The Chaotic Civil War Of Ardea In 443 BCE

In the 440s BCE, the Italian city of Ardea experienced a heavy dose of political turmoil that caused tempers and discord to flare. At the beginning of the decade, Ardea was embroiled in a land dispute with a rival city called Aricia. Years went by and neither city was able to enforce its claim on the territory. As both Ardea and Aricia were allies of Rome, they were said to have eventually sent representatives to the Romans and asked for the city to make a decision as to whether Ardea or Aricia had the better claim to the land. During the negotiations, which reportedly took place in 446 BCE, the Roman government came to a scandalous conclusion, claiming the disputed land for themselves instead of giving it to either of the rival cities.

In outrage to Rome’s decision, Ardea abruptly ended its alliance with the Romans. Yet, Rome’s controversial arbitration and the scorned city’s subsequent rage-cancellation of the alliance became topics of great debate among the different factions in Ardea. Heated partisan arguments in the city would only grow in intensity, for the then-leading party in Ardea quickly regretted the end of the alliance and almost immediately tried to resume a new partnership with the Romans. Between 445-443 BCE the leaders of Ardea were able to negotiate some sort of treaty with Rome, yet the wishy-washy policy of the city leaders only further stoked the ire of the opposition. Unfortunately, by 443 BCE, the animosity between the political factions in Ardea had descended into open civil war.

Centuries later, the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE) would comment on Ardea’s civil war in his History of Rome. Based on ancient annals, documents and histories that he had at his disposal, Livy described the conflict as a chaotic and action-packed struggle, with both warring factions pulling other Italian powers into the war. In a scene similar to the Cold War of the 20th century, Rome and its rivals used the conflict as a proxy war. The Romans gave their support to an aristocratic faction in Ardea, presumably the ruling party that had negotiated the recent treaty with Rome. The opposition movement of Ardea, dominated by commoner-oriented factions, instead reached out to Rome’s enemies, the Volscians and Aequians.

Romans, Volscians and Aequians all scrambled to help their chosen side of the civil war, ensuring that a complicated battle would soon play out at Ardea. A coalition of Volscians and Aequians were the first to arrive at the city, led by a commander named Cluilius. The Roman-aligned aristocrats reportedly still maintained control of most of the city at the time, so the Volscian-Aequian army helped the opposition forces set up a siege of the city. Yet, sieges take time, and time was a commodity that the besieging party did not have on their side, for a Roman army led by Consul Marcus Geganius Macerinus was also on its way to Ardea.

Despite the arrival of the Volscian and Aequian troops, the opposition faction could not force the ruling aristocratic party in Ardea to surrender. Instead, the aristocrats and their supporters held out until Consul Geganius arrived on the scene. The Romans, upon their arrival, went about doing what the Romans did best—they built. As the story goes, Consul Geganius’ army built a series of earthworks and forts around the Volscian-Aequian army. Simply put, the Romans reportedly besieged the besiegers. Additionally, Consul Geganius reportedly constructed a fortified passageway to the city, so that he could resupply the aristocratic party inside the city.

Cluilius and the Volscian-Aequian forces could not find a way to destroy the fortified path between the Roman army and the aristocratic faction position inside the city, much less devise a way to break free of the greater ring of Roman earthworks and forts. Trapped, and with a victory in battle unlikely, Cluilius reportedly opened up negotiations with Consul Geganius. An agreement of surrender was reached between the two, in which the Volscians and Aequians were allegedly allowed to leave Ardea, albeit only after handing over their weapons, armor and belongings to the Romans. With the city in their hands, the Roman army went to work enforcing the authority of their chosen faction on the city. As told by Livy, “Geganius restored peace to the distracted town of Ardea by executing the ringleaders of the recent troubles and turning over their property to the public funds” (History of Rome, 4.10). As for the unarmed and unarmored army of Volscians and Aequians, they were reportedly massacred in an ambush near Tusculum.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Roman Emperor Meeting With A Soldier, by Agostino Veneziano (c. 1490-1536), [Public Domain] via Smithsonian Institute Open Access and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0153%3Abook%3D4%3Achapter%3D10  

Rome’s Underhanded Acquisition Of Disputed Land In 446 BCE

446 BCE was a busy year for the Romans. According to the historian Livy, it was a year that played host to both military glory and diplomatic shame. The former lauded feat came from Rome’s victory over a Volscian and Aequian invasion. As for the latter scandal, it resulted from the Roman people’s part in a land dispute between allies. At the heart of the conflict were the feuding cities of Aricia and Ardea, both of which were members of the Roman alliance network and were located just to the southeast of Rome. Aricia and Ardea had an ongoing heated feud about a piece of land, and tiring of their endless arguments, both cities reportedly decided to send representatives to Rome in order to have the Romans decide which of the cities had a better claim to the disputed land. When the representatives arrived, they were given an audience by the Roman government, the members of which listened to the arguments of both Aricia and Ardea. After the presentations were concluded, the Roman governing officials reportedly called an assembly of the political tribes of Rome to let the people decide the fate of the disputed land. It was in this latter phase when the land arbitration took a turn into controversy.

According to Livy, the disputed land that was in question happened to have once belonged to a city called Corioli, which the Romans were said to have occupied and burned in 493 BCE. As Aricia and Ardea were fighting over that land decades later, Rome obviously did not put much effort into settling or defending that region, allowing for other nearby cities to expand into the territory once held by Corioli. Nevertheless, an elderly Roman citizen reportedly brought up Rome’s past campaign in the region and insisted that the Romans had just as much right to the land as did Aricia and Ardea. Such talk reportedly won over the expansionist Roman masses, and when the representatives from the petitioning cities were called back to hear the verdict, the diplomats from Aricia and Ardea were told that it was Rome that would be taking the disputed land, to which the allied diplomats could do little but grumble. Livy, for his part, decried the move as shameful, “for an arbitrator to convert disputed land to his own use was a crime revolting in itself, and would set a precedent even worse” (History of Rome, 3.72).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Wall painting from Pompeii (before 79 AD) - Naples, Archaeological Museum, [Public Domain] via flickr.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.

The Costly Treasury Replenishment Of Roman Consuls Titus Romilius And Gaius Veturius

In the first half of the 5th century BCE, the fledgling Roman Republic was constantly harassed by Volscian and Aequian raids. From around 494 to 455 BCE, Roman forces clashed with these marauding raiders on a near-annual basis. Nearby rival city-states of Rome would sometimes join in the Volscian and Aequian raids, making the attacks all the more dangerous and costly, as the Romans were often required to put multiple armies in the field to address threats on different fronts. By 455 BCE, the Roman Republic had apparently depleted its treasury after the decades of constant warfare. Despite Rome’s financial struggles, it was not spared that year in 455 BCE from an all-too-familiar raid—this time the Aequians attacked, threatening Rome and its ally, Tusculum.

Titus Romilius and Gaius Veturius, the Roman consuls of 455 BCE, rallied an army and set off to intercept the Aequians before the invaders did too much damage to Tusculum or to Roman lands. The Roman army found the Aequians at a place called Algidus, located not far from Tusculum, and a great battle reportedly ensued. Livy (c. 59 BCE-17CE), a Roman historian, made an account of the battle in his History of Rome, and from whatever sources he had at his disposal, Livy presented supposed statistics from that engagement.

During the battle at Algidus in 455 BCE, the Romans inflicted a massive defeat upon the Aequians, killing thousands of the invaders. As the defeated Aequians fled the battlefield, they abandoned their camp, leaving behind gear and piles of ill-gained loot. When the Roman consuls, Romilius and Veturius, saw all of this plunder which had been left behind by the defeated foe, the consuls decided to sacrifice personal gain for the good of the bankrupt republic. Livy, describing the battle and its aftermath, wrote, “in the engagement which followed the Aequians were heavily defeated, losing more than 7,000 men and a great deal of material and equipment, all of which the consuls sold, to replenish the depleted treasury” (History of Rome, 3.31). Although the Roman government was happy about the financial relief, the army serving under the consuls were irate that they were not given a cut of the plunder that they had risked their lives to obtain. A grudge developed between consuls and the military over the issue of the plunder, which lasted for the remainder of Romilius’ and Veturius’ terms of office. Unfortunately for the consuls, Rome’s disgruntled warriors were determined to have their revenge, and they would get it after the consuls relinquished their power.

As the story goes, the Roman warriors, and their representatives in government, brought Titus Romilius and Gaius Veturius to court. Livy, the aforementioned Roman historian, did not mention which exact charges were lodged against the former consuls, but he did write that the warriors ultimately won their case, and hefty fines were imposed on Romilius and Veturius. Livy reported the imposed fines based on the value of the Roman ‘as,’ which, in its earliest days was the equivalent of one Roman pound of bronze. The unit was, however, revised in 211 BCE to the sextantal as, which was equated to 1/6 of a Roman pound. Without specifying whether the value was sextantal or whole, Livy reported that Romilius paid 10,000 of the unit, while Veturius paid 15,000. It is unclear if the disgruntled warriors ever received any of the fined wealth, or if the fines simply further lined the state’s treasury.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Gaius Marius sitting in exile, presumably by Walter Crane (1845–1915), for Mary Macgregor’s Story of Rome, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0145%3Abook%3D3%3Achapter%3D31  

The Talking Roman Cow Of The 5th Century BCE

Around 462-461 BCE, ancient Rome was able to obtain a brief moment of peace from its ongoing wars with the Volscians and Aequians. Yet, peacetime was tense in those years, as the Romans were reportedly plagued by natural disasters, such as earthquakes and fires. Nature’s wrath prompted the Romans to scour their surroundings for omens, and the supernatural signs they discovered were apparently not good. Flocks of birds behaved erratically and, according to the historian Livy (c. 59 BCE-17CE), “it rained lumps of meat” (History of Rome, 3.10). Birds, however, were not the only animals behaving strangely—the cows were acting even more oddly.

Somewhere in the pastures of ancient Rome, a cow allegedly began to speak. It seems to have been a single cow who went on a two-year talking spree. During its first year of speech, presumably in 462 BCE, the eloquent cow was largely ignored by the community. Cowherds and those nearest to the animal tried to spread the word about the opinionated beast, but the rest of Rome dismissed the rumors as a prank or ruse.

The talkative cow paid no heed to the disbelief of average Romans, however, and it continued to have conversations as before. It supposedly continued to speak well into the next year, coinciding with the earthquakes, fires, and raining meat of 461 BCE. Considering all of the bizarre signs occurring at the time, the Romans soon began to reconsider the rumor about the talking cow. According to Livy, “a cow talked—there was a rumor that a cow had talked the previous year, but nobody believed it: this year they did” (History of Rome, 3.10).

Just as the Romans were getting to the bottom of the talking cow investigation, the Volscians and Aequians cruelly resumed their continual hostilities with Rome, thereby pulling the attention of our sources away from the bovine orator. The fate of the talkative cow remains unknown.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Daedalus, Pasiphae and wooden cow. Roman fresco from the northern wall of the triclinium in the Casa dei Vettii (VI 15,1) in Pompeii, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.

According To Tradition, The Fledgling Roman Republic Was Held Together In A Trying Time By An Aesop Fable

Although Rome, according to tradition, shed its monarchy around 509 BCE to become a republic, it took the Romans a long time to work out the power structure of their new society. No doubt, the fledgling republic was first ruled by an aristocratic oligarchy, probably from both patrician and non-patrician powerful families. After the monarchy was outed, the new oligarch leaders apparently became tyrannical in government practices such as land-distribution and debt policies, which caused anger between the wealthy and the poor. The first great crisis between the well-to-do leaders and the struggling commoners was said to have occurred in 494 BCE, when the debtors and the oppressed of Rome reportedly abandoned the city and decided to form their own government. This so-called Secession of the Plebs was major step in the foundation of the Plebeian identity, and the office of tribune is dated by tradition to that time.

Such an exodus of people would always cause concern for a government, but the oligarchs of Rome were at the time particularly urgent to regain the cooperation of the commoners. One reason for their sense of urgency was that Rome began to increasingly feel the encroachment of the Volscians and Aequians toward the end of the 490s BCE. With foreign raids increasing, Rome needed to make sure its military remained in a functioning state, which was difficult when much of the city-state’s light infantry manpower was in mutiny during the Secession of the Plebs.

Rome’s leading class reportedly sent a certain likable, smooth-talking spokesman named Menenius Agrippa to negotiate with the commoners. He was apparently a wealthy non-patrician who was a member of the oligarchy, but also had friends among the poor. Menenius joined the commoners on their hill and opened up his negotiations by telling a simple fable.

Once upon a time, claimed Menenius, in the most primitive times of the distant past, the different limbs and organs of the human body had minds of their own. The arms, legs, teeth, mouth, stomach, so on and so forth, controlled their own actions and possessed their own thoughts and feelings. The different pieces of this primordial body coexisted for a time, but, before long, certain individual parts began to notice a troubling trend. The feet and legs walked to food; the hands and arms gathered the food; the teeth and mouth ate the food—the stomach, however, did nothing but take what all the other parts of the body worked so hard to provide.

One day, claimed Menenius, the different laboring sections of the body decided that they would no longer put up with the stomach’s greed. After plotting together, the legs and feet quit walking; the arms and hands stopped gathering; the teeth and mouth stopped eating and swallowing. Thus, all the other parts of the body besieged the stomach and cut it off from its food supply. As the siege went on, however, odd things began to happen—the legs grew sluggish, the arms began to weaken, and the primordial body, as a whole, began to deteriorate and become emaciated. Before the allied limbs and organs realized their mistake, the whole body withered away and died from starvation. So ended the fable.

After hearing Menenius’ story, the commoners on the hill reportedly saw the existential threat that their revolt posed to Rome, and they agreed to enter into negotiations for a solution. According to the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE – 17 CE), this Secession of the Plebs was brought to a close when the oligarchs of the republic agreed to recognize the tribunes as representatives of the commoners. Yet, this was merely a working relationship, and it would take many more years for the oligarchs to start respecting the power, much less the legal proposals, of the tribunes.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of a fable from "The fables of Æsop, selected, told anew and their history traced" (1894), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• The Beginnings of Rome by T. J. Cornell. New York: Routledge, 1995. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/plebeian 
• https://fablesofaesop.com/the-belly-and-the-members.html

The Tale Of The Wrathful Redo Of The Great Games In Rome

In the early 5th century BCE, as the Volscians were beginning to threaten the fledgling republic of Rome, the Romans held an event that, according to the historian Livy, was called the Great Games. This was not one of Rome’s famous gladiatorial games, as the heyday of the gladiators would come much later in Roman history, yet the Great Games did take place in an arena, and the proceedings not only entertained, but also served a religious purpose. Jupiter, the arch-god of the Roman pantheon, was said to have taken special interest in the Great Games, and he could be a stickler for propriety when it came to how the games were conducted. One such point of proper conduct that Jupiter supposedly was keen to enforce was the rule that the arena for the Great Games must, in no way, be desecrated before the inaugural ceremony for the event.

In the early morning of the day in which the Great Games were scheduled to begin, an ignorant Roman made a costly mistake.  Unheeding the religious etiquette of the games, the Roman in question dragged a slave across the arena grounds, beating the poor soul with a stick whenever he or she was too slow. According to tradition, this sad display was witnessed by Jupiter and, he was so infuriated by the scene that he would not give his blessing to the Great Games unless it was completely redone.

The ways gods express their wishes to mankind have always been strange, and Jupiter’s actions in this situation were no exception. Instead of appearing in front of the Roman Republic’s magistrates, oligarchs, or even the slaveowner who caused the problem, Jupiter was said to have chosen as his messenger an overly-cautious and easily-intimidated commoner by the name of Titus Latinius. The god visited this poor fellow in a dream and cryptically told him “he was displeased with the ‘leading dancer’ at the Games” (Livy, History of Rome, 2.36). Jupiter went on to demand that the games be restarted with greater grandiosity, dignity and respect for the gods.

After waking up from his dream, Titus Latinius dreaded the idea of telling the Roman Republic’s magistrates that their Great Games were a failure. Instead of fulfilling his divinely-mandated mission of telling Rome that the games must be restarted, Titus Latinius simply shrugged off the dream and hoped that Jupiter would find another messenger. Yet, the pitiable Roman commoner would soon find that Jupiter wanted no other agent, and the god would go to great lengths to make Titus Latinius deliver the message.

Ignorant of Jupiter’s anger, Rome launched its tainted Great Games. As the games progressed, the angry god did not lash out at the slaveowner who had caused the desecration of the arena, nor did he smite the consuls or magistrates who were overseeing the celebration. Unfortunately, Jupiter’s wrath was solely focused on his sluggish messenger, and as each day passed, the god came closer and closer to unleashing a bolt of lightning at Titus Latinius and his family. Latinius knew nothing of this boiling rage until his son was suddenly and fatally smote by Jupiter. Only after killing the messenger’s son did Jupiter reappear in Titus Latinius’ dreams, again demanding that the Great Games be restarted, or more death would soon occur.

Caution and hesitation, however, were Latinius’ great flaw, and he continued to test Jupiter’s low patience. The god ultimately tired of his chosen messenger’s delays and struck the man with a great illness that left Titus Latinius on his deathbed. It was then, surrounded by friends and family who had come to see him in his final moment, that Latinius finally divulged Jupiter’s message. Although Titus Latinius could never manage to complete his mission alone, things changed when he brought those friends and family at his bedside into his confidence. These trusty companions pulled Titus Latinius out of his deathbed, threw him in a litter, and carried him to the Roman Republic’s consuls or magistrates. These leaders then convened a meeting of the early Republic’s oligarchs or senators, in front of which Titus Latinius was allowed to speak. After the message was delivered, Titus Latinius was said to have been suddenly healed, and was able to walk home without any aid from his friends or family.

The leaders of the Republic were said to have been convinced of Jupiter’s anger upon listening to the sickly man’s message and subsequently seeing the miraculous healing of the messenger. They agreed to restart the Great Games, and made sure that the second showing had greater attendance and more splendor than the first.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Battle of Olympians painted by Francisco Bayeu y Subías (1734–1795), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.

The Political Battle Over The Dedication Of The Temple Of Jupiter On The Capitol In Rome

The Temple of Jupiter on the Capitol (Capitoline Hill) in Rome was said to have been officially dedicated sometime around 509 BCE, give or take a few years, near the traditional founding date of the Roman Republic. The consuls or magistrates of Rome at the time were Horatius and Publicola. Both of them wanted the honor of conducting the dedication ceremony, as it would be an auspicious and historic event which would boost the fame of the person that directed the proceedings. According to the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE- 17 CE), the two politicians decided to duel for the privilege in a most civilized way—they played a game of chance. Horatius and Publicola both drew lots, and it was the former of the two who had the winning hand. Publicola did not protest the loss, but sulked off to the army and reportedly devoted himself to a campaign against the city of Veii.

Horatius, despite his victory in the game of chance and the departure of his fellow consul, would soon find that there were still more obstacles blocking his path to the coveted dedication ceremony. These obstructions would come in the form of Publicola’s stubborn relatives. Although Publicola had distracted himself from his disappointment by devoting his thoughts to war, his family was stuck in Rome with the soon-to-be honored Horatius. As the story goes, Publicola’s kinsmen were not willing to admit defeat, and they launched a political campaign against Horatius in an attempt to delay the ceremony, presumably to give Publicola time to reconsider his relinquishment of the ceremony to his colleague.

Despite the petitions, complaints and motions brought forward by Publicola’s family, Horatius managed to keep the schedule of the ceremony on track. When the designated day arrived, he strode to the temple of Jupiter and commenced his long-awaited dedication ceremony. Publicola’s family, however, had one last trick—in the middle of the ceremony, a distraught messenger arrived with news that Horatius’ son had died. Publicola’s relatives were among the crowd in attendance, and they were quick to give their condolences to Horatius and hinted that, as a father in mourning, he was in no fit state to conduct a temple dedication ceremony. Horatius, however, was not fazed by the ruse. Likely tipped off by the suspicious behavior of Publicola’s dramatic kinsmen, Horatius merely made an announcement on how the funeral should be arranged; then, with that precaution complete, Horatius promptly resumed the dedication ceremony. To the annoyance of Publicola’s kinsmen, Horatius completed the ritual without any further issues.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Entrance to a theater by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Places/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Roma/Rome/_Texts/PLATOP*/Aedes_Jovis_Capitolini.html  

The Names of Mythical And Legendary Roman Figures Interestingly Align With The Historical Advent Of Complex Family Names In Ancient Rome

Ancient Rome’s creation myth and the legends about its earliest kings are more often than not totally unreliable as historical sources except for as an insight into the Roman sense of self and national identity. T. J. Cornell, a leading authority on the history of ancient Rome, bluntly wrote “In general the narrative accounts of the origins of Rome, from Aeneas to Romulus, cannot be considered historical” and of the early legendary kings such as Numa Pompilius and Tullus Hostilius, he similarly claimed that “the traditional chronology is historically impossible” (The Beginnings of Rome, 1995, pg 80 and 121). Yet, there is one particular concept where traditional folklore and ancient reality seemed to have lined up intriguingly well—in names.

The myths and tales of ancient Rome begin with a long list of people with single-word names. Aeneas sails to Italy. Ascanius succeeded Aeneas and was, in turn, succeeded by Silvius. With the exception of a few anomalies, the folkloric ancestors of Rome’s founders were usually described with one name. A supposed distant ancestor of Silvius was Proca, who fathered two kings: Amulius and Numitor—and Numitor was traditionally the grandfather of the famous twins, Romulus and Remus.

According to tradition, Romulus’ mythical reign as the first king of Rome was dated to around 753-717 BCE. In terms of archaeologically-grounded history, the supposed reign of Romulus does correspond with a time of urbanization in the Roman region, as there are tangible signs that a powerful and wealthy Roman aristocracy had formed by the late 8th century BCE and especially in the 7th century BCE.

Around the same time that Rome and its Italian neighbors were undergoing urbanization, there was also a name revolution spreading in the region. Around the early 7th century BCE, the Etruscans of Etruria had begun labeling themselves with more complex names that had family and clan identifiers. The Romans were not far behind, adopting the practice of using longer, more complex, names by the end of the 7th century BCE. Interestingly, the names of the legendary kings after Romulus (whose mythical reign ended in 717 BCE), correlate to that name revolution. Romulus had a co-king named Titus Tatius. Romulus’ successor was Numa Pompilius (traditionally dated r. 716-674 BCE) and after him came Tullus Hostilius (r. 673-642 BCE), then Ancus Marcius (641-617 BCE). With the rise of the Tarquin family, the names became even more complex. First there was Lucius Tarquinius Priscus (r. 616-578 BCE), then Servius Tullius (r. 578-534 BCE), and finally Lucius Tarquinius Superbus (r. 534-509 BCE), who, according to tradition, was overthrown by Lucius Junius Brutus and Lucius Tarquinius Collatinus in 509 BCE. Although much of the ancient accounts of pre-Republic Rome cannot be reconciled with historical evidence, tradition and archaeology do align surprisingly well on the advent of more complex names in Italy.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Painting of the legendary Roman dictator, Cincinnatus, painted by Juan Antonio de Ribera (1779–1860), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• The Beginnings of Rome by T. J. Cornell. New York: Routledge, 1995.

The Smiting Of King Tullus Hostilius

According to ancient Roman tradition, Tullus Hostilius lived in the 7th century BCE and was the third king of Rome, reigning around 673-642 BCE. His predecessor was said to have been King Numa (who was counseled by a goddess) and before Numa it was the reign of the demigod, Romulus. As can be seen by the lives of the former rulers, Tullus Hostilius lived in a period of Roman history that was thoroughly suffused with myth and legend. Like his predecessors, Tullus Hostlius also was met with supernatural influence during his reign. Yet, whereas Romulus was sired by a god and Numa was advised by a goddess, Tullus Hostilius was unfortunately faced with a new type of divine intervention. Sadly, his supernatural experience would be much less gentle.

As the story goes, Rome was ravaged by a plague at the end of Tullus Hostilius’ reign. The king had devoted virtually his whole reign to war, so he did not have the slightest clue about how to cure or alleviate the pain of those stricken by the plague. Anxious for answers, Tullus Hostilius was said to have frantically flipped through notes left behind by the wise King Numa. Finally, the king found something promising. It was a ceremony that, if done correctly, would invoke the protection of Jupiter Elicius.

The king gathered everything he needed for the rite and reportedly decided to perform the ceremony alone, inside his palace. Yet, Tullus Hostilius apparently did not take with him Numa’s notes and chose instead to trust his memory.  This, unfortunately, was a fatal mistake, for the king’s mind faltered and he tragically made an error in the procedure of the ceremony. Consequently, the ritual horribly misfired, and, instead of earning Jupiter’s sympathy, it only stoked the god’s anger. When Tullus Hostilius completed his erroneous ceremony, it was not a cure for plague that descended from the sky, but a white-hot bolt of zigzagging lightning. The bolt struck the palace and engulfed the structure in flames. Tullus Hostilius was unable to escape the burning palace and paid the ultimate price for his sacrilegious imprecision as he perished in the fire.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (modified version of Oath of the Horatii painted by Jacques-Louis David (1748–1825), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Tullus-Hostilius 
• https://pantheon.org/articles/h/hostilius_tullus.html  

One Way Ancient Romans Attempted To “Nail Down” The Origin Date Of Their Republic

According to ancient historians such as Polybius (c. 200-118 BCE) and Livy (59 BCE-17 CE), the grand Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus was dedicated within one year after the monarchy was abandoned in Rome in favor of a republic. As can be guessed from the title of the temple, Jupiter was the main focus of the structure, but there were also shrines to Juno and Minerva on the compound. According to Livy, there was a practice of driving a ceremonial nail or spike into the temple wall near the shrine of Minerva that dated back to the inaugural year of the religious complex. In a convoluted and confusing passage, Livy wrote that this apparently annual practice was passed down from generation to generation and from government to government. He stated, “the consul Horatius dedicated the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus in the year following the expulsion of the kings; from the consuls the ceremony of fastening the nails passed to the Dictators, because they possessed greater authority” (History of Rome, 7.3).

Although the ceremonial practice of placing nails into the wall of the temple had not been created specifically as a way to tally years, Livy and others recognized the possibility of using the temple as a way to determine the age of the Roman Republic. For Livy, it was poetic that the nails were watched over by Minerva. He wrote, “The nail is said to have marked the number of the year—written records being scarce in those days—and was for that reason placed under the protection of Minerva because she was the inventor of numbers” (History of Rome, 7.3).  Minerva apparently did her part and kept the temple wall intact until an unknown curious Roman calculated the number of nails, a task which was hopefully done before the Gallic sack of Rome around 386 BCE and the destruction of the temple around 83 BCE, during the civil war of Sulla. The calculation of the nails in the temple wall was reportedly one of the ways that the traditional date of 509 BCE (give or take a few years) was set as the year the Roman Republic was born.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (a scene from Virgil (Book I), c. 400, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0026%3Abook%3D7%3Achapter%3D3 
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Places/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Roma/Rome/_Texts/PLATOP*/Aedes_Jovis_Capitolini.html 
• https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/ancient/romrelig3.asp 
• https://www.nationalgeographic.org/encyclopedia/roman-republic/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Roman-Republic 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Roman_Republic/ 
• https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/ancient-art-civilizations/roman/roman-republic/a/jupiter-optimus-maximus