076 - Mock Triumphs

This week's episode is brought to you by Audible. As you are now aware, Audible is the Internet's leading provider of audio entertainment with over 60,000 titles to choose from. When you're done with this episode, go to audiblepodcast.com forward slash roam. That again, audiblepodcast.com forward slash roam. By going to that address, you will qualify for a free book download when you sign up for a 14-day trial membership. There is no obligation to continue the service and you can cancel any time and keep the free book that you downloaded. You can also keep going with one of the monthly subscription options and get great deals on all future audiobook purchases.

This week, I am going to recommend Hannibal, One Man Against Rome by Harold Lamb. Though we have long since left the Second Punic War in the dust, can you ever really get tired of learning about Hannibal, the great and terrible? I didn't think so. Just remember to go to audiblepodcast.com forward slash roam so that they know who sent you.

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 76, Mock Triumphs. Last time, we traced Domitian's rise to power from forgotten afterthought to emperor of the Roman Empire. Unlike his brother, Domitian's rise had no planned arc. There was no gentle addition of responsibility, no subtle raising of the volume. When it came to Domitian, one minute there was silence, the next, the amp was cranked to ten. Imperial non-entity to master of the world in just the blink of an eye.

His sudden inheritance of the throne shocked everyone, as the citizens of the empire were just getting settled in to the nice long reign of Titus, and there was fear all around that the 30-year-old Domitian would not be up to the task. But this fear was generally unfounded, and Domitian would prove both intellectually and politically that he had what it took to be emperor. Even though his blunt dismissal of the senate eventually led to assassination, for 15 years Domitian ruled effectively in the manner he saw fit and efficiently got done what he thought needed to be done.

The reign of Domitian is not to be sneezed at or ignored or ridiculed, though neither is it to be embraced as the second coming of Augustus as Domitian would have liked us to believe, and in many ways he set the stage for the coming century of brilliance for the empire. Suetonius once commented that the depravity of the last Flavian practically negated the good of the first two, but this is propaganda. Domitian was harsher and colder than his brother and father, but he was as astute and capable a man as they, and in the end the whole of the Flavian dynasty should be remembered for their successful stewardship of the empire.

Domitian opened his reign, as I said last time, with a flurry of pious construction projects, completing the temple of Jupiter and unveiling a temple for his now divine relatives Titus and Vespasian. But he did not plan to stop at a few temples. The city of Rome had been ravaged by war and natural disaster, most recently suffering from the great fire of 80 AD, and Domitian saw an opportunity to kick off his planned Augustan renaissance in style. The first emperor had famously inherited a city of brick and left it a city of marble. Domitian was inheriting a city of ashes, and he planned to leave it a city of, well, buildings and stuff, something functional anyway. That didn't turn out nearly as poetic as I hoped when I started that sentence.

Over the course of the next few years he would direct the completion of some 50 new buildings, restoring the architectural dignity of Rome, which had been in steep decline since the reign of Nero. Among his many projects was the Arch of Titus, which was completed soon after his brother's death. The great arch, which still stands today and is a can't-miss on any trip to Rome, ostensibly commemorates Titus' victory in Judea, but mostly its job was to remind everyone of the divine, almost mythological status of the Flavians. Whether or not the Romans saw it as anything more than outsized self-aggrandizement is an open question, but the grand permanence of the structure certainly convinced later ambitious men that a massive arch was a pretty sweet way to celebrate one's own eternal awesomeness. Napoleon certainly had the Arch of Titus in mind when he ordered the Arc de Triomphe built after his own great victory at Austerlitz in 1806.

All of these public building projects helped stimulate an economy that had been drifting aimlessly for years, but of course they were not going to pay for themselves. So having undercut the Roman elite politically, Domitian next targeted them economically, and let his newly reformed and ruthlessly efficient bureaucracy loose on their bank accounts. He strengthened and extended imperial taxes, and in the years to come would eventually resort to outright confiscation to help pay for his projects, and of course the various military campaigns he initiated, which we'll get to in a bit.

Now if he were another man, Domitian would have paid for everything without resorting to excessive taxation. in the past had simply borrowed what they needed without regard for how they were going to pay it back. Besides, if the creditors did come calling, an emperor could simply devalue the coins he minted until he had enough nominal chunks of worthless metal to pay the specific amounts that everyone demanded. Domitian had no interest in inflating his way into solvency, though, and taking the opposite tack, he actually returned the silver ratio in a denarii back to the Augustan level of 12%. Roman currency was the standard in the Mediterranean at the time, and Domitian felt that it reflected badly on the emperor to have the coins he minted regarded as worthless jokes. But of course, with less circulating currency to work with, Domitian was forced to demand more from his subjects.

The Roman economy, on balance, benefited from Domitian's fiscal policies, but they certainly did not help his popularity any. Demanding his popularity even less than his tax policies was his hopeless quest to return the Romans to their traditional, conservative family values. Legislating sex and morals had been hard enough for Augustus a century earlier, but Domitian's attempt to revive these least successful policies of the first emperor turned out to be an even more terrible idea. But Domitian seemed dead set on reviving all things Augustan, even if it meant bringing back the much derided Lex Julia.

In 85 AD, Domitian named himself censor in perpetuity, which gave him authority to legislate public morality. Adultery once again became a banishable offense, and consorting with the Vestal Virgins became a capital crime. An equestrian found himself stricken from the juror pool for remarrying an ex-wife, and a senator was expelled from the body for acting on stage, which was even worse than prostitution so far as Domitian was concerned. All of this turned out to be little more than spitting into a hurricane, and Domitian earned himself nothing but scorn for his trouble. The old ways were dead. Threatening to execute people for cheating on their wives was not going to change that.

But Domitian forged on, and his efforts at reestablishing some semblance of public morality was not a total fool's errand. The emperor also used his authority as censor to punish officials for bribery and corruption, two real offenses with real consequences that had been overlooked for years, even by his own father. There was, as they say, a new sheriff in town, and even though he kicked up a lot of dust and made a lot of enemies over ultimately irrelevant sexual stuff, the government was never again as clean or honest in its dealings.

The funny thing about all of this is that Domitian kept stepping on the same toes over and over again. It seems like any time he had the opportunity to stick it to the nobility, he jumped at the chance. I'm not sure what the Senate did to elicit such contempt from the emperor—I speculated about some stuff last time—but he really, really had it in for them. So much so, that it doesn't even seem like a matter of stepping on a few toes, more like Domitian was walking right up to them and stomping down on their feet repeatedly. He cut them out of the political process, gouged them financially, policed their bedrooms, and shut down their lucrative kickbacks. In the end, I'm not sure why Domitian hated the Senate so much, but I have no doubts about why they hated him so much. He even declared a limit to the amount of arable Italian land that could be used for vineyards. So to top everything off, Domitian was also cutting down the booze supply. Is it any wonder, then, that he was finally stabbed to death?

Beyond the aristocracy, who uniformly hated him, Domitian was alternatively feared and liked, and disdained and respected, depending on who you talked to. But there was one segment of the population who really loved the man—rank-and-file soldiers. The officers couldn't stand Domitian, of course, for all the reasons I've mentioned, and all the reasons I'll get to shortly. But the common legionary loved him. Why the great discrepancy? Because shortly after taking office, Domitian issued a blanket pay raise for his soldiers. And it wasn't some cost-of-living increase, either. No, the common soldiers saw their paychecks increase by fully one-third—a mind-blowing sum that earned Domitian their undying devotion for the rest of his reign.

The elites could clamor for his head as much as they wanted, but after the pay raise, they were going to have a hell of a time convincing their soldiers to revolt. You want me to fight who? The guy who just gave me a 33% bump? No, I think I'm good, thanks. The raise caused Domitian to backtrack on his fiscal policy some, and he was forced to slightly devalue his coins, after having so recently revalued them. But the compromise was a sound one, and Domitian never really had to worry about the whole army rising up against him. There was a brief revolt of two legions in 89 AD, which we'll get to next week. But it was an isolated case, and was quickly crushed by the intensely loyal armies that surrounded the malcontents.

The pay raise for the soldiers did not come out of nowhere, though. It was part and parcel of the triumphal celebration following Domitian's smashing victory against the Chatti in 83 AD. The fierce Germanic tribe had suddenly risen up in revolt against Rome. Right around the time, Domitian decided that it was high time he cemented his reputation as a great leader with an impressive military victory. It was actually pretty convenient how it all worked out. Domitian just happened to be in Chatti territory conducting a census with a new legion he had recently formed, when, for no reason, and in stark contrast to years of peaceful coexistence, the dastardly Chatti attacked, forcing Domitian to defend the honor of the house of Caesar and the majesty of Rome, etc., etc., etc. Convenient. Yes. That's one word for it.

Domitian marched around for a year, building roads and fortifications in Chatti territory, decided that with winter coming it was high time he declared victory and left, so he declared victory and left. He returned to Rome to celebrate the triumph he had been craving all his life. No one who knew anything about anything believed Domitian had actually done anything to earn the triumph he threw for himself. He had, what, skirmished with some random tribe and built some roads, and now was calling himself Germanicus? But the people loved it. Triumphs mean games, and banquets, and generous handouts. So they cheered their conquering emperor as he marched into the city at the head of his great parade. Domitian cheerfully basked in the glow of his adoring subjects. Never again would he be relegated to the back with the other family members. This was Domitian's time now. Meanwhile, Tacitus, representing the views of the aristocracy, dismissed the whole display as a mock triumph. Real or mock, Domitian capped his celebration by announcing a pay raise for his brave soldiers. That at least was real enough.

One possible side consequence of Domitian's mock triumph was that Agricola, and yes, thank you for the pronunciation correction, it is Agricola, not Agricola, which yeah, I agree, sounds like some kind of terrible hippie soda, so I'm sorry about that. Anyway, Agricola was possibly recalled from his post in Britannia because his real military success on the island cast Domitian's victory in a pretty pathetic light. Not long after Domitian's parade, messengers delivered the news that Agricola had defeated the combined Caledonian army of some 30,000 troops and stood poised to capture the entire island. There is no consensus about whether Agricola was recalled out of jealousy or whether it was more like a reward for seven years cold, hard service in the north, but one way or the other, Agricola was back in Rome in 85 AD and effectively retired from public life. His had been one of the more successful careers of the first century, and he very nearly captured the whole of Britannia for the Romans. His work would be left permanently incomplete though, as the legions he had led were soon transferred to the Danube to help fight the growing Dacian menace, which unlike the Chatti menace was all too real.

The Dacians lived in the Carpathian mountains on the far side of the Danube and had been stirring up trouble for years. For the first time in his life, Domitian was about to deal with a real existential threat to the empire. His response to the crisis offered a window into how the emperor really felt about war, defense and imperial security. Whether he handled the situation properly is a matter of ongoing debate, but there is no doubt that the hawkish aristocracy, already chafing under Domitian your lord and god, were appalled by his handling of the Dacian situation.

The thing about Domitian is that he took Augustus' injunction about further conquest seriously and really believed that the primary function of the legions was now frontier defense. He didn't want to invade Germania, he didn't want to conquer Dacia, he didn't want anything to do with Scotland. He considered these efforts to be expensive boondoggles that would stretch the legions too thin, cost blood and treasure Rome couldn't afford, and ultimately leave the empire weaker and more vulnerable for the trouble.

When it came to military affairs, the great legacy of Domitian was not some new territory added to the empire or some great foreign enemy destroyed, but rather the expansion and strengthening of the Limaeus Germanicus, the frontier fortification network along the Rhine and Danube rivers that kept the northern empire safe from invasion. Roughly stretching to nearly 350 miles, the fortification network grew to include 60 permanent forts and some 900 watchtowers. Domitian would neither begin the project nor complete it, but he was committed to it wholeheartedly and poured money and manpower into the effort. The key line the Limaeus Germanicus cut was between the upper Rhine and the upper Danube. While the two great rivers offered a natural defense on their own against unpacified tribes, the stretch of land between the headwaters of each was a dangerous weak point for the empire and Domitian aimed to close that gap once and for all. Though his work would finally be completed by Hadrian, the time and effort Domitian expended was critical and helped pave the way for a century and a half of security along the northern border.

But while Domitian's efforts were critical, they were also criticized. High ranking military officials and their civilian counterparts believed Domitian far too passive in his military strategy. If the empire was to be safe, it needed to defeat its enemies, not build a wall to keep them out. The fight needed to be taken to the source. It was no good to simply sit back until it was too late. What good was a watchtower if it only alerted Rome to an invasion force too strong to repel? Nascent alliances between barbarian tribes needed to be nipped in the bud before they grew into something truly dangerous. Soldiers were trained to fight, not sit on walls staring into space. It was unnatural.

The contrast in style came to a head in Dacia, where each side could reasonably claim the actions of the other detrimental to imperial security. Ever since the year of the four emperors, the tribes beyond the northern frontiers of the Danube had grown more and more bold. The Roman world seemed too preoccupied to care about their raids into imperial territory, and with each passing year the tribes, including the formidable Dacians, acted with increasing impunity. They finally crossed the line and got Rome's attention in either 84 or 85 AD, when a Dacian army invaded Moesia and killed the imperial governor.

Caught on the heels of his great victory over the Chatti, Domitian personally led a force to Moesia to deal with the unacceptable affront to Rome's honor. Further signaling how seriously and how personally Domitian was taking the situation, his army included members of the Praetorian Guard and was led by his Praetorian prefect, Cornelius Fuscus. The Roman reinforcements were able to easily drive off the Dacians, who were not about to tangle with an imperial army guided by the emperor himself. By the winter of 85, the Dacians were cleared out of Roman territory, and Domitian returned to Rome to celebrate his second triumph. Though there was still not much to celebrate, this triumph at least had a ring of truth to it, and Domitian was quite pleased with himself for how well his military career was shaping up.

But this second triumph proved to be even more of a mockery than the first. The Dacians were not defeated by a long shot, and when Cornelius Fuscus, on his own initiative, crossed the Danube to mop up the remaining combatants, he led his legions to one of their worst defeats since the catastrophe in the Teutoburg Forest. In 86 AD, Fuscus led elements of four legions plus auxiliaries into Dacian territory expecting little resistance from the splintered and feuding local tribes. Except that the Dacians weren't splintered and feuding at all. They had been united by a king who was to become known to the Romans as Decebalus, which translates roughly as, he with the strength of ten men.

Decebalus saw the Romans coming from a mile away, and set an ambush at the narrow pass of Tappi. Fuscus blundered right into the trap. He watched in horror as the entire fifth legion was cornered and massacred, and then watched in humiliation as the legionary standard of the Praetorian Guard was captured and hauled off by the enemy. Luckily for Fuscus, he did not have to live with the humiliation for long, as he himself was soon killed in the fighting.

Back in Rome, the triumph Domitian had celebrated now seemed like a cruel joke. He quickly returned to Moesia to oversee the reinforcement of the province. He divided the territory into two administrative districts, and transferred three legions to boost the defenses along the Danube. Though he was convinced now more than ever that the legions worked best as a defensive force rather than conquering adventurers, Domitian understood that the annihilation of a legion and the capture of a standard, the Praetorian Guard standard no less, could not go unanswered. In both 87 and 88, the Romans crossed the Danube to campaign against Decebalus, though this time they marched with far greater care than had been shown by Fuscus. In 88, the Dacians and Romans once again found themselves facing off at Tappi, though this time the Romans did not stumble blindly into any traps, and Decebalus was soundly beaten. All would seem to be well for Domitian and the Romans, their honor was restored and the enemy beaten, but unfortunately for Domitian, events elsewhere conspired to turn his victory into a bleeding sore.

On January 1, 89 AD, Lucius Antonius Saturnius, the governor of Upper Germania, had had enough of Domitian and led his two legions in revolt. With this sudden crisis on the Rhine, Domitian was forced to conclude a hasty treaty with Decebalus that formally recognized Dacia as a client kingdom of Rome. To ensure that there would be no trouble after he left, Domitian accepted a controversial provision that sent money and artisans to Decebalus in exchange for peace. The money and men would be used by the Dacian king to bolster his own defenses and properly equip his growing army. Domitian's treaty had the effect of transforming Roman tax dollars into Dacian swords and putting Romans to work building walls that later Romans would die trying to climb.

The officer corps was already grumbling about Domitian's cowardly obsession with roads and watchtowers, but for him to pay off an enemy like that was borderline dereliction of duty. And they had a point. When Trajan decided to eventually crush Decebalus once and for all, he found the task far more arduous than it should have been, because of all the enemy fortifications built with Roman money. For the record, Decebalus did control lucrative gold mines that bought and paid for most of his army. Lucrative gold mines that had far more to do with Trajan's decision to invade than abstract notions of defending Roman honor, by the way. But still, the optics of Domitian's treaty were terrible, and the deal with Decebalus soon became a political wound that refused to heal.

Next week, we'll start with the revolt of Saturnius, which would prove to be a turning point in Domitian's reign. Prior to the uprising, Domitian was harsh but fair in his use of imperial power. But afterwards, the emperor would become far more paranoid and far more cruel. Though in the end he would execute for treason no more men than the lovable, huggable Uncle Claudius, the last years of Domitian's reign would nonetheless go down in history as a reign of terror. Eventually, a conspiracy of court officials would determine that they had better kill the emperor before he killed them, and on September 18, 96 AD, Domitian finally met the violent end that he had always suspected would be his to meet.