History YouTube Channels

 

One of my favourite ways to procrastinate is watching YouTube channels, usually on the subjects of history, fantasy, or videogames. When I have time to kill, or sandwiches to vanquish, I normally have a video on, reminding me of past events or teaching me about new ones. Here are a few that I like, which may be of interest to you:

Flash Point History

This is far and away the newest one (to me) on my list as I only discovered it today, and have already watched the first three parts of the Reconquista. In addition to many videos (including subjects such as the Eastern Roman Empire and Spain), there are also podcasts so if you prefer audio to visual then this is just the ticket.

https://www.youtube.com/@FlashPointHx

Serapeum

The second newest to me is a history channel largely focused on the Western and Eastern Roman Empire. Serapeum also has videos on Alexander his Successors/Diadochi, so if Eastern European and Near Eastern history is your cup of tea this might be right up your street. The Byzantine/Eastern Roman Empire can be a shade neglected relative to its Western counterpart, so this is also a very good channel for bridging that gap.

https://www.youtube.com/@Serapeum

History Marche

One that I’ve watched for a long time is more focused on the military side of things, and covers everything from the Punic Wars to medieval battles and clashes in India and Japan. While most things are in Europe this does offer a great degree of breadth, and the time frame ranges from the ancient world to the 20^th century (although most videos are earlier than this). Fans of warfare and battle maps will probably like this a lot.

https://www.youtube.com/@HistoryMarche/videos

Modern History TV

This is a bit different as all the others are effectively maps of political/military events with voiceover. Modern History TV is fronted by Jason Kingsley and covers practical history, learning by doing in many cases. Weirdly, two of the most interesting videos I found on the channel included waxed linen (effectively medieval cling film) and rush lights (cheaper than candles). There’s also plenty on swords, riding, and little things that can only be learnt in a practical way, such as wagons have their own unique melody of creaks, or how the shape of a mule’s back makes riding it a little different to riding a horse.

https://www.youtube.com/@ModernKnight

Anyway, these are some of the channels I’ve found most interesting to watch, so perhaps they’ll be entertaining for you as well.

Thaddeus

Review: The Seleukid Empire Trilogy, by John D Grainger

 

This is a collective review of the three part history, starting with The Rise of the Seleukid Empire, continuing with The Seleukid Empire of Antiochos III, and concluding with The Fall of the Seleukid Empire.

 

Some parts of this, notably the reigns of Seleukos I and Antiochos III, were fairly familiar to me, but other parts were largely or entirely new.

Our tale begins with the death of Alexander the Great and the struggle by his Successors to hold together his empire, which quickly became a scramble to carve our their own territories. Seleukos (also spelled Seleucus) was one of the most successful but the sprawling territory he amassed proved both boon and bane compared to the more cohesive and compact Macedonian and Egyptian realms that were created from the ashes of Alexander’s land.

Historical sources are very uneven, which is why Antiochos III has a whole volume to himself as both Livy and Polybius covered this in some degree. The most recent part of Livy I read was the one including this section, and I fairly recently compared two editions of Polybius so I was fairly up to speed on the central volume. This was also something of a convenient reign to have good historical sources because it was roughly central in terms of both timing and power.

 

I’ve read many Pen & Sword books over the years but lack of space meant this was my first foray into their e-books. The expected downside of maps being almost entirely useless was true, but there was an unexpected upside which is that endnotes were very convenient (just click to check then press back to return to the text).

The author’s coverage of certain reigns was dictated by the presence, or absence, of sound historical sources which means some are flitted over and one gets a whole book but this cannot be helped. Where inferences and educated guesswork come into play this is made plain. Mostly easy to read, there were occasional typos or a slightly repetitive sentence structure but nothing terrible. Familiarity with ancient geography was helpful due to the map situation but the descriptions were usually good enough to paint an accurate picture (for example, I’m not sure I’ve seen Arachosia on a map but it was clear enough it was well to the east).

Battles and war are covered to good effect, as are some surprisingly interesting sections on the foundations of cities, especially by Seleukos I. Much of what happens in Asia Minor (sometimes part of the Empire), Egypt, and Macedonia is also covered in much the same way that medieval English history necessarily has plenty of info on relations with France.

I decided to read the trilogy all together and review it in a single section because reviewing the final part of a trilogy always seems close to pointless (if you like parts 1 and 2 then almost always part 3 is good). It covers the early Diadochi era of Alexander’s Successors through a more stable period and then, inevitable, the whittling away of territory until there’s a rather tame end.

I suspect many readers, like me, will know something of the start of the Seleukid Empire and the reign of Antiochos III, although it’s worth mentioning this history did furnish additional perspective/details that I wasn’t necessarily expecting. The extra knowledge about the fragmentary nature of Asia Minor, relations with the murder-incest enthusiasts of the Ptolemaic dynasty, the birth of Parthia, Tigranes’ rapid rise and demise, and the familial loyalty that came too late after decades of infighting were all very interesting.

Never felt like stopping reading the trilogy or taking a break once I’d started, and it’s a very good read that I recommend to fans of classical history.

 

Thaddeus

Revisiting The Wars of Alexander’s Successors, by Bob Bennett and Mike Roberts

I'd thought I'd reviewed these two books already, but it turns out not. 

It’s been a decade or so since I first read these two volumes, which covers the period immediately after Alexander’s death down to the end of the last direct Diadochi (Successors), Seleucus and Ptolemy. Details are reasonable down to the Battle of Ipsus in 301 BC but become altogether more scant after that.

It’s interesting re-reading history compared to other genres because you can get more out of it and either appreciate a book to a greater extent or realise more contentious matters or even potential flaws (as an aside, I’ve started a book about the early Seleucid/Seleukid Empire and in that the author asserts Demetrius cavalry at Ipsus would probably have been able to deal with elephants rather than being totally terrified, a common view and one held by the authors here).

Since reading these I’ve reading biographies of Antigonus Monopthalmus and Pyrrhus, as well as James Romm’s excellent Ghost on the Throne, all of which cover similar ground from differing angles.

Got to say I still really like Bennett and Roberts’ two volumes on the period, which do an excellent job of presenting the major strokes of the four decades or so after Alexander’s death in the first book, before focusing on some of the biggest battles and other aspects of warfare in the second. As such, there is some overlap and, personally, I would’ve preferred a single larger volume but both are still well worth reading.

I’d still recommend these to anyone, including people who don’t normally read history but are looking to get into it.  The Diadochi period is fascinating because there’s a cauldron of war but a surplus of excellent military commanders who grew up under Alexander. Not only that, there’s plenty of scheming and double crossing, and a number of intriguing leading ladies too. 

Thaddeus

Review: A Concise History of Republican Rome, by Georgina Masson

I actually finished this a couple of weeks ago but between F1 and having the short term memory of a boiled cabbage I, er, only got around to reviewing it now.

Despite the name the book actually covers the royal period too, making it just about seven centuries of history contained within fewer than 200 pages, so the concise part of the title is entirely accurate. As might be expected, there are some periods that receive significantly more attention than others, as differing historical periods vary not only according to how interesting they are but also the availability of sources.

Although I like reading of the Punic Wars I know relatively little of the latter 2^nd century BC through to Caesar’s time and the sections covering the Gracchi, Marius, Sulla, and the triumvirates were very engaging indeed, and showed a surprisingly rapid transformation of the Roman political structure (which had been absolutely rock solid during the Second Punic War). This was fascinating stuff, and I raced through it.

Probably because I was more familiar with much of the rest, I read it at a slower pace. The book’s well-suited, given its nature, to newcomers either to history or this particular (lengthy) period. Maps do not feature but there are many black and white photographs throughout. Also worth noting it’s an older book so if you go for it then second hand may be the optimal route.

This was one of many still on a literal to-read pile and I was a bit unsure how I’d like it. After a slightly slow start, the decline and fall of the republican era was very engaging indeed.

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Review: Rome and the Mediterranean, by Titus Livy

This is the last of Livy’s books I had to read, and is also the last in chronological order, dealing with Rome’s antics primarily in Greece and Asia Minor (with other diversions in Iberia and Italy) during the first half of the 2^nd century BC.

It follows shortly after the end of the Second Punic War, so Hannibal is still around, as is Scipio Africanus, and it’s interesting to note that neither great man ended his days as he perhaps deserved. This is very much a purple patch for Republican Rome, a time of successful wars and expanding influence, the most significant steps since claiming Sicily in the journey to transforming the Mediterranean into a Roman pond.

Livy, as ever, is very easy to read and his mention of sources (often disbelief in lesser historians and backing up some details by citing Polybius as the origin) is useful. Perhaps more than the military endeavours it’s the individual (or cult) human stories that make the greatest impression. Philip V of Macedon and his family squabbles are a true classic tragedy, and the alarming changes and rise of Bacchus’ worshippers was as engaging to read about as it was disturbing.

There’s a pretty much continuous run of wars, primarily focused on Greece. The Romans receive an invitation to thwart Philip’s hegemonic ambitions and, given he sided with Hannibal during the Second Punic War, the Romans are only too pleased to accept. To the west, Iberian tribes continually rebel, and lose, and end up being pacified at the point of a sword. Similarly, Gauls in northern Italy reacquaint themselves with the hobby of losing to Roman armies.

And yet this military dominance is starkly contrasted by the seeming increase of bending the rules of the state, allowing personal feelings to override a sense of duty. The enervation of discipline in the luxury afforded by victory may have its very earliest origins here. The Bacchic depravities are the most obvious sign, but there are vendettas in the Senate (although these were present earlier as well). Some stark counterpoints exist, such as Marcus Porcius Cato and Lucius Aemilius Macedonicus, but the former was loathed for his energetic time as censor and the latter had to fight his own troops to be awarded a triumph because they disliked the old-fashioned discipline imposed upon them during his successful prosecution of the final war against Perseus’ Macedon.

It’s also interesting to note certain families having great sway and wondering how the early empire might have looked if we’d have Aemilius, Metellus, or Flaminius as the noble family rather than the Julio-Claudians of Caesar.

In short, if you enjoyed Livy’s other books you’ll certainly enjoy this one.

Thaddeus

Review: (A Brief History of) The Roman Empire, by Stephen P. Kershaw

I acquired this from a local little library and thought it worth a look. And so look I did.

The Roman state (in the west) began as a kingdom before becoming a republic, with the imperial period only covering the last five centuries or so. It’s important to be aware of that because if you’re looking for
a Western Roman history from start to finish this is not it (nor does it purport to be but sometimes people assume Roman Empire = Roman Kingdom + Republic + Empire).

Necessarily the scope of the time frame means there can’t be an in-depth analysis, but the author’s relaxed style does make this very easy to read as he charts the achievements, calamities, and peculiar episodes of Roman imperial history.

This works as a good refresher for people who haven’t read much recently, or as an introduction for people new to classical history. It’s unreasonable to criticise the lack of detail in certain areas as a single volume covering five hundred years necessarily has to be concise. However, if you do want a more in-depth look at a particular period or emperor then this is not the book for you.

For further reading there’s a smorgasbord. The most obvious is almost the most difficult: Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (go for a Penguin or Everyman edition so you can enjoy the many notes).

Early Imperial Rome is covered by Suetonius and Tacitus, for later stuff I’d suggest Ammianus Marcellinus.

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Ancient Rome on Five Denarii a Day, by Philip Matyszak

This is a short book, about 140 pages, set in 200 AD and covering what a visitor to Rome might see and do. Beginning with arrival nearby and travelling into the city itself, there’s a wealth of practical advice, from where to stay to how dinner parties work, as well as religion and shopping.

It’s an engaging book, with interesting snippets of information and the sort of approach to history that makes it very easy to imagine what it would’ve been like to visit Rome, climbing its hills and descending into its valleys. Details such as how much wine might cost, or the widespread dislike of the Praetorian Guard, add to the immersion.

The writing style is light-hearted, occasionally humorous, and easy to read.

I’ve read quite a lot of Thames and Hudson books of this nature, but all my previous ones were hardback. I must say I prefer those to the paperback. However, if your shelf space is limited the thickness is about halved by going for the paperback.

Weirdly, there’s a page numbering error, for maybe a dozen pages preceding the first set of plates. The standard numbering is fine, but the Latin numbering (which is correct both earlier and later) starts showing the incorrect numbers. Not a huge thing, but clearly wrong.

The plates are entirely CGI. A spot of real world photography for still extant architecture would’ve been nice (the Egyptian edition in this series had some creative modern drawings, but also ancient Egyptian artwork too). The map at the back is a double page spread, with some detail swallowed by the spine (bit of a pet hate).

Overall, a good book, with one or two minor things that could’ve been done a bit better, none of which relate to the actual text itself.

Thaddeus

Review: The Inheritance of Rome, by Chris Wickham

For a while I’ve wanted a book that bridged the classical-medieval gap, so this book, subtitled ‘A History of Europe from 400 to 1000’ seemed ideal.

And what a book it is. Taking us from the Western Empire’s latter decades to its disintegration, the fragmentation of power across Europe, the continuation, decline and rise again of the Eastern Empire, the birth of the Caliphate, its rise and fragmentation, England’s weakness and rise, the Merovingian and Carolingian peaks of Francia, the ebb and flow of power being centralised and divided.

Practically the whole of Europe is considered. The ancient equivalents of France, England, Spain, Germany and Italy get most coverage, with a lot about the early Caliphate and Eastern Roman Empire too. Ireland and Scandinavia are also written about, a little less, and other parts of Europe (mostly eastern) are covered in less detail due to less evidence.

The book proceeds in chronological order, with differing parts having a different geographical focus. This works very well for keeping a tight enough focus to avoid the work becoming a sprawling mess, which could easily have happened, whilst at the same time providing the reader with a great breadth of information across both space and time.

The heart of the book is political, with the church, wider culture, and the economy also featuring heavily. It’s not militarily focused but significant military effects (perhaps most notably the rise of the Caliphate in the East, and Carolingian expansion in the West) are included where they impact upon politics, culture, and/or economy. Changes both between powers and within them (the relative power of kings, aristocrats and peasants, and how that altered over time) are considered.

I was wryly amused when the author criticised those who used ‘value-laden’ terms such as ‘prosperity’ when describing the changing nature of the peasantry up to 1000 AD, as the condemnation came in a chapter entitled ‘The Caging of the Peasantry’.

The maps, at the front of the book, are excellent, covering multiple geographical areas and time periods.

Downsides are few. Occasionally there’s slight clunkiness in phrasing, and I saw one mistake that’s obvious (the suggestion heading west from Dublin takes you to Great Britain) but otherwise there isn’t much to criticise. I do remember having some doubts regarding particular interpretations of history, but I do not see this as a flaw, as there are many valid but differing opinions regarding the past, especially periods for which documented evidence is limited. Although I didn’t necessarily agree with all the author’s views, they all seemed to me to be valid and reasonable.

This is not ideal as an entry level book for someone just getting into history, but for those with some background knowledge of classical and/or medieval history, and looking for something between those periods, it’s well worth reading.

Thaddeus

Review: A Brief History of Roman Britain, by Joan P Alcock

I found this book, which covers the entire period (and a little before) of Roman Britain to be rather interesting. It’s split into distinct halves, the former being a chronological account of Roman Britain (with a chapter on Celtic tribes beforehand) and the latter consisting of chapters focusing on individual topics, such as religion.

In that way it’s something of a mixture of Adrian Goldsworthy’s Fall of Carthage and Ian Mortimer’s Time Traveller mini-series.

The level of detail included is often very deep, particularly regarding food, and does help to put the reader in the shoes of, say, a 3^rd century Briton, who might dislike the imported garum fish paste, love their new mosaic floor, and enjoy availing themselves of the public baths.

As the title indicates, the book is about Roman Britain, but to an extent it also functions as a microcosm of the rising and falling fate of the Western Empire more generally. Charting how the Empire won wars then won support from the Celtic leadership (and then lost it with greed and corruption, leading to Boudicca’s rebellion) is an interesting read but also functions as a template for how the Empire won over the people it had conquered. Similarly, declining resources partly due to increasingly frequent civil wars denuded the province(s) of military manpower, exposing them to barbarian attack and reducing economic activity as the well-paid soldiers left and suddenly merchants had lost a huge market. The benefits of city living through local bakers (removing the need to grind your own flour), baths et cetera was replaced by onerous burdens for local leaders (whose taxes and public duties increased as the Empire weakened), leading them to leave and reducing the urban population.

I was a little worried about the first chapter. It’s a little bit listy, not quite to the extent of The Iliad or the Bible, but thereafter the book’s much easier to read.

The writing style could be a little more fluid and little less matter of fact, but except for the first chapter on pre-Roman Celtic tribes, it’s a minor point.

There are one or two small errors that perhaps should’ve been caught. (I’m no longer a Grammar Nazi about this sort of thing, as some mistakes are almost certain in a full-sized book, but certain errors such as writing Julius rather than Julian can be a little confusing). There was also confusion over the name of Isis’ son (Hippocrates or Harpocrates, which might reflect a Greco-Roman divergence or simply be a homophonic typo).

However, those small quibbles apart, I found the book to be interesting, detailed (immensely so in some places), and enjoyable.

Thaddeus

Review: The Persian Expedition, by Xenophon

[I'll also be posting this on my new blog The Wayfarer's Rest].

The story of the Ten Thousand, as told in this book (aka the Anabasis), used to be one of the most commonly taught in British schools, and it’s not hard to see why. Ten thousand Greek mercenaries are hired by Cyrus, younger brother of the Persian king Artaxerxes, to defeat his brother and put Cyrus on the throne. Although the battle of Cunaxa is won by Cyrus’ forces, Cyrus himself ends up dead.

The Greeks are a thousand miles from home and surrounded by enemy troops who vastly outnumber them. Going back the way they came is impossible because the supply situation, even with Cyrus helping, was dangerously difficult.

The Persian Expedition, written by Xenophon (one of the army’s leaders), is the story of how the army got back to safety. It’s thought (perhaps along with no longer extant versions by other writers) to have been the geographical and moral inspiration behind dreams of invading Persia, which eventually bloomed under Philip II and Alexander of Macedon.

As well as fending off some Persian attacks, the army grapples with unfamiliar territories and peoples, keeping itself fed and watered, and, perhaps most dangerously, internal political wrangling and the threat of disintegrating obedience once safety seems to have been reached.

It is not in the top rank of classical history. Xenophon lacks the rigour of a Polybius or Thucydides (although he also tends to avoid eight clause sentences...), and has a bias similar to Josephus, but not balanced by the same level of detail and insight. This may be because Xenophon wrote of the journey decades after it happened.

However, it is an interesting book. The failure of Persia (to be fair, they didn’t try as hard as they could’ve) to prevent the Greeks from leaving led those across the Aegean to believe that moral decay had made the orientals weak as well as decadent. The army hung together very well so long as it felt in danger, but as safety seemed at hand, things started to splinter and there was seemingly little gratitude to those who had helped lead the men out of the fire.

Thaddeus

Projectile weapons in history

I tend not to chase hits, and just ramble as I like, but did notice that the medieval taxation blog got more hits than average so thought I’d write some more in a similar vein.

Projectile weapons, by which I mean one- or two-handed weapons rather than siege equipment, have been used throughout warfare. Most recently, we have sniper rifles and the like, but the bow and arrow go all the way back to prehistory, and the sling likewise.

But which was more effective? And what about darts?

Slings were used by many people, perhaps most notably the shepherds on the Balearic Islands. Because the terrain was very rugged and it was a pain to wander around, the shepherds would sling stones to get sheep to move this way or that. Naturally, the ability to (fairly) accurately hurl stones was handy in warfare too.

In war, slingers would prefer to use the lead bullet, which would be a pellet of lead similar in shape to a rugby ball or acorn. A big advantage they had over archers was that if they ran out of ammunition they could just scrabble for stones and use them instead. Armouring oneself against a bullet or stone from a sling is difficult. Not only are they harder to see than an arrow (which might be three feet long, give or take), but the sheer concussive force is significant. An arrow might be deflected by a curving piece of armour or shield, but a lead bullet will give you a solid thwack wherever it hits. The Romans had a specific surgical tool (fancy tongs) for removing lead bullets because, hitting unprotected flesh, they would get deeply embedded.

That all sounds impressive, but there are two major drawbacks with slingers. Firstly, the range is much less than that of an archer. Secondly, the accuracy is much lower. There are some other pros and cons. You can sling in the rain, whereas bowstrings go a bit iffy, and I’m not sure there’s any record of riding slingers (unlike mounted archers or mounted darters). Another pro is that a sling can just be tied around the waist, so you could have a few shots at the enemy, then pick up your ‘proper’ weapons to meet their charge. (A bow and quiver are rather more cumbersome, although you could still have a sword or suchlike, or even just smack enemies in the face with your bow).

The shorter range and poorer accuracy made slingers significantly less useful for the attacking party during sieges, because simply reaching the defenders (assuming they’re atop a wall) and hitting them was harder than it was for archers. Naturally, the sling was still pretty handy in defence, with gravity helping the distance and weak accuracy compensated for by the funnelling of attackers (who would cluster against a gate, at scaling ladders, or the site of a breach).

Side note: slingers were also involved the first ever literal form of friendly ‘fire’ in history, when messages were passed between opposing sides during a siege. On a less amicable note, lead bullets would sometimes be engraved with offensive messages to their intended targets, as per the modern world with bombs.

Archers have a special place in English history, largely due to helping crush the French at Agincourt. And they’re pretty damned impressive bits of kit. They can shoot at a faster rate than a Napoleonic-era musket, with better range and accuracy. Not only that, they’re pretty good at getting through most armour (eventually armour caught up and the curving plates became very successful at deflecting arrows). There were, in Parthia, famous horse-archers who could shoot from the saddle (including backwards, the famous Parthian Shot). These Parthian chaps were amongst those who cut Crassus to pieces at Carrhae. At one time, it was illegal in England and Wales not to perform archery practice, so useful were the peasant archers to the army.

However, this indicates the single biggest drawback of the bow. Teaching someone to use a war bow takes a long time because immense strength is required. Give an average man one, and his skeleton would bend before the bow was pulled all the way back. Unlike slingers, arrows have to be used, and you don’t just find ammunition scattered about on the floor. Mentioned above, but the strings also went a bit wonky in the rain.

During a siege, arrows were a very good means of ensuring the besiegers didn’t wander too near. Whilst archers could also be used offensively, battlements and arrow slits offered good protection for defending archers, and gravity made their job rather easier than the men tasked at firing upwards at tall walls.

There is, however, a third type of projectile weapon used in the ancient world: the thrown spear (or dart. And also throwing axe). My favourite example of these would be the Numidian cavalry that accompanied Hannibal in his famous invasion of Italy. These fellows rode small horses, rampaging around battlefields and peppering the enemy with darts (small thrown spears) before retreating. Now, those au fait with classical history will be aware that the Roman cavalry was rubbish but, nevertheless, the Numidian cavalry was a key strength of Hannibal’s army. They were also highly disciplined, which enabled them, having chased off the Roman horse at Cannae, to return to the battle and help complete the encirclement of the Romans.

A foot soldier equivalent, of a different nature, can be find in the Romans themselves. The legionary would have his own throwing spear, the heavyweight and hated pilum. The pilum was deliberately designed to be useless for most of the things a spear is usually good for (walking stick, three to a make a tripod, two to make a stretcher etc). It was heavy at the sharp end with an intentionally weak spearhead that would become hopelessly bent upon impact. This was cunning, because if it struck a shield, the sheer weight made the shield worthless. The pila were thrown right before the charge, killing some enemy and rendering the rest shieldless moments before the legion closed the distance and introduced their foes to the business end of their swords.

A third example would be the Frankish throwing axe. Smaller than the pilum, and with a curving handle which, according to an impeccable source (Lindybeige), ensured it bounced unpredictably, the throwing axe would be the Franks’ warm welcome to their battlefield opponents.

Thrown weapons, naturally, have much shorter range. In common with archers, but even more so, once ammunition is spent, that’s it. Because arrows are smaller than darts, the number of projectiles available is correspondingly smaller. There’s also a chance that the enemy might throw your weapon back, depending how the battle is going (although obviously this isn’t a problem with the pilum, which is a one-throw spear). There’s also a very clear divide, with horse rolling up, throwing some darts and then buggering off before the enemy get close, and foot throwing then immediately charging whilst the enemy are in disarray (in short, Numidian horsemen want to avoid getting close at all costs, whereas Roman legionaries want to get close as soon as possible after throwing).

In sieges, thrown weapons were either very handy (and could encompass heavy rocks or boiling sand/water) or bloody useless, depending which side you were on and the size of the walls.

NB I decided specifically not to include crossbows because the mechanism involved enables a shot to be held, imminently ready to be loosed, whereas all the above examples require the exertion immediately prior to release. That might sound like a finickity reason, but it fundamentally alters the way that crossbows were used in sieges (you could load then aim at a specific point waiting for a patrolling guard, something very hard to accomplish with a bow).

Thaddeus

Review: Caesar, by Theodore Ayrault Dodge

I first read this military history/biography of Caesar quite some time ago, and recently finished re-reading it. Dodge’s ancient histories (he’s written similar books about Alexander and Hannibal) are amongst my favourites. There’s a great level of detail, with maps and sketches of soldiers, siege equipment and so on throughout.

This is not a full-blown biography. It’s concerned almost exclusively with the military career of Caesar. Obviously there’s also some political overlap, such as when he and Pompey had a bit of a tiff, but only when that relates to the military aspect of the subject. As you would expect, the meat of the book is the Gallic and Civil Wars (the latter including sojourns in Spain, the Balkans/Greece, Alexandria and Africa) with a few side-orders (such as the swift spanking of Pharnaces II).

Th author is clearly enthusiastic about his subject, and had the opportunity to visit the theatres of Caesar’s wars. This helps him to reconcile potential conflicts in ancient sources, Caesar’s own accounts foremost amongst them, as well as providing an opportunity for maps and sketches of the landscapes upon which battles, marches, and sieges occurred. It must be said that Dodge sometimes gets a bit carried away (he really does like the three ancient generals about which he wrote) but that doesn’t stop him criticising when he feels Caesar’s been a daft sod (most of the general’s great successes are only great because he thrust himself needlessly into peril and it took significant skill to extricate himself).

Caesar’s reckless conduct gets pulled up several times, but this is far outweighed by successes achieved all over Europe. And, alongside the recklessness, audacity enabled some of the signal victories, most notably at Pharsalus, where he attacked an army twice his size.

It’s also worth remarking upon an episode that doesn’t fit the popular narrative of Caesar, namely his brutality. Specifically, killing around 430,000 Germanic people whilst the tribe was conducting peace negotiations with him. The book was written pre-WWII, and Dodge uses the term holocaust to describe Caesar’s actions (the man himself claimed the Germanic tribe was plotting to betray him so he struck pre-emptively. Dodge is not persuaded).

In addition to the history of Caesar, there is much information on the Roman army and how it had changed over the centuries, particularly from its peak in the Second Punic War. There’s also a splendid chapter near the end comparing Caesar, Alexander and Hannibal in a variety of ways.

It’s a hefty 800 pages but the text is often broken up by drawings, so it’s not quite as dense as it might appear. Overall, an engaging portrayal of one of history’s most intriguing figures.

Related books I’ve reviewed include:

The Crisis of Rome [the period shortly prior to Caesar’s, involving his uncle Marius] - http://thaddeusthesixth.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/review-crisis-of-rome-jugurthine-and.html

Sallust’s works - http://thaddeusthesixth.blogspot.co.uk/2015/04/review-sallust-catilines-war-jugurthine.html

Thaddeus

Review: Complete Works of Tacitus

The edition I got is by The Modern Library, 1942.

The vast majority of the book is the Annals (which covers almost all of the reigns of Tiberius, Claudius and Nero) and the History (which covers 69-70AD, a very tumultuous time). At the back there are shorter sections, namely a biography of Gnaeus Julius Agricola (Tacitus’ father-in-law), a summary of Germanic tribes, and a discussion about oratory.

This is my second reading of the book. I was a little less than enthused by the first. I didn’t dislike it, just felt a bit apathetic.

Upon a second reading, I did enjoy it. That’s not to say it rivals my favourites. Tacitus, a little like Thucydides, is unafraid of an eight clause sentence and sometimes this can lead to the meaning being difficult to grasp at first glance. However, he does his best to be objective, sometimes relating two varying accounts of the same event when he’s heard both and doesn’t know which to be true. The author also often indicates what he believes and if he has a firm reason for believing a certain account to be true.

The period of which Tacitus writes is almost entirely one of bad emperors. The exceptions would be the misled and personally naive Claudius, and Vespasian, whose rise to power came amid much bloodshed in the Year of the Four Emperors (69AD). Accordingly, the Complete Works is brimming with tyranny, treachery and civil war.

It’s also very interesting for watching how the remaining vestiges of republican authority (Tiberius being only the second emperor, after Augustus) faded. Amidst the dark days there are also examples of nobility (one man accused by Tiberius of being a friend of a fallen associate of the emperor replied that he could hardly be expected to be a better judge of character than the emperor himself, an unusual stroke of boldness that saw him go unpunished, a rarity for the time).

The period covered is similar to much of Suetonius’ Twelve Caesars, but is written in greater depth, and with more accuracy. A broadsheet to the Suetonian tabloid, if you like. Sadly, time has robbed us of certain portions (such as the final years of Nero’s reign) but it is mostly intact.

The Agricola biography is perhaps rather less objective, but nevertheless of interest as it covers campaigning in Britain. I enjoyed the discussion of Germanic tribes, particularly the praise Tacitus had for their monogamy. The final section, on oratory, was my least favourite, it must be said.

For early imperial Rome, this is a good set of works, particularly for the Year of the Four Emperors which is covered in some detail. Perhaps not the best book for an introduction to classical history, but for those who have read a bit already, it’s a worthwhile addition.

Thaddeus

Marcus Aurelius and Henry II: a comparison of incompetence

Two historical chaps seem to get a lot more praise than I think they deserve. To balance that, in a small measure, I wrote this about Marcus Aurelius and Henry II.

Marcus Aurelius was the last emperor of the Golden Age of Imperial Rome, and was succeeded by his son (possibly) Commodus. Both men will be relatively well-known as they feature in the entertaining film Gladiator. Marcus Aurelius also left a lasting impression on the Romans as a great emperor and a virtuous man.

However, he is dramatically overrated. Imperial Rome’s Golden Age happened because each emperor nominated an adopted, rather than actual, son to succeed him (or sons, Lucius Verus and Marcus Aurelius both succeeded Antoninus Pius). Marcus Aurelius chose otherwise, although there is doubt over whether Commodus was his son (possible this was fuelled by the latter’s horrendousness which made others want to disassociate the pair). Regardless, Marcus Aurelius, lauded as wise, left the empire in the hands of a murderous, bloodthirsty, incestuous mad bastard.

This did not have a positive impact on the Roman Empire.

Under the emperors from Nerva to Marcus Aurelius, men of high status and talent benefited. Emperors were unafraid of rivals and could promote the best men to the highest ranks, and such men were unafraid of tyranny or jealousy, and could make fortunes and achieve success without fearing their imminent execution. It was a great virtuous circle.

Commodus rather ruined this by his bad habit of killing those at the top. This meant that skilled men were lost and those who might have succeeded to their posts were reluctant to do so for fear of the same happening to them.

When Commodus was brought down, Pertinax succeeded him but was almost immediately murdered for trying to rein in the Praetorian Guard (despite the term being used today for politically loyal diehards, the Guard probably killed more emperors than it saved). Didius Julianus won the auction for the purple, only to be crushed by the ruthless Septimius Severus.

Severus, whilst not renowned as a bastion of morality, did restore some measure of stability after winning the civil war. But his eldest son was as bad as Commodus (Antoninus Caracalla, who discovered that repeatedly threatening to murder your own bodyguard and then unjustly killing his brother does not enhance one’s life expectancy). With the sad exception of Alexander Severus, the Empire underwent great tumult in the Crisis of the Third Century and never again [in the West] had the prosperity, stability, and power it had enjoyed in the Golden Age.

In short, Marcus Aurelius buggered it up by nominating as his successor a lunatic.

Henry II was an imperious king who ruled over England and substantial territories in what is today France. He also had the short-termist constitutional delinquency Blair had in meddling with lopsided devolution (which went from killing Scottish nationalism stone dead to an independence referendum in a couple of decades), and was thoroughly inept at running his own family.

Henry had two problems. He was a poor father and he had a weird feudal relationship with the king of France. Henry was king of England, but also held territories such as Normandy and Aquitaine. Problem was this meant he was, as lord of some of his territories, a tenant-in-chief who owed fealty to the king of France (in the same way the Earl of Norfolk owed fealty to the king of England).

This was a bugger’s muddle and no mistake, because if France and England went to war (which did, very occasionally, happen) the king of France could theoretically call on the king of England to serve him in the war against the king of England.

At the same time, the king of England was the full equal of the king of France, as sovereign of a kingdom.

Henry II fudged this in a masterstroke of ill-conceived ambiguity of which the EU would be proud. He swore fealty in vague terms only for the French lands, and parcelled the continental territories off to his sons (his eldest, also called Henry, got Normandy, Richard got Aquitaine, Geoffrey got Brittany, and John got nothing which earnt him the nickname Lackland. He later was so fearsome in war he got a second nickname: Softsword, possibly making him the only king in English history to have two epithets, both of which were mocking).

However, this is where the first problem, of weak fatherhood, comes in. All his sons were ambitious and he was neither able/willing to promise them what was their due, nor was he powerful enough to overwhelm them into submission. After Young King Henry (his son, who was given the title but not the authority of a king during the reign of Henry II) died, Richard, then eldest, wanted to be named heir.

You would’ve thought an eldest son in a feudal society being named heir would be straightforward. But Henry II refused. Ultimately, Richard did inherit (he became the Lionheart) but not before the brothers united to fight against their father. Philip Augustus, the wily French king, played this sort of game very well, exploiting familial rivalry to weaken Henry II and siding with the rebellious sons (this was repeated when Richard was away on Crusade/captured and John rebelled).

Henry II died relatively young, worn out by stress and exhaustion, most of it brought on himself. Richard inherited anyway, but the prime beneficiary of Henry’s foolishness was the French king. John later lost practically all the continental possessions (it turns out the nobles were unwilling to fight for a king whose prime achievements were extortion and cruelty).

By different turns, Marcus Aurelius and Henry II caused serious damage to their realms through failure of succession. Marcus Aurelius conferred the purple on a murderous maniac, and Henry II needlessly prevaricated with the simplest of acknowledgements, causing unnecessary war. Both in their power could have easily averted these crises, the former by sticking to the adoptive principle, the latter by taking the obvious step of naming his eldest son as his heir.

This does, however, highlight an important point. The family dramas of clashing personalities which can make a home fraught are not limited to those of humble station, and, in a time when monarchs exercised true power, these things could and did cause war within and between nations.

Thaddeus

Marching Speeds

A man can walk four miles in an hour relatively easily. And yet, an army of foot soldiers marching (in the ancient world) would cover perhaps six miles in a whole day. Even horsemen would only go twelve.

There are exceptions, but the above are averages taken from Theodore Dodge’s excellent histories (check out his Hannibal, Alexander and Caesar biographies if you haven’t yet).

Why does it take so long to move an army, when a single man with staging posts (for fresh horses) could cover, theoretically at least, well over a hundred miles in a single day? Even a chap out for a walk could easily make 10-20 miles over the course of a day.

Various changeable circumstances can affect how fast an army can move. Weather, terrain, and supplies all have a serious impact (more on those below). But even when it’s nice and warm, the ground’s flat and roads are good, and there’s plenty of food and beer, armies are still, usually, horrendously slow.

Moving one person is easy. They get up on time, and wander off. If they reach a bridge, that’s fine. If they need to climb a little, that’s usually no problem.

An army is different. The whole army can’t set off at once, because a road might only be wide enough for six, or fewer, to march abreast. Even as the vanguard strolls off, most of the rest of the army will be taking down last night’s camp and eating the last of the cheese. The sheer volume of people slows the army’s progress.

The number of men and beasts (not just war horses, but donkeys and oxen and mules to carry supplies or pull wagons) can also ruin roads. What might be a nice journey for the vanguard could be a squelching quagmire for the middle or rearguard. Similarly, if the vanguard reaches difficulties (say a flood washes away the only bridge for miles and it needs repairing) that then slows everyone else as a queue forms.

Narrow passes in mountains or slender footbridges are no problem for one man, but they’re bottlenecks when you’ve got thousands. Not only that, they may well be impassable for wagons and difficult/impossible for horses. A route one man can take is not necessarily a route an army can take.

Then there’s pestilence. Leave aside that a small army of whores will be prising coin from men who could die tomorrow (pox was spread thus although certain diseases were different. Syphilis didn’t exist in medieval England, arriving in the Tudor period and only mutating in Elizabeth I’s reign into the disease it is today). Medieval hygiene could include eating in close proximity to latrines. The camp disease of dysentery would usually break out. Fouled wells or even just drinking uncontaminated water could lead to typhoid. Having so many men together (and a medieval army could outnumber most medieval cities’ populations) in such close proximity massively increased the chances of disease breaking out, and then spreading rapidly. For this reason, armies besieging a castle/city could suffer as much as those trapped on the inside.

Supplies were often problematic. Gathering sufficient before you start depended on a good harvest and organisational abilities. If your adversary knows you’re coming he’ll foul wells and ensure harvested crops are safe inside castle walls so you struggle to feed your army off the land. This means the foraging parties have to roam further afield (and they need protection so you need to send more men), again slowing an army down. One man can swipe a few apples and blackberries, but an army takes a lot of feeding (and the animals need food too).

Weather can have a substantial impact. Ordinary drizzle (almost the default setting of Britain) can soften roads which turn to sludge beneath a thousand marching feet. Heavier rain can destroy roads or bridges, or flood camps and drown people and horses. But hot weather has dangers too. Finding sufficient water becomes even harder, and may slow the pace of men and animals. Even worse, forest fires (as now) can spring up out of nowhere.

Most travelling in the ancient and medieval world, as you’d expect, was by land. However, sea journeys also could be delayed on account of an army. If you don’t have enough ships because they’re delayed due to bad weather or simply take time to arrive, then either you split an army in two and risk it being defeated in detail, or you have to wait. One man needs just one ship.

In books, both historical and fictional, it’s entirely legitimate to have individuals travel a lot faster than armies, for all sorts of reasons (not to mention the possibility of messages being sent by bird).

As an aside, the Persians had an interesting measure called the parasang. Unlike a mile, the parasang was a unit of distance measured not in length but time. One parasang was one day’s march. That’s quite a clever way of doing things, as two roads leading to the same place might have a very large number of miles to the north compared to the south, but if the south road leads through mountains the northern road might still be a quicker route.

Thaddeus

PS the next few blogs will likely be book reviews of The Wonder Book of Aircraft, The Emperor’s Edge, and Spies, Sadists and Sorcerers.

Julius Caesar and Genocide

Yes, it’s one of those cheerful blogs.

I was twittering away, conversing with a friend, when I happened to mention Julius Caesar once massacred almost half a million Germanian tribesmen.

And so the idea for this blog was born. Unlike almost every other figure from classical history, people do generally know a bit about Julius Caesar. Some of it is tosh. The ‘veni, vidi, vici’ quote isn’t from when he invaded Britain (and failed), it’s from when he crushed Pharnaces II, the ruler of Pontus. Similarly, he wasn’t born by Caesarian section (we know this because although Romans could practice it, the procedure always killed the mother and we know that Caesar’s mum survived birthing him).

Other bits of common knowledge are true. He did conquer Gaul (mostly. Gallia Narbonensis had been conquered some time earlier). He did cross the Rubicon and cause a cold war to become a hot one. And he was murdered in the Senate by some of his former friends.

Part of this history is written by Caesar himself. The Gallic War entirely, and the first quarter or so of The Civil War (the rest being written by a few contemporary authors). His adopted son, who took the name Augustus, also had reasons to embellish the propaganda around Julius Caesar’s conduct. After all, nobody wants to say their adoptive dad was a lunatic, do they?

But there are certain things about Caesar which are not common knowledge today. In his lifetime he acquired (and detested) the nickname the Queen of Bithynia. This was because he was sent on a diplomatic mission to Bithynia (small kingdom in Asia Minor, if memory serves) and was so fond of the king he stayed on longer than planned.

A loathed nickname being expunged, mostly, from history is understandable when you become dictator for life and your adopted son becomes the first emperor of Rome. There is a more troubling act of Caesar’s that remains obscured from general knowledge, though.

He murdered tens, perhaps hundreds, of thousands of innocent people.

A Germanian tribe, reportedly 430,000 strong (even allowing for exaggeration, the number will be vast), was negotiating peacefully with the Romans, led by Caesar. Or so they thought. In the middle of negotiation, Caesar had them all slaughtered.

This was not an army, it was a tribe of men, women and children. And he butchered them, citing duplicity on their part as the justification. In his biography (simply entitled Caesar), TA Dodge used the term ‘holocaust’ to describe the act (the history pre-dates WWII by some decades).

This was not the first time such an action was attempted. Decades earlier, the Cimbri (a tribe seeking to settle peacefully on Roman territory if possible, and to migrate west by passing through Roman territory if not) was similarly attacked. Unfortunately for the Romans, who initiated the battle, the Cimbri won. This was repeated, farcically, several times. In one such battle, Arausio, partly due to mutual loathing of Roman leaders Caepio and Maximus, the Romans suffered a defeat to rank alongside Cannae. Eventually the Cimbri were defeated by Marius, Julius Caesar’s uncle.

Roman belligerence towards barbarian tribes, therefore, was nothing new. Indeed, in Rome and Italy (by Livy), there’s an approving passage written of Roman action to kill a huge number of fighting age men of the enemy.

And yet this genocide of Caesar is little known. I do wonder whether, at the time, the reason was very different to that of his nickname becoming little known. It might just be that in the 1^st century BC, wiping out a tribe of barbarians was seen as a good thing, but not significant enough to be worth remembering.

It’s tempting to think of the Romans only in terms of civilising influence (roads, rule of law, the Pax Romana, what have the Romans ever done for us? Etc). They weren’t above exterminating tribes of people who wanted peace. But it was deemed ok. Because the hundreds of thousands they murdered were savages.

Thaddeus

Ethnic diversity in history/fantasy

I read an interesting tweet the other day regarding this, and racially homogeneous societies/worlds in fantasy being justified by historical reference. This little ramble will look at how things were historically, and how/whether this should affect fantasy writing in an ancient/medieval setting.

First off, a disclaimer on my own approach. My serious fantasy all occurs within the same world within which every book has multiple races (mostly of human), skin colours etc. The comedy of Sir Edric doesn’t ever actually refer to human skin colour (he’s white on the cover because he has to be a colour, though I can’t recall if I actually specified that to my artist). There’s also elves, Ursk (tall, red-skinned carnivores), feathery chaps, gnomes, dwarves etc.

In a given farming village, in England in the medieval world, travelling would happen. Every so often the nearest market town (walking distance) would be visited to either sell or buy. More infrequent travel to a larger town or city (NB ‘city’ in this context might just be a settlement with a few thousand people) would happen to attend court or for other serious business. The population of the village itself would not change substantially in terms of people leaving or newcomers arriving. The largest churn would be marrying people from a nearby village.

Jumping from that to the opposite end of the spectrum (sticking with England, for now), London was the largest city by a mile. Smaller than several continental capitals, it still drew in people from the surrounding area (especially true after the Black Death which also threw the feudal servitude system up in the air). Not only that, but merchants from continental Europe and further afield were constantly coming and going. On a more permanent basis, there were embassies from foreign powers, and establishments set up by prosperous foreign merchants.

Leaping perhaps a few centuries back, and a few thousand miles away, we have Byzantium. Or Constantinople. Or Mikligard, if you’re feeling Viking. Or, as it’s currently known, Istanbul. Now, you might think a capital city at the heart of the Eastern Roman Empire wouldn’t have many Englishmen. And you’d be wrong. Basil II, who was a great military leader but whose treatment of prisoners is about as far away from the Geneva Convention as you can get, is emperor. He establishes the Varangian Guard, a bodyguard for emperors made up of non-Byzantines. Initially, it’s largely composed of Anglo-Saxons, irked at the pesky Normans who have conquered England. Later, it gains a more Viking flavour as Scandinavians prefer getting paid a small fortune for guard duty to raiding.

Under Basil II (and his co-emperors/predecessors Nicephorus “White Death of the Saracens” Phocas and John Tzimisces), the city has been enjoyed continual military triumphs. The city is bustling with merchants from the rising Italian commercial powers of Genoa and Venice. Soldiers are largely drawn from Anatolia, modern day Turkey.

In short, scale and geography determine to a substantial degree how homogeneous or diverse a settlement (or story) is. Before mass transit and easy travel, getting to the Shetlands was quite a slog. If you set a story there you could, depending on the period, credibly feature Picts, Scots, Scandinavians. But if you put Saracens and Byzantines there it would feel a bit odd.

Similarly, if you wrote about the Eastern Roman Empire it would be odd to paint Constantinople as a city of one people only. It was effectively the global (or at least continental) capital, at the crossroads of Europe and Asia, and drew in a correspondingly cosmopolitan population.

However, we should be wary both of imposing our own norms on the past, or of neglecting/misunderstanding those of history. It’s easy to overlook the prevalence of religion in medieval history (and they were addicted to philosophical religious debates in Byzantium). Similarly, the terror of disease or urban fire (arson in ancient Rome was reckoned a crime second only to parricide). There were, particularly in large continental cities, substantial populations of minorities (often same race, different country) but not on the scale that we see today.

What about a pure fantasy land? An island could legitimately be mono-cultural. And, of course, you can gerrymander the rules of science and nature as you please. Personally, I think that could feel quite odd, particularly if your story happens in major cities on a large continent. More importantly, different cultures and races also present opportunities for conflict which can help drive stories.

Although a game rather than book, I was not impressed when some people bleated about The Witcher 3 having no black people in it (it has white humans, elves, dwarves and halflings. And the odd troll). Does it come across as unrealistic because of this? Absolutely not. The world has a great backstory and lore. Just as it seems ridiculous to me that some criticised Idris Elba being in Thor (did amuse me some people were happy with a magic rainbow bridge that threw almost invincible demi-gods across the universe, but thought a black guy being in charge of it was unrealistic), it’s not right to condemn a fantastic game because it’s deemed to have committed the sin of being ‘too white’.

Ultimately, it’s down to the author’s own whim. I don’t think other people should be trying to constrain creative freedom and dictate that their own personal perspective is The Only Way To Do Things.

Thaddeus

The Power Paradox

The last blog was loosely inspired by the shock decision by Theresa May to hold a General Election, since voted for by Parliament, and this one has a similar theme.

There have been some calls from people like Nicola Sturgeon for, in her words, a progressive alliance between Labour, the SNP, Lib Dems and so on, in order to oppose a Conservative Party which appears to be electorally formidable.

Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time a seemingly predominant power caused an alliance of rivals to oppose it.

After Alexander the Great died, there was a period of phony peace for about three years. Perdiccas was regent, but ended up getting killed by his own men after a failed invasion of Egypt, to punish Ptolemy for stealing Alexander’s corpse.

Theoretically, the remaining Diadochi (Successors) were still loyal to the two kings: Philip Arrhidaeus (Alexander’s mentally disabled half-brother) and Alexander IV (Alexander’s young son). In practice, they were all jockeying for position.

Ptolemy retained Egypt, wealthy and defensible land that it was. Antigonus Monopthalmus acquired substantial power, from modern day Syria to (roughly) the western border of Iran. Lysimachus got Thrace (Romania), strategically vital but also not the easiest land to tame. Antipater, the ageing viceroy who had held the reins in Macedon whilst Alexander conquered the world, retained his place there and became regent.

It wouldn’t last.

Antipater died a few years later and his chosen successor Polyperchon was not recognised by the other Diadochi. Cassander, Antipater’s overlooked son, toppled Polyperchon and taking Macedon, which ended up having terminal consequences for Alexander IV (Philip Arrhidaeus had already been murdered by Alexander’s mother Olympias).

Antigonus had steadily expanded his power, taking even more territory and becoming dominant on the seas, surpassing Ptolemy’s Egypt which had previously held sway. Then came a critical turn. Antigonus’ young son Demetrius (later nicknamed Poliorcetes – the Besieger) fought Ptolemy at the Battle of Gaza. Demetrius lost. It wasn’t catastrophic in itself, but for the ultimate consequence.

Ptolemy had been sheltering Seleucus, another of Alexander’s former generals. After the death of Perdiccas, he had been made satrap (regional king) of Babylonia, but Antigonus had wrested the large and wealthy satrapy from him. Following victory at Gaza, Ptolemy gave money and some troops to Seleucus, who returned to Babylonia, surprisingly managed to defeat Antigonus’ forces, and was welcomed by the local population. From there, he expanded east, and entered into marriage with the daughter of the Indian ruler Chandragupta, which included a wedding present to Seleucus of several hundred elephants.

All the kings, as they now openly titled themselves, held great power. Cassander in Macedon had the critical resource of top notch Macedonian infantry. Ptolemy’s Egypt was brimming with wealth and very hard to invade. Lysimachus held the gateway between Europe and Asia. Seleucus ruled vast lands and had more elephants than the rest combined.

But it was Antigonus Monopthalmus and Demetrius Poliorcetes, co-ruling now that Antigonus was in his eighties, who were still predominant. If anyone could reunite the whole Macedonian empire, it was them.

And the others knew it.

At certain times in history, it’s remarkable just how idiotic leaders can be, or how one-sided a war can seem. This was not one of those times. All Alexander’s generals were ruthless, bold, cunning and extremely capable. And the other kings realised their salvation only lay in alliance.

Cassander, Lysimachus and Seleucus agreed to face Antigonus together, at the Battle of Ipsus. Ptolemy himself did not take part, perhaps preferring to keep his forces fresh to take advantage of the situation afterwards.

Demetrius was campaigning in Greece and was rapidly called back by his elderly father. Had Antigonus been younger, he probably would’ve destroyed Lysimachus’ forces, the first to arrive, but they managed to slip away from under his nose. Later, foot soldiers from Cassander and Seleucus’ men (as well as 400 elephants) completed the alliance army.

Even so, it was only an even match for Antigonus and Demetrius’ forces. The two armies lined up, and battle commenced. Demetrius led a strong cavalry attack and drove back the opposing horsemen (he was accompanied in this by Pyrrhus, a cousin of Alexander). But it was a trap. The retreating horsemen led Demetrius far from the battle, and when he tried to return, he founded Seleucus’ elephants arrayed against him. Cavalry, quite understandable, won’t charge elephants. Demetrius tried to find a way through as his father, on the other side of the battlefield, kept faith that his son would return to rescue the situation.

He couldn’t. Antigonus Monopthalmus died under a hail of javelins, and his son was forced to flee the field. Territory was carved up between Lysimachus and Seleucus, with Cassander regaining the parts of Greece that had succumbed to Demetrius previously.

Demetrius himself was eventually captured by Seleucus, and treated well, but ended up drinking himself to death. Unusually for this period, he had a very good relationship with his father, and it’s not hard to imagine how terrible he felt after the Battle of Ipsus. His descendants would go on to rule Macedon for generations to come, but the dream of reuniting Alexander’s empire had gone.

Antigonus, in his pomp, had almost all the advantages imaginable. Yet it wasn’t sufficient for victory. He didn’t make severe mistakes, and came very close to ultimate victory. But it was his very strength that led to his defeat because it forced his rivals, individually weaker by far, to unite against him.

To return to British politics, in 1997 Tony Blair won a historic landslide for Labour, and got a second in 2001. In 2007, Prime Minister Gordon Brown was contemplating a snap election and there was genuine speculation that the Conservative Party could not withstand another defeat. He did not call one. Now, the Conservatives are (if polling is accurate, and we know, from the 2015 election, the British public aren’t above fibbing for six months...) on the brink of increasing their majority and Labour look down and out.

Whether that makes you gleeful or despondent, it won’t last. Things can change quickly in politics, and they have.

If you liked the sound of the Diadochi era, I can recommend two books on the subject (links to reviews):

Ghost on the Throne, by James Romm (covers a couple of decades after Alexander’s death)

Antigonus the One-Eyed, by Jeff Champion (biography)

Thaddeus

Grasping Power

Today, Theresa May (UK Prime Minister) announced a snap election. This came after saying for some time she wouldn’t do this, and just two years after the last UK General Election (UK terms are usually four to five years).

Obviously, it’s a big gamble, and on 8 June we’ll see how it pans out. Of course, it’s not the first such gamble in history.

The classic would be Julius Caesar, standing with his army on one side of the Rubicon. He’d been ordered back to Rome, without his army. Caesar had understandable reservations. The unofficial triumvirate that had dominated Roman politics had fractured. He was one member, and another, Crassus, had been killed whilst on campaign in Parthia. Pompey, the third member, had been married to Caesar’s daughter, but she had died.

Caesar and Pompey found themselves on opposing sides of Roman politics. The two men, previously allies, were now to fight for control of Rome (still technically a republic). Caesar had a choice to make. Obey the summons of his city and probably be prosecuted, or march an army into Italy.

He crossed the Rubicon, crossing the river with a loyal army at his back. It was a decision from which there could be no turning back (the phrase is still sometimes used today, and could well apply to the Prime Minister’s decision). Ultimately, it paid off. Caesar won the war and briefly ruled what was in effect an empire, until his assassination a year or so after the civil war ended. His adopted son, taking the name Augustus, won his own civil war and became the first emperor, reigning for decades.

It was not the last civil war the Roman Empire would see. Julian, appointed as Caesar (junior emperor) by his cousin Constantius II (largely on the basis he was the only surviving male relative the emperor had) to govern Gaul and protect it from the rampaging Germanic tribes, set about his task with surprising confidence for a man plucked from obscure academia. Julian was so competent, in fact, that his soldiers proclaimed him emperor, which put him in a tight spot. He could either accept, and embark upon civil war against the man who had appointed him in the first place, or decline, and risk getting murdered by his own men.

Julian decided to accept.

The two sides geared up for war, and Julian scored perhaps the most perfect victory in a civil war in the history of mankind. Before the armies met, Constantius fell terminally ill. On his deathbed, he named his cousin as his successor. Not a drop of blood was shed, and Julian the Apostate became emperor.

Of course, snap decisions to achieve sovereign power don’t always work out well, and rarely as well as Julian’s bloodless triumph.

Sir Roger Mortimer had been a relatively close friend of Edward II. However, the latter’s capacity for alienating others, not least at the behest of Hugh Despenser, gradually led to Roger becoming disaffected and then rebelling outright. The Mortimer, as then known, was imprisoned and destined for death.

However, he managed to escape to France, where he formed a political (and personal) alliance with Edward II’s wife Isabella. The pair returned to England, successfully overthrowing Isabella’s husband. Edward II was imprisoned, and Roger Mortimer became ruler of England.

This left Edward, Isabella’s son by her husband, in a very precarious position. He was effectively under house arrest and too young to exercise, or even try to assert, his authority. The youth became a young king, Edward III, when his father was (probably) killed whilst in custody. His uncle was also executed.

Things looked rather bleak. Edward III was nearing adulthood, and Mortimer, who was gathering vast power and endless titles unto himself, seemed unlikely to suffer a rival. However, hope was not lost. A small group of friends, young and intrepid fellows, sought to free Edward. A secret passage was unlocked, and the rescuers made their way into Nottingham Castle, where Edward, Mortimer, and Isabella were all living. Edward III was freed, Mortimer captured, and a rather sombre conversation had between mother and son.

Sir Roger Mortimer appeared to have won. The old king was dead, Queen Isabella was his mistress, and the young king his prisoner, to be dispensed with once the time was right. Yet despite all these advantages, his rapacious greed had made the nobility fearful, and the loyalty of his friends saved Edward III.

Those seeking power should beware that in the getting of it they don’t plant the seeds of their own destruction.

Thaddeus