DISGRACE
Mancinus’s expedition was ill-omened from the start. The chickens that he meant to sacrifice to the gods escaped from their cage; then, as he boarded a ship for Spain, he heard a haunting shout go up, ‘Mane Mancine’ (Remain, Mancinus); after changing ships and choosing to set off from another port altogether, the unlucky general was set back once again when he spied a snake on board, which fled before it could be captured.
As the expedition began, so it continued. In Spain, against the Numantines, Mancinus lost engagement after engagement. The only note of hope was struck by his young quaestor. ‘Amid the various misfortunes and military reverses that marked the campaign Tiberius’s courage and intelligence shone out all the more brightly.’32 In addition, the young aristocrat showed his strength of character by always maintaining ‘respect and honour’ for his commander, in spite of the general’s miserable progress. One disaster in particular, however, would prove especially testing for both of them.
One night Mancinus received a false rumour that significant reinforcements from some neighbouring Spanish tribes were about to join the Numantines. Panic-stricken, the Roman general decided to break camp under cover of darkness and move his army to more advantageous ground. As fires were extinguished and the quiet retreat began, the Numantines learnt of his plan and responded with lightning speed: they captured the Roman camp, then attacked the army as it fled. The rearguard infantry bore the brunt of the casualties, but there was worse to come. The 20,000 soldiers of the Roman army soon found themselves trapped in difficult terrain and encircled by an enemy force less than a quarter of their number. There was no escape.
Mancinus had no option but to send envoys to the Numantines and come to terms for peace. The Spanish enemy declared itself unwilling to negotiate with anyone except Tiberius. Such was their respect for his personal qualities and their high regard for his father that he alone would be acceptable. Their reason for this went back to 178 BC, when Tiberius’s father had made peace with the Numantines: he had put them in his trust, had become the protector of their interests in Rome, and had staked his own name and honour on the obligation to maintain the peace. Above all, the elder Gracchus ‘had always ensured that the Roman people kept the terms of the peace with the strictest justice’. On the basis of his family’s prestige, therefore, the young Tiberius now negotiated with the Numantine leaders and eventually, after giving way on some points and extracting concessions on others, he agreed a truce that established ‘terms of equality between Numantines and the Romans’.33 The peace was solemnized by an oath.
With this act, Tiberius saved the lives of 20,000 Roman soldiers, as well as those of their many slaves and camp followers. The army was set free and sent on its way back to Rome, but not before the Numantines had stripped them of its arms and property, and had asked Mancinus also to swear an oath to honour the peace. Once the Roman army had departed, however, Tiberius showed his conscientiousness in executing his duties as quaestor. He went alone to Numantia and asked for the return of his account books, which had been confiscated. The Numantine leaders were delighted to see him again, asked him to enter the city and made it clear that he could now trust them as friends. After dining at their table, Tiberius also left for Rome, his ledger books safely in his custody once more. Given his successes, perhaps he anticipated a hero’s welcome. The reality could not have been more different.
In the Senate the Roman treaty with the Numantines was greeted with vitriolic disdain. A savage debate was sparked. Nasica, the cousin of Tiberius and Aemilianus, voiced the dominant hawks’ point of view: this was no peace, but a pathetic, ignominious surrender. Indeed, the Numantines were not ‘equals’; they were not even an enemy worthy of a peace treaty. Rather, they were rebels in a Roman province and should be crushed at all costs. Mancinus was called to stand trial. He defended himself as best he could: what about the lives saved? If the treaty was not a success in absolute terms, surely it was in the circumstances? Tiberius, standing beside Mancinus, stepped into the debate, using all his rhetorical skill and education to defend his commander. But the Senate was not remotely swayed from its belief in Roman invincibility. Since the destruction of Carthage, Rome was now the only superpower, the master of the Mediterranean. It could do what it wanted to whomever it chose. If the price of defeating the rebellious Numantines was the glorious death of 20,000 soldiers in the service of the republic, so be it!
In response, Mancinus begged the Senate to consider the poor quality of the soldiers he had at his disposal in Spain. The levy had produced an inexperienced, ill-disciplined and ill-provisioned army that the previous commander in Spain, a man called Quintus Pompeius, had failed to improve in any way. But again, this defence was not enough to help his case. One reason was prestige. Pompeius had powerful friends within the Senate, whereas Mancinus’s family had far less political clout. A commission, led by Aemilianus and his friends, was appointed to conduct a thorough investigation. Following this, the Senate, to the horror of Mancinus and Tiberius, tore up the treaty.
The rejection was not strictly illegal because all treaties made in the field needed to be ratified by the Senate in Rome. The problem, however, was more a moral one: repudiating the treaty was, in effect, to trounce the Roman republic’s reputation for fides – good faith and keeping true to oaths. Such a violation would be sure to incur the wrath of the gods. In order to atone for this wrong, the commission put forward two proposals for the Roman people to vote on: either that Mancinus, as the general responsible in Spain, be surrendered to the Numantines, or that his staff be offered in his stead. Aemilianus now entered the ring. He used his powerful influence among the senators to help his cousin and, accordingly, the first proposal won support in the Senate and was ratified by the Roman people. It was decreed that Mancinus alone was to pay the penalty. In a revival of an old military custom, the former consul was stripped naked, bound in chains, taken under military escort back to Spain and handed over to the Numantines. The Celtiberians refused to accept the offering, and Mancinus returned to Rome in shame.
Although Tiberius had been saved from condemnation, this was scant consolation. The young man’s life now lay about him in ruins. The first blow was personally wounding. Not only had his own cousin, his brother-in-law and the man who had been his role model in Carthage, failed to save Mancinus. Aemilianus had also been the one to cast the deciding vote against Tiberius’s treaty. The bonds of friendship and family between the two cousins were thus broken apart. Only anger and recrimination were now left.
The second blow was more pummelling still. The Senate’s rejection of the treaty had effectively destroyed Tiberius’s career. He had staked not just his own integrity and dignity on the treaty, but also that of his dead father. Certainly, the loyalty of the Numantine people had been utterly betrayed. The implications of this, however, went much deeper, much closer to home. With his peace treaty spurned by the senators, Tiberius had irrevocably damaged his family’s reputation, his father’s and his own. Prestige had always been the essential ingredient of a political career in the Roman republic, the key to getting to the top. Aristocratic families had accumulated it over hundreds of years, driven on by the desire of sons to match the achievements of their noble fathers. Now Tiberius’s ability to command the respect and loyalty of allies, associates and the Roman people had been snatched away for ever. Or so it seemed.