. The king needed to convert this excess grain into hard cash. Silver underpinned the entire Ptolemaic royal economy, and a sudden shortfall in the metal could disrupt the process considerably. In order to keep silver within the country and to increase the supply, Ptolemy I instituted a closed currency system (based on a new-standard drachma of 3.6 grams) and forced Alexandria’s merchants to exchange this for foreign currency, usually minted on a higher standard. The state may have made a modest profit, although the main goal of the policy may have been simply to balance inflows and outflows of silver bullion in the overall economy. Another solution was the creation of a robust bronze coinage in order to relieve pressure on the supply of silver, especially in the countryside. Bronze coinage went beyond simply forming small change for the larger silver denominations; indeed, it became the predominant currency in much of Egypt. It was used to make certain state payments.100 These soldiers, who spent much of their pay in the local area, may not have minded bronze denominations, as it equipped them with the currency they would need to spend on local products. Still, silver was necessary to pay overseas garrisons, foreign mercenaries, and high-ranking officials, and to procure royal luxuries and fund displays of magnificence and munificence. Yet in order to prevent a massive outflow of silver, state payments had to remain within the Ptolemaic currency system or be matched by an inflow accrued through unequal currency exchange. A shortfall could occur on account of trade imbalance, but warfare was a far more likely culprit. As long as most of the Ptolemaic army remained in Egypt, soldiers recirculated their pay back into the economy. Th is was true even for mercenaries on garrison duty; the mercenary in Alexandria who frittered his pay away at local taverns and brothels was no great threat to the royal currency system. However, the need to hire temporary mercenaries, who took their pay with them upon discharge proved a more serious problem. In successful foreign wars, inflows of looted bullion made up for the bullion paid to mercenaries. For example, Ptolemy III obtained at least 1,500 (Att ic?) talents of silver looting Seleucid territory during the Th ird Syrian War; this sum would have theoretically been enough to make up for roughly 25,000 mercenaries taking their yearly pay out of the country upon discharge.101 The situation was dire in the event of a defeat or even in the case of a successful war that failed to produce a return in loot. Despite the successful repulse of Antiochus the Great at Raphia, the Fourth Syrian war probably created silver shortfalls as discharged mercenaries were sent home with pay that was unrecompensed by major acquisitions of looted bullion.

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Given their concern about silver stocks, the Ptolemies made bulk payments in gold or bronze whenever possible. Th is included bullion transferred out of the country, since the Ptolemies were able to replenish their supply of gold from mines in southern Egypt and Nubia.102 Thus, the bonus to the troops after the Batt le of Raphia, paid in part to mercenaries who might depart the country, totaled 300,000 gold coins, worth perhaps 7.5 million drachmas.103 Gold and bronze were also the preferred mode of payment to foreign proxies. Financial aid to the Romans during the Second Punic War was given in gold.104 There is also evidence of bronze subsidies to Cleomenes III of Sparta, who minted bronze coins with Ptolemaic iconography.105 In good economic times, silver formed part of some Ptolemaic subsidies, such as the 300 talents of silver given to Rhodes (although Ptolemy III gave an additional 3,000 talents of bronze). Ptolemy II granted Aratus a subsidy of 150 silver talents: a single payment of 40 talents with the remainder paid in increments.106 Like other Hellenistic states, the Ptolemies also gave away goods in kind, especially grain, as a form of euergetism, a way of earning diplomatic points while eliminating government surplus that could not always be converted into cash.107 Despite the bounty of the Nile, this delicate currency system could falter, especially during military and political crises that disrupted the normal flow of revenue. Around 210 BCE, a major reevaluation of the relationship of silver to bronze coinage took place, reflecting a silver scarcity.108 The bronze coinage meanwhile underwent a series of reevaluations; the details remain contested but suggest a basic instability in the Ptolemaic monetary system in the late third and the early second century.109 Th is occurred before the great Egyptian revolt, which deprived the government in Alexandria of nearly half its customary agricultural surplus and required enormous military expenditures to quash. By the 150s, a cleruch on garrison duty received 1,800 debased bronze drachmas per year (worth around only 15 Att ic drachmas), and the prime benefits of military service at this moment seem to have been the grain ration and the ability to purchase additional subsidized grain for family members.110 In this crisis, the royal economy essentially reverted to an inkind system, with kings paying their troops directly in wheat and wheat options. Yet with the underlying strength of Egyptian agriculture the economy did recover. If Cicero was correct about the cash revenues in the fi rst century, then royal revenues had returned to near third-century levels.

Expenditures With peak revenues approaching 90 million (Ptolemaic) drachmas per year, the Ptolemaic dynasty enjoyed revenues approaching those of the

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Roman Republic after the conquests of Pompey the Great (when Plutarch reports revenues of 85 million denarii).111 The Ptolemaic budget cannot be reconstructed in detail. There is no indication of Ptolemaic bullion stockpiles during the period except Appian’s dubious claim that the kings of Egypt had 740,000 talents of silver (444 million drachmas) in their coffers at some time.112 As with many another of Appian’s reports about Egypt, this number reads as exaggerated, utterly unbelievable unless one can imagine that the Ptolemies stockpiled three to four times as much bullion as the Achaemenid kings did before the conquests of Alexander the Great. The exceptional military mobilization at Raphia is well attested, but there is litt le evidence for the size of the Ptolemaic army in peacetime. Information on naval deployments is equally poor, despite an overall impression of robust Ptolemaic naval power in the third century BCE. Thus my estimates of military expenditure sketched below are inevitably rough.

M i lita ry Pay A late third-century BCE papyrus shows a grammateus named Dio calculating payment for a garrison of soldiers equivalent to 2,655 drachmas.113 A second official, Agathocles, however, determined that this number was incorrect, and reduced the payment to 2,430 drachmas. Note that both totals are divisible by 45: on that reconstruction Dio must initially have reported 59 troops, and Agathocles corrected the figure to 54.114 If the soldiers were paid 9 obols a day, then calculated over 30 days their pay rate comes to 45 drachmas a month. A 9-obol daily rate matches an attested pay scale for Rhodian rowers and marines in the third century BCE, who were paid 9 Rhodian obols a day.115 For the estimates below, I assume a third-century BCE pay rate of 9 obols per day for an infantryman, or 540 drachmas per year; I assume cavalry were paid three times as much. Since Ptolemaic kings issued rations from the enormous quantities of wheat they retained in kind, I do not factor ration costs, although I do round my estimates up to account for the additional pay of officers and miscellaneous logistical costs. In 217 BCE, Ptolemy raised an army of 70,000 infantry and 5,000 cavalry, which would have cost roughly 45 million drachmas to maintain in the field for a year. Th is reflects the Ptolemaic army in a unique moment of crisis: the mercenary armies that normally garrisoned Koilē Syria had defected or been crushed by Antiochus’s advance, and the Egyptian home-defense army relied on a combination of cleruchs, mercenaries, and hastily trained native Egyptians. Unfortunately, there is no good evidence for the size of regular Ptolemaic military deployments during the apogee of Ptolemaic power, between 270 and 220 BCE. All that can be offered are plausible estimates based on a few

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primary sources. Below I present two estimates of Ptolemaic military expenditures. For times of war, I assume mobilization in a confl ict like the Fourth Syrian War. I posit an army similar to the Raphia force, although not including a large native Egyptian phalanx or Libyan troops, whose deployment at Raphia was exceptional. A base of 25,000 in the main phalanx, 5,000 peltasts, about 5,000 cavalry, and 15,000 mercenaries provides an approximate estimate of a major third-century Ptolemaic field army; I assume another 5,000 mercenaries left in garrison. At a pay rate of 9 obols a day, these soldiers would have cost around 35 million drachmas; the sum should be rounded up to around 40 million to account for miscellaneous expenditures (animals, rolling stock, officer pay, etc.). During times of peace before the Batt le of Raphia, the Ptolemies likely deployed around 10,000 troops in Egypt, and perhaps an equal number in Koilē Syria and the Aegean. Twenty thousand soldiers in garrison would have cost approximately 11 million drachmas. The cost of keeping 5,000 peltasts and 700 royal horsemen in active service year-round as a royal bodyguard would require another 4 million drachmas a year. According to these estimates, the peacetime army would have cost approximately 15 million drachmas per year. In addition the Ptolemies maintained a large naval force. Athenaeus suggests that Ptolemy II had 112 polyremes and another 225 lighter warships, probably triremes and biremes.116 These figures probably represent the total number of ships (perhaps mostly in dry dock), and not necessarily deployed except in a major war. These numbers are not implausible: Rome deployed 290 warships during the Second Punic War,117 and Carthage deployed 130 during the First.118 Antiochus deployed over 100 warships in the 190s BCE along with some 200 smaller vessels.119 If we estimate a crew of 400 in each of the capital ships and 200 men in the lighter vessels, Ptolemy II’s fleet of roughly 335 warships would have required 90,000 rowers and marines when fully staffed. With a pay rate of 1.5 drachmas per day, total personnel would have cost approximately 50 million drachmas in wartime. (Again, I assume that rations were provided from the king’s grain.) Peacetime costs would have been lower. Still, to maintain a modest peacetime fleet, which I postulate as 50 polyreme warships and 100 triremes, easily required 25 million drachmas a year.120 On this basis, I estimate peacetime military costs of approximately 40 million drachmas. Wartime costs would have risen to as high as 90 million drachmas in times of intense confl ict like a Syrian War. (See table 4.6.) Peacetime expenditures on military outlay were substantially lower, perhaps 40  million drachmas (though a wide range is possible given the estimate’s margin of error).121

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Ta bl e 4.6. E st i m at e d P tol e m a ic m i l ita ry e x pe n dit u r e s, t h i r d ce n t u ry BCE Wartimea Expense

Costa

Army (modified Raphia deployment) 30,000 infantry 5,000 cavalry 20,000 mercenaries Navy (based on Callixenus of Rhodes) 112 polyremes 225 biremes, triremes Total

ca. 40

ca. 50

ca. 90

Peacetime Army 20,000 mercenaries/cleruchs in garrison 5,000 infantry (agēma, peltasts) 700 cavalry (royal cavalry) Navy 50 polyremes (20,000 sailors and marines) 100 triremes, biremes (20,000 sailors and marines) + Additional costs (tackle, upkeep, etc.) Total a b

ca. 15

ca. 25

40

During the reigns of Ptolemy II and Ptolemy III. In millions of Ptolemaic drachmas.

On my estimate, in years of intensive warfare, the early Ptolemies spent roughly the entirety of their total annual revenue (ca. 75–90 million drachmas) on military outlay. Ptolemaic kings would have covered additional expenses by tapping into cash reserves, seeking extraordinary contributions from courtiers, and capturing loot in successful campaigns. In years of peace, even substantial garrisons and a sizable peacetime fleet of the sort postulated above would still have consumed nearly half the total Ptolemaic budget.

Cou rt ly Spl en dor a n d Eu erget ism Impossible to quantify precisely, Ptolemaic expenditures on court activities, religious festivals, benefactions, cultural patronage, and other royal projects were enormous. Athenaeus reports that the grand procession of Ptolemy Philadelphus

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cost just under 2,240 talents, approximately 13.5 million drachmas, a onetime event to be sure, but an example of how a single act of royal display could consume (if the report is accurate) the equivalent of the average annual revenue of the Roman Republic in the second century BCE.122 The Ptolemies also practiced euergetism on a more lavish scale than their fellow kings. Following the Rhodian earthquake of 224 BCE, Ptolemy III made the largest cash donation of any of the Hellenistic kings:123 Ptolemy also promised them 300 talents of silver, 1 million artabai of corn, timber for the construction of 10 quinqueremes and 10 triremes, 40,000 cubits (good measure) of squared planking, 1 thousand talents of coined bronze, 3,000 talents of tow, 3,000 pieces of sailcloth, 3,000 talents [of bronze?] for the restoration of the Colossus, 100 master builders and 350 masons, and 14 talents per annum for their pay, and besides all this, 12,000 artabai of corn for the games and sacrifices and 20,000 artabai to feed the crews of 10 triremes.

Note, however, the emphasis on gifts in terms of bronze, grain, materials, and specialist labor, with only modest commitments of silver. There is also considerable evidence that the Ptolemies supported a more elaborate courtly apparatus than their peers in Antioch and Pella. The Library of Alexandria, the Mouseion, the resident poets and scholars, the lavish processions, and all the other fabled splendor of the Ptolemaic court were extraordinarily expensive, if difficult to rigorously quantify.124 The magnificent sum of 80 talents that Ptolemy II reportedly gave the philosopher Strato may not be entirely reliable, but it does point to the ambitious scale of the intellectual patronage performed by the Ptolemies.125 Similarly impossible to quantify, the expense of the expansive Ptolemaic bureaucracy must also have been substantial. Overall, annual nonmilitary costs for the Ptolemies likely ran in the tens of millions of drachmas.

Se l euci d Fi na nce The Seleucid royal economy is the subject of a recent monograph by G. G. Aperghis. The ambition and scope of Aperghis’s monograph is impressive, and he has produced his own comprehensive estimates for Seleucid royal expenditures and revenues. However, in my opinion, his model-based approach severely overstates the revenues of the Seleucid Empire, arguing for peak annual revenues of 15,000 to 20,000 talents (90–120 million drachmas), with trough revenues falling to between 10,000 and 15,000 talents (60– 90 million drachmas).126

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A starting postulate in Aperghis’s estimation of annual revenues is the assumption that the Seleucid state was able to collect one silver talent from every 1,000 inhabitants, a postulate grounded on Herodotus’s report that the satrap of Mesopotamia collected an artaba of silver a day. Aperghis converts this to 6,000 talents a year for a population that he in turn estimates at 6 million during the Achaemenid Empire.127 There is litt le literary evidence for the total population of the Seleucid Empire, and Aperghis derives his evidence for population largely from the vagaries of archaeological survey leavened with ample speculation.128 Based on litt le survey evidence, he uses 200 persons per hectare as a rule of thumb for population density and then multiplies this estimate by the rough extent of the empire at various periods.129 Although such surveys do give some sense of population density, their ability to produce accurate estimates of population is fragile, especially when any margin of error is dramatically compounded over a territory as enormous as the Seleucid realm. Aperghis therefore risks overestimating the population of the Seleucid Empire. His overall estimate for the extraction rate, resting on the tenuous evidence of Herodotus, may also be too high. He therefore risks compounding his margin of error at every step, so that his overall estimates for the income of Seleucid kings is far too generous. As a starting point for a new estimate, we should begin with two source references for pre-Seleucid revenues from the territories that would eventually be controlled by the dynasty: the tribute list of Darius I and the revenues of Antigonus the One-Eyed in 313 BCE. The most detailed breakdown of the tributary potential of what became the Seleucid Empire is found in the fi ft h-century tribute lists of the Achaemenid Empire provided by Herodotus.130 There are many problems with this data set. Herodotus’s provinces do not precisely match those named on the Behistun inscription. The fact that Herodotus imposed his own Greek geographic schema casts significant doubts upon the reliability of his report for the revenues derived from any one district. Nonetheless, the overall figure should not be dismissed out of hand. Given the importance of tribute collection to Achaemenid royal propaganda, it is quite plausible that a document enumerating regional tributes circulated, even if Herodotus obtained his information only at second or third hand. The details are no doubt imperfect, but the overall figures should not be thoughtlessly discarded. It is possible that Herodotus started with the correct total taken (directly or indirectly) from an official Achaemenid source and then apportioned it among his flawed understanding of Persian assize districts.131 So the end sum of silver (excluding the gold from India, only controlled by the Achaemenids for a short period of time) may provide a rough sense of Persian revenues. The total Achaemenid silver tribute, according to Herodotus, came to 9,880 Att ic

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talents, or roughly 60 million drachmas.132 It should be noted that Theopompus believed that the Persian king spent 20 or 30 talents a day on banqueting, which would represent 45–65 million drachmas per year.133 Theopompus likely confused the king’s overall royal expenditures with outlay for banquets, given that the king’s household expenditures in fact involved massive distributions of rations to administrators and soldiers.134 The king’s household was in this instance synonymous with the royal state. Herodotus’s report for Darius I’s revenues lines up quite well with Theopompus’s report of royal expenditure in the fourth century. The Persians collected taxes in silver as well as substantial donations in kind. For example, the Book of Nehemiah describes Judea collectively paying 40 shekels of silver per day on top of providing food for the governor’s table.135 Herodotus’s account focuses on silver and gold bullion but also notes in-kind contributions such as cavalry horses from Cilicia and grain from Egypt. Much of the cash income reported by Herodotus was likely a monetary assessment of goods that were ultimately delivered in kind. At least some of the tribute paid to Achaemenid kings, however, was converted into bullion, given the enormous stockpiles captured by Alexander.136 Darius I controlled substantially more territory than any Seleucid king ever did, in particular Egypt, Th race, and the provinces beyond the Hindu Kush. Yet there is some reason to think that the territories controlled by the Seleucids, although smaller, may have been more prosperous. First, the foundation of new urban centers, from the Syrian tetrapolis to small agricultural towns sett led with military colonists, provided new engines of economic activity and tribute generation.137 Second, Seleucid kings undertook steps to more thoroughly monetize their territories, which may have lowered transaction costs and facilitated economic growth.138 It is quite plausible that Seleucid kings therefore derived a similar magnitude in revenues, despite controlling less territory than their Achaemenid predecessors. We learn from Diodorus that the empire of Antigonus the One-Eyed, which at its peak in 313 BCE covered much of the same territory as the Seleucid Empire at its peak, had revenues of around 11,000 talents.139 Th is amount (if correct) may have included some revenues from Antigonus’s bases in Greece and included portions of Asia Minor that only sporadically fell under Seleucid control; it certainly included regions such as Bactria and Sogdiana that by the mid-third century had permanently fallen away from Seleucid control. These regions were however, war-ravaged and less developed than the Seleucid Empire at its peak under Antiochus the Great. The Roman annexation of Syria (combined with the holdings of Mithridates VI), brought the Republic revenues worth 35 million drachmas.140 Some of this territory (e.g., Pontus) had never been under Seleucid control,

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but it is safe to say that Seleucid revenues would have been higher than this figure during the empire’s peak. These pre- and post-Seleucid figures imply in a rough order of magnitude an estimate of about 50 million drachmas for the Seleucid Empire, although revenues would have fluctuated as the kingdom’s fortunes and territorial extent waxed and waned. A test of this magnitude would be to produce an estimate of military expenditures for the Seleucid Empire, based on attested mobilizations.

Expenditures A pay receipt from Babylonia reports that a Seleucid military unit received pay of 249 for one month.141 Regrettably, the ostrakon does not provide any other useful information, such as the unit of currency, the size of the unit to which the sum is paid, or whether this pay includes the costs of rations. A few assumptions, however, are possible. The figure 249 most likely refers to drachmas. Given that these were garrison troops, probably mercenaries, Aperghis has argued that the figure 249 most plausibly represents the monthly pay of a lochos of eight men, each receiving 1 drachma a day, paid a total of 30 drachmas.142 The additional 9 drachmas may represent a bonus for the lochos leader, who in this case would come close to being a “10-stater man” (i.e., 10 tetradrachmas), paid 39 drachmas.143 Th is explanation would be in line with the scattered references for military pay from around the Hellenistic Mediterranean, with 1 drachma per day being a standard payment.144 Evidence from Alexander’s army suggests that pay to cavalrymen was three times that of infantry (a common ratio in the Mediterranean), and I assume that the Seleucids continued this practice.145

A r m y In 190 BCE, the revenues of the Seleucid Empire were perhaps as high as they had ever been, given the success that Antiochus III had enjoyed in restoring Seleucid power. For that year, thanks to the RomanoSeleucid War, we have an excellent view of Antiochus’s military expenditures. At Magnesia, Antiochus III fielded an army of 60,000 infantry and 12,000 cavalry.146 Assuming the pay rates discussed above, with triple rates for cavalry, the total pay cost would have been around 35 million drachmas. Rations and equipment might have pushed this figure to 40 or 45 million drachmas. I furthermore assume garrisons of roughly 8,000, which might have cost around 5 million drachmas in pay, rations, and maintenance. Nav y Antiochus III’s 100-ship fleet in 192 BCE contained 40 decked ships (tecti) and 60 undecked (aperti). The decked ships were presum-

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ably quinqueremes and larger; the undecked, triremes and smaller.147 Let us assume a crew of 400 in the decked ships, and 200 in the undecked. With a pay of 1 drachma per day, the total cost for crew would be roughly 11 million drachmas. Rations, as well as tackle, sailcloth, and other equipment, could easily drive fleet-related expenses to around 15 million drachmas.

R e v en u e s a n d Li a bi lit i e s In all, it would be fair to estimate Seleucid military costs of 60 million drachmas during the RomanoSyrian War. Th is total would have severely strained the state’s fi nances, although at the end of 190 BCE Antiochus was able to make an initial down payment of 3 million drachmas on his war indemnity following the Batt le of Magnesia. The Romans may well have saved Antiochus III a great deal of money by killing so many of his soldiers and sailors, so that much of the pay owed for 190 was never disbursed.148 Nonetheless, the war and the subsequent indemnity clearly strained the Seleucid treasury to the breaking point. Antiochus struggled to make the indemnity payment of 15 million drachmas to Manlius Vulso the next year, being able to pay only 9 million, with the result that Manlius dispatched a legion to collect the rest.149 Antiochus III seems to have been severely short of cash; despite another two cycles of revenue collection, he risked plundering a temple in Elam and was killed in the process.150 Nonetheless, Antiochus III felt confident in assuming military liabilities totaling roughly 60 million drachmas per year. Given the seriousness of the Roman war, Antiochus III probably dipped into cash reserves to help fi nance it. Assuming the 60 million drachmas needed for military expenditures likely represented perhaps 100 to 125 percent of his annual revenues (with cash reserves making up for the deficit), this would put his peak revenues at between around 50 million and 60 million drachmas. Th is estimate fits well with the source attestations for the revenues of the Achaemenid kings (ca. 60 million drachmas) and Antigonus the One-Eyed (66 million drachmas). If Seleucid kings in periods of intensive warfare were spending between 50 million and 70 million drachmas, I suspect that their peak incomes were toward the lower end of this range, around 50 million. One reason for favoring the lower end of the range is the persistent Seleucid habit of plundering temples, both through administrative removals of accumulated treasures and through violent assaults.151 (See table 4.7.) Th is activity was indeed fraught, for it risked alienating subject peoples and even cost the king his life. Many pillaging incidents tended to correspond closely with major military campaigns, suggesting that the costs of a large military deployment exceeded the king’s regular income stream. Thus, I propose 50 million drachmas as the general magnitude of peak Seleucid

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Ta bl e 4.7. Se l euci d t e m pl e de spol i at ion, 302–164 BCE King

Deity

Location Date BCE Source

Seleucus I

Nabu

Borsippa

302

Seleucus I

Anaitit

Ecbatana

?

Antiochus III

Anaitit

Ecbatana

211

Polyb. 10.27.12–13

Antiochus III

Ba’al

Elam

187

Diod. Sic. 29.15. Just. Epit. 32.2.1–2

Seleucus IV

Yahweh

Jerusalem

Antiochus IV

Nabu

Babylon

Antiochus IV

Yahweh

Antiochus IV Antiochus IV

ca. 180

Astronomical Diaries 302/301 Polyb. 10.27.11

2 Mac. 3.11–13

169

Astronomical Diaries 168

Jerusalem

169/168

1 Mac. 1.20, 2 Mac. 5.21, Joseph. AJ 12.246

Atargatis

Bambyke

ca. 165

Granius Licinianus 28.6.1 (Criniti)

Nanaia

Elam

164

Diod. Sic. 34.28; Just. Epit. 39.2

Ta bl e 4.8. A n n ua l i n de m n it y pay m e n ts de m a n de d by Rom e f rom e ach M e dit e r r a n e a n pow e r , 2 4 1–168 BCE

Defeated power

Annual payment

Estimated revenues

Paymenta

1.32 million 1.2 million

8 million 8 million

16.5 15

300,000

8 million

 3.75

6 million

50 million

Carthage First Punic War Second Punic War Macedonia Second Macedonian War Seleucid Dynasty Syrian War

12

Note: All sums in drachmas. a As percentage of estimated revenues.

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revenues. The lows, at moments of territorial loss and dynastic dysfunction, could easily have been half this figure.

A Check on Forensic Accounting We can test the validity of these basic figures by looking at the indemnities imposed by Rome upon defeated powers. It is important to remember that all these indemnities were imposed as part of conditional surrender when the defeated power still had some capacity to resist. As a result, there was some correspondence between the indemnities and what these powers were reasonably able to pay.152 For the purposes of proofi ng these estimates of annual revenues, the proper focus should be on the annual payment, not the overall sums demanded. Table 4.8 shows the sums annually paid to Rome by the defeated powers during the second century and the percentage of revenues that these payments represented. I have estimated Carthaginian revenues from North Africa at about 8 million drachmas a year, a general magnitude that was applicable to North Africa in the 230s (before Hamilcar’s Iberian conquests) and 190s BCE. Thus, the Roman indemnity represented a claim of about 15 percent of Carthage’s revenues after the Second Punic War. I have also estimated Macedonia’s revenues in the second century at approximately 8 million drachmas. The annual payment of 300,000 drachmas demanded from Philip V (and soon canceled) therefore made up approximately 3.75 percent of his revenues as I have reconstructed them. Th is percentage seems rather low, but it must be noted that I am averaging the efflorescence of the 180s and 170s with leaner times in the 190s: the burden of this indemnity was probably higher before the results of Philip’s internal strengthening policies could be realized later in his reign. The 300,000 drachmas probably would have been closer to 5 or 10 percent of his beleaguered revenues after Cynoscephalae. Finally, I have reconstructed Seleucid revenues during peak territoriality at about 50 million; the annual payments of the Roman indemnity would have required approximately 12  percent this revenue. Antiochus’s revenues were probably somewhat lower after the loss of Asia Minor, but if we postulate a lower postwar income, say 40 million, the 6 million drachmas of indemnity would still represent only 15 percent of revenues. Overall, the attested indemnities demanded roughly 5 to 15 percent of estimated income. Th is narrow range increases my confidence that the magnitude of my estimates is generally correct. I am not arguing that the Romans had a formula for determining indemnities. But each of these indemnities was demanded from a power that, although badly defeated, did not accede to unconditional surrender but instead negotiated a sett lement while retain-

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ing some forces still in the field.153 There was a limit to how much surplus even the greediest Roman negotiator could demand. I would cheerfully concede a fundamental error in at least one of my reconstructions if the percentage of indemnity demanded from my reconstructed revenues diverged flagrantly. The fact that these estimates fall within a narrow range suggests that even though inevitably imprecise the general magnitudes of my reconstructions are correct.

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Conclusions

M e dit er r a n e a n M a n pow er Maximum Mobilizations Overall, the metric of maximum attested mobilization, when placed in a comparative framework, correlates quite closely with the known outcomes of interstate warfare. As shown in table 5.1, Rome enjoyed the largest attested mobilization in the Mediterranean, but the fact that Carthage came in at a reasonably close second place explains the bloody and protracted nature of the First and Second Punic Wars. The Seleucids and Ptolemies achieved roughly identical maximum mobilizations, a parity that corresponds to their intermittent wars over Koilē Syria. Macedonia, in distant last place, was unsurprisingly the fi rst Hellenistic kingdom overthrown. Still, it is important to query exactly how manpower superiority related to success in hegemonic warfare and the formation and maintenance of empires. First, mobilized manpower could be concentrated into a single theater of operations, often with the goal of achieving a decision in pitched battle. (One must note, though, that numerical superiority is perhaps even more vital in asymmetric combat environments.) For Iron Age batt les, superior numbers might be deployed to either create a sufficiently deep line to plow through the opposing formation, deploy a sufficiently lengthy line to envelop it, or retain sufficient reserves to respond to tactical setbacks and exploit unexpected opportunities. Second, large reserves of unmobilized manpower facilitated strategic resilience by allowing states to absorb casualties and regenerate strength. The Soviet Union during World War II is perhaps the best example of this phenomenon in modern times, suffering as many as 10 million military deaths (and greater civilian losses) but still winning the war thanks to a robust population of roughly 170 million.

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Ta bl e 5 .1. M a x i m u m mobi l i z at ion of t h e gr e at pow e r s, 217–171 BCE Power Rome Carthage Seleucid Kingdom Ptolemaic Kingdom Macedonia

Troop strength

Date BCE

185,000 165,000 80,000 80,000 50,000

212 215 190 217 171

Finally, a state can use its manpower resources to maintain parallel strategic deployments, projecting a simultaneous military presence in several theaters. Th is was the strategy of the United States during World War II, which had a population not appreciably smaller than the Soviet Union’s (132 million in 1940) but endured the lightest casualties of any major combatant. The United States used its robust manpower to project, by 1944, simultaneous large-scale land, air, and naval deployments in France, Italy, and across the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Rome notably did not employ its manpower superiority to achieve numerical dominance tactically but instead fought some of the most decisive battles of the ancient world outnumbered. The Republic did famously draw on its large reserve pool of manpower to bounce back from military defeats in the third century BCE. However, Rome’s casualties in the second century were modest.1 Rather, from 200 onward, it was the capacity to maintain parallel strategic deployments throughout the Mediterranean that undergirded Rome’s wide hegemony.

Fighting Outnumbered In 190 BCE, the army of Lucius Scipio, some 30,000 strong, marched out of its camp at the fork of the Hermos and Phrygios rivers to face off against a massive opposition force, 72,000 men commanded by Antiochus III. With 60,000 infantry and 12,000 cavalry, the king’s army outnumbered the Roman invaders by more than 2:1.2 The Roman numerical inferiority at Magnesia was not unique. The Romans often fought outnumbered as they stretched their deployments across the Mediterranean. Table 5.2 offers a comparison of the manpower att ributed to each side by the ancient sources for some of the most decisive batt les of the third and second centuries. In the far-right column, I indicate whether the Romans fought with superiority, inferiority, or parity: in

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Ta bl e 5 .2. Tact ic a l m a n pow e r i n decisi v e bat t l e s, 2 06 –168 BCE

Battle (Date BCE)

Troop strength (Rome)

Troop strength (enemy)

Roman status

Ilipa a (206) Zamab (202) Cynoscephalaec (197) Thermopylaee (191) Magnesia (190) Pydnaf (168)

45,000 30,100 26,000 22,000 30,100 36,000

74,000 50,000 25,500 10,500 72,000 43,000

Inferior Inferior Parityd Superior Inferior Inferior

a Polyb. 11.20.2–8; Livy 28.12–13 gives the Romans a slight numerical superiority, 55,000 men to the 54,500 Carthaginians, although he is aware that some writers (presumably Polybius) proposed a higher figure. Here the higher figure should be preferred, as Scipio’s complex tactics at the batt le seem to be compensating for inferior numbers; see Lazenby 1978:145. b App. Pun. 41 reports Scipio’s force at 23,000 Roman infantry, 1,500 Roman cavalry, 1,600 Numidians under the chieft ain Dacamas, plus 4,000 Numidian cavalry. Livy’s most plausible report for Scipio’s force was 16,000 Romano-Italian infantry (or two legions and alae, 16,800); then the rest of the 23,000 are likely the 6,000 Numidian infantry reported by Livy 30.29. Total Roman forces at Zama were therefore 30,100. Appian puts Hannibal’s strength at 50,000 (Pun. 40); this figure seems to include the 4,000 cavalry mentioned in Pun. 42. Polybius reports that the fi rst line of infantry consisted of 12,000 mercenary skirmishers, suggesting all three infantry lines could reasonably contain 35,000–40,000 men. Polybius puts the combined killed and captured at ca. 40,000, suggesting that Appian’s order of magnitude is correct. For further discussion see M. Taylor 2019:316–317. c Plutarch Flam. 7.3, with the Roman force at 26,000 and the Macedonian with the same strength. Polybius lists Macedonian contingents totaling 25,500. The Roman force seems to have been as follows: two legions of 4,200 infantry and 300 cavalry, with similar allied wings, 6,400 Aetolians, and 1,200 Athamanians. d Defi ned as a difference between the two parties of 5 percent or less. e App. Syr. 17. Cf. Polyb. 20.8.6, Livy 36.19.11. f Perseus’s strength: Livy 42.51. Roman strength: Paullus had two legions with 6,000 infantry and 300 cavalry; and allies, a nearly equal strength (Livy 44.21.8). The auxilia externa present at the batt le are not listed, but earlier in the campaign the consular army had been joined by 4,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry from Pergamon, 1,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry from Numidia, 1,500 Achaeans, and 2,000 Ligurians. Estimates of strength will vary based on assumptions of the Roman:Italian ratio (the last attested supplementum to the province had been 1:1 and the presence of specific auxiliary units) and which auxiliary forces were present at the batt le (some were likely detached). Burton 2017:167 provides a survey of past estimates. Hammond 1984:46 puts the Roman strength at “less than 40,000,” still inferior to Perseus. Both Livy 44.38.5 and Plut. Aem. 16.6 report Roman numerical inferiority.

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most of the critical batt les, the Romans fought either outnumbered or managed only a rough parity in manpower resources. Roman armies dispatched overseas to conquer the Mediterranean were modest, usually consisting of standard consular armies with two legions and two allied wings, supplemented by local allies. These expeditionary forces stood in contrast to the large armies that the Romans raised to defend Italy itself: roughly 40,000 men, four legions with allies, at the Batt le of Sentinum in 295 BCE; 108,000 men in eight legions with allies at Telamon in 225; 40,000 in four legions and alae at Trebia in 218; 86,000 in eight legions and alae at Cannae in 216; and perhaps 50,000 at the Metaurus River in 207.3 The fact that the Romans concentrated large armies of 40,000 to 100,000 men for defensive operations in Italy but dispatched only 20,000- to 30,000 Roman forces abroad suggests that seaborne logistics were a major constraint on the size of Roman expeditionary forces. The Romans were fi rstrate logisticians by the standards of the ancient world, but there were still basic limitations to the number of men that a general and his quaestor could effectively feed and supply.4 An additional 10,000 infantry would require an extra 300 tons of grain a month while on campaign, not counting other supplies.5 The easiest way to simplify logistics was to reduce head count. Furthermore, the logistical trends so unfavorable for the attacker proved advantageous for the defender. When a defender fought on his home turf, he enjoyed internal supply lines, with friendly (or at least obedient) local communities ready to provide supplies in kind as well as other forms of logistical support. For example, the city of Teos supplied the Seleucid navy with wine during the Romano-Seleucid War, and Macedonian communities rushed to provide wagons to Perseus at the start of the Th ird Macedonian War.6 The Batt le of Thermopylae in 191 BCE, where Roman troops enjoyed perhaps a 2:1 advantage in numbers over those of Antiochus the Great, was unusual in the sense that both combatants operated as logistically constrained expeditionary forces. In addition to logistics, the ability to recruit locally from subject or vassal communities helped defenders assemble massive armies. At Magnesia, for example, Antiochus, now safely back on his home terrain after the debacle at Thermopylae, mustered troops from across his sprawling empire, but notable are the contingents of troops from Asia Minor itself: 2,500 Mysians, 5,500 Galatians, 2,000 Cappadocians, 1,500 Carians and Cilicians, 3,000 Pisidians, Pamphylians and Lycians: 14,500 in all, or 20 percent of his force.7 Similar dynamics between the seaborne invader and the defender explain why Hannibal outnumbered Scipio at Zama and Perseus outnumbered Aemilius Paullus at Pydna.

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One advantage of the Roman manipular legion, in addition to its general tactical flexibility and ability to operate on rough terrain, was that the modest gaps between the maniples allowed it to stretch out as needed to match the frontage of numerically superior forces. It helped that Hellenistic forces deployed their numbers in especially deep and dense columns, with the standard offensive deployment of a pike phalanx being sixteen men deep, with each man occupying 3 feet (0.9 m) of frontage.8 Despite the triple line of infantry (triplex acies), the loose order of Roman formations (each Roman soldier in an offensive array had roughly 6 feet of tactical space in front of him in an offensive array) and the small gaps (10–20 m) between the maniples meant that Roman formations were far less dense than their Macedonian and Seleucid opponents.9 At Pydna, two Roman legions, a total of 12,000 infantrymen, directly confronted and defeated Perseus’s 20,000-plus phalanx.10 If Perseus’s phalanx held a standard deployment (sixteen deep, 3 feet per fi le), it would have stretched over 1,100 meters, implying that each legion was able to achieve a frontage of roughly 550 meters (on the upper end of possible legionary frontages, as most legionary frontages that can be reconstructed from the doctrinal deployments of Hellenistic deployments were between 350 and 450 meters). There were limits to how far a legion could be stretched, however, in particular if the gaps between the hastati of the fi rst line grew larger than the maniple of principes covering the gap behind it. Still, by expanding the gaps between the maniples by an additional 5 or even 10 meters, a two-legion consular army with equivalent allied wings could expand its overall frontage by 200 to 400 meters, the equivalent frontage of 3,500 to 7,000 phalangites in standard array. One reason the Romans were able to fight outnumbered so consistently was the fact that a great deal of a Roman legion’s frontage was empty space.

Reserve Manpower The primary benefit of such an enormous pool of reservists has long been recognized: it allowed the Romans to suffer large losses and keep fighting. Th is feature of Roman military demography was most notably on display during the Pyrrhic War and the First and Second Punic Wars. Pyrrhus’s lieutenant Cineas allegedly compared the city’s freshly raised legions to the regenerating heads on the mythical hydra as the Republic raised fresh armies after suffering heavy losses at Heraclea and Asculum.11 Roughly 13,000 Roman troops were killed or captured during the failed invasion of Africa in 255 BCE; naval losses during the war likely exceeded 100,000 with the loss of

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700 warships (assuming that these were triremes with crews of 200, and that roughly a third of the crews of lost ships survived).12 Over 100,000 Roman and Italian soldiers were killed between 218 and 216. The reserve manpower was not bottomless. The Roman senate was sufficiently shaken after the Batt le of Asculum in 279 to consider a negotiated settlement with Pyrrhus before the famous intervention of Appius Claudius.13 Following the debacle at the Bagradas River in 255 BCE, the Romans did not manage to invade Africa again for another fi ft y years. The cautious Fabian strategy of 217 and 215 was itself driven by the need to conserve severely depleted manpower resources; even slaves, boys, and old men were mobilized into the legions and fleets in a series of extraordinary emergency mobilizations. Still, although Roman manpower reserves could be strained by massive casualties, they were extraordinary when compared with the human reserves of the Hellenistic kingdoms and their small core populations. Macedonian kings were forced to capitulate after a single bloody batt le wiped away a generation of Macedonian youth. The loss of 8,000 dead and 5,000 enslaved at Cynoscephalae would have proven a nasty defeat even for the Romans, but for the Macedonians it was an unmitigated demographic catastrophe on account of the much smaller population of Makedones (perhaps 100,000 adult males). The loss of 20,000 dead at Pydna was even more devastating and explains why Perseus fled and surrendered shortly afterward. Other states proved somewhat more resilient. Antiochus III suffered a crushing defeat at Thermopylae, with over 10,000 men killed or captured along with the savaging of his main fleet at the Batt le of Myonessus, where he lost 42 ships sunk or captured, with crews of approximately 14,000 men.14 Antiochus nonetheless prepared an enormous army to face down the Roman invaders. The carnage at Magnesia, supposedly 50,000 infantry and 3,000  cavalry, was a blow from which the king could not recover.15 Antiochus had suffered grave losses among one particularly critical demographic, the cleruchs in the phalanxes that had been enveloped and destroyed at Thermopylae and Magnesia. If we assume perhaps 35,000 of these were killed and captured in both batt les (e.g., 10,000 cut off at Thermopylae and ca. 25,000 when the main phalanx and Silver Shields were enveloped at Magnesia), then Antiochus had lost a substantial proportion of his total population of adult male cleruchs (the exact number unknown, but probably around 100,000), even if we acknowledge that non-cleruchs may have also served in the phalanx and been numbered among the casualties. Similarly, the Ptolemaic dynasty could suffer only a single setback involving its cleruch phalanx, a fact that no doubt explains why the defeat at Paneion effectively decided the Fift h

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Syrian War, although the sources do not preserve the extent of Ptolemaic losses.16 Carthage’s reserve of manpower was, however, far more robust than Rome’s Hellenistic rivals. In 210 BCE, as the tide of war swung against them, the Carthaginians suffered defeat after defeat and yet continued to fight on. In particular, they demonstrated a resilience from 204 to 202 that matched Rome’s from 218 to 216. These losses were mostly absorbed by foreign and Libyan troops, given the minimal deployment of Carthaginian citizens. The ability of Carthage to endure a string of defeats had as much to do with its political system as with the demography of North Africa. It is notable that both Carthage and Rome could endure defeats and casualties in a way that Philip V, Antiochus III, and Perseus could not. Demographics was certainly a key variable: Roman Italy and Carthaginian Africa provided a large manpower pool to both states. Another critical variable must be that Carthage and Rome were republics. When a king lost a batt le, especially with shocking casualties, he risked personal liability for the defeat. Sometimes subordinates could be saddled with blame: Antiochus III, despite a tenuous political position early in his reign, was able to survive a string of defeats in Mesopotamia infl icted by the rebel Molon mostly because subordinate generals were in charge. Perseus responded to the successful Roman invasion of Macedonia in 169 BCE by publicly humiliating two of his commanders and executing two others.17 But kings were expected to personally command large armies for critical campaigns, and the shame of a royal army’s defeat fell directly on the king himself. Strong kings might endure thanks to the standing bonds of loyalty between themselves and their subjects and the ongoing support of the court. The youthful Antiochus III was able to weather the stunning defeat at Raphia in part because he had recently exerted decisive control over his court by liquidating his enemies and elevating his supporters. The fact that he conducted successful military operations both before and after the batt le was also critical for containing the political fallout of this setback. The number of defeats that a Hellenistic king could suffer was nonetheless fi nite, and for Antiochus, Magnesia was the end of the line. Appian reports the dissent simmering in the Seleucid court after the defeat:18 The friends of Antiochus began to blame him for his rashness in quarreling with the Romans and for his want of skill and his bad judgment from the beginning. They blamed him for giving up the Chersonesus and Lysimacheia with their arms and apparatus without making any defense against the enemy and for leaving the Hellespont un-

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guarded when even the Romans would not have expected to force a passage easily. They accused him of his latest blunder in rendering the strongest part of his army useless by its cramped position and for putting his reliance on the promiscuous multitude of raw recruits rather than on men who had become skilled in military affairs by long training and had been hardened by many wars to the highest state of valor and endurance.

A king in such a situation faced enormous pressure to cut his losses through a negotiated sett lement. Republics, however, had mechanisms for dealing with military defeat and heavy losses without suffering a loss of legitimacy. For Carthage, one technique was to punish the general, sometimes by crucifi xion.19 For Rome, Nathan Rosenstein has noted how the cohesive senatorial aristocracy successfully managed to deflect blame from defeated commanders, assigning it to religious errors or ill-disciplined soldiers.20 Still, the fact that a disgraced general quickly rotated out to be replaced by a freshly elected successor allowed the Romans to quickly reboot their leadership. Note the observation in Plutarch after the consul P. Valerius Laevinus had suffered a bloody defeat against Pyrrhus at Heraclea: “We are told that Gaius Fabricius declared that it was not the Epirots who had conquered the Romans but Pyrrhus who had conquered Laevinus.”21 Jessica Clark has noted that the Romans in the third and second centuries BCE successfully crafted cultural narratives of defeat that allowed military disasters to be viewed as steps on the path toward eventual victory rather than as debacles requiring brute accountability.22 Ultimately for both Rome and Carthage it was the republican aspect of each state that allowed blame for defeats and casualties to be either nailed (sometimes literally in Carthage) upon a single aristocrat or diff used so broadly that the aristocratic political class as a whole was not implicated. Hellenistic kings precariously embodying the state and att ributing their rule over spear-won land to their personal military prowess did not have this luxury.

Strategic Manpower If the Romans seldom achieved numerical superiority in tactical deployments or even in the total manpower committed to a wider theater of operations, then to what extent can superior manpower resources be said to be a significant advantage over Rome’s foes? The most obvious answer is at the level of strategic manpower, namely the total number of soldiers who could be deployed throughout the Mediterranean, allowing Rome to con-

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duct multiple simultaneous operations: for example, in 190 BCE, the Romans deployed two legions in Spain, three in Italy, four in Cisalpine Gaul, two legions in Greece against the Aetolians, and two more in Asia Minor against Antiochus the Great. In all, the Romans mobilized approximately 175,000 men, more than double the roughly 80,000 men that Antiochus the Great was able to muster at the same time. Furthermore, Antiochus was able to produce such a mobilization only by drawing cleruchs and garrisons from across his kingdom, denuding the upper satrapies of troops and thus possibly contributing to the instability in the East that compelled his doomed intervention in 187.23 The Romans, meanwhile, were able to send four legions to the eastern Mediterranean in 190 without reducing substantial deployments in Spain, Cisalpine Gaul, and Italy. (Indeed, that year the deployment in Italy was increased by one legion.)24 Despite the overwhelming relative superiority of Roman strategic mobilizations, the maximum second-century BCE mobilization of roughly 175,000 Romans and Italians, even if supplemented by another 10,000 to 20,000 auxilia externa, was in fact a slim force with which to try to control the Mediterranean Basin. During the Principate, the maintenance of the pax Romana required permanent deployments of between 250,000 and 450,000 soldiers around the Mediterranean and its environs.25 Roman imperialism in the second century was therefore underresourced, despite the patent Roman advantage in manpower over peer rivals. Limits on Republican Roman strategic manpower may also explain the curious passivity of the senate in enduring a great deal of disobedience and many diplomatic slights, particularly from the East. At fi rst blush this passivity seems puzzling, given that obedience was central to the Roman understanding of empire, imperium, as the power of command.26 Yet Eastern states disobeyed Rome on numerous occasions in the second century BCE. A few examples will suffice. In 162, a Roman ambassador discovered that Seleucid kings had flagrantly ignored provisions in the Treaty of Apamea against maintaining a fleet and an elephant herd. Worse, a Roman legate was murdered shortly after hamstringing the elephants, supposedly by a citizen revolted by the spectacle.27 In previous instances, most notably negotiations with the Illyrians in 229, the murder of an ambassador had been mobilized as a casus belli.28 Here the patience of the senate proved infi nite: a murdered ambassador was not an issue worth the commitment of two to four legions; the murderer himself received clemency.29 In a similar case, the Romans had since the late 180s BCE ordered the Achaean League to respect the integrity of Sparta; despite a slew of Spartan embassies, the senate did nothing against the aggressive campaigns of

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Philopoemen.30 The only moment when Sparta was able to summon aid in the form of legions came in 148, and here it must not be coincidental that the Romans already had been forced to send a consular army to the East to deal with a Macedonian pretender; and with the legions already mobilized and deployed, the senate decided to address both problems simultaneously.31 Rome’s disinclination to annex and provincialize Macedonia in either 196 or 167 BCE was rooted in limitations on strategic manpower: the regular dispatch of an extra legion or two would have created a permanent additional strain on an already stressed manpower pool.32 Thus, Cato the Elder in one speech “Macedones liberos pronuntiavit quia tueri non poterant.”33 The annexation of Macedonia in 146 was a sign that the previous policy had failed but was also conceivable in manpower terms after reduced deployments in the late 160s and the 150s, facilitated by improving military conditions in Spain (temporarily) and Cisalpine Gaul (long-term).34 The inability to continuously sustain expeditionary deployments explains why both the Antigonids and the Ptolemies faltered in the struggle for eastern Mediterranean hegemony. The Ptolemies had an effective field army centered around a cleruch phalanx 25,000 strong. Such a force would have posed a real threat had it been deployed overseas against the Antigonids. But Ptolemaic kings were reluctant to deploy their cleruchs far outside Egypt (or risk mass slaughter in set-piece batt les), devoting most of their military resources to the routine oppression of the Nile peasantry. The Antigonids were likewise able to raise effective field armies, based around a phalanx of up to 25,000 ethnic Macedonians, but this cadre was insufficient to support large-scale overseas deployments. Macedonian kings needed to hold most of their strength back in Macedonia to defend the northern frontiers against Balkan peoples. Furthermore, the citizen ethos of the Antigonid phalangite, who desired to return home for the winter, may have proved a political hindrance to extended expeditionary deployments. The Seleucids were the only Hellenistic kingdom with sufficient manpower, in the form of both cleruchs and native troops, to manage parallel strategic deployments. In the 220s BCE, Antiochus III dispatched an army commanded by his relative Achaeus against Attalus I and a second army against the pretender Molon while he himself personally led a fresh assault against Koilē Syria. The result was a spectacular failure: Achaeus revolted and proclaimed himself king; Molon trounced Antiochus’s general Xenoitas, and the king himself made no progress. Seleucid manpower was robust enough to support such parallel deployments, but the Seleucid political system was not. Generals entrusted to command independent armies alternatively were potential pretenders (as was Achaeus) or lacked the charisma and legitimacy of the monarch to command effectively (thus Xenoitas). It is notable that Molon’s revolt ended only when Antiochus III personally marched

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against him, at which point the pretender’s troops deserted in mass, starting in the part of the batt lefield graced by Antiochus’s presence.35 Antiochus ultimately found a rare combination of loyalty and competence in Zeuxis, who served for nearly two decades as the viceroy of Asia Minor. But the cultural imperatives of Hellenistic monarchy meant that the Seleucids tended to concentrate their forces into gargantuan field armies personally led by the king, who commanded the preponderance of mobilized soldiers apart from scattered garrisons. Th is design could bring overwhelming force to bear at a single point but strategically complicated the project of controlling such a farflung realm, requiring an energetic king who could maintain himself in a state of perpetual motion across his realm, moving from one hot spot to the next with his royal army. The Romans, by contrast, combined an extraordinarily large military mobilization with a republican system that allowed for multiple aristocratic commanders, active or prorogued magistrates, to operate simultaneously in different theaters.

M e dit er r a n e a n Fi na nce Revenue and Military Success Let us consider the estimated annual revenues for each major power, converted for the sake of comparison into Att ic drachmas (4.3 g silver) and with the figures for Rome (the denarius equals 3.9 g) and the Ptolemaic kingdom (drachma at 3.6 g) adjusted accordingly. It is striking how disconnected these numbers are from the overarching military narrative of the period. The two wealthiest states, the Ptolemaic and Seleucid empires, suffered steep declines in the second century BCE. The modestly resourced competitors, Rome and Carthage, in fact raised the largest armies. If we remove Rome and Carthage, then the revenues of the three Hellenistic dynasties correspond more closely to the known geopolitical outcomes. The close equivalence in the maximum revenues of the Ptolemies and Seleucids, for example, corresponds with the reciprocating nature of the Syrian Wars, suggesting two powers roughly equal in strength. Macedonia comes across as by far the weakest of the Hellenistic kingdoms here, with Antigonid kings substantially poorer than their counterparts in Antioch and Alexandria; this disparity would predict that the least-resourced dynasty would be the fi rst to fall. Even so, Macedonia’s revenues were within the same general magnitude as those of Rome and Carthage, the two most militarily powerful states in the Mediterranean. (See table 5.3.) For much of the third century BCE, it is doubtful that Roman state revenues much exceeded the equivalent of 4 to 5 million denarii (which would have been issued in the crude system of libral asses), the lowest revenues by

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Ta bl e 5 .3. A n n ua l r e v e n u e s i n a com pa r at i v e f r a m e wor k , 2 60s–157 BCE

Power Rome Carthage Seleucid Empire Ptolemaic Empire Macedonia

Period BCE

Revenues p.a. a

200–157 199–191 190 260s ca. 196–168

12 8 50 75 8

Note: p.a., per annum. a In millions of Att ic drachmas.

far among any of the five great powers. Average revenues increased perhaps threefold with Rome’s rise toward hegemony in the second century. Nonetheless, even during the second century, Rome was never fiscally dominant. Rome in victory does not seem to have had revenues very much higher than Carthage or Macedonia in defeat. Rome was admittedly better situated for military success than the comparative framework above indicates. In particular, the cost per soldier was radically lower for the Roman Republic than it was for its Hellenistic counterparts. Military pay for an infantryman in the eastern Mediterranean seems to have hovered around 1 drachma per day, at a time when the Roman infantryman was paid less than 2 obols (3 sextantal asses). More important, the Italian allies were paid by their home communities (essentially a form of indirect taxation, which I have not counted in the figure), further lowering Rome’s military expenditures. Factoring in the purchasing-power parity of each power dramatically increases Rome’s fiscal advantage. Table 5.4 provides some perspective by listing the number of infantrymen who could be paid by the powers’ peak estimated revenues. I have excluded Carthage, for which no evidence of military pay exists. I also consider the fact that Rome obtained the services of its allies for only the cost of rations (ca. 30 denarii per soldier per annum by my estimates). I have therefore assumed that the average cost to the Roman state of keeping a Roman or Italian soldier in the field (here assuming a 2:3 Roman-to-Italian ratio) was in fact around 60 denarii a year. The Seleucid and Ptolemaic dynasties should have been able to pay roughly 150,000 infantry salaries per annum. Despite their fiscal resources, neither dynasty managed to mobilize significantly more than 80,000 troops, well under half the number they could in theory have afforded to pay. The maximum

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Roman mobilization, some 185,000, was in fact quite close to the theoretical maximum based on the Roman state’s fi scal capacity. The maximum attested Macedonian mobilization of about 50,000 troops also corresponds to the theoretical maximum suggested by its fiscal capacity. (The actual maximum is larger, because the force was partly funded by spending down cash reserves.) These facts reflect different priorities in spending, with the Romans and Macedonians devoting more of their resources to funding military operations, whereas the Ptolemies and Seleucids directed a greater proportion of their revenues toward nonmilitary expenditures.

Court and Army In 217 BCE Carthage fielded an army of upward of 165,000 men. In 212, the Romans may have fielded as many as 185,000. Each republic managed to raise an army easily twice the size of the forces (ca. 80,000 strong) mustered by the two richest Hellenistic dynasties, the Seleucids and the Ptolemies: both these states had revenues in excess of 50 million drachmas. One fundamental variable between the two sets of powers was that Rome and Carthage were republics, whereas the Seleucids and the Ptolemies were monarchies. The 2010s saw significant work on the Hellenistic royal court, most of it examining the court as a social, cultural, and political institution.36 But it was also a mechanism for the mass distribution of resources, especially money, to the elites whose collaboration was a prerequisite to rule. Furthermore, it was essential for Hellenistic kings to live in a sort of splendor that readily set them aside from even their wealthiest courtiers. Tryphē, luxurious living, was a royal virtue.37 Although it is difficult to quantify, royal sumptuary display was undoubtedly expensive and competed with military expen-

Ta bl e 5 .4. N u m be r of i n fa n t ry m e n w ho cou l d be pa i d w it h pe a k r e v e n u e s, 2 60s–16 7 BCE

Power Rome Ptolemaic Empire Seleucid Empire Macedonia

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Infantrymen per max revenue 215,000 160,000 140,000 35, 000

Revenues (date range)

Infantry pay rate

13 million (200–157) 88 million (260s) 50 million (190)  8 million (196–168)

3 asses/rations for allies 9 obols (Ptolemaic) 6 obols (Att ic) 4 obols (Att ic)

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diture for a share of the total state budget. Indeed, kings seem to have found themselves unable to cut back on sumptuary displays during wartime, if only because in moments of political stress they relied even more on the support of the courtly elite. Royal euergetism (which was in effect a courtly cost) was also closely linked to the Hellenistic alliance system, as major powers were expected to provide benefits to junior allies, ranging from the competitive rush to rebuild Rhodes after the earthquake of 226 BCE to Antiochus IV’s patronage of the Temple of Olympian Zeus in Athens. Rome proved adept at many Hellenistic diplomatic forms, but it never indulged in lavish spending on subaltern allies aside from minor dedications to sanctuaries. Macedonia was an outlier among the Hellenistic kingdoms in that it seems to have been more austere in its nonmilitary spending. Macedonian kings did not found magnificent cultural institutions like the libraries in Alexandria and Antioch; nor did they organize the sort of lavish processions that paraded through the streets of Alexandria and Daphne. The relatively modest revenues of the Antigonid kings, who controlled far less territory than their Seleucid and Ptolemaic counterparts, forced them to devote the bulk of their fiscal resources to military outlay. But the Antigonid dynasty also had an advantage over its two Hellenistic counterparts, as its legitimacy did not rest on the concept of spear-won land but rested on the foundation of ethnic kingship, a Macedonian king ruling the traditional kingdom of the Macedonians. The Ptolemies and the Seleucids, with the far more fragile legitimacy of conquerors, had to spend a great deal of money to simultaneously purchase the loyalty of their court and overawe their subjects with their wealth.

Republics and Austerity Rome and Carthage were both militarily powerful states that nonetheless enjoyed revenues far lower than the Seleucid or Ptolemaic kingdoms. One reason for the lower revenues may be that republics were less likely to pursue strategies of predatory rule to their logical conclusion by seeking to maximize revenues, as James Tan has noted with respect to Middle Republican Rome.38 Although Roman voters had no say in sett ing tributum (this was a decision taken by the Roman senate), Roman aristocrats faced popular pressure to keep taxation as low as possible. Furthermore, Tan emphasizes that the dynamics of aristocratic competition also saw Rome place limits on external revenues, in part to prevent the lucky few aristocrats who obtained the highest offices (especially, in Rome, the censorship) from aggrandizing themselves through public spending. Roman spending on public works was robust in the early second century BCE (a marked downturn in public build-

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ing projects at Rome occurred after the 140s), but even so, I estimate that public-works spending was only 10 percent of military outlay. In Carthage too, Hannibal’s reforms to maximize internal revenues in the 190s were met with hostility from the aristocratic class, and Hannibal himself was swift ly exiled. Ultimately, republics had internal constraints on nonmilitary spending to reduce aristocratic competition and electoral mechanisms that provided citizen populations with the means to negotiate levels of taxation. In contrast, the political position of Hellenistic kings required them to spend sums on courtly expenditures that rivaled their military outlays. Hellenistic kings inhabited a political system that facilitated and rewarded predatory revenue maximization, whereas political structures in Rome and Carthage served to keep revenues low. It is notable that in both republics, revenue maximization was the act of a potentially dangerous dynast, whether Hannibal in his controversial tenure as sofet or Pompey and Caesar pouring revenues from Syria and Gaul into the treasury during the Late Republic.39

Taxation versus Conscription Constitutional differences therefore explain some of the disconnect between manpower and fi nance. But beyond the distinction between republican and monarchic political systems, the modality of extraction was of fundamental importance. In particular, did states seek to exploit subject populations primarily through taxation, or through conscription? All states engaged in a combination of both, but it mattered how much emphasis a state placed on one modality of extraction as opposed to the other. During this period, states that emphasized conscription performed markedly better in military confl icts than those that emphasized taxation. Rome was the conscription state par excellence. Rather than disarming and taxing their Italian subjects, the Romans instead imposed no direct taxes on their socii and required armed contingents. Arguably, this represented a mode of backdoor taxation, as these contingents were paid by home communities levying local taxes to pay their cohorts. Still, given that the Romans provisioned allied contingents, the overall tax burden of keeping Italian contingents in the field would have been much lower to the taxpayers in Italian communities than it was to Roman citizens. By forgoing taxation in favor of conscription, Rome was able to achieve the largest mobilization in the Mediterranean at lower costs. The Roman state consequently was poor as compared with peer rivals, but this poverty was irrelevant as the numerically superior mass mobilization of citizens and Italians allowed the Romans to achieve military dominance.

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The taxation state par excellence was Ptolemaic Egypt. Although the Ptolemies conscripted troops from a small pool of privileged military sett lers (mostly of northern Aegean origin) and even drafted sailors and paramilitary forces from among the native Egyptians, most of the population under Ptolemaic control, especially the roughly 3 or 4 million peasants who cultivated the Nile floodlands, were largely demilitarized and heavily taxed, many of them paying more than 50 percent of their agricultural surplus to the royal treasury. Likewise, the Seleucid dynasty mobilized only a small portion of its large population, although it did make heavier use of native contingents than the Ptolemaic dynasty. Still, it largely exploited subject populations for taxation, drawing roughly half its military manpower from a small pool of military sett lers. In theory, states focusing on taxation could simply take their ample revenues and hire mercenaries. Certainly, the Hellenistic period was a golden age for mercenary service.40 But the conversion of money into mercenaries was not effortless. The labor market for mercenaries was fi nite, and going to war effectively doubled the demand, as both sides tried to hire as many mercenaries as possible. Th is dynamic posed a grave problem to states that emphasized taxation: once they had mobilized their small pool of cultivated military sett lers, it was hard to fi nd enough mercenaries to adequately supplement them. Ptolemy IV, for example, had plenty of money in 217 BCE as he faced down the existential threat of Antiochus III’s invasion. His government tried to hire every mercenary that it could. Antiochus, however, was simultaneously in the process of doing the same. Meanwhile, the Social War between Aetolia and Macedon would have also driven up demand for mercenary service, while also limiting the supply as Achaeans and Aetolians fought for their native communities. It is possible that the Second Punic War may also have further increased the demand for Aegean mercenaries, especially by Carthage and Syracuse. The excess demand would likely have produced a dynamic of shortage right when Ptolemy needed troops the most. Once the fi nite number of mercenaries had been hired, it was no longer possible for the Ptolemaic government to transform tax revenues into military power, forcing Ptolemy instead to arm his Egyptian peasants to fight as pikemen. Similarly, Antiochus the Great still had millions of drachmas in cash on hand after Magnesia, but this treasure did him litt le good after tens of thousands of his fi nite pool of military sett lers had been killed in batt le. Antiochus III instead used his cash to buy peace, with a down payment of 18 million drachmas on his war indemnity to Rome. Macedonia, unlike its Hellenistic peer kingdoms, was a conscription state. It collected some revenues from its Aegean domains but relied mostly on internal income from modest taxation of the Macedonian population coupled

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with revenues from natural resource extraction, especially its silver mines. With constrained fiscal resources, Macedonia’s position as an international power rested on the ability of its kings to recruit armies based on mass mobilizations of the deeply militarized Macedonian peasantry. Antigonid Macedonia, as we have seen, had the smallest maximum mobilization of any of the great powers. But without an intensive conscription regime and the high caliber of military readiness that such routine service would have instilled in its citizen body, Macedonia could not have been a great power to begin with. Indeed, there is litt le need to imagine what Macedonia would have looked like without a conscription regime, because we have only to examine the Macedonian state prior to Philip II, the weak entity seen in cameos in Herodotus and Thucydides perched on the fringe of the Greek world, far inferior in power to the large poleis of Greece and certainly no match for the Achaemenid Empire. Military reforms by Philip II, including the institution of a mass infantry levy and the development of pike phalanx tactics, not only allowed Macedonia to conquer Achaemenid Persia (admittedly a freak event) but also ensured that the reconstituted Antigonid state remained a competitor in the Hellenistic period despite a dramatically smaller resource base than its peer rivals’. Indeed, the maximum mobilization of Macedonian citizens (29,000) compared favorably with the maximum attested number of cleruchs mobilized by the Ptolemies (40,000) or Seleucids (28,000), even if the Macedonian king was in every other way significantly underresourced compared with his royal peers. A relative poverty in resources well accounts for why Macedonia was the fi rst of the Hellenistic kingdoms to fall, but intensive conscription explains why Macedonia remained a force to be reckoned with, at least within its traditional regional sphere of influence, in the Balkans and the northern Aegean. Carthage swapped strategies over time. During the First Punic War, Carthage expended tribute revenue to hire mercenaries to fight in Sicily and Africa. The failure of this strategy was evident during the Truceless War, when a bankrupt Carthage was nearly annihilated by mutinous mercenaries joined by rebellious Libyan subjects. The campaigns of Hamilcar, Hasdrubal, and Hannibal Barca in the Iberian Peninsula created a new conscription regime situated in the conquered areas of Spain. While Iberian tribes were exploited to a degree for taxes and supplies, and Iberian mines proved a critical source of silver, the dominant modality of Carthaginian extraction in Iberia was to siphon tens of thousands of militarily competent young men into Carthaginian armies. Meanwhile, Carthaginian diplomatic strategy toward the semisovereign tribes of Numidia aimed at ensuring military cooperation rather than seeking to subject them for the purpose of tributary exploitation, at the same time also draft ing Libyan subjects, who had a reputation

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as the best troops in the Carthaginian army. Th is new conscription strategy enabled Carthage to mount enormous armies during the Second Punic War and come exceedingly close to defeating Rome. There were risks to relying on conscription, as it kept subaltern populations heavily armed and militarized, fully in a position to revolt against grievances or even switch sides in a confl ict. The defection of a number of Rome’s socii during the Second Punic War (and again during the Social War of 91–88 BCE) is a case in point. But mercenaries could also mutiny (thus Carthage), as could military sett lers (e.g., the revolt of Cyrrhus against Antiochus the Great), various types of half-citizens (e.g., Campanians), and even citizen troops themselves (e.g., Scipio’s mutinous troops in Spain, in 206). On the whole, maintaining a large internal pool of militarily competent if undertaxed manpower proved the most effective exploitation strategy in the third and second centuries. It is perhaps not surprising that during intensive hegemonic warfare, conscription proved the modality of extraction most positively linked to military success. But it also suggests that in such instances, money was far less one of the “sinews of war” than may be expected.41

Rome: A State of Exception A central question in the history of the Roman Republic is to what extent Rome should simply be seen as a typical ancient polity, or whether Rome was an exceptional state. Arthur Eckstein, while insisting that its war motives were unexceptionally driven by the strictures of the anarchic geopolitical environment, believes that Rome was exceptional in its social organization, as a republic with a large citizen body and a largely open social structure.42 From the perspective of manpower and fi nance, Rome certainly emerges as exception. The conclusion that Rome was exceptional in having the largest military deployment of any contemporary state is uncontroversial to the point of banality. A perhaps more novel assertion of Roman exceptionalism is its capacity to project this power with fiscal revenues altogether on the low end of the range of income available to its peer rivals. Critically, Rome was a republic, a fact that puts it in the minority among Mediterranean peer rivals, and a feature that is even rarer in premodern imperial polities.43 Being a republic brought Rome extraordinary advantages over the Hellenistic dynasties (advantages that also accrued in part to Carthage as well). To muster another of Michael Mann’s schematic topologies of state power, ancient republics had infrastructural power, the “logistics of political control” allowing states to penetrate and organize their civil societies in contrast to more blunt and britt le despotic power operating through brute coercion.44 Al-

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though certainly Hellenistic kingdoms developed their own infrastructural power (colonies, bureaucracy, ruler cult, etc.), their infrastructural penetration was less, because they were in both self-presentation and practice military autocracies. Republican systems, by curtailing a great deal of the state’s despotic potential (e.g., by Roman provocatio), required infrastructural solutions. For Republican Rome, these solutions included physical infrastructure, especially the Italian road system and a new colonial landscape. Parallel to physical developments was a new legal infrastructure, with various graded categories of legal status (cives, Latins, socii), the reconfiguration of conquered land into ager publicus, and the development of civil law.45 Undergirding the entire system were political, military, and administrative infrastructures, such as the apportioning of citizens into tribes for purposes of taxation, conscription, and voting; the career path for aristocratic magistrates; and even the routinized tactical structures of the manipular legion.46 Republican governance in of itself embodied a major infrastructural advantage, facilitating political communication and negotiation between masses and elites and reaffi rming the legitimacy of the aristocratic political class with repeated votes of the Roman people.47 Th is infrastructure ultimately allowed the Roman state to a. incorporate an exceptionally large citizen body into a republican city-state; b. engage in the mass mobilization of citizens and socii, superior to rivals; c. pay citizen troops at a lower rate compared with peer rivals; d. endure military defeats and demographically significant casualties; and e. maintain the state on a war footing on a continual basis over generations.

These were things that no Hellenistic king was capable of doing, with the occasional exception of the last enumerated: for example, as the Seleucid kingdom was able to do in the reign of Antiochus III. Carthage, as a republic, likely had greater infrastructural power than did Hellenistic kingdoms, allowing it to engage in mass recruitments of subject peoples in Libya and Iberia and to endure both repeated military defeats and heavy casualties. Carthage was also capable of long-term deployments during the First and Second Punic Wars, although the peak deployments of more than 150,000 soldiers were achieved only briefly, around 215 BCE, whereas Rome fielded more than 150,000 soldiers during thirteen of the years between 218 and 201. We know less about the specifics of Carthaginian infrastructural power, but there is

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reason to believe that overall it was inferior to Rome’s. The size of Carthage’s citizen body was likely much smaller than Rome’s, probably more like that of classical Athens. The infrastructural mechanisms that secured much of Carthage’s subject manpower often hinged on personal relationships with Carthaginian aristocrats, including marriage alliances, combined with more despotic techniques such as hostage taking, and were less vigorous and more ephemeral than Roman methods. Indeed, the primary conclusion of this quantitative study of manpower and fi nance, in particular the Roman capacity to produce extensive mobilizations on a modest budget, is ultimately that the Middle Republican state apparatus itself was comparatively (and qualitatively) robust and resilient compared with its peer rivals’. The Middle Republican state was a sophisticated and subtle engine of resource extraction and deployment with, by contemporary standards, extraordinarily high infrastructural capacity. If it had not been, the course of Mediterranean geopolitical history could have been very different. The Romans themselves lacked a scientific vocabulary to describe the complexity of their state apparatus. What Mann jargonizes as “infrastructural power,” and a Greek observer such as Polybius might analyze as a politeia, the Romans described with the vague, unanalytic, and normatively inflected catchall of mores, roughly “customs” or “manners,” often framed in conservative terms as mores maiorum even when describing recent innovations. In many ways, however, Ennius was not wrong to suggest “moribus antiquis res stat Romana virisque.”48

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A p p e n di x

A Note on Ancient Demography

The past generation has seen a revolution in the application of modern demographic methodologies to study ancient populations. Life tables compiled in modern times are often used in these reconstructions, with variants of the Coale-Demeny Model West, based on historical data from early modern Europe, being the most commonly deployed.1 The only surviving ancient life table, Ulpian’s actuarial formula, suggests that ancient populations might be crudely modeled by modern life tables, although with great uncertainty and plenty of caveats.2 One risk of applying life tables to ancient populations, however, is that they seem to offer scientific precision to a project where none can possibly exist. Take, for example, our appendix table 1, a breakdown of age groups for males. These seemingly precise figures shift somewhat according to the life expectancy (the levels 1–5 in the Coale-Demeny simulation account for different estimates of life expectancy), rates of infant mortality, combat mortality for young men, and a variety of other factors. As such, these seemingly precise figures should, when mobilized for the purposes of ancient demography, be taken as only very crude rules of thumb. For the purposes of this project, my crude rules of thumb are as follows: 1. Men over the age of 17 accounted for roughly 65 percent of the total male population. 2. Men aged 17 to 45 (iuniores in Rome) constituted 70 percent of the total adult male population. 3. Men aged 17 to 35 constituted roughly 45 percent of all adult males (or roughly a quarter of the population). 4. The sex ratio of the entire population was 1:1. The actual ratio would have fluctuated based on batt le deaths for men (a significant factor during this period) and deaths in childbirth for women. Men over the age of 17 can therefore be assumed to have made up roughly a third of the total population. Using different demographic models and assumptions will produce slightly different results but will not significantly affect the general magnitudes of the figures.

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A ppe n di x Ta bl e 1. Post u l at e d pr e mode r n m a l e age grou ps

Age  1–16 17–19 20–24 25–39 30–34 35–39 40–44 45–49 50–54 55+ Total

Percentage of all males  37.6   5.67   8.81   8.1   7.36   6.62   5.91   5.22   4.52  10.73 100a

Note: Table based on a Coale-Demeny Model West life table level 3, r (i.e., population growth) = 0. a On account of rounding, figures add up to slightly more than 100 percent.

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Notes

I n t roduct ion 1. Abbreviations follow Simon Hornblower, Anthony Spawforth, and Esther Eidinow, eds., The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 4th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). Unless noted otherwise, translations are from or after the Loeb Classical Library, fi rst edition, sometimes with modifications for accuracy, clarity, or editorial styling. 2. Polyb. 2.24.1–17. 3. Potter 2015. 4. Cic. Leg. 3.41: “How many soldiers it has; how much the treasury is worth; those the republic holds as allies, as friends, as tributary subjects; and how each is bound by law, status, or treaty” (my translation). 5. Military-tributary complexes: Colas 2007:52; Noreña 2009:106; Bang 2015; Scheidel 2015:201. 6. Eckstein 2006. 7. E.g., Harris 1979 on Roman war motives, with comparative treatment in Eckstein 2006. 8. Mann 1986:11; see Whitmeyer 1997 for discussion and critique. 9. Polyb. 6.52.4–7. 10. For lesser powers, see Berthold 1984 (Rhodes), Cartledge 1989 (Sparta), Habicht 1997 (Athens), Scholten 2000 (Aetolia), Mackil 2013 (federal leagues), and Thonemann 2013 (Att alid Pergamon). Chaniotis 2005 examines warfare in the Hellenistic world largely from the perspective of poleis operating in the shadow of the great powers. 11. Livy 37.18. 12. Jerome, Commentary on Daniel 11.24. Th is coronation has been doubted altogether, and the exact timing (fi rst or second Egyptian campaign) is unclear. See Mittag 2006:173 for discussion. 13. For a history of the dynasty, see the still very readable narrative of Bevan

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Notes to Pages 4–9

1927, as well as the overview of Hölbl 2001 and analysis in Manning 2010. For Ptolemaic possessions outside Egypt, see Bagnall 1976. 14. Kosmin 2014. 15. Grainger 1990; Coloru 2013; Kosmin 2014:183–221. 16. Kosmin 2014:1–121. 17. Ma 2000a for Antiochus the Great’s activity in the area, for which rich epigraphic evidence survives. 18. For the Macedonian kingdom, see Hammond and Walbank 1972 and the relevant contributions in Roisman and Worthington 2010 and Fox 2011. 19. Polyb. 2.70. 20. Fetters: Polyb. 18.45.6, who also lists Oreus on Eretria as another strategic point. Cf. App. Mac. 2. 21. For the so-called confl ict of the orders, see the contributions in Raaflaub 1986. 22. Hölkeskamp 1993. 23. For two takes on the history of early Rome, see Cornell 1995 (largely accepting the literary tradition) and Forsythe 2006 (more critical of tradition but with his own hypothetical reconstructions). The scholarship on the political character of the Roman Republic and the balance between democracy and oligarchy in its mixed constitution has been vast and vigorous; Mouritsen 2017 provides an overview, with extensive bibliography. 24. For the Roman army of the Middle Republic, see Sekunda 1996 and Potter 2004. For manipular tactics in the Middle Republic, see M. Taylor 2014a; McCall 2020. For the origins of the manipular system, see M. Taylor 2020. 25. Polyb. 1.6.6: τότε πρῶτον ἐπὶ τὰ λοιπὰ μέρη τῆς Ἰταλίας ὥρμησαν, οὐχ ὡς ὑπὲρ ὀθνείων, ἐπὶ δὲ τὸ πλεῖον ὡς ὑπὲρ ἰδίων ἤδη καὶ καθηκόντων σφίσι πολεμήσοντες. See Scopacasa 2019:62–63. 26. The notion that all Latin communities universally possessed commercium and conubium has been challenged by Roselaar (2012 [commercium], 2013 [conubium]), although she suggests that Latin colonists may have retained these privileges when they migrated. 27. Vell. 1.14.6–7. 28. On Roman citizenship, see A. N. Sherwin-White 1973. 29. All Latins present were assigned to a single voting tribe by lot, diluting their influence: Livy 25.3.16. 30. Kent 2019. 31. Adams 2008:91–102. 32. Livy, Per. 14; Dio Cass. Frag. 41; Dion. Hal. 20.14.1–2; Val. Max. 4.3.9; Just. Epit. 18.2.9. 33. Polyb. 3.25. 34. Genocide in Gaul: see Gaca 2008 for the meaning of anthropodismos in Appian. See Bellen 1985 for the metus Gallicus, no doubt overhyped to the Roman advantage (Rosenberger 2003), but also reflecting Gallic groups as formidable opponents. 35. Livy, Per. 20.7; Brennan 2000:91–99. Prag 2013.

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36. The literature on Roman policy in the East during this period is vast; see, e.g., Badian 1972; Derow 1979, 2014; Gruen 1984; Eckstein 2008; Burton 2016. 37. Westhall 2011. 38. Suet. Claud. 25.3, on the assumption that the Seleucus in question is Seleucus III, who campaigned in northwest Asia Minor from 225 to 223 BCE. Th is contact is not universally accepted, and the fi rst Romano-Seleucid diplomatic contact may have been under Antiochus III; see Coşkun 2019. 39. Arist. Pol. 2.1272b–2.1273b for Carthage in the fourth century BCE, although he seems to think the shofets are kings rather than elected magistrates, perhaps forcing comparisons with Sparta. Hoyos 2010 provides an accessible overview of Carthaginian governance and institutions; more detail is provided in Ameling 1993. Overviews of Carthaginian history include Huss 1985 and Lancel 1997. For an evaluation of Carthaginian imperialism from a strictly archaeological perspective, see Pilkington 2019. 40. Whitt aker (1979) on fourth-century BCE Carthaginian activities, which he views as less unilateral and hegemonic than third-century BCE endeavors. Pilkington (2019:102) suggests that the Sicilian expedition was likely a turning point in Carthage’s imperial trajectory, allowing Carthage to expand in the vacuum created by the violence. 41. Diod. Sic. 24.10, seemingly taking place before 247 BCE from the arrangement of the Constantinian fragments; cf. Polyb. 1.73.1. See Hoyos 2007a:16–18 for discussion. 42. On the so-called Altars of Philaeni, see Sall. Iug. 79; Quinn 2014. 43. Polyb. 7.9. 44. Eckstein 2008. 45. Polyb. 29.27.1–13. 46. For a military history of the First Punic War, see Lazenby 1996, and the relevant companion articles in Hoyos 2011. Hoyos 2015 provides a competent and compact narrative of all three confl icts. 47. For the Mercenary or Truceless War, see Hoyos 2007a. 48. For a military history of the Second Punic War, see Lazenby 1978, as well as the contributions in Hoyos 2011. 49. On the batt le, see Daly 2002. 50. For the discovery of the Baecula batt lefield, see Bellón et al. 2016. Scullard 1970, although somewhat dated, remains the most thorough scholarly examination of Scipio Africanus. 51. On the Batt le of Zama, see M. Taylor 2019a. 52. Polyb. 38.22.1–3; App. Pun. 132. 53. Rich 1984 on Roman commitment and aggression during the war. 54. Eckstein 2008:119–180 for renewed emphasis that the Pact between the Kings was a major Roman war motive. 55. On the campaign and batt le, see Hammond 1984, although I do not agree with his location of the batt lefield. More compelling is the identification by Morton 2017:361.

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56. On the confl ict, see Burton 2017. 57. For the campaign and batt le, see Hammond 1988. 58. For the Romano-Syrian War, see Grainger 2002. 59. M. Taylor 2016a discusses the importance of the Att alid cavalry at the fi nal batt le. 60. Grainger 2010 for a narrative history of the Syrian Wars. 61. Ptolemaic successes: Jerome, Commentary on Daniel 11.7–9; App. Syr. 65; BCHP 11; Ptolemaic propaganda (OGIS 54, echoed by Polyaenus, Strat. 8.50) implausibly claimed that Ptolemy III conquered the entire Seleucid realm. 62. Disturbances in Egypt: Just. 27.1. Coşkun (2018:232) argues that Ptolemy’s withdrawal occurred after he was defeated in Mesopotamia in an otherwise unattested batt le, this being the “Lovely Victory” of Seleucus II’s nickname, Kallinikos. Coşkun also proposes a plausible alternative chronology of the Th ird Syrian War and War of the Brothers, suggesting that these occurred simultaneously. 63. On the Batt le of Raphia, Bar Kochva 1976:118–141; Galili 1976–1977. 64. Hammond and Walbank 1988:597–600 for the dates of these batt les; accepted by Reger 1994; see also Tarn 1909. 65. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 1.4. 66. The standard commentary remains Walbank 1957–1967 (3 vols.). Useful monographs on the historian include Walbank 1972; Eckstein 1995; Champion 2004; Baronowski 2011; and Derow 2014. 67. Friendship with Scipio Aemilianus: Polyb. 31.23–24. Gaius Laelius as an oral source: Polyb. 10.3.2–3. Masinissa as an oral source: Polyb. 9.24.2. Interaction with Cato: Plut. Cat. Mai. 9.3. 68. Polyb. 31.11–12. See Edson 1958 for an overview of literary sources for the Seleucid Empire. 69. Polyb. 3.26.1 for research among the records of the Temple of Jupiter. Polyb. 10.9.3 implies that Polybius had access to internal records maintained by the Scipios. 70. Fabius Pictor as a source: Polyb. 1.58.5; 3.8.1, 8. The prickly Polybius usually informs us he has used a source through trenchant criticism: for example, Sosylus as a “barbershop gossip” (3.20.5) as well as extended rants against Timaeus (12.3– 16, 23–28) and Zeno (16.14–20). His criticism of Phylarchus and Pictor, namely that they are biased toward the Carthaginians and Romans, respectively, is mild in comparison. 71. For a commentary on the third and fourth decades, see Briscoe 1981, 2008, 2012. 72. Rich 2005, 2011. 73. CIL 1.2. Kondratieff 2004:14–15. 74. See Monson 2007 for a Ptolemaic land register. 75. Property records: Wells 1934: no. 18; Military muster rolls: OGIS 229:45 (καταλοχισμός). 76. Polyb. 23.14.8; Diod. Sic. 29.21.1; Livy 38.55.10–12; Val. Max. 3.7.1; Gell. 4.18.9–12. 77. Plut. Ti. Gracch. 6.2–3.

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Notes to Pages 25–32

Ch a p t e r 1: Rom a n M a n pow e r 1. Livy 21.17.2. 2. Even the consular armies of that year had that strength, with their combined infantry at Trebia numbering 16,000 (Polyb. 3.72.11). On Roman infantry in batt le, see Zhmodikov 2000; Sabin 2000; M. Taylor 2014a, 2014–2015. On Roman cavalry, see McCall 2002. 3. Polyb. 3.107.11; Livy 22.36.4 (who is unsure of the number but reports Polybius’s figure as one option, 87,200, which assumes eight legions of 5,000 infantry and 300 cavalry and eight alae of 5,000 infantry and 600 cavalry. The ratio of Romans to allies at Cannae was 1:1 infantry and 1:2 cavalry, per Polybius and Livy, but I assume below that the ratio of allies to Romans in other armies was 3:2 for both cavalry and infantry. 4. Polyb. 10.6.7 (3,000 infantry and 500 cavalry with M. Silenus) and 10.7.6 (25,000 infantry and 2,500 cavalry). 5. Livy 27.26.12. 6. Livy 27.9.1–6. 7. Brunt 1971:679–80. 8. Brunt (1971:673) notes that Livy’s three reports for the strength of Scipio’s legions (29.25.1–2) can be elegantly reconciled: the 10,000 represents a sloppy annalist who knew that Scipio had two consular legions, assigned each a strength of 5,000 men, and forgot to add in the allies. The correct magnitude, 16,000, assumes two legions with allied wings at a strength of 4,000 men. The figure of 35,000 perhaps includes Masinissa’s 10,000 men, perhaps also imagining 6,000-strong legions and wings. App. Syr. 41 gives Scipio 23,000 infantry, but this most likely reflects the ca. 17,000 Romans in two standard-strength 4,200-man consular legions with matching wings, combined with the 6,000 Numidian light infantry provided by Masinissa. 9. Flamininus had 26,000 troops at Cynoscephalae (Plut. Flam. 7.3), of which 6,400 were Aetolians, 1,200 Athamanians, and 800 Cretans/Apollonians (Livy 33.3.9–10). Th is leaves ca. 17,500 Romans and Italians, which should reflect legions roughly 4,200 strong. 10. App. Syr. 17. 11. Livy 37.39.7. 12. Livy 43.12.4, 44.21.8. 13. Polyb. 2.24. 14. Brunt 1971:44–45; Baronowski 1993:183–185. Erdkamp 2008 emphasizes that the numbers are designed to impress a Greek audience, which should not necessarily impugn their basic accuracy, although it may at times explain some of the clumsiness of the ethnic groupings, as the notion of a grand coalition against a barbarian invasion had currency in Greek historiography. 15. Census of 234 BCE: Livy, Per. 20.15. 16. Brunt 1971:54 for the original figures. 17. DeLigt 2012:40–78, whose conclusions are largely accepted here.

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Notes to Pages 33–45

18. Figures to be read as part of a tumultus Gallicus: Toynbee 1965:438; DeLigt 2012:52–53. 19. Livy 43.14.5–7. 20. E.g., Gell. NA 16.10.1, quoting Ennius. 21. Suggested by Lo Cascio (1991:320–322), although he subsequently (Lo Cascio 1999:169) argues that the Polybian figures refer to iuniores. The suggestion is nonetheless pursued by DeLigt (2012). 22. DeLigt 2012:55–63. 23. Brunt 1971:54; DeLigt 2012:69. 24. Brunt 1971:14. Phlegon (Jacoby, FGrH 257), Fr. 12.6. Livy, Per. 98, lists 900,000. 25. Beloch 1886; Frank 1933:314–315. 26. Lo Cascio 1994. 27. For the census returns of all adult males, see Brunt 1971:15–25. 28. Freed slaves: Livy 22.57; Val. Max. 7.6.1. See discussion in Hunt 1998:209. Debtors: Livy 23.14. 29. For discussion of the changing nature of the property requirement, see Rathbone 1993. 30. Livy 39.55.7. Roselaar (2009) suggests that the two-iugera plots of coastal citizen colonies were deliberately too small to qualify holders as assidui, keeping them at home to perform coastal garrison duties. 31. Livy 42.34.2. See Cadiou 2002 for discussion of Spurius’s speech and career. M. Taylor (2019) argues that Livy’s speech may be based on a census return. 32. Brunt 1971:419. Brunt’s killed-in-action estimates are highly conservative; actual losses may have been higher. 33. Livy 24.18.7–8. 34. Rosenstein 2004:170, recapitulating Rosenstein 2002. 35. Slave rowers in the Second Punic War: Livy 34.6.13; see Libourel 1973. 36. Rosenstein 2002:171, 2004:186–187. 37. Rosenstein 2002:171, 2004:90–91. 38. Rosenstein 2004:85. 39. Granius Licinianus 33.27 (Criniti). 40. Dio Cass. 56.23.2. 41. Polyb. 3.117.2–7. 42. Livy 22.49. 43. Rosenstein 2002:165. 44. Rosenstein 2002:165. 45. Polyb. 6.20.9. 46. Rosenstein 2002:178. 47. Polyb. 1.26.7. 48. Tusa and Royal 2012; evaluation of the rams is ongoing, and new fi nds continue to be excavated and published. 49. DeLigt 2012:103. 50. Rathbone 1993:144–145.

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Notes to Pages 45–52

51. Livy 42.35. 52. Polyb. 6.52.7. 53. Harris 1979:41–53. 54. Millar 1984 for the Middle Republic. For initial response to Millar, see North 1990. 55. Mouritsen 2001:19–23, revised in Mouritsen 2017:55–58. 56. Scheidel 2006. 57. Flower 2014. 58. Nicolet 1980:89–128. 59. Polyb. 6.24.1. M. Taylor 2018 for in-depth discussion. 60. Polyb. 6.24.2: ὁ πρῶτος αἱρεθείς. 61. Livy 25.37.5–6. 62. Livy 45.37–49. 63. Plut. Aem. 3.6. 64. Chrissanthos 2004. 65. Mouritsen 2007. 66. Enn. Ann. 5.157 Skutsch: “The Campanians became then Roman citizens.” 67. Livy, Per. 12, 15; Polyb. 1.7.11. 68. Livy 10.26.14. 69. Dion. Hal. 20.1.5. 70. Livy 23.4.8. 71. Festus 117 L: “. . . as the Cumani, Acerrani, and Atellani were at once Roman citizens and served for pay in the legions but could not hold office.” 72. Livy 23.5.5. 73. Lo Cascio 1999:168. 74. Livy 38.36.7–9. 75. Livy 40.42.13. 76. DeLigt 2012:95. Mouritsen (2007) argues that some communities retained the status up to the Social War (90–88 BCE) (possible if not certain). 77. Livy 8.19 does not specify the exact status of these two collaborating Volscian towns. It is possible that they were awarded Latin status like their Hernician counterparts. 78. See Salmon 1936 for an overview. Bradley (2006) suggests that early colonization was far more institutionally and ideologically haphazard, although admitt ing more systemization by the Middle Republic. 79. Livy 23.19.1–7. Cf. Livy 9.16.17–19 for an earlier praetor from Praeneste commanding a local contingent. 80. CIL 1.1448. 81. Coarelli 1994:98–100, 1996:246–48. Turma Fregellana in the Syrian War: Livy 37.34.6. 82. Livy 23.20.2. 83. Livy 39.3, 41.8. See Broadhead 2001 on the supposed ius migrandi. 84. Postumius: Livy 42.1. Flogging: Gell. NA 10.3.3. A more startling incident occurred at the Oscan town of Teanum Sidicium, where a magistrate was flogged for

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not clearing out the baths of an unnamed consul’s wife; the nearby Latin colony of Cales responded with an ordinance closing its baths when a Roman magistrate was in town. 85. Roselaar 2019:204–211. 86. Fronda 2007, 2010. 87. On Celtomachies, see Holliday 1994. 88. Livy 41.13.6–8. 89. Crawford 2011:615, Pompeii 1. Cf. Livy, Epit. 53; Frontin. Str. 4.3.14. 90. M. Taylor 2016b:569–570. 91. Allied commanders appointed by allied communities: Polyb. 6.21.5. The Flavian-era Urso Charter, which preserved fossils of earlier municipal practice, instructs that a contingent raised from the community be commanded either by a duovir or by a prefect appointed by the duovir (Lex Ursonis no. 103). Praefecti cohortium: Sall. Iug. 46.7, likely reflecting earlier usage as the title of officers referred to in Greek as hēgemones. 92. Polyb. 6.26.5. 93. Vibius: Livy 25.14.4; Oblacus: Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 19.12, Plut. Pyrrh. 1.16. Salvius: Plut. Aem. 20, Frontin. Str. 2.8.5. 94. Scutum: Eichberg 1987. Montefortino helmet: Paddock 1993. Italian use of manipular tactics: Polyb. 18.28.10. 95. Homogenization of Roman military equipment: Burns 2003; see also Rosenstein 2012b for the Roman camp as a facilitating exchange and interaction between Roman and Italian soldiers. Pfeilschifter (2007) has challenged the vision of the Roman army as a locus of Romanization. Still, it is difficult to explain the homogenization of Italian military equipment through any other mechanism than the Roman army. See M. Taylor 2017a:283–288 for depictions of Etruscan infantrymen during the Middle Republic who resemble with minor variations (especially muscle cuirasses) their Roman counterparts. 96. For socii in colonies, at least by the late third century BCE, see Erdkamp 2011. 97. Ennius’s military service is implied by Nepos, Cat. 1.4 and subsequently given fanciful elaboration by Sil. Pun. 12.387–414. 98. Cic. Brut. 79. 99. Cic. De or. 3.42: “We who before were Rudian now are Roman.” For the role of Italians in Roman armies, see Pfeilschifter 2007. 100. Prag 2007, 2010. 101. Prag 2015:285. Th is included a general grant in 207 BCE (Livy 27.38.9–12), an emergency grant in Hispania in 193 (Livy 35.2.7–9), a grant to the consul in Greece for 191 (Livy 36.1.8), a levy authorized in Cisalpine Gaul in 178 (Livy 41.5.5), and permission to recruit Numidians, Ligurians, and Cretans for the Th ird Macedonian War (Livy 42.35.6–7). 102. Livy 25.33. 103. Polyb. 11.7.3–6. 104. Polyb. 18.22.5. 105. Livy 37.41–44; App. Syr. 34; M. Taylor 2016a.

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106. Livy 32.14.7–8. 107. Polyb. 6.39.13. 108. Prag 2007. 109. Livy 24.49.8; counteroffer: 25.33.1–9. 110. Livy 34.19.4. 111. Gauthier 2019. Cic. Verr. 5.60 is the most explicit ancient reference to the fi scal benefits of auxiliary troops.

Ch a p t e r 2: R i va l M a n pow e r 1. Polyb. 9.37.10. 2. Polyb. 2.24.14–17. 3. Polyb. 6.52.1–8; see also Eckstein 1995:129. 4. Polyb. 3.35.7. 5. Iberia: 11,000 under Hanno (Polyb. 3.35.4) and 15,200 under Hasdrubal (Polyb. 3.35.15–16). 6. Polyb. 3.33.9–14. 7. Hannibal at Cannae: Polyb. Reinforcements: Livy 23.13.7 (arrival: Livy 23.14.1–2). 8. Livy 24.15.2. 9. Livy 23.49. 10. Livy 23.32 claims that a force similar to the 12,000 infantry and 1,500 cavalry sent to Spain in 215 BCE was deployed to Sardinia. Livy 23.40 provides combined Sardinian and Carthaginian batt le casualties of 15,000 killed and 3,700 captured in two engagements. 11. Seventy-four thousand: Polyb. 11.20.2. Fift y-four thousand: Livy 28.12.13. 12. Mago embarked for northern Italy with 12,000 infantry and 2,000 cavalry (Livy 28.46.7) and was subsequently reinforced with 6,000 infantry and 800 cavalry (Livy 29.4.6), with many of these reinforcements simply making up casualties and wastage. 13. Hasdrubal Gesco’s army at the Great Plains: Polyb. 14.7.9. 14. Hannibal’s army at Zama: App. Pun. 40. See M. Taylor 2019:317. 15. Livy 30.7.7: “Romanae in aduersis rebus constantiae erat.” 16. App. Pun. 55. 17. Polyb. 15.19.2–8. 18. Polyb. 7.9.5. 19. Polyb. 1.88.5. 20. Libyophoenicians: Livy 21.22.3; Diod. Sic. 17.113.3, 20.55.4. Pliny, NH 5.24, defi nes them as the result of intermarriage between Carthaginians and Libyans. For views on the passage, see Walbank 1957–1967, III:53; Lancel 1997:288; Hoyos 2010:17; Ameling 2011:47. 21. Crouzet 2003:698–699. 22. Treaty: Polyb. 3.24.1–3. See Walbank 1957–1967, III:54 for commentary. Th is

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Notes to Pages 65–70

position is challenged by Crouzet (2003:698), who suggests that the mention may imply a lack of autonomy despite the city’s economic position. 23. Plut. Tim. 27.4–5. 24. Diod. Sic. 16.80.4. 25. Last mention of the Sacred Band: Diod. Sic. 20.10.6. 26. Polyb. 1.33.6. 27. Polyb. 1.30.1. 28. Polyb. 1.73.1–2: καθώπλιζον . . . τοὺς ἐν ταῖς ἡλικίαις τῶν πολιτῶν. . . . ἐγύμναζον . . . καὶ συνέταττον τοὺς πολιτικοὺς ἱππεῖς. 29. Polyb. 10.73.3. 30. Polyb. 15.11.2, App. Pun. 40. 31. Polyb. 15.11.1. 32. Polyb. 15.11.3 refers to Carthaginian cavalry on the right; App. Pun. 40 gives Hannibal 4,000 horse in total. If all the “Carthaginians” were citizens, this would suggest around 2,000 in all. 33. Execution of commanders: Polyb. 1.11.5, 24.6. Acclamation: Polyb. 3.13.3–4 (acclamation of Hannibal; subsequently ratified in Carthage). 34. Strabo 17.3.15: ἐν τῇ πόλει. 35. Hoyos 2003:28–29. 36. On the population of Athens, see discussion in Hansen 1988, who suggests Athens had an adult male citizen population of 60,000 in the age of Pericles and 30,000 for much of the fourth century BCE. Athens deployed 8,000 hoplites at the Batt le of Plataea: Hdt. 9.28.6; Thuc. 2.13.6 reports 13,000 hoplites ready for active service at the start of the Peloponnesian War. 37. CIL 12 25. 38. Livy 21.50.4, 23.41.9, 26.20.9; Rawlings 2010:270–271. 39. Polyb. 3.33.13–16. 40. Pilkington 2019:170–171. Pilkington does not there specify military age, but this would be consistent with men 17–45 years old for a premodern population. 41. Fariselli 2002:243–346. 42. Polyb. 1.17.4. 43. Polyb. 1.77.5. 44. Polyb. 1.69.4–5. 45. Polyb. 3.33.15. 46. Polyb. 7.9.6. 47. Polyb. 1.34.5–6. 48. His total infantry numbered 40,000, and Polybius elsewhere puts his Iberian and African infantry at 20,000; Gallic warriors likely made up the rest. 49. For detailed discussion of Iberian manpower, see Fariselli 2002:195–242. 50. Hasdrubal: Diod. Sic. 25.12.1. Hannibal: Livy 24.41.7. 51. Polyb. 10.18.3–15. 52. Nineteen thousand Iberians sent to Spain: Livy 21.21.12. Eight thousand in Hannibal’s army in 216 BCE: Polyb. 3.56.4. 53. For additional discussion on Carthage’s Iberian soldiery, see Ameling 1993:212–213.

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54. Polyb. 14.7.4–8.14. 55. Temporary subjugation: e.g., Diod. Sic. 25.10.3. Note the Numidian att acks that coincided with the Roman invasion of 255 BCE: Polyb. 1.31.2. 56. Polyb. 1.78.1–9: οὗτος ἀεὶ μὲν οἰκείως διέκειτο πρὸς τοὺς Καρχηδονίους πατρικὴν ἔχων σύστασιν, τότε δὲ μᾶλλ ον παρωρμήθη διὰ τὴν Ἀμίλκου τοῦ στρατηγοῦ καταξίωσιν. 57. Roman detachment: Livy 30.9.1; Polyb. 15.4.4 puts it at ten cohorts of cavalry and infantry, essentially a legion. Masinissa king of the Numidians: Livy 30.15.11, which was also an occasion to decorate Laelius and the Roman soldiers who had helped capture Syphax (30.15.12–13), implying that the detachment had at this point returned. 58. Livy 30.26.1 puts the renewal of hostilities before the opening of consular year on the Kalends of March. 59. Livy 29.32.14–29.33.8 for Masinissa’s time in the wilderness after being defeated by Syphax just prior to Scipio’s invasion. See Walsh 1965:150–151 for a concise summary of Masinissa’s varied fortunes prior to Zama. Eckstein 1987:233–246 provides an overview of the interface of Rome’s relations with the Numidians during the last phase of the Second Punic War. See Law 1979:179–181 for a brief overview of the dynamics of various Numidian factions prior to Zama. 60. Zonaras 9.14 associates the batt le with the eclipse dated 19 October under Julian. That eclipse is not mentioned by Polybius and was not visible in North Africa. The story of the eclipse may reflect an appropriation of the anecdote about an eclipse before the Batt le of Pydna, although it is quite possible that Cassius Dio (or his source) correlated the known date of the batt le with an eclipse table. Livy seems to imply that the batt le was fought in the fall, noting that Vermina engaged the Romans after the batt le on the fi rst day of the Saturnalia, which probably fell during November in the Julian calendar. Walbank (1957–1967, III:446) discusses chronological issues but accepts that the batt le was fought in October 202 BCE. 61. App. Pun. 30, whose Mesotylus is certainly the same figure described by Livy 29.29.8: Lazenby 1978:218. 62. Masinissa as usurper: Eckstein 1987:237–238. 63. Polyb. 15.3.5–7. 64. Livy 30.36. 65. Livy 30.27.5, where the consul Ti. Claudius Nero was authorized by the senate to raise a fleet and sail to Africa in 202 BCE. 66. Polyb. 2.65.1–5. Polybius, in adding up the contingents, rounds the infantry figure up to 28,000. 67. Polyb. 4.37.5 68. Slingers and Cretans: Polyb. 4.61.2. 69. Polyb. 4.15.3. 70. Polyb. 4.67.5. 71. Hatzopoulos (1996:454–455) accepts the argument that this represented the militia muster of a single administrative region, with the other three having been called up the year before. It is possible that Philip simply judged that the improving military situation required fewer troops.

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Notes to Pages 74–79

72. Polyb. 5.97.3. Hatzopoulos 1996:455. 73. Livy 31.34.7. 74. Strength at Cynoscephalae: Livy 33.4.4–6. Recruitment of youths and old men: Livy 33.3.2–4, esp. 33.3.4, “ita et tirones ab sedecim annis milites scribebat, et emeritis quidam stipendiis, quibus modo quicquam reliqui roboris erat, ad signa reuocabantur.” The so-called Conscription Diagramma confi rms Livy’s report, on which see Chrysafi s 2014. 75. Hammond and Walbank 1988:431 76. For the strength of the legions deployed to Macedonia, see M. Taylor 2014a: 313. 77. Polyb. 18.27.6; Livy, 33.10.10 discounts the inflated casualties of other annalists in favor of those reported by Polybius. 78. Livy 33.15.16. 79. Livy 33.18. 80. Livy 33.19.3 81. On this “internal balancing,” see Eckstein 2008:358–359. 82. Livy 42.15. 83. Livy 42.51. Hammond and Walbank 1988:515. 84. Both Macedonian wars took place in a saturated market for mercenary hires, thanks to the Fift h Syrian War (203–198 BCE) and Sixth Syrian War (171– 168), which would have drawn off much of the mercenary labor force in the eastern Mediterranean. 85. Livy 36.33.2. 86. Livy 39.24.3–5. 87. E.g., Livy 44.6. 17 (reconsolidated), 44.32.5–9 (dispersed). 88. Livy 44.44.4. 89. Genthius’s strength: Livy 44.30.7. See Burton 2017. By 168 BCE, the Romans felt compelled to deploy two legions to the Macedonian theater to deal with this threat: Livy 44.21.10. 90. Livy 44.26.2–27.7. 91. Hammond and Walbank 1988:535–536; Burton 2017:160. 92. Polyb. 29.9.13; Plut. Aem. 12.6. 93. Livy 44.42.7. Erdkamp 2006:545 has noted that these high casualty figures bear the marks of an annalistic account and notes other “late annalistic” features in both Livy’s and Plutarch’s accounts (i.e., mention of the Italians and references to numbered legions). Even if this figure is exaggerated, there is no reason to think that Macedonian casualties were anything but devastating, with demographic significance for the small kingdom. 94. On the importance of the massacre of defeated opponents in Roman warfare, Sabin 2000:5–9. 95. IG 9.2.517/Syll.3 543. 96. Livy 39.24.4. These Th racians fought brigaded with the Paeonian and Agrianian troops at Pydna. 97. Hammond 1989:68 for a reconstruction of Macedonians deployed 334– 323 BCE.

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Notes to Pages 79–84

98. Billows 1995:202–204. 99. For a physical overview of the Macedonian kingdom, see Thomas 2011. 100. Billows 1995:201. 101. Polyb. 4.87.13. 102. Polyb. 5.2.5–6. 103. Eckstein 2006:202–203 104. Livy 32.18.1: the consul “was hesitant to suffer comparison between the quality of soldiers and armaments.” 105. Polyb. 29.17.1: “He had never seen anything so terrifying and awful as the Macedonian phalanx, and he had seen and commanded as many batt les as anyone else.” 106. Hatzopoulos 1996:95–99, 455–456. 107. Livy 33.19.1. 108. Hatzopoulos 1996:453–454. 109. SEG 49.885, 51.774. For the Conscription Diagramma, see Hatzopoulos 2001; Juhel and Sekunda 2009; Sekunda 2013:104–105; Chrysafi s 2014. 110. Livy 33.3.4. 111. Livy 44.11.7. 112. For the equipment and organization of the Antigonid army, see Hatzopoulos 2001; Sekunda 2013. 113. Juhel and Sekunda 2009. 114. Livy 42.51.4: “et viribus et robore aetatis.” 115. Plut. Aem. 21.6, referred to here as logades, “picked men,” but certainly the other peltasts by their unit strength, 3,000. 116. Sellasia: Polyb. 2.28 (chalkaspides) Plut. Cleom. 23.1 (leukaspides). Pydna: Livy 44.41.2 (both). The proposal by Sekunda 2013:108–113 that the leukaspides were in fact thyreophoroi is dubious and should be dismissed. The handful of references we have to the leukaspides suggest that they fought as standard Macedonian heavy infantry. 117. Agēma and sacred squadrons: Livy 42.58.9. Royal horse: Polyb. 4.67.6; cf. Livy 42.58.8. 118. Livy 40.21.9 (as a praetor, presumably implying the duties of a provincial governor); elsewhere he refers to Didas as a Paeoniae praefectus, which in Late Republican/Early Imperial usage would also imply supervision of the subject population. 119. Livy 42.51. 120. Livy 45.30.6. 121. For an overview of the relationship between Thessaly and Macedonia, see Graninger 2010. 122. Diod. Sic. 17.17.4 (1,800 initially); Arr. An. 1.29.4 (200 reinforcements); see Strootman 2012 for discussion. 123. Livy 33.14.5. 124. Polyb. 18.22.2. 125. Livy 42.38.6–7. 126. Livy 42.58.13–60.10. 127. Oetjen 2010.

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128. Plut. Arat. 24.1. 129. Livy 33.14.3. 130. Polyb. 16.24.5. 131. Polyb. 5.65. On the batt le itself, see Galili 1976–1977 (focusing on topographic aspects); Bar Kochva 1976:127–141; Graninger 2010:206–216. 132. Mahaff y 1898; Griffith 1935:118; Walbank 1957–1967, I:590. 133. Polyb. 5.85.9–10; Bar Kochva 1976:138–141. 134. Egyptian phalangites involved in the revolt: Polyb. 5.107.1–3. Fischer-Bovet (2014:91) suggests that the revolt of 216 BCE may have been closer to an army mutiny than a true native uprising (although as with the Sepoy Revolt of 1857, an army mutiny and native uprising may have overlapped). 135. Polyb. 5.85.10; Bar Kochva (1976:135) and Fischer-Bovet (2014) accept the figure reported by Polybius; Bar Kochva suggests, rightly, that this explains why Ptolemy IV won the batt le. 136. Polyb. 5.79.2. 137. Polyb. 5.65.5. 138. Sekunda 2012. 139. Fischer-Bovet 2014:132. 140. Fischer-Bovet 2014:122. 141. Pro-Ptolemaic source for Raphia: Momigliano (1929:189), who thinks it may be Zeno of Rhodes. Th is is accepted by Bar Kochva (1976:128–129), although he rejects Zeno as a candidate, given Polybius’s harsh criticism of Zeno elsewhere. Brown (1961:193) likewise notes that despite heavy use of a Seleucid courtly source whom he identifies as the physician Apollophanes in book 5, the emphasis on Ptolemaic preparations at Raphia implies that Polybius has picked up a Ptolemaic courtly source. 142. Fischer-Bovet 2014:126–127. 143. Mercenaries in garrison recalled, and new recruits hired: Polyb. 5.63.8–9. 144. Spyridakis 1977 argued that it reflects divisions within Cretan communities between citizens who could claim descent from the Doric tribes and more recently enfranchised free inhabitants (although it is unclear why a Hellenistic king would studiously respect this arrangement in his deployments). Tarn (1930:145) suggested a distinction of equipment, followed by Griffith (1935:144) and Launey (1949:257, 284), who believed Neo-Cretans fought as Macedonian-style peltasts based on a funerary stele from Sidon; similarly Walbank 1957–1967, I:540. Fischer-Bovet (2014:80) tentatively proposes a distinction between Cretans previously sett led as cleruchs and Neo-Cretans as recently hired mercenaries, which I follow in table 2.9. 145. Ath. 5.203A. Rice 1983:123–126, 138–150, accepts the figures without significant criticism. For the procession, see also Walbank 1996. 146. Livy 37.37.9. 147. App. Pro. 10. 148. Tac. Ann. 4.5. 149. Jerome, Commentary on Daniel 11.5. 150. On the origins of Ptolemaic cleruchs, many of whom were descended from foreign mercenaries, see Bagnall 1984, with additional discussion in Stefanou 2013.

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Notes to Pages 89–96

151. Fischer-Bovet 2014:199. 152. Polyb. 5.64.3, one of the few references to a top-down training regime in the ancient world. 153. Fischer-Bovet 2014. 154. Rathbone 1990:104. 155. Fischer-Bovet 2011; Fischer-Bovet 2014 rounds off her estimates of total cleruchic population to 200,000, representing 5 percent of the population. Given the uncertainties of such an estimate, round numbers are preferable. 156. Diod. Sic. 1.31.8: “They say that all together the people numbered seven million back in the day but in our times not fewer than three million.” 157. Th is correction was inspired by part by the reference by Joseph. BJ 2.385, who puts the population of the Egyptian chōra at 7.5 million, although the plausibility of Josephus’s figures is notably uncertain. 158. Rathbone 1990:104; Clarysse and Thompson 2006:102. 159. Scheidel 2001a:246–247. 160. Polyb. 5.107.1–3. 161. Polyb. 14.12.4. 162. Fischer-Bovet 2013, 2014:161–66. 163. Diod. Sic. 19.80.4. 164. Paus. 3.6.5; Fischer-Bovet 2014:41. 165. Bagnall 1976:130. 166. Perhaps these are the taktomisthoi referred to in early second-century BCE papyri; see Scheuble 2009:220; Fischer-Bovet 2014:122–123. 167. Polyb. 5.35.11. 168. Polyb. 5.35.4–6. 169. Polyb. 5.36.3. 170. Polyb. 15.25.19. 171. App. Syr. 65; BCHP 11.2. 172. Egyptian unrest: Just. Epit. 27.9. Manning et al. 2017 link evidence of explosive volcanism in the 240s BCE to a failed Nile flood, which may explain this unrest. 173. Polyb. 5.87.1. 174. Polyb. 5.87.1, Just. Epit. 30.1.4–7. 175. Cairo Museum 31088/50048; Gauthier and Sott as 1925. 176. Polyb. 5.87.4. The competitive drinking culture central to Hellenistic court life likely would have made many Hellenistic kings clinical alcoholics according to the modern defi nition. 177. Polyb. 5.79, Bar Kochva 1976:128–142. 178. Six thousand mutineers from Cyrrhus: Polyb. 5.50.8. Six thousand infantry and 500 cavalry with Achaeus: Polyb. 5.72.3. 179. Polyb. 5.86.5. 180. On the campaigns and career of Antiochus III, see Schmitt 1965; S. SherwinWhite and Kuhrt 1993:188–216. 181. Livy 37.40, Bar Kochva 1976:163–173. Compare Livy with Polybius’s description of the armies at Raphia (above) and Sellasia (2.65). 182. Livy 37.37.9.

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Notes to Pages 96–102

183. Bickerman 1938:67; Aperghis 2004:191. 184. Seleucid casualties at Thermopylae: Polyb. 20.8.6. 185. L. Scipio’s consular army contained two legions of 5,400, with equal allied wings (Livy 37.39.7). Following Polybius’s report that the strength of the triarii was kept at 600, this would imply each legion had 1,600 hastati, 1,600 principes, and 600 triarii, for a total heavy-infantry strength of 15,200. 186. App. Syr. 5, Polyb. 20.20.8, Livy 37.53.13. 187. Livy 37.39.9. The exact infantry contribution of Att alus is uncertain; Att alid and Achaean light infantry formed a brigade 3,000 strong. 188. S. Sherwin-White and Kuhrt 1993:221–220; Kosmin 2014:129–130. 189. Polyb. 30.25.1. 190. On the procession of Antiochus IV: S. Sherwin-White and Kuhrt 1993:220– 221; Walbank 1996:125–129; Strootman 2007:309–313. 191. Polyb. 30.25.3–10. Translation after Paton. 192. Sekunda 2001. 193. Ptolemies: Sekunda 2001. Hasmoneans: Gmirkin 1996, Gordon 1985. 194. On the Jericho gladius, see Stiebel 2004. 195. Polyb. 21.43.10, Strootman 2007:311–312. Antiochus IV violated several other clauses by illegally maintaining a fleet and an elephant herd, producing litt le Roman concern. 196. Bar Kochva 1976:60. 197. Strootman 2007:310. 198. Sekunda 2001:89. 199. Joseph. BJ 1.41–6, Just. Epit. 38.10, accepted by Bar Kochva 1976:10–11. 200. Aperghis 2004:192–193, Bar Kochva 1976:10. 201. Aperghis 2004:199–200. The estimate of 36,000 was generated by Griffith 1935:21–25. 202. SEG 26.1306. 203. Plut. Arat. 24.1l; Livy 33.14.3. 204. Garrison at Apamea: Polyb. 5.50.10. At Susa: 5.48.14, At Babylon: S. SherwinWhite 1982:58–64. At Seleucia Pieria: Polyb. 5.61.2. 205. Wilhelm 1909:183–188 (no. 158) and Sahin 2008:66 (no. 31). See Kosmin 2014:206 for military service in the broader context of civic organization of Seleucid colonies. 206. Aperghis 2004:201. 207. Aperghis 2004:57. 208. Green 1990:371. 209. On these sett lements in general, see Cohen 1978, 1995, 2006, and 2013. 210. Polyb. 5.50.8. 211. Bar Kochva 1976:30. 212. Diod. Sic. 34.17. 213. Bar Kochva 1976:20–38, Griffith 1935:148–165. 214. That Seleucid soldiers were drawn from military sett lers is supported by Griffith 1935:157–164; Bar Kochva 1976:59–62; and Billows 1995:173–178. Contra, Cohen 1978:51–52; Aperghis 2004:194.

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215. Strabo 16.2.10, citing the city as the home to τὸ πλέον τῆς στρατιᾶς. 216. Polyb. 5.57.1; cf. 4.87.12 for the Macedonian winter furlough. 217. 1 Mac. 11.38, New Revised Standard Version. 218. Aperghis 2004 cites this passage as proof that the Seleucids possessed a professional army, given the anger of the demobilized soldiers. But citizen-soldiers might still resent the end of pay and booty, and the passage clearly presumes that they had homes to return to. 219. Strabo 13.4.4; OGIS 211. 220. Joseph. AJ 12.149–150; Cohen 1978:5–9; Cohen 1995:212–213; Schalit 1960. 221. OGIS 229.103–105; Fingerson 2007. 222. Billows 1995:177. 223. OGIS 229, lines 43–44: τοῖς ἐμ Μαγνησίαι κατοίκ[οις] τοῖς τε κατὰ πόλιν ἱππεῦσι καὶ πεζοῖς καὶ τοῖς ὑπαίθροις. 224. Livy 37.40.6–12; quotation from 37.40.6: “They were Medes, picked men, and horsemen mixed together from many peoples of that region.” 225. Bar Kochva 1976:69. 226. Take, for example, the quip of Flamininus (Plut. Flam. 17.4–5) that the different regiments of the Seleucid army were like different pork dishes at a banquet: dressed in various ways, but still swine; thus armed in different ways but still Syrian. 227. On display in Hdt. 7.62–86. 228. Omanes: OGIS 229; Aribazus: Polyb. 7.18.7. 229. Kosmin 2014:145 (royal journeys), 184 (colonies). 230. Antiochus III: Diod. Sic. 29.15; Just. 32.2.1–2. Antiochus IV: App. Syr. 66, Polyb. 31.9, Diod. Sic. 31.18, 2 Mac. 1.14. 231. Engels 2019. 232. On the myth and reality of the Elephant Batt le, see Coşkun 2012. 233. Polyb. 5.56.8 for Gauls in Molon’s army, which Antiochus III dismissed home following his victory. 234. App. Syr. 5. 235. Discharge of Molon’s army: Polyb. 5.54.8. 236. Casualties at Raphia: Polyb. 5.86.5. Seleucid killed and captured represent 25 percent of his total force. 237. Erdkamp 2006 links high casualty figures to the annalistic tradition, and this may represent an annalistic interpolation into an otherwise Polybian narrative.

Ch a p t e r 3: Rom a n F i na nce 1. Frank 1932, 1933. 2. Livy 31.13.3. The suggestion by Buraselis 1996 that the Roman state plunged into the Second Macedonian War to delay the repayment of loans is unconvincing; it seems to me that the Romans plunged into war despite a dire fi scal situation rather than because of it. 3. Plin. HN 33.55. The reasons for this inventory are unclear, although concerns

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about low silver reserves may have provided the backdrop behind the decision to reopen the Macedonian mines. See Crawford 1985:143. 4. Thanks to the fi nd of an early denarius in the destruction layer of Morgantina, the introduction of the denarius is now dated to just before 211 BCE. Butt rey 1989a, 1989b; Walthall 2017. 5. Livy 39.7.2; Crawford (1985:143) notes that the donative was likely paid in bullion rather than coin. Cf. Plut. Cat. Mai. 12.4, where soldiers are given a pound of silver. 6. Polyb. 21.32.8. 7. The output of silver mines, especially in Spain, pushed the ratio to 1:12 by the Early Empire (Duncan-Jones 1994:218). 8. Harl 1996:474. The Treaty of Apamea equated the Att ic talent to 80 Roman pounds (Polyb. 21, Livy 38.38.13). My valuations of many attested sums are therefore somewhat different from those of Frank (1932, 1933), who valued a pound of silver at 80 denarii, a pound of gold at 1,000, and an Att ic talent as a talent of account worth 6,000 denarii. 9. Polyb. 6.39.12. 10. Crawford 1985:147. 11. Plaut. Mostell. 357; the nummus in question is certainly the as. Cf. Crawford 1985:147; Rathbone 1993:151–152; and Alston 1994:114. Rathbone makes the important suggestion that if it were 3 1/3 sextantal asses, this ammount could have been easily converted to 5 1/3 post–141 BCE asses. However, this conversion did not happen, as it was decided instead to simply calculate military pay in denarii. Polybius is quite casual in his exchange rate between Greek and Roman currency: for example, at one point (2.15.6) he makes 1/4 of an obol the equivalent of half an as (which would make one drachma equal 5/6 of a denarius), despite elsewhere treating the denarius as interchangeable with the drachma (e.g., 6.19.2). 12. The Republican calendar was of only 355 days at the time; I am using the Imperial pay calendar of 360 days, which was in use during a time when the Roman calendar year had 365 days. See Boren 1983:438 for discussion. 13. Polyb. 6.39.12 indicates that centurions were paid double but that cavalrymen received a drachma a day. Again, his conversion for cavalry pay is likely inexact (Rathbone 1993:52). Given the consistent ratio of 1:2:3 in the donatives given for Roman triumphs, the correct pay for cavalrymen is nine asses a day, 324 denarii a year. 14. With the drift toward the 1/84-lb. standard, the silver weight of military pay would have fallen to 1.28 lbs. 15. These are the standard weights, although bronze in particular was often minted on the light side of the standard: the libral as slipped to the light-libral standard of 10 unciae by the end of the First Punic War, while sextantal asses steadily slipped in weight over the course of the second century BCE. So long as the slippage was modest (and backed by a parallel silver coinage), the coins seem to have retained a fiat face value. 16. Polyb. 6.20.8–9. 17. Rawson 1971:14–15.

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18. Legions 4,200 strong in the Second Macedonian War: M. Taylor 2014a:313. The legions of Lucius Scipio deployed at the Batt le of Magnesia were assigned a strength of 5,400 infantry (Livy 37.39.7–8). Dobson 2008:48–50 discusses legionary strength in the second century BCE. 19. Livy 44.21.8. 20. Brunt 1971:424. Brunt (1971:432–33) posited six legions between 167 and 161 and only four between 160 and 158 but gives no explanation for the sudden drop. Here I assume four consular legions and two praetorian legions in the Spains. In M. Taylor 2017b, I counted the six legions for 157, which would assume that the assay of the treasury, the terminal point of this accounting scheme, took place at the end of the year, or at least after the legions were paid. In retrospect, it is likely that the assay took place at the start of the year, and so my revision here presents legions paid down to the end of 158. 21. Müller 2009. 22. Polyb. 6.39.14. 23. Sicilian and Sardinian tithes: Livy 36.2.12, 37.2.12, 42.31.7. 24. Cic. Verr. 2.3.163. 25. Brunt 1971:274, although he errs in positing a military ration of three modii a month instead of Polybius’s four. See also Erdkamp 1998:90–91 and Erdkamp 2000 for the role of Sicily and Sardinia in feeding armies during the Republic. 26. Att acks on foragers: Livy 31.2.7–8; Roth 1999:130–133. 27. Erdkamp 1998, Roth 1999. E.g., Livy 44.16.2 for grain requisitioned in Epirus with promise of payment. Spanish communities were partly reimbursed for their mandatory grain contributions and even won recourse concerning magistrates who set the price too low (Livy 43.2.12). 28. Cic. Verr. 3.163. For subsequent grain requisitioned beyond this second tithe, Verres was to pay 3 1/2 sesterces; and for wheat for his own staff, 4 sesterces (1 denarius). 29. Paying for grain donations: Livy 36.4.9 for grain offered by Carthage and Masinissa; Livy 45.13.15 for grain requested from Masinissa during the Th ird Macedonian War. See Roth 1999:299. 30. Livy 36.3.1; Roth 1999:227. 31. Livy 42.27.8. 32. Badian 1972:16–30; Roth 1999:230–232. 33. The best evidence for grain prices during the Hellenistic period comes from Delos (IG 11.158.37), which ranged from 4 drachmas and 1 obol to 10 drachmas for a medimnos of wheat, with most prices hovering between 6 and 7 drachmas. See also Foxhall and Forbes 1982:90. 34. Livy 30.26.6, 31.4.6; although some caution here, as aediles on two occasions also sold grain at 2 asses a modius (Livy 31.50.1, 33.42.8). 35. Livy, Epit. 60.7. For grain deductions from stipendium, see Boren 1983:435– 436. Garnsey and Rathbone (1985:25) stress that Gaius Gracchus based his subsidized grain program on the distribution of military rations at a subsidized price to Roman soldiers.

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Notes to Pages 115–117

36. Walbank (1957–1967, I:722) directly contradicts Polybius in arguing that allied communities somehow reimbursed Rome for the cost of feeding their contingents. I see no reason to doubt Polybius here. However, presumably the cost of clothing, weapons, and equipment was borne by allied communities. In all likelihood, each community sent its soldiers with a full year’s pay (hence the need to appoint a paymaster), and then paid in cash to the quaestor when issued clothing or weapons. 37. See Erdkamp 1998:27–42 for additional discussion on Roman military rations. Cf. App. Hisp. 54, describing Romans desperate for oil, salt, wine, and vinegar. 38. Polyb. 6.26.7 reports allied horse as three times as numerous as Roman cavalrymen, but the information in Livy never shows such a high ratio of allied horse. 39. Polyb. 6.39.14. Note Plut. Mar. 13.2, where Marius, serving as a cavalryman, presents both his horse and a mule for inspection. 40. Barley half the price of wheat: Cic. Verr. 3.188. 41. Polyb. 1.52.6. 42. Four hundred transports in 205 BCE: Livy 29.26.3. Th ree hundred supply ships in 203: Livy 30.24.5–6. 43. Camp followers in the mid-Republican legion: Frontin. Strat. 2.4.8; Livy 27.18.12; 31.49.11; 38.40.10–12. See Vishnia 2002 for discussion. 44. Cavalry rations: Polyb. 6.39.12. Each Roman horseman received 2 medimnoi of wheat (12 modii), presumably to feed himself and two attendants, whereas each allied horseman received 1 1/3 medimnoi, enough for himself and one attendant. 45. Roth 1999:91–115 provides an overview of evidence for noncombatants in Roman armies. A fragment of Cato the Censor indicates that many of these men were accensi, free persons otherwise too poor to serve in the legions (Varro, Ling. 7.57–8). 46. Plut. Pomp. 55.7; Pompey’s six legions: Plut. Pomp. 52.3; App. B Civ. 2.24; Brunt 1971:472. Crawford (1974:696) oddly suggests that the 6 million denarii paid only for four of Pompey’s legions and that he paid for the two additional legions out of his private funds. The other evidence cited by Crawford to suggest a legionary cost of 1.5 million denarii is not necessarily conclusive, although it may be that the ruleof-thumb cost of a legion did indeed inflate as civil war approached. 47. Pompey previously had been voted 6,000 talents, 36 million denarii, for his three-year war against the pirates (App. Mith. 94). Plutarch and Appian both report that his force consisted of 120,000 infantry (24 legions), but this must be either an exaggeration or the fantastic upper limit allowed by the law. Brunt (1971:460) reconstructs Pompey with twelve legions (although considers his conclusion precarious), perhaps again suggesting a “budget” of 1 million denarii per legion per year. 48. Plut. C. Gracch. 5.1. 49. Polyb. 1.26.7 puts the crew of a quinquereme at 300 rowers and 120 marines during the First Punic War, or one maniple on each quinquereme for a major naval engagement. The normal complement of marines may have been far lower. 50. DeLigt 2012:103–105. 51. Frank (1932:12) believed that rowers in the Roman navy, being mostly freedmen, were unpaid. Pay for freedmen rowers, however, is explicit in Livy 24.11.7–9. Rowers incorporated into legions: Polyb. 10.35.5.

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52. Livy 24.11.7–9 is explicit that sailors were paid year-round. Beresford (2013) argues forcefully that ancient navies were not constricted by any sailing season and thus necessarily kept crews ready year-round. 53. The Athenians reckoned the cost of maintaining a trireme at 1 talent a month, or 1 drachma a day for a crew of 200. A late third-century inscription from Rhodes puts the cost of operating a trireme at 10,000 drachmas a month (Syll.3 581). However, we know from the same inscription that Rhodian soldiers were demanding 9 obols a day, with officers twice that. At this rate, pay for 200 rowers would account for 9,000 drachmas, again suggesting that the cost of operating a trireme was mostly for the crew. In both instances sailors’ pay included the cost of their rations. 54. Th iel 1946:263–429. 55. Frank 1932:12. 56. For cost of trireme hulls, see Gabrielsen 1994:139–142. 57. Livy 41.12.7, and their sullen protest suggests such a slight was highly unusual. 58. After sacking Epirus and selling 150,000 inhabitants into slavery, Paullus gave 200 denarii to each of his soldiers (Livy 45.34.5), with the usual double bounty to centurions and triple to cavalrymen. The estimate is based on two 6,000-strong legions with allied wings. On the economic motives of the sack, see Ziolkowski 1986. Th is distribution seems to have been exceptional, and elsewhere the proceeds of slaves sold by the commander (usually near the point of capture at discount prices) were likely rolled into the overall report of triumphal loot. 59. For building projects during the Middle Republic, see Crawford and Coarelli 1977; Steinby 2012:42–63. 60. Crawford and Coarelli 1977:4. 61. Livy 39.44.5–7. See also Plut. Cat. Mai. 19. 62. Livy 39.44, Dion. Hal. 3.67.5, Astin 1978:84. 63. Livy 40.46.16. 64. Livy 33.47.2: “ad vectigal praestandum Romanis.” 65. Livy 40.51 provides a list of the building projects for 179 BCE. 66. Last Seleucid payment: Livy 42.6.7, although 2 Maccabees suggests payments were still owed as late as 165 BCE. See Schwartz 2008, app. 6. 67. Livy 41.27 provides a summary of censorial projects for that year. In fact, Livy’s list is probably incomplete; see Richter 1961 for additional discussion of activities during this lustrum. 68. Badian 1972:172. 69. Statue of Concordia: Cic. Dom. 130. Horologium: Plin. HN 7.214. For Roman public building projects, see Crawford and Coarelli 1977:4–5. 70. Horologium in Basilica Aemilia: Varro, Ling. 6.4; Censorinus, DN 23.7; Plin. HN 7.215; Crawford and Coarelli 1977:5, 21. 71. Polyb. 6.13.3. 72. Crawford and Coarelli 1977:20–21. 73. Livy 39.2. 74. Livy 35.10.12, 35.41.10. See also Orlin 1997:140–141.

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Notes to Pages 121–124

75. Dion. Hal. 7.71 puts the cost of the Ludi Romani prior to the Second Punic War at 500 minae, or 200,000 sesterces; Dionysius may erroneously treat the sestertius as the equivalent of a libral as. Livy (22.10.7) reports that the Ludi Maximi in 217 BCE were celebrated at a specific cost of 333,333 1/3 asses. Crawford 1974:615 notes that this would be the same bronze weight in semilibral asses as 200,000 light-libral asses; there appears to have been a conservatism concerning the bronze weight of festival expenditure despite the devaluation of the coinage. 76. In 186 BCE, Fulvius Nobilior was allowed to withdraw 20,000 denarii to fund his triumphal games, although he seems to have augmented these substantially with private funds. We have litt le evidence for the cost of the particulars of Roman ludi, with the exception that Terence once received an honorarium of 2,000 denarii from an aedile, although this was likely an exceptional fee warranting mention by Suetonius (Vit. Ter. 2). 77. Livy 40.44.10. 78. Livy 36.2.4. 79. Establishment of the Ludi Megalenses: Livy 36.36.4–5. A length of at least two days for the Megalenses is implied by Plaut. Pseud. 1335, which invites the audience to return the next day. 80. Knapowski 1961:42 estimated 656,000 denarii for festivals in 168 BCE, although he assumes more days per festival based on Late Republican evidence. For Republican ludi in general, see Bernstein 1998. 81. CIL 1.328–329. 82. Pritchard 2012:35. 83. Polyb. 6.56.13–14. 84. For this estimate I assume that each tetradrachma was worth 4 denarii, every Att alid coin was worth four denarii, and every Philippic was worth 24 denarii. Livy uses the term cistophorus to describe Att alid currency, but great uncertainly exists among numismatists whether the light cistophoros was in use as early as the 190s BCE; opinion increasingly leans to a later date, making Livy’s use of the term an anachronism. 85. Livy 39.7.5. 86. Tributum reimbursed in the early third century: e.g., Dion. Hal. 19.16.3, for a refund in 293. Nicolet 1976:19–26 emphasized the notion of tributum as a forced loan to the state; this was perhaps true in theory, but the refund of tributum was certainly not a routine feature of the Republican fi scal regime. 87. Plin. HN 33.55 does not specify whether the coins are denarii or sesterces; I assume denarii, given that the inventory took place before the sestertius became the official unit of reckoning in the 140s BCE. If they were sesterces, the total in the treasury would be closer to 18 million denarii. Five recentior manuscripts (EFGRV) contain corruptions of these figures, although seemingly the product of a late scribal error. 88. Churchill 1999 argues that the control of Roman commanders over loot, both praeda and manubiae, was extremely constrained. 89. E.g., Beard 2007:172.

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Notes to Pages 124–129

90. Polyb. 10.16–17, Cic. 2 Verr. 1.57. 91. Scipio’s liber rationis: Livy 38.55.10; Gracchus’s quaestorian deltoi: Plut. Tib. Gracch. 6.1–3. Cf. Kay 2014:27. 92. Frank 1932:4. 93. Frank 1932. Also Knapp 1977:167–170. 94. De Grassi 1954:105. 95. Livy 40.34.7. In each instance the soldiers were still given 300 asses apiece, with double for centurions and triple for cavalrymen. I am grateful to John Rich for pointing this passage out to me. I previously (M. Taylor 2017b) assumed that donatives were paid out of the enumerated loot. As a result, in 2017 I estimated the total loot somewhat lower, at 110 million denarii. 96. Livy 40.59.2. 97. Livy 37.59.5. 98. Frank 1933:139. 99. Livy 29.15.9. 100. I previously (M. Taylor 2017b) calculated the reimbursement at 22.5 million denarii and the total property at 850 million denarii; this was in part because I subtracted the donative, which I have since been convinced was paid prior to the inventory into the treasury. Th is is a slight revision on the edges but does not change the magnitude of any figure. 101. Rate fluctuating from census to census: see Northwood 2008:260–262. 102. Livy 39.44.1–3. 103. Livy 39.44.1, “upon these items a tax of 3 asses per 1000 was assessed” (translation my own). Cf. Plut. Cat. Mai. 18.2, although Plutarch, who is probably using Livy as a source here, is under the mistaken impression that the 3/1,000 tax is a special sumptuary tax levied by Cato himself. However, the censor did not have the power to levy sumptuary taxes: these required laws passed by one of the people’s assemblies. 104. Nicolet 1976:35–46, Dion. Hal. 4.19.1–4. 105. Livy (7.27.4) reports that in 347 BCE there was no tributum and no levy, the former being unnecessary with the cancellation of the latter. Indeed, Livy himself routinely describes tributum as stipendium, the word for military pay. 106. Thuc. 3.19.1. On the Athenian eisphora, see Gabrielsen 2002:216–217; Christ 2007; Pritchard 2015:93. 107. Sixty talents in 352 BCE: Dem. 3.4.1, although textual variants give 40 and 72 talents. Fift y-seven hundred talents assessed property: Polyb. 2.62.6 for the year 378. In 347, a peacetime levy of 10 talents a year (0.15 percent) was introduced in Athens (IG2 244.12–13), a rate comparable with if somewhat lower than Rome’s peacetime 3/1,000 tax in 184. 108. Dio Cass. 46.31.3. A separate 10/1,000 tax was assessed on the wealthy (Cic. Ad Brut. 18.5); Nicolet 1980:180; Ñaco Del Hoyo 2007:226–227. 109. App. B Civ. 8.50. 110. Polyb. 34.9.8. 111. Crawford 1985:143.

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Notes to Pages 129–132

112. Ñaco Del Hoyo (2007:229) suggests that large-scale mining and other regularized extractions did not begin until after the end of the Celtiberian War, in 133. 113. Hollstein 2000:114–117. Kay (2014:43–54) accepts Polybius’s figure, at least for the 150s BCE, but acknowledges that mining revenues may have been lower earlier in the century. 114. Hollstein 2000:122–123; Albarède et al. 2016:132. The study of isotopes in Roman coins is a rapidly burgeoning field, and more studies are expected over the next decade, which may expand or complicate this picture. 115. Polyb. 35.9.9 = Strabo 3.2.10. Walbank (1972:11) suggests Polybius visited Spain ca. 151/150, accompanying Scipio Aemilianus, then serving as a military tribune. 116. Frontin. Aq. 7. 117. Loot from Carthage: Plin. HN 33.141. 118. Fines imposed by aediles for illegal grazing: Livy 35.10.12. Th is may have been the fi rst major attempt to enforce regulations on newly acquired lands in southern Italy. 119. Attesting the existence of portoria in the early second century, Plaut. Asin. 159 makes a joke based on customs duties. The fi rst defi nite portoria are those established for Capua and Puteoli in 199. 120. E.g., Livy 27.11 for the construction of tabernae and a macellum, the facilities of which were certainly rented. 121. Livy 29.37.3. 122. Livy 7.16.7–8. Cic. Att. 2.16.1. 123. Polyb. 6.17.2. 124. Livy 32.7.3. 125. Livy 40.51.9. 126. Badian 1972:62–63. 127. The total ager Romanus is generally held to be around 25,000 km2 in 218 BCE, expanding to perhaps 40,000 km2 after the Second Punic War. We do not know, however, what the ratio of private to public land was. A rent of one as per iugerum charged to grantees of ager trientabulus seems to have been a nominal ceremonial rent and does not reflect the going rate. Appian B Civ. 1.7 reports a tithe on grainlands and a 20-percent tax on orchards. It is possible that Appian has been confused by Sicilian practice, although Rome may have adapted methods used to tax grainlands in Sicily to its own ager publicus. Th is issue seems moot given the fact we do not know how much ager publicus there actually was. 128. App. Sicelica 2, Livy 23.48.7. 129. Livy 34.6.8. 130. Gruen 1984:293. 131. Tan (2017) notes throughout that the Roman aristocracy collectively had reason to restrict the expenditures of individual magistrates given the strong correlation between expenditure and political aggrandizement. 132. Rosenstein 2011. 133. Kay 2014:25–27.

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Notes to Pages 132–141

134. Rosenstein 2016a, 2016b. 135. Rosenstein (2012a:108) posits that the expansion of the citizen body in the Early Republic was largely designed to increase the number of taxpayers liable to pay tributum rather than to increase the manpower base. 136. Wealth of senators: Shatzman 1975; publicani: Badian 1972; benefits to common Romans: Harris 1979:102–114. Tan (2017) emphasizes that privatizing provincial exploitation was fundamental in the Republic’s fi scal sociology. 137. Plut. Pomp. 45.3. 138. Frank 1932:14. 139. Tilly 1990.

Ch a p t e r 4: R i va l F i na nce 1. See Fariselli 1999 for discussion of Carthage’s war economy. 2. Manfredi 1999. 3. Polyb. 1.72.1. 4. Diod. Sic. 25.10.3 implies that the Numidian people paid tribute until the Truceless War, at which point they revolted and were reduced to slavery. During the Second Punic War, both Syphax and Masinissa acted as unreliable independent allies, with litt le hint of direct subjugation. 5. Delile et al. 2019. 6. Plin. NH 33.97 (discussed subsequently); Diod. Sic. 5.38.2–3. 7. Livy 36.4.7; Kahrstedt 1913:136; Hoyos 2003:195–196. 8. Visonà 1998:22 argues that the report in Livy must be doubted in view of the fact that Carthage produced almost no precious-metal coinage after the Second Punic War. It is perfectly plausible that given the negligible state payments Carthage was required to make, the state hoarded its silver, save for minor payments made in bronze. On the Roman refusal to accept the lump-sum payment, see Gruen 1984:293. 9. Livy 32.2.1–3. 10. Hoyos 2010:207. 11. The primary silver coin of Carthage was the shekel, which in practice weighed about 7.3 grams. For comparative purposes, I will give values in drachmas, a denomination that the Carthaginians themselves minted on Sicily. 12. Polyb. 15.18.4. The participation of at least two ships in the war against Antiochus suggests that this small fleet was kept combat-ready (App. Syr. 22). 13. On Carthaginian naval expenditures, see Rawlings 2010:268; Rawlings assumes a drachma a day in pay and assumes that fleets sailed for only six months out of the year. 14. Hannibal’s reforms: Livy 33.47.1–2. 15. Polybius considered Carthage a notoriously corrupt state in the middle of the second century BCE, although it is unclear to what extent he is simply regurgitating the conclusions of Aristotle, writing about Carthage in the late fourth century. 16. Livy 34.62.2.

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Notes to Pages 141–148

17. On the identification of Livy’s Lepcis, see Briscoe 1981:143; Hoyos 2003:224– 225. For evidence of administrative districts in Carthage, see Lancel 1997:259–261. 18. Polyb. 31.21.1–8. 19. Plin. NH 33.97. 20. Here in particular note the caution of Scheidel 1996 regarding numbers that are multiples of 300. 21. Visonà 1998:16–18. 22. Polyb. 10.19.2. 23. Hoyos 2003:225. 24. Livy 28.25.9–10. 25. Albarède et al. 2016. 26. Jenkins 1984:135. 27. Jenkins and Lewis 1963. See Howgego 1995:113–114 for additional discussion. 28. Debasement of the as: Crawford 1964. 29. Money reaches Hannibal: Livy 23.13.7 (voted); 23.41.10 (presumably subsumed with Livy’s commeatus). 30. One thousand talents readied up and diverted: Livy 23.32.5. 31. Livy 25.27.3. 32. Kahrstedt 1913:136–137. 33. Philip’s indemnity: Polyb. 18.44.7; Plut. Flam. 9.6; Livy 33.30.7. Philip had previously paid Flamininus 200 talents for the armistice, and there is no evidence that this was credited toward the 1,000-talent indemnity. 34. Seleucid indemnity: Polyb. 21.17.3–5; Livy 37.45, 38.37. 35. Livy 34.35.11. Nabis was required to pay 100 talents up front and 50 talents a year over eight years. 36. Polyb. 5.1.11–12. 37. Polyb. 4.67.6. 38. Polyb. 5.2.11. 39. Men. Pk. 261–262. 40. Turner 1975. 41. Livy 33.30.6. 42. Livy 36.14.5–8. Hammond and Walbank (1988) assume that all 5,000 prisoners were incorporated into Philip V’s army. 43. Six thousand troops: Livy 38.2.1. Garrisons in Athamania: Livy 38.1.1–2. 44. Macedonian garrisons in Th race: Polyb. 23.3.1, Livy 39.46.9, App. Mac. 9.6. 45. Livy 42.51. 46. Polyb. 18.44.7 (imposed); 21.3.3, 11.9 (canceled). 47. Livy 42.67.5. 48. Polyb. 29.7.5–7. 49. Polyb. 29.3.1–5, Livy 44.23.1–4. 50. Polyb. 5.2.10. 51. Ath. 4.146E. 52. Ath. 4.146C–D. 53. Livy 42.53.3–4. Perseus did accept donations of wagons to help transport his siege train.

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Notes to Pages 148–153

54. Livy 42.12. 55. Livy 45.40.1. 56. The figure of 200 million sesterces from Vell. Pat. 9.6 is a critical conjecture from a corrupt manuscript tradition and should be disregarded. 57. Hammond and Walbank 1988:503. 58. Livy 44.26–27; Diod. Sic. 30.19; App. Mac. 18.1–3; Plut. Aem. 12.4–6; Hammond and Walbank 1988:535. 59. Hammond and Walbank 1988:503. 60. Livy 45.40.2 is therefore correct when he says that an amount equal to the sum paraded in the triumph had been spent on the war. 61. Plut. Aem. 28.6. 62. Hatzopoulos 1996:439 argues that the Macedonians were not subject to regular tribute (phoros), noting that Macedonian sett lements were explicitly exempted and that phoros was imposed on subject populations. Still, relief from eisphora is listed as one of the benefits given to the families of the Macedonian soldiers killed at the river Granicus (Arr. Anab. 1.16.5). 63. Ps.-Arist. Oec. 2.22. 64. Diod. Sic. 16.8.6–8. 65. Livy 39.24.2. 66. Diog. Laert. 2.140. 67. The peacetime Macedonian garrison at the Acrocorinth seems to have had over 400 men in 245 BCE, during Aratus’s assault. The Achaean garrison installed afterward consisted of 400 men and 50 dog handlers (Plut. Arat. 24). 68. Polyb. 16.2.9. There is a lacuna in the text for the number of undecked ships, which if numerous would have further increased the annual cost of this deployment. 69. Theocr. Id. 14.59, μισθοδότας Πτολεμαῖος ἐλευθέρῳ οἷος ἄριστος. 70. Jerome, Commentary on Daniel 11.5. Manning 2003:135 believes the figure is fundamentally unreliable, although noting the concordance with Cicero. 71. Jerome, Commentary on Daniel, prol. 72. Strabo 17.1.13. 73. Scheidel 1996. 74. Cic. Rab. 21, 30. See also Williams 1978:205–208. Siani-Davies 1997:328 notes that this money may have come from Roman fi nanciers, although they would have made such a loan only if it was backed by the resources Ptolemy XII was trying to secure. 75. Diod. Sic. 17.52.6. Diodorus in Egypt: 1.44.1, shortly before Ptolemy XI was recognized by the Romans in 59 BCE. 76. Le Rider and De Callataÿ 2006:172. 77. Wilcken 1899:414–416. 78. Préaux 1939:364. 79. Rostovtzeff 1941:1153. 80. Von Reden 2010:150. 81. Scheidel 2001a:223. Manning (2003:47–49) assumes 9 million arourai based on a second-century BCE inscription from Edfu, although admitt ing that the document may be rounding up.

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Notes to Pages 153–157

82. Official price: Von Reden 2010:148; Rathbone and Von Reden 2015:164. 83. On the rate of harvest tax, Monson 2014b:230. 84. Monson 2014a; see also Monson 2012:170–171. 85. Monson 2014a:5. 86. On barley and olyra, Mayerson 2002. 87. Polyb. 30.31.12. 88. Gabrielsen 2013:72–73. We do not, however, know the rate of traffic going through Ptolemaic ports. 89. On the rate of the salt tax, see Thompson 1997:246. 90. E.g., Jerome, Commentary on Daniel 11.14. 91. Joseph. AJ 12.175, usually viewed as a wild exaggeration; see Bagnall 1976:20– 21 for discussion of the passage, although Bagnall does not comment on the implausible immensity of the sum. Wilcken (1899:412–413) accepts Josephus’s figure as plausible. It seems dubious; however, Koilē Syria alone may have produced revenues near to what was taken in by the Roman Empire before Pompey’s conquests (8,333 talents). 92. Antiochus III received 300 talents after he reduced the old Ptolemaic tribute by a third: Sulpicius Severus, Chronicles 2.17.5. See Aperghis 2004:249 for additional discussion. 93. Th is figure assumes that the cost of the festival as reported by Athenaeus 5.203B was matched by future regular iterations, and it is unclear how long the Ptolemies maintained a strong presence in the islands. 94. Fischer-Bovet 2014:69. 95. Préaux 1939:364–365. 6 million artabai: Epitome de Caesaribus 1.6; 8 million artabai: Justinian, Edict 13.8, which does not list the unit of measure, an alternate reading of 8 million modii is possible. 96. Préaux’s correction to the grain figures, above, is accepted by Bowman 1986:27, for example, and Fischer-Bovet 2014. Manning 2010 declines to choose between a high and low figure, although Manning 2003:135 accepts Preaux’s correction. 97. Plebs receiving wheat rations: Res Gestae 15; ration of 5 modii per month: Sall. Hist. 3.19. The size of the imperial army is a rough estimate based on 28 legions 5,000–6,000 strong with a roughly equal number of auxiliary troops. 98. Suet. Tib. 32.2; Monson 2012. 99. Von Reden 2007:34–78. The Ptolemaic economy remained undermonetized despite these efforts, a source of strain on the extensive fi scal system. 100. On Ptolemaic bronze coinage, see Von Reden 2007:111–117; Lorber 2012:216. 101. Jerome, Commentary on Daniel 11.23, reports an astonishing 40,000 talents (240 million drachmas) of loot, but this is difficult to believe, given that the entire Seleucid indemnity payment to the Romans was only 15,000 talents (90 million drachmas). 102. Ptolemaic gold mines: Diod. Sic. 3.12.1–3, Préaux 1939:253–261, Rostovtzeff 1941:381–383, Faucher 2018. 103. Raphia stele (Cairo Museum Inv. 31088) l.29; Austin 2006, no. 276 for translation.

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Notes to Pages 157–161

104. Meadows 1998. 105. Hackens 1968:69–96. 106. Plut. Arat. 13.4. Matt ingly 2004:264 links these to royal Arsinoes found in several hoards from the mid-third century BCE in the Peloponnese. 107. Bringmann (2001, 2005) notes the role of in-kind gift s in royal euergetism. 108. Von Reden 2007:60–70. 109. Faucher and Lorber 2010. 110. Fischer-Bovet 2014:271–272. 111. Plut. Pomp. 45.3. 112. App. pref. 10. 113. PStras. II, no. 103; see Preisigke 1920:47–51. Clarysse and Lanciers (1989: 127–132), dating the papyrus to 210 BCE, argue that the drachmas in question must be silver as a pay rate in copper drachmas would be too low. PEleph. no. 28 reports pay for elephant hunters at 4 obols a day in the reign of Ptolemy III, but there is no indication that these men are soldiers—indeed, they seem to be hired hands. 114. Clarysse and Lanciers (1989:128) note that 4.5 obols per day is a plausible alternative to 9 obols a day assuming the garrison was twice as large. Th is figure is not in keeping with the general preference in the classical and Hellenistic periods to base daily pay rates on round figures rather than on fractions of an obol. 115. Syll.3 581. Rhodes minted currency on a standard of 3.9 grams per drachma, lighter than the Att ic drachma (4.3 g) and only slightly heavier than the Ptolemaic (3.6 g). 116. Tarn 1913:456 is correct to note that the other 4,000 smaller ships listed by Callixenus should be dismissed as “absolute rubbish.” He suggests that the list of 112 polyremes likely derives from an official naval list. 117. Th iel 1946:198. 118. Polyb. 1.23.3. 119. Livy 34.57.5–59.8; 35.43.3. 120. At the start of the Fift h Syrian War, there were 20 decked ships and 20 undecked ships docked at Tyre (Polyb. 5.62.2–3) while another 30 decked ships were dispatched against the Seleucid fleet (Polyb. 5.68.4). It should be noted that this war involved mostly fighting on land and need not have involved a complete naval mobilization. 121. Fischer-Bovet (2014:76) estimates wartime costs of 10,200–13,400 talents (ca. 60–80 million drachmas) and peacetime costs of 4,500–5,700 talents (ca. 25– 35 million drachmas). These estimates rest on different assumptions (for example, Fischer-Bovet estimates a pay rate of 1 drachma per day) but share the same general magnitude with my own. 122. Ath. 5.203B. 123. Polyb. 5.89.1–5. 124. On the splendor of Ptolemaic display in Alexandria, see Erskine 1995; see also Thompson 2013 on the extravagance of Ptolemaic royal barges. 125. Diog. Laert. 5.3.58. 126. Aperghis 2004:252.

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Notes to Pages 162–170

127. Aperghis 2001:80; Hdt. 1.92. 128. Aperghis 2004:57 129. Ma 2007 offers harsh criticism. 130. Hdt. 3.90–94. 131. See Armayor 1978:7 on the distribution of the total across the satrapies (although highly pessimistic about the accuracy of any aspect of Herodotus’s lists). Laird (1921:325–26) is likewise skeptical. Briant (2002:391–392) accepts the list as basically accurate. 132. Hdt. 3.95.1. Herodotus here converts the 7,600 Babylonian talents in his list at 78 minas per talent into Euboean (= Att ic) talents of 60 minas. 133. Ath. 5.145A. 134. E.g. Polyaenus, Strat. 4.2.32. 135. Nehemiah 5.15. 136. Strabo 15.3.9; on the bullion captured by Alexander, see Holt 2016. 137. Grainger 1990; Kosmin 2014:183–221. 138. Aperghis 2004:213–246. 139. Diod. Sic. 19.56.5; Billows 1990:258. 140. Plut. Pomp. 45.3. 141. S. Sherwin-White 1982:55–64; Aperghis 2004:202. 142. Aperghis 2004:202. 143. Arr. Anab. 7.23.3, although this passage describes a special, hybrid MacedonianPersian unit, in which the Macedonians seem to have been paid much more than common rankers in the phalanx. 144. Pritchett 1971:1–15. 145. Diod. Sic. 17.64.6; Curt. 5.1.45; Sekunda 2010:465. 146. Livy 37.37.9. 147. Livy 35.43.3. 148. Livy 37.45.14. 149. Livy 38.37.11. 150. Diod. Sic. 29.15; Just. Epit. 32.2.1–2. See M. Taylor 2014b:230. 151. M. Taylor 2014b:226. 152. See Le Rider 1993 for the Seleucid indemnity. 153. Hannibal could muster 6,000 infantry and 500 cavalry after Zama (Nep. Hannnibal 6; App. Pun. 55.); Philip V mustered the same number after Cynoscephalae (Livy 33.19.3), and Antiochus III rallied a “reasonably large” number of troops (“modica manu armatorum”) at Sardis after Magnesia (Livy 37.44).

Conclusions 1. Rosenstein 2004:107–140. 2. Antiochus’s strength: Livy 37.37.9. Bar Kochva 1976:8–9, 168, offers the most sensible solution, namely that the unenumerated strength of the Silver Shields must be 10,000 men, the same strength posted by the unit at the Batt le of Raphia. Roman strength (Livy 37.39.7–11): two legions with 5,400 infantry and equal allied wings,

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3,000 cavalry (2,200 Romano-Italian and 800 Attalid), 500 Trallians and Cretans, 3,000 Att alid and Achaean peltasts, and 2,000 Th racians and Macedonians as a camp guard, or 30,100 total. 3. Roman army sizes in the defense: Sentinum: four legions and alae (Livy 10.27.10); Telamon: Polyb. 2.24 (two consular armies at the batt le); Trebia: four legions and alae, 40,000 total (Polyb. 3.72.10–13); Cannae: eight legions and alae (Polyb. 3.107.15). Metaurus River: two legions and allies under the consul Livius, two more under the praetor Porcius Licinius and 7,000 detached under the consul Ti. Claudius Nero. 4. See Roth 1999 and Erdkamp 1998. 5. The ration of the Roman soldier, according to Polybius, was 2/3 of an Att ic medimnos, or 4 modii. Th is was a measure in volume rather than mass: a modius of wheat on average weighed around 15 lb or 6.8 kg. Thus each Roman infantryman required 60 lb (27kg) of grain per month, ignoring all other supplies. 6. Wine for Antiochus: Livy 37.27.3; Wagons for Perseus: Livy 42.53.4. 7. Although considering the whole of Anatolia “local” may seem to stretch the term, it is important to note that the Seleucids themselves considered Asia Minor north of the Taurus Mountains a single administrative district. Notice, for example, the appointment of Zeuxis as viceroy of the entire region as well as the appointment of Nicanor as its high priest (Wells 1934, no. 44). 8. Asclepiodotus 1.7 (depth), 4.1 (spacing). 9. See M. Taylor 2014a for detailed discussion of the spatial requirements of a Roman legion. 10. Livy 44.41.2. 11. Plut. Pyrrh. 19.5. 12. Polyb. 1.62.6. 13. Plut. Pyrrh. 18.5–6. 14. Casualties at Thermopylae: Polyb. 20.8.6. Ships lost at Myonessus: Livy 37.30.7; App. Syr. 27. 15. Livy 37.44.1, who states the figure does not include 1,500 taken prisoner. Th is high figure perhaps should be dismissed as an annalistic invention, although Livy’s narrative for the batt le elsewhere reflects his use of Polybius as a source. Cf. App. Syr. 36, who reports losses at 50,000 but claims that this figure includes prisoners. The batt le did result in a partial envelopment of Antiochus’s left wing, a maneuver that would have produced mass casualties as the trapped soldiers were massacred. 16. Johstono 2018. 17. Livy 44.7–8–9; Polyb. 28.10.1 (censure); Livy 44.10.1–4; App. Mac. 30 (executions); Burton 2017:153. 18. App. Syr. 37. 19. E.g., Polyb. 1.11.5; Zonar. 8.14, 17 (= Dio. Cass. 11, 12). 20. Rosenstein 1990. 21. Plut. Pyrrh. 18.1. 22. Clark (2014) who notes that this narrative of triumph in defeat broke down by the end of the second century. 23. App. Syr. 21.

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24. Livy 37.2.8. 25. Twenty-five to thirty-three legions with a matching strength of auxiliary units. The average strength of an Imperial legion was around 5,000. (Roth [1994] argues for 4,800.) 26. On the Roman (and Polybian) conception of empire as obedience, see Derow 1979. 27. Polyb. 31.2.11. 28. Polyb. 2.8.12–13. 29. Polyb. 32.3. Polybius suggests the failure to punish Leptines, the murderer, was intended as veiled threat against Demetrius, a not entirely satisfactory explanation. 30. Polyb. 22.3.1–2. 31. Gruen 1976. 32. Eckstein 2010:245. 33. ORF3 Cato Frg. 162 (SHA Had. 5.3): “He declared the Macedonians free because they could not be defended” (my translation). 34. See Brunt 1971:432 for legionary deployments after the Th ird Macedonian War. 35. Polyb. 5.54.1–2; Mitt ag 2008 on the personal loyalty of Seleucid forces to the king. 36. Most notably Strootman 2014 as well as Strootman 2011, 2014. Dreyer 2011 (also on the Seleucid court) as well as Ma 2011 (the Antigonid court). 37. On royal parties, see Murray 1996. For Seleucid tryphē, see Kosmin 2014: 160–164. 38. Tan 2017. 39. Caesar’s revenues from Gaul: Suet. Caes. 25.1, at 40 million sesterces (10 million denarii) being a good deal less than the 35 million denarii with which Pompey enriched the treasury. 40. Griffith 1935. 41. “Nervos belli”: Cic. Phil. 5.5. 42. Eckstein 2006:244–317. 43. Indeed, apart from Rome and Carthage, classical Athens and Renaissance Venice and Genoa represent the only other major premodern empires centered upon republican city-states. 44. Mann 1984. For the contested application of these principles to ancient states, see the contributions in Ando and Richardson 2017. 45. Ager publicus: Roselaar 2010. Civil Law: Ando 2019. 46. Tribes: L.  R. Taylor 2013. Cursus honorum: Beck 2005. Manipular legion: M. Taylor 2014a. 47. The exact nature of Rome’s republican system remains vigorously debated and contested: e.g., Millar 1984; North 1990; Vishnia 1996; Yakobsen 1999; Hölkeskamp 2010; Flower 2010; Mouritsen 2017. For the advantages in terms of the sharing of knowledge in republican and especially fully democratic systems, see Ober 2008 on classical Athens, obviously an extreme case but one with some relevance to a sys-

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tem like that of the Middle Republic, where free speech, civic intervisibility, and voting were important aspects. 48. “Upon its ancient manners the Roman state rests, and so too upon its men”: Enn. Ann. 467 W; August. De civ. D. 2.21; Cic. Rep. 5.1 (my translation).

A ppe n di x 1. Coale and Demeny 1983. 2. Ulpian’s life table: see Frier 1982. Scheidel 2001a offers a number of caveats about the precision of such life tables.

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Index

Abruzzi, 31–33, 35, 37 Achaean League, 3–4, 6, 14, 18, 55–56, 73– 74, 76, 84, 129, 145, 177, 184 Achaemenid Persia, 5, 104–105, 162–163, 165, 185 Achaeus, 3 Acrocorinth, 6, 76–77, 83–84, 100, 151 aedile, 115, 120–121 Aemilius Paullus, Lucius, 18, 46–47, 51, 53, 80, 96, 113, 119, 125, 144, 148–149 Aetolian League, 6, 14, 55–56, 59, 74, 77, 87, 92, 125, 146, 177, 184 agēma, 82–83, 88, 95, 97–99, 104, 160 ager Gallicus, 44 ager publicus, 130, 132, 187 Alexander VII Sidetes, 100 Alexander the Great, 2–4, 76, 83, 85, 93, 145, 147, 163–164 Alexandria, 87, 92, 153, 156, 161, 182 amphoda, 100 Andros, Battle of, 17 Anicius, Marcus, 49, 51 Antigonus Doson, 6, 73–74 Antigonus Gonatas, 5, 8, 11, 17, 99 Antigonus One-Eyed, 5, 162–163, 165 Antioch, 4, 93 Antiochus I, 11 Antiochus II, 16 Antiochus III (the Great), 5, 9–11, 14–16, 49, 77, 87–88, 92, 94–96, 99–103, 105– 107, 125, 135–137, 139, 145, 156, 158–159, 163–165, 167, 170, 172, 174–179, 184, 186–187 Antiochus IV, 3, 5, 11, 16–17, 98, 120, 166, 182 Antiochus Hierax, 5

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Antonius, Marcus (Mark Antony), 9, 17 Apamea, 4, 100, 102 Apulians, 42–43, 45, 47 aqua Marcia, 129 Aratus, 84, 157 archers, 53, 55, 74, 97 Ariarathes, 106, 125, 135 as: libral, 133; light-libral, 41, 45, 121; sextantal, 41, 45, 133, 180; Asculum, Battle of, 8, 47, 173 assidui, 41–45, 123 Athamanians, 55–56, 145, 171 Athens, 3, 6, 17, 67, 128, 144, 182, 188 Attalus I, 107, 178 Augustus, 42, 155 auxilia externa, 54–58, 115–116, 171–172 Babylonians, 102, 105 Baecula, Battle of, 13, 60, 63–64 Balearic Islanders, 53 Bastarnae, 78 Boeotians, 74–75, 77, 135 Callixenus of Rhodes, 87–88, 160 Cannae, Battle of, 13–14, 25, 37–38, 42–43, 60–61, 63–64, 69, 71, 93, 126, 172 Cappadocia, 96–97, 106, 172 Capua/Campanians, 7–8, 13, 31, 40–41, 47–48, 52, 130, 186 Carians, 84, 92, 96–97, 172 casualties, 62–64, 76, 107, 173–175 Celtiberians, 55, 57, 62–63, 70 Cenomani, 30–32 censors, 33–34, 39, 48, 119–120, 127, 130, 132, 138, 182 census, 33–34, 38–41, 44, 126–127 centurions, 46–47, 112

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244  |  Index Chalcis, 76–77, 150–151 Chios, Battle of, 17, 151 Chremonidean War, 4, 17, 91 Cilicians, 97, 99, 172 Cisalpine Gaul, 8–9, 60–61, 115, 124, 136, 177–178 cives sine suffragio, 7–8, 38, 47–49 Claudius, Appius, 174 Claudius, Gaius, 34, 53 Cleomenes III, 3, 6, 73, 92, 152 Cleopatra VII, 9, 17 Cleopatra Syra, 16 cleruchs, 84, 86–90, 92–94, 103–104, 153, 157–158, 160, 174, 177–178 cohort, 26, 32, 48–49, 51–54, 183 commercium, 7 Conscription Diagramma, 81–82 conubium, 7–8 Cora, 49, 50 Corinth, 3, 75–76 Cornelia, 17 Cornelius Scipio, Lucius, 15, 170 Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus, Publius, 14 Cornelius Scipio Africanus, Publius, 13, 17, 19, 124–125, 171–172, 186 Corupedium, Battle of, 5 court: Antigonid, 83, 147–148, 150; Hellenistic, 181–182; Ptolemaic, 87, 151, 155– 156, 160–161; Seleucid, 4, 11, 93, 175 Cretans, 56, 75, 77, 84, 87–88, 90, 92, 95, 97, 106 customs dues (portoria), 120, 130, 150– 151, 154 Cynoscephalae, Battle of, 14, 26, 56, 74–77, 79–80, 83, 85, 171, 174 Cyrrhus, 101, 107, 186 Daphne, 96, 98–99, 101, 104, 106, 182 Demetrias, 6, 76–77, 146, 151 Demetrius Poliorcetes, 11, 147, 150 denarius: introduction, 13, 112; weight, 112, 129, 179 Didas the Paeonian, 83 drachma: Attic, 179; Ptolemaic, 153, 156 Duilius, Gaius, 18, 68

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Egadi Islands, Battle of, 12, 44 elephants, 49, 72, 100, 177 Ennius, 47, 54, 188 Epirus, 4, 8, 119 Etruscans, 7, 30–33, 35, 37, 48 Eumenes II, 15 Fabius Pictor, 18, 32, 44 Fabricius, Gaius, 176 Flaminius, Gaius, 9 Fregellae, 49–52 Gauls: in Carthaginian service, 60, 68– 69; Galatians, 96–99, 106, 136, 172; in Macedonian service, 74, 77, 84, 87– 88, 90; in Ptolemaic service, 87–90; in Roman service, 56 Genthius, 15, 78, 147 gladius Hispaniensis, 98 Great Plains, Battle of (Campus Magnus), 13, 62–64, 70–71 Hamilcar, 10, 66, 69–70 Hannibal, 9–11, 13–14, 30–31, 43, 49, 52, 59–66, 68–70, 71–73, 140–143, 171– 172, 183, 185 Hanno Barca, 60 Hanno the Great, 10 Hasdrubal Barca, 13, 60, 64 Hasdrubal Gesco, 61–62, 70–71 Hasdrubal the Fair, 10, 185 Heraclea, Battle of, 8, 53, 173, 175 Hernici, 7, 49–51 Herodotus, 94, 162–163 High Count. See Roman demography Ilipa, Battle of, 13, 55–56, 63–64, 70, 93, 171 Illyrians, 74–76, 78, 84, 147, 177 Ipsus, Battle of, 5 iuniores, 32–33, 35, 37–38, 40–44, 189 Jerome, Saint, 89, 152–154 Jews, 102–103, 105 Julius Caesar, Gaius, 17, 183 Justin, 94, 100 Justinian, 155

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245  |  Index Koilē Syria, 3–5, 16, 92–93, 102, 106–107, 154, 158–159, 218 Larissa, 79–80, 84 Latin colonies, 50–51 legions, manipular, 7, 173, 187 libraries, 182 Libyans, 10, 13, 65–66, 71–73, 86–88, 139, 142, 159, 175, 185, 187 Ligurians, 56, 69, 124, 131, 136, 171 Lilybaeum, 10, 12 Livy, as source, 11, 25 Low Count. See Roman demography Lucanians, 13, 31, 33, 35, 37 ludi, 121–122 Macedonian Wars, overview, 14–15 machimoi, 91 Magnesia, Battle of, 170–75, 184 Makedones, 6, 80–82, 174 Masinissa, 13–14, 18, 71–72, 141 Mazaetullus, 72 mercenaries: Antigonid; 74–78, 83–85, 145–146, 148–149; Carthaginian, 13, 45, 59, 62–63, 66, 68–70, 185–186; Ptolemaic, 86–90, 92–94, 156–160, 184; Roman, 55, 57 (see also auxilia externa); Seleucid, 4, 95, 97–100, 102, 105–106, 184 Metaurus River, Battle of, 13, 56, 60, 63– 64, 172 mines: Antigonid, 150–151, 185; Carthaginian, 141–142, 185; Ptolemaic, 156–57; Roman, 128–131, 138, 142 Molon, 90, 106–107, 175, 178 Mummius, Lucius, 53 mutiny, 13, 95, 107, 142, 186 Mysians, 87, 96–97, 99, 173 Nabis, 125, 144 Naravas, 70 Neo-Cretans, 87–88, 90, 95 New Carthage, 13, 63–64, 69, 128, 142 Numidians, 56, 61–65, 70–73, 139, 143, 171 Paeligni, 48–53 Pamphylians, 96–97

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Paneion, Battle of, 16, 174 Parthians, 5, 100 peltasts, 74–77, 82–83, 88, 90, 97, 159–160 Perseus, 15, 76–79, 83–84, 146–149, 171– 175 phalanges: Antigonid, 75, 77–78, 80– 84; Ptolemaic, 86, 90, 91, 159; Se­leucid, 94–97, 99, 101, 103; tactics of, 173 Philip II, 185 Philip V, 14, 17, 74–76, 80, 83–85 137, 145– 147, 150 Piraeus, 6, 151 Pisidians, 96–97 Plautus, 112 plebs, 6, 155 Polybius, as source, 1, 18 Pompeii, 53 Pompeius Magnus, Gnaeus (Pompey the Great), 117, 154, 158, 183 Porcius Cato, Marcus (Cato the Elder), 18, 57, 119, 127, 178 praefecti, 53 proletarii, 34, 39, 41–45, 117 provocatio, 187 Ptolemy I Soter, 3, 5, 11, 16, 91, 156 Ptolemy II Philadelphus, 8, 11, 16–17, 88, 93, 151–152, 154, 157, 159–161 Ptolemy III, 3–4, 16, 93, 103–104, 156–157, 161 Ptolemy IV, 14, 16, 86–87, 89–91, 94–95, 107, 158, 184 Ptolemy V, 16, 92 Ptolemy VI, 17 Ptolemy VIII, 17, 154 Ptolemy XII Auletes, 152 publicani, 111, 114–115, 130, 132 Punic Wars, overview, 12–14 Pydna, Battle of, 11–12, 15, 48, 79, 82–83, 146, 149, 171–74 Pydna monument, Delphi, 53 Pyrrhus, 7–8, 10–11, 53, 173–174, 176 quaestor, 19, 122–124, 126, 140, 172 Quinctius Flamininus, Titus, 14, 26, 55, 80, 83, 125, 144 quinquereme, 44–45, 117–118, 134, 143, 161, 165

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246  |  Index Raphia, Battle of, 16, 56, 85–97, 104, 106– 107, 157–158, 160 rations, 113–117, 145–146, 154–155, 158–159, 163–165, 180 Rhodes, 3, 17, 154, 157, 182 Roman demography: High Count, 36–38; Low Count, 31–36 Romano-Seleucid (Syrian) War, overview, 15–16 Sabines, 7–8, 30–31, 47–48 Sacred Band (Carthage), 65 Salvius, 53 Samnites, 7, 30–31, 33, 35, 37, 51 sarissa, 80, 82 scriptura, 120 scutum, 53–54 Seleucia on the Tigris, 4 Seleucia Pieria, 4, 16, 93 Seleucus I, 3–5, 11, 96, 101–103, 166 Seleucus II, 16 Seleucus IV, 166 Sellasia, Battle of, 3, 6, 73–74, 83–84 Sempronius Gracchus, Gaius, 17, 38, 52, 115, 117 Sempronius Gracchus, Tiberius (censor 169 BCE), 34 Sempronius Gracchus, Tiberius (tribune 133 BCE), 17, 19, 38, 52, 124 senate, Roman, 7, 32, 42, 48, 52, 55, 111, 114, 117, 120–121, 124, 126–127, 137, 148, 174, 177–178, 182 shofet, 10, 65, 140 slaves, 13, 36, 37, 41–42, 57, 67, 69, 79–80, 115–116, 119, 122, 127, 130, 174 slingers, 55, 61, 97 Smyrna, 103–104 Social War: 220–217 BCE, 87, 73–74, 184; 91–88 BCE, 52, 186 socii, 8, 13, 21, 32, 47, 52–54, 57, 65 Sophonisba, 71 Sparta, 4, 6, 80, 92–93, 135, 157, 177–178 Spurius Ligustinus, 41 Strabo, 66, 102, 152 Stratonicea-in-Caria, 100 supplementa, 26, 113, 118, 171 Syphax, 13, 61, 71–72

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Syracuse, 5, 10, 13, 68, 184 Syrian Wars, overview, 16–17 Telamon, Battle of, 9, 172 temple plundering, 165–167 Teos, 100, 172 Thermopylae, Battle of, 171–172, 174 Thessalians, 6, 56, 75–76, 79, 83–84, 87, 150 Thracians, 55–56, 75, 77–79, 83–84, 87–88, 90, 95, 98–99, 106 Ticinus River, Battle of, 37, 64 timber, 3, 151, 161 Timoleon, 10, 65 Treaty of Apamea, 5, 177 Trebia, Battle of, 13, 61, 64, 172 tributum, 12, 47, 52, 57, 122–123, 126–128, 131–132, 138, 143 trireme, 44, 67, 118, 143, 146, 159–161, 165, 174 triumph, 18, 46, 53, 111, 118–119, 121–122, 124–126, 132, 134–137, 149 Tullius Cicero, Marcus, 1, 41, 124, 152– 153, 157 tumultus, 31, 33 Tychaeus, 72 Tyre, 11 Umbrians, 30–33, 35, 37 Valerius Antias, 18, 148 Valerius Flaccus, Lucius 119, 127 Valerius Laevinus, Publius, 176 vectigalia, 119–120, 128–129, 130–132, 138 Veii, 7 Veneti, 31–32 Vermina, 72 Volscians, 7–8, 47–50 Volsinius Oblacus, 53 World War II, 169–170 Xenoitas, 107, 178 Zama, Battle of, 14, 56, 61–64, 66, 72, 171–172 Zenon Archive, 154 Zeno of Rhodes, 18 Zeuxis, 5, 107, 178

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