025 - The Syrian War

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 25, The Syrian War. Last week, Rome was drawn into the thick of Greek politics and emerged from its brief war with Philip of Macedon, the leading power west of the Aegean. The hero of the Second Macedonian War, Gaius Flaminius, had declared Greece free from foreign interference, to the great joy of the proud Greeks. However, it was a peculiar form of freedom, as Flaminius did not seem to count Rome amongst the foreign powers Greece was free from. Soon enough, the Greeks would begin to look sideways at their liberators, who were fast becoming occupiers. A faction of Greeks, fed up with the Roman presence, would look across the Aegean to the only other power in the Mediterranean who could possibly expel the Romans, the Seleucid Empire of Syria, led by Antiochus the Great.

Trouble began in 195 BC, the year after Flaminius' declaration. The Aetolian League, the collection of cities that had been Rome's first allies in Greece, felt they had not received the rewards they deserved for all the help they had given the Romans. All their aid for Rome had been given with the assumption that once they helped clear out Macedon, the Aetolian League would be handed control of Greece, with Rome withdrawing into the role of silent partner. But the generous Romans had not punished their Greek enemies at the bargaining table, and had left the existing power structure in place, granting the Aetolians no more control than they had prior to the war against Philip.

Rome was well aware of the Aetolian grievances, and was also well aware that the Aetolians were entering negotiations with Sparta to form an alliance that could then offer itself to Antiochus if the Syrian king agreed to launch an anti-Roman offensive. Hoping to preempt an alliance, Flaminius led a force against Sparta, and easily overran the outnumbered Greeks. The move was a tactical victory in the sense that it forestalled an Aetolian-Spartan alliance, but strategically the move backfired, turning Greek public opinion against Rome. If Greece was free, why was a Roman army attacking Sparta? If Greece was free, what was a Roman army doing here in the first place? The public relations crisis only ballooned from there. Friends of Rome and Greece were fast becoming an endangered species.

At the same time Rome moved against Sparta, envoys, including the leading citizen of his day, Scipio Africanus, were sent to Antiochus in Syria to convince him to keep out of Greece. The Roman delegates announced their policy of Greek freedom, and ordered Antiochus to stay on his side of the Hellespont. Antiochus was amused by these demands, pointing out that if Greece was so free, what were the Romans doing there? It was a fair point, and the Romans had no real answer for it. Antiochus sent the delegation away, telling them flatly that Roman demands regarding Greece were as absurd as Antiochus dictating policy to the Romans in Italy. They would each do well to mind their own business.

But before the cordial visit passed into open antagonism, Antiochus greeted the Romans with all the honors due of visiting power. Present also, as a guest of Antiochus, was Hannibal, the scourge of Carthage now living with the king in exile. In one of the most interesting face-to-face meetings of the ancient world, Scipio and Hannibal found themselves present at a banquet together. Scipio, perhaps needling Hannibal a bit, asked the Carthaginian casually who he thought were the greatest generals in history. Hannibal replied that he placed Alexander first, a choice Scipio heartily seconded. Next, Hannibal, needling the Romans back a bit, announced that Pyrrhus was his choice for second greatest general of all time, pointing out his succession of victories against the Romans. Hannibal then boldly declared that he put himself third on the list. Scipio, who was preparing for the satisfaction of Hannibal acknowledging that he was the better general, was shocked at the choice. How could Hannibal claim he was better than a man who had beaten him? As a way of reminding Hannibal of the outcome at Zama, he asked Hannibal, and where would you stand if you had actually, you know, beaten me? Hannibal replied that had he beaten Scipio, he would place himself even above Alexander. A backhanded acknowledgment that beating Scipio would have indeed been a major accomplishment, but that the Roman general did not merit a place amongst the very best of all time. Scipio nursed his wounded ego, no doubt, by remembering that he was dining with the king of Syria as a leading representative of a great power, while Hannibal was dining as little more than a beggar. Who's the best general now, sucker?

At the conclusion of the meeting between Syria and Rome, the two powers were at loggerheads. Both sides were being goaded by their allies in Greece to fight it out. The Aetolians were begging Antiochus to drive the Romans out of Greece, and the kingdom of Pergamum was egging Rome into attacking its neighbor Antiochus. Hannibal told the Syrian king he would gladly lead an invasion of Italy himself if given the troops and supplies. But no direct confrontation was forthcoming, so the Aetolians decided to press the issue by launching simultaneous attacks on three Roman-allied Greek cities, each of which would serve as a safe point of entry for any Syrian army. They were repulsed in two of the cities, but welcomed by the citizens of Demetrius, who were fed up with the Roman presence. This action, coupled with the fact that the Romans were showing signs of stepping back from Greece, convinced Antiochus that the time was ripe for an invasion. He gathered 10,000 troops and sailed for Demetrius.

When he arrived, however, two facts became immediately apparent. First, the Aetolians had painted a somewhat misleading picture of the reception Antiochus would receive. Greeted not as a welcome liberator, Antiochus was treated as just another foreign invader and found the gates of Greece closed to his army. Second, Roman interest in Greece was waning only as long as no other power stepped into the vacuum. The arrival of the Syrians triggered an immediate Roman response. Two legions were mustered and sailed for Epirus, where they landed and began a march straight for the invaders, who were camped on the Aegean coast. At the same time, the Achaean League, a rival confederation of the Aetolians, declared for Rome and joined the legions. Antiochus and his 10,000 were facing an army that had grown to more than double that size.

Knowing he had miscalculated but unwilling to simply run for it, Antiochus looked around for a nearby spot where the clear numerical superiority of the Romans would be negated and settled on the most famous bottleneck in history, Thermopylae. Three hundred Spartans had stood against two million Persians, right? So 10,000 versus 20,000 would be a pretty safe bet. Except the Syrians were not the Spartans, the Romans were not the Persians, and everyone and their mother knew by now that there were ways of getting around the narrow pass. It may have looked good on paper, or I guess I should say papyrus, but when the Romans arrived, this battle of Thermopylae had none of the luster of the original. Roman victory was quick and decisive. Persians fled back across the Hellespont and the Romans, smelling blood, came fast on his heels.

The one lasting legacy of this battle of Thermopylae was the entrance of Cato the Elder onto history's stage. The man who would dominate Roman politics for the next 50 years made a name for himself leading the charge around the rear of the Syrian army that proved to be the critical maneuver of the battle. Cato, the great conservative of his time, would be the leading defender of old Roman virtue and find himself constantly at odds with Scipio Africanus, who represented the modern Roman man, Hellenized and worldly. Cato fought a losing battle against the evolution of the Roman character, but was idolized by future generations who longed for the simple stoicism of a now largely mythical golden age they held out in contrast to the modern corrupt state they lived with.

In 190 BC, adopting a clearly aggressive stance toward Antiochus, the Romans elected as consul Gnaeus Scipio, the brother of Scipio Africanus, and sent the two brothers to Greece to pursue what policies they would. The Scipiones, notoriously bold, did not waste time and took their armies across the Hellespont, leading the Romans into Asia Minor for the first time. As this was occurring, in the south, Hannibal, who had for reasons of court jealousy been left out of Antiochus' general staff, was relegated to commanding a small fleet of ships engaged with the Roman ally Rhodes off the coast of Asia Minor. The great commander, whose talents were clearly wasted, was unable to pry victory from the jaws of defeat and found himself routed by the Rhodesian navy. Who knows what would have happened if Antiochus had allowed Hannibal to lead his forces into Greece, or placed him at the head of the army that was about to be annihilated by the Scipiones. Maybe Roman inertia would have proved too much to overcome, but then again, maybe the Carthaginian general could have played a role in keeping the Romans bottled up in the west. Certainly, leaving Hannibal on the bench was not a move that served Antiochus well.

The decisive battle came at Magnesia, on the border between Pergamum and Syria in modern-day Turkey, where Antiochus had gathered 70,000 Syrian and mercenary troops. Against this force marched 50,000 Italians and a mixture of Greek allies. The numerical superiority of the Syrians was easily offset by the far greater talent of the Romans. The under-trained Syrians lacked the hard-nosed professionalism of the Romans and the outcome of the battle was never in doubt. Antiochus's army was crushed and the disparity between the two supposedly equal powers was thrown out into the open. With a victorious and practically unscathed Roman army standing triumphant deep in Asia Minor, the truth became apparent. Rome had no equal in the Mediterranean.

The terms Rome laid at the feet of Antiochus were harsh. A huge cash payment was demanded, hostages of the ruling families were taken back to Rome, and the Syrian king agreed to never again cross the Taurus Mountains, which stood between Anatolia and the mainland Middle East. This range became the de facto frontier of the rapidly expanding Roman Empire. Though Greece and Asia Minor would not be incorporated as official provinces for years, Roman rule in the region was never again in doubt. It was a Roman world, the Greeks just lived in it.

The outcome of the war seems like it should have been another feather in the cap of Scipio, but instead it became the source of a great bitterness that would fill the Roman general for the rest of his life. Upon returning to Rome, the Scipione brothers were accused by Cato and his allies of misappropriating war funds. While not denying the charges, Scipio asked if anyone present was dissatisfied with the fact that Rome was making back five times what it had put into the war because of the indemnity forced on Antiochus by the two brothers. Anyone? Anyone? The brothers were off the hook for a while, but charges were raised again five years later. In a bit of poor planning by the opposition, however, the charges against Scipio were brought on the anniversary of the Battle of Zama, and public support for Scipio was at an all-time high. He was never convicted of anything, but the affair left a bad taste in the general's mouth. Retiring to an estate in Campania, he died in 183 B.C. The epitaph of his tomb allegedly read, Ungrateful fatherland, you will not even have my bones. He never did deny the charges, though.

Next week, Rome will face Deja vu all over again. After the deaths of Philip V and Antiochus the Great, their sons would pick up the mantle and challenge Rome in the field. Having not yet felt the sting of defeat, the brash young kings would soon enough find themselves as beaten and demoralized as their fathers. Fighting Rome was nothing if not a death blow to the ego.