The spring of 107 saw Trajan back in Dacia, organizing the new territory. The Roman capital would be Sarmizegetusa, some twenty-five miles from the mountain stronghold of Royal Sarmizegetusa, now razed and desolate. Three legions remained in the province; and though two would be withdrawn within a decade, an unusually large complement of auxiliaries meant that her garrison would be similar to Britain’s: 30–40,000, or one tenth of the Roman Army. Nearly 100 fort sites are known in Romania, compared with Britain’s exceptional total of 250. Roman Britain was, of course, twice as big and held twice as long.
Visitors to Romania may wish to see Sarmizegetusa Regia, capital of the indomitable Decebal. It lies in the Orashtie Mountains at 4,000 feet; on a steep, high hill, densely clad in majestic beech: centrepiece of a clutch of Dacian citadels, cunningly concealed within the inner Carpathian foothills. They are approached from the north via the town of Orashtie (Hunedoara Province). From there a secondary road runs south to the village of Costeshti. Alas, Sarmizegetusa is some sixteen miles deeper into this upland tangle, via an unsurfaced forestry track of dwindling merit whose second half is negotiable by off-road type vehicle only. Even the nearer citadels, like Blidaru, involve a 2,000-foot climb. The remains are greatly reduced by Roman demolition. This, plus the absence of signposting and the low quality of local advice, makes the casual visit a questionable proposition. Sarmizegetusa, though a milestone in the story of Roman expansion, is still among antiquity’s least accessible and most undeveloped major sites.
The Roman capital, Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa, is on Route 68 to Caransebesh, some twenty-eight miles south of Hunedoara. A well-preserved amphitheatre, the Forum of Trajan and a palace of the Augustales (priestly college) are on view. Ten miles west, on this same road, is the Poarta de Fier a Transilvaniei (another Iron Gates), the pass commanding the western approach to the royal strongholds, where the battle of Tapae was fought. On the Danube, at Turnu Severin, are the remains of the Drobeta fortress and the surviving abutment of Apollodorus’ bridge. In the Dobruja there is of course Adamclisi, famous for its three monuments. The carved panels, formerly scattered, are now assembled in the village museum. Nearby stand the ruins of a municipality founded by Trajan and called Tropaeum Traiani after his monument of the same name. The ruined circuit of its 4th-century walls, with some two dozen towers, survives. On the coast are the remains of the Pontic cities of Callatis (Mangalia) and Histria (Istria), the latter twenty-five miles north of Constantsa on the coast road. At Constantsa (Tomis) itself are the Archaeological Museum of the Dobruja, a stretch of Trajanic city wall and some fine 4th-century floor mosaics. At Hirshova are the remains of the lower Danubian fort of Carsium and south of it, between the villages of Topalu and Dunarea, those of Capidava.
It is time to resume centre stage and, in returning to the Eternal City, to ask who was the author of Trajan’s Column. Surely so copious a masterpiece must have been the work of many: whoever brought back the visual material from Transcarpathia, whoever edited it and whoever fixed it in stone. Possibly the sculptors were summoned from a studio in Asia Minor, where centres like Aphrodisias47 supplied statuary to the Roman world. There must also have been a co-ordinator to select the scenes, set the style and supervise the work; and who more suitable than Apollodorus, architect to the imperial court and author of Trajan’s Forum? There is, however, a clue to the contrary. The Column’s depiction of his Danube bridge is flawed. Crucial struts, intended to counter the downthrust of the arches, are shown as if positioned the wrong way round. If this typifies our artist’s blindness to technicalities, it also makes a fool of the bridge’s designer and few would believe that had Apollodorus been in charge of the sculptural project he would have let the error pass. Doubtless his hands were full elsewhere in Trajan’s Forum: a commission so abundant that even the Column was a minor addition. Failing Apollodorus, commentators have invented a master-sculptor, even calling him ‘the maestro’: perhaps the specialist charged with the Forum’s decoration, while Apollodorus looked after its buildings. Some have gone further and argued that the supposed maestro must have been answerable to a ‘column committee’, appointed by the Senate; for the dedicatory inscription tells us that the Column was sponsored by that body. The existence of a committee, with conflicts between itself and the maestro, could explain the Column’s contradictions: great artistry negated by excessive content and incomparable execution wasted through prohibitive viewing problems. Surely so brilliant a professional would have chosen a more accessible medium (such as a continuous, horizontal frieze, housed in an arcade) or at least a wider band and a simplified narrative. But we know that the senators had already commissioned a column for another reason (to mark the depth of rock excavated) and doubtless clung to their original choice. It is also conceivable that a senate committee, fawning on the emperor, would insist that no detail of his war be omitted: an approach regretted by art critics but applauded by historians and students of warfare.
Hadrian had followed Trajan perhaps three times across the Danube and over the Carpathians. Even then his standing seems not to have been high, for a suitable bearded officer in his late twenties has not been identified among the Column’s scenes. Doubtless this helped heap coals of fire on Hadrian’s head. Later events make clear the growing hatred of ward for guardian; the secret envy of his easy popularity, the concealed contempt for his facile intellect and showy adventurism. Now, at the war’s end, with crowning irony, we find Hadrian assigned the task of glorifying a campaign which he detested; having been elected praetor, with special responsibility for the victory festivities. These included Triumphs, games and other events lasting more than a year, four triumphal arches and seven commemorative coin issues!
Trajan, Apollodorus and Hadrian: the victorious commander-in-chief and ‘best emperor of all’; the busy architect at the zenith of his brilliant career; and the jealous, touchy, under-recognized young Spaniard, treated by Trajan as an errand boy. Dio offers a tantalizing vignette of the three together. He describes Trajan deep in conversation with Apollodorus; poring no doubt over some architectural drawing. Hadrian, the country cousin, chanced upon them and offered a suggestion. This irritated Apollodorus, who sent him off with a flea in his ear. It was a trivial matter, but it would one day cost Apollodorus his bridge, his career and his life; for we subsequently learn that:
Hadrian banished and later put to death Apollodorus, the architect who had masterminded Trajan’s projects in Rome. It was given out that he had done some wrong; but the truth is that once, when Trajan and Apollodorus were in deep discussion about some architectural point, Hadrian had chipped in with a comment which caused Apollodorus to snap, ‘You know nothing about these matters. Away and draw your gourds!’ When Hadrian became emperor he remembered this taunt.48
‘Your gourds’ referred to one of Hadrian’s youthful attempts at architectural drawing. He had apparently been fascinated by a feature known as the pumpkin dome, examples of which would later be included among the outworks of his famous Villa, near Tivoli, where they may still be seen.
The Dacian Wars were followed by a seven-year peace. Accepting Dio’s view that Trajan was motivated by glory, this would be a time of anti-climax and chafing ambition, sufficient to tempt him toward the ultimate challenge to Roman arms: conquest of Parthia. This campaign was launched in 113, initially with dazzling results: four new provinces, carved out of Armenia and what is now Iraq; confining the enemy to what is now Iran and bringing the Roman army to the Persian Gulf. Needless to say it opened a long and mountainous left flank, east of the Tigris, which extended as the Romans advanced; and from it the Parthians continued so effectively to promote resistance that, as Trajan reached objectives in the south, his northern gains began to crumble behind him. The setback was a signal for Jewish revolts in the Roman east, threatening even Syria, a province crucial to Trajan’s rear. He hurried back, reaching Antioch in the winter of 117. There he suffered a severe stroke. It was decided to repatriate him by sea, but not far along the co
ast of Asia Minor he died. His ashes were taken on to Rome and deposited in the podium of his Column.
Though Trajan had neglected to nominate a successor, Hadrian held the high cards. He was presently governor of Syria, which not only meant he was close to events but also that he inherited command of the large army assembled for the Parthian conflict. His progress to the purple was unopposed.
Hadrian’s reign brought changes in foreign policy which would astonish all Romans and dismay those who held her martial traditions dear. It had been a century since the Varian Disaster shattered the assumption of endless empire. During that period, emperors had shifted uncertainly between consolidation and acquisition, with acquisitors motived by popularity at least as much as by territory. Now here was a highly unorthodox emperor, willing to risk unpopularity by forgoing glory and putting Rome on a pacifist path: renouncing offensive war, rescinding Trajan’s eastern conquests and seeking prosperity behind firm frontiers.
An alternative way of seeing Hadrian’s policies is as reactions to his predecessor’s. Indeed Hadrian’s measures were sometimes so emotional that one can seldom be sure whether he believed in the rightness of a course, or whether it attracted him because it was contrary to Trajan’s. Besides playing down all aspects of his guardian’s achievement and repudiating his foreign policy, Hadrian phased out his festivals and games, closed his theatre, dismissed his officials and executed his more prominent generals. Perhaps they had voiced opposition to appeasement and expressed outrage at the return of territories won with their soldiers’ blood. Even Dacia, packed though it was with Roman immigrants, was now in question; and it was with difficulty that Hadrian’s advisers dissuaded him from its abandonment.
Apollodorus was doubly doomed. The new emperor believed himself a creative genius and glowered at all who excelled in the artistic or intellectual fields. According to Dio, he even ‘abolished’ Homer!49 Malevolence focused first upon the Danube bridge, which Hadrian ordered to be dismantled lest the barbarians use it against Rome; though all other crossings of the Danube and Rhine were left intact. Accordingly its timber arches were removed, leaving only the stone piers: so soundly placed, despite the strong current, that parts remained visible until the 19th century and one of the abutments still stands. Its designer was murdered or forced into suicide by imperial agents. While Hadrian’s reign cannot be compared in terms of terror to those of Nero or Domitian, he would not lag far behind them in pettiness and spite.
On the other hand, there was nothing trivial about taking the Roman empire onto the defensive. Augustus had shied from so controversial a course, preferring to hand on the task to Tiberius in the form of posthumous advice. Even now, twelve reigns later, it required courage to translate the first emperor’s last wish into practice. This was only made possible by the recent failure in Parthia and the ignominy it brought to the war party. A counter-current, favourable to change, had been created. But how long would it flow and how soon would Rome’s fighting spirit reassert itself?
Hadrian’s armistice succeeded; for the reign of his successor, Antoninus, marks the apogee of the empire’s prosperity. It should also have begun a new era of détente with the outside peoples. ‘Good fences make good neighbours’, as the saying goes; and Hadrian’s efforts to strengthen the frontiers did not preclude improved relations, doubtless cemented by economic aid which was intended to reduce dangerous differences and promote the adoption of Roman ways. Alas, progress in these directions was impeded by ingrained attitudes on both sides. The thawing of the immense Barbaricum, most of which was far beyond Rome’s reach, would prove to be a process requiring more centuries than the empire had left to live.
Dacia had been the most capable and promising of Rome’s European neighbours. With earlier goodwill or gentler handling the natural stronghold might have been converted to a friendly bulwark against yet more dangerous enemies beyond. By contrast, Trajan’s way resembled that of Cortez and Pizarro, of whom it is said that they beheaded civilizations as casually as a walker lops a wildflower with a swing of his stick. The scent of gold had reached the Roman conquistador also.
Trajan’s Forum, on which the wealth of Dacia was squandered, is today a sad space at the heart of Rome, haunt of flickering lizards and stray cats fed by elderly ladies. Of Apollodorus’ architectural masterpiece only the market with its semicircle of shops remains remotely intact; and only the Column, splendid in isolation, profits from the ruin of its surroundings. Resisting 1,900 winters, it has fared less well in the hydrocarbon haze and corrosive rain of the last three dozen, especially where its topmost spiral takes the drip from the capital above. Since 1987 the entire shaft has been surrounded by scaffolding and encased in plastic sheeting. Surely a prudent and enlightened course would be protection within a cylindrical building, incorporating a rising walkway for continuous viewing, with suitable lighting and multilingual commentary.
Such is the inspired if oversupplied spiral, with its brede of marble men overwrought, sepulchre for an emperor, cenotaph for a king and simultaneous memorial to a victorious army, a forgotten nation, a team of anonymous sculptors, a confused committee, a perplexed designer and an unknown master of reportage; as well as being a monument of world stature and our richest record of events beyond the Roman rim.
EPILOGUE
Barbarians and Romans
IT WAS 800 YEARS SINCE Romulus had given his name to the Eternal City; and she was tiring. Trajan’s wars had been especially strenuous. Despite Hadrian’s tours of inspection, his pep-talks, his efforts to keep the soldiers on their toes with drills, manoeuvres and the building of defensive works, the army began to relax. The 2nd century would be among military history’s most complacent; almost without improvements in defensive works, weaponry or tactics. Though still largely dormant, the Barbaricum’s size and the profusion of its people meant that any policy which did not guarantee military superiority must eventually lead to ruin.
Central to this self-deception was the imperial frontier, with its supposition that the army’s proximity would suffice to make the outside world behave. It had taken strength and watchfulness to make and maintain clear borders, without grey areas or debatable lands; to create a world which was either Roman or not Roman, a division so distinct and so zealously guarded that it would be as safe to plough the first field behind the front line as any in Latium. None the less, for all its majesty and authority, the peace imposed by Rome will not long outlive the 2nd century. Time reveals it as an extended truce, a respite from the gruesome norms of human conduct. Though two predominantly peaceful centuries were a formidable achievement, the effect would be to pond up external pressures which must one day overflow. In any case it had been optimistic to believe that Mediterranean standards of stability could indefinitely be imposed north of the Alps and in – or beyond – the Balkans. Iron Age man had little taste for order. Indeed it remains questionable whether even his post-atomic counterpart has the skill or the will to do better.
Human nature is slow to change; as may be seen in our language. A glance at that indispensable work of reference, Roget’s Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases, shows how unequal are the vocabularies of peace and war; from which we may deduce which of those pursuits has most exercised minds and bodies. The vocabulary of peace occupies five lines of synonyms on the printed page, that of war twenty-eight. Searching further: under ‘harmony’, ‘concord’, ‘mediation’, ‘passivity’ and related meanings there are forty-five lines; while ‘discord’, ‘disunity’, ‘combat’, ‘armament’, ‘retaliation’ and so on, yield no less than 287! So, in one major language at least, there are five-to-six times more words available to hawks than doves; a telling comment on our dedication to violent solutions during the millennia in which English and its parent tongues evolved, not to mention the ample additions from the warlike, cold-warlike and terrorist jargons of recent years. Returning from words to facts: though Rome’s emperors tried their best to do so, no age or country can insulate itself from eternal verities. It i
s one of the strangest developments in military history that a state, summoned from mid-Italian obscurity by the trumpet of Mars, should have ended by devising a strategy dedicated to passivity and a tactic based on sitting and waiting; though the techniques of war wait for no one.
In short a single defensive line, without secondary or in-depth support, would prove progressively vulnerable as the empire weakened. Subdividing the army and posting it in penny packets along a 4,000-mile perimeter not only promoted the habit of dispersal but also blinded the high command to the importance of centrally held reserves. Rome had spun a web round western Europe, the Near East and Mediterranean Africa, yet neglected to put a spider in the middle. The empire’s geography, the moral importance of Italy at its heart, the middle Danube and upper Rhine as the likeliest and deadliest points of entry: all indicated a need for counterstrike provisions based on northern Italy. There the Alps would perhaps have dictated a twofold grouping, with a powerful army at each end: one in north-western Italy or at Basle and another in north-eastern Italy or at Ljubljana. However, the implementation of anything resembling a centralized strategy would be postponed until the western empire’s dotage, when it was too late to be decisive. The truth is that large clusters of legions were unwelcome to a regime founded in suspicion and obsessed with fear of usurpation and conspiracy. The caesars slept more soundly in the knowledge that their regiments were scattered.
It will not be till the 3rd or 4th centuries that meaningful improvement occurs; albeit erratically, with each autocrat imposing an often contradictory view. Positive developments will include enlargement of the imperial bodyguard into a rapid-response force and conversion to heavy cavalry, with mounted regiments deployed behind each major front. Rome will cease to be the empire’s military headquarters and subsequent capitals will be more realistically positioned in relation to external dangers. Finally there will be division of command within a partitioned empire: first, experimentally, into four; then, more permanently, into two. But despite modernization and increased flexibility, Rome will never assemble a united force. More typically, she will continue to improvise and compromise, mustering armies in reaction to news of attack and punching with fingers rather than fist.
Romans and Barbarians: Four Views From the Empire's Edge Page 25