A History of Strategy (4 page)

Unlike so many others, the
Strategemata
has nothing to say about raising troops, formations, discipline, etc.. Instead it is divided into fifty chapters with titles such as “Distracting the Attention of the Enemy,” “By What Means the Enemy May be Reduced to Want,” “On Terrorizing the Besieged,” and “On the Effect of Discipline.” Each chapter contains a list of devices used by past commanders in the realization of their plans. For example, “whenever Alexander of Macedon had a strong army he chose the sort of warfare in which he could fight in open battle.” An ambassador of Scipio Africanus who was conducting a parley once deliberately had a horse run wild in the enemy’s camp, presenting his men with an opportunity to chase it around and thus observe more than they should have. The Carthaginians, lacking material for cordage, used their women’s hair to equip their fleet. Caesar once spurred his soldiers to battle by showering such praise on his Tenth Legion that the rest became envious and wanted to emulate it.

Since Frontinus makes no attempt to link the various devices with each other, as an exercise in monotony his work has seldom been equaled. Yet it must be conceded that, as long as the technical limitations of his age are borne in mind, many of his suggestions were practical. A commander capable of employing only a small fraction of them would be considered highly inventive. Presumably that explains why he was quite popular in antiquity and remained so throughout the Middle Ages and beyond. When the great scholar Jean Gerson (1363–1429) drew up a list of works which ought to be in the library of the French Dauphin he included Frontinus. Machiavelli, who though a far greater writer possessed a practical mind not so very different from Frontinus’ own, considered him indispensable. He continued to be read, and quoted, by commanders down to the third quarter of the eighteenth century.

Writing some three centuries after Frontinus, Flavius Renatus Vegetius and his
Epitoma
Rei Militaris
(A Summary of Military Matters) stand in a class all of his own. Vegetius was not a soldier but an administrator in the Imperial service. He appears to have produced the work on behalf of a Roman Emperor by the name of Valentian, though we do not know which one out of two possible candidates he had in mind. Faced with the much weakened state of the Empire, he charged Vegetius with explaining how the “ancient” Romans had gone about their business so successfully. Consequently the
Epitoma
does not deal with the army of Vegetius’ own day but with an idealized version of previous ones. Among the sources mentioned are Cato, Sallust, Frontinus, and the military ordinances of Augustus, Trajan, and Hadrian. Thus it is likely that the military organization Vegetius described never existed at any single time and place. Still it is a tribute to his work that he succeeded in bringing it to life and presenting us with a remarkably coherent whole.

Of the four parts, the first one discusses recruits. That includes the way they were selected (“fishermen, fowlers, confectioners, weavers, and all those who appear to have been engaged in occupations appropriate to women should not, in my opinion, be allowed near the barracks”) and trained in marching, the use of arms, and the various formations used in battle. Part 2 gives the best account of the legion’s organization we have or are likely to have. That includes its organization; the sub-units of which it consists; the officers; the promotion system; the auxiliary services; the troop of horse; and the way in which it ought to be drawn up for battle. Part 3 deals with the various tactical methods the legion used. Part 4, which seems to have been tagged on by another writer, discusses fortifications and naval warfare. Yet precisely because Vegetius does not focus on any particular period his work is as much prescriptive as it is descriptive. From beginning to end the importance of thorough training, strong discipline, hard work (as in building a fortified camp each night), and sound planning are emphasized.

In particular, part 3 ends with a long list of do’s and don’ts. For example, “it is better to have several bodies of reserves than to extend your front too much;” and “troops are not to be led into battle unless they are confident of success.” The book’s succinct style, plus the fact that it was dedicated to an emperor and thus had a direct link with the prestige of Imperial Rome, plus the many useful suggestions it contains in regard to fortification in particular, explain why, for over a thousand years after it was written, it remained the most popular military handbook of all. As late as 1770 one Austrian field-marshal, the Prince de Ligne, went so far as to claim that “Vegetius had been inspired by God.” This was true even though, during the Middle Ages, the core of armies almost always consisted of cavalry rather than the infantry of which Vegetius wrote.

Both the
Strategemata
and the
Epitoma
were written in Latin, which is another reason why they were so popular during the European Middle Ages. Not so, of course, the military treatises produced by the Byzantine Empire. The best-known, the
Strategikon
, is attributed to the Emperor Maurice (reigned 582–602). In fact it was composed in his name by others. Written not long after the great campaigns of Belisarius and Narses, it represents Byzantine military practice at its zenith. Part 1, comprising the introduction, describes the training, equipment, and discipline of the
tagma
, a cavalry formation. Parts 2 and 3 deal with the way in which the
tagma
ought to be prepared and positioned for battle. Part 4 advises the commander on how to deal with ambushes and set them up. Part 5 discusses the way baggage trains are to be arrayed, part 6 various tactics and drills to be used when confronting the enemy. The subject of part 7 is “generalship” (
strategia
). Far from dealing with matters of supreme import pertaining to the overall conduct of the campaign, however, it is subtitled “the points with which the general must consider.” This includes blessing the flags; organizing the squads; gathering enemy intelligence; making speeches to encourage the troops; interrogating prisoners; punishing offenders; watering the horses; and making sure that the men carry rations in their saddlebags.

A general who has followed the
Strategikon
’s instructions up to this point ought to have his army ready and drawn up for battle. Accordingly part 8 deals with “points to be observed on the day of battle,” such as the need for the general not to overburden himself and to conceal his intentions for as long as possible. Part 9 deals with methods for launching surprise attacks, and part 10 with offensive and defensive siege operations including “building a border fortress by stealth and without open battle.” Obviously produced by a group of experts, all this material makes very good sense. And indeed traces of its influence on questions such as castrametation are said to be discernible in the conduct of actual campaigns such as the one against the Arabs in 636 AD.

Even more interesting, both to the historian and probably also to the contemporary commander, is Part 11. It provides brief anthropological analyses of the principal enemies facing the Empire, their weaknesses and their strengths, and suggests ways for dealing with each one. For example, “the Persian nation is wicked, dissembling and servile, but at the same time patriotic and obedient.” Seldom bothering to look after their flanks, “they are vulnerable to attacks and encirclements from an outflanking position against the flanks and rear of their formations.” They should, if possible, be engaged on “open, smooth, and level terrain … without any swamps, ditches or brush which could break up the [Byzantine] formation.” By contrast, “the light-haired races place great value on freedom. They are bold and undaunted in battle; daring and impetuous as they are, they consider any timidity and even a short retreat as a disgrace.” However, “they are hurt by suffering and fatigue … [as well as] heat, cold, rain, lack of provisions (especially of wine) and postponement of battle.” Therefore, “in warring against them one must avoid engaging in pitched battles, especially in the early stages. But do make use of well-planned ambushes, sneak attacks, and stratagems.”

Finally, part 12 of the
Strategikon
deals with infantry, an arm which, by that time, had been relegated to the sidelines. Taken as a whole, the work is a masterpiece of sorts. However, the other Byzantine works on military art which have come down to us—all that remains of a vast literature—are less comprehensive and less informative. The earliest of the lot is an anonymous 6th-century treatise whose main subjects are siege warfare on the one hand and the operations of the cavalry phalanx on the other. Then we have the
Tacticon
, an essay on military organization and battle-arrays attributed to Emperor Leo the Wise (866–912). Though usually mentioned in a single breath with the
Strategikon
, in fact it is much less interesting and less original. It is largely an abbreviation of its predecessor and also contains entire passages lifted straight out of Onasander. The list is completed by two late-ninth century essays. One is said to have been the work of Emperor Nicophorus and deals with skirmishing. The other, which is anonymous, examines the way campaigns should be organized.

All these volumes reflect the workings of a highly sophisticated, articulated armed force with numerous subdivisions and an emphasis on combined arms. As might perhaps be expected from the “Byzantines,” all also display a strong penchant for secrecy, flexibility, cunning and guile in order to achieve victory. In this respect they resemble the Chinese classics. However, since war is regarded purely as an instrument in the hands of the emperor the underlying humanitarianism which makes the latter so attractive is entirely absent.

During the time when the Byzantine Empire flourished much of Western Europe had been overrun by Barbarian tribes. Their preferred form of military literature, if that is the term, consisted of the
chansons de geste
. They were narrative songs in which the (usually legendary) exploits of (usually legendary) heroes were celebrated. So, for example, the
Chanson de Roland
as the most famous composition of all; so too many others of varying literary quality. Even later, when the higher classes at any rate ceased being illiterate, the Latin West in spite of its marked warlike qualities did not have either professional soldiers or standing armies. Possibly as a result, it produced remarkably little by the way of military textbooks.

Since Byzantine works only became available after the humanist revival, the most popular treatises by far were Frontinus and Vegetius, as already noted. The latter in particular graced many a princely library of which we are informed, including that of Richard Lionheart. These two were supplemented by a number of others whose subject was not so much military theory and practice as the art of “chivalry” and the rules of war. An outstanding specimen is Honoré Bonet, whose Tree of Battles (
L’arbre des battailes
) was written around 1400. Bonet was a monk and a doctor of law. His professed goal was to help mitigate the evils of war—this was the time of the Hundred Years War—which, as a native of Provence, he could see all around him.

In the introduction he defines war as “a discord or conflict that has arisen on account of certain things displeasing to the human will, to the end that such conflict should be turned into agreement and reason.” Next, to determine “whence came jurisdiction” (i.e. the origins of the laws which he cites), he gives a brief historical account of “the four great kingdoms of the past.” They are Babylon, Persia, Alexander’s, and Rome. The core of the book consists of several hundred questions and answers concerning the things that are and are not permitted. “If a soldier has accepted wages for a year, may he put another man in his place during that period?” “Whether it is lawful to give battle on a feast day.” “Whether the holder of a safe-conduct may take with him a man of higher estate than himself.” “Whether clerics should pay
taillages
or impositions levied for the purposes of a war” (they should not). “If a baron is a vassal of two lords who are at war with each other, which should he help?” And—remember, this was a time of war between France and England—“whether an English student dwelling at Paris for purposes of study could be imprisoned?”

To those who would understand the mentality of war in the Middle Ages Bonet’s work, like that of his self-professed disciple Christine de Pisan, is invaluable. Neither they nor the various chronicles constitute military theory, however. They are mentioned here only by way of an indication of the kind of writings which the period in question produced. Summing up the present chapter, one may perhaps conclude that such theory did not constitute a strong point either of the Latin Middle Ages or of the ancient world. Ignoring the differences that existed between their own feudal system and the Roman Imperial one, medieval people were content with a small number of Roman texts which had been handed down to them and of which they made use as best they could. The ancient world saw the writing of much superb military history; however, judging by what remains the theoretical treatises which it produced tended to be no more than sensible at best and pedestrian at worst. As to the Byzantine texts, they formed a world apart. Quite obviously they were written by persons who knew what they were talking about. But they exercised little influence outside a small circle of Imperial generals who may have wanted to know such things as (quoting the one on campaign organization) “how to avoid confusion inside the camp.” These generals may have carried them about and used them as the situation demanded.

What is more, and as their arrangement suggests, even the best of the works discussed in the present chapter are little more than handbooks. They make suggestions and proffer advice which may be appropriate to this occasion or that. Taking the formations and armament of their own day more or less for granted, however, they seldom rise above the specifics of time and place. From time to time they go lower still, delving into such questions as the use of heated vinegar for splitting rocks and how to train archers to fire accurately. The fact that some of them were in actual use until 1700 and beyond shows how indebted early modern Europe felt itself to the ancient world—or, conversely, how slow the evolution of warfare was. Unlike the Chinese classics they do not provide a coherent philosophy of war. In the West, the only writer who met that demand was Clausewitz. Before we can examine Clausewitz, however, it is necessary to fill in the gap between about 1500 and the end of the Seven Years War.