magnificence in the case of many triumphs where we have almost no ev-
idence at all, reliable or not, of what was on display. The true total is
probably much lower.
Obviously, riches on the scale of the popular image could not possibly
have been a feature of early celebrations. Although ancient writers may
have filled the gaps in their knowledge by retrojecting the idea of opu-
lence back into their triumphal accounts of the sixth and fifth centuries
bce, Florus cannot be too far from the mark when he writes of cattle,
flocks, carts, and broken weapons being the major triumphal spectacle
until the increasingly lucrative campaigns of the third century and later.
Rome’s enemies in the early period simply did not possess the wealth
that could have made a showy parade.44 But even much later not all tri-
umphs can have been loaded with lavish profits of war and expen-
sive props. Occasionally Livy makes a point of mentioning the lack of
spoils, as in the case of Cnaeus Octavius in 167 bce or of Lucius Furius
Purpureo, who is said to have triumphed in 200 bce with no captives,
no spoils, and no soldiers (omissions stressed by Livy on this occasion to
drive home how little he deserved the celebration).45
At other times too we can reasonably infer that the processions were
on a modest scale. It is hard, for example, to imagine that Caius Pomptinus
put on much of a show in his procession of 54 bce. He had quashed a
revolt of the Gallic tribe of the Allobroges in 62–61 bce (not so fruitful
a source of riches as Eastern monarchies), and he is said to have waited
outside Rome for at least four years before he was, controversially,
awarded a triumph—which raises the question of where any substan-
tial booty would have been stored in the interim (or, more cynically,
whether what was on display in the parade bore much relation to what
he brought back with him from Gaul).46
In fact, the practical details of the treatment and display of the spoils
are predictably murky. We have only the most fleeting hints of how the
spoils were handled (such as Appian’s claim about the thirty days it took
to transfer Mithradates’ furniture stores to the Romans); still less on how
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165
and where it was kept in Rome in anticipation of the parade, or how it
was managed once the parade ended.47 The idea has been floated that in
the procession itself the cash and bullion at least might never have
reached the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus but may have been di-
verted to the treasury en route. There is no ancient evidence for this,
merely the convenient location of the treasury building (the Temple of
Saturn) near where the road turned up from the Forum to the Capitol
(see Plan).48
Equally unclear is what proportion of the spoils of war plundered
from the enemy cities, palaces, and sanctuaries would have ended up in
the parade at all, and in what form. Some were certainly kept by the
rank and file soldiers. Some were sold off on the spot and converted into
cash. But how those divisions were made, or were expected to be made,
we do not know. Aemilius Paullus was famous for cutting a particularly
mean deal with his troops, when he left them only a small part of what
they had pillaged—albeit a particularly prudent one for state finances.
(“Had he given in to his troops’ greed,” argued Livy, “they would have
left nothing to be made over to the treasury.”) But how deals of this kind
were usually brokered between the soldiers, the general, and the interests
of the state is a matter of guesswork.49
We do not even fully understand to whom Roman war booty for-
mally belonged—whether it was public property that was to be directed
by the general to the public good, or whether all (or part) was entirely at
the disposal of the general to do with as he wished. This issue has raised
considerable controversy—fueled, as so often, by limited ancient evi-
dence which is itself contradictory, by our own desire to impose consis-
tency and rule on Roman practice, and by apparently technical Latin
terms used differently in different contexts. The definitions of two main
words for “booty,” manubiae and praeda, were debated in antiquity itself, and modern scholarship has certainly not resolved the question (de-
spite a popular view that manubiae were a subsection of the wider praeda and one over which the victorious general had a particular interest if not
control).50 In this case, the difficulties and uncertainties may be over-
stated, since in practice the general seems to have taken the leading role
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in disposing of the booty, and questions of formal ownership may only
have become relevant (and various incompatible theories improvised)
when his dispositions were for some reason challenged.
But occasionally such conflicts offer a glimpse of the triumph, too.
One vivid example is the puzzling incident connected with the triumph
of Manius Acilius Glabrio over King Antiochus in 190 bce. When he
was standing for the office of censorship a couple of years later, his polit-
ical rivals prosecuted him “on the grounds that he had neither carried in
his triumph nor delivered to the treasury an amount of royal money and
booty seized in Antiochus’ camp.” Key witness for the prosecution was
Marcus Porcius Cato (also running for the censorship), who claimed
that “he had seen some gold and silver vessels amongst the other royal
booty when the camp had been captured, but he had not seen them in
the triumph.” Whatever this says about the legal rights of control over
booty (note that Livy does not say exactly what the legal charge against
Glabrio was), or about the politics of the early second century ce (the
trial was in fact abandoned), it offers a rare pointer to the possible
importance of individual pieces of triumphal treasure—and their recog-
nizability. Whether or not we believe Cato’s confident testimony (and
Livy’s account suggests that many Romans did not), it offers an intrigu-
ing picture of a Roman notable scanning intensely the items as they
passed by on parade, and matching them up with his memory of bat-
tlefield plunder. It raises the question, to which we shall return in a
slightly different form, that what is on display might not be exactly what
it seems.51
Less controversial, but hardly any better understood, are the organiza-
tion and conventions of the display of the spoils and art works in the pa-
rade. Minute analysis of the visual images has led to the (not wholly sur-
prising) conclusion that those who carried the objects in the procession
and controlled the captives included not only low-grade porters and
guards but also more senior officials directing operations.52 A few brave
attempts have also been made to deduce from written accounts of tri-
umphs a standard order of display—to sort out, in other words, the reg-
ular processional choreography of the golden crowns, elephants, model
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167
rivers, vessels of coins, and so forth—on the assumption that ancient au-
thors more or less accurately reflected the original order of ceremonies.53
But even if that assumption were correct, unconvincing special pleading
is always necessary to iron out the discrepancies or to incorporate the
various “exceptions”—as, for example, when the quantity of booty de-
manded the procession be spread over several days, or when (according